InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Cacophony ❯ Movement II: Allegro ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Cacophony

-x-

Movement II: Allegro

The mellow sound of a cello floated through the open window of the apartment complex. On the sidewalks below, some pedestrians paused for a moment to listen to the haunting sound.

And then the shriek of the bow quickly sliding over multiple strings at once with an altered hand positioned shattered the moment. The pedestrians winced and hurried on their way.

Up in the apartment, Sango was restraining herself from chucking her bow across the room. Every time she ran through a passage, her mind would inevitably wander to a certain purple-eyed male and she would lose focus and screw up.

"Damn him," she muttered, playing a simple tune to calm her nerves. The man was gorgeous, she would give him that. Although she was off men, that didn't keep her from looking, did it? She noticed him, obviously, even through her frantic dash into the studio. But that wasn't why he was running through her head.

Yes, she was still miffed that he had gotten the Principal position, and she hadn't.

He wasn't a student at NYU-if he was, then he was mental for not being in the orchestra. Unless he'd gotten the position on a fluke?

No. That would be even worse than fairly winning the spot. She'd rather believe that he was a talented musician, and she'd just have to work harder next time.

"But a whole fifty dollars more…" She hadn't yet told Kagome that there was a total of forty dollars in her bank account. This month's rent had been paid, but next months? She'd gotten an apartment because her last year her practicing schedule had not been compatible with her roommates. All three of them. Sango had odd working habits, she wouldn't deny it. She would practice Kirara for fifteen or twenty minutes, go back to homework, pick it up for another five, read a book, practice for another ten minutes, eat a snack, and so on and so forth. It drove her roommates nuts. At the end of her freshman year, she requested to have an apartment.

Although now that she knew Kagome, maybe the two of them could request a dorm together next year? If she could just hold out on funds until May…

She sighed and pulled a hand through her hair. There would be no money coming from home, she knew that much. Kohaku still needed to be cared for, and New York living was expensive. There was just no excess money to be given to her.

She lived off these various performances. A steady job was nearly impossible with her classes and irregular performances schedule. She worked her butt off to become this good, and now she was only getting paid as much as the third and fourth chair cellos.

Dammit. She stood up and gently laid Kirara on her bed. She needed to go for a walk.

Closing his eyes, Miroku ran through the passage again. The music wasn't too difficult, but he was surprised to find that he actually enjoyed it. Most background music he played was simple stuff that sounded good behind gunshots and bar fight scenes. This music was actually composed well.

Finishing the run with a flourish, he carefully laid his cello on the floor and the bow in the case. He needed some fresh air: he'd been cooped up in his apartment all day.

He stepped out of his bedroom into the main portion of the apartment he shared with Inuyasha. His roommate was lounging on the couch, listlessly flipping through the channels. "Where ya going?" he asked as Miroku pulled his jacket off the hook.

"Walk. Need to clear my head."

"'Kay. Be back by dinner-it's your turn to cook tonight."

Miroku groaned and ran a hand through his hair, causing the hair tie to fall out. "Order pizza."

"Hey, that's what we're having tomorrow night!"

"You slacked off last week, Inuyasha; it's my turn."

"Fine," he grumbled, letting his head fall back onto the cushions. "Pick up Chinese on the way home or something."

"Agreed."

Sango breathed in the cool air, reveling in the feeling. She loved autumn the most out of any other season-it was more of her season. It was easier to be invisible in the autumn, she thought. In the summer, everyone was reveling in the warm weather, and liable to hug everyone that crossed their path. In the autumn, when the weather got nippy, people tended to walk with their heads down, their coat collars turned up; and the mood seemed to change with the temperature.

Sango did a little jig as she walked down the street, her jacket open and her hair down, flowing across her shoulders. Beautiful. She'd finished her assignments before dinner-for once!-and she's practiced for over two hours (broken up of course).

The day would have been perfect…

…had a certain person not been on her mind the entire day.

It's gotten cold again, Miroku thought absently. Then he shook his head: cold weather made him think of Christmas, and fires, and cuddling with loved ones.

It wasn't that he ever had a lack of dates-he had an overabundance of women to choose from-but none of them promised anything more than a few hours of making out. Nothing…substantial. He doubted that any of those girls would be willing to spoon-feed him soup if he was in the hospital.

