InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ First Year: A Wedding Gift ❯ Flim Flam ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Whattown 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.25.2012 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 387 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.25.2012 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 387 | Status: Completed
During the first few days of travel the monk attempted to break the ice multiple times; light fun conversation. What games did Kohaku like? How did he like the village? Sharing gossipy stories about the villagers or just tales of his own travels, some of them where a little tall, but all in good fun?
But all this talk was rewarded with single syllables or no response at all.
After one morning of silence, Miroku tried once more and would continue to until he saw some spirit return to the boy. “Beautiful day is it not.”
“Hmm...” Kohaku felt the power of the forced conversation stretched over days of travel but he felt so awkward. It was actually how he felt around most people all the time.
Kohaku was a boy who had seen too much and found small talk annoying and strained. What was the point of such worthless and flighty wastes of breath? Was it important the monk knew that he too thought it was a beautiful day?
In a way he appreciated what the monk was doing for him, taking him along. So he decided on his own attempt at conversation. “So ... you’re truly in love with my sister?” Like his sister Kohaku was suspicious of the carnal and crassly humored monk.
“Oh!” 'serious and frank, that’s surprising' thought Miroku. But if the boy wanted to have a serious chat he would indulge. “I’m going to dedicate my entire existence to her happiness,” he said holding his palm to his chest.
“Hmm” The idea of his sister being married was foreign enough let alone to a monk. He found it odd that two people could fall in love under such violent and chaotic circumstances. Sango told him she had joined the monk’s group after they healed and rescued her from Naraku.
But why was he now traveling with this man? He barely knew this man and really wasn’t sure of his purpose by traveling with him to his former temple. In all honesty Kohaku just wanted to be away from her –Sango. She looked at him with such guilt in her eyes. It filled him with rage.
Didn’t she know it was his fault, what right did she have to feel guilt, to feel responsible for his mistakes?
She has always been stern and harsh with him when they lived at the Taijiya village. His mother died giving birth to him and growing up the woman who cooked for him, took care of him was not his older sister as his father wanted but a neighbor woman.
It was clear Sango wanted to distance herself from any of the domestic pursuits that all the other women of the village engaged in. There was always a struggle between her and their father. He was proud of her prowess as a warrior but also torn, wanting her to be married and a normal woman.
When Kohaku got older his sister was kind but loved to goad him. He expressed doubt about youkai extermination, fear about it.
He figured it perplexed her. Something she worked so hard for was his destiny, his birthright to be head youkai exterminator and he didn’t want it. As a result she would taunt, tease.
But now that everything was dead and done, something clicked in Sango. Now she was all maternal and gentleness. She even spoke of learning to sew, cook and clean while staying in Kaede’s village. All of it rubbed him the wrong way, like Sango was betraying herself. It angered him to think her change was because of him.
“And what about you? I’m sure you know a thing or two about giving your life. What are you going to dedicate it to?” asked Miroku.
The questioned was asked solemnly but it made the boy happy in a way, like Miroku was asking an aged, wise man.
“I do and …” silence, cold steel filled him “Kikyou –sama said, should I live to work to rid the world of evil and destroy all youkai and perhaps the gods would forgive me for all the crimes I’ve committed and not damn me to eternal suffering.” Time for hesitancy about youkai extermination was over.
Miroku cleared his throat. “Well Kikyou–sama was certainly a solemn person wasn’t she,” the monk wanted to say so many things, he didn’t exactly want to talk the boy out of his intentions but … 'goodness, how sad.'
Miroku was blissfully saved from a conversation he would prefer to have later rather than sooner when out of the forested darkness beside their path came a tanuki. It was Hatchi, the faithful if not a little nervous servant of Miroku. Kohaku was undisturbed by such an appearance. Tanuki’s were relatively harmless.
“Hatchi! You old dog! What sort over chicanery have you been up to? I heard you were pulling that old tea kettle gag with some ruffian.”
“Yes … well I got burned.” The tanuki bashfully replied.
The monk laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder, “double crossed again, huh? What can I tell you? You can only pull that kind of trick with someone you trust. Like yours truly.”
“No I mean I really got burned,” He turned to show his singed bottom. “He used me as an actual teapot
“Ahh … well , the sentiments still the same.” Miroku leaned in to inspect the damage, “you should really get that looked at by a healer.”
Hachi turned with indigence, “Miroku-sama I haven’t the time. I’ve been getting all the stuff you asked ….”
Miroku franticly waved his hands to silence him and panicky looked to Kohaku. “Kohaku if you would excuse use a moment,” the monk said as he pulled his friend into a huddle away from the boy.
The boy was suspicious and a great eavesdropper. He learned Miroku had organized this meeting and the tanuki would be joining them for the rest of the trip, to be use for transport no doubt. The boy’s suspicions were raised once again. One of the reasons the journey would take so long is because Miroku insisted the entire pilgrimage had to be done on foot as a matter of penance.
'Now he’s full on conspiring' thought Kohaku. He saw the two exchange something and then the group continued walking, now one youkai heavier. The whole way the two grifters exchanged stories.
But just as soon as Hatchi arrived he disappeared as the crowd of fellow travelers began to thicken and in view was a roadside tea shop.
Miroku’s head lifted at the sight of it. It was one of his favorites, located at the crossroads of the large east road straight to the major city of the province and the smaller yet highly connected west road that lead to the more industrial districts. The colorful stand featured a larger variety of dumplings and cakes than your average traveler cantina. And with such a wide arrange of customers, it was the perfect place to do a little panhandling. He was almost out of money after all.
Once entering the vicinity Miroku put on the façade of a humble, itinerant monk, his jaunty spring with a flourishing shakujou was traded for a bowed head and hands tucked into sleeves. He made a collection spot, placing his sugegasa on the ground and sitting on a bench the teashop offered. He handed Kohaku the rest of his money, a string of mon and told him to spend as much as he wanted on whatever he wanted, “try to enjoy yourself.”
