A Day in the Life of Naraku
By Dranxis
Chapter 6: Cooking with Kikyo
"So, this is your kitchen, huh?" remarked Kikyo in a distasteful tone. Her dark eyes swept across the dusty floorboards, forgotten cobwebs, and discolored stains along the walls. She pinched her nose at the smell of mustard.
"Why, yes it is. What do you think of it?" inquired Naraku lightly, as he rummaged in the cupboards for supplies. Kikyo ran a hand through her hair.
"It's rather… messy, don't you think? After all, one must prepare cookeries in a sanitary environment," she intoned stiffly. The priestess gazed fruitlessly about. "Would you happen to have a broom? I'd like to at least sweep a bit before we begin. Wouldn't want to get dust in the pancakes."
Naraku frowned at this slight to his management of cleanliness. Nevertheless, he obediently cast about for a broom, withdrawing one from a utility closet near the back. "Of course, Kikyo. I can't possibly imagine cooking under any other conditions." Handing her the broom, he returned to his rummaging in the cupboards.
Kikyo eyed the broom dourly: its bristles stuck out at odd angles, as though someone had tried shoving it into tiny crannies and corners while cleaning. Wordlessly she cast her eyes down and swept the floorboards, gathering dust into little piles along the wall. But as she swept, it seemed to get more dusty, not less…
"Naraku, how old is this broom?" she demanded suddenly over the silence. Naraku paused in his scuffling, turned around.
"How should I know? It's not my broom, for heaven's sake. It's the cleaning lady's, the one who used to serve the master who owned this castle before me."
"Well, it's packed with lint and dust," returned Kikyo frustratedly. She swept the ground, dragging out a long ribbon of gray dirt. Vainly she tried to seep the dust into piles, but the particles caught on the bristles. She shook the broom, causing a little rain of lint, dried leaves, and dead spiders to drift down. Twitching, she cast the broom aside, glaring at the floor that was dirtier than before.
"Never mind sweeping. Let's just get started."
"Good. The sight of you sweeping is… odd," cut in Naraku. "You might as well put on an apron with the words "Piyo Piyo" and call yourself Kyoko."
"Just give me an apron, I don't need your references right now," snapped Kikyo, stomping up to him. "Just what are you trying to find in there, anyway?" She glanced over his shoulder.
"Ingredients for the pancakes, of course," answered Naraku in an 'isn't-it-obvious' tone. "So far, I'm afraid I've only managed to find yams, cous-cous, marmalade, rice crispies, canned mushroom soup…" Kikyo stared at him.
"Naraku, we won't need any of that stuff for pancakes. Just some eggs, flour, milk butter…" Naraku stared back at her with an unbelieving expression. Kikyo sighed, pushing him out of the way. "Look, you go fetch a pair of aprons, I'll set out the ingredients." Obediently Naraku turned away, with a mutter of "Yes, Lady Priestess."
"Please, address me as "ma'am." I so sick of people calling me that. Now that I'm dead, I wish they'd just forget that awful priestess business," she declared, partially to herself. Reaching back into the cupboard, she brought out a sack of flour and some baking powder. She turned away to a small refrigerator against the wall, and found two eggs, some butter, and a cup of milk. With a sweep of one red-clad foot she shut the door and set out the ingredients in a nice little row. As she withdrew a skillet and dusted off the stove, Naraku returned with two aprons.
"Here, I've got aprons. Would you like this one?" He displayed a large, pinkish apron with the words, "Kiss the Cook." Kikyo grimaced, wondering what he could possibly be implying by offering that one.
"That's okay. I'll just… take the other one." With a curious expression, Naraku handed her the other apron. Large stains were splattered over it: the same 'could-be-soup, or could-be-blood' color as those on the wall. Trying to hide her immense displeasure, Kikyo silently tied the apron at her back. As Naraku adjusted his own apron, she sauntered up to the stove.
