InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Driven to Ascent ❯ Chapter 1: Convocation ( Chapter 3 )

A/n 12/17/04. Edited those pesky grammatical errors, not actually an update, sorry…

A/n. For those of you who didn't like the angst of the prologue, but still decided to read this chapter anyway, thank you! This chapter is much much shorter and easier on the angst. For those of you who liked the angst, sorry (and thank you!)! There isn't any sob-in-someone's-shirtfront angst this chapter but there will be in later chapters.

Thanks to Emeralddragon and Rhoda for beta-reading!

Disclaimer Remark: Inuyasha & Co do not belong to me but to Rumiko Takahashi. This story was inspired upon reading the fanfic "Get a Life!" written by SnowShadowUser. This means there are some small details that are similar, but please note that the plotlines between this and that story are completely different.

By the way, I'm only saying that particular disclaimer here. If you are in need of reading a disclaimer in future chapters, please come here.

Chapter One: Convocation

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Four Years Later

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Kagome

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In perky Cantonese, a correspondent of the Hong Kong equivalent of Entertainment Tonight announced, "And now, let's look at what the Higurashi's wore to the TVB music awards…"

At the sound of my family name, I paused in my search of the perfect TV. I looked away from the price tag and watched the screen.

"Here, we have Higurashi Miroku, age twenty-two, in a stylishly cut, all black suit with the purple cloth of monks over the suit…"

The speaker paused in reflection.

"Very odd choice of accessory, isn't it? Yet still a very fashionable choice! The purple does give a sort of spontaneous charm to this outfit…"

Spontaneous charm? Yeah, that was one possibility. In truth, Miroku just thought it looked cool and randomly decided to show up on the red carpet with it tied around his suit. You can do things like that at Hong Kong music award ceremonies.

"Kagome-san? Did you find something suitable?"

"This might do," I replied to Houjou, tapping the screen thoughtfully. "Could you be quiet for a moment? I want to watch this."

"Of course, Kagome-san."

"Higurashi Kagome, age sixteen, in a very hip, sleeveless dress made of assorting denim and variously patches of other materials…"

"Nevermind," I sighed.

I looked uncomfortably to the side as an image of me in that dress appeared on the numerous TVs in the shop.

Whoever tailored the dress had gone into a denim frenzy. The dress was primarily made of dark blue denim, but there were also many other dark blue materials of silk and satin stitched alongside. It resulted in a dress that was slim at the top but flowed at the skirt in a swirl of many different blue hues.

It was a nice dress but it wasn't really that spectacular, in my opinion at least. It hugged my torso a tad too much for my liking.

Several other customers watching this broadcast glanced back and forth from me on TV to me nervously trying to ignore myself on TV.

"Ms. Higurashi certainly has an eccentric style of fashion, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes. Look at her skirts! Such an original way to…" the other correspondent began.

I wrinkled my nose at their comments. My personal fashion sense had nothing to do with the dress. One of Miroku's personal dressers had selected it for me and I was more or less forced to wear it. The dress was not the most comfortable thing to wear either.

Houjou glanced at the TV and frowned, but he was frowning over the price of the TV I had chosen.

"This is overpriced," he commented. "Kagome-san, I think this television over here would be more suitable…"

Not that pricing is a problem, I thought to myself in amusement. What with the recent record sales, Miroku was not exactly lacking in money these days.

The night before, our now deceased TV had undergone a terrible accident. It was an accident so horrendous that I'm still not exactly sure what happened to it. In fact, I wasn't even in the room when it happened. All I know is that Miroku had something to do with it, but he had seemed to acquire a convenient amnesia when I asked him what happened. In any case, the result was a hideously dented, scratched, and slightly smoking TV. So here I was, shopping for the successor.

"What about this one, Houjou-sensei?" I asked, tapping my preference.

Houjou peered at the price sticker and than at the TV itself. He nodded his approval.

I trusted Houjou's opinion. How could I not? He's a genius after all, even more of a genius than Sango, my former tutor, now Miroku's assistant manager.