He'd mentioned this to Inuyasha, who had stared at him as if he was crazy. "You have the oddest standards for women," he said. "All you want them to do is be willing to spoon-feed you soup?"

It was the premise behind the example, Miroku explained. He wanted a woman that was willing to love him even when he was incapable of helping himself and at his worst.

Inuyasha hadn't lost the "you're a complete moron look." "And you date women that wouldn't do this?"

"Sorry to break it to you, but not every woman is the saint Kagome is. Does she have any sisters?"

"A brother. He's pretty nice, if you feel like turning gay."

"…I will discreetly disregard that comment."

"Good; I'd be worried if you'd taken me seriously."

"But, really, Inuyasha, it shouldn't be this hard to find a good woman. What's my problem?"

"All the girls you go out with are those that respond positively to your flirting and groping, which indicates that they are air-headed bimbos. You find a woman that slaps you topside for doing such a thing, and you've landed yourself a June Cleaver."

"I doubt June Cleaver ever-"

"It's the premise behind the example, Miroku."

Smart aleck, he now thought. For once, Inuyasha had been making sense.

Miroku sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets, murmuring an apology to the woman he bumped into. She muttered something that resembled a "don't worry about it" back to him, before going on her way.

His thoughts moved to tomorrow's rehearsal-the only rehearsal the orchestra would receive before recording the music-and he wondered if that hot woman who'd played the cello had made it in.

Sighing, he figured his dreams were pie-in-the-sky…the pretty, feisty ones were never serious about their instruments: in general, that was. They were in orchestra to check out hot guys.

All the more the pity: they usually dropped out in high school.

"And college is supposed to be the good life…?"

Yet again, Sango found herself jolting awake to the sound of her phone ringing. She grabbed it and brought it to her ear. "I'm not late; I have two hours before rehearsal begins."

"Um…that's great, Sango…"

"Eh? Inuyasha?" She rubbed her eyes, clearing the sleep away. "What are you calling me for?"

"Kagome's phone is turned off and I'm afraid she'll oversleep."

"Kagome? Oversleep? Those two words don't go together."

"Yeah, but…we kinda got back from our date around four-thirty in the morning…"

She groaned. "Inuyasha-you did realize that she has rehearsal today? And that usually requires being coherent, if not being able to blow air into her oboe?"

"Yeah, but, it kind of slipped our minds at the time…"

Sango rubbed her temples wearily. "I'll call her; but you better have her home by at least midnight on your next date, you hear me?"

"You're too protective for your own good," he mumbled into the phone. "I feel sorry for your kids."

"I feel even sorrier for yours." Sango slammed the phone down in the receiver and rolled out of bed to get dressed; she still had to leave time to go wake Kagome up, force some breakfast down her throat, and then walk to the studio.

Why did she get the feeling it was going to be one of those days again…?

Miroku grinned at Inuyasha in the mirror as he finished shaving. "Who was that, Inuyasha?"

"Kagome's extremely overprotective best friend."

"Gave you a hard time for keeping Kagome out late, huh?"

"Something like that…"

"So who is this girl, hmm?"

"Sango Taijiya. She plays cello too…you'll probably meet her today at rehearsal. She made assistant principal."

"Oh." Damn, he'd been hoping that magenta-eyed girl would be sitting next to him…

"And as a note of warning," Inuyasha said, "I wouldn't try your usual 'hit-and-run' routine on her-she's not one to be played with."

"Inuyasha, please." Miroku dried off his face with a towel and pointed his razor towards his sullen roommate. "I am a master at the female race; I know what I'm doing."

"I'm just trying to save your ass, you know. She'll beat you up if you try anything on her."

"My cello can serve as a shield." He grinned and moved towards the "clean clothes" laundry basket. As two bachelors living together, they'd nixed the idea of wasting money on dressers: two laundry baskets per person-one for clean clothes, the other for dirty clothes-worked fine for them. "Inuyasha, have you seen my comfy jeans…?"

"You threw them in the wash."

"Did not-I only wore them yesterday."

"They had a pizza stain so you threw it into the Dirty basket."