The boy was as usual uneasy, especially in light of Miroku’s mysterious behavior but walked into the teashop while Miroku lounged in the meager shade the facility provided.
“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” a sweaty man manning the shop screamed into a small alcove where all the sweet smells were emanating. A sharp female voice returned from the alcove with “PRAYING OF COURSE! IF YOU CAN’T SAVE THIS SHACK MAYBE THE KAMI CAN!” The argument continued on but soon blended into the other conversations and arguments being held in the establishment.
The café was uncomfortably loud and warm for Kohaku. Sweat gathered at his brow and a tight, hot embarrassment crossed him.
He felt like he could handle himself but could barely tolerate this populated teashop. It made him want to return to a quiet forest and just forget living with humans all together. And now the yelling man was in front of him demanding an order.
“Uhhh …well what do you…?”
“We got chadango, mitarashi dango, hanami dango, goma, nikudango and … tea of course.”
“All of it … everything, I guess.” it was an order out of panic not indulgence. The man pursed his sparsely bushed lips, incredulous. But upon view of a roll of coins he was less so. He accepted the money in his thick knuckled hands and with his usual vigor screamed “All of the dango!” into the kitchens.
Returned was a textured mountain of delights carried by friendly, older woman. She had a heavily lined forehead and eyes which seemed out of place on her kind face but made more sense when it twisted and gnarled to retort to the sweaty man, husband and wife obviously.
Despite the overcrowding and loud marital arguments the scrumptious parcels convinced Kohaku to binge and it was delicious. He loved the soft dough puffing around his teeth. He got to enjoy flavors ,a fullness and a sugar high, that the 12-year-old hadn’t experienced in a long time.
He left the teashop with a pile of dumplings for Miroku but found the priest was quite busy. A long line was formed in front of him waiting for the mystical monk to give them a glimmer of the future, for a fee of course. But a discount was offered should you have a pretty female face.
It wasn’t long before the irate, perspiring shop owner stormed out, “Alright Bouzu, clear out! I don’t tolerate any scammers near my business.”
“I assure you I’m no scammer. I only reveal what the kami reveals to me”
The shop owner’s wife was behind the man looking just as entranced as the other women standing in the handsome monk’s line.
“If you’re doing the kami’s work why is it you’re charging for such a divine service?” He said, briskly gesturing with his fleshy fingers, the way his wife hated.
“I am a simple, impoverished servant. I only suggest a small, humble donation,” Miroku’s mask of serenity remained.
The group of onlookers had already gathered around the confrontation. “Didn’t that Houshi tell me it was 5 mon for a reading or get out of his line?” whispered a member of the crowd behind Kohaku.
“ENOUGH!” The man was unturned by Miroku’s spiritual appeals. He gripped the monk by the front of his robes and tore him from his seat. His other hand held the sugegasa full of change prepared to fling it.
“But Shopkeeper-san perhaps I can help you with your own troubles?” Miroku struggled out.
The man faltered but then began to shake Miroku more violently, “What do you know about it?”
The wife however had conniption before wrestling the priest away from her husband. “Jun, let the man go! Let Houshi- sama speak!” she barked. Poor Miroku was seated, brushed and deeply bowed to by the wife. “Please Houshi- sama you know of my husband’s vice? You can help us?”
“Just because he guessed we have troubles –which he still hasn’t made clear what he thinks these troubles are- doesn’t mean he has spiritual powers.”
“True, but I do know of your reputation of gambling, shopkeeper-san. Been quite misfortunate lately, have you not? Perhaps it’s the curse.”
Jun was silenced but still belligerent, “Curse?”
“Yes, I believe I feel the indicating jyaki,” Miroku stood “emanating from your establishment.” Then he turned to leave.
“No! Please Houshi-sama use your incredible power to save our shop. This bastard is on the verge of gambling it away!” Jun’s wife pleaded to the not quite retreating monk. “SEE WHAT YOU DID YOU BRUTE, YOU BASTARD! HE’S LEAVING!” She raged to her husband.
“No, my sincerest apologies but your husband has made it quite clear he is not interested in my services,” He bowed over his upturned hand.
Miroku then began to really leave muttering “I only weep for you madam. I have a premonition that you of all people will suffer the most because of this vicious youkai that is targeting your husband’s luck.”
Jun was still being barraged by his wife but that was hardly moving nor new. What was bothering him was the burning in the back of his head. It was literally very painful 'maybe I’m feeling the jyaki the monk mentioned' he thought. “Wait …”
“Now let’s inspect the premises for that spirit.” Miroku, it seemed to reappear in an instant with his collection hat suggestively brought forward.
The wife eagerly maneuvered the monk into the shop while the man harrumphed behind them requesting some prove of this sprit before he gave Miroku anything.
o-o-oOo-o-o-o
In the kitchens, Miroku stroked his chin and tentatively held out his hand in an attempt to detect youki. His breath was heavy and even, his eyes were closed and shakujou jangled with slight movement. By now he had an entire audience crowed around the small, weathered, wood lined entrance that lead to the kitchens, the bright, purple door curtain pushed aside. Pots were left boiling and little clay mugs of tea were abandoned in favor for witnessing an exorcism. Miroku quickly inhaled when his hand hovered over a bowl of eggs and the crowd inhaled with him. “These eggs, do you raise the chickens yourself?”
“No but the farmer who does … we’re his biggest customers.” Jun’s wife offered him the bowl. He selected one from the top of the pile and said a prayer over it.
“So what? Our eggs are cursed?” Jun mocked. The fact that his business was being halted was overwhelming his nervousness about the youkai.
“No, but a sign of your bad karma” Miroku easily cracked the egg over a portion of the scrubbed wood table. And there floating along the yoke and whites was a clump of hair. Streaked grey and black, the hair’s darkness and grease was increased by the gelatinous material. The strands dispersed with the spreading of the clear jelly. It was disgusting especially to the observers who were making the connection that these were the same eggs that their dumplings and dishes contained.
“What! The chickens …. No that farmer! He’s cursed!” Jun was turned, Miroku noted with an undetectable smirk.