When Sango was still my tutor-babysitter, she began to dabble in Miroku's career. Just little bits of nagging here and there. When I helped him memorize lyrics or scripts, Sango would point out suggestions, like what should be reworded, or what line would be more suitable. Once, when Miroku took the two of us to a set during filming, she verbally disagreed with the director's leadership and actually pointed out more appropriate changes in direction. Often, she would go head to head with Miroku's manager, arguing about the possible acting jobs he presented to Miroku, his choice in favoring reporters, Miroku's publicity…

"Sir, we would like to purchase this television," Houjou stated in perfect Cantonese to the employee at his elbow.

"Yes, sir. But would you be interested in this new deal? If you purchase this TV along with this DVD player and this cable system, we will give you twenty percent off!"

"Oh, really? What about--" Houjou asked curiously.

"No Houjou. We only need a TV," I interrupted.

"But it seems like a good deal-"

"We would just like to buy this TV, only," I told the employee, emphasizing the only. At my direct stare, he decided not to offer any more deals to us.

Miroku at first took in Sango's comments with amusement but polite disregard, but gradually he began to seriously consider them when he realized that the majority of Sango's points were actually quite good. But even Miroku's patience began to stretch thin after months of his manager and Sango's bickering.

His manager of course disregarded Sango's attempts completely and always explained his disregard by pointing out that Sango was a mere tutor and had no right to step out of matters beyond my education. Naturally, this only fueled Sango's arguments and efforts.

Miroku became so fed up with their feuding that he promoted Sango to his assistant manager, thus putting Sango in a position that required her to argue with his manager.

I do not know how he did it but somehow Miroku managed to hire someone who challenged even Sango's genius in her vacancy. Houjou was barely eighteen at the time but he was already a college graduate. In fact, he had been a college graduate since he was fifteen. According to him, he had spent the three years in between traveling around the world, taking in the sights and learning the languages. He spke Japanese, Korean, English, French, and a variety of Chinese dialects fluently. Why he settled with a mere tutoring job is a mystery (then again I know that Miroku pays Houjou a salary that probably has at least five digits. He would not tell me the exact number though).

Actually the language fluency is not wholly impressive. The only language on that list that Miroku and Sango can not speak as well was French. Then again Miroku and Sango are also geniuses in their right.

(Why am I surrounded by geniuses?)

Houjou was an excellent tutor, always patient, never sharp, never rushing. He had his own apartment in Hong Kong so he did not occupy our extra bedroom. Sango still lived with Miroko and me, she had settled so comfortably into my life that I could not bear it if she left.

Sango had served the double job as tutor and babysitter to me. I was fourteen at the time she was promoted and didn't require a babysitter anymore but Houjou still served a double job as well. He's my bodyguard.

The bodyguard part is only implied actually. It seemed that when I entered my teens, people began to take an interest in me and did so in some very threatening ways. Houjou just always seemed to be there at the right place and time and accidentally did the right thing to make them go away. It's actually very amusing to watch. For example if I were accosted outside our apartment, Houjou's foot would in all likelihood appear at of no where into the hip of the accoster, sending him or her reeling away from me. Again, in all likelihood, Houjou would claim that it was a complete accident, but the he or she would probably feel an unexpected painful sensation and run away. Houjou would be left, one hand raised, frowning in confusion as to why he was suddenly a feared person.

But at the same time, having Houjou in constant company is like… how do I put this… It was a little suffocating and intensely boring, like being in perpetual company with a sloth. Spontaneity was virtually nonexistent if Houjou were put in charge, it's something I have to create for myself. Houjou was so painstakingly concerned for my health that sometimes I wanted to vomit just to make him worry. Houjou was unnoticeably attentive to my security but he guarded me so well that I often deliberately bolted out into danger just to see if he could save me this time.

In fact…

As Houjou approached the cash register to pay for our new TV, I looked around at the exit. My instincts told me that this was the perfect opportunity to test my bodyguard once again.

While Houjou occupied himself with looking for the right credit card and mildly refusing offered bargain sales, I casually wandered out the door. I quickly walked into the center of the moving parade of sidewalk pedestrians and flowed with the bustling current of people. The skyscrapers of Hong Kong loomed over my head as I passed them. I quickly stepped past block after block of assorted shops and alleys and bazaars and politely nodded and smiled to various shopkeepers I was acquainted with.

