White Dogs: Perversity.
Rating: PG-13. R, to be safe for some parts.
Pairing: Sess/Kag, we get to see something of affection in here. Or would that be desperation?
Song-fic: …. I'd suggest going to yahoo launch and scouting out Rod Stewarts song 'Weak'. You'll notice I've used a snippet it from the lyrics in this chapter somewhere.
Disclaimer: ::rolls eyes upward.:: Oh, that I were the one who had created Inuyasha that I had given life to Sesshoumaru. But alas, I cannot claim anything at all. For I was not the one to do the creating merely the one to envy the creator. Translation: I own ..::checks stock:: two pieces of lint and a monkey. Nothing more. I wonder where the third piece of lint went to?…::we switch scenes to see a piece of lint, obviously the runaway one, having a snog-fest with a dust bunny.:: …!!!::pales:: I didn't want to know that bad!!
Summary: Guilt is such a persistent pain in the arse, Kagome knows only too well. She wants to heal, but is afraid of what must be done when her heart is mended. Hitori discovers new hidden aspects of her and comes to a new degree of …obsession maybe? Or something else?
Genre: Everything left of the middle. But count on some comical relief. I can't write a good, complete uninterrupted angst-drama to save my sorry existence.
A.N.: As I've said before, Inspiration is a fickle bitch (well, Sesshoumaru was thinking it). The last chapter I had a hard time moving it forward, and this chapter won't seem to shut up and leave me alone. Every few minutes, I'd be opening the document again and typing feverishly. Fickle, fickle, fickle. And As I was plotting my plot, I figured this story is going to be a long one. I've never been known to write little short things, really. Some of you may know me as The Author of Burning Roses and it's sequel. So you know exactly what I mean. The minute I finished the last chapter, I started on this one. Did you know I was up till 3:50 A.M. last night typing this? Gah! Ahh, but you're just ecstatic aren't you? While I'm sitting here drooping with fatigue. Poor pitiful little me, My muses victim. Damn.
Era, to all those lovely reviews; Thank you, I love you all. In a purely platonic sense, so please don't get all "Oh God! Run for the freakin Hills!" on me. And I would answer you all in this, but I feel that I would be distracting you all from the story. But hey, if you want me to respond, let me know. I will.
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"I wanna heal, I wanna feel, What I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long
Erase all the pain til' it's gone
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong."
-Linkin Park. Somewhere I belong.
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Perverse: Marked by a disposition to oppose and contradict. Resistance to guidance or discipline. Marked by immorality; deviation from what is good, right or proper.
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Chapter Five: Solitary Confinement .
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Solitude is a strange thing indeed; fickle as a rose. Sometimes it could be painful, inducing aching loneliness in one so powerful they were desperate for anyone, anything to relive it. Misery loves company after all, and solitude was often the sire of misery. It could eat away at you from the inside, setting in from the outside and forming the feeling of walls closing in. Defeating you and tearing away at your mind, destroying any peaceful and hopeful thoughts you may have called to your aid. It could drive you insane, should you loose the way. This was the thorns, the pricking pain of true horror.
And then, there was always the opposite. Solitude was composed of two different sides. Much like the masks of the theater, one always smiling in perpetual joy, the other crying tears that would never cease their flow, Solitude was the very same.
Some sought solitude in the hopes of gaining inner peace that could otherwise not be attained. For them, their was no pain, merely a sense of completion, as thoughts spiraled out of control. This face of solitude was the mother of philosophy. Deep thoughts spilt from great minds. It could be the caring caress of inspiration, or invention. Many wonderful things could be achieved in the solitude. This was the flower, the bloom of true beauty.
One or the other. Either way, you were going to be pricked. Such was the blessing of the Rose. Such was the curse of Solitude.
It had hardly occurred to Kagome to actually think of going home. Whether it was the terrible fear that Inuyasha was there waiting for her, sharp arsenal of mockery and accusations or just the strange unconscious ties that Hitori seemed to have woven around her, it was unclear. She knew she had to go home eventually, then still later on, return to the past to finish her duties. But at the moment, her wound gave her the excuse she sought to forget.
Yet, as hard as she tried the guilt would not be forgotten, would not be passed to the back of her mind.
