A/N: Okay. So I'm a retarded shitface. Hey, but you're only saying that because I'm black. Oh shit. It's, hmm, what? 6:18 in the morning? I need my Mexican breakfast. Hahaha. You know, everything is so much cheaper in Nevada? In New York, say, cigarettes are like $6.50. Here they're $3.50. The hell with the East Coast. I can't stand the amoral, temporary, big-city lifestyle anyway.
Review Responses
Actually, before I start these, I don't suggest you read all of them. Actually, I suggest you scan for your own name and then read your response only. Unless, of course, you're bored and stuck with nothing else to read. Then it's totally okay. So, go for it.
Review Responses
Pointy-Eared Archer: I'm so sorry, m'love. I've been away for so long. I am, indeed, a restless kind...oh my God. Shit. I'm a rotten pirate hooker. I'm really sorry...Anyway, about Richard Gere- you hit the bulls eye! My sister and I have jokes about him, too...him and MEL GIBSON. Haha. Anyway, that's the thing with me, about how I write, the characters always seem not like they are in the show because I tend to adopt them, make them mine, shape their opinions and everything. I'm too goddamn drifty. Maybe he (Jakotsu) is, in actuality, very sadistic and overbearing. But that's another person's Jakotsu, another writer's Jakotsu, and this is mine. Actually, I don't even get the feeling that I'm writing for an anime when I start writing. I always write like it's my story. Is that weird (oh, by the way, did I mention that I hate Jakotsu's voice in the American dub? it annoys the Jesus creeping shit out of me. Why does he have to sound like such a woman for Christ's sake)? I hope this new chapter makes up for my scandalous abandon of you, dear. I really do. Is the wedding still postponed, because I have this lovely update I think would go great on you! Ahaha.
Dragon Pearl1: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I am a jerk. A horrible person, indeed. It sounds insincere. I guess it's in your perception...but I am sorry. Anyway, thanks for the spam. I love it. I love you guys. Anyway, you do have to love borderline-platonic pairings...it's the whole "unrequited love, question mark?" thing that really gets you going on it. Is your computer okay now? I recently got my old laptop fixed, but all my shit got erased and I'm pisssssssssed. Gracias for the review. Did you read my other story? The Sesshoumaru/Rin pairing? SCANDALICIOUS.
Vitamin R: I'm glad you like it. I got kind of freaked out about the whole C2 thing. I didn't really know what was going on...but I do now, so, thanks!
Venetus: I notice that about a lot of things I write- people love one character in particular. In this, it's Jakotsu- and you know what? I'm glad he's not annoying. Because I took some time writing him up. That was a horrible lie. Anyway, I hope you continue reading.
Butterflywings: Thanks for the review. I took sort of long (fuck, really long) to update, because I was at sort of a bridge. You see, I knew what was going to happen after I wrote this chapter, but I didn't really know how to bridge that chapter to the previous one...so it was tough. Because I'm retarded.
DanniWolf: CHAMPIONSHIP. I got a fucking ten! Haha. That's always good. I love getting reviews. I'm like a review whore. Hahahahaha. That struck me as funny. I hope I didn't make anyone too angry, now...anyway, thanks!
Japanimeniac: Haha. No, I'm probably more retarded. Well, we can all be retarded. So it's a retardation truce, I suppose. If you read later into the story, being like Jakotsu gets better for you. This is only the beginning- I haven't even started to develop the characters yet. A lot of people want characters to be face-value, like, GUNSHOT- and that's them, right there. But, me being the Dostoevsky freak I am, I like the psychological aspect of characters. Maybe I humanize them too much. I don't know.
Irken PopTart: Really? I must admit it gets a lot less funny as it goes deeper into the story...there'll always be your humorous parts, but not as much as in the beginning...I appreciate your liking it. I think it's pretty hard to get people to read into a new type of genre, and I respect your being open-minded. A lot of people are Bankotsu/Jakotsu fans. I've tried to write up stuff for them, I really have...but my writing's limited. Haha. Thanks for reviewing, and enjoy the rest!
Touya-no-Kogakure: Are you hassling me again because I'm gay? HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. Oh shit. Oh lord. Hahahaha. Gawds. I'm full of myself. Anyway, here it is! The fucking update. No, I'm not being mean. I must sound mean. Hope you enjoy.
>>>>Chapter Thirteen
Okay. So I fucking liked the CD.
Even now, driving around Northern Boulevard at seven in the morning I had it playing, blasting the easy mandolin of Rod Stewart's Every Picture Tells A Story. Could you blame me? All I ever knew was System of a Down and Green Day and Relient K, for Christ's sake. All the debasing music of the shit generation. I had no access to my brother's music, and I sure as Hell never listened to Miroku. But now here I was, listening to Rod Stewart, a man who, until just recently, I would've rather died than listen to a minute of his cheesy ballad music. Jesus Mary and Joseph, I knew the words.
I stopped several times to consider the fact that I might be getting sucked into the wormhole of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Was he rubbing off on me? I studied myself in the rearview mirror. Did I look any different? I could see signs of lost sleep, but that didn't mean anything. It wouldn't mean anything. I mean, it couldn't mean anything.
