InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Nikanaru ❯ Al ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: Koday

Disclaimer

(Seeing as how I forgot to put one in chapter 1)

I don't own the Inuyasha series, nor do I aim to make profit off this. And frankly, I doubt I could if I applied myself.

However, I do claim unofficial ownership over my original characters.

Note to readers:

By the by, being an artist as well as a writer, I decided to go ahead and physically illustrate how I envision Max.

http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php/181424

And, yes, I know that's not very anime. I'm more so inclined towards classic Western animation, as you'll if you look at the rest of my stuff.

I might just make this illustration deal a regular thing, too. Just to give this story some extra zing.

Anyways…

Nikanaru

Chapter 2:

Growin' up Higurashi

The following is an entry from the personal journal in which Max Higurashi wrote in, based on his Great-Grandfather's recommendation that writing things down could help him sort out his feelings and personal conflictions over being a lone demon masquerading in a world of humans:

September 22nd

Dear Journal,

Today I…

…

Fuck it. This is stupid.

This single page journal can now be found in a garbage dump somewhere in the outskirts of Tokyo.

**********

Eleven Years Ago

Grandpa Higurashi was, as most men his age do, taking time to appreciate the moment. It was a beautiful day out: The sun was shining brightly through the kitchen window, reflecting wonderfully off the polished sink and creating prisms of light throughout the room. The little fern tree he had situated on the windowsill was bathing in the sunlight radiantly, the envy of any other plant in the house. A cool breeze blew through the crack in the window; it's claming touch and melodious sound apexing the tranquility of the moment. And finally, the kitchen was clean, yet still held the aroma of the cinnamon rolls the Sakura had had for breakfast. Yes, Grandpa knew well that such wonderful, calming, soothing moments in life where rare, and they should be savored, to remember it as one of those all-to-few wonderful instants life held.

Unlike most men his age, Grandpa was a man of impeccable health. Most men n their mid-seventies would feel the inevitable crush of time, the deterioration of their bodies handicapping them. Forcing them to use canes, wheelchairs, glasses, watch their hearts, work their muscles less, eat more fiber…

Grandpa, however, had the advantage of having taken extremely good care of himself throughout his life, both physically and spiritually. Since his teens, he'd jogged regularly, ate healthily, meditated, practiced Kung Fu, and his studies as a shrine master made him privy to all sorts of health charms and naturopath remedies for his body.

The naturopath remedies, however, were strictly a placebo effect, because naturopathy is bullshit.

The pagan charms, on the other hand, had genuinely helped immensely.

Nevertheless, he was in exceptionally good health, and it seemed likely that the man could very well live to be a hundred.

And exceptionally good health proved to be an exceptionally good thing at that very moment. Because any lesser 73 year old would have suffered a exceptional myocardial infraction when an exceptional soccer ball suddenly came blasting through the window like a cannonball, missing his head by centimeters, sending glass shards flying in all directions, knocking the fern into the sink, crashing through several hanging pans from the ceiling, and finally embedding itself deep within the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Exceptionally.

That's not to say that Grandpa's heart didn't have a lovely workout from that fright. No, he was clutching it as if he were afraid an Alien was going to burst out of his chest. As he took another moment to steady his breathing, Souta suddenly burst in from the back door.

“Oh my god! Grandpa, are you okay?.!” He cried, inspecting him for any sign of injury. Finding none, Souta breathed a sigh of relief. Grandpa managed to settle himself, looked at his grandson and demanded:

“What in all the hell was that!.?”

“Max and I were in the backyard…” Souta began, inspecting the damaged room. Finding nothing threatening the structural stability of the house, he went back to the door. “…I was showing him how to…” Souta trailed off when he looked outside and found no sign of him. “Max?” He called out. No response. “Max!”

Scanning the yard, he eventually noticed a slight bit of trembling, poofy fur sticking out from behind a tree. Souta sighed and approached.

“Max. Hey, it's okay. Come on out.” Reluctantly, Max poked his head out from behind the tree.

“You were showing him how to what? Aim a canon?” Grandpa asked, catching up as Souta coaxed the little demon out into the open.