"I did…not…" Miroku sighed in defeat as Inuyasha held up his "comfy" jeans from the Dirty basket. "Do I have time for a quick trip to the Laundromat?"

"Kagome Higurashi, drag yourself out of that bed this instant!"

Kagome jolted out of her dream and fell off her bed, hitting the floor with a painful crash. "Ouch…" she mumbled, rubbing her head. "Sango? Is that you…?"

"Yes."

Kagome could barely make out a shadow moving towards her window, reaching for the string to open the blinds. "No! Don't-" She was temporarily blinded by the sudden light that filled the room. "Ow," she added weakly.

"Up and at 'em, sunshine!" said Sango cheerfully. "We have a full day of rehearsal ahead of us, so let's get going!"

Kagome moaned and pulled a pillow off her bed, letting it fall over her eyes. "I just wanna sleep…"

"Life sucks, huh?" Sango said sympathetically. She dropped down beside Kagome and made herself comfortable on the bean bag chair Kagome had placed beside her bed.

"Right now it does." Kagome heaved a sigh. "Guess I better get up now, hm?"

"That might be a good idea. You wanna walk over together?"

"Erm…actually…I'm meeting Inuyasha for breakfast…sorry, Sango," she finished in a small voice.

"Don't worry about it-you deserve some time with your boyfriend. I wanted to get to the studio early to practice anyway." She pushed aside the twinge of jealousy that sparked for a minute. There were times that she envied Kagome for having a boyfriend that obviously loved her so much-even if he did treat her like crap sometimes-but then she would always remind herself that she didn't need men to be happy in life.

"You sure?"

"Positive." She hauled herself out of the beanbag. "I need to make sure I can play everything perfectly."

"So Miroku Hamaguchi knows just how capable you are on the cello?"

Hit the nail right on the head. "No, that's not it!" Sango said, her blush betraying her.

"Why are you blushing, Sango?" asked Kagome innocently. "It's not like you want to impress him or anything, right?"

"Right." Sango nodded with conviction. "And now I am going to gulp down some coffee so I can still make it to the studio early."

"Lucky," Kagome grumbled. "You can skip breakfast; I can't. If I don't eat, I can't use my diaphragm properly, as my professor screams at me every time I come to a lesson without eating."

Sango playfully stuck out her tongue. "See ya later, Kagome."

"Be nice to Miroku."

Sango rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I mean it-if you start lecturing him on feminism, I'll have to punish you."

"Yes, mommy."

Seeing as she'd used up her monthly funds on buying a new metronome (her old one had fallen off her music stand so many times that it was permanently maimed and only elicited a high-pitched buzzing sound when turned on), Sango resigned herself to walking to the studio. Maybe I should go trick-or-treating with Kirara on my back, she thought, pointedly ignoring the stares she received. I swear, it's almost as if people have never seen a cello before. And this is an allegedly civilized nation?

She reached the recording studio in record time, and unlocked the door with the key underneath the door mat, recalling Kagome's horror story. The studio was silent and her footsteps echoed on the tile floor. Perfect. She still had forty-five minutes before recording began-that gave her at least fifteen minutes to warm up.

Sango walked towards the room which had been designated as the studio and gave the handle a tug; she caught the bottom of the door with her foot, and shoved it open all the way, maneuvering through the door with a giant instrument on her back. The room was dark, but she could hear a soft, haunting melody being played. She frowned, and groped for the light switch on the wall, wondering who was weird enough to practice in pitch-black darkness, where their sheet music obviously couldn't be seen.

"Wait!" a voice cried.

She froze in her position. "Yes? Who's there?"

"Don't turn the light on, please. Leave it dark for a few more minutes."

"Why? Don't you want to practice?"

"I am practicing."

"In the dark?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How can you see your music? Or your cello?"

"I can't. But I can feel them."

"Huh?" Odd man. He must be one of those hippie types that play music from their heart. I wonder how he got into this orchestra-maybe he auditioned while he was high: I've heard that highs make people play more emotionally.

"Come here, I'll explain it to you."

"Eh…that's okay….really…"

"Afraid?" he teased. "Don't worry; I won't bite."

"I can't take a person's word in the dark."

"Why not? It's the same concept as in the light."