Kagome, settled on her side in a curled position, one hand tucked under her chin, the other hanging limply over the bed's edge, bit her lip hard to keep in sobs. Even so, an occasional strangled cry escaped the prison of her lips. Her vision was dark, for her eyes were drawn shut. So tight shut were they, that her lashes –damp as they were and sparkling with crystal shards of salt liquid- tickled her skin.
What reason did she have to be guilty? She'd betrayed no one, for she was going to return. He didn't love her anyways, and since he no longer had her there to be a distraction to him he could get on with his little trysts with the claymation without having to be secretive about it. He had what he wanted.
While she did not, she would have to deal with it. There were other fish in the sea right? Pity, Kagome never really liked fish. She snorted agitated, though it came out more of a pathetic gurgle then anything else. Despite her reasoning, she was still being strangled by guilt.
She would go back. There was nothing that was going to stop her from finishing her duties. It was just that she needed healing time. In more ways then one, she thought sardonically, the hand the had previously found draping off the bed great hang time coming up to place a feather light touch over her bandage wrapped wound, then floating up and tracing the area over her heart.
Her eyes slid open, glistening like gems from the tears they'd recently bathed in.
She would go back. She would. Just when … when she was ready. When her heart didn't spasm in pain at the thought of him. When it only ached with the pain of a bruise and not the spiking agony of a broken heart.
Till then, she would have to focus completely on healing, on bettering herself, her mind and body. When the hole in her flesh was closed, leaving only puckered, tender flesh as a testament of its existence she would do… something to make herself stronger. She didn't know what that something was exactly, but it would take more the martial arts to defeat a foe of Naraku's caliber.
Kagome sighed, but this time, it did not echo in the sun warmed room as it had in the shrine. For now, sadness would serve little purpose and merely bend her back under its crippling weight. It was fine to mourn and grieve over a broken heart, but all things broken could mend, could they not? Given time, a broken bone would heal. All it needed was to be properly set and taken care of. A barren garden could be cultivated and cared for, slowly urged to life once more with only the right touch.
A broken heart… a betrayed one, could be healed with time and patience and with the help of someone stronger then herself. Someone who'd been through this kind of agony before and knew the way. Someone who could be her guide.
With that last, somewhat optimistic thought, Kagome's eyes fluttered shut again, "Weak as I am, no tears for you. I'm nobody's fool. Weak as I am…" Her voice petered off as sleep pulled her into deep bliss.
Standing outside the door, Sesshoumaru arched a delicate brow having heard her words. He'd been about to go in there and tell her to stop her blubbering, but sleep had obviously beaten him to the punch. Not to mention the words she'd whispered had a strange effect on him. His eyes narrowed; if memory served correctly… She'd been very loyal to Inuyasha, and from her allusion to a broken heart (at least, he suspected it was broken; what other ailment could be destroying her from the inside out?) that loyalty didn't come from the spring of friendship. Putting a few more pieces into the puzzle such as Inuyasha's romps in the woods and late night meetings with the living corpse…..Ah ha! The foolish girl had loved his moronic half sibling and was now suffering from his blatant choosing of death over the love she so generously offered him. And, obviously this had been reason enough for her to turn her back on him and walk away. Which was where the guilt came in. Once again, Sesshoumaru found himself amazed at his half brother's idiocy.
Frowning, he turned on his heel and skitted to the door down the hall, opening it and into the sanctuary that was his studio. The white door closed behind him with a push of mental persuasion.
The studio was in all effects quite large. Bigger then his own room which was rather huge in itself, it housed everything of any value to him. One wall was composed entirely of shelves that held up tomes and scrolls and the occasional book such as William Shakespeare (who he'd had the pleasure of meeting once, brilliant man) and many other play writes of great stature. There were books containing wisdom of the ages, scrolls holding ancient secrets (every one hundred and fifty years or so, he transcribed new copies of them in order to preserve their readability), tomes containing forbidden spells and then there were the random collections of legends and myths from every time. This small library was a small cry from his vast library he'd possessed ages upon ages ago, but it would do till he finished his business in the city and returned to his more peaceful home in the country where the rest of his library waited.
Upon another wall, a direct contrast to the scholar's dream that resided beside it, was a bit of his armory. Every honorable weapon man had given birth to, a good portion of which rested against the crimson cloth that had been placed over the wall to further bring out the deadly beauty of each blade or other wise, the blood red hue causing the pristine and polished metal to gleam and glow with frozen elegance.
Sesshoumaru's eyes appraised his collection, stroking over every curved blade or wicked point in morbid pleasure before finally coming to rest on his most prized of possessions.