“I was teaching him to play soccer.” Souta explained, giving calming little pats to the kid who looked like he was ready to burst out into tears.

“So what, are you launching the balls with catapults now?” Grandpa continued, noting the distance in between them and the now-broken window, which was pretty far.

“Max kicked it.” Souta informed him.

*********

“He's five years old, and he kicked a soccer ball through two layers of our home.” Souta stated, identifying the catalyst to the subject that he, Grandpa and Sakura were at the table, having a meeting over.

“Well, I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose.” Sakura rationalized.

“I know he didn't, Mom. I was there. But that's the whole problem.” Souta replied. “If grandpa had been standing a few more inches to the left, that ball would've taken his head off.” Sakura sighed and buried her face in her hands. This is what she'd been fearing since she'd taken in Max. Max was a demon, and they knew nothing about demonic children…the way they develop, their instincts, their natural abilities…what if Max was dangerous? What if, despite their best efforts to raise him well, Max just had natural inclinations that made him impossible to bring up in their world?

“Sweetie, sweetie…” Grandpa put a hand on her shoulder. “…we're not talking about giving him up. We love him too, you know.” She took a slow breath and looked back up at the two.

“But we need to re-think how we're raising him.” He added.

“What do you mean?” Sakura asked.

“I know…” Grandpa began. “…I know we agreed that we shouldn't treat Max any differently because of what he is…” He paused for a moment, considering his words. “…I mean, of course we don't want him to grow up thinking he's different, or a freak of nature or something.”

“He's a sweet kid, mom.” Souta added. “But…I think it's important that we understand that, in some ways we can't ignore, he IS different.” To exemplify his point, he motioned over to the ruined kitchen window, floor and wall. “But even more important than that is that…HE needs to understand that.” Sakura took a breath and nodded.

“I just…I was just hoping I could give him a normal life.” She mumbled in defeat.

“He can, Sakura.” Grandpa assured her. “But we also can't just ignore the fact that he's got those claws we can't clip, those fangs we can't cap, and the strength. If we ignore them, then he'll ignore them too.”

“Mom, if we're going to let Max go out into the world, if you're serious about him using that crystal and going to school with other kids…” Souta continued. “…then he needs to know that he's a lot stronger than most people. He needs to know that he has to be delicate with others. What happens if he starts playing with other kids and accidentally hurts them? Or worse?” Sakura nodded. They made sense. She had maybe been a bit too optimistic about things. She had hoped that by not treating Max different, he wouldn't start to feel like he was different.

The problem now was, they had to explain to him that he was different, while simultaneously not making him feel different.

“So…” She placed her hands on the table in a very businesslike manner. “How do we do this?” A moment passed as the three of them lost themselves in thought.

Finally, it was Grandpa who broke the silence.

“What if I taught him Kung Fu?” That earned him some amazed stares from the other two. And not the good kind of amazed.

“We want to teach him not to use his strength…” Souta said very slowly, as if explaining it to a mental case. “…and you want to teach him how to fight? You sure the ball missed your head?”

“No, to teach him control.” Grandpa replied, somewhat offended. “Martial Arts isn't so much about fighting as it is understanding your own body.”

“Dad, I really don't know about that…” Sakura said, doubt more than evident in her voice as well.

“As we try to teach him about his strength…” Grandpa continued explaining. “…we also show him so he can really understand it. He takes a few light lessons with me so that he can get an idea of his own physical abilities. And that will give him some measure of control.” The way he rationalized it did make the idea slightly more appealing to Sakura and Souta, but it still sounded iffy.

Regardless, this was something they were going to have to handle very carefully.

**********

“How come I gotta wear these pajamas?” Max asked, noting that it was daytime out. He hoped these weren't new pajamas he'd have to wear. He liked his smiley face ones much better than these plain white ones.

“Those aren't pajamas, Max.” Grandpa proudly informed him. “That's a traditional martial arts gi.”

“Gee?”

“Right.” Grandpa continued. “Starting today, you're going to learn some Kung Fu.”

