This chapter just dragged on its heels all the way. Apologies for the lack of punctuality… but my muse went to the Bahamas. XD
:3 I just want to say: thank you! 500+ reviews - it truly means a great deal to me - I never even imagined I could get this far, and not with my first piece of fan fiction!
There are still good times to come, and bad times, (and more chapters) and I hope that everyone will be with me on this ride. Thank you, truly.
I suggest going back and reading the last two chapters - this one refers a lot back to the action that happened there - other then that, so happy reading, and thanks again!
X -- The scenes are linked, by the last word of one scene and the beginning word of the next.
XXX - Scene linkage.
Make Me
Chapter 15: The Painting
There was a Cold War going on in the Inuyasha household. It was unpleasant; to the point where the maids scuttled out of the room whenever one of the soldiers (Miroku/Sango/Kagome/Inuyasha) entered it, and Oliver the cook refused to make a Sunday roast, because he deemed it as a 'family meal.' The 'family' was currently broken up into two sides (Sango with Kagome, Miroku with Inuyasha) - which meant plenty of avoidance (from Sango), quietly simmering animosity (Inuyasha), cold and curt tones (Kagome), and dubious concern (Miroku).
The two sides often held meetings - sometimes how to end the Cold War:
"Maybe I should apologize to Sango."
Inuyasha grunted - the easy, lazy way of showing he heard.
Miroku sat up in the armchair - they had dominated the lounge (the girls kept to the kitchen and the bedrooms, mostly) - and sighed thoughtfully. "I suppose it mustn't have appeared very gentlemanly to Sango."
Inuyasha 'mm-ed.'
Miroku watched his fingers tapping against the leather of the arm-rest, while a lecherous - and slightly frightening - smile spread across his lips. "It was worth it though. Every glorious second."
Inuyasha grunted again.
XXX
Sometimes for anxious analysing of the 'other side:'
"Do you think he means it?"
Kagome stared at Sango from her position on her bed, half heartedly shrugging. "I don't know."
"I mean, what if he was just playing with me? What then?" Sango straightened regally, dark hair falling perfectly into place as did, looking immaculate as ever - apart from the crease in between her brows. She pressed her lips together worriedly - then remembered the sensation of his lips on hers. Definitely not a good thing to do… She tried to detach herself from the memory, feeling her cheeks tingeing with a pink stain.
If Kagome had noticed Sango's reaction, she said nothing of it, only choosing to answer with a placatory tone: "I don't think Miroku is that kind of person."
Sango breathed a little easier, reassured from her… paranoia. "Yes. Well, I shouldn't be so silly. I mean, I've known him for so long now; I shouldn't be doubting him…" she trailed off uncertainly. "Um, should I?"
XXX
…And sometimes just to slander the 'enemy:'
"--personal life! I barely know her, and she expects me to tell her every single fucking detail about myself!" Inuyasha scowled heavily, running a hand through the long, silver locks agitatedly. "What does she want to know, the first time I got laid?"
Miroku didn't bother to look up from the paperwork that lay in front of him on the coffee table. "2003, 16th of March." He recited the details absent-mindedly, like speaking some random fact from a textbook, instead of a rather personal note of someone's life -- in which that 'someone' did not appreciate.
"You shut your mouth about that."
The other man did not deign to respond, but one would only have to glance at him to notice the edges of his lips curling upwards.
Inuyasha sighed, slumping back forcefully into a supple leather armchair (tan, imported from Peru), covering his eyes with an arm. "I swear, that wench just makes me so damn--"
X
"--frustrated! I'm only trying to understand what happened, and he's brushing me off like a kid begging for candy. I mean, I know I'm not that close to him, but how else am I going to get to know him better?"
Kagome folded her arms over her chest in a defensive manner, revelling in her righteous huff.
"…Invite him to see a movie?"
Kagome threw a pillow at Sango -- which she dodged easily, thanks to her quick reflexes.
"I'm not asking him out on a date!"
Sango pulled the thrown pillow onto her lap, unconsciously neatening the corners. "Movies aren't just for people who date."
"Yeah, there's families too. Which brings me back to the point -- he treats me like a kid! God, he's so--"
X
"--prissy. You know, she was whining at me, just because I didn't pour the milk out into a glass, all nice and proper like a girl."
Miroku looked mildly disgusted by Inuyasha's admission. "I'll remember to open a new carton of milk from now on."
"So what? Now you're taking Kagome's side?"
A faint grimace pulled at the other man's mouth. "Inuyasha, I'm just trying to practise a form of hygiene. Maybe something you'd like to learn."
The star lounged against the armchair, flicking a glance at Miroku. "I doubt pouring milk in a glass will stop you from tasting my spit."
Miroku shot an alarmed look at him. "What do you mean?"
"I used your toothbrush."
XXX
"--cannot believe you used my toothbrush. Do you not know anything about hygiene?"
"Look, it was only one time.Ididn't haveone at hand, and the only person's toothbrush I could get away with using was yours. Mind you, I had to trek all the way over to your bathroom to get it, and those tiles are damn cold in the morning."
