Disclaimer: Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi et al - not me! :(
A/N: I'm back again, and this time, complete with shiny drunken antics - which, interestingly, I've never written before. :P So, authenticity of drunkeness? Yes, please! :) Tried to make it humorous - probably failed, but I'll let you be the judge of that! :) Thanks to all who provided the lovely feedback last chapter - you are stars, each and every one of you. ^^ -hugs- Once again, typo point-outs earn moar!hugs. *nodnod*
No contest prompt - again. My brain helpfully provided 'Liquor', which I couldn't leave alone. Word count, 1,614 words. (Ish) Un-beta'd.
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A Little Too Much (or, Sango, put that glass down!)
That night, Sango came over for the promised girly evening. Accompanied not by a handsome, rich man as she would have wanted, but with something almost as good - numerous bottles of alcoholic content, and questions to match. They sat around the table, ate their favourite takeaway, and had a good old chat.
Well. It wasn't so much 'chatting' as 'Sango firing a barrage of words in her general direction and Kagome trying (and failing) to keep up'.
The conversation started innocently enough, over the preliminary glass of wine.
"So, who was he, then?"
Kagome paused, mid-drink.
"Who was who?"
Sango's sly smile was starting to scare her. And that was without mentioning the way her eyes were glittering over the rim of her glass. By now, Kagome could recognise the 'I know something you don't know' look from miles away.
"The guy."
"Which guy?"
The smile turned triumphant.
"There's more than one?"
Kagome choked on her wine. After a mild coughing fit in which Sango didn't help at all, she managed to answer.
"What?! There isn't even one, Sango - are you ill or something? Amnesia, maybe? Did one of the students hit you too hard with the bokken today?"
"Even I thought that could be an option when I saw you walking in the rain with a black-haired muscle man."
Blink.
"What, you mean Inuyasha?"
The eyebrow ascended until it almost disappeared behind Sango's fringe. Kagome groaned, and had another drink of wine.
"Sango, I hate to wreck your dreams of setting me up with Mr. Right, but Inuyasha's my neighbour. He was only helping me out when I got caught in the storm on the way back from the shops. Really, there's nothing going on."
Sango scoffed. Kagome scowled.
"Really! Absolutely nothing."
"But... you think he's hot, yes?"
"... Yes, but that doesn't change anything. We're neighbours - friends, at the most - and that is that. Now, I believe I promised you films? What do you want to watch?"
"Okay, Kagome, I'll let you change the subject. But this won't be the last you hear from me about this - it's only just beginning!"
All she got in reply was another muted grumble as her friend rifled through the DVD cabinet.
"At least let me enjoy my evening in peace, without having to fend off your wrong assumptions - please, Sango?"
"Yeah, yeah, all right. Lie to yourself for now. Where's the wine bottle? And have you got that new film in?"
"Thank you, I'm not lying to myself because nothing is happening, on the counter and yes, I have!" She produced said film was a flourish, and in a matter of minutes, the pair were immersed in the heady, warm place that is the generic chick-flick.
And so, the evening passed. Tissues were opened, and chocolate eaten. The wine was finished, as was the next bottle, as was the makeshift cocktails - as was Kagome's limited supply of liquor. Three films were eventually demolished, but by the time they reached the fourth, they were giggling too loudly to get up and find another. Glasses were abandoned by this point, and when Sango attempted to go over to the kitchenette during a lucid moment to pour herself some water, she careered into the sofa and set off the laughter all over again.
When she calmed down, the prone woman decided that going outside to get some fresh air and sober up was probably a good idea. Kagome, sprawled across the floor on her back, agreed.
"... there's a coffee machine, d-down in the laundry room." Her mid-sentence snort was stifled, lest it develop into more sourceless hysterics. "Maybe we should go and grab a cup - sober up. Inuyasha drank all my coffee..."
This was inexplicably upsetting, but the tipsy Kagome had no time to dwell on it, as Sango was already heading shakily towards the door.
"Ooh, he's been drinkin' your coffee, has he, now! That means he's been he-re! In your flat!" Her trill was accompanied by the opening of the door. Kagome wavered after her, somehow retaining enough common sense to keep her friend quiet as they half-walked, half-fell down the stairs.
In the laundry room - conveniently enough, just off the main lobby - the coffee machine was switched on with medium fuss. And they left it boiling, opting to go and stand in the cold night air. In pyjamas.
But it was reasonable. It wasn't even raining anymore.
"See, perfectly fine!"
Sango certainly sounded more sober, Kagome deduced, after being blown a few feet backwards by a blast of freezing wind.
"Who says there's no way to recover after drinking too much? They should come to your building, Kagome, and stand outside! Like us!"