“No, this …” he indicated to the hairy mess “is a sign to you. A sign from the spirits and I’m afraid of what I must do to reverse the jyaki.” He then crouched near a tucked away chest adorned with three locks. “A local youkai is jealous of your wealth and your propensity to horde it has attracted his attention.”
“What?!” Jun pushed the monk even farther from his collected profits affronted someone even spotted it.
“Give it up, Jun. I knew keeping such a mass amount of money was bad luck. We should give most of it as an offering to the local temple and cleanse our soul. It would rid us of the youkai and you will win that bet on our shop tomorrow, won’t he Houshi-sama?
“I thought it was a curse from the spirits,” Jun said skeptically.
“It’s … ah youkai curse and the spirits are warning us … right Houshi-sama?”
“Uhh well let’s not get bogged down with semantics what’s important is that you know, shopkeeper –san that I have no intention to have you get rid of your money. I will place a warding on your money to prevent youkai, spirits and even humans from detecting your coins. The youkai will move on and I will also perform a blessing in good luck for that bet tomorrow.”
“How much will this warding cost?” Jun didn’t fully trust the monk but the possibility of hiding his stockpile from his wife was too tempting.
Miroku humbly offered his hat, “Whatever you deem an appropriate donation to a man of god.”
Jun tossed in a few day old bean cakes.
The monk pulled a loosely woven sack out of his sleeve painted with similar symbols of his ofuda. “First you must place all the money you wish to conceal in this purifying haversack.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’m that dumb to put all my savings in a handy bag for you to steal it away?”
“I assure you shopkeeper–san I have no plans to leave this kitchen while performing the ritual.”
And indeed Miroku didn’t leave the kitchens as he sat in a corner and prepared incense over the bag full of ming. A flair of youki swirled around the hearths, bushels of radishes and turnips and stacked bags of rice flour.
It was shocking even to the peasants and traders watching who were unaccustomed to sensing such sudden forces. There was a stirring in the crowd as people tried to distance themselves from the scene. Kohaku, who was both confused and astonished by the scene unfolding, was forced to calm a potential stampede. “Please don’t be frightened, I promise there is no youkai here that will hurt you.” The boy could say that with assurance, the youki everyone was sensing was wholly familiar to him.
Miroku sealed an ofuda over the bag with certain mastery and dropped the sack heavily back into the arms of its owner. The little chinks of coins were music to Jun’s ears, he loved that noise when counting his money.
The crowd cleared the way for the monk departure some even bowing as he passed. Miroku’s movement was proud as he stood straight and brushed past his admirers with grace. “Kohaku let us leave.”
Along their path Kohaku was grappling what to say to the monk. How there simply was no curse or youkai that could be sensed and what happened in the kitchen was Kilala’s youki flaring. But still there was obviously something sinister happening at that cantina.
But as he was working on a way to vocalize these questions, again the tanuki came into view this time holding stacks and stacks of dumplings, bowls of rice and pickled vegetables and a pot of tea resting by his feet. And as Miroku relaxed and headed towards Hatchi, a clear metallic chinking rung out. It all became clear to the boy. “You did scam that shopkeeper!”
Miroku seated himself on a stone near his servant and before enjoying the spread pulled out the same ofuda marked sack filled with real ming. The priest gave him an innocent look as he popped a dumpling into his mouth.
“And that food you’re eating was stolen by you,” Kohaku pointed to the tanuki, who looked quite alarmed at having a boy carrying a chain scythe looking at him accusatorially. “From all those people while they were watching you scam him!”
“Ahh so you figured it out. Quite observant Kohaku,” his nonchalance was stunning.
“What was in the bag you gave him and how did you hide it?”
“See that’s where we didn’t quite scam him more like an unbalanced trade. That ore in the sack was worth something wasn’t it Hatchi?”
“Well I guess… except I stole that too,” the tanuki muttered into a bowl of rice he held up to his muzzle.
Miroku cleared his throat, “yes … and the flair of Kilala’s youki provided a perfect distraction to switch the bags.”
So they were all accomplices. Kohaku eyed Kilala, happily chomping on dried eel. How could she be compliant in all this? “The shopkeeper’s gambling? How did you know about it?”
“What you don’t believe I have the power to foresee?”
“No.”
“I happened to overhear the shopkeeper’s wife praying at the Kamidana on the side of the building.”
“But the egg!” It was one of the things that genuinely frightened the boy and at that pushed him to the side of actually believing the monk.
“Ahh yes,” Miroku was now fully relaxed into the grass sharing a sly smile with Hatchi. “A bit of sleight of hand and fortunately I wasn’t forced to use my own dark locks. The shopkeeper gracefully lent his own when he first tried to escort me out.”
Meanwhile Jun was thumbing the painful bald spot at the back of his head while his wife was cleaning the egg mess, gasping with horror and amazement at how similar it looked to his own.
By now the man had an inkling he’d been had and when he opened the sack (the one the monk strictly warned him not to open until the warding had “peaked”). He knew he’d been had. It was too late however for the thieves was ri away followed by an increasingly doubtful boy wondering how the hell he ended up in leagues with criminals and how the hell one of them was his sister’s fiancé.
o-o-oOo-o-o-o
Sango left the hut (certainly a less packed affair with just the four of them and Inuyasha on the roof) she thought back to a conversation she had with the monk the day before she left.
She was busy preparing dried fish and fruit for her fiancé and brother’s trip. She and Miroku were sharing a blissful and rare moment alone as Keade had left to borrow a clay pot to replace the one Sango had yet again broke.
“Here this should support you while I’m gone.” Miroku said handing her a thick, uneven envelope.
“What,” In it, was plenty chucks of bronze, mon. “Houshi-sama why are you giving me this money?”
“I will be your husband soon, I must provide after all. Use it to your liking. food, lodging, what have you.”
It was confusing to say the least but pleasure bloomed in her chest at the masculine providing yet liberal gesture.
