InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Awry ❯ The Good Life ( Chapter 2 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: ladygriddlebone 
Sango lives the good life. Kind of. If only people would stop bothering her...
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 428 | Status: Completed
Sango lives the good life. Kind of. If only people would stop bothering her...
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 428 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi.
Chapter Two
Miroku was sitting at the inn, pretending to meditate in the hours after dinner had been served and before it was time to sleep, when he felt the slight but unmistakable brush of a nearby demonic aura. Having a feeling he knew exactly who it belonged to, his rose from his position by the hearth and strode purposefully outside. No one seemed to notice his sudden departure, and if they did, they knew better than to question it.
He followed the feel of the aura down a quiet path away from the inn; he was a short distance out of town when he came upon the source, and it was as he had suspected.
"What are you doing here, Hachi?" He asked the question pleasantly enough, but there was steel underlying his voice. He didn't care if Hachi was intimidated. So far as he was concerned, that damnable tanuki deserved everything he got.
"Greetings, Lord Miroku," Hachi said, almost managing not to stutter. "I came to see if you had found the village, and if you had any luck with the lady -"
"I'm here. And no," Miroku interrupted, his tone dry.
"No luck?" Hachi seemed distressed. "But -"
"You didn't tell me she was a demon slayer," Miroku pointed out. "Which put a bit of a damper on my original plan."
"I didn't know!" Hachi protested. In spite of the fact that the tanuki was very nearly cowering in front of him, Miroku was tempted to deliver a swift and well-deserved kick in the rear.
"Is there anything else you've been keeping from me?"
Hachi trembled, his ears pressed flat against his head. "N-no, Lord Miroku! I swear I've told you everything I know!"
"Who asked you to do this?" Miroku pressed, certain that if he kept pushing, the tanuki would give something up. He was reasonably sure that whoever had put Hachi up to this was not doing it simply for amusement. Hachi had something at stake here, or he would not look nearly so panicked. Nervous, yes. But frightened? This was unusual.
"I don't know! He never gave me a name!"
Miroku frowned, his anger slipping away into frustration and even a bit of concern, though he did his best to hide it. "You had better not be lying, or I'll purify you next time."
If Hachi had any doubts about his friend's ability to carry out that threat, he did not put voice to them. He stayed in his place on the ground while Miroku stalked back toward the village. Finally, he managed a quiet, "Will you still try, Lord Miroku?"
The monk did not answer.
-----
Sango strode furiously down the castle hall and burst into the courtyard, Kirara following close on her heels. The servants knew not to bother her when she was in a mood, but that did not make the remaining retainers any less frustrating. She had risen with the dawn, as always, and had asked for word of her husband, as always, and had been treated to a condescending response, as always.
And so it was annoyance that sent her into the courtyard, dressed in the full battle regalia of her people, for sword practice. Propriety be damned, she was going to do something for once, instead of merely sitting on a cushion and watching the world go by without her, even if it was only a small something, and comforting, like the training practices she had performed ever since she was a little girl.
If there was one thing the court folk knew to avoid, it was Sango with a sword in her hand, never mind that it had been months since she had last used the thing. With this sword, she had proven her worth even well before she had become Kuranosuke's wife.
She may have proven her worth, she reflected dourly, but that did not stop the court folk from stifling her. She was required to act the part of complacent noblewoman, to dress in fancy clothes, and to be completely reliant upon her husband. Leaving the castle, for all that he left her ostensibly in charge of it, was out of the question unless her husband was present to grant permission and send an escort.
She grimaced. As if she needed the protection. Unfortunately, her husband earnestly and truly believed that she did.
Kuranosuke did not advertise her abilities as a demon slayer, and he did not permit her (perhaps wisely so, considering how dangerous her chosen profession could be) to go on extended hunting trips, though he had occasionally allowed her to help out at nearby villages. He thought of her as a treasure, something to be prized and cherished, not put at risk. He told her of this often, behind closed doors, when he would wax eloquent... or as eloquent as he could get, with awkward poetry and declarations of love and devotion. Secretly, she might have thought it more amusing than exciting, but the emotion behind it was sincere, and she could not fault him for that.
She knew it was only Kuranosuke's kindness and devotion that kept her here, after all. When she had showed up at his door, delirious and wounded, with only patchy memories of what had happened to her, he had taken her in without question and had seen to her care and recovery. When she had discovered that her village had been destroyed and its occupants killed, he had made her first a fixture of his household and later his wife. If he had not taken her in, she was certain she would have died, or worse. If not for him, she would have left long ago and let the court folk have their way.