Nicked and dull, a fry cry form the pristine blades that surrounded them, the twin fangs had their own majesty that called for the viewer not to underestimate their power. Tensaiga, the sword of Life and Healing, a very perversion to its Katana nature. A sword was meant for killing. And beside it, deadly power dripping from it in waves, Tetsusaiga, a fang that could slaughter thousands in one fell sweep yet created for the soul purpose of protection.
The fangs of his father, the bastard.
Sesshoumaru grunted, moving his gaze from the twin katana's, landing on the one blade that reeked of malignant blood thirst and corruptive power. A blade that only he'd been able to master, since it's mindless killing wants were below him and he had a will that would not bend to a sword with lustful urges. Toujikin was in no way the beautiful weapons he collected, rather a dangerous and cruel weapon that was very true to its nature. It killed, and it enjoyed to be bathed in blood.
And he could sense its want for Kagome's blood. The greedy blade thirsted for the pure crimson liquid, despite the fact that she could very well destroy it. The taiyoukai growled and blocked the katana's slavering and urgings.
Petty mind games. Though, he thought keeping his full attention on the blade and it's tainted glow, Toujikin has been unusually active lately. Come to think of it, it had risen from it's dormant state completely now. The only thing that kept the darkness of the blade in tight reign was the Sword of Life that rested beside it.
The only way for it to awaken would be if he'd done it himself.
He had not. His eyes narrowed, possible reasons for the swords reactivation flying through his agile mind. Perhaps it was the miko… and the sword was acting in its defense. Her powers must be attempting to purify it. Probably why it desperately wanted to spill her blood.
Without his immediate notice, he found himself marveling at the girl's power. She wasn't even aware of it. Also, if he was correct, her power seemed to be growing. Or, slowly awakening from whatever slumber it had been in and what he'd seen of it before, this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. A shiver of something akin to anticipation filtered through his veins.
Turning away from the sword knowing it could do nothing so long as he did not wish it, he found his eyes glued to the large blank canvas prepped to be the newest portal to another world.
He stepped up to it, crossing his arms over his chest, mulling over what magic he would weave into the now blank canvas using his paintbrushes and oil mediums.
Unbidden the image of Kagome sitting upon the bed, the very picture of tainted purity came to the fore of his mind. Yes, it would do perfectly. A little warping of reality here and there and it would be a wonderful masterpiece.
Looking over his shoulder at the innocuous sketchbook he'd slammed down on the desk in a small tizzy some minutes ago. A tizzy because the girl still didn't fully trust him. Without that trust he'd never be able to understand her and get rid of his attachment to her. She'd plagued him for decades and by god, now that he had her in his reach he wasn't about to let her go till he knew why he was so obsessed with her.
Without that trust, he'd only see a half of her, as the other half would be hidden away. If he had her full trust, then she'd wear no masks around him and he could observe and come to understand.
Picking up a charcoal pencil of sorts, he moved to the sketchbook and flipped it to the pages that he'd filled with sketches of her. Her expressions, her shock and sickened wonder as she stared at the abyss of her blood against the pale pigment of her flesh. The study of light as it fell around her form and the way his shirt on her small frame made her already delicate appearance turn to the fragility of spun sugar, the marvelous play of emotions she seemed to radiate and the nest of snow blankets twisted about her.
After a thorough examination, he returned to the canvas, setting the lackluster tip of the charcoal to the white surface and moved it in quick, gentle jerks.
Slowly her form was captured forever in that one moment of time. A memory laid to canvas.
It was funny, he mused as he drew refining the sweeps of charcoal and adding a simple amount of shading that would serve as the blue print before paint would be applied. How such a fragile form housed such a strong soul and heart. Even more amusing was the power that she carried deep inside her. Fragile, but not. Like the silken web of a spider.
For every dream there is a reoccurring nightmare. Kagome's sleep was surprisingly void of any imagery what so ever, not even memories playing behind her lids. In her slumber, the magick she'd been born with stirred and began its duties to mend her wound. Very slowly, torn muscle was tightened and knit together, magical threads encouraging healing as the layers of skin were pulled nano-millimeter by nano-millimeter closer together. It was a tedious task, for no healing is ever achieved within moments.
The magick sought out infectious germs and other such foreign matter, annihilating it with little mercy. It sped the three types of blood cells reproduction, the plasma jumping into a frenzy, the red cells accelerating their out put and the white cells moving swifter in their duties.
