InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ French is Chic ❯ Meetings ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Tythe 
We meet.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.12.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 349 | Status: Work In Progress
We meet.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.12.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 349 | Status: Work In Progress
-A/N-
I, myself, posted this fic on ff.net. I did not steal this from anyone, except myself. My pen name on ff.net is Miyazaki Itou-chan. You can check.
I want to thank my middle school and high school French teachers, for reasons that will be revealed soon
Also, I want to thank The Beatles for making such great albums as Abbey Road, Rubber Soul, and Revolver…my soundtrack as I wrote this fic (I am especially grateful for the songs Norwegian Wood, You Won’t See Me, and Run For Your Life)
Since that is out of the way…onward! To the story!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Inuyasha or any characters therein. I do own a dog, and some fish….but the fish are hardly a replacement.
-- the story --
“Where the hell is he?!”
“Who?”
“Inuyasha!” Miroku was pacing the floor of the shooting room, constantly looking out into hallway and then at his watch.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Rou-Kun…calm down.” Shippou, the cameraman, offered Miroku a cup of much appreciated coffee, which was taken and “fixed” with about and ounce of whiskey from a flask that disappeared into Miroku’s inside coat pocket just as easily as it had appeared.
“Why are you stressed out today, of all days? He’s been late before, but you weren’t in this much of a tizzy. What’s so special about to day?” Asked Shippou, as he sipped his own, yet alcohol-free coffee.
“You really are full of stupid questions aren’t you?” Miroku went on to explain that a big-time exec from BeauxJeunes (‘…like the number one clothier in the history of the universe!...’) was coming to pick the right models for their image (‘…because their execs are too high and mighty to let us pick the models…oh no! They have to pick them, themselves!...’ (the whiskey had only a small effect on Miroku))
Shippou just nodded his head as Miroku went on and on about how big agencies and groups, and such, that asked for models were annoying and he that he hated his job.
Fifteen minutes into the ‘more-anger-than-alcohol’ driven rage that Miroku was forcing upon Shippou’s less than sympathetic ears, the door swung open, slamming into the wall as it did so. “There he is.” Pointed out Shippou. Miroku’s head whipped around snapping out of his agency rant and into the ‘Where-the-fuck-were-you-Inuyasha’ rant.
“Chill out, Miroku! Jeez! It’s not like I missed the shoot or anything. Besides, whoever is here to see me isn’t here yet. What were they again? Jewish?” Inuyasha plopped down in one of the chairs near the row of makeup counters. After carving a rude word into the makeup counter with the file end of a pair of nail clippers he said, “Oi! Where be the makeup lady at?”
Miroku cringed at Inuyasha’s deliberate butchering of their spoken language, “They are French, her name is Sango, and she is right over there having her lunch.” Motioning toward her and saying rather sarcastically, “I think our little delinquent is ready for his makeup now Sango, Sorry to tear you away from your meal, but…the favourite wants to be made up. This instant! And we must keep him happy” Sango looked pathetically at her lunch, sighed, got her makeup tote and began making up the spoiled brat sitting in the chair.
Later (but not much), Inuyasha inquired further of this French/Jewish clothing company.
Through clenched teeth Miroku hissed, “For the fourth time they are not Jewish at all! They are just French. Not Cuban, Austrian, or Korean. French.”
“Oh!” said Inuyasha with a tone of revelation. ‘Thank God he finally got it!’ praised Miroku. “Are they those people with the different language? And the wine?”
“Yes!! Shippou, Sango! He gets it! There’s hope yet!” The afore mentioned simply rolled their eyes.
“They’re Italian, right?”…He didn’t get it.
Miroku could not fathom the reason why this was so hard for this young man sitting in front of him to understand that this group of people was from France. “Inuyasha, France is a country right about here.” Pointing to the country on a conveniently placed globe that was sitting just to the right of a can of hairspray. “The people who are coming to speak to you are French. They are from this country right here. They speak French. And they are—”
“Right there.” Shippou used his amazing pointing out powers to motion towards the door, directing Miroku and Inuyasha’s attention to the small group of people in the doorway.