And so, for him, she did her best to keep her calm. He trusted her implicitly, moreso than any of his retainers - and for good reason. That lot consisted of nothing but schemers, back-stabbers, and money hungry mooches. It was why he left her in charge of the castle while he was away, and why the court folk all hated her. It was why she hated them, as well. Being in charge meant she had to put up with them more than usual, which was always sure to push her patience to its limits.
Kuranosuke had been away for a week now, and she found she no longer wanted to put up with her responsibilities at all. But it was not that easy. As tempting as the idea was, she could not just walk away because she was angry. There was duty to consider, and honor. And not just her own, but her husband's as well.
Fleetingly, she yearned to bring her hiraikotsu down from its place on the wall of her chamber and use it to show those fat, pompous men what she could really do, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. She was too long out of practice and would be as likely to hurt herself as show them what was what. For now, it would have to be the sword, though she vowed to work back to the point where she could at least practice with her favorite weapon again.
Her mind finally settled, she stood alone in the courtyard and took several deep breaths. She was out of practice and would have to start slowly, but her body already itched to resume the familiar exercises, to feel the weight of her sword in her hand.
She moved, first without a weapon so that her muscles could grow warm, and then with the wakizashi that had been part of her arsenal as a demon slayer. It was refreshing, pleasant. She closed her eyes, imagining that she was back home, still training under her father's supervision, honing her craft. She remembered all of it, as if she had done this last only yesterday.
She grew warmer, and pushed herself harder. Stress and tension flowed out of her with each carefully controlled movement of the blade. She swung the sword again and again and again, twisting, parrying, and thrusting with enough force to make her grunt from the effort. It felt good to exercise her muscles, to release the anger pent up inside. That it kept the court folk at bay was simply an added bonus.
By the time she noticed she was being watched, she was drenched in sweat and fully out of breath. She had been so lost in her exercises that she had become unaware of her surroundings - a dangerous mistake, and one that showed just how out of practice she had become, no matter how well she remembered the basics. Anger flared anew in the face of exhaustion when she realized just who it was.
Him. The monk. The scoundrel who had tried to swindle her just last night was sitting under one of the nearby trees, watching her.
"I told you not to return," she managed to say, through clenched teeth and without breathing too heavily. She sheathed her sword and crossed her arms over her chest, and wondered vaguely why he had been allowed entrance to the castle again. Perhaps he had snuck in unnoticed, in which case she made a mental note to have yet another talk with the watchmen.
"Not quite," said the monk, his voice quite cheery. He rose from his place at the base of the tree and meandered in her direction as he spoke. "You suggested that I leave and not return. I merely chose not to heed your advice."
Sango groaned. "I have no use for a fraud like you."
He looked affronted. "You think I'm a fraud?"
"You lied to me just yesterday," she pointed out, "about a supposed demonic presence in my home -"
"Then what do you call that?" he asked innocently, gesturing toward Kirara.
She wondered if he could actually sense Kirara's youki, or if he was just guessing because the cat had two tails. "That," she said stiffly, glowering at him, "is Kirara."
"That is what I felt." He shrugged. "A simple misunderstanding."
Sango eyed him suspiciously and did not believe a word he was saying.
Ever the keen observer when his credibility was on the line, he noted, "You don't believe me."
"Why would I? You're lying to me right now." She sighed. The man was quite obviously a charlatan, though he did not seem the least bit bothered by having been caught. Why wouldn't he just admit it and be on his way?
"My lady, now you are just being unkind -"
"Enough," she interrupted, her voice sounding weary and impatient even to her own ears. "What is it that you're after? Money? Valuables? You won't get any of that here -"
"You," he said quietly.
Something inside her snapped at the sheer impudence of his answer. She felt like a bowstring drawn too tight... and lashed out. It was instinct. Violence. It happened so quickly that she did not realize what had happened until he staggered backward, off-balance, finally toppling over to land on his back with a heavy, satisfying thud. Still bristling with anger, Sango barely noticed the ache the impact had left in her hand. Insolent jerk!
She turned on her heel and stormed away, resolutely refusing to look back. But when the monk made no remark, remorse began to slip in. She hadn't meant to hurt him, not really. He just needed to learn when to shut up.
So when she found a likely looking servant girl, she muttered, "Go check on that monk and make sure I haven't killed him." That was a mess she would like to avoid. She should not have lashed out like that; this could be just the ammunition her enemies needed to convince Kuranosuke to get rid of her. With a weary sigh, she added, "And see to it that he doesn't come back this time."