"Don't mock me. I can't tell if you're serious or not when I can't see your face, eyes, or expression."

"Mmm," the man said thoughtfully. "I see; you have a talent for seeing inside of people. Useful skill."

"Quite," Sango replied dryly.

"I promise on my eighteenth-century Pedronelli to be on my best behavior."

Sango's eyes widened. "Eighteenth-century?"

"Yep. C'mere, I'll let you play it."

"You're crazy."

"So I've been told."

Sango tentatively moved forward. "I'll probably bump into something."

"Then wait till your eyes adjust to the dark. It's not that hard to maneuver around a couple of chairs and stands."

She crashed into a stand and it tumbled to the ground, the metal hitting the tile with an ear-shattering crash. "Remind me to kill you for that."

"I'll make sure and burn your to-do list."

Her eyes were beginning to adjust now. She could make out the shadowy outline of a person sitting behind a cello, his bow swinging back and forth between his fingers. "I see you now."

"Beautiful. Take a seat."

She dropped her things on the floor and carefully laid her cello next to the chair she lowered herself into.

"Now," he said, "I can explain to you why I practice in the dark."

"Damn!" Inuyasha swerved his motorcycle to avoid a pedestrian that was determined to cross the road in the next five seconds. "She couldn't wait until 'walk' appeared?"

"Inuyasha, would you have waited until 'walk' appeared?" Kagome asked, tightening her arms around his waist.

"That is beside the point."

Once the horns and shouts of New Yorkers that were angry at Inuyasha for running a red light had been left behind, Kagome said, "Inuyasha? Wouldn't it have been quicker to walk?"

"No."

"Yes, it would've."

"So what? You're safer here."

"Safer on a motorcycle in New York Citytraffic?"

"I can protect you when you're with me on my bike," he barked, turning his head slightly so he could look at her. "I can't say as much for when we're walking an any weirdo can suddenly snatch you away."

Kagome's heart melted at his words. He cared for her; he really did. But because of his nature, he found it necessary not to show the sweet, sentimental side of him. She found it a little ironic that because of his desire to protect her, he inadvertently put her in even more danger…but it was the thought that counted, right?

She smiled and tucked her head into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. "I love you, Inuyasha."

He started a bit, but his grey eyes softened. "Kagome-"

The squealing of car tires and the cursing of an irate driver cut off his words. His soft smile transformed into a scowl and he made a rude gesture to the driver that had yelled at him.

Kagome sighed. Oh, well…maybe someday he'll actually get the words out…

Sango listened curiously as the man began to explain his theory to her. "Light is a distraction," he began, his voice taking on a story-teller's lilt. "If you can see, there are a million possible things that might catch your eye, trigger a train of thought, and therefore let your mind wander away from the music. If one can somehow shut down senses other than hearing and feeling, the music will improve. If I cannot see distractions, but instead only hear my music and feel the strings beneath my fingers, my whole world becomes the music that I am playing. Until I am finished-or distracted. Does that make sense?"

"Uh huh," said Sango absently. He had one of those melodious voices that a person could find on an audio recording of a book, or a national geographic special-a voice that induced mesmerism. "Yes, it does," she added, coming to her senses.

"Good," he said, a smile in his voice.

"I interrupted you when I came in, didn't I?" Sango said, realizing the fact as she said it.

"Yes. But don't worry about it. It was bound to happen eventually. What time is it?"

"Dunno…" She looked uselessly down at her wrist. "Lost my watch a while ago."

He chuckled. "I'm too poor to buy one."

"And yet you have a Pedronelli from the 1700s."

"This, my dear, has been handed down through my family for generations." He stroked it lovingly.

"Really? So you come from a long line of cellists?"

"Well…not exactly… it's been handed down because of sentimental value. The last person to actually play it was my great-great-great-great…great-grandfather, I think. Five or six greats, I believe. Or was it seven?" He considered for a moment, and then shrugged. "Don't remember. Although I do remember that he was some wandering minstrel who performed in monasteries all over Japan."

"He was actually a wandering minstrel?"

"Yes."

"That's…bizarre."

"Life is bizarre."

"Yeah." Even in the darkness, she could tell that he was smiling. From what she could make out, he had short hair pulled into a small ponytail, and a few wisps of bangs across his forehead.