"Alright. Let's get started. First, before putting anything on the stove, we need to mix the ingredients." Kikyo placed a bowl alongside the eggs with a clatter. "You can crack an egg, can't you, Naraku?"
Naraku gazed at the two eggs like some unfamiliar enemy. At length he picked on up by the tips of his fingers.
"But… won't I get yolk on my hands?"
"Not if you do it the right way." Kikyo picked up the other egg, and tapped it on the edge of the bowl. With a quick, fluid gesture she split the egg, dropping its contents neatly into the bowl. She discarded the shell, then turned to look at Naraku expectantly. "Now you try."
With a deeply concentrated look, Naraku glanced from the bowl to the egg. Then, he sidled up, and slammed it on the bowl. It crccciiiikled, then splattered over his hand. Almost none of the egg got in the bowl. Kikyo sighed, taking out another egg.
"It's okay. You just used too much force. Try again."
This time, Naraku tapped the egg so lightly, he seemed to poke the bowl with it. After several minutes of tapping, Kikyo lost her patience and snatched it away.
"Whatever. We'll go over egg-cracking later. Let's just get to the jist of the lesson." As Naraku watched in wonder, she split the egg into the bowl, and took out an eggbeater. Naraku stared at this newfound contraption as though he was unaware he even had it.
"Okay, you mix in the other ingredients. I'll beat them until they're light and fluffy, as the recipe says."
Naraku wordlessly poured the flour, baking powder, milk, and sugar into the bowl. Kikyo revved up the eggbeater, beating the mixture until little foamy flecks of it danced into their faces.
"Can… can I try?" whispered Naraku with wonder, as the shiny silver eggbeaters mashed the mixture. Shrugging a shoulder, Kikyo passed it to him. Smiling like a monkey, Naraku adjusted the output on the eggbeater, until it vibrated with power in his hands. He brought it down into the batter. Kikyo's eyes widened as the whirring eggbeaters thrashed the mixture, sending it up with a splatter.
"That's enough," she snapped, grabbing it away. She glowered down at the white paste splashed across her apron. Naraku gazed after the eggbeater wistfully as she stowed it away. "I think the batter's 'light and fluffy' enough by now. Naraku, make yourself useful and grease the skillet." She flicked the stove on.
Tossing his hair over his shoulder, Naraku frowned and sprayed the skillet with a can of Pam. He set it on the stove, watching moodily as the grease sizzled on its surface.
"Kikyo… Do pancakes come in any other flavors?" he drawled, his eyes slinking toward her. Kikyo blinked at the sudden menacing tone of his voice.
"Well, of course… There's blueberry pancakes, chocolate-chip pancakes… Some people make them into little animal shapes," she went on, eying him carefully. "But in my opinion, the best pancake is just a plain ol' buttermilk one."
"…I see," returned Naraku, his eyes resettling on the skillet. "You know, I really dislike pancakes, in all of their forms."
"Did you ever mention why?" Kikyo prepared a second skillet, setting it alongside Naraku's. She poured some of the batter into her skillet, leaving the rest of Naraku. The half-demon observed the trickling white batter as it hit his skillet with a skisss.
"It's just that… My dear old mother always made them for breakfast. She would make mountains of pancakes, mountains not even the most intrepid of explorers could scale, and serve them on my plate. And then, that woman would chuckle, and say, 'Oh Naku-chan,' you'd better eat them all before school, or you won't grow big and strong.' And in vain, I would tell her that I didn't want to be big and strong, I just wanted to eat some breakfast in moderation and leave. But no, that crazy old hag would make me eat EVERY LAST PANCAKE. I'd eat and eat and eat, and the pile would never grow smaller. And then, when I was full, she would grin, and take a fork, and force-feed me the rest. Every single morning. It was… just horrific…"
Kikyo listened to this tale with large, bewildered eyes. When Naraku made it evident that he had finished his story, Kikyo remarked, in a strange voice:
"Umm…. Naraku… You never had a mother. You were spawned from the lustful desires of a wounded bandit, and were born of a conglomeration of vile demons. Your existence is unnatural, your creation a crime against nature--."