-----
Miroku was grinning like a fool. He lay flat on his back, where he'd fallen when Sango finally lost her temper and hit him, watching the sky spin dizzily above him and feeling better than he had in years.
There was a throbbing, painful spot in the shape of Sango's fist where it had connected with his face; he'd have a spectacular bruise there before long. And he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere. Almost giddily elsewhere.
He had never met a woman with such fire before. He had never before been so violently rebuked. And it was... intriguing. Some part of him, deep inside, had thrilled to watch her tight grip on self-control slip, even a little. All it had taken was one word... a silly, almost flippant word, but one he did not think she would soon forget.
Already he was looking forward to their next encounter - and there would be another encounter, he'd make sure of that - for another chance to push her, to draw that passionate anger out of her all over again.
"Houshi-sama?" A soft voice intruded on his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the servant girls peering down at him. Concern was evident on her face, which was young and pretty. Her head tilted slightly to one side. "Are you all right?"
He laughed. "I'll be fine, but you have my sincere gratitude for your concern."
She helped him up, and steadied him with surprising strength when he was wobbly on his feet. Damn, that woman could pack a punch...
"You're sure you're fine?" the young woman asked, her expression skeptical.
He nodded. She kept a hand on his arm as she led him, as if worried that he might stumble and fall again. On any other day, he might have asked her to dally with him or at least tried to steal a kiss, but right now he needed to think, so he settled for a quick caress of her more enticing features. As she led him to the castle gate, he let his hand, which had been innocently at his side, creep over for a quick feel of her ass.
It was properly sized, nothing extraordinary, but firm and pleasant nonetheless...
And the girl was seething. "Suddenly I see why Lady Sango saw fit to beat you," she remarked, carefully peeling his hand off of her.
"Ah, my apologies," he said. "You see, this hand was once cursed, and I'm afraid it still has a mind of its own sometimes..."
"Please go," she said through gritted teeth, pointing past the gate, "and don't come back."
"Of course," he replied pleasantly. And with a smile and a brief wave, which she did not reciprocate, he took his leave. Of course, he had no intention of obeying this latest directive, which no doubt came from Lady Sango herself. He'd weaseled his way past the last one, and he'd do it again, happily. And, hopefully, soon.
Chapter Two
Miroku was sitting at the inn, pretending to meditate in the hours after dinner had been served and before it was time to sleep, when he felt the slight but unmistakable brush of a nearby demonic aura. Having a feeling he knew exactly who it belonged to, his rose from his position by the hearth and strode purposefully outside. No one seemed to notice his sudden departure, and if they did, they knew better than to question it.
He followed the feel of the aura down a quiet path away from the inn; he was a short distance out of town when he came upon the source, and it was as he had suspected.
"What are you doing here, Hachi?" He asked the question pleasantly enough, but there was steel underlying his voice. He didn't care if Hachi was intimidated. So far as he was concerned, that damnable tanuki deserved everything he got.
"Greetings, Lord Miroku," Hachi said, almost managing not to stutter. "I came to see if you had found the village, and if you had any luck with the lady -"
"I'm here. And no," Miroku interrupted, his tone dry.
"No luck?" Hachi seemed distressed. "But -"
"You didn't tell me she was a demon slayer," Miroku pointed out. "Which put a bit of a damper on my original plan."
"I didn't know!" Hachi protested. In spite of the fact that the tanuki was very nearly cowering in front of him, Miroku was tempted to deliver a swift and well-deserved kick in the rear.
"Is there anything else you've been keeping from me?"
Hachi trembled, his ears pressed flat against his head. "N-no, Lord Miroku! I swear I've told you everything I know!"
"Who asked you to do this?" Miroku pressed, certain that if he kept pushing, the tanuki would give something up. He was reasonably sure that whoever had put Hachi up to this was not doing it simply for amusement. Hachi had something at stake here, or he would not look nearly so panicked. Nervous, yes. But frightened? This was unusual.
"I don't know! He never gave me a name!"
Miroku frowned, his anger slipping away into frustration and even a bit of concern, though he did his best to hide it. "You had better not be lying, or I'll purify you next time."
If Hachi had any doubts about his friend's ability to carry out that threat, he did not put voice to them. He stayed in his place on the ground while Miroku stalked back toward the village. Finally, he managed a quiet, "Will you still try, Lord Miroku?"
