Title: When An Angel Loses Flight
Author: Sesshoumaru Minion
Rating: At the moment T, but as the story continues, I can't promise that the rating won't go up to M. This is not only for violance, but swearing.
Summary: Sesshoumaru is the lawyer working on a murder case. Digging deeper into this case, old wounds will be brought up. Why? Because of the witness, Inuyasha Kasai.
Warnings: A bar scene, but nothing bad. Alcohole, mention of hookers and almost non existant swearing. Hints of violonce. Nothing bad.
Author Note: I'm back! After what I thought was going to be a perminate hiatus, I whipped out a chapter and I'm into the story again. Hope you all like it! It will deffinetly be a shorter wait for the next one, I promise you.
Enjoy!
Chapter 2
"It Begins To Fall Apart"
Cream silk drapes swayed peacefully as the gentle breeze lifted them softly, then letting them float to their original place by the open windowsill. The breeze brushed through the trees, swooshing the leaves, making them dance. Some falling onto the green grass of this rich property. Rich of life. Rich of fortune. Rich of music. Rich of sadness.
For as this carefree picture was painted into the minds of those who took the time to gaze at this lovely land, an easeful song was being played. Pale fingers, so tiny and soft they appeared to be those of a small child, gently stroked the keys of a grand piano, just barely whiter than that of the fingers. Hitting each note tenderly, the girl continued to play.
A masterpiece. A child prodigy. Simply genius.
Slanted eyes stared blankly in a dark chocolate daze, focusing on nothing but the music she made. Switching the right hand over the right, she continued playing her smooth lullaby.
How does she do it? A miracle. Remarkable.
She closed her eyes and let this song sink into the soul, and just for a moment she was able to lose herself.
"Rin?"
Slowly she opened those dull eyes of hers, though not looking at the speaker. That was her indication of acknowledgement.
"Rin, I made some tea. Would you like that, Rin? Some tea?" The old nanny asked, stepping closer to the sleek black piano this child had made her one and only friend.
Though Rin did not look, she could see her nanny's face in her mind. Grey long hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck. Smile wrinkles around her mouth, though now they were in a frown. Brown eyes staring at her tenderheartedly. But her brown eyes were different. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Those were words she could describe those eyes with. Not hers.
Through the years, age had worn down on Miss Kaede. Especially her bosom. What were once high lifted, round breasts turned into sagging sacs. Miss Kaede had thickened with her age, though not completely plump. So kind was this elderly woman to take care of her, after the accident. The one the other servants referred to as "that day." So she would not know what they were talking about.
Snapping her eyes open, which she had unconsciously closed, she jolted, staring down at her fingers in awkward confusion. What had happened?
She hit a wrong note.
Though it took but a moment to collect herself, she continued playing.
Brilliance. Nothing less will do.
"Child, please answer me," were the whispered words of Miss Kaede.
Rin did not answer. She only continued playing the song of the great Beethoven.
Miss Kaede sighed, leaving the child alone to her musings. Someday she hoped for the child to speak once more. But somehow, someday seemed farther away then ever.
The atmosphere in the air was musky as the loud music's beat pulsed against the club-goers' chests. Alcohol hung like a foggy cloud, leaving a bitter taste on the back of one's tongue. Why anyone would find this hellish pit of sickening slobs a joyful occasion, it was beyond this man. Why he was here, was beyond him. However, while his body was being poisoned with second hand smoke and alcohol, his mind was far, far away.
"There's my girl", He smiled.
Eyes did not meet. "We need to talk."
Even as this fantastically foxy woman was in front of him, her breasts (which had obviously had the magic of a surgeon) practically screaming to be gawked at, her lusciously lovely hips sculpted by the gods swaying as she danced to the techno music beating against his ear drums, he could not help but feel oddly out of place.
Eventually she huffed away to a much more drunk man, who was eager to sweep her off the dance floor and to his apartment.
"About what?" He asked, becoming serious.
A bitter laugh. "Of course you wouldn't know," she murmured.
Finally, he decided to leave the dance floor, realizing that one man standing in the middle of it not moving a muscle was a rather odd sight. He weaved his way through the crowd to an empty bar stool, glad to find a place to just think.
Who the hell goes to a bar 'just to think?' He thought in his mind. One who just was dumped, his mind whispered back.
It was true. He, Miroku, had been dumped.
By the most beautiful woman he had ever met in his life.
They had been dating for quite a while. Engaged, even. Therefore, it was a surprise to him when he had come home to find her standing against the kitchen counter, while drinking tea in her pastel green mug. She always drank out of that mug when she was nervous. For some reason, it helped her calm down.
"This isn't working out," she finally said, cutting through the thick, shaky atmosphere.
