Chapter One: Wrath and Patience
"I'm sorry but, you're just not what we're looking for."
"Shit," I screamed in my mind, "not again!"
"You're very talented," the director went on, "it's your look. The character is described as…athletic."
The call was for a new movie based on a best-selling novel. I had read the entire book three times preparing for this audition, and it was never stated that the character I was going for was athletic. Instead, she was described as caring, brave…and had a big rack.
"We'll hold on to your resume. Please send in the next person, Ms. Higurashi."
It was the same thing time and time again. I was too pale, too short, too Asian. It wasn't my fault that no one wrote award-winning stories about Asian females!
Exciting the small room, I saw the remaining hopefuls, all blonde/brunettes with great bodies. And short resumes, I managed to peek at a few as I passed. So here I was with a master's in the arts of acting, and now I had to explain to my family yet again that I was still jobless.
My resume was full of commercials and a few spots on some tv-shows so I was far from living it large and in charge comparatively.
Once outside in the warm LA sun, I dialed up the only person I could think of to help me out. I only wished he was more reliable.
After a couple of unanswered calls, I didn't give up, and my patience was answered. "Hello, my dear baby sister. What can I help you with today?"
"I need you to come to dinner tonight."
"Uh oh, audition go badly?"
I sighed, "I need you, Miroku. Promise me; you'll be there?"
"What's the big deal," Miroku groaned into the phone, "I'm sure mom will bake you some brownies while Gramps goes on and on about cultural appropriation. Souta will tease, but you can threaten him with violence to shut him up…."
"I don't want to disappoint them again. Gramps and mom...they're talking marriage meetings last night…."
"Ug. Alright, say no more. I'll be there."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
oOo
"You lying piece of shit!"
Miroku, sunglasses covering bloodshot eyes, had the decency to look humble as he stood just inside her threshold. "Something came up!" I stepped back, and he stepped in, following slowly behind me until we stood in my living room. "How did it go?"
"My recent failure costs me three marriage meetings."
Miroku chuckled until I glared at him hard. "How the hell did they set up one, let alone three? This is LA, not Tokyo."
"Get this; there's an app now."
"What?!"
"MyMiai. Catchy, right?"
Miroku was ripping his phone out of his pocket by the time I told him the name. "I've got to download that!"
"Great," I mumbled, shaking my head, "at least if guys like you are on it, I can expect to be led around."
Miroku slowly put his phone down and smiled. "Alright, baby sis, I caw here to apologize with a gift!"
Flopping to my couch, I fought off the oncoming migraine by massaging my forehead. "Let me guess; something left behind by one of your conquests?"
"I didn't think you'd want used panties?" I threw a pillow at him, "no, nothing like that! Here!"
Miroku held out a small, oddly shaped glass. The light caught at strange angles. It made the red color look like it was on fire.
"You brought me…" my voice caught in my throat, and it was so weird, the feeling I had in my chest from spying the glass, that I pushed past it, "a dirty vase?"
"It's not dirty! On the contrary, the man that sold it to me assured me it was good luck! You need that more than ever right now."
I didn't know if he meant my acting career or my upcoming Miai, but I felt offended either way. "I don't need luck. I need patience."
Getting up, I moved past my older brother. The laugh I released was small and dark because the last thing Miroku ever acted like was an older sibling. More like a sex-obsessed traveler, popping in and out of life as he pleased.
I got myself a glass of water, and he followed, looking the offered gift over as he did. "I thought it was pretty and that you'd like it. Not scoff and make me feel worse."
"I doubt I do that," Miroku grabbed a towel and started cleaning the vase, "pretty sure those are stains."
Getting frustrated, he threw the towel to the floor and rubbed it with his hand. "It's still pretty!"
"And diseased! It might have biochemicals on it worthy of war fair! Stop touching it already!"
I was ready to grab the thing and throw it in the trash while Miroku thought he'd be funny and start to shake. But then he dropped the vase and jumped away from it. My mouth dropped open when it didn't break and began to spin. Smoke plumed out of the small opening, filling my tiny kitchen.
In the act of bravery fitting an older brother, Miroku grabbed and pulled me away. We could still see the bomb going off in my kitchen, and if I weren't terrified we were going to die, I would be smacking the shit out of Miroku.
Instead of exploding, the smoke stopped. It lingered, golds, oranges, and pinks mixing. It slowly turned red then began to take a shape.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. But I stood there with Miroku and watched in awe as the smoke turned into a man.
His back to us, all I could see was the red, puffy pants he wore, long silver hair that was tied up at the top of his head, a steely back, and dog-shaped ears.
Nothing made sense, not the man in my house or how he turned to face the two of us, grimacing. The amount of rage and frustration coming from the strange creature was palpable. There was no way he was a man; he came out of a fucking bottle!
He growled and showed us his fangs while Miroku swallowed loudly beside me and clutched me tighter. I looked at the creature from the bottle in his blood-colored eyes, taking a harrowing breath. "Who and what are you?!"
It huffed like it was my fault and crossed thick arms over his broad chest. "Ima jinni, dumbass. You can call me Inuyasha." I didn't pretend to understand; my tongue felt like it was glued to the top of my mouth. "Tell me what the fuck you want so I can be done here!"