Stirring his batter, Naraku was turned away from her. After some time. Kikyo noticed that his shoulders were shaking. My God… is he crying?
"You don't have to make it sound so bad," Naraku growled, his voice wrought with anguish. Kikyo stared down at her griddle.
"….Erm, sorry, I guess."
The uncomfortable silence between them was filled with the quiet hiss of the batter in the pan. For several minutes they watched over their respective skillets. At length, Kikyo observed that her pancake was beginning to puff around the edges.
"Alright, Naraku. It's coming time for us to flip the pancakes."
"Flip?" Naraku rounded on her with panic in his eyes. "We're going to flip them?" He stared fearfully at the whitish disc of batter in his pan. Kikyo nodded.
"Of course. C'mon, you don't have to have a spazz attack, Naraku. Flipping is the most essential step to making a pancake. Here, it's not so hard." She slid her spatula underneath the browning batter, and with a flick of the wrist she flipped it in the air. It landed perfectly in the center of the pan. "It's all in the wrist, really."
"Oh… Is that so?" murmured Naraku, glaring at his own pancake with a challenging eye. He took a deep breath, and plunged his spatula beneath it. Then, flicking his wrist, he cast it up.
Together, they watched the pancake arc slowly through the air. In slow motion it sailed, flipping and revolving like some disc of heaven. Down it descended… Down into Kikyo's hair.
Kikyo blinked, the pancake flopped over half of her face. A small, apologetic smile twitched at Naraku's mouth, but he seemed unable to speak at the moment. Kikyo gave a ragged sigh, trying very hard to keep her pent of frustration with Naraku at healthy levels. She tossed the pancake to the ground, feeling her hair to make sure there wasn't any grease in it.
"Oh, dear Kikyo… I am so… sorry…" Naraku forced out in the midst of a controlled giggle. Wondering at his audacity, Kikyo scowled, slamming down the bowl of batter next to him.
"Just make another one and try again," she hissed through clenched teeth, setting her perfect pancake to the side and starting another one as well. Still muffling his amusement, Naraku turned away and prepared another pancake.
Awkward silence reigned. Naraku coughed. Kikyo still tended her own pancake, a sour expression on her face. I have to lighten the mood somehow, thought Naraku. I'm not getting anywhere with her.
"Hey, Kikyo. I've got a good one."
"A good what?
"A good joke, of course."
"Well, then, let's hear it," Kikyo grumbled. Naraku smiled, took a deep breath.
"Okay, Kikyo, here it goes. What do you do if you have a saimyosho infestation in your attic?"
Kikyo rolled her eyes. Putting one hand on her hip, she turned to Naraku. "I don't know, Naraku. What do you do if you have a saimyosho infestation in your attic?"
Naraku put one hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh as he delivered the grand punchline. "You call a demon exterminator! Get it? Exterminator!" He laughed uproariously at his own joke. As his chortles subsided, there lay a long pause.
"…Shut up, Naraku."
"Yes, ma'am," he whimpered.
When it came time for it to be flipped, Kikyo stepped carefully away from him.
"Okay. Try to get it in the pan this time, alright?"
"What? You think I'd make the same mistake twice?" Naraku scowled at the insult. "Of course I'll get it right this time. After all, I am Naraku, the undefeatable antagonist of this series, who improves steadily with each near-defeat—"
"Just flip the fucking pancake, would you?" snarled Kikyo, whose patience had snapped. Naraku sighed. I'm so awkward with this woman… Why can't I seem to start off on the right foot with her? He brought his brows together in frustration. I really do love her, and this is the greatest opportunity I'll have to win her. Why can't I get things right? In frustration, Naraku flipped the pancake a bit too forcefully. It flew through the air, pitching straight up. With a splap, it stuck to the ceiling. Kikyo and Naraku stared upward, expecting it to fall.
