Running With Scissors
Disclaimer - I own Miroku. That's right. He's mine. Don't try to deny it! MUAHAHAHA!! Ahem. Sorry.
Author's Note - I'm moving quickly with this fic. Don't ask why; I just feel the need to post as much as possible BEFORE I leave for winter break. Hey, don't complain. I'm doin' this for you guys.
***
Chapter Three - Memoirs
***
Miroku paced slowly, the chains around his waist clinking with every movement as he glanced over at the hunched figure leaning over the creaky desk. He sighed.
"What are you doing, anyway?"
"Writing," Inuyasha murmured in response, not looking up.
"What are you writing?" Miroku attempted to peer over Inuyasha's shoulder, tilting his head.
"Nothing," Inuyasha said hastily, slamming the notepad he was writing on shut. "None of your business."
"Ah, something personal? Perhaps, a diary?" Miroku grinned in a sadistic manner. "Maybe it's filled with sick, erotic thoughts of yours? You know, the ones you were probably having at breakfast this morning, when you were staring oh-so-obviously at Miss Kagome?"
Inuyasha tensed; he stood quickly, his eyes flashing at Miroku. "I'm not a filthy pervert like you. Now leave me alone."
"My, touchy, touchy, aren't we?" Miroku hissed coolly, leaning against his scythe casually. "That's how everyone gets before they die. The slightest little thing irritates them to no end; poor, foolish things."
"What ARE you, anyway?" Inuyasha asked, whirling around to face Miroku, his violet eyes glaring at him. "What IS Death? Are you a human? Or some kind of animal? Are you even mortal?"
"No, no, and no," Miroku replied in a bored manner, cracking his neck. "I'm a god. An immortal servant to the King of Death himself. I live in the Netherworld with other office workers. We all generally exist for one simple purpose - to serve the gods. Me, now I chose to serve the God of Death. Other people, like . . . well, others work for different gods, like . . . like the Goddess of Love." He suddenly fell silent, his left eye twitching a bit. He cleared his throat and went on.
"Now, every once in a while, there's a god or goddess servant who's different from the others. These people become the actual thing that they work for or represent - in my case, I was one of the 'special' ones, and I became Death itself. Other people . . . like . . ." He sighed, frustrated. "Other people can become . . . well . . . like an old friend of mine. She . . . she worked as a servant for the Goddess of Love. The one who was originally Love got too old for the job, and my . . . friend . . . she got promoted to being Love." He finished his sentence very quickly, turning away.
Inuyasha's eyes softened a bit, and he gently touched Miroku's shoulder. "Who's 'she,' Miroku? I know there was someone, so why won't you talk about it?"
Miroku sighed heavily, shoving Inuyasha's hand away. "I dunno what you're talkin' about . . . there was no one. I've always been . . . alone."
He straightened up to his full height again, dusting off his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Finish your memoirs, Inuyasha. You're writing YOUR life story, not mine."
~
Inuyasha took Miroku's advice and continued writing for several more hours during the day before finally setting his pen down, stretching. He sighed, yawning as he opened the door to the hallway, the smell of dinner cooking wafting into his senses as he wandered into the main room.
Kagome stood hunched over an old stove, stirring a pot of thick stew. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, lighting up her dark hair, and Inuyasha actually had to stop in the doorway to catch his breath. He cleared his throat, causing Kagome's head to snap up in surprise, before she let out a sigh of relief, smiling kindly.
"Well, good afternoon, Mr. Ikeda," she said softly, straightening up. "How are you feeling today? You were cooped up in that room for an awfully long time."
"F-feeling?" Inuyasha stuttered, blinking.
"Yes . . . didn't Mr. Kikuchi mention last night at dinner that you're dying? That's such a terrible shame . . ."
Inuyasha made a mental note to strangle Miroku the next chance he got. "Uh . . . yeah," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm . . . I'm real sick. I have leukemia. The doctor said I have six months left to live."
"You poor thing," Kagome whispered slowly, her eyes lowered. "My grandfather is dying too . . . he has heart cancer. He doesn't have much longer to live either." She sighed heavily. "I must admit, I'm grateful to have guests. We don't have many guests, so income is low . . . this place is so old, and it's hard to keep up with the mortgage sometimes. I just don't know what I'm going to do."
Inuyasha nodded slowly, unable to think of anything intelligent or comforting to say. He shoved his hands in his pockets so as to stop their nervous fidgeting, never once removing his eyes from her face.
"Miss Kagome," he said slowly, stepping towards her a bit, "you're very beautiful, you know."
Kagome's hand froze halfway to the pot of stew, her wondrous brown eyes widening in shock as she slowly looked up to him, blushing. "Th-thank you, Mr. Ikeda," she stuttered, blinking.
"Please . . . just call me Inuyasha."
~
"Don't you see?" Miroku pressed on, shaking Inuyasha's shoulders so as to prove his point. "You've NEVER taken a risk! You've NEVER done anything FUN or EXCITING with your life! Just DIE, already! It's better than life! Trust me!"
"Miroku," Inuyasha began with a heavy sigh, "if I asked you to take me to the Netherworld, then you wouldn't be the one killing me. I'd be committing suicide, and there would be no murder for you to see through. What would your boss say about that?"