And now as she rolled the coins between her bandaged fingers (from her earlier sewing lesson, she got a bit to enthused and clumsy when handing the needle). Something about that money made her brain click. Where had this money come from? From conning of course, but that wasn’t the right question, when had this money come from?
In their group, when traveling, they rarely used money. The Inutachi had no use for it with roasted fish, dug up wild roots and Kagome providing ninja food. For weeks at a time they would be nourished by the future girl’s bevy of dried food delicacies from a far away land.
And camping out was usually their only option either being away from any remotely populated area or a grumpy hanyou and two youkai persuading otherwise hospitable homeowners from allowing the group a nights stay. Any money that could have been made killing youkai was quickly bartered away for a warm meal and a clean bed.
The monk never tried much conning while traveling, though Sango did remember the first few weeks. The young woman completely scandalized by Miroku’s actions of blackmailing a headman. As immoral the headman’s actions (replacing and lying about sacrificing his son to a two-bit water god), she found his brazenness shocking and from a monk no less! She recalled them stopping at a town for him to trade away the horses and finery he managed to get out of the headman. Where had all that money gone? Had he stored it away? Was that why he was leaving, to get it? Did he have more from his past independent travels stored away?
If so, why did he feel they needed such fortune? Everyone in the village was more than willing to build them a home. She didn’t expect him to be a sharecropper, youkai slaying would support them.
“Whacha got there?” Inuyasha peaked over her form.
“Money … more than I’ve ever seen. Miroku gave it to me.”
“Yeah, that jerk is always jangling around with his money.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“I can smell it on ‘em.”
“Dose he carry around a lot?”
“Mmm… no that’s probably all he had with him,” he said pointing to the envelope.
This confirmed Sango’s idea that Miroku was doing more that visiting his master, 'a money run'. The money she had was a lot but not the kind of large amount he got from the headman and god knows what else from his previous travels and scamming. What it had to do with Kohaku and how it would affect her was still up in the air, possibly … maybe a wedding kimono would be bought? She didn’t want to keep so high of hopes. Whatever tricky business he was doing she didn’t believe it was malevolent or deceitful. Her instincts would usually point her in the right direction when it came to the monk. The world was too clear of evil for him to do anything harmful.
What she could concentrate on was what her world was to be once these six months were over. When they returned fall would just begin and she was determined to cook a large celebratory meal -by herself-and it was what she would work towards all summer.
With that goal in mind Sango set out the next day with mild guidance by Kaede to cook her friends a meal.
oo-oOo-oo
Shippo tentativly slurped, “Its great Sango.”
“You did a fine job, child.”
“MMM … Rin loves it.”
“Tastes like shit.” The dish was not a spicy one, so there was no reason for Inuyasha to loudly eject it from his mouth and angrily voice his detest but he certainly wasn’t going to pull any punches with the newly learning Sango. The student was kneeled beside him eagerly waiting his opinion of her first cooked meal and was not happy upon hearing it.
“What,” The taijiya’s face was stricken as she took a sip from the simmering pot suspended over the fire pit. Her face soured before the woman let out an expletive, “I forgot the salt.”
“Really? I think you added to much salt,” Shippo said in between ladling water into his mouth in an attempt to wash out the taste.
“Most of the stew is quite scorched,” said Kaede, stirring and inspecting.
“Rin found a fish bone.”
“The rice sucks too, did you even cook it?”
Sango then collapsed under the weight of her own failure.
o-o-oOo-o-o
Sango found domestic work was a lot about repetition. Stitch after stitch, scrub after scrub, fold after fold. They were patterns the woman was use to. Only before it was lift after lift, maneuver after maneuver, pound after pound. All under the watchful and critical gaze of a mentor, her father now Kaede, it was comforting to have someone standing over you, guiding you.
She was eternally grateful to the old miko and thanked Miroku for the money Sango could give her. At least she could toss some of her weight around in that form because frankly housewifery lessons were not going well. The taijiya had lost, broke and bungled more pots, laundry and stitches than she knew how to apologize for.
It was so unusual for her to fail so terribly, to be so sloppy. And it was making her crazy and even sloppier.
Sango had a problem; there was still a level of detachment. While taijiya training had repetition it also had a crescendo, where not only were your skills tested but your ability to move and react quickly and correctly. It would be a matter of life and death where as how long you fermented your miso was not.
Still while sewing, laundry, gardening, and pickling were her worst subject. There was still cooking which had some of the improvisation she was looking for in a task but she was still the worst at it.
If she was going to be good at one thing it had to be the ability to make a meal for her husband and brother. Indeed kneeling over the hearth inhaling the scents gave her the most vivid fantasies of caring for her family.
Her fantasies trailed some as she thought of her future husband. It was a quiet hour into the night and Sango was soaking nori for a simple dashi to be stored overnight. Kaede was putting Rin and Shippo to bed. Inuyasha, as the month grew warmer strayed away from the cabin for a tree to sleep in.
The simple smell of dashi was warm and calming and heat radiated on Sango’s cheeks, chest and thighs as she stirred. How she missed that monk and now she was missing him in a wholly new way. What she wouldn’t give for his comforting presence right now.
o-o-oOo-o-o
Author’s note: Hatchi and Miroku: Master grifters. In my head there is a movie where Miroku and Hatchi simultaneously solve crimes and con billionaires out of their fortune, all while wearing slick black suits, Ocean’s Eleven style!
But seriously my inspiration for this chapter wasn’t Ocean’s Eleven but rather an episode of 30 Rock, “Reaganing” which is incredibly funny and everyone should watch. I also watched the Harry Anderson episodes of Cheers and if you don’t know what that is, it means I am old.
Also the dango thing, in almost every single historical anime and jidaigeki I’ve seen there is always a roadside teashop and they look like they are eating dango. I don’t know a lot about ancient Japan or the food they served so I just guessed it was dango, which are basically rice flour dumpling things that have various different sauces poured over them and things stuffed in them. Different varieties are served at different seasons but I don’t know those specifics so I just listed different types from Wikipedia.