"You didn't have one at hand? Inuyasha, you own a mansion, a swimming pool, and a villa in Portugal. Couldn't you just--"
"Shut up! It's them."
At this, both men fell silent, and Inuyasha quickly assumed a look of cool nonchalance. Miroku huffed silently to himself, and then dropped it as the two girls came around the corner.
Kagome was wearing a particularly lovely skirt as well as a frosty look; it was at least four inches from her knees, revealing plenty of pale skin and long calves, not to mention her thighs --
And there was Sango.
She was looking… beautiful. Tall, and regal, with chestnut hair dark and gleaming, framing her face. She was staring at him slightly anxiously, and he felt slight warmth that he was the one she held in such importance that he garnered a look like that from her.
Miroku shot her a apologetic look behind Inuyasha, and she returned it. Half surprised, he then realized she meant it about Kagome -- who was being cold enough to be Jack Frost himself.
Inuyasha and Kagome paused in front of each other, her eyes flicking over him coolly, and him simply holding her gaze after she finished, as a way of their acknowledgement of each other.
"Yes?"
Miroku winced. It would've been hard to match this girl to the one that, a few days ago, had been laughing warmly with him, holding a glass of milk --
"Rehearsal later. Don't forget."
He cut a impressive figure, with his dispassionate voice and golden eyes. Miroku wondered idly if Inuyasha had worn that black outfit especially -- perhaps he knew there would be a 'confrontation' today? It certainly helped him look more bad-ass.
Kagome inclined her head once, and -- oh, they were moving again. Miroku pulled a face behind Inuyasha's back, and Sango smiled a little in response, sighing a little as she followed the shorter, dark haired girl in front of her, where they both rounded the corner -- and they were gone.
>>>>>>>
It was a long time until she saw him again.
She was wandering around the school grounds, her camera slung around her neck, and the tattered red briefcase in her hand as per usual. It was common to see the dark haired girl; she had authority to roam around as she pleased, and the camera others saw her with became as natural as the warm smile on her face.
She wandered around in almost an haze, admiring the scenery around her and instinctively judging it. A few times she lifted up her camera to take a picture, but always stopped just midway, before shaking her head and dropping her arm down again.
An hour more of this led her to wonder if this unproductive day would prove worthy at all, whether if she should return back to Professor Carlton's room -- but then decided she would walk on a little further, a little longer -- if not, just to enjoy the calmness of the outside without others disturbing the peace, and to admire the light fog that seemed to almost dreamily cover the ground and thicken the air.
And maybe it was the fog -- but she didn't see him until she was only a few metres away from him. His hair almost blended in with the fog; the soft silver that hung down his back trailing and spilling on the hard, grey wall that he was seated on, and those three shades of grey contrasted, yet seemed to merge nearly perfectly with each other. A aristocratic hand that was laid gently on his knee, a graceful neck that was arched forwards -- it led her to raise her camera, as if in a trance herself, to focus on the beautiful picture in front of her.
His golden eyes suddenly turned in her direction, as if sensing her; they held a lazy and dreamlike quality, giving him a otherworldly sort of air --
Flash.
They slowly sharpened into focus, anger suddenly filling those eyes - anger giving him a edge and palatable tension that almost crackled around him. He was wild, a hissing, spitting wildcat that was uncontrollable and so much like nature in its purest, most undiluted form. Beautiful, in a utterly terrible way; animosity twisted his features, giving him a raw, animalistic look --
Flash.
"What the fuck is your problem?"
A hand roughly yanked the camera away from her face, and she was met with those fierce golden eyes she'd been admiring through the lens earlier.
"My problem?"
"You invading my privacy; that problem!"
She blushed a little, slightly remorseful. "I… I'm sorry. I should've thought… before taking the pictures."
"Damn well right you should've." A scowl tugged at his lips, the downward jerk of his mouth becoming more apparent as he glared at the camera in his hand.
She smiled ruefully at him, a sweet sort of sadness creeping into it as well. "Not everyone likes being immortalized… particularly on pictures."
He was now staring at her, confused. "Immortalized?"
A vague smile played around her lips. "It's… a sensitive matter for some people. I didn't realize that… you might be one of them." She lifted up small hands - dainty hands, he noticed, the smallest hands he'd ever seen on a person - and pulled out the snapshots that she'd taken of him. "Here you are."
He took them, numbly.
She traced his eyes, his face, the curves of his body on the picture with a gentle finger before regretfully pulling back and casting one last lingering glance at the snapshots, then pulling her gaze up to his. "But I want you to know… I only ever take pictures when I see something beautiful in them."
>>>>>>>>
Was it possible to be fear something so much you wanted your source of fear next to you, so you could hurry up and identify what was making you fear so much? Was it possible, to feel a suffocating amount of disgust, so much you thought that this… monstrosity was inhumane? This... could not have been done by anyone.
But it was staring at him right in the eye now, almost grinning and taunting him.
