InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ The Barter ( Chapter 3 )

~~Chapter Three~~

~The Barter~

 

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:University of Edinburgh:

:Friday, August 29, 2059:

 

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Three days.

 

Morio dug his fist deep into his pocket, holding onto the knapsack slung haplessly over his shoulder with the other hand as he frowned at the path under his feet and trudged along the path that led from the graphic design building on campus. The rumble of thunder in the distance suited his mood just fine. He'd been in a funk since Tuesday night—since he'd walked away from Meara.

 

So maybe he wasn't the smartest knife in the drawer . . . it had certainly taken him long enough to realize that Meara really didn't want to be his mate. That didn't make the ache in his soul go away whenever he thought about her, and it didn't help him to sleep at night, either. No, the awful truth was that he missed her—missed the reluctant little half-smile she got on her face whenever he ran up to her with a flower in hand, missed the way the wind caught the wispy strands of her chestnut hair and tossed it around . . . He missed her smile . . .

 

`Come on, Ri, this isn't good for you. You saw the kind of guy she wants—a bastard. If that's the kind of guy she really wants to have as her mate, then who are you to argue it with her?'

 

He grimaced. As true as his youkai's words were, he couldn't help the desolation that engulfed him every time he thought about Meara with that cretin . . . any time he remembered the sickened feeling in the pit of his stomach when that bastard kissed her . . .

 

Heaving a longsuffering sigh as the rain started to fall, Morio flattened his ears—he'd forgotten to grab an umbrella before leaving his cottage—though he didn't increase his step.

 

He was simply going through the motions, wasn't he? Going through them because he didn't have a choice in it; not really. Meara . . . she'd made her choice. Maybe he was a little denser than he had believed. He'd honestly thought . . .

 

`Keh! Don't matter what I thought, does it?'

 

`Oh, come on, Morio . . . she doesn't owe you a damn thing, even if you think she does.'

 

`She . . . she could have told me . . . Hell, they probably spent all summer laughing at me . . . baka don't know when to give up . . . foolish . . . stupid . . .'

 

Trudging along the cobblestone path that led down the center of campus, he could have veered off to the left to walk under the relative shelter of the old oak trees. The thought didn't actually cross his mind. Too lost in his own feelings of recrimination, he kept moving without paying attention. He knew where he was going.

 

Grimacing as rain dripped into his ears despite their flattened state, he made a face but kept moving, his only concession the sharp flick of the offending appendage. `Maybe,' he thought, squinting up at the cold, gray sky, `it's just not my week . . .'

 

`Whether you like it or not, you probably should apologize for beating the snot out of her fiancé,' his youkai blood pointed out.

 

Morio snorted, scowl darkening as he dug his fist deeper into his pocket and hitched the knapsack over his shoulder once more. `When pigs fly out of my ass,' he shot back.

 

`Oh come on . . . you're the bigger man—at least figuratively . . .'

 

`Shut up, damn it.'

 

A slight rustle of movement, an abrupt stop of the rain drumming down on him, and Morio blinked, momentarily disoriented. The rain continued to fall, but it had stopped coming down on him. All at once, the familiar scent filled his nostrils, and he quickly glanced at her.

 

Meara was holding a yellow umbrella over their heads, her gaze carefully lowered to the path beneath their feet. Cheeks tinged with the barest hint of pink, she gnawed on her bottom lip and quietly cleared her throat. “Don't get any weird ideas,” she told him, the color rising in her face. “I didn't feel sorry for you. I felt sorry for your ears.”

 

“For my ears,” he echoed with a curt nod, wincing as the need to shake off the water grew stronger and stronger. “Of course.”

 

“Haven't seen you for a few days,” she went on, casually. “I thought maybe you went back to Japan.”

 

“Don't have any classes in this area,” he replied, his tone clipped, brusque. “No reason to take this route, is there? Anyway, I figured you'd be relieved.”