I decided I wouldn't bother with it and continued to drive along. Right now I had something more practical to worry about- namely, a degenerate named Miroku Conlan who was waiting for me to pick him up in front of August Moon.
I pulled up in front of the store, where Captain Faggotorious was sitting among what must have been six or seven cardboard boxes, smoking a cigarette and holding up a hitchhiking sign that said, "I Won't Hurt You If You Don't Hurt Me." I rolled my eyes as I honked the horn. He turned to me and tossed his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
"I was convinced you wouldn't come," he said, holding up the sign. "I had to improvise."
"Improvise my ass. Get in the car or I will hurt you," I answered.
"Someone's feisty," he said, as he was back to the boxes and picked one up. "Pop open the trunk? I just have to get these in here."
I opened the trunk and let him do the work. After the first two boxes, however, the usual Inuyasha kicked in. I sighed exasperatedly and hopped out of the car and picked up a box, following him and stacking them neatly.
"What're these for, anyhow?" I asked, taking the last one. They were heavy, like they had computer equipment or guns in them.
"Just some business I have to take care of," he replied. "It's just a small delivery to a friend of mine named Stephen- I believe you've met him? The Spanish man. Anyway, it's just some business. I need some money."
Business for Miroku, last time we went through this, meant smuggling illegal computer parts over to Jersey to his techie friend Hachi for five hundred dollars and throwing a huge party afterwards. "Fine," I said, getting into the car and starting it up, "but if it's illegal you and your deliver are outta here, got it?"
"Perfectly," he answered. We paused for a minute, before he added, "After all, marijuana's only, what, Class B illegal drugs?"
"Jesus fucking Christ-"
"I'm joking, Inuyasha, just a harmless joke," he laughed. "You should really lighten up. No, in actuality, it's just a bunch of children's books."
"Children's books?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. What kind of sicko would want children's books?
"He needs to deliver it to a school," Miroku explained. "Do you have cigarettes at your house?"
I grunted. "Yeah, ya addict," I scoffed. "They're my Dad's, though."
"Oh. By the way, how did your day with...Ja..."
"-kotsu," I finished.
He sparked up. "That's it! Jakotsu. How did dinner go?"
"Humph. Predictably," I grumbled. "Only, his parents were normal...it was freaky. They were nothing like that monster. It was weird, though. I don't know why..."
"So, they're normal in a weird way?" he asked, smirking.
"Cute," I said. "I bet you think you're really clever. Don't. Fucking. Sass. Me."
We arrived at Miroku's house a few minutes later and sat in his room. His room was a fucking mess, like a tsunami had hit it. Posters and pictures crowded the paint-stained walls, with a basketball hoop on one side of the room, a stop sign on the other. He had a big, bulky eight-track and a bunch of other weird things he collected. I sat on the bed, under the gold-painted motto: "Those who hesitate, masturbate."
"We should invite some people over," he said, picking up the phone.
"How 'bout we not," I answered batting the phone away from him. "'Sides, I don't want a huge thing like last time. You have a real penchant for getting me into trouble, you know that?"
"Elaborate," he said, turning the eight-track on. Led Zeppelin- about the only older band I'm used to by now- blasted into earshot:
"You need coolin', baby I ain't foolin'/ I'm gonna send ya, back to schoolin'/ Way, way down inside, honey you need it/ I'm gonna give you my love/ I'm gonna give you my love..."
"Do you recall a little 'party' you invited me to, in which we all got busted for sneaking cigarettes?" I snapped, rolling my eyes.
"When we were twelve?" he asked. "I do remember that...odd that you do. But don't make such a big deal out of it- it was one incident. Besides, we're much older now, wiser, I suppose, but older suffices. It's excusable now. We're in our 'teen' years. The 'difficult' years."
"Feh. Teen years my ass- I'd shoot myself if I acted like a typical teenager," I huffed.
"We all act like it once in a while," he said. "Nothing can stop us from being boring and typical."
"Feh."
"Of course, we are at a stage in life in which we all seem so profoundly interesting to ourselves, no?" he continued. "We can delude ourselves any way we wan-"
The muffle of Warning rang from my back pocket. "Yeah?"
"Hi Yasha!" Great.
I rolled my eyes. Miroku cocked his head, with a puzzled expression. I pointed to the phone, implying that, yes, indeed, this was the antichrist on the other line. Miroku nodded. "Listen, do you have to call me every day?"
"Why not? You're never busy," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?" I asked defensively.
"I just do," he said with that tongue-click.
"Y'know, when you assume you make an ass out of you and me," I answered.
"What?"
"When-you-assume-you-make-an-ass-out-of-you-and-me," I pronounced slowly. "Do I have to spell it?" I paused. "Look, it's just some stupid thing," I said, doing my hardest not to rip my hair out and burn something down. Or, worse, have to explain it to him. "Just forget it."
He paused for a long while. "I don't get it."
"It's the way it's spelled, ya moron!" I answered. "When you ASSUME you make an ASS out of U and ME! A-S-S-U-M-E! Assume!"
"Oh." He cackled hysterically. "Oh. That's kind of funny. But it's stupid." He inhaled deeply, softly- in that girlie sort of Jakotsu way. "Sooo whatchya doing?"
