I'm spacing out the updates, but trying not to space them out too much. I just got the urge to write the next chapter, and now, here it is! Sango and Miroku's meeting with each other is a crucial part of the story, because as we all know, no one starts out as friends. Judging by this chapter, I'm going against my own genre standards of this fic - much of this is way too humorous to be considered angsty, or anything on that level.
Zanisha: Thank you very, very much! I'm very happy that I've gained a loyal reader such as you, and hope you enjoy the next chapter just as thoroughly.
Aamalie: Here's your update! ;D Glad you like the mysterious hint - angst just isn't good without it.
Morelen: Here ya go!
Lily Thorne: Ah! Thanks, that's a very flattering comment. At first, I was hesitant that people would shun my writing style, but I'm happy it's become the exact opposite!
BaByXbOoX143: Yeah, I'm planning on having him question Sango about it in the near future. That Miroku just has this air about him, and you can tell he'd help her out, minus the fact that she's a woman. But anywho, glad you found some happiness in reading it!
DRAKE220: Thick skull, with the patience and will to match. XD;
Kiaka: Your wish is my command!
Hotaru: Thank you! I hope this appeases your hunger. :D
Without further ado, chapter two. Woo. That was, like, a series of three rhymes. Imma stop now.)
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Chapter two; Deviating
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The smell of miso enticed her senses, and she stirred in her sleep, mentally reaching for the delicious scent. It took her by surprise when she rolled and felt the crispness of blankets on her form, and she jolted upwards, nearly hitting her head on the wooden bar that stuck out from the wall beside her. Examining her surroundings, Sango twirled her head in ten different directions, trying to place where, exactly, she was. As her hand grabbed at the soft mattress underneath, she noticed, for the first time that morning, that she wasn't dreaming anymore.
'Am I home again? Everything feels so right, but...'
At that moment, her head was cloudy, but she could process the slickness of sweat layered on her body. What intruiged her, though, was the fact that she could feel such details. Peeking under the covers she had found herself waking up in, Sango saw, visibly, the curves and shape of her body.
'Somehow, I doubt I'd wind up home, naked.'
Eyes widening and cheeks flushed, Sango scrambled to clothe herself with the sheets as much as possible, as the sliding door creaked open. "Good morning," a sunny voice intruded, "are you awake, ma'am? I've gotten some soup prepared, and-"
Miroku got no further, and stopped his sentence when a pillow was hurled at the door. "You," Sango's tone grew venemous, "are you the one that undressed me! Get out of my house! Get out!"
Inside of the room, Miroku tried frivolously to calm down the angered woman that he actually took in. "Please, miss, get a hold of yourself! This isn't your home, I'm afraid; I've lived here for a couple of days, but nonetheless, you do not live here! If you may allow me to explain myself, then I promise, everything will make sense..." Looking up in panic, he was glad to see that Sango's fury had subsided, as she was now in a fit of embarrassment for being stark nude. "I don't have much, but if you don't mind wearing a man's clothing, then I can get you something from my room-"
"I'm rather capable of dressing into my own clothes. Hand them over," she glowered, "and then we'll talk."
Miroku had a mix of frustration and fear on his face, as he was a little bit afraid to make it obvious that he was getting tired of the lack of gratitude coming from this girl. "I regret to inform you that the clothes I found you in are currently in the wash. Shame; they were filthy and bloody, but when I removed them, I couldn't point out where any of your wounds could be on your body..." He sensed her face scrunch, in faint disapproval of being located with such blatant proof that she had gotten involved in murder, and he managed to get in a couple of questions before she realized the inevitable.
"If you don't mind me asking, how did your shirt get so bloody in the first place? I assumed you had injured yourself, but since that's not the case, where did it all come from?" Miroku eyed Sango's face, and his sight trailed down to the form beneath the blankets, expecting them to be bloodied too. She saw his line of vision, and turned her head to the side, murmering quietly for his ears only. "After I realized there was no one to tell, I gave up on it... You shouldn't put a bother on yourself by taking care of me." She watched his hand stir the cup of soup like a coax, and had the urge to lick her dry lips, but suppressed that easily enough.