 

He didn't miss the grimace that contorted her features for the briefest of moments before she shook her head quickly and shrugged. “Why would I be relieved?” she demanded. He didn't have to look to know that she was staring at him. He could feel her gaze drilling into his head. The challenge in her tone defied him, challenged him, and he shook his head in silent confusion. What did she want from him? She'd wanted him to give up, didn't she? She wanted him to stay away, and yet . . . and yet the look in her eyes; the confusion and the unvoiced misery . . . he understood those emotions well enough. He'd been struggling with them, himself, hadn't he? Still he just couldn't credit them, couldn't allow himself to be dragged right back in. As much as he'd desperately love to believe . . . He sighed, forcing his gaze away, wincing as more water trickled into his ear canal, and he flicked his ears before more residual water could drip down in them.

 

Meara squealed, jerking back, effectively leaving him in the rain once more. Face scrunching up in a decided grimace, he couldn't help the little whimper that escaped when the torrential rain hit him once more, filtering into his unprepared ears. She shook her head but hurried back to stick the umbrella over his head once more. “That was cold!” she complained, wiping her cheek with nimble fingertips.

 

Morio couldn't help it; he really, really couldn't. Cocking his head to the side, he dropped his knapsack and shook himself hard, sending a fine sheen of moisture everywhere—most notably, off of himself.

 

Meara shrieked but didn't step away, holding up her hand to provide a pathetic shield against the shedding rain. “Morio!” she protested. “Stop it!”

 

And then she threw her head back and laughed.

 

Morio stopped and stared at her. It was the first time he'd actually heard her laughter. Sure, she'd giggled at him a few times, and yes, he relished the instances when he'd managed to humor her, but this . . . Her laughter was a balm on his soul, softening the sharpest edges of his resolve as he watched her in mute fascination. Eyes closed as gales of laughter welled up inside her only to spill over in a cascade of soothing sound, he felt the earth stop moving for one beautiful, wild moment. It was like falling in love all over again. A savage sense of unadulterated pride swept through him, and he couldn't help but smile, too as he bent down to retrieve his knapsack.

 

“You're horrible!” she insisted, digging in her satchel for a clean linen handkerchief.

 

He was enchanted by her smile. He couldn't help it. He loved the way her eyes took on a warm glow, the slight flush in her cheeks . . . Maybe she didn't want him to give up on her, no matter what she'd said . . .

 

She blotted her skin dry and shot him what should have been a chastising look, but the effect was completely ruined by the smile she was trying to hide. “You dog!” she complained in a tone that lacked any real censure.

 

“Well . . .” he drawled, smiling at her despite his reluctant thoughts.

 

“All the same,” she grumbled as her smile widened just a little.

 

“Listen,” he went on, lifting a hand in a gesture proclaiming his innocence. “You're lucky. Your ears are on the sides of your head. Mine aren't. They're on top . . . see?” He flicked the ears in question as she grudgingly nodded. “You don't get water and stuff in your ears. I do. Can't be helped, and when water gets in there. I have to shake it out or . . . or I'd get an ear infection. And die.” He paused for effect before plunging on. “Then you'd feel bad, right? Because I'd die from the ear infection I got because you didn't want me to shake . . .”

 

Meara rolled her eyes as Morio started walking once more. “Really.”

 

He nodded. “Then you'd feel so guilty that your thoughtless demands resulted in my untimely death that you'd end up killing yourself, too . . . The world would sink into darkness, and it'd all be because you didn't let me shake my head. Now don't you feel bad, Meara MacDonnough?”

 

She giggled, her fingers fluttering over her lips in a nervous sort of way. “Oh, absolutely, Mr. Izayoi; so bad, in fact, that I might just have to take my leave of you here and now.”

 

He caught her wrist and pulled her back with a soft chuckle but let his hand drop away when she made no move to veer away from him again. He sighed. “Is that witless fool really your fiancé?” he forced himself to ask.

 

Meara's laughter died away, and she sighed, too. “. . . No . . .”

 

“You say that like it's just a matter of technicalities.”

 

She frowned but peered up at him through the thick fringe of her eyelashes, her eyes unnaturally bright, as though she were willing him to understand. “It's best,” she said slowly, quietly, deliberately. “It's the best thing for everyone.”

 

“For you?” he countered. “Is it?”

 

Meara bit her lip, shook her head as the two of them headed away from the campus, down one of the side streets just outside university grounds. “I live here,” she said, stopping just outside a four story building. Neat, clean, it looked warm and inviting, and Morio nodded. “Just . . . return the umbrella after it stops raining.”