Fifteen minutes away from the television shop and I decided that here was a good place to relax for a moment. I stopped by a small comic book shop I was familiar with and was about to duck in when someone grabbed by arm.

"Hey… you're that celebrity's sister…" warbled a male Cantonese voice.

I turned to look at him, unsuccessfully trying to shrug my arm out of his grasp.

There were two ruddy looking guys, both appearing to be in their older teens. They stared at me openly, not even bothering to close their mouths.

"Hello," I coldly said to them. "Please let go of my arm."

They ignored my request and continued to stare.

"Wah, what's a celebrity like you doing in this shit hole?" asked the guy who seemed to have a fixation with my arm.

"You don't live here do you?" the other guy asked.

I tried not to stare at him. There was a skull tattooed on his head, an attempt to impersonate the Triads no doubt. The fact that it was smack in the middle of his forehead demeaned this impersonation though. "No, I don't," I answered cautiously, deliberately letting my voice take on an annoyed tone. "Now if you please, let go of my arm."

"What? You're leaving already?" exclaimed Arm-boy.

"We've never met a celebrity before," added Skull-boy.

"I'm not a celebrity," I snapped irritably. Where did all the crowds go? Why was not anyone stopping them?

"But you're brother Miroku is," said Skull-boy. "Hey, `Miroku.' That's not Chinese is it?"

I felt like screaming at this statement. "Let go!" I started to struggle. This was the fifth time this week that I had encountered an individual who approached me in a rather obnoxious way.

Is this what my life has come down to, I wondered as I tried to inconspicuously and politely yank myself away, restraining myself from killing my brother's fans? That is, if indeed these two were his fans (they had forgotten his name after all). In that case, my life has come down to fending off random people on the street who pester me for no obvious reason.

"We just met! Why don't you come down to our place, hm?" Arm-boy began to wag his eyebrows grotesquely.

"Yeah, maybe we can… hm… you know…" Skull-boy winked lecherously. "We're very good guys…"

If I had a gun in my hand at this moment, I would shoot myself. Out of the five encounters, this is the third time the individual expressed a need for me to do something that he or she would describe as "you know…"

"I'm sorry, I'm waiting for someone right now," I told them, attempting to keep my demeanor calm. It would not do if am image of the manifestation of my longing to whop the guys on the head suddenly appeared in the tabloids the next day. I had to go into hiding the last time that happened.

"Waiting for someone?" Arm-boy began to slyly inch his other hand up my arm.

I tried to fight my gag reflex, unfortunately with success.

"What, like a boyfriend?" Skull-boy grunted.

"I think we're much better company than him," declared Arm-boy.

"Don't worry, we're nice guys," Skull-boy reassured.

Skull-boy moved a hand toward me. I jerked opened my mouth to scream when I felt a rush of air and saw the two crashing down to the cement sidewalk. There was a thump, followed by two groans of pain.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Houjou, innocently blinking at the huge TV box on the ground next to the fallen guys. Evidently, it had somehow hit Arm- and Skull-boy's heads and knocked them to the ground. Judging from the dazed expressions on their faces and how they rubbed their heads, the box was very heavy.

"Oh, dear, look how I clumsy I was," Houjou remarked, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I just tripped and accidentally dropped the box…"

Arm- and Skull-boy limped heavily to their feet, clutching their heads and moaning in pain. They looked up, mouths opening angrily to shout. Then they saw Houjou, who stood with his back to the sun, hiding his face in shadow.

Arm-boy began to stutter. "He… Hey man…"

Houjou looked puzzled and apologetic. "I'm very sorry. You're not in pain are you?" he inquired in concern.

He took a step toward them, left hand reaching out toward them. He frowned in puzzlement when the two guys frantically jerked back at his approaching hand.

"Sor…sorry… sir…miss…" Skull-boy added hastily with a nervous nod to me. "Erm…"

Then as if on signal, they both turned around and dashed away, blending into the crowd that I wished had appeared earlier.

Houjou scratched his head as we watched their retreating backs. "Oh dear. I hoped the box didn't hit their heads too hard." His eyebrows pinched together in thought. "Why were they apologizing, do you think? I was the one who caused their pain."