Miroku put down the globe, straightened his jacket, and coolly walked over to the group, which consisted of two dottery old men and a young woman (who seemed to be in charge) « Bon Jour, mademoiselle. Comment vos vols ? » (A/N-translations at end of chapter…if interested.)
Ah…c’était fatigant et c’était sans incidents.
C’est bon…je pense. Ah, je m’appelle Miroku, comment vous appelez-vous ? Asked Miroku, forgetting about the gentlemen of the group momentarily.
« Je m’appelle Kagome Higurashi. »
-Est-ce que je demander une question à vous ?
Oui.
Est-ce que vous enfantez mes enfants ?
Of course she slapped him, though maybe she should have slapped Inuyasha who rose to investigate the young woman as well and said, “Any of you Jewish, French, Italians know how to speak Japanese?” Conveniently, they all did. (A/N- love these conveniences! Makes it easy to write!) A Shocked!Miroku introduced everyone in the group to Inuyasha, who was in the background striking his most famous poses, and who ‘…is quite possibly, almost, maybe, the male version of Japan’s Ebihara Yuri.’
Kagome hadn’t been listening to Miroku much, because she had read Inuyasha’s paperwork, but she had to let her eyes recuperate from Inuyasha’s blatant portrayal of manliness (showing off of his muscles and the like) so she turned to ask Miroku, “He’s an ass isn’t he?”
“Well…um…” The answer from Miroku was chorused by Sango and Shippou both, “YES!”
End Ch. 1
A/N Hope it’s good enough to continue!! Please, please, please let me know what you think! You might even want to suggest ideas and such; I might use some of them, improve some of them, or ignore some, but not intentionally!! Before I forget here is the translation to the French!
“Hello, miss. How was your flight?”
“Oh, it was tiring and uneventful.”
“That’s good…I guess. Oh, my name is Miroku, what is your’s?” Asked Miroku, forgetting about the gentlemen of the group momentarily. (but of course you knew that, it was in English to start)
“My name is Kagome Higurashi.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Would you bear my children?”
Don’t forget to R&R!!Top of Form
Bottom of Form
I, myself, posted this fic on ff.net. I did not steal this from anyone, except myself. My pen name on ff.net is Miyazaki Itou-chan. You can check.
I want to thank my middle school and high school French teachers, for reasons that will be revealed soon
Also, I want to thank The Beatles for making such great albums as Abbey Road, Rubber Soul, and Revolver…my soundtrack as I wrote this fic (I am especially grateful for the songs Norwegian Wood, You Won’t See Me, and Run For Your Life)
Since that is out of the way…onward! To the story!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Inuyasha or any characters therein. I do own a dog, and some fish….but the fish are hardly a replacement.
-- the story --
“Where the hell is he?!”
“Who?”
“Inuyasha!” Miroku was pacing the floor of the shooting room, constantly looking out into hallway and then at his watch.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Rou-Kun…calm down.” Shippou, the cameraman, offered Miroku a cup of much appreciated coffee, which was taken and “fixed” with about and ounce of whiskey from a flask that disappeared into Miroku’s inside coat pocket just as easily as it had appeared.
“Why are you stressed out today, of all days? He’s been late before, but you weren’t in this much of a tizzy. What’s so special about to day?” Asked Shippou, as he sipped his own, yet alcohol-free coffee.
“You really are full of stupid questions aren’t you?” Miroku went on to explain that a big-time exec from BeauxJeunes (‘…like the number one clothier in the history of the universe!...’) was coming to pick the right models for their image (‘…because their execs are too high and mighty to let us pick the models…oh no! They have to pick them, themselves!...’ (the whiskey had only a small effect on Miroku))
Shippou just nodded his head as Miroku went on and on about how big agencies and groups, and such, that asked for models were annoying and he that he hated his job.
Fifteen minutes into the ‘more-anger-than-alcohol’ driven rage that Miroku was forcing upon Shippou’s less than sympathetic ears, the door swung open, slamming into the wall as it did so. “There he is.” Pointed out Shippou. Miroku’s head whipped around snapping out of his agency rant and into the ‘Where-the-fuck-were-you-Inuyasha’ rant.