"Isn't working out?" He asked. But he already knew what she meant.
And it terrified everything within him.
"Maybe for you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the tears that made him want to take her into his arms. To comfort her. "But not for me."
He swallowed hard. "What did I do wrong?"
Her eyes turned hard with anger, "Oh, I don't know Miroku. Maybe the fact that while my back is turned, you're out womanizing, grabbing asses while I try to hold this one-sided relationship together!"
He let out a nervous laughter, "I didn't realize you wanted me to grab your behind so much. If you had simply asked"-
Her anger grew. She put the mug down non-too gently. "This isn't a joke, Miroku. It's over."
Panic. "Sango, I-"
It was too late. And certainly not a joke. He found what little possessions he had in boxes out by the street. He was kicked out of his own apartment. Numbly he had put them in his car and drove off. But to where, he did not know. And finally, he had ended up at the very same bar he had met her in.
Why they had both been in the bar in the first place was just by chance. He could remember like it was yesterday.
He had never felt so completely and utterly in love.
He shook his head, trying to free his mind. He needed something to get this off of his mind. Something to vanish the demons in his mind, tearing apart his heart and mind minute by minute. Something to…
Standing up, he walked out of the bar before the fat bar tender could get him his drink he ordered twenty minutes ago, or even notice him leaving without paying. Once outside, he breathed the air deeply into his lungs. Even the polluted airs of Tokyo smelled better then that place. He moved into his old red car, sitting in the drivers seat and sighing. Then, he glanced over at the files sitting next in the seat next to his. The new case. He reached for the documents, but then stopped himself. He needed a real place to study these. Not some old dump that was full of drunks of hookers. Pulling out his cell phone, he realized what better place to study then with the man who had took him into the case to begin with.
Sesshoumaru's apartment.
He dialed. And waited. When the phone kept ringing and ringing, he figured it was best just to visit the demon himself. Who would throw his friend out on the street, right? Though he tried to reassure himself, some how, it seemed like this was doomed to fail.
And boy, was it doomed to fail.
Sesshoumaru had not been happy to find Miroku knocking at his door in the middle of the night, that stupid smile plastered on his face. Some nervous laughter, some explaining, and some immense apologizing. But all he found was a door slammed in his face. He had rung the door bell again and again, but no answer was made.
Figures.
Now stuck outside, sitting on the curb next to his car, he sighed.
"Now what?" he asked. He glanced at his car. "Any ideas?"
His car was deadly silent.
Another sigh. "I thought you'd say that."
He climbed back into the driver's seat, turning on the car. It purred to life, and groaned when he began to back out of the parking spot it was parked in. Only one place left to try. And damn it, that old man had better be sober.
Darkness swarmed around the room, crawling on the covers and festering in the corners. The quietness was somewhat eerie, though the man laying in bed, wide awake, had grown accustom to it. The ceiling bored into the eyes of Sesshoumaru, a staring contest. A human once told him that when he looked at his ceiling in the dark, the texture swirled and formed shapes before his eyes. Humans. What odd creatures.
Even in a world where demons, humans, and anything in between were at peace, there was still a gap between the species. A gap that held misunderstandings, confusion, fright, and stories passed down from generation to generation of youkai killing humans, humans forming bands and slaying youkai with weapons of bone and spiritual powers. These stories plagued young ones in their sleep, and made the elderly stingy and strict to the old ways. Old fools. They were not even alive to witness what had taken place all those years ago.
It was true. Humans and Demons in the present age at the same rate. An odd phenomenon, which scientists belief is contributed to the fact that youkai just aren't as powerful as they used to be. No more weapons of mystical powers, no more fighting over the write to mate, no more war of bloodshed and fame...
And no more Shikon no Tama.
Something close to a sigh left Sesshoumaru's lungs, his eyes continuing to stare above. He found himself doing this many a nights. After all, his demon body only needs so many hours of sleep. It soon became a lonely habit of his. Perhaps it was time to find a mate of some sort? He snorted at that. Why put yourself through so much misery? Relationships never worked out. At least not the relationships he had witnessed.
Especially not his parent's relationship.
He then snarled at his own thoughts. That was a sensitive subject.
One he did not wish to explore.
Changing the subject in his mind, he moved onto more recent events. Like Miroku coming to his door and wanting to be let in. Maybe he should have let Miroku stay. Then he would not hear him complaining about it at work on Monday. Also, it would have been nice to discuss the new case with him. However, something about the idea of having Miroku in his house seemed very unpleasant. He had no idea how Sango had put up with it for so long.