I scrutinized his face closely. There was pure puzzlement and (at the moment rather unnecessary) apology on his face. No hints of annoyance at their harassing his charge, no smugness at receiving an apology.

Could it be that the action that had just prevented me from breaking the two guys' eardrums was purely an accident?

"Maybe the TV was heavier than we thought?" I suggested slowly.

Houjou considered this. "Guess you're right," he responded cheerfully.

At times like this, I had to mentally pinch myself to see if my award-winning genius tutor was actually this thickheaded.

"So did you get the book in time?" Houjou asked.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"That new book that just came out. You know? The one you left so suddenly to get?" he explained. At my dumb silence, he added, "You were worried that it would get sold out so you left the TV shop early… so, did you manage to get a copy?"

I stared at him. Houjou looked innocently back at me.

Well, if that was what he thought, I certainly would not argue with him.

"Nope," I answered after a moment. "All sold out."

Houjou nodded sympathetically. "That's too bad then. I'll call the driver to pick us up then. You have to take a math test when we get back."

I didn't respond.

.

"Is that our new TV?" was Sango's greeting as we walked into the flat, dragging a somewhat dented cardboard box behind us.

"Yes it is, Eiri-san," Houjou replied. "Where should I put this?"

"Just bring it over here in the living room. We might as well set it up," Sango ordered, rising up from her seat at the couch to help set up the TV in its predecessor's place.

"Where's Miroku?" I asked as I tore open the cardboard box.

"Been out with Lei for a few hours," Sango answered, pausing to take a moment to hiss at the name of Miroku's manager. "There's this magazine that Lei's been bugging Miroku to pose for and Miroku let him drag him out today just to make him shut up. I didn't agree with Lei," she added, reminding us of her extreme dislike of Lei. "But of course, I'm just the assistant manager so what do I know?" She reinforced this injustice with a fierce pull and ripped off the plastic wrapping of the TV.

"I'm sure Lei knows what he's doing," Houjou remarked optimistically, lifting the TV out of the box.

Sango and I simultaneously rolled our eyes.

By the time Miroku came back, the TV was properly set up and already being monopolized. Houjou had gone home with a stack of tests to grade and promises of a new Chinese poem for me to analyze at the next lesson because he knew I loved analyzing poetry.

"Did you end up posing for that magazine?" Sango asked as Miroku plopped down beside me onto a couch. She sat on the cushion next to us, an open script in her lap.

"Almost," Miroku answered. "I actually think I would have enjoyed modeling for that particular magazine."

"Would have?"

Miroku smiled and shrugged. "That magazine turned out to be a porno for ladies. Much as I enjoy having my body admired, a porno shoot seemed a little out of line. I thought Lei knew that but…" He shrugged.

"Hmpf," Sango grunted, with a little bit of smugness. "Always knew that Lei was a perverted old fart."

"He brought you to a porno shoot?" I stated in shock.

"Wasn't the first time either," Miroku remarked, stretching his arms.

"It wasn't?" Sango said in shock. "How come I didn't know that?"

"He didn't tell you I guess. I didn't want to shock you so I didn't either. I suppose I should have asked a little more about this magazine, but I thought that Lei would learn after the first few times, but apparently not. So I fired him."

"Oh really-" Sango began and then cut herself off as the weight of Miroku's last sentence fell down on her. Her hand had frozen in the act of turning a page, delicately hovering in the air.

Both Sango and I turned to stare at Miroku, who was laughing at something on the TV.

"You fired Lei?" Sango stated hesitantly.

"Mm-hm," Miroku grunted.

A brief silence.

"So… if he's not your manager anymore… what does that make… me?" Sango asked apprehensively.

Miroku's head notched to the side, as if just realizing this new perspective for the first time. He looked up at the ceiling in thought.

"I guess you're promoted from assistant manager to just plain manager," Miroku proclaimed casually.

There was an unreadable look on Sango's face. Her hand still hovered in the air.

"Oh. Okay then," she said, turning the page.

I shook my head at the lack of seriousness in this situation. I supposed that Sango would celebrate a pay raise and the prospect of never seeing Lei again later in her own time.