“Chill out, Miroku! Jeez! It’s not like I missed the shoot or anything. Besides, whoever is here to see me isn’t here yet. What were they again? Jewish?” Inuyasha plopped down in one of the chairs near the row of makeup counters. After carving a rude word into the makeup counter with the file end of a pair of nail clippers he said, “Oi! Where be the makeup lady at?”
Miroku cringed at Inuyasha’s deliberate butchering of their spoken language, “They are French, her name is Sango, and she is right over there having her lunch.” Motioning toward her and saying rather sarcastically, “I think our little delinquent is ready for his makeup now Sango, Sorry to tear you away from your meal, but…the favourite wants to be made up. This instant! And we must keep him happy” Sango looked pathetically at her lunch, sighed, got her makeup tote and began making up the spoiled brat sitting in the chair.
Later (but not much), Inuyasha inquired further of this French/Jewish clothing company.
Through clenched teeth Miroku hissed, “For the fourth time they are not Jewish at all! They are just French. Not Cuban, Austrian, or Korean. French.”
“Oh!” said Inuyasha with a tone of revelation. ‘Thank God he finally got it!’ praised Miroku. “Are they those people with the different language? And the wine?”
“Yes!! Shippou, Sango! He gets it! There’s hope yet!” The afore mentioned simply rolled their eyes.
“They’re Italian, right?”…He didn’t get it.
Miroku could not fathom the reason why this was so hard for this young man sitting in front of him to understand that this group of people was from France. “Inuyasha, France is a country right about here.” Pointing to the country on a conveniently placed globe that was sitting just to the right of a can of hairspray. “The people who are coming to speak to you are French. They are from this country right here. They speak French. And they are—”
“Right there.” Shippou used his amazing pointing out powers to motion towards the door, directing Miroku and Inuyasha’s attention to the small group of people in the doorway.
Miroku put down the globe, straightened his jacket, and coolly walked over to the group, which consisted of two dottery old men and a young woman (who seemed to be in charge) « Bon Jour, mademoiselle. Comment vos vols ? » (A/N-translations at end of chapter…if interested.)
Ah…c’était fatigant et c’était sans incidents.
C’est bon…je pense. Ah, je m’appelle Miroku, comment vous appelez-vous ? Asked Miroku, forgetting about the gentlemen of the group momentarily.
« Je m’appelle Kagome Higurashi. »
-Est-ce que je demander une question à vous ?
Oui.
Est-ce que vous enfantez mes enfants ?
Of course she slapped him, though maybe she should have slapped Inuyasha who rose to investigate the young woman as well and said, “Any of you Jewish, French, Italians know how to speak Japanese?” Conveniently, they all did. (A/N- love these conveniences! Makes it easy to write!) A Shocked!Miroku introduced everyone in the group to Inuyasha, who was in the background striking his most famous poses, and who ‘…is quite possibly, almost, maybe, the male version of Japan’s Ebihara Yuri.’
Kagome hadn’t been listening to Miroku much, because she had read Inuyasha’s paperwork, but she had to let her eyes recuperate from Inuyasha’s blatant portrayal of manliness (showing off of his muscles and the like) so she turned to ask Miroku, “He’s an ass isn’t he?”
“Well…um…” The answer from Miroku was chorused by Sango and Shippou both, “YES!”
End Ch. 1
A/N Hope it’s good enough to continue!! Please, please, please let me know what you think! You might even want to suggest ideas and such; I might use some of them, improve some of them, or ignore some, but not intentionally!! Before I forget here is the translation to the French!
“Hello, miss. How was your flight?”
“Oh, it was tiring and uneventful.”
“That’s good…I guess. Oh, my name is Miroku, what is your’s?” Asked Miroku, forgetting about the gentlemen of the group momentarily. (but of course you knew that, it was in English to start)
“My name is Kagome Higurashi.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Would you bear my children?”
Don’t forget to R&R!!Top of Form
Bottom of Form