"Would you like to play it?" he asked suddenly.

"Eh?" She snapped out of her reverie. "Play what?"

"My cello, of course." He held out his bow. "You know you want to," he said enticingly.

Sango carefully cradled the bow in her palm. "I wouldn't know what to play."

"Anything. Play a song from your heart."

"I've never understood when people say that. How can you play from your…heart? When I try to make a nice song-when I'm just fiddling around-it by no means sounds pretty or profound."

"The heart isn't always pretty or profound," he said. "Sometimes the heart can be very ugly or sometimes even boring. Right?"

"Well…yeah…I guess that's true…" She sat still for a moment. "Let me see that cello of yours."

"Kazaana."

"…Pardon?"

"His name is Kazaana."

"Oh…okay, then…" A small chuckle escaped her. "You named your cello?"

"Naturally. Are you telling me you haven't?"

"Well, actually, I am guilty as well. Gives you more of a connection with your instrument, you know?"

"Yes, I do." He smiled. "You are worthy of holding my kazaana."

"That's good to know." She smiled back.

He gently handed her his cello. She tucked it between her legs and held the bow poised over the strings. She sat like that for a moment, wondering what she should play. The conversation about playing by heart hadn't helped her; she didn't want to come across as an amateur who didn't know her way around the cello.

"Go on," he urged. "Play something. Anything."

Screw it. She threw away all worries and boldly slashed the bow across the strings, her fingers moving in random patterns. She winced as she heard the most grating, spontaneous sequence of notes fill the room. Does this mean my heart is a traffic jam of emotions? she thought wryly.

"Lovely," the man proclaimed. "Disgustingly lovely."

"You got the first part right," muttered Sango, her cheeks flushed. "Can I just play something from Brahms?"

"No, no, that's not being original," he said. "Play that sequence again."

"I can't remember it."

"You can too. Make a random rhythm."

"I don't remember the notes."

"Lazy. It was middle C, G-sharp below that, A-flat an octave above, B-natural below middle C, and F-sharp below that and a run. Now, make it into a rhythm."

Sango stared at the shadowy shape. "You remembered all that? By ear?"

"It's a gift, I guess," he mumbled. "Play it again; this time with a different rhythm."

She threw in a dotted quarter note and a following eighth note and a little swing pattern at the end. Put like that, it didn't sound so terrible.

"See? What'd I tell you?" he said smugly.

"Cocky. I'm surprised you're not a trumpet player."

"My roommate is. Must have rubbed off."

"That would explain it."

Silence befell them.

"It's a beautiful instrument," said Sango, breaking the silence. "You're blessed to have it."

"Yeah." He paused for a minute before saying, "Are you a college student?"

"Yes," Sango said without hesitation. Normally she wouldn't be so quick to reveal such a thing to a stranger, but this man was obviously a talented musician, and seemed fairly educated. And besides that, she felt some kind of…connection with him. Call it crazy, but…

"Really. You go to NYU, don't you."

"Yeah-how'd you know?" He couldn't be at NYU; surely he would be Principal Cellist in the orchestra.

"I thought as much," he sighed. "I'm at Columbia. I figured that I would have met you by now if we were at the same school."

"Undoubtedly. Are you Principal Cellist in the orchestra?"

"No."

"Oh. Assistant Principal?"

"I'm not in the orchestra."

She gave him a look. "Why not?"

"Too restricting. What if I don't want to play Elgar's Variations the way he wrote them? What if I feel like playing different chord progressions in Beethovan's Fourth?"

"And yet here you are, prepared to play whatever the movie score tells you to."

"Even radicals must make a living. We can't live off original thoughts."

"Strange, I thought all you hippies needed was music and literature to sustain you."

"A silver-tongued maiden," he said dryly. "I only wish it were so-although surely I would be obscenely obese if such a feat were possible. And what makes you think I'm a hippie?"

She shrugged. "I dunno: your manner of speaking, your ideas… you're probably part of the Arbor Day Association. And I'll bet your car has a bumper sticker that says 'Make Love, Not War.'"

"Sorry to disappoint," he said, "but I'm a regular Ivy League prep that happens to be misplaced."

"Very funny."