"Oh, by the way, Kagome, we're going out to dinner tonight," Miroku told me.

"What's the occasion?" I asked curiously.

Miroku pointed at the TV. "Him."

I looked up but not quickly enough to catch "him." Whomever Miroku was indicating had already flashed by for I only saw a female correspondent on the screen. But I did catch a name.

I repeated the name, frowning in puzzlement. "Gao Inuyasha? What does he have to do with dinner?"

Inuyasha Gao was a pop star who was currently rising high and higher along the charts. The eighteen-year-old had only entered into the music industry about a year ago and his debut record album had already gone triple platinum. He was a classic and well-beloved success story and his popularity just kept going and going.

I have never really understood what, besides his supposed good looks, gave him so much appeal to the public, at least music-wise. I have never seen him perform live, but I have listened to a few of his singles during the random times I had turned on the radio. From what I've heard from my own ears, he can sing in tune (but thanks to modern technology, this isn't a huge talent in the music industry anymore). Judging from his singles, Inuyasha's voice itself seemed to have an actual singing ability, meaning it probably would not be painful to listen to live. But I never heard anything particularly special about him. He seemed to be just like all the other pop stars I'd encountered with Miroku, so generic and predictable.

It baffled me that he would have anything to do with Miroku. Miroku was on a completely different level of fame and talent.

Miroku seemed to sense the disbelief in my voice. He raised an eyebrow at me.

I resented that. "I'm just asking," I said defensibly.

Miroku's eyebrow remained arched. "Gao-san and I will be releasing new albums during the same month. You know what that means."

Oh yes I did. An album release called for an upheaval in advertising and a race of publicity and promotion, requiring a huge amount of time and effort along with a huge promotion tour. The promotion tour technically was not required, but it was needed as a safety cushion for publicity. The whole promotion process by itself was extremely exhausting, but because of the competition and rivalry of releasing albums of other artists, an attitude of anxiety and stress was added to the process.

Inuyasha would be undergoing this hassling process as well. But I still did not see what this had to do with Miroku and said so.

"We're taking a new approach to promotion," Sango explained from the other couch. She thumbed over a page. "Instead of upping publicity and hoping for the best, we've decided to make a joint-effort with Inuyasha and his agents."

"Our albums will be promoted side by side, together," Miroku said. "We will travel along the same promotion tour and perform joint-concerts together to promote both of our albums. The whole hoopla, we'll be in it together. It will be as if we had formed a duet group."

"And when the albums are released, they'll be sold together for a reduced price, and the companies will split the profits," Sango concluded.

Both of my eyebrows floated somewhere in the middle of my forehead and my mouth gaped open slightly. It was smart idea, teaming up with Inuyasha for publicity.

"But it's not official yet," Sango added. "We're still in the negotiating phase. We don't know if Miroku and Inuyasha would work well together."

"You haven't even met Inuyasha yet," I pointed out. This was true.

Miroku nodded. "So tonight, we're going to meet up and talk a little about it, just some chit chat for the moment."

"I see." There was still something I didn't understand though. "But why do I have to go too?" I asked suspiciously. "What do I have to do with promotion?"

"Nothing much," Miroku answered simply. "We merely want your opinion on Inuyasha. Also-" Miroku looked me fully in the face here, emphasizing my attention, indicating to me that he was now going to be brutally honest "-If indeed we do go through with the plan, Inuyasha's going to be in our company quite often."

Meaning, I thought to myself, I would have to put up with Inuyasha's presence on a regular basis whether I enjoyed it or not.

"Inuyasha is not known to have the best personality," Miroku continued. "And we really want this partnership to succeed, so I'll need your cooperation as well."

The conversation was beginning to unnerve me.

"So you want me to hang out with Inuyasha in order to keep his spirits up?" I asked.

"Not necessarily," Miroku confirmed. "I just want you to…get along with him. Maintain a friendly relationship. This is because the way the plans are going, he'll probably be with us all the time. So when I meet him tonight, I want you to meet him with me."