The monk did not answer.
-----
Sango strode furiously down the castle hall and burst into the courtyard, Kirara following close on her heels. The servants knew not to bother her when she was in a mood, but that did not make the remaining retainers any less frustrating. She had risen with the dawn, as always, and had asked for word of her husband, as always, and had been treated to a condescending response, as always.
And so it was annoyance that sent her into the courtyard, dressed in the full battle regalia of her people, for sword practice. Propriety be damned, she was going to do something for once, instead of merely sitting on a cushion and watching the world go by without her, even if it was only a small something, and comforting, like the training practices she had performed ever since she was a little girl.
If there was one thing the court folk knew to avoid, it was Sango with a sword in her hand, never mind that it had been months since she had last used the thing. With this sword, she had proven her worth even well before she had become Kuranosuke's wife.
She may have proven her worth, she reflected dourly, but that did not stop the court folk from stifling her. She was required to act the part of complacent noblewoman, to dress in fancy clothes, and to be completely reliant upon her husband. Leaving the castle, for all that he left her ostensibly in charge of it, was out of the question unless her husband was present to grant permission and send an escort.
She grimaced. As if she needed the protection. Unfortunately, her husband earnestly and truly believed that she did.
Kuranosuke did not advertise her abilities as a demon slayer, and he did not permit her (perhaps wisely so, considering how dangerous her chosen profession could be) to go on extended hunting trips, though he had occasionally allowed her to help out at nearby villages. He thought of her as a treasure, something to be prized and cherished, not put at risk. He told her of this often, behind closed doors, when he would wax eloquent... or as eloquent as he could get, with awkward poetry and declarations of love and devotion. Secretly, she might have thought it more amusing than exciting, but the emotion behind it was sincere, and she could not fault him for that.
She knew it was only Kuranosuke's kindness and devotion that kept her here, after all. When she had showed up at his door, delirious and wounded, with only patchy memories of what had happened to her, he had taken her in without question and had seen to her care and recovery. When she had discovered that her village had been destroyed and its occupants killed, he had made her first a fixture of his household and later his wife. If he had not taken her in, she was certain she would have died, or worse. If not for him, she would have left long ago and let the court folk have their way.
And so, for him, she did her best to keep her calm. He trusted her implicitly, moreso than any of his retainers - and for good reason. That lot consisted of nothing but schemers, back-stabbers, and money hungry mooches. It was why he left her in charge of the castle while he was away, and why the court folk all hated her. It was why she hated them, as well. Being in charge meant she had to put up with them more than usual, which was always sure to push her patience to its limits.
Kuranosuke had been away for a week now, and she found she no longer wanted to put up with her responsibilities at all. But it was not that easy. As tempting as the idea was, she could not just walk away because she was angry. There was duty to consider, and honor. And not just her own, but her husband's as well.
Fleetingly, she yearned to bring her hiraikotsu down from its place on the wall of her chamber and use it to show those fat, pompous men what she could really do, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. She was too long out of practice and would be as likely to hurt herself as show them what was what. For now, it would have to be the sword, though she vowed to work back to the point where she could at least practice with her favorite weapon again.
Her mind finally settled, she stood alone in the courtyard and took several deep breaths. She was out of practice and would have to start slowly, but her body already itched to resume the familiar exercises, to feel the weight of her sword in her hand.
She moved, first without a weapon so that her muscles could grow warm, and then with the wakizashi that had been part of her arsenal as a demon slayer. It was refreshing, pleasant. She closed her eyes, imagining that she was back home, still training under her father's supervision, honing her craft. She remembered all of it, as if she had done this last only yesterday.
She grew warmer, and pushed herself harder. Stress and tension flowed out of her with each carefully controlled movement of the blade. She swung the sword again and again and again, twisting, parrying, and thrusting with enough force to make her grunt from the effort. It felt good to exercise her muscles, to release the anger pent up inside. That it kept the court folk at bay was simply an added bonus.
By the time she noticed she was being watched, she was drenched in sweat and fully out of breath. She had been so lost in her exercises that she had become unaware of her surroundings - a dangerous mistake, and one that showed just how out of practice she had become, no matter how well she remembered the basics. Anger flared anew in the face of exhaustion when she realized just who it was.
Him. The monk. The scoundrel who had tried to swindle her just last night was sitting under one of the nearby trees, watching her.