Her heart rate slowed, the steady beats growing stronger but no less louder.
Sleep drugged mind registered nothing of what the magick was doing. Slumbering olfactory senses did not notice the mint scent dancing with particles of air, and closed eyes saw not the delicate, miniscule, pulsating lightning bolts frizz the air before flashing from existence.
An hour or so later however, Sesshoumaru noticed the static friction in the air and froze in his movements, nostrils flaring to detect any wayward scent. The mint flavored air tickled his senses, and while it was not entirely unpleasant, it was not the natural scent of his home. He blinked, dazed by the intoxicating aroma, pushing it's tendrils from closing in on his mind and realized that it was originating from the room that held Kagome.
More intrigued then alarmed, he set down the charcoal and left his studio. The closer he got to the bedroom , the thicker the air became with the heady scent of mint and morning dew. The back of his neck prickled as small hairs stood at end, the static in the room as he stepped over the threshold that strong.
It was much like standing on an electrically charged field after a lightening storm, though mint replaced ozone in this case. And from the looks of it, the storm was still raging. On a near microscopic level of course.
Tiny sparks flitted around the lump on the bed, and Sesshoumaru didn't dare approach her with the scent of magick heavy in the room. Even being this close was dangerous to him; despite his 'human' body he was still very much youkai and that magick had the potential to purify him right out of existence. Subtly, Kagome's true was laced through the mint, still there but not quite.
Ever so slowly, the minted scent dissipated, the sparks fizzing then dying completely. Morning dew and water-lilies replaced the heady aroma, though they were no less mind teasing. Though the short hairs at the back of his neck as well as the ones on him arms were still at attention, he could feel the static in the room lessen then disappear completely. Still, his senses were screaming for him to be wary. The physical traces may have vanished, but that did not mean that they were totally gone. He wasn't stupid. And he wasn't about to have his youki be purified, thank you kindly. So, he crossed his arms back over his chest willing her to wake up as he was certain that her powers would fall back into dormancy and he'd be in no relative danger of purification when she was fully conscious.
He was a taiyoukai, and could no doubt hold off the touch of her purification but it would nonetheless hurt like a bloody bitch and he was not in anyway masochistic. Better safe then singed, he figured.
When the girl showed no signs of life, and her powers showed no signs of attacking him, he leaned down and touched the pale flesh of her cheek, barely brushing his knuckles over the velvet flesh, then nearly leapt from his skin when he was shocked by a little bolt of electricity far stronger then a static buzz.
Well, if that little display of magick was what he thought it was, then he'd have to see if she could sit up without any pain. Her necromancy had most likely been mending her flesh, it was a tendancy of any creature of power. When wounded, their powers focused on the healing process. Some creatures, like himself, had the level of control where they could either focus only on healing, or only focusing enough power to the area that had been injured to keep it from bleeding while the rest of the power was used for something else. Such as protection. And that was why he'd been zapped like he had.
Typically, only the creatures with higher a mentality could do this trick, which was probably why all the lesser youkai had died out decades ago. Poor mindless brutes that they were.
Sesshoumaru shook himself from the long trail of nostalgia and turned to leave the room. Casting one last glace at the powerful little thing on the bed, blissful in her sleep he slid out the door intent on returning to his work. Pity, it would have been lovely to stick around and see what happens next. He glanced down at the very hand that had been zapped and wasn't at all amused to see that it had turned pink.
He vowed then that he would not set foot inside that room unless she called for him, then wondered how long he would have to wait. Several new epitaphs and highly flammable wordings were added to the Book of Bad.
End chapter.
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Another note from your brilliant author1 Hey now, don't think all those bad thought at once! And about me no less! For shame… Anywhoozels, behold the power of my smart ness! A plot twist, Toujikin's getting restless but not for the reason you think. Muahahahha! But I'm not going to tell you why, you're the reader, it's your duty to be held at the edge of your seat and trying to figure out all these random clues that are so not easy to detect. But, I know someone may catch on, though I've been credited for being as confusing as hell in a hand basket and high on speed. If someone can guess why Toujikin is starting to act up then I'll do a one shot for them or something. An Inuyasha one-shot centering around whatever pairing you (should you guess correctly, or at least as close to it as possible) want. Maybe. Don't know. Popcorn anyone? ::scarfs out::