It was later while we were preparing to leave for the restaurant that it all clicked in my head. There was something about the potential teaming with my brother and Inuyasha that bugged me, and Miroku expected this, so he was dragging me along to show that there was nothing to be bothered about.

Miroku knew that Inuyasha did not live up to my personal expectations for a musical artist, and he was also well aware that I would not think Inuyasha worthy of teaming up with him.

Miroku has been in the music industry for almost seven years as opposed to Inuyasha's one year. Within this time span, he has released four record albums, as opposed to Inuyasha's one. My brother has also broken into the markets outside Japan and met with enormous success in China and Taiwan. (In fact, Miroku's popularity was even greater in the Chinese markets than the Japanese, which was why we lived in Hong Kong most of the time.) He even has a small following in the Western world (although this is actually due to a few songs he made for a few popular animes). Inuyasha on the other hand, had only just gotten into the Chinese market, and hardly anywhere else outside China and Taiwan.

If they did team up, Miroku would benefit nothing from Inuyasha. Inuyasha, on the other hand, would gain too much from Miroku.

Not fair, not fair at all. The thought of some generic, prissy, pop star excuse for a musician leeching off my brother infuriated me. The thought that Miroku was actually considering this plan baffled me.

Miroku of course, did think about these things once in a while but he did not care very much about it. He let Sango and his former manager Lei worry about it instead.

He knew, of course, that I would not welcome Inuyasha in these circumstances. But being Miroku, instead of keeping me as far away from Inuyasha as he could as others might have done, he chose instead to make me face Inuyasha and rethink my opinions on our meeting. At least that's what I think his motives are…

My brother. I love him to bits but he can be such a sneaky asshole.

I checked my appearance in the mirror. We were going to a very expensive and fancy restaurant that required formal dress at all times. I usually avoided wearing make up but the gravity of the situation earned a touch of lip-gloss and mascara on my face. The dress I chose was stylish but accidentally so and designed to be pleasant to wear. I had a feeling that I would be extremely uncomfortable during this dinner and wanted to be in as much ease as possible.

Finally, I knelt to knees and faced a photograph of my parents and late younger brother Souta.

"Souta, Papa, Mama," I called, "Please give me patience tonight. I don't know what to expect and I think I need all the help I can get. The fact that Miroku and Sango are so serious about this Gao Inuyasha and want me to meet him shows that this is something big. They didn't say it but I get the feeling that they want my approval about this guy. I don't really understand why, but then again this whole music business is over my head. Please keep me from making a fool of myself, because I think that's what Miroku is afraid of."

I stopped in thought.

"In that case, he should never have considered bringing me to this dinner," I added. "You know how he is."

I bobbed my head down in amen.

"I love you all and I miss you so much. I have to go now though. Wish me luck."

I stood. Time to go.

.

I couldn't believe it.

The bastard was late.

The nerve!

Granted, we were fives minutes late to the rendezvous, but that was completely due to the horrific state of Hong Kong traffic. In fact, considering the amount of traffic that goes through the streets of Hong Kong, five minutes late was actually a trifle early. Evidently, it was too early.

However, I was quick to dismiss this fact as Miroku, Sango, and I sat at our table. We had been sitting here for the last hour for his delayed presence. The two empty seats, one for Inuyasha and the other for his manager, Myouga, seemed to inanimately smirk at me.

I glared at the offending chairs sullenly. Their soon-to-be occupiers were plummeting lower and lower in my opinion. If Miroku really wanted my approval of them so desperately it was too bad for him, I was growing more and more annoyed by the second.

It was pricking at my nerves. Inuyasha had no right whatsoever to be so damn late. Did he know Miroku's reputation in the music industry? Did he realize that Miroku deserved all utmost respect? Inuyasha should be grateful that Miroku even agreed to consider the potential partnership and cooperation, otherwise Miroku would have kicked dust into his eyes when the record sales came around, no matter how popular Inuyasha was now. Goddamn, Miroku has lasted for nearly seven years and he was still on the top of business. This was disgraceful.

There was a bottle of wine for the adults and a bottle of sparkling apple cider on the circular turntable for the underage. There was small bowl of peanuts to nibble, as courtesy demanded we wait before ordering food to eat. Out of sheer boredom, I had started pouring myself glass after glass of cider since we had arrived. Now I could feel the sugary goodness start to bubble inside. The bottle of cider was almost empty.