The fortune teller bag trick is apparently an old Romani con and the sleight of hand egg trick is a Hawaiian variation, at least according to Wikipedia.
Hope you enjoyed it!
Love, Whattown
But all this talk was rewarded with single syllables or no response at all.
After one morning of silence, Miroku tried once more and would continue to until he saw some spirit return to the boy. “Beautiful day is it not.”
“Hmm...” Kohaku felt the power of the forced conversation stretched over days of travel but he felt so awkward. It was actually how he felt around most people all the time.
Kohaku was a boy who had seen too much and found small talk annoying and strained. What was the point of such worthless and flighty wastes of breath? Was it important the monk knew that he too thought it was a beautiful day?
In a way he appreciated what the monk was doing for him, taking him along. So he decided on his own attempt at conversation. “So ... you’re truly in love with my sister?” Like his sister Kohaku was suspicious of the carnal and crassly humored monk.
“Oh!” 'serious and frank, that’s surprising' thought Miroku. But if the boy wanted to have a serious chat he would indulge. “I’m going to dedicate my entire existence to her happiness,” he said holding his palm to his chest.
“Hmm” The idea of his sister being married was foreign enough let alone to a monk. He found it odd that two people could fall in love under such violent and chaotic circumstances. Sango told him she had joined the monk’s group after they healed and rescued her from Naraku.
But why was he now traveling with this man? He barely knew this man and really wasn’t sure of his purpose by traveling with him to his former temple. In all honesty Kohaku just wanted to be away from her –Sango. She looked at him with such guilt in her eyes. It filled him with rage.
Didn’t she know it was his fault, what right did she have to feel guilt, to feel responsible for his mistakes?
She has always been stern and harsh with him when they lived at the Taijiya village. His mother died giving birth to him and growing up the woman who cooked for him, took care of him was not his older sister as his father wanted but a neighbor woman.
It was clear Sango wanted to distance herself from any of the domestic pursuits that all the other women of the village engaged in. There was always a struggle between her and their father. He was proud of her prowess as a warrior but also torn, wanting her to be married and a normal woman.
When Kohaku got older his sister was kind but loved to goad him. He expressed doubt about youkai extermination, fear about it.
He figured it perplexed her. Something she worked so hard for was his destiny, his birthright to be head youkai exterminator and he didn’t want it. As a result she would taunt, tease.
But now that everything was dead and done, something clicked in Sango. Now she was all maternal and gentleness. She even spoke of learning to sew, cook and clean while staying in Kaede’s village. All of it rubbed him the wrong way, like Sango was betraying herself. It angered him to think her change was because of him.
“And what about you? I’m sure you know a thing or two about giving your life. What are you going to dedicate it to?” asked Miroku.
The questioned was asked solemnly but it made the boy happy in a way, like Miroku was asking an aged, wise man.
“I do and …” silence, cold steel filled him “Kikyou –sama said, should I live to work to rid the world of evil and destroy all youkai and perhaps the gods would forgive me for all the crimes I’ve committed and not damn me to eternal suffering.” Time for hesitancy about youkai extermination was over.
Miroku cleared his throat. “Well Kikyou–sama was certainly a solemn person wasn’t she,” the monk wanted to say so many things, he didn’t exactly want to talk the boy out of his intentions but … 'goodness, how sad.'
Miroku was blissfully saved from a conversation he would prefer to have later rather than sooner when out of the forested darkness beside their path came a tanuki. It was Hatchi, the faithful if not a little nervous servant of Miroku. Kohaku was undisturbed by such an appearance. Tanuki’s were relatively harmless.
“Hatchi! You old dog! What sort over chicanery have you been up to? I heard you were pulling that old tea kettle gag with some ruffian.”
“Yes … well I got burned.” The tanuki bashfully replied.
The monk laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder, “double crossed again, huh? What can I tell you? You can only pull that kind of trick with someone you trust. Like yours truly.”
“No I mean I really got burned,” He turned to show his singed bottom. “He used me as an actual teapot
“Ahh … well , the sentiments still the same.” Miroku leaned in to inspect the damage, “you should really get that looked at by a healer.”
Hachi turned with indigence, “Miroku-sama I haven’t the time. I’ve been getting all the stuff you asked ….”
Miroku franticly waved his hands to silence him and panicky looked to Kohaku. “Kohaku if you would excuse use a moment,” the monk said as he pulled his friend into a huddle away from the boy.
The boy was suspicious and a great eavesdropper. He learned Miroku had organized this meeting and the tanuki would be joining them for the rest of the trip, to be use for transport no doubt. The boy’s suspicions were raised once again. One of the reasons the journey would take so long is because Miroku insisted the entire pilgrimage had to be done on foot as a matter of penance.
'Now he’s full on conspiring' thought Kohaku. He saw the two exchange something and then the group continued walking, now one youkai heavier. The whole way the two grifters exchanged stories.
But just as soon as Hatchi arrived he disappeared as the crowd of fellow travelers began to thicken and in view was a roadside tea shop.
Miroku’s head lifted at the sight of it. It was one of his favorites, located at the crossroads of the large east road straight to the major city of the province and the smaller yet highly connected west road that lead to the more industrial districts. The colorful stand featured a larger variety of dumplings and cakes than your average traveler cantina. And with such a wide arrange of customers, it was the perfect place to do a little panhandling. He was almost out of money after all.
Once entering the vicinity Miroku put on the façade of a humble, itinerant monk, his jaunty spring with a flourishing shakujou was traded for a bowed head and hands tucked into sleeves. He made a collection spot, placing his sugegasa on the ground and sitting on a bench the teashop offered. He handed Kohaku the rest of his money, a string of mon and told him to spend as much as he wanted on whatever he wanted, “try to enjoy yourself.”
The boy was as usual uneasy, especially in light of Miroku’s mysterious behavior but walked into the teashop while Miroku lounged in the meager shade the facility provided.