"What is suicide but murder to thyself?" Miroku murmured, looking away. "You're killing yourself - it technically IS a murder. It just wasn't done by me."
Inuyasha rolled his eyes. "You're desperate, aren't you?"
"Yes."
He sighed again, sitting down on the bed. "And for your information, I DO take risks. I just took one this afternoon, in fact."
"Oh? What did you do?" Miroku asked, suddenly curious to see a calmer, more relaxed side of Inuyasha.
"I . . ." he frowned. "I just told Kagome that she was pretty, that's all. Nothing big."
"NOTHING BIG?" Miroku repeated, his jaw dropping. "Inuyasha, that's so - out there! Especially for you. That was a BIG risk. What'd she say?"
"She just said thanks," Inuyasha mumbled, lowering his eyes. "Why would she care, anyway? I'm probably just a wandering low-life to her."
"Maybe so, but what do YOU feel for her, Inuyasha?" Miroku urged, nudging him.
"I don't know . . . I just met her. What more do you want?"
Miroku shook his head and sighed. "It's a waste of time anyway. You're still gonna die - don't think I let you off the hook."
"Yeah, I know," Inuyasha grumbled, folding his arms. "I guess that's why it's pointless for me to be in love with her."
"Did someone say 'love'?" a female voice boomed, echoing through the tiny room. Miroku's eyes widened and he winced, cowering behind Inuyasha, who was too shocked to move.
A great, red light shone through the room, blinding them, sending the papers on the old desk flying. A few moments passed and a shapely figure began to form, appearing through the light before them.
The light ceased and Inuyasha looked up with wide eyes. A tall, young- looking woman with long, dark, curly hair blooming with red ribbons and flowers stood before him, clad in a form-fitting red dress with ruffles at the collar and sleeves. Bright red Converse-heels topped off her ensemble, and in her hands was a red walking stick. Inuyasha finally met her eyes, only to see that a pair of dark sunglasses hid her eyes from view.
"Well, don't just sit there, boy," the young woman ordered, tapping Inuyasha's head with her cane. "You said the word love, and it's my duty to help poor, love-struck fools like yourselves to find happiness . . . or whatever. So who are you?"
"Um . . . Inuyasha Ikeda?"
"Nice to meet you, Inuyasha. So, what's the case?"
"Um," Inuyasha began, "might I ask . . . er . . . who you are?"
"Oh, silly me!" The woman laughed. "Sango Hiraki, A.K.A. Love, at your service, Mr. Ikeda."
Disclaimer - I own Miroku. That's right. He's mine. Don't try to deny it! MUAHAHAHA!! Ahem. Sorry.
Author's Note - I'm moving quickly with this fic. Don't ask why; I just feel the need to post as much as possible BEFORE I leave for winter break. Hey, don't complain. I'm doin' this for you guys.
***
Chapter Three - Memoirs
***
Miroku paced slowly, the chains around his waist clinking with every movement as he glanced over at the hunched figure leaning over the creaky desk. He sighed.
"What are you doing, anyway?"
"Writing," Inuyasha murmured in response, not looking up.
"What are you writing?" Miroku attempted to peer over Inuyasha's shoulder, tilting his head.
"Nothing," Inuyasha said hastily, slamming the notepad he was writing on shut. "None of your business."
"Ah, something personal? Perhaps, a diary?" Miroku grinned in a sadistic manner. "Maybe it's filled with sick, erotic thoughts of yours? You know, the ones you were probably having at breakfast this morning, when you were staring oh-so-obviously at Miss Kagome?"
Inuyasha tensed; he stood quickly, his eyes flashing at Miroku. "I'm not a filthy pervert like you. Now leave me alone."
"My, touchy, touchy, aren't we?" Miroku hissed coolly, leaning against his scythe casually. "That's how everyone gets before they die. The slightest little thing irritates them to no end; poor, foolish things."
"What ARE you, anyway?" Inuyasha asked, whirling around to face Miroku, his violet eyes glaring at him. "What IS Death? Are you a human? Or some kind of animal? Are you even mortal?"
"No, no, and no," Miroku replied in a bored manner, cracking his neck. "I'm a god. An immortal servant to the King of Death himself. I live in the Netherworld with other office workers. We all generally exist for one simple purpose - to serve the gods. Me, now I chose to serve the God of Death. Other people, like . . . well, others work for different gods, like . . . like the Goddess of Love." He suddenly fell silent, his left eye twitching a bit. He cleared his throat and went on.
"Now, every once in a while, there's a god or goddess servant who's different from the others. These people become the actual thing that they work for or represent - in my case, I was one of the 'special' ones, and I became Death itself. Other people . . . like . . ." He sighed, frustrated. "Other people can become . . . well . . . like an old friend of mine. She . . . she worked as a servant for the Goddess of Love. The one who was originally Love got too old for the job, and my . . . friend . . . she got promoted to being Love." He finished his sentence very quickly, turning away.
Inuyasha's eyes softened a bit, and he gently touched Miroku's shoulder. "Who's 'she,' Miroku? I know there was someone, so why won't you talk about it?"
