Youko magnanimously decided on spending their final day training, with methods Kagome found a bit…questionable. When he'd brought out a set of expensive looking arrows, and a bow so ornate she'd rather give it to a museum than dare to use it, her first reaction had been a resounding, "Wait, what? Absolutely not."
"I have not even posed my request," Youko said. "These are your primary method of offense are they not?"
"Yes…" she said uncertainly.
It was her mistake—she'd decided not to question her change of clothes this morning, putting on Youko's spare pants without a blink. Foolishly she'd thought it was merely another one of his quirks, the ever increasing game of cultural assimilation. Foolishly, for of course the loose white cloth was much easier to practice in than her jeans.
"Then I shall see you use them!" he declared.
"No."
"Are you playing coy?"
"No!" she exclaimed. "But what if I hurt one of you?"
"You won't."
"What if I do?"
"You will not hurt us because you will not be aiming at us," he said, pushing the weapons back into her hands. "You will be aiming for fruit."
She blinked. Paused. Blinked some more. "Wait—what?"
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