“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” a sweaty man manning the shop screamed into a small alcove where all the sweet smells were emanating. A sharp female voice returned from the alcove with “PRAYING OF COURSE! IF YOU CAN’T SAVE THIS SHACK MAYBE THE KAMI CAN!” The argument continued on but soon blended into the other conversations and arguments being held in the establishment.
The café was uncomfortably loud and warm for Kohaku. Sweat gathered at his brow and a tight, hot embarrassment crossed him.
He felt like he could handle himself but could barely tolerate this populated teashop. It made him want to return to a quiet forest and just forget living with humans all together. And now the yelling man was in front of him demanding an order.
“Uhhh …well what do you…?”
“We got chadango, mitarashi dango, hanami dango, goma, nikudango and … tea of course.”
“All of it … everything, I guess.” it was an order out of panic not indulgence. The man pursed his sparsely bushed lips, incredulous. But upon view of a roll of coins he was less so. He accepted the money in his thick knuckled hands and with his usual vigor screamed “All of the dango!” into the kitchens.
Returned was a textured mountain of delights carried by friendly, older woman. She had a heavily lined forehead and eyes which seemed out of place on her kind face but made more sense when it twisted and gnarled to retort to the sweaty man, husband and wife obviously.
Despite the overcrowding and loud marital arguments the scrumptious parcels convinced Kohaku to binge and it was delicious. He loved the soft dough puffing around his teeth. He got to enjoy flavors ,a fullness and a sugar high, that the 12-year-old hadn’t experienced in a long time.
He left the teashop with a pile of dumplings for Miroku but found the priest was quite busy. A long line was formed in front of him waiting for the mystical monk to give them a glimmer of the future, for a fee of course. But a discount was offered should you have a pretty female face.
It wasn’t long before the irate, perspiring shop owner stormed out, “Alright Bouzu, clear out! I don’t tolerate any scammers near my business.”
“I assure you I’m no scammer. I only reveal what the kami reveals to me”
The shop owner’s wife was behind the man looking just as entranced as the other women standing in the handsome monk’s line.
“If you’re doing the kami’s work why is it you’re charging for such a divine service?” He said, briskly gesturing with his fleshy fingers, the way his wife hated.
“I am a simple, impoverished servant. I only suggest a small, humble donation,” Miroku’s mask of serenity remained.
The group of onlookers had already gathered around the confrontation. “Didn’t that Houshi tell me it was 5 mon for a reading or get out of his line?” whispered a member of the crowd behind Kohaku.
“ENOUGH!” The man was unturned by Miroku’s spiritual appeals. He gripped the monk by the front of his robes and tore him from his seat. His other hand held the sugegasa full of change prepared to fling it.
“But Shopkeeper-san perhaps I can help you with your own troubles?” Miroku struggled out.
The man faltered but then began to shake Miroku more violently, “What do you know about it?”
The wife however had conniption before wrestling the priest away from her husband. “Jun, let the man go! Let Houshi- sama speak!” she barked. Poor Miroku was seated, brushed and deeply bowed to by the wife. “Please Houshi- sama you know of my husband’s vice? You can help us?”
“Just because he guessed we have troubles –which he still hasn’t made clear what he thinks these troubles are- doesn’t mean he has spiritual powers.”
“True, but I do know of your reputation of gambling, shopkeeper-san. Been quite misfortunate lately, have you not? Perhaps it’s the curse.”
Jun was silenced but still belligerent, “Curse?”
“Yes, I believe I feel the indicating jyaki,” Miroku stood “emanating from your establishment.” Then he turned to leave.
“No! Please Houshi-sama use your incredible power to save our shop. This bastard is on the verge of gambling it away!” Jun’s wife pleaded to the not quite retreating monk. “SEE WHAT YOU DID YOU BRUTE, YOU BASTARD! HE’S LEAVING!” She raged to her husband.
“No, my sincerest apologies but your husband has made it quite clear he is not interested in my services,” He bowed over his upturned hand.
Miroku then began to really leave muttering “I only weep for you madam. I have a premonition that you of all people will suffer the most because of this vicious youkai that is targeting your husband’s luck.”
Jun was still being barraged by his wife but that was hardly moving nor new. What was bothering him was the burning in the back of his head. It was literally very painful 'maybe I’m feeling the jyaki the monk mentioned' he thought. “Wait …”
“Now let’s inspect the premises for that spirit.” Miroku, it seemed to reappear in an instant with his collection hat suggestively brought forward.
The wife eagerly maneuvered the monk into the shop while the man harrumphed behind them requesting some prove of this sprit before he gave Miroku anything.
o-o-oOo-o-o-o
In the kitchens, Miroku stroked his chin and tentatively held out his hand in an attempt to detect youki. His breath was heavy and even, his eyes were closed and shakujou jangled with slight movement. By now he had an entire audience crowed around the small, weathered, wood lined entrance that lead to the kitchens, the bright, purple door curtain pushed aside. Pots were left boiling and little clay mugs of tea were abandoned in favor for witnessing an exorcism. Miroku quickly inhaled when his hand hovered over a bowl of eggs and the crowd inhaled with him. “These eggs, do you raise the chickens yourself?”
“No but the farmer who does … we’re his biggest customers.” Jun’s wife offered him the bowl. He selected one from the top of the pile and said a prayer over it.
“So what? Our eggs are cursed?” Jun mocked. The fact that his business was being halted was overwhelming his nervousness about the youkai.
“No, but a sign of your bad karma” Miroku easily cracked the egg over a portion of the scrubbed wood table. And there floating along the yoke and whites was a clump of hair. Streaked grey and black, the hair’s darkness and grease was increased by the gelatinous material. The strands dispersed with the spreading of the clear jelly. It was disgusting especially to the observers who were making the connection that these were the same eggs that their dumplings and dishes contained.
“What! The chickens …. No that farmer! He’s cursed!” Jun was turned, Miroku noted with an undetectable smirk.
“No, this …” he indicated to the hairy mess “is a sign to you. A sign from the spirits and I’m afraid of what I must do to reverse the jyaki.” He then crouched near a tucked away chest adorned with three locks. “A local youkai is jealous of your wealth and your propensity to horde it has attracted his attention.”