"What's it to ya?"
"Awm, don't be like that," he crooned. "But, I like that about you. How you're always pissed off at me. It's unique about you. I can't stand typical people."
I paused. Unique? Whatever. I sighed. "Why the Hell're you calling me, again?"
"I'm booooooored," he whined. "I have nothing to do. Wanna come over?"
"I'm over a friend's house," I said.
"Pffft," he sighed. "Which friend? I bet I can be better entertainment."
I looked at Miroku helplessly. He shrugged. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want," I answered.
"Which friend is this?" he inquired. "Don't tell me that filt-"
"His name is Miroku. See, a guy. You happy now?"
"Ooh! Yay! Is he hot?"
"How the Hell would I know!" I barked. "Here, talk to him yourself!" I flung the phone at Miroku, who caught it with a surprised fumble. He smiled- something he did constantly on the phone- and said, "Hello there."
I watched their conversation for a little while. Well, you get the gist. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation, while all the while I wondered how that was even remotely possible. Maybe Miroku's more patient than me. Maybe he'd actually like a weirdo like Jakotsu. I wouldn't know.
>>>>>>Well, about half an hour later that royal lesbatron hung up the phone and started to talk to me. I'd been entertaining myself with the pong game he had in his room until he threw my phone into my lap and sat down next to me.
"I feel some sort of energy from him," he said.
"Yeah. It's called ADHD," I said, rolling my eyes.
He grabbed a controller and reset the game. "But in all honesty and seriousness I'm saying this. Blame me for getting hunches, but he seems important to me. Well, not to me. He seems as though he'll be of some importance to you."
"Yeah. And someday, maybe, if we wish really hard, we'll discover the kingdom of fairies and use their dust to fly and fight against the injustices of evil wrongdoers," I said, glaring at him flatly.
He shrugged. "You live, you learn," he said. "Perhaps I'm wrong. But the feeling I get is very powerful. I usually go along with my hunches, but you never know. Aside from that," he continued, shifting into another position, one leg pointing inward and the other bent at the knee, "he seems like a good conversationalist and an interesting person. He seems sincere to me."
Oh God. Jakotsu is an interesting, sincere conversationalist and I act like a typical teenager. What is the world coming to.
>>>>>"Speaking of our conversation on parties earlier," Miroku started.
"Yeh? What about it?" I asked, driving down to the nearby 7-11, still not believing that I chose to skip school with a loser. I'd spent the whole day with him- now it was nine-thirty P.M., close to the time I had to go home. But Miroku is one of those people who can push, and push he does.
He blew a wisp of smoke out the car window and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. "The two of us got invited to a party."
"Gee whiz. I've been waiting for it all my life. You can't imagine," I answered. "What do you want?"
"A Coke slushie," he replied. "And a pack of cigarettes."
"Camel or Marlboro?" He smoked those primarily; once in a while he'd be in the mood to be a pussy and smoke menthol cigarettes.
"Marlboro," he said. "I'll come in with you." He tossed his cigarette- again- onto the sidewalk. Miroku Conlan had no regard whatsoever for the environment. But it wasn't rebellion. I didn't know what it was. I wasn't sure about Miroku, sometimes. He was a sphinx, a Rubik's cube. You could never really figure him out. At least I sure as Hell couldn't.
We walked down the short white-tiled isle near the candy first, the place I went to subconsciously. It was sort of programmed. "About this party," he said, picking out a Scor bar, "it's being thrown by a friend of Kyoukotsu Shu's, from St. Midoriko's."
The party was nothing new. I'd go if there were other people I knew going, but, while some teenagers are jumping up and down when a co-ed party is thrown, it doesn't excite the kids at my school anymore. It was cool in fourth grade, novel and exciting, but the story is always the same- someone is always cool because they were hosting, ecstatic because they were invited, or pissed and/or contemplating killing themselves because they weren't. I was never much of a party person- yeah, like everyone, I enjoy a beer now and then, but I don't like mingling. Besides, the best parties were either Miroku's or, I hate to say it, Kouga's. So it didn't have me all that psyched. The biggest news was probably that Kyoukotsu Shu had friends.
"Why're we invited?" I asked, throwing a pack of Sour Straws into the basket.
"That doesn't matter," he said, "what matters is that we are. Do you want to come?"
Well, it was a chance to get away for a while...I hadn't been to a party in, like, what, a year? And plus, it was the golden opportunity to get away from Jakotsu for a while...why was I even contemplating it? This was golden. This was a fucking championship. "Yeah, fine. When's it at?"
"I'll show you the invitation later," he said.
We proceeded to the checkout with the New York Times (after we decided that all music magazines are gay), a huge ass coke slurpee, Sour Straws, a Scor bar, and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Fifteen dollars and forty-six cents, tax included, and I was feeling like a golden god.
>>>>>A/N: Finally! I spent five hours rushing through that chapter. Hahahah. It's beautiful. I feel like crying. Honestly. Okay. I hope that was good. No. I hope it was fucking spectacular. I hope it was a good comeback. I think I'm going to start writing the next chapter. YES! YES! YES!