 

“Meara!” he called as she started to dash up the steps to dart inside.

 

She stopped and turned around as the rain poured down on her. “Yes?”

 

Casting a quick glance around, Morio spotted a window box full of miniature white roses two stories up. He ran up the steps, handed her the umbrella before vaulting over the stone banister and shimmying up the trellis affixed to the side of the building. It only took him a moment to cut off one of the flowers—a bud that was ready to bloom—and he dropped back to the ground once more, pushing himself off the earth and over the railing once more, lighting on the step below Meara as he extended the blossom and stood up. “Here,” he said as she hesitantly reached for the stem. “Sorry I've missed the last few days.”

 

She shook her head, gray eyes alight with a suspicious moisture. It was hard for her; maybe harder than Morio could credit. “Morio . . .”

 

Morio grimaced, knowing deep down that he just didn't want to hear what she was about to say. Pressing his index finger against her lips, he shook his head and stepped back. “Don't break my heart, Meara . . . not today . . .”

 

“Don't break your heart?”

 

“I'd cherish you if you'd let me,” he whispered.

 

She shivered, closing her eyes for a second before opening her mouth to protest, her lips trembling under his fingertip. “I . . .”

 

He leaned down quickly, brushed his lips over her rain-dampened cheek. She leaned toward him, a soft sigh slipping from her as he slowly pulled away. He wasn't sure if she realized it or not, but either way, he'd take whatever concessions Meara was willing to make.

 

She frowned but swallowed hard as he retreated down the steps, his finger lingering against her lips until he couldn't reach her any longer. He'd seen it in her eyes, hadn't he? Standing there in the pouring rain with her heart on her sleeve, even if it was only for the moment . . . She'd missed him, even if she didn't want to admit as much. She'd missed him, and maybe—just maybe . . . “I'll never give up, Meara,” he promised as the rain fell down on him again. “See you tomorrow.”

 

He left her there, standing on the steps of her apartment building with a bemused little smile on her lips and a single white rosebud in her hand. Turning slowly, he strode away, and in his mind, the sun was shining. `Just a matter of time,' he told himself with a grin as the glimmer of hope inside him sputtered to life and grew brighter. `It's all just a matter of time . . .'

 

 

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Meara pressed her hand to her chest and leaned back against the door. Hair wrapped in a thick pink towel with her fluffy white terrycloth robe tightly belted around her narrow waist, she wasn't certain just how long she'd stood in the shower letting the hot water flow over her in a vain effort to settle her unraveled nerves.

 

Just how had he done that?

 

She sighed as a little smile quirked her lips.

 

`Who cares how he did it as long as he does it again . . .?'

 

Lifting her fingers to her lips, she gingerly touched them, a heady shiver running down her spine, and she drew in a stuttering breath. `He's sin . . . pure sin . . .'

 

Her youkai laughed. `Pure sin? Maybe . . . I think it's those eyes . . .'

 

`Those eyes . . .'

 

Golden eyes danced before her in the superimposed darkness. Laughing . . . always laughing . . . smiling at her in the recesses of her mind . . . Suddenly, though, the laughter seemed to fade, giving way to the fiercer, brighter and somehow darker look . . . the complete and utter fury that had frightened her more . . . The fierceness of the hunter; the eyes that bespoke a long and proud history . . . the eyes of his ancestors . . . the same cold glint as she'd seen so long ago in the fierce gaze of the Inu no Taisho . . .

 

The gold color seemed to fade, replaced by stony gray—sleety color that brought to mind the iron cold of the summer storm clouds that was still blanketing the sky outside. Those were the eyes she knew better; the ones that she was loathe to displease. Her father . . . Ian MacDonnough . . .

 

“Hanyous—those perversities of nature—they should not be suffered to live.”

 

That wasn't true. Meara never had believed that hanyous were bad or somehow against nature, and while it was true that Ian had never said anything of the sort to Meara, herself, she'd heard his opinion that day, and she knew . . .

 

Eyes opening as she pushed herself away from the door, grabbing the first dress she laid hands on out of her closet, Meara heaved a sigh and dropped the garment on the bed before flopping down beside it. `Da would never accept him, would he? He'd never allow me to be with Morio . . .'