“Kung Foo?” Max repeated, the work somewhat unfamiliar. “What's that?”

“It's a martial art.” Souta informed him.

“Art?” Max wondered at all these new words. Was he wearing this because they were going to paint, and couldn't get his good clothes dirty?

“Max,” Sakura began, kneeling to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “…I've told you before that you're a special little boy, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Max nodded.

“Well, sweetie, you're…” Sakura paused, trying to pick her words carefully. “…very, very special. So special, in fact…”

“Am I retarded??!” Max suddenly asked in a panic. That efficiently shut everyone else up as they all gaped at him. A child who didn't know the words “Kung Fu”, “Gi”, or even “Martial Arts” was able to pick up a correlation between “Special” and the handicapped.

Yup, a special kid, indeed.

“No, Max.” Sakura finally began again, mentally noting to have a talk with him later on about inappropriate words. “What I mean to say is that you're…unique. And while that doesn't make you any less better than anyone else, um…” She paused again. “…you also have to learn how to accommodate for your uniqueness.”

Max blinked at her.

“What?”

“Oh for…” Souta sighed, stepping in. “Max, you remember when I tried to teach you soccer yesterday?”

“I didn't mean to!” Max yelped, suddenly wondering if this was all some weird sort of punishment for all the stuff he'd wrecked.

“I know, I know.” Souta continued, calming the boy down. “See, that was actually my fault. When I told you to kick the ball as hard as you could, I didn't think you could orbit it.” He stopped a moment to give the kid a chance to digest that. “So, before I teach you anymore soccer…or any physical sport whatsoever, you need to learn about your own strength. Because, squirt, you're a lot stronger than most kids your age are.”

“I am?” Max wondered, looking at his own arms, checking for Schwarzennegarian ripples.

“You are.” Confirmed Grandpa. “And to help you learn balance and control, you'll learn some martial arts.”

“What's that?” The boy inquired.

“A discipline, which helps develop the mind and body.” Grandpa informed him.

“Uh?” Max inquired, clearly confused.

“Remember that movie we saw on TV two days ago?” Souta attempted to clarify. “The one where the guy did a back flip and kicked a bad guy of the roof of that building and onto a car?” Max's eyes instantly lit up.

“YEAH!” The kid's enthusiasm was suddenly physically palpable. “You're gonna teach me that?.?.!” Grandpa and Sakura both shot Souta annoyed glances.

“Let's…let's try this again…” Sakura began.

**********

They say that most predatory animals are more afraid of you than you are of them. This proved to be fairly true, as Max, despite being a demon and it being well within his capability to snap the necks of everyone surrounding him, was downright petrified.

This was the first time in his life that Max had ever been around so many people. Not that he'd never been out in public before. In fact, he had gone on several errands with his Grandma, though those were few and far in between. Here, though, there were kids all over the place, a few adults here and there, all running around and rushing this way and that, talking, chatting, screaming, laughing. For a kid who had spent almost his entire life up until now isolated in a shrine, Max found this phenomenally intimidating.

Max was also afraid to move around too much, due to the #1 rule he had to obey while in public and wearing the Toku crystal: Don't let anyone feel your tail. Although the crystal gave him a human appearance, it was strictly an illusion. While other people couldn't see his ears, claws or tail, they would feel them if ever they touched them. The ears and claws weren't so hard to conceal, but the tail was a whole different story.

Before coming to school, Max had been taken out a few times to the mall for “practice.” Most of the time, he kept his tail mounted on his shoulders like a mink, but if ever someone came to touch his shoulders or back, he had to see it coming and maneuver his tail out of the way FAST. Luckily, he'd managed to catch on pretty quickly, with only a few bewildered mall goers wondering what in the hell had brushed up against them.

Now Max was in a much more crowded area, and it made him nervous, both as a socially inexperienced boy, and as a stealth demon. Of course, Max's family had strictly instructed him to, no matter what, stay calm, don't get aggressive, and if, he was scared, to get an adult. Uncomfortable as he was, Max simply kept his head down and tried to find his designated classroom.