“What?!” Jun pushed the monk even farther from his collected profits affronted someone even spotted it.
“Give it up, Jun. I knew keeping such a mass amount of money was bad luck. We should give most of it as an offering to the local temple and cleanse our soul. It would rid us of the youkai and you will win that bet on our shop tomorrow, won’t he Houshi-sama?
“I thought it was a curse from the spirits,” Jun said skeptically.
“It’s … ah youkai curse and the spirits are warning us … right Houshi-sama?”
“Uhh well let’s not get bogged down with semantics what’s important is that you know, shopkeeper –san that I have no intention to have you get rid of your money. I will place a warding on your money to prevent youkai, spirits and even humans from detecting your coins. The youkai will move on and I will also perform a blessing in good luck for that bet tomorrow.”
“How much will this warding cost?” Jun didn’t fully trust the monk but the possibility of hiding his stockpile from his wife was too tempting.
Miroku humbly offered his hat, “Whatever you deem an appropriate donation to a man of god.”
Jun tossed in a few day old bean cakes.
The monk pulled a loosely woven sack out of his sleeve painted with similar symbols of his ofuda. “First you must place all the money you wish to conceal in this purifying haversack.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’m that dumb to put all my savings in a handy bag for you to steal it away?”
“I assure you shopkeeper–san I have no plans to leave this kitchen while performing the ritual.”
And indeed Miroku didn’t leave the kitchens as he sat in a corner and prepared incense over the bag full of ming. A flair of youki swirled around the hearths, bushels of radishes and turnips and stacked bags of rice flour.
It was shocking even to the peasants and traders watching who were unaccustomed to sensing such sudden forces. There was a stirring in the crowd as people tried to distance themselves from the scene. Kohaku, who was both confused and astonished by the scene unfolding, was forced to calm a potential stampede. “Please don’t be frightened, I promise there is no youkai here that will hurt you.” The boy could say that with assurance, the youki everyone was sensing was wholly familiar to him.
Miroku sealed an ofuda over the bag with certain mastery and dropped the sack heavily back into the arms of its owner. The little chinks of coins were music to Jun’s ears, he loved that noise when counting his money.
The crowd cleared the way for the monk departure some even bowing as he passed. Miroku’s movement was proud as he stood straight and brushed past his admirers with grace. “Kohaku let us leave.”
Along their path Kohaku was grappling what to say to the monk. How there simply was no curse or youkai that could be sensed and what happened in the kitchen was Kilala’s youki flaring. But still there was obviously something sinister happening at that cantina.
But as he was working on a way to vocalize these questions, again the tanuki came into view this time holding stacks and stacks of dumplings, bowls of rice and pickled vegetables and a pot of tea resting by his feet. And as Miroku relaxed and headed towards Hatchi, a clear metallic chinking rung out. It all became clear to the boy. “You did scam that shopkeeper!”
Miroku seated himself on a stone near his servant and before enjoying the spread pulled out the same ofuda marked sack filled with real ming. The priest gave him an innocent look as he popped a dumpling into his mouth.
“And that food you’re eating was stolen by you,” Kohaku pointed to the tanuki, who looked quite alarmed at having a boy carrying a chain scythe looking at him accusatorially. “From all those people while they were watching you scam him!”
“Ahh so you figured it out. Quite observant Kohaku,” his nonchalance was stunning.
“What was in the bag you gave him and how did you hide it?”
“See that’s where we didn’t quite scam him more like an unbalanced trade. That ore in the sack was worth something wasn’t it Hatchi?”
“Well I guess… except I stole that too,” the tanuki muttered into a bowl of rice he held up to his muzzle.
Miroku cleared his throat, “yes … and the flair of Kilala’s youki provided a perfect distraction to switch the bags.”
So they were all accomplices. Kohaku eyed Kilala, happily chomping on dried eel. How could she be compliant in all this? “The shopkeeper’s gambling? How did you know about it?”
“What you don’t believe I have the power to foresee?”
“No.”
“I happened to overhear the shopkeeper’s wife praying at the Kamidana on the side of the building.”
“But the egg!” It was one of the things that genuinely frightened the boy and at that pushed him to the side of actually believing the monk.
“Ahh yes,” Miroku was now fully relaxed into the grass sharing a sly smile with Hatchi. “A bit of sleight of hand and fortunately I wasn’t forced to use my own dark locks. The shopkeeper gracefully lent his own when he first tried to escort me out.”
Meanwhile Jun was thumbing the painful bald spot at the back of his head while his wife was cleaning the egg mess, gasping with horror and amazement at how similar it looked to his own.
By now the man had an inkling he’d been had and when he opened the sack (the one the monk strictly warned him not to open until the warding had “peaked”). He knew he’d been had. It was too late however for the thieves was ri away followed by an increasingly doubtful boy wondering how the hell he ended up in leagues with criminals and how the hell one of them was his sister’s fiancé.
o-o-oOo-o-o-o
Sango left the hut (certainly a less packed affair with just the four of them and Inuyasha on the roof) she thought back to a conversation she had with the monk the day before she left.
She was busy preparing dried fish and fruit for her fiancé and brother’s trip. She and Miroku were sharing a blissful and rare moment alone as Keade had left to borrow a clay pot to replace the one Sango had yet again broke.
“Here this should support you while I’m gone.” Miroku said handing her a thick, uneven envelope.
“What,” In it, was plenty chucks of bronze, mon. “Houshi-sama why are you giving me this money?”
“I will be your husband soon, I must provide after all. Use it to your liking. food, lodging, what have you.”
It was confusing to say the least but pleasure bloomed in her chest at the masculine providing yet liberal gesture.
And now as she rolled the coins between her bandaged fingers (from her earlier sewing lesson, she got a bit to enthused and clumsy when handing the needle). Something about that money made her brain click. Where had this money come from? From conning of course, but that wasn’t the right question, when had this money come from?