 

`Who cares what your da would allow? If Morio's the one, then he's the one, and there isn't a thing your da could say against that.'

 

If only it were that simple . . .

 

Her gaze lit on the framed photograph standing on her dresser: Aislynn. Eyes bright without a trace of a smile, she stared at Meara from across the room, her gaze burning into Meara's with the strength of conviction behind it. `Don't leave me,' she seemed to be saying. `Mummy and Da . . . they're too busy for me . . . just as they were always too busy for you . . . You're all I have . . . don't leave me . . .'

 

Meara slowly got to her feet, shuffled over to stand before the dresser, kissing her fingertips and brushing them against the cool matte glass. “Aislynn . . .” she whispered. “I won't leave you . . .”

 

Turning away with a heavy sigh, Meara got dressed in silence. Her heart felt heavier now, and she grimaced, asking herself just why she'd initiated the conversation with Morio earlier in the day.

 

`You know why.'

 

She sighed as she pulled the towel off her head and started squeezing water out of her long locks. `I suppose I do.'

 

The image of him, wandering along the path with his shoulders slumped and his head down, with his ears plastered against his head as the rain beat down on him unmercifully . . . She winced, ignoring the fact that she'd also been knee-deep in self-loathing for having been so mean to him after the altercation with Paul. She should have thanked him, shouldn't she? He'd protected her, even if she hadn't really needed it. Paul had been jealous—no, not jealous. For him to have been jealous, he had to care about her, and he didn't. No, he cared about garnering favor from the current European tai-youkai, and that was all . . . She . . . well, she was just a pawn in that mess. Paul was being territorial. It was a different thing entirely.

 

To be honest, the idea of spending her life with Paul Gregory was something she just didn't want to think about. She'd end up as unhappy as her mother was, and that was something that was completely unacceptable, wasn't it?

 

Alesia Bellerophon was the only daughter of one of the oldest and proudest inu-youkai families in all of Europe, and when Ian MacDonnough had decided that it was time to take a mate, he'd looked to that family to oblige him. It had happened so long ago—over four hundred years, or so Meara had been told—and things had been much different back then. Looked upon as a strong alliance between two powerful families, the mating was not exactly one of the traditional sense, but it did work to solidify Ian's power in the realm, and to that end, he'd gotten exactly what he'd required. Love wasn't something that either of them had wanted or craved, and now Meara had to wonder if they weren't both suffering for the choice they'd made so long ago.

 

Alesia rarely left her suite of rooms at the MacDonnough mansion, and it wasn't a secret that the once-proud daughter of the Greek general was in flagging health, though Meara had to wonder whether her father really would suffer if her mother died. There was no love; no love bond . . . In all the years that Meara had been alive, she could only recall a few scattered incidents when she actually spent any real time with her mother. Left in the care of a succession of nannies and governesses, it'd been a lonely childhood, to say the least, and by the time she'd gone to school . . .

 

She grimaced. The last thing she could do was to abandon Aislynn to a fate such as that. As well staffed as the manor was, there were no playmates to be found; no friends to be made. It was a horribly lonely place, that estate, and Meara . . . if she could make things easier for Aislynn, she would. She owed it to Aislynn. She owed it to herself.

 

Hanging the towel over the back of the straight wooden chair at her desk, Meara grabbed her brush off the table and headed for the door, determined to brush aside the worrisome thoughts before they ruined her mood completely. Would it be so bad to allow herself a few blessed hours to savor something so wonderful—so magical—even if it never could be . . .?

 

The sheer white curtains billowed in the strong breeze siphoning through the crack in the window. Iona hadn't closed them before she'd taken off for the evening. Shivering slightly as the night chill curled around her bare ankles and up her legs, she rubbed her arms briskly and hurried over to close it but stopped with her hands poised on the sill, eyes narrowing as she gazed down at the shadowy figure with the bright silver hair standing outside on the sidewalk in the pouring rain.

 

He saw her and lifted his hand to wave before grasping the ukulele she knew only too well and strumming the first discordant notes. “`Wise men say . . . only fools rush in . . . but I . . . can't . . . help . . . falling in lo-o-ove wi-ith yo-o-ou . . .'”

 

Pushing the window open further, she stuck her head out side and hissed, “Morio! What are you doing?”