Luckily, no one bothered the jittery boy. The most interaction he had was the teacher who asked for his name and told him to take a seat when he entered his class. He sat patiently in his desk, observing with interest the other people in the room, but trying not to look like he was looking. It was also so odd to smell this many people. Some were pleasant, some were okay, and at least one person smelled like they were wearing a soiled pair of big-kid diapers.

While looking and sniffing around, a girl sitting a few seats across from him caught his attention. She was staring right at him. He tried not to look at her, only peeping at her out of the corner of his eye. She, however, kept looking directly at him, not focusing on anything else. Max started to feel really nervous, shrinking in his seat a little.

When a few minutes passed and she still hadn't turned, Max finally grew annoyed and stared right back at her. But his turning to face her didn't seem to faze her at all, and she just kept looking at him with curious eyes. A staring contest ensued for a few dozen seconds.

Finally, Max upped the ante when he stuck his tongue out at her.

Looking insulted, she rasberried him right back.

Max retorted by pulling on the sides of his mouth.

She reprised by pulling up her nostrils.

With his thumbs, Max stretched at his eyelids.

She shoved her pinky up her nose.

“Good morning class!” The teacher finally announced, making both Max and the girl ten-hut themselves into a respectful, no funny-faced seating at their desks.

“Good morning, teacher.” The whole class replied in unison, as their parents had taught them.

************

Once the first parts of class had finished and the kids were out for recess, Max once again found himself huddled in a corner. Watching the other children run and play in fascination, he remained relatively quiet.

“You're weird.” A young, feminine voice suddenly chimed from his side. Jumping in a little bit of fright, Max turned around to once again face the girl.

“W…what?” He asked, never expecting a direct confrontation with anyone. Getting a close look at her now, he could see that she wasn't like the other kids at school either. Her skin was a little redder, and her hair was sandy blonde.

“You're weird.” She repeated. “How come you're not playing with the other kids? Isn't it boring just sitting here?”

“No.” Max defended himself. “This is lots of fun!” As if to prove his point, he stared forcefully back at the other kids with an exaggerated happy face.

“You're faking.” She snorted, unusually pompous for a girl her age. “What's your name?” Max gave an automatic response, as Sakura had told him to always give his full name when asked.

“Higurashi Maximus.” He recited. Pausing a moment, he then added. “But I like `Max' better.”

“Really weird.” She concluded. “That's a western name.”

“Western?”

“Uh-huh. Your name comes from the other side of the world.”

“No it doesn't!”

“Does too! Don't you notice that your name sounds different from everyone else's?”

“I am NOT different!” Max shouted. The girl ignored him.

“My mom's from the west.” She informed him. “I live in Mexico half the time, so I know these things.” Her arms folded over her chest, as though finalizing the debate.

“What's your name?” Max suspiciously asked her.

“Alexandria. Alexandria Matsuko Valdez Tanaka.” She recited.

“You've got four names!” Max exclaimed. “And each of `em is weirder than mine!”

“Nuh-uh.” She shot back. “I got four names cause I'm multicultural.”

“Multiculpable?”

“My Dad's Japanese and my mother's Mexican. They want me to be a symbol of both my cultures, so they gave me two first names, and two last names.”

“That's a long name. Don't you get tired of saying it all that all the time?” Max asked.

“Sometimes, yeah.” She admitted.

“Don't you have a nickname? Like me being just `Max'?”

“No, I just use my first-first name. Alexandria.”

“That's still pretty long.”

“It's not that long.”

“You could still shorten it.”

“Well, sometimes people just call me Alex.”

“That's still too long.”

“What?”

“You could just shorten it to `Al'.”

“No I can't!”

“Why not?”

“Al is a boy's name! God, you're dumb!” Max snickered.

“So? For you, it shouldn't make that big a difference, Al.”

“You jerk!”

“You moron!”

“Butthead!”

“Pie-Brain!”

“Hijo de puta!”

“Y…what?”

“Blockhead!”

“Uh…baloney-butt!”

“Son of a…”

***********

Present

“…bitch!”

“Skank!”