All right. Maybe not quite sober. Kagome was feeling marginally better - but she hadn't had as much to drink as Sango. She could still see straight, for starters. Which was always a bonus in these kinds of situations. Thought and coherent speech were returning, with effort, in the chill of the night. Feeling not-so drunk, Kagome slung a supporting arm around Sango's shoulder and was about to steer her towards one of the benches when the glare of headlights swung into the car park. She was forced to shield her eyes from the dazzling brightness.
The car stopped and flicked them off, the engine rumbling and then fading into silence. The afterimage of the lights burned, but she carried on shifting Sango anyway. There was no way her friend would be driving home tonight. And she couldn't exactly be a chauffeur - not knowing how to drive was probably the largest of their problems on that front.
Settling them both on the cool wood of the picnic bench, Kagome peered through the gloom at the figure emerging from the car. He - definitely male - looked vaguely familiar. Not as tall as she remembered Inuyasha being, from earlier today, but...
"Kagome?"
Ah. Miroku. He stopped and looked down at them, keys hanging loosely from his right hand. A bemused smile crinkled the edges of his eyes and mouth.
"May I enquire why exactly you are sitting on a bench, outside, in the middle of the night?"
"Well..." Her brain, while recovering, took a few seconds to put her words into the right order.
"It involves chocolate, alcohol, films, and alcohol. Blame Sango, it was her idea for us to have a night in. I think..."
The confusion was replaced by amusement as she rambled on, and the dark-haired man turn to face her (strangely quiet) drinking partner.
"So, you are the delectable reason why my lovely neighbour is sitting out in the cold, clearly a little inebriated and struggling to string a sentence together."
Sango gazed up at him from her position sheltered beneath Kagome's arm.
"... You have beautiful eyes."
Miroku blinked. A smile, visible even in the dark, bloomed across his face. Kagome recognised it with distant horror. It was the pre-groping smile. Although she had only witnessed it first-hand once, it wasn't something easily forgotten.
"Why, thank-"
She thought it best to intervene. One drunk dojo mistress against a perverted neighbour? She knew who her money was on.
"Before you start to work your magic on her, she's had much more to drink than me. And therefore doesn't really know what she's saying."
Miroku's eyes twinkled in her direction, but his attention didn't stray from Sango.
"I see and understand, Kagome. Would you like some... assistance? Helping her upstairs?"
"Erm.. I think I'll be... ah."
It dawned on her that Sango, after her bleary comment, had nodded off, head leaning comfortably against her shoulder.
"'Ah', indeed, Kagome."
"In that case - we made some coffee. From the machine. ...In the laundry room."
"Would you not like me to help your friend?"
A wry look was a prelude to her dry comment.
"Miroku, even if I am a teensy bit drunk, that doesn't mean I've forgotten what you did when I first met you. Sango wouldn't be happy to be groped. In her sleep."
He huffed, playfully affronted.
"Why Kagome, I-"
"Oh, and this is the woman who runs the dojo, by the way... the one I warned you about?"
"I'll get the coffee!"
He was gone before she could open her mouth.
Happy that she could still win an argument while under the influence of various drinks, Kagome giggled, and started to pull Sango away from the bench and up the stairs. Miroku reappeared at the door, two steaming mugs balanced in one hand, the other arm free to help with their sleeping beauty.
"You're lucky that Inuyasha is at work, tonight. First, he would probably be annoyed at you for disturbing him, or distracting him. Then, he'd go after the coffee."
Huffing as the began the trek up the stairs, Kagome snorted.
"Ah, I don't know. He isn't that bad... even helped me carry all my shopping back when it rained today."
Too absorbed in hauling the dead-weight Sango around to the next flight, she missed Miroku's surprised look. But she didn't miss his words, murmured in the quiet of the stairwell.
"Inuyasha is a man of many different layers, Kagome - watch your step."
As he used his weight to steady her after a slight stumble, Kagome couldn't help but think that Miroku meant more than he was saying. She ignored the idea, too busy focusing on Sango and the buzz of alcohol - still lazily wandering through her bloodstream - to start puzzling out motivations.
After a swift good-bye and heartfelt thanks to her grinning neighbour at the door, she stumbled inside, ready to get Sango into bed and pass out herself. Really - if their film evening had deteriorated this badly, how the hell was she going to manage an entire flat-warming?
'Easy answer. With less alcohol.'
Decided, Kagome downed her coffee and started digging around for an extra blanket. She took out the new packet of painkillers while she was there, in preparation for the fresh hell that would wreak havoc tomorrow morning.
'We're so going to regret this...'
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