 

He stopped playing long enough to grin up at her, ears flattened pitifully against the downpour. “Meara! Fancy meeting you here!”

 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You're going to get struck by lightning, you fool!” she insisted. “Go home!”

 

“I have a proposition for you! I'll leave after you hear me out!”

 

`Of all the stubborn, foolhardy, asinine . . .' Another crack of thunder followed moments later by an intense bolt of lightning made her cringe. “Ask it, then!” she hollered.

 

“Invite me up, and I will,” he replied pleasantly enough.

 

“I—no!” she maintained.

 

“All right,” he agreed pleasantly enough as he propped his foot on the bottom step that led up to the front porch and idly strummed the ukulele that sorely needed to be tuned. Meara cringed as he resumed the song. “`Shall I stay . . . Would it be a sin . . . If I can't help falling in love with you . . .'”

 

“Sweet Jesus, MacDonnough . . . make him stop!” someone grouched from the apartment above.

 

“I'll invite him in if that's all it'd take,” someone else lower down complained.

 

“Ugh! I heard that he was bad, but I didn't know he was that bad!” another voice chimed in.

 

Meara dug her claws into the window frame and grimaced. Another streak of lightning shot down, striking the earth just behind the trees off to the left, and Meara couldn't help the little shriek that escaped her. It was close—too close—and the insane man just kept playing and singing as though he hadn't noticed the lightning at all . . . “Morio!” She grimaced. “All right!” she called down. “Come up . . .”

 

That got his attention right quickly. Stuffing the instrument into the duffle bag on the ground beside him, he slung the cumbersome bag over his shoulder and hopped over the banister to grab the trellis in much the same fashion as he had when he'd climbed up to steal the rose from her next door neighbors earlier. Meara shook her head and shoved the window open. His hands slapped over the edge of the sill, and she reached out, cringing as another bolt of lightning struck, grasping the band of his jeans and jerking him into the apartment. “Haven't you ever . . . heard of doors?” she complained as she gritted her teeth and yanked.

 

“Ow, Meara . . .!” he exclaimed, the palms of his hands smacking against the hardwood floor. “Ow, ow . . . wedgie . . . ow . . .”

 

“You know, you and your singing were the reasons why Iona and I couldn't rent the same flat this year,” she pointed out.

 

“This one's nicer,” he grunted as she jerked on his jeans again.

 

With one more mighty tug, she dragged him through the window and let go as he sprawled on the floor with an unrepentant grin followed closely by a grimace as he reached back to rub his rear end. “You were a school bully, weren't you?” he complained as he rolled to his feet and straightened up.

 

Another flash of lightning split the sky outside the window, and Meara shook her head. “You'll be the death of me,” she predicted with a sigh.

 

The blasted man had the audacity to chuckle. “Worried about me? That's sweet but entirely unnecessary.”

 

“Hardly!” she shot back. “Just because you're too stubborn to realize that you could have easily been hit by lightning and—Don't you dare!” she warned as he cocked his head to the side, one ear straight up in the ear while the other was jutting out to the side, his face screwed up in a scowl of intense concentration.

 

He shot her a guilty glance and uttered a sound akin to a soft whine. “Have a heart, Meara!” he grumbled. “I've got water in my ears!”

 

“Let me get you a towel,” she insisted, jabbing her index finger into his chest none too gently, “and don't even think about shaking.”

 

She backed out of the room as Morio stood motionless with his head tilted and a grimace on his face before careening around to gather some towels, praying that he wouldn't give in to the urge to shake off the excess water.

 

Grabbing a handful of fluffy pink towels off the shelf in the bathroom, she darted back toward the living room, skidding to a stop and lifting her arms in time to stave off the barrage of water droplets that spun through the air as the irritating man shook himself. “Morio!” she protested.

 

He stopped mid-shake, and shot her a guilty glance, as if he thought that she wouldn't notice that the apartment was drenched with water. The contrition that filled his gaze brought her smile to her lips despite herself, and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from her lips as she planted her hands on her hips and helplessly shook her head. “Sorry,” he mumbled, cheeks pinking as the contrite expression dissolved beneath the guise of a cheesy grin.

 

“I'll believe it when you mean it,” she countered with a crooked eyebrow.

 

He shrugged and held his hand out for a towel.