"I told you not to return," she managed to say, through clenched teeth and without breathing too heavily. She sheathed her sword and crossed her arms over her chest, and wondered vaguely why he had been allowed entrance to the castle again. Perhaps he had snuck in unnoticed, in which case she made a mental note to have yet another talk with the watchmen.
"Not quite," said the monk, his voice quite cheery. He rose from his place at the base of the tree and meandered in her direction as he spoke. "You suggested that I leave and not return. I merely chose not to heed your advice."
Sango groaned. "I have no use for a fraud like you."
He looked affronted. "You think I'm a fraud?"
"You lied to me just yesterday," she pointed out, "about a supposed demonic presence in my home -"
"Then what do you call that?" he asked innocently, gesturing toward Kirara.
She wondered if he could actually sense Kirara's youki, or if he was just guessing because the cat had two tails. "That," she said stiffly, glowering at him, "is Kirara."
"That is what I felt." He shrugged. "A simple misunderstanding."
Sango eyed him suspiciously and did not believe a word he was saying.
Ever the keen observer when his credibility was on the line, he noted, "You don't believe me."
"Why would I? You're lying to me right now." She sighed. The man was quite obviously a charlatan, though he did not seem the least bit bothered by having been caught. Why wouldn't he just admit it and be on his way?
"My lady, now you are just being unkind -"
"Enough," she interrupted, her voice sounding weary and impatient even to her own ears. "What is it that you're after? Money? Valuables? You won't get any of that here -"
"You," he said quietly.
Something inside her snapped at the sheer impudence of his answer. She felt like a bowstring drawn too tight... and lashed out. It was instinct. Violence. It happened so quickly that she did not realize what had happened until he staggered backward, off-balance, finally toppling over to land on his back with a heavy, satisfying thud. Still bristling with anger, Sango barely noticed the ache the impact had left in her hand. Insolent jerk!
She turned on her heel and stormed away, resolutely refusing to look back. But when the monk made no remark, remorse began to slip in. She hadn't meant to hurt him, not really. He just needed to learn when to shut up.
So when she found a likely looking servant girl, she muttered, "Go check on that monk and make sure I haven't killed him." That was a mess she would like to avoid. She should not have lashed out like that; this could be just the ammunition her enemies needed to convince Kuranosuke to get rid of her. With a weary sigh, she added, "And see to it that he doesn't come back this time."
-----
Miroku was grinning like a fool. He lay flat on his back, where he'd fallen when Sango finally lost her temper and hit him, watching the sky spin dizzily above him and feeling better than he had in years.
There was a throbbing, painful spot in the shape of Sango's fist where it had connected with his face; he'd have a spectacular bruise there before long. And he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere. Almost giddily elsewhere.
He had never met a woman with such fire before. He had never before been so violently rebuked. And it was... intriguing. Some part of him, deep inside, had thrilled to watch her tight grip on self-control slip, even a little. All it had taken was one word... a silly, almost flippant word, but one he did not think she would soon forget.
Already he was looking forward to their next encounter - and there would be another encounter, he'd make sure of that - for another chance to push her, to draw that passionate anger out of her all over again.
"Houshi-sama?" A soft voice intruded on his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the servant girls peering down at him. Concern was evident on her face, which was young and pretty. Her head tilted slightly to one side. "Are you all right?"
He laughed. "I'll be fine, but you have my sincere gratitude for your concern."
She helped him up, and steadied him with surprising strength when he was wobbly on his feet. Damn, that woman could pack a punch...
"You're sure you're fine?" the young woman asked, her expression skeptical.
He nodded. She kept a hand on his arm as she led him, as if worried that he might stumble and fall again. On any other day, he might have asked her to dally with him or at least tried to steal a kiss, but right now he needed to think, so he settled for a quick caress of her more enticing features. As she led him to the castle gate, he let his hand, which had been innocently at his side, creep over for a quick feel of her ass.
It was properly sized, nothing extraordinary, but firm and pleasant nonetheless...
And the girl was seething. "Suddenly I see why Lady Sango saw fit to beat you," she remarked, carefully peeling his hand off of her.
"Ah, my apologies," he said. "You see, this hand was once cursed, and I'm afraid it still has a mind of its own sometimes..."
"Please go," she said through gritted teeth, pointing past the gate, "and don't come back."
"Of course," he replied pleasantly. And with a smile and a brief wave, which she did not reciprocate, he took his leave. Of course, he had no intention of obeying this latest directive, which no doubt came from Lady Sango herself. He'd weaseled his way past the last one, and he'd do it again, happily. And, hopefully, soon.