Speaking of Sango, he mused. Miroku had rushed to tell his story, so Sesshoumaru's knowledge on their now broken relationship was sketchy at best. It sounded like she was sick of his perversion towards other woman. Understandable. However, was she unaware of what she was getting into when she accepted his proposal of marriage in the first place?
Apparently so.
On the other hand, if the engagement was off, then Miroku would spend the majority of his time on work…
Perhaps this was for the best, he decided.
But the best for who?
That was something he would find out eventually.
The wind wisped at the flowing silver locks as the boy who so wished to be invisible stood out like a sore thumb in the bubbling town of Tokyo. A sigh left the coral lips of the teenaged boy as he brought a clawed hand up to brush away the annoying bangs tickling his eye lids. How he wished for brown hair. Black hair. Any color but his own. It made people look at him. See him different from others. Though this wasn't all that made people look at him. The claws on his hands gave away to demon heritage. Though not as much as the two furry triangles atop his head. Now they lay flat on his head, trying to burry themselves into the thick mass of his mane, desperately trying to escape the chilly air. These cursed puppy ears of his gave away to his true bloodline. The blood of a hanyou.
He clenched his jaw, trying to avoid his fangs digging into the soft skin inside his mouth. He braced himself as another gust of wind blew. A muttered grumble came from the man behind him, something about long hair and ponytails. He couldn't help the slight blush that came to his face, realizing that his wild hair had brushed right into the man's face. He pretended to not notice, trying to disappear into the crowed. Again, as said before, an impossible task.
Mostly the streets were filled with teenagers getting home from school, though some adults were wandering around as well. Another sigh left him as he walked across the street, trying desperately to get home on time. He glanced around, not seeing a clock around in any of the store windows. The sun's beaming lights glaring off the windows wasn't helping at all. How could it be so sunny, and yet so cold at the same time? Giving up on finding the time, he decided to play it safe and take the shortcut down the small road up ahead. He turned away from the main street, easing into a fast walk, then soon a jog. Finally, he broke out into a run, sweat streaming beginning to form at his forehead. Though not from the exercise. Nervously he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the texture of each individual hair brushing against his calloused fingers.
Being late was irresponsible. Being late made him mad. Being late left him curled on the bathroom floor, vomiting.
He almost burst into the house, the door flying open and making a huge ruckus. Instantly he flinched.
His ear twitched.
He opened one eye. Then the other.
No one was home.
He then relaxed ever so slightly, then strode into the house with no manner of dignity to take with him, creeping into the shadows of the dark hallway, until he became one with them.
'Home.' What a ridiculous joke. This was no home. Home is where you go home to feel safe. To catch a breather. To relax. No, this runt down house was more of hell. The house was small, cramped between two other houses. Barely big enough for the three who occupied the place, it consisted of one small kitchen, a little table in a corner which was considered the 'dining room,' a living room that had a tattered, old couch with a black and white TV. Then upstairs was the bathroom, master bedroom, and Inuyasha's bedroom. Both rooms were small, and the master bedroom was only slightly bigger then Inuyasha's.
His room wasn't much of a room to speak of. Just a small bed with a flimsy mattress that had no support to it. A closet that the door was completely gone, and the corner in his room that was home to his school books, homework, and bag. Then there was his secret stash. He had found it not too long ago; a small hole in the back closet wall, just big enough to fit his fist in it. There he kept his most precious items. Ones that he did not want anyone to find. Especially his 'father'…
Easily, his ears snapped to attention as they picked up the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He tensed, until he recognized the soft steps, instead of the stumbling, heavy ones he feared and despised so much.
He turned around to see Kikyou, his foster mother. Her gray eyes looked up to meet his. Her voice was quiet, but a lovely tune.
"Inuyasha…do you have somewhere…you can go?"
This puzzled Inuyasha. He tilted his head, letting the slightest of whimpers seep through his lips. Somewhere to go?
"I mean, just for tonight. Do you have…a friend's house you could go to, perhaps?" Her eyes lit up for a just a moment, as if the slightest of hope had come to her.
A friend's house? He wondered to himself. Tightly, he shook his head once.
Immediately her face fell. "Alright…" She turned to leave, her long black hair draping down her back, overflowing the white blouse she was wearing. Where were her work clothes?
He hesitated at first to ask, but then he couldn't keep himself from asking, "Why aren't you at work?" It was odd to see her at home at this hour. Didn't her shift go until seven?
He heard her gasp, hearing her eyes widen with her exclamation. Then she lowered the back she had flexed straight, and spoke softly, "Dinner will be ready at five."
Inuyasha didn't stop her when she closed the door, nor when he heard her feather light steps walk down the hardwood floor.
He flopped his aching body onto the cold sheets of his bed, closing his tried eyes and letting his tensely body relax.
A sweet, rare moment that he would savor every second of.