 

Rolling her eyes, she snatched one off the floor and tossed it to him before retrieving the rest of the hapless pile. The puddle around Morio's feet darkened and spread, pooling outward in a viscous bubble as Meara dropped a towel on the floor to staunch the flow. Holding the ends of another towel wide, she motioned for him to tilt his head toward her. He looked surprised for a moment but did as he was told. Inclining his head so that she could reach his ears, he stood still while she carefully toweled his hair dry, massaging his ears in a completely gentle way.

 

“That's nice,” he murmured, eyes drifting closed as she continued her ministrations.

 

Meara deliberately slowed her hands as she almost smiled—almost. The feelings churning in her stomach weren't exactly unpleasant as much as they were entirely unsettling, as if her very being were tumbling over on itself time and again. She'd felt stirrings of this kind about him before, of course, and she wasn't completely ignorant as to what, exactly, they meant, but she couldn't help the stirring of something far headier that churned around her in a dizzying sort of way. Precluding her powers of rational thought, she could only stare at him, couldn't help herself as she let her hands drop away only to reach up once more to brush his bangs out of his eyes as a roughened sound not unlike a purr though much harsher—much deeper—issued from him. It was a foreign sound the likes of which she hadn't heard before, and she gasped softly as he leaned into her touch, his hand wrapping around her wrist, holding her in place with a gentle albeit firm grasp.

 

“M-Morio?” she whispered.

 

Morio's eyes opened slowly with a lethargy that seeped into her through his hand holding onto her wrist. She stood, spellbound, as he gazed at her through heavily-lidded eyes, his expression serious, primitive, deep . . . He uttered a low growl—a soothing sound, and she answered with one of her own.

 

“My bargain . . .” he murmured suddenly, reminding himself that he was there for a reason.

 

“Question . . .” she echoed.

 

He swallowed hard—she could see the motion of his Adam's apple—and he licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. Meara shivered. “Go out with me,” he said quietly. “One time . . . just once, and I swear I'll leave you alone if I don't convince you that we're meant to be.”

 

Meara shook her head and frowned. “I can't. I—”

 

“One time, Meara. One date. What do you have to lose?”

 

`What do I have . . . to lose . . .?' she thought wildly. She started to open her mouth to refute him.

 

He shook his head stubbornly. “One date, and if you can look at me at the end and say that you didn't enjoy yourself—that you don't want to be with me . . . I'll leave you alone,” he paused here, grimacing slightly, as though the rest of his words were costing him, “forever.”

 

“Forever,” she repeated absently.

 

He jerked his head once: yes. “Forever,” he stated again.

 

Meara forced her gaze away, wishing for the briefest of moments that she really could afford to give in; wishing for things that couldn't ever be. He let her pull her hand away and she turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she heaved a sigh. “I . . . I'm sorry . . .”

 

“Meara,” he said, closing the distance between them, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her around to face him once more. “Don't be sorry . . . just say yes.”

 

`No,' she mumbled, unsure if she said the word out loud. Staring into the depths of his gaze, she couldn't look away, and she couldn't run. He begged her, pleaded with her with the slight narrowing of his eyes, with the heightened gold that brightened; burned.

 

`Please, Meara . . . please,' he spoke to her heart. `Just for once . . . listen to your heart . . .'

 

`Just for . . . once . . . one insular memory . . . One dream . . . one night . . . I . . . I could have that . . .'

 

Meara closed her mouth and blinked quickly, trying to stave back the haze of tears that blurred her vision. `A bargain . . .' she mused absently . . . `I'd bargain the rest of my life for one night of something beautiful—a memory to last me a lifetime . . .' Closing her eyes for a moment, she swallowed back the growing lump that choked her; fought back the desolation as the flames of hope burgeoned. One night with Morio in exchange for a lifetime with Paul . . . she could do that. She wanted to do it.

 

“. . . Okay,” she said softly. “But only one date . . .”

 

 

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A/N:

Can't Help Falling In Love, words & music by George Weiss, Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore.As recorded by Elvis Presleyon RCA Records, Blue Hawaii Soundtrack, released 1997(remastered). Copyright 2006 All Media Guide, LLC. All rights reserved.

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Final Thought fromMeara:

Just one date …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~