“Crotch-rot!”

“Clitoral fungus!”

“Ass!”

“Lack thereof!” Max called back at her, but was pretty sure that she was now out of earshot. He simply `hmph'ed, and headed to the cafeteria, cursing the luck of having her as a partner for that last history project.

To say that their relationship was always that bad was a bit of an overstatement. Truth be told, they were somewhere in that narrow area between acquaintance and friend. And they'd probably stay there, considering this kind of thing was fairly regular.

After picking, with great discrimination, what he'd be ingesting from the cafeteria menu, he approached the same familiar table he ate at, with the same familiar faces.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Dai announced as Max approached. “The man will one day receive a kick to the crotch hard enough to create a black hole between his legs!”

“Thank you, thank you.” Max cheerfully replied as he took his seat. “And yet still, in that experience alone, my crotch will have had more female contact than any of yours ever will.”

“I am just downright amazed she hasn't taken a swing at you yet.” Ciro noted.

“So what was that all about?” Dai inquired between slurps of his noodles.

“Aw, the usual.” Max grumbled, as he picked at his meat with a plastic spork. “She said I made our presentation `Less serious” or some shit like that.”

Max and Al had been assigned together to do a history report on the oppression of the Jews in Nazi Germany. They had worked together just fine until, during the actual presentation, Max had decided improvise in order to lighten the somber mood:

Flashback: 15 Minutes ago

Al and Max stood before the class, both holding their respective papers, both going over the horrors of the holocaust. As Al went on with her half of the report, Max noted the dark, depressed look of the entire class. It wasn't pretty. He felt the need to do something about it.

“…although the war had great financial woes on Germany, and the Nazi government was forced to instigate several major cutbacks, extermination of Jews was nevertheless a program which they refused to relent on. In a general staff meeting…”

“Someone sneezed.” Max interrupted. Al turned to look at him confusedly.

“Wh…what?”

“Adolf Hitler was conducting a General Staff meeting, when somebody sneezed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She demanded.

”So when Hitler heard it,” Max continued. “…he whirled around from a map of Europe and said `Who vas that?'” Max imitated a thick German accent, while Al gaped at him. “When no one answered, Hitler said `I see. I vill have 10 of you shot. And maybe zen you vill tell me who sneezed?' A Gestapo agent took 10 people out of the room. Shots were heard, then silence. 'I vill ask again,' yelled Hitler, `who sneezed?' Again, nobody said anything. 'Very vell'" he said, `I vill have another 10 of you shot!' The Gestapo agent escorted 10 more people out of the room and executed them. 'For ze very last time,' screamed Hitler, `Who sneezed?' Finally the guilty officer could stand no more. He stood up and said, `It was me, mien Führer. I am the one who sneezed.' Hitler slowly approached the shaking officer and said, `Bless you.'”

The entire class, teacher inclusive, burst out laughing. Exclusive to this, however, was Al, who wore a facial expression that clearly indicated her desire to castrate her partner.

End Flashback

In her fury, Al claimed that he'd undermined the seriousness of the holocaust, and their report. Max tried to defend his position by referencing Mel Brooks' “The Producers” as Jewish payback via mocking against Hitler. Al told him that Mel Brooks was a hack and prick.

THAT had gotten Max mad. And that's about where the name-calling started to fly.

“C'mon, man, you know how she is.” Ciro piped up, trying to cheer up his friend.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Max grumbled. “But I seriously thought she'd get a kick out of that one.” It had been a pretty depressing subject to research. Watching her in the library going over those holocaust books, Al had seemed even more depressed than usual. He'd just wanted to liven her spirits a bit.

“You'd have better luck raising John Lennon from the grave and convincing him to take up gangsta rap.” Dai continued. “Seriously, why do you even talk to her? She's just another one of those stuck-up bitches.”

“What're you talking about?” Joe shot back. “She ain't rich. Is she?”

“Naw, she's like one of those Goth chicks who've got those holier-than-thou attitudes.”

“She ain't no Goth.” Joe shot back again. “She dresses normal.”