This restaurant was one of those fancy, luxury-driven places that catered to Chinese people who had turned their back on traditional Asian values and embraced the Western culture as their own. It was a place that the higher and richer Hong Kong natives would take their foreign guests to impress and flaunt, displaying their Western qualities. We were surrounded by swarms of brown, red, and blonde-haired Caucasian wannabes dressed in the latest fashions of the West. The patrons were so high class that only the easily impressionable would bat an eye at the entrance of a celebrity, the rest merely continued with their conversation. Around our table were buzzing conversations on politics and stock markets and all the sorts of things the modern man had to worry about it. These were the people who had one foot in Europe and the other just inching over the peaks of the Ural Mountains. They thought they knew where power laid and had rushed to join it.

This restaurant choice made me wonder a little. The dinner meeting had been arranged on Inuyasha's side, Miroku had nothing to do with location decision. What did this indicate about Inuyasha or his manager rather? Why did he choose such a Western-driven place?

We three were a little set apart and not just because of our Japanese ethnicity (we were not the only Japanese in the restaurant anyway). However, we were part of the few people in the room who had not had our hair dyed some random color (Miroku had never shown interest in that particular fad). We conducted our conversations boldly and confidently entirely in Japanese, rather than in mostly English with small spurts of Cantonese or Mandarin here and there as tables around us were doing. Our dress was western enough though: Miroku in black dinner jacket and pants with an open collar purple shirt underneath, Sango in a crisp, classy and feminine black and magenta suit, and I in my comfort dress. We were appeared to be only at the foot of the Ural, and were graciously ignored for it.

I wondered if Inuyasha knew how to speak English. I knew that knowledge of a few English phrases was required as a pop star (phrases like "baby!" and "Love you!") but, if we were in a place like this, was that an indication that Inuyasha possessed a fluency in English? Would he insist on conducting all conversation in English?

I hoped not. Miroku and Sango were perfectly comfortable with English and would be none too fazed if he did. Houjou had started tutoring me in English when he first started working with us and by this time I spoke English more or less half fluently and could understand the general conversation around me. But I had not gone beyond the point that I became confident in my English speaking, and my uneasiness clearly showed whenever I spoke. It wasn't a weakness I really wanted to display in front of Miroku's rival.

"He's still late," I snapped to the air in front of me for the umpteenth time. What happened to the luck I prayed for? Was Mama punishing me for something I did? What did I do?

Miroku and Sango both paused in their conversation at my comment and looked at me, silently telling me to stop stating the obvious because it was not helping. Yep, it was obvious who the immature teenager was at this table.

I took a sip of my umpteenth glass of cider in a huff. Through the speakers on the ceiling, I could hear the beats of Western music, as if it were declaring to the general public that they knew about the West, they knew all the fads, here's the music to prove it! At the moment an old Beatles song twinkled overhead.

Here come old flat top
He come groovin' up slowly
He got jo jo eyeball
He one holy roller

I smirked into my glass as the lyrics reached my ears. In my boredom my thoughts drifted to the delayed entrance of Mr. Inuyasha goh-goh. In my mind, I watched as he came grooving into the room with jelly liquid eyes from too many shots of alcoholic beverages, old flat top indeed.

He got hair down to his knee
Got to be a joker he just do what he please

Heh, strangely I did not recall a clear picture of Inuyasha's face. Others would have thought that I'd be up to date with all the rivals in my brother's line of work, but as it was, I had never seen so much as a picture of Inuyasha. I'd bet he did indeed have hair long enough to sit on.

He wear no shoeshine
He got toe-jam football
He got monkey finger
He shoot coca-cola
He say-

I mouthed along with the lyrics. "'I know you, you know me,'" I silently sang, wagging my shoulders a little to the beat. Nobody paid attention to me of course. " `One thing I can tell you is you got to be free.'" Yes, free me from this incessant state of boredom. "'Come together, right now, over me…'" Inuyasha goh-goh, please come here before I explode with impatience.