"I'm sorry," he complied, "I know that it's not fair of me to ask such personal questions, but where are you from? Do you have a family that's worried about you, or are you alone? If that's it, then we'll work out something, but I don't want to keep your parents in a tiff about where you are right now." Miroku saw a flash of anger sprint across her eyes, and instantly regretted his question, but felt better when she sighed. "They don't care, I'm sure." 'And that's not a lie; those poor, dead fools...'
He rubbed his neck in earnest, setting the bowl of food on the stool next to the bed. "Well, then I guess that's fine. You can get yourself cleaned up, and when the time comes, I'll walk you back to your home, and-"
Then it came. "Wait a minute; you felt around my body for wounds!"
In the span of ten seconds, the room that the two were inside of broke out into chaos, and the spot where Miroku once sat looking concerned at Sango had been impaled with the large wooden beam that had been above her. She still laid upwards, glued to the mattress, but her riled expression was nearly visible from his outdoor stance. "W-wait! It was all for your benefit, I swear! I just wanted to make sure you weren't harmed, and that's all!"
Sango made a disgusted sound from her chamber. "Like hell, you did! If I find out that you did anything to me, then mark my words..." For some reason, her temper grew bleak when Miroku emerged from the corridor again, looking almost stern with her. Sango was unsure of what to do when he placed his arm out to her; take it, or bite it?
"Can't you be reasonable," he said, without a trace of quiver, "and trust me on this one? We're new aquaintances, I know, but miss! Would I molest a girl who was unconscious and in a state of possible chaos? I would never!" He posed an honorable bow; a gesture that she was quite flattered to receive, even in the given circumstances. "Is knowing your name going to be a plague?" Miroku flashed her a bright smile, and her head, once again, turned away to face the wall. "Sango..."
"Sango...?"
Her heart made a sickening lurch in her throat. What was she supposed to say, now? "I... Forgive me, I can't recall my family name." She felt ashamed, being put on the spot like that. Who was he to think he had special rights to her personal life? The nerve!
"You don't remember? That's a pity..." Miroku breathed in exasperation, suddenly placing a hand on her shoulder. For a fraction of time, Sango saw in his eyes every endearing quality that her father had possessed; care, sympathy, charity... She bowed her head down in silence, allowing him to get a few words in. "Regardless, here," he took the miso in his hands, "get some food in your body. I imagine it must have been a fair while since you've last eaten. If you need anything, I'll be in the other room, straightening up some business papers. Don't hesitate, alright?" The wink he shot her then made her regret her earlier choice of words. 'I shouldn't have snapped...' It was easy to think to herself, but Sango couldn't manage to say sorry to a stranger just yet.
Miroku left the room, and she rolled over to her side, surprised when she felt the small carress of petals touch her skin underneath the blankets.
Digging her hand under, she brought her palm up to her face, softening her eyes at the sight of her lavender iris, still in fair condition. 'He must have found it in my clothing, but he didn't throw it away... Why?' Things were beginning to attract her sense of wonderment, as she wasn't used to this form of treatment. 'I'm sure he had nothing to gain by finding me... I shouldn't even be here; Hiroshima isn't my damn home anymore.'
Sango forced herself out of the bed, throwing on the vestments of what appeared to be the under-clothing of a business suit. Her foot tangled itself in a pair of boxers on the floor, and she made a comical noise. "He wants me to put those on? This is ridiculous..." She wrinkled her nose and complied, afterwards feeling as though she were clad in parachute pants. Sango found her way to the mirror, and when she took a glimpse at herself, she did something she hadn't done in a very, very long time.
Her hearty laugh filled the air as she examined herself, making macho poses in front of the vanity. If she wasn't so busy giggling at herself, she would have picked up the distinct sounds of footsteps nearing the end of the hall, and the shuffle of feet hastily as they tried to run away before laughter escaped them, too. Sango found that her laugh could be infectious... She didn't do it often enough, that much was clear; but when she did, people seemed to stop what they were doing and smile in spite of themselves. She couldn't call herself a happy girl, but looking at herself in a man's dress shirt gave her that jolt of happiness that she had been missing for a long period of time in her life.
She sighed with a mix of melancholia andjoy as she threw herself on the bed again, ruffling her own hair to give it that manlier tone. She continued to snicker under her breath, even if she couldn't catch sight of her appearance just then. The iris at her side gave off an air of cheeriness, too - quite contrasting of its pale color. Sango didn't know why, but being in such a familiar place made her feel alive again...