And was it possible, to feel a inexplicable anger?
Because that was what he felt. Anger at this awful monstrosity in front of him, anger that such a thing was happening - maybe not directly to him, but he still saw it. Saw something inhumane.
The painter must've had a tremendous twisted sense of humour.
The painting featured Lucifer; Lucifer enfolding the purest angel in his arms and planting a tender kiss to her lips - slowly corrupting her, yet her purifying him - the palette ranging from the thickest red that Miroku had ever seen, down to a diluted rose that flushed the angel's cheeks.
It was achingly perfect; from the brush strokes to the palette, the anatomy of the bodies and the very embodiments they represented - Lucifer in a deep, dark crimson that swirled around him, his robes made of a burning scarlet, while the angel seemed to shimmer with a pure white - but on closer inspection, turned out to be the palest pink anyone could achieve.
The intentions were clear: Evil and Good.
Evil and Good - infusing?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rustling cloth behind him.
"It's for you, you know."
Inuyasha padded over in slow footsteps next to him. "I know." He whistled, admiring the painting. "That's a pretty thing."
Miroku sighed. "You know what it's been painted with, right?"
"Of course. Blood."
The reply was short, nearly devoid of emotion, and it made Miroku steal a side glance at him. Miroku nodded. "This… person seems to be making a statement." From his pocket, he withdrew a glass case; the blood soaked carnation behind the protective glass, looking innocently beauteous. Inuyasha took it, and examined the flower.
"Blood fetish, maybe?" There was a dry chuckle. "Maybe a vampire!"
The other man frowned at him. "I don't understand how you're taking this so calmly. Why the hell are you joking about this kind of thing?"
Miroku was not prepared for the large golden eyes suddenly fixed on him, burning with some kind of desperation, nor the nervous grin on his face that seemed to misfit. "Are you kidding? I'm fucking terrified."
>>>>>>>>>
She found him sitting on the same bench outside, staring out at the scenery is some kind of blank haze. At first, she was kind of annoyed, because it was her place, after all, and if this didn't stop any time soon, it would soon be their place - never mind it was his mansion and all.
That meant he owned the great sea view too, damn it…
She was going to stomp right past him, when he spoke. His tone was mildly curious, friendly, even - the way a doctor was when analysing your lifestyle. "Do you like flowers?"
Kagome tried not to look taken aback. "…I suppose so."She adopted a clipped tone. "Why?"
Slowly, he drew out a glass encased, blood red flower. She strained to see what kind, but as she wasn't particularly specialized (she owned plastic flowers, for God's sake), all she really noticed was that it was red, and had a fairly long stem.
"Have a look at it."
He didn't make any move to give it to her, so she edged slowly towards him and sat on the bench cautiously, as if the grudge between them physically took up space. She took the glass case, careful to make sure that his fingers didn't brush against hers when he passed it.
"It's pretty… a rose, maybe?" Her fingers were stiff, not wanting to grip the case properly.
He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. "Do you like it?"
Kagome was mindful of her reply. "It's all right." Her eyes flicked between the flower she held in her hand, and the boy sitting next to her, trying to make a connection between them.
"Would you be flattered if I gave it to you?"
Inuyasha was steadily growing weirder and weirder, she thought. "Um… not particularly."
His voice suddenly fell flat and lifeless, and he spoke quickly, as if the information left a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's a carnation. If you leave a white one in a container of some kind, filled with a coloured water for a few days, the carnation will soak up the water and gradually take on the colour of the water."
What could anyone say to that, really? "…Oh." She gave him a quick glance. "Inuyasha, I really don't see what--"
"Some crazy person has sent it to me. I don't what they're thinking."
She frowned slightly, not pleased with his statement. "So someone sends a flower to you, and you freak out? Wow, you're really not a people person, are you?"
He suddenly turned towards her, and she saw him, full frontal, for the first time since she'd sat down. She reeled; he looked angry and overwrought, the cold hard line of his lips brooking no argument. "Listen to me. That carnation hasn't been soaked in something simple like red ink and water -- it's blood." He drew a sharp breath, conscious of the spasm of horror across Kagome's face. "Ten minutes ago, I received a painting that had been completely drawn and painted in with blood. Now, I think those two presents are linked, and I think it's the same person who set my bedroom alight - and before you ask," he said, seeing her start to open her mouth, "The ribbon that person left tied onto my door handle with that note," he ground out, "Also has a spot of blood on it. And so, this person with a blood fetish coming after me."
The hand that held the encased flower began to shake, and Kagome would've dropped it if Inuyasha hadn't reached out and grasped it from her, pushing the flower into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind, Kagome found herself thinking.
She couldn't stop her voice from trembling, no matter how much she tried to tell herself it was okay. "W-what does this mean?"
Inuyasha blew out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face in a weary, submissive gesture. "It means," he said, in a tired voice, "That you phone your mother. You're going home."
>>>>>>>
AN: I have a cold…
Ehehehe. It's been such a long time since I've updated... it's good to be back! X3