Miroku sighed heavily, shoving Inuyasha's hand away. "I dunno what you're talkin' about . . . there was no one. I've always been . . . alone."
He straightened up to his full height again, dusting off his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Finish your memoirs, Inuyasha. You're writing YOUR life story, not mine."
~
Inuyasha took Miroku's advice and continued writing for several more hours during the day before finally setting his pen down, stretching. He sighed, yawning as he opened the door to the hallway, the smell of dinner cooking wafting into his senses as he wandered into the main room.
Kagome stood hunched over an old stove, stirring a pot of thick stew. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, lighting up her dark hair, and Inuyasha actually had to stop in the doorway to catch his breath. He cleared his throat, causing Kagome's head to snap up in surprise, before she let out a sigh of relief, smiling kindly.
"Well, good afternoon, Mr. Ikeda," she said softly, straightening up. "How are you feeling today? You were cooped up in that room for an awfully long time."
"F-feeling?" Inuyasha stuttered, blinking.
"Yes . . . didn't Mr. Kikuchi mention last night at dinner that you're dying? That's such a terrible shame . . ."
Inuyasha made a mental note to strangle Miroku the next chance he got. "Uh . . . yeah," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm . . . I'm real sick. I have leukemia. The doctor said I have six months left to live."
"You poor thing," Kagome whispered slowly, her eyes lowered. "My grandfather is dying too . . . he has heart cancer. He doesn't have much longer to live either." She sighed heavily. "I must admit, I'm grateful to have guests. We don't have many guests, so income is low . . . this place is so old, and it's hard to keep up with the mortgage sometimes. I just don't know what I'm going to do."
Inuyasha nodded slowly, unable to think of anything intelligent or comforting to say. He shoved his hands in his pockets so as to stop their nervous fidgeting, never once removing his eyes from her face.
"Miss Kagome," he said slowly, stepping towards her a bit, "you're very beautiful, you know."
Kagome's hand froze halfway to the pot of stew, her wondrous brown eyes widening in shock as she slowly looked up to him, blushing. "Th-thank you, Mr. Ikeda," she stuttered, blinking.
"Please . . . just call me Inuyasha."
~
"Don't you see?" Miroku pressed on, shaking Inuyasha's shoulders so as to prove his point. "You've NEVER taken a risk! You've NEVER done anything FUN or EXCITING with your life! Just DIE, already! It's better than life! Trust me!"
"Miroku," Inuyasha began with a heavy sigh, "if I asked you to take me to the Netherworld, then you wouldn't be the one killing me. I'd be committing suicide, and there would be no murder for you to see through. What would your boss say about that?"
"What is suicide but murder to thyself?" Miroku murmured, looking away. "You're killing yourself - it technically IS a murder. It just wasn't done by me."
Inuyasha rolled his eyes. "You're desperate, aren't you?"
"Yes."
He sighed again, sitting down on the bed. "And for your information, I DO take risks. I just took one this afternoon, in fact."
"Oh? What did you do?" Miroku asked, suddenly curious to see a calmer, more relaxed side of Inuyasha.
"I . . ." he frowned. "I just told Kagome that she was pretty, that's all. Nothing big."
"NOTHING BIG?" Miroku repeated, his jaw dropping. "Inuyasha, that's so - out there! Especially for you. That was a BIG risk. What'd she say?"
"She just said thanks," Inuyasha mumbled, lowering his eyes. "Why would she care, anyway? I'm probably just a wandering low-life to her."
"Maybe so, but what do YOU feel for her, Inuyasha?" Miroku urged, nudging him.
"I don't know . . . I just met her. What more do you want?"
Miroku shook his head and sighed. "It's a waste of time anyway. You're still gonna die - don't think I let you off the hook."
"Yeah, I know," Inuyasha grumbled, folding his arms. "I guess that's why it's pointless for me to be in love with her."
"Did someone say 'love'?" a female voice boomed, echoing through the tiny room. Miroku's eyes widened and he winced, cowering behind Inuyasha, who was too shocked to move.
A great, red light shone through the room, blinding them, sending the papers on the old desk flying. A few moments passed and a shapely figure began to form, appearing through the light before them.
The light ceased and Inuyasha looked up with wide eyes. A tall, young- looking woman with long, dark, curly hair blooming with red ribbons and flowers stood before him, clad in a form-fitting red dress with ruffles at the collar and sleeves. Bright red Converse-heels topped off her ensemble, and in her hands was a red walking stick. Inuyasha finally met her eyes, only to see that a pair of dark sunglasses hid her eyes from view.
"Well, don't just sit there, boy," the young woman ordered, tapping Inuyasha's head with her cane. "You said the word love, and it's my duty to help poor, love-struck fools like yourselves to find happiness . . . or whatever. So who are you?"
"Um . . . Inuyasha Ikeda?"
"Nice to meet you, Inuyasha. So, what's the case?"
"Um," Inuyasha began, "might I ask . . . er . . . who you are?"
"Oh, silly me!" The woman laughed. "Sango Hiraki, A.K.A. Love, at your service, Mr. Ikeda."