"No, seriously-I'm even a model for Abercrombie & Fitch."

"…Please tell me you're joking." A modeling hippie? Unheard of. The man was insane. Surely he found it difficult to consort with bubble-headed bimbos day in and day out.

He shrugged. "I'm a walking oxymoron."

"Who are you?" she asked.

At that precise moment, the sound of an opening door and someone fumbling for the light switch reached her ears. No. It seemed sacrilegious to discover this man's name in the light. "Wait!" she cried, only to find that her voice merged with his.

The room suddenly flooded with light. Sango winced and automatically squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the intrusive light.

"It's…you," he said softly.

Sango opened her eyes and drank in the picture of the man sitting in front of her. The cell phone man! The one standing outside the studio! She felt an odd happiness settle within her as she stared into his gorgeous purple eyes.

"Oh-sorry," the man at the door said, awkwardly trying to pull his tuba case through the doorway. "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

Sango turned back to the man, noting that he wore a navy blue collared shirt and casual khaki cargo pants. He really does look like a model… A walking contradiction. Aptly said.

He winked at her and playfully took her hand in his, kissing it. "What is thy name, fair lady?"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Sango."

"Sango," he repeated, his lips turning up in a smile. "It fits."

Oh curse it, she was blushing!

"What's your name?" she said, ducking her head so that her hair fell over her cheeks.

"M-"

"Miroku!" a voice called from the doorway.

Sango looked up in surprise. What was Kagome doing here so early?

Kagome stopped in mid-stride, her eyes widening at the position they were in. "Miroku Hamaguchi," she said, her voice going up a notch, "please, please don't tell me that you were trying to hit on my best friend!"

"Your best friend?" Miroku looked up at Sango, realization dawning. "You mean-this is Sango Taijiya?"

"Miroku Hamaguchi?" Sango repeated, horrified. "You're Miroku Hamaguchi?"

Kagome shut her mouth and stared at the two in silence.

Sango slowly withdrew her hand from Miroku's. She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what she wanted to think. Without even meeting this man, she'd already resented him…and now she was attracted to him?

He looked just as confused as she, his purple eyes darkening a shade as he got to his feet. He looked adorable even when he frowned.

She pursed her lips and stared down at her feet. She felt as if her whole world had just shattered…

Just when she thought she'd possibly found a guy that could pull her out of her man-hating funk…

Just who was Miroku Hamaguchi, exactly?

The man whose skills had landed him Principal cellist, consequently demoting her? The Abercrombie & Fitch model who most likely had beautiful women fawning over him day and night? The free spirited young man who refused to join and orchestra because it forced him to color within the lines? Or was he the deep, intellectual musician that apparently only emerged in the darkness?

"Who are you?" Miroku said softly, his gaze catching Sango's. "Inuyasha said you were a man-hating warrior woman who was most likely a piranha in your past life. I didn't sense any of that a few minutes ago."

She glared at Kagome. "Remind me to murder your boyfriend."

"Erm…"

"Something doesn't add up," Miroku said, still staring at her.

Sango looked down, and noticed that she was still holding his cello and bow. "Uh…here…" she said, gently passing them to him.

He laid a hand on top of hers, stilling their movement. "Tell you what," he said, not breaking eye contact. "Why don't you play the kazaana today?"

Her jaw literally dropped. "Say what?"

"Play it today. I want to see what will happen."

"What, you think your talent will rub off onto me? I'll become as good as you by osmosis?"

"Humor me." He tapped her nose playfully and got to his feet. "I am in desperate need of coffee, and the café workers across the street are probably wondering where I am." He dipped his head towards Kagome and then walked out of the room.

Sango stared at his retreating back. "The hell…?"

Kagome sighed. "Yeah, that pretty much sums Miroku up…"

Sango bit her lip and again looked down at the instrument in her hands, suddenly feeling an odd urge to cry.

Author's Notes: For some random reason I looked at the first chapter of Cacophony today and realized that I hadn't updated since the 27th of September. o.O I honestly did not realize it had been that long since I'd updated. But then, I guess when I have three ongoing stories, that's expected… Gomen ne for the long wait; I hope this chapter compensates. =) Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I love you all! [sniff, sniff]