Craning her neck upwards, she made a swipe for the cup of soup on the desk near her, and slurped it loudly. After the first taste, she was drawn in; life had taught her that men were terrible at cooking, but this stuff tasted heavenly. She greedily sipped more and more from the tiny bowl, sinking to her knees and enjoying the fresh smell and the warm flow of broth down in her mouth. Luxuries like hot food and boiled meat had been lost from her diet since a while back, and she welcomed the almost foreign food with open arms.
"What am I doing here," she said between slurps, "in such a place?" Taking time to look around, Sango noted the peeling of wallpaper, and the grimy smell of mildew. "Everything about it reminds me of where I belong, but it's not right... Who is this guy?" Pictures of Miroku were scattered on the drawers and dressers around the room, all appearing to be company photos. She drew her legs up to her chest, and sprung from the mattress again, nearing a particular photograph that sparked her interest. Holding it in her hand, she eyed the focal point of it, which happened to be the man himself - the photograph resembled something out of a black and white movie that would have a bad-boy as the main hero. His pose included his left leg bent and pushed against a wall, while his other leg dangled off the side of the brick collumn he sat atop of. His body was facing the wall ahead, but his head was turned towards the camera, and his jacket was thrown over his shoulder dramatically. Sango was convinced that he and the caretaker currently with her were the same, but... Their expressions seemed much different. Her rescuer was a cheery young man with a bright personality; this man gave off a cold and unfeeling attitude to those who looked at him the wrong way. At the corner of the picture was a scribbled signature, but she could make out the figures easily enough. "Mi-ro-ku, eh?"
Her own head turned to the side and towards the mirror again, and seeing herself holding an image in one hand, soup in the other, and wearing men's clothing made her laugh even harder than before. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt...
Miroku's head perked up from his tea at hearing her laugh. He smiled to himself proudly, "She can be a lively one when she wants to, it seems." Oddly, he enjoyed hearing that sound come from the room - he was beginning to wonder if he saved a depressive maniac. Taking another drink of his beverage, he flipped open the newspaper, skimming through articles to try and find something of interest to him.
"Oh? That's quite the familiar face," he chimed, seeing an artist's depiction of the drunkard he had had a small quarrel with earlier. Apparently, as the article told, he was convicted of not only multiple pedestrian maulings, but also persistent attempts at thievary, some of which he succeeded at. "Poor guy; I had hoped that small amount of money would have lasted a little longer than that," he shook his head in shame, flipping to the next page to continue the article. From what Miroku read, it seemed that the drunkard had been in agruff statedue to the murder of his own brother from the night before. 'Now that's different... I recognize this man, too...' Miroku was self-conscious, eyeing another drawing, but this time of the corpse he had encountered the other day. So the two were related? Following the article closely, it had no report of how the man was killed. All it simply stated was, 'his body was found, mangled and bloodied, in the alley way near the noodle mart. No convictions have been made, as cause of death still remains a mystery.'
"Cops," he grumbled, "sometimes I believe they forget their duties."
His mood lightened when Sango stumbled out of the room, wiping her mouth in exhaust and nearly tripping over herself. He could understand why, though - while his garments weren't nearly long enough for her tofall over from, he was sure she wasn't used to wearing boxers. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, and set the empty cup that once held a sumptuous miso onto the counter. "Thank you; I'm grateful for the food." She mustered a weak smile, which Miroku found a little strange, judging from the sounds of merriment that were errupting from behind the door moments ago.
"No trouble at all. Do you want anything else? Perhaps just a moment to talk with each other?" Sango could feel the sincerity of his smile from across the table that she now sat at, and blushed demurely at the suggestion. From the pocket of his business shirt that was adorned over the girl's figure, he spotted the iris he had confiscated late last night. "Is that flower precious to you, Sango?"
The small of her back tingled at his husky voice attached to her name, and she cupped her hand over the protruding petals. "It is... And I'm thankful that you didn't damage it." She seemed to focus her voice more on the flower itself than on Miroku; he began to wonder who she was speaking to. "I figured I should make sure it was in proper care, since I wouldn't want to take a chance. What would you have done if I had crumpled it up badly?" She whipped her head back, breathing in and rolling her eyes around the kitchen, before answering.