He bag production
He got walrus gumboot
He got ono side board
He one spinal cracker
He got feet down below his knee
Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease

There was a lovely picture forming in my head of a guy with wild long hair swaggering into the dining hall with squinty, runny eyes and wafts of red, toxic fumes omitting from his skin, and long lanky arms used for forcing a girl onto his sweltering lap, his knees dragging in his heavy feet behind him, lips forming the words, "'Come together, right now, over me,'" and then snatching up the nearest girl into those lanky arms of his and pulling her underneath the table.

Inuyasha Gao… Gao Inuyasha… Inuyasha… what was with his name anyway? It's written in kanji characters and in Cantonese, it should have been pronounced as "Hune Yeh Chah," but no, Mr. Inuyasha goh-goh had to be unique and use the Japanese pronunciation instead. Why did he do that? Did he just think his name was easier to remember if it was not Chinese? As native Japanese, I felt it only made him poseur rather than chic. Gao certainly was a Chinese surname. It was a very unique surname indeed. The specific character of his name meant "everlasting." The sound "gao," however, could also mean "dog," "nine," or "enough" when pronounced the right way. A foreigner would probably pronounce it in the way that translated as "dog."

He roller-coaster
He got early warning
He got muddy water
He one mojo filter
He say 'one and one and one is three'
Got to be good-looking 'cause he's so hard to see

I added to my mental image a splatter of muddy water on his face, drying it to a crusty, faded brown, like camouflage. As he pulled the girl underneath the table, he glanced back and held up three fingers at me. And then he disappeared into the murky depths of the table.

Inuyasha… dog-demon… Gao… dog… Gao Inuyasha… dog dog-demon? Everlasting dog-demon?

I giggled to myself. What a silly name!

Then I hiccupped. The cider was increasing my sugar levels and I could feel myself becoming more and more energetic.

Come together, right now, over me

I wondered why I had to imagine Inuyasha harassing a girl. That was not something I liked to see.

Come together

I twitched uncomfortably as I absently swirled the cider around in my wineglass. All of a sudden, the moving liquid made me shiver. The cider had taken its toll on me. I needed a leak.

"Inuyasha and Myouga probably won't be here for the next few minutes right?" I remarked thoughtfully to Sango. "I'll be at the restroom then."

Sango nodded and I stood up.

Come together

I delicately scooted my chair back stepped out from the table. Shaking out my dress skirt, I straightened myself and walked out toward restrooms. I had gotten only a few yards away from our table when my nose came into rough contact with the warm, smooth skin of a man's naked chest.

The rest of my body collided in a less poetic manner. I squeaked in surprise as I lost my balance (I was wearing very high heels) and stumbled, arms flailing against the offender, who grunted at my clumsiness.

Come together

Cool hands gripped my forearms, steadying me back onto my feet. When they did not let go, I took a step back, taking the hands with me. I opened my mouth to apologize and thank him for his assistance and but shut it again when I looked up into bright, hard eyes of an opaque gold. The brows above the eyes were pinched together in an unfathomable expression.

Locks of white hair slid down the front of his face, draping across his eyes, which peered out between the strands.

Come together

When I heard the scrape of Miroku's chair upon the carpet and Miroku's calm, receiving voice saying, "Gao Inuyasha, it is a pleasure to finally meet you," despite my ignorant expectations and doubts before, somehow, I was not shocked or surprised at the identity of the man before me.

His eyes stared strongly at mine for a brief moment before loosening his grip on my arms, but not quite letting go. I took another step back, his hands slipping down my bare arms. I could feel my cheeks tingeing with red as I took in his unbuttoned and open red silk, Chinese style jacket with emperor's gold embroidery. His matching silk pants moved slightly as he relaxed, sliding beneath his navel. His lean, taut chest muscles were naked underneath the jacket with only a beaded, fanged necklace adorning his neck and spilling between his two, exposed nipples. Strands of white hair trickled about his person like an aura.

There was a moment of pause, an expanding silence. He pulled his hands completely away from me and moved his gaze away from mine to respond to my brother's greeting.

"Higurashi," Inuyasha coolly remarked in a strong, even voice, "the pleasure is all mine."

.

.

Song Credit: "Come Together" - the Beatles