“Not really.” Kato added. “I know she's got a body, but she keeps wearing all those heavy clothes.”

Max zoned out the conversation at hand. He didn't really care to gossip about Al, even though she wasn't exactly in his good graces as of now.

But then again, really, what were you expecting? He wondered to himself. It had been virtually the same old routine between the two for the past ten years.

He'd known her since the very first day of school, and they'd ended up going to every same educational institution together. They were never exactly friends, but they weren't hostile either. Most of the time. Al was one of those girls that could easily be stereotyped by others due to her somewhat unsocial behavior, but Max knew her well enough to know that she was a bit more complex than that.

She was an odd one. Back in grade school, she actually came off as just a bit snooty, so naturally Max had loved annoying her. Even as a kid, she had taken things pretty seriously, but she did so with a lot more life. Once, she had come to school complaining about the deterioration of the ozone layer, something most other kids their age didn't even know of, let alone care about. Max had jokingly suggested getting the entire school to poop in a pile to help create fertilizer to feed the plants.

She'd thrown her chocolate milk at him.

Nowadays, she was still serious, but in a much more passive, almost defeated kind of way. She'd grown gradually cynical, sometimes downright self-righteous. Sneering at most other people, rolling her eyes from any conversation she overheard ranging from sports to computer software. She scowled at politics, frequently referring to politicians as either “Idiotic”, “Corrupt” or “Blitheringly Incompetent.”

She did have her own group of friends, although they only hung out together occasionally, and they were mostly composed of Goths. Actually, it seemed that half of the time she couldn't stand them, but she could relate to their “Damn the world and damn humanity” conversations. She did leave, however, as soon as the subject of their conversations turned to vampires and Wicca.

Not that she thought that she was better than anyone. In fact, she even oft times complained about her own lack of resolve to do anything productive or beneficial.

Oddly enough, Max and her did sort of hang out whenever either of them had nothing better to do. Although it wasn't so much based on any semblance of liking each other, but rather on their utter familiarity, and thus comfort, with each other. Usually, they kept it civil, although Al would inevitably moan about some injustice, and Max would try to cheer her up, and she'd shrug it off. Or yell at him for being such an immature boob.

Maybe the reason Max kept talking to her occasionally was because he secretly really wanted to get her to laugh at something. Smile. Hell, even snort, but the girl was an impregnable wall. Max had no idea, though, why she kept coming back to him.

Max was, after all, a fine example of everything she claimed to detest: He was mostly apathetic towards global events and politics, he split his time between sports, video games and movies, and was a bit of a clown.

I mean, fuck, I'm not an asshole, but I just can't drop everything and cry every time some village in some third world assfuck country loses a goat.

…whoa, speak of the devil herself.

Amidst the plethora of smells emanating from the cafeteria, Max suddenly picked up her familiar scent, and peeked off to the side. There she was, on the other side of the room, on a lone corner of a table with her bag lunch and ever-present sketchbook.

That's what she did end up doing with most of her time. Drawing and sketching. Oddly enough, though, she wasn't taking any art classes, although Max had seen her work and she was pretty good.

She hadn't shown him voluntarily of course. Max had once swiped her sketchbook, drawn moustaches on all her figures and discreetly put it back. While he had had it, he glanced over her drawings and still-lifes, and found them surprisingly good. It almost made him feel bad about defacing them.

…almost.

She had also been uber-pissed when she found out. Luckily for him, he'd left no evidence in the sketchbook leading to him.

“Max!” Ciro said again.

“Eh?” He turned his eyes back to his group.

“How come you got the steaks today?” He asked. “The ramen's on special.”

Max grimaced in revulsion.

“Because that shit's disgusting.” He sneered. “I can't believe you all put that industrial crap in your bodies.”

“It's cheap, and it's flavorful.” Kato argued.

“I would rather eat an anthrax-flavored corpse.”

************

End Chapter 2.

Author's Notes: Story seems to be shaping up a little better now. Still, I want you all to review with the utmost mercilessness that you can, so I eventually upgrade this to a mildly tolerable read.

Go on. Make me feel pain. Make me your bitch.