In their group, when traveling, they rarely used money. The Inutachi had no use for it with roasted fish, dug up wild roots and Kagome providing ninja food. For weeks at a time they would be nourished by the future girl’s bevy of dried food delicacies from a far away land.
And camping out was usually their only option either being away from any remotely populated area or a grumpy hanyou and two youkai persuading otherwise hospitable homeowners from allowing the group a nights stay. Any money that could have been made killing youkai was quickly bartered away for a warm meal and a clean bed.
The monk never tried much conning while traveling, though Sango did remember the first few weeks. The young woman completely scandalized by Miroku’s actions of blackmailing a headman. As immoral the headman’s actions (replacing and lying about sacrificing his son to a two-bit water god), she found his brazenness shocking and from a monk no less! She recalled them stopping at a town for him to trade away the horses and finery he managed to get out of the headman. Where had all that money gone? Had he stored it away? Was that why he was leaving, to get it? Did he have more from his past independent travels stored away?
If so, why did he feel they needed such fortune? Everyone in the village was more than willing to build them a home. She didn’t expect him to be a sharecropper, youkai slaying would support them.
“Whacha got there?” Inuyasha peaked over her form.
“Money … more than I’ve ever seen. Miroku gave it to me.”
“Yeah, that jerk is always jangling around with his money.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“I can smell it on ‘em.”
“Dose he carry around a lot?”
“Mmm… no that’s probably all he had with him,” he said pointing to the envelope.
This confirmed Sango’s idea that Miroku was doing more that visiting his master, 'a money run'. The money she had was a lot but not the kind of large amount he got from the headman and god knows what else from his previous travels and scamming. What it had to do with Kohaku and how it would affect her was still up in the air, possibly … maybe a wedding kimono would be bought? She didn’t want to keep so high of hopes. Whatever tricky business he was doing she didn’t believe it was malevolent or deceitful. Her instincts would usually point her in the right direction when it came to the monk. The world was too clear of evil for him to do anything harmful.
What she could concentrate on was what her world was to be once these six months were over. When they returned fall would just begin and she was determined to cook a large celebratory meal -by herself-and it was what she would work towards all summer.
With that goal in mind Sango set out the next day with mild guidance by Kaede to cook her friends a meal.
oo-oOo-oo
Shippo tentativly slurped, “Its great Sango.”
“You did a fine job, child.”
“MMM … Rin loves it.”
“Tastes like shit.” The dish was not a spicy one, so there was no reason for Inuyasha to loudly eject it from his mouth and angrily voice his detest but he certainly wasn’t going to pull any punches with the newly learning Sango. The student was kneeled beside him eagerly waiting his opinion of her first cooked meal and was not happy upon hearing it.
“What,” The taijiya’s face was stricken as she took a sip from the simmering pot suspended over the fire pit. Her face soured before the woman let out an expletive, “I forgot the salt.”
“Really? I think you added to much salt,” Shippo said in between ladling water into his mouth in an attempt to wash out the taste.
“Most of the stew is quite scorched,” said Kaede, stirring and inspecting.
“Rin found a fish bone.”
“The rice sucks too, did you even cook it?”
Sango then collapsed under the weight of her own failure.
o-o-oOo-o-o
Sango found domestic work was a lot about repetition. Stitch after stitch, scrub after scrub, fold after fold. They were patterns the woman was use to. Only before it was lift after lift, maneuver after maneuver, pound after pound. All under the watchful and critical gaze of a mentor, her father now Kaede, it was comforting to have someone standing over you, guiding you.
She was eternally grateful to the old miko and thanked Miroku for the money Sango could give her. At least she could toss some of her weight around in that form because frankly housewifery lessons were not going well. The taijiya had lost, broke and bungled more pots, laundry and stitches than she knew how to apologize for.
It was so unusual for her to fail so terribly, to be so sloppy. And it was making her crazy and even sloppier.
Sango had a problem; there was still a level of detachment. While taijiya training had repetition it also had a crescendo, where not only were your skills tested but your ability to move and react quickly and correctly. It would be a matter of life and death where as how long you fermented your miso was not.
Still while sewing, laundry, gardening, and pickling were her worst subject. There was still cooking which had some of the improvisation she was looking for in a task but she was still the worst at it.
If she was going to be good at one thing it had to be the ability to make a meal for her husband and brother. Indeed kneeling over the hearth inhaling the scents gave her the most vivid fantasies of caring for her family.
Her fantasies trailed some as she thought of her future husband. It was a quiet hour into the night and Sango was soaking nori for a simple dashi to be stored overnight. Kaede was putting Rin and Shippo to bed. Inuyasha, as the month grew warmer strayed away from the cabin for a tree to sleep in.
The simple smell of dashi was warm and calming and heat radiated on Sango’s cheeks, chest and thighs as she stirred. How she missed that monk and now she was missing him in a wholly new way. What she wouldn’t give for his comforting presence right now.
o-o-oOo-o-o
Author’s note: Hatchi and Miroku: Master grifters. In my head there is a movie where Miroku and Hatchi simultaneously solve crimes and con billionaires out of their fortune, all while wearing slick black suits, Ocean’s Eleven style!
But seriously my inspiration for this chapter wasn’t Ocean’s Eleven but rather an episode of 30 Rock, “Reaganing” which is incredibly funny and everyone should watch. I also watched the Harry Anderson episodes of Cheers and if you don’t know what that is, it means I am old.
Also the dango thing, in almost every single historical anime and jidaigeki I’ve seen there is always a roadside teashop and they look like they are eating dango. I don’t know a lot about ancient Japan or the food they served so I just guessed it was dango, which are basically rice flour dumpling things that have various different sauces poured over them and things stuffed in them. Different varieties are served at different seasons but I don’t know those specifics so I just listed different types from Wikipedia.
The fortune teller bag trick is apparently an old Romani con and the sleight of hand egg trick is a Hawaiian variation, at least according to Wikipedia.
Hope you enjoyed it!
Love, Whattown