"I'd probably cry, and then kill you. Mostly cry, though." Sango said it with such casualty that he was genuinely afraid of what he just heard. "Really, now? Must be a very important heirloom, I presume. Why do you carry it?" Miroku saw her expression grow solemn, and he learned then that keeping his mouth shut would have been far wiser. "You... You ask a lot of questions," Sango made a gesture showing her uncomfort of the subject, and she tried to turn herself in the small wooden chair, but ended up bringing her legs up to the seat and clutching them shyly. "Miroku," she practically squeaked out the name, and the young man across from her leaned his head to the side.
"You know my name, do you? Goodness, I had no idea that I'd earned such an occupation... And that it reached such a lovely woman, too!" She could see right through the thick flattery, and chose not to laugh, though she did flash him a stale grin. He chuckled of his own accord, and even though she found his behavior childish, Sango eventually giggled under her breath. She was shocked with herself, mostly, for lightening up after such an incident - normally, she would break down if the given circumstances were present, but now...
'All that's on my mind right now is to enjoy this small bit of happiness, even if it only lasts a little while longer...'
Her eyes shot open all at once, as she caught sight of the horrid newspaper resting under his elbows. Miroku must have caught the look of terror on her face, because he became worried in an instant. "Sango? What happened; what's wrong?" He was close to making a move to comfort her if she were to jump out of her chair, but she shook her head furiously, getting the panic out of her mind. "I'm alright," she tried to reassure him, "I just thought of something that I forgot." If her tone wasn't quiet and shaky, he might have had an easier time believing her.
"It's about this article, isn't it?" Sango's blood began to pump, and she could already taste the bile in her throat. Making adrastic curl of her spine,she held her stomach tightly, downcasting her face. "Some scary stuff, isn't it? I didn't think murders happened daily in Hiroshima, but that's the case here..." He flicked at the newspaper with a melancholic entertainment, relieving the girl of her troubles for the time being. "I'm curious, though - how did you come about my name?"
She quirked her head to the side, then remembered the source of such information, and answered grimly, "From a photograph." Bashfully, Sango reached inside the business shirt, feeling embarrassed that she had the audacity to take it out of it's frame and put it in her clothing. Fumbling around until she grasped the thin paper, she retrieved it with care, and placed it on the table. "Ah," he said with interest, "you like this one, huh? What would you say if I told you that was a painting?"
Her awe-struck expression made him grin in response, and he continued on. "Well, you see, back in highschool - yes, it was that long ago - I had a friend who was great with his imagination in artistry, but couldn't make realistic works for the life of him. So, I set him to a test to prove that he was a true artist, and made a bet with him; if he could paint me in a pose, realistically, andwithout me modeling it for him, then I'd pay for his scholarship to an art university." Sango made a pleading gesture for him to continue, and after a sip of tea, he agreed. "It took him three nights to do it, but he showed up at my apartment doorstep looking gleeful as ever, and flashed me the painting he'd come up with. It was incredibly realistic, as you can see, but the little rat let me off the hook on the scholarship bet. He told me that with his new-found talent, thanks to me, that he'd be able to sell his art for prices exceeding anything I could possibly pay him at the time."
Looking up from his cup, he was intruiged to find her looking at the picture even closer, trying to spot any obvious faults that could give away its reality. "Well, the colors are surreal... But he did a good job. This couldn't have been that log ago; in this, you look as though it was painted just yesterday!" He let the compliment slip right to his pride, and basked in his youth. Sango saw his composure and smiled at nothing at all, though from the way she stared at the portrait in her hands, that smile could have been mistaken as endearment towards the person on the paper.
"You're," she was hesitant at first, but gave in naturally, "different from most people, you know that?They usually pay me no mind, much less say a word to me. Why are you treating me like this?" She felt better when it was out of her system, but all the while, that sad smile remained on her face.
Miroku was puzzled, and inquired of her, "Why wouldn't I? You're not one I would imagine to be ignored... Besides, you're not exactly ordinary, yourself." Winking to confirm that what he said was a good thing, Sango bowed her head in respect. Being around someone who made her feel like she was part of a family again, or that she had a sibling, or a person who cared, or anything...
"It's good to meet a different person once in a while, isn't it?" He commented, and Sango's eyes became misty.
'He's unique, and I'm so very happy for it...'
People stray far away from hope;
Being a seperate person becomes their new goal,
For they only want you to feel welcomed in death.