When it didn't, Naraku gave another resigned sigh. "I'll get a ladder." He drew out a cheap, collapsible ladder from the utility closet. Fumbling with the lock to extend it, Naraku set it against the wall.
"Hold the bottom of the ladder, please, dear? It shakes a bit, and I wouldn't want to fall and break my neck," he asked, in the softest tone he could. Kikyo silently cupped the edges of the ladder with her hands, watching as he ascended to the ceiling. "I'm really sorry about being such an awful pupil, Kikyo. But you're of enormous assistance, and I can't thank you enough. I'll improve, I assure you. You can have whatever reward you want when we're though with this lesson, and any hereafter."
Though she raised a skeptical eyebrow, Kikyo's expression softened slightly. He is such an idiotic bastard… But at least he has gratitude…
Naraku glared up at the sticky pancake. He reached a pale hand, stuck his fingers into the edges. In vain he pulled, trying to pry it off. But it seemed as though the pancake had cemented itself to his ceiling.
"Hand me a spatula, would you?" Naraku called for, twisting his head back. Kikyo tossed up the spatula, which Naraku neatly caught. He turned back to his foe, holding the spatula aloft like some frightful weapon. "Think you'll stick yourself to my ceiling, eh?" he hissed under his breath. He shoved the spatula into the pancake's sides, twisting his arm around to lever it up. But the spatula rebounded, as though the pancake held an innate barrier force. Again he tried to pry it into the pancake, and again his spatula bounced off. "What is this thing made of?"
"You don't need any help, do you?" Kikyo asked in an offering tone, craning her head to see the battle.
"No, that's okay, everything's just fine!" Naraku called back. But his frenzied attempts to unstick the pancake betrayed his lighthearted tone. But as he jammed the spatula this time, the half-demon felt a pressure: he had gotten underneath the edge! Now he applied every bit of pressure into the spatula. This was it, the final reckoning…
But then, in the moment he had gone on the offensive, he felt the ladder give way. There was a shudder, then a crash as the ladder collapsed, sending Naraku flying. In yet another slow-motion instant, Kikyo stepped back, only to have Naraku careen into her.
The dust cleared to reveal Naraku sprawled over a mortified Kikyo. For several moments they stared blankly at one another. A slight blush appeared over Naraku's face, but he couldn't seem to tear himself away from her. Almost against his control, he reached a trembling hand and stroked her hair. In that moment, Kanna and Rin came pattering down the hall.
"You're It! You're It!"
"Huh? If I'm It, why're you chasing me?"
"Isn't It the one who's chased?"
"Kiki, you've lived a sheltered life, haven't you? It's the other way around…"
In an attempt to shake off her pursuer, Rin swung into the kitchen. But she stopped dead in her tracks, Kanna bumping into her. Staring wide-eyed at Naraku and Kikyo's rather uncompromising position, the two girls awaited some sort of explanation.
"This, uh, isn't what it looks like!" sputtered Naraku, waving them away with one hand. "Right, Kikyo?"
"…You…" Kikyo murmured, her shock finally ebbing into anger. She reached back, fingers curling around the handle of a skillet. White energy emanated from the skillet as she infused it with priestess power. "How dare you… You beast… Why don't you think of the CHILDREN for once!" she screamed, slamming the pan down on his head. Naraku reeled back, clutching his head. Before him Kikyo staggered up, shoulders quaking with rage.
"That does it! I'm &$-$ tired of your !#$ little tendencies you little !#-&$-ing bastard, and if you're not so &$#-ed up by the time I'm through with you—" She gave a war-like shriek and bore down on Naraku, swinging her glowing skillet. With a yelp Naraku leapt up and dashed away. Rin and Kanna watched with a half-scarred, half amused expression as the priestess chased the demon around the kitchen, scattering flour and batter around as she swung it wildly about.
"Kikyo! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—it's the ladder's fault! I swear!" Naraku gibbered, dodging a vicious swipe of the pan. Kikyo pounced forward, slashing down with the pan at his feet, tripping him. Naraku went down with a cry as Kikyo tackled him in a cloud of dust. There came several anguished cries as Kikyo mercilessly battered him over the head.
"SORRY? You're apologizing NOW? Hell, I'll give ya something to be $#!# SORRY about!" Kikyo laughed, bringing the skillet down like a mallet. But suddenly the handle snapped off. Naraku took the opportunity to slip away out of the kitchen. Kikyo uttered a curdled growl from deep in her throat and launched after him. Still staring, Kanna and Rin watched as the two left. Silence reigned, and the two glanced back at the disarrayed kitchen.
"What were they doin'? Makin' breakfast?" muttered Kanna, walking about. Rin stood underneath the ceiling pancake, catching it as it finally peeled off and fell down.
"I guess so. Mmm, hey, this is pretty good," Rin remarked, chewing at the now cold, but sill fluffy and sweet, pancake. Kanna nosed around the stove, and found herself a pancake.
"Yeah, dat's good. Say, do you wanna take pictures of Kikyo beatin' up my Ku-Ku-chan and post them on the internet?"
"Uhh, sure, Kiki," assented Rin, who had to wonder at her companion's loyalty sometimes. Off they went, in search of a camera.
Meanwhile….
Kagura lifted her head as Kikyo and Naraku came tearing through the hall. Kikyo wielded the handle-less pan no less skillfully, and Naraku had to duck several times to prevent the loss of his head. Tipping saké into the side of her mouth, Kagura watched them with amusedly sleepy eyes.
"Calm down Kikyo! Really, you're going to --- (duck) break--- (dodge) something!"
"Oh yeah? Whuddabout your SPINE?" roared Kikyo, leaping upon him. Kagura cackled as Naraku was bashed repeatedly over the head.
"Aww, lookit newlywedsh—already fightin'," chortled Kagura, pointing a manicured hand toward them. Kikyo disentangled herself from Naraku and marched up with a murderous look in her eyes.
"What did you just call us? Are you assuming we're & HUSBAND and WIFE?" she ground out with clenched teeth. Nearly falling out of her chair, Kagura backed up against the table.
"Naw, naw… No need ter get mad… -hic- I wuz jus' kiddin."
"Kiddin', huh? You think my $!- love-life problems are a !&)$ joke? Your existence is a joke, bitch! Why, allowing yourself to be controlled by this pathetic, perverted, dismally stupid #!$" Kikyo seemed on the point of hyperventilating. Kagura stood up, red eyes flashing venomously.
"What didjoo jus' –hic- call me? Who saysh I take orders from him? I'm the FREE wind! I'm gonna kill 'im sooner or later, seein' –hic- as you can't seem ta handle 'im."
"I can handle Naraku just fine!" snapped the priestess, whipping her venomous eyes toward Naraku, who was creeping stealthily out of the room. Instantly the pan was embedded in the wall, inches from his face. "You stay put, Naraku! I just have to take care of your little courtesan here."
"COURTE--- What the fuck? DIE, ya little &&$#!" Flinging her jug away, Kagura sprang onto the priestess. Like rabid tigers they rolled, clawing at eachother's eyes and gnashing their fangs. Ever so carefully, Naraku inched out of the room, and scrambled for cover, leaving destruction in his wake.
To be continued.
Authoress's Notes: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I'm leaving for my family this Thanksgiving so I figure'd I'd get something posted up early. Anyway, the next chapter should make up for it in length, as I intend it to be the finale (the story'll either end the next chapter or the one after it).
N'daaaaaaawwww, don't you just love some Naraku x Kikyo fluff? Aren't they just SO cute together? I'm so evil. Really, I am.