InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Art of Tea - ON HOLD ❯ The Art of Tea - Chapter 10 - Te Not Tea ( Chapter 10 )

DISCLAIMER - The ownership and general brilliance that is the original Feudal Fairy Tale remains the property of its honored and rightfully revered creator Rumiko Takahashi without whose brilliance, we would not have fodder.

 

Author's Note: Oft cited throughout this piece will be the Tao Te Ching. In this chapter we look at Te i.e. virtue/character/inner strength. Virtue has no psycho-sexual connotations as associated with Judeo Christian belief systems. Virtue is character, nothing more, nothing less and how you conduct yourself through life…the way. There is no dark, there is no light, in simplistic terms, it simply is…

 

Thank you for taking the time to read this note. I hope you enjoy…

 

Reviews are fuel.

 

Namaste

 

By: ElegantPaws

 

Edited by: Meara the Celt

 

Chapter Ten is dedicated to the long suffering one, Meara the Celt, my batman in writing. We should all be so lucky. She keeps me on the straight and narrow and she always makes me howl with laughter. Perhaps you can all take the time to torture her a tadsky…at your own risk I might add. She is lippier than me…and that says a lot…but I digress…Have you read COLK (The Courtship of Lady Kagome)? Perhaps you will have better luck getting the damn woman to bring on chapter three…politely mind. Have I mentioned she has broken horses, can chariot race and knows the business end of a whip? Oh and is a peach and hysterically funny? Her slogan is… “Piss me off at your own risk…”(rough translation)...but I figure if we all torture her a bit...we will, at the very least, be gifted with another Haiku…(wink). Shit disturber…(EP looks around bemused) little me?…Neeeeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvveeeerrr… pish posh…IT'S BRILLIANT! It should come with a caveat… “Do not drink whilst reading.”

 

 

" Knowing others is intelligence;

knowing yourself is true wisdom.

Mastering others is strength;

mastering yourself is true power... "

 

 

--- eponymous sage Laozi (Lao tzu) - Zhou Dynasty - 6th Century -,

"The Way of Virtue - 33"---

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

 

Chapter 10 - Te not Tea

 

“Concubinage? Don't tell me you are even contemplating asking a modern woman, who is fiercely independent, intelligent, not to mention, has a ferocious temper, to be your…” Miroku paused trying to find the right words. “…Kept woman?”

 

He had planned a peaceful evening of mediation, quiet repose, a bit of reading, and a long hot soak in the spring beyond the garden. Yet here he was talking his boss off a rather high precipice, simply because he was feeling randy after 200 years of celibacy.

 

The things a male does to get his wick wet, especially after a ridiculously prolonged hiatus from rumpy pumpy. Naraku is going to be in a foul mood when he finally recovers.

 

Miroku shook his head slowly in disbelief, watching as Sesshoumaru examined a bureau drawer with focused attention, ignoring his dire warnings.

 

Eventually a clawed hand retrieved a tie and sharp golden eyes inspected it for imperfections.

 

“What manner of food do they serve in this restaurant?” Sesshoumaru finally asked with feigned disinterest, golden eyes still undecided as to choice of neckwear.

 

Sighing with exasperation, Miroku padded into the room proper, closing the bedroom door behind him. This was going to take longer than he thought. It was a good thing he had put the steaks to marinate and the wine was breathing.

 

The solicitor moved in next to Sesshoumaru and examined the drawer's coiled contents with furrowed brows, his eyes moving to the large bed and the already chosen items.

 

There lay a bespoke suit of deep midnight blue, so intense in color one could easily have mistaken it for black. The trouser seams were sharp with the faintest of stripes reminiscent of a morning suit.

 

Miroku's lips quirked upward into a half smile. Sesshoumaru was stalking the little female, whether he realized it or not. He had never seen his Lord so agitated, not even when heads of state came to the grand ball held on the estate yearly.

 

Always sartorially correct, the Taiyoukai was going to great lengths tonight.

 

Kagome didn't stand a chance.

 

The least he could do was help him out. If the Western Lord landed his prize, it might put him in a better temper for what Miroku had to tell him later in the week. As it was, he did not know how to break it to him.

 

Sesshoumaru had style. Not off the peg or even haute couture for the Western Lord. No, he always upped the ante and had managed to find a tailor that suited his exacting specifications on Savile Row.

 

The vest was wool and silk of the palest cream imaginable, coordinating shirt, just one shade darker, sheer silk socks of matching midnight blue. All designed either by Edward Sexton or one of the minions in the employ of the famed Tommy Nutter firm.

 

“Mediterranean fare, I should think,” Miroku answered easily, riffling through the drawer and receiving a growl of disapproval.

 

Miroku smirked. He was making a mess of the drawer which had been organized by the color spectrum, élan not withstanding; it would not do to have blues consorting with reds.

 

There was a place for everything and everything in its place.

 

“Go with the ivory, embossed silk. It sets the right tone and carries through the subtle pattern in the vest, ” Miroku advised, uncoiling the feather light tie and placing it atop the shirt to make his point.

 

He stood back and placed his hands in his bathing kimono's pockets, dark head cocked to one side, pleased with his choice.

 

Sesshoumaru joined him, taking in the cumulative effect of the ensemble.

 

“Acceptable, and as to your earlier comment, she will accept,” Sesshoumaru said with a hint less aggression as his eyes perused the vest and tie with satisfaction. He could not fault Miroku's fashion sense.

 

“At least you are good for something other than running your mouth and infesting my home with your presence. By the way, when are you leaving?” the Taiyoukai thought to add, just to keep things on an even keel.

 

Miroku ignored the comment and went to the well-lit walk-in closet with a sudden inspiration for belt and footwear. Only Allen Edmonds would do. Left to Sesshoumaru, he would go for shoes by Lobb. Too stuffy.

 

“About another week or so. The cabinetry has yet to be put in and sealed,” Miroku answered, scanning the shoe racks. Ahhh, there they are.

 

“Higurashi is intelligent, spirited, and exceedingly attractive and will provide this Sesshoumaru with years of amusement and pleasure. I, in turn, will see to it she wants for nothing. She may, of course, keep the shop. This Sesshoumaru is nothing if not generous. Miss Higurashi will, however, no longer take new patrons for tea. In fact, find the list of existing clients and discretely inform them they are no longer guests of the Art of Tea.”

 

“Woof! Woof!”

 

The broad back, also garbed in kimono, went rigid. Miroku rolled his eyes, having retrieved the shoes in question and its coordinating belt. If he would insist on treating him like a dog, Miroku felt it his duty to act like one.

 

Sesshoumaru turned with a questioning glance.

 

“Try to remember you are not having tea with the Queen. This is a quiet, upscale Italian restaurant.”

 

“The Berkeley… rather informal. Not this Sesshoumaru's first choice, though it is elegant and contemporary. Place them there.”

 

Miroku stared into golden eyes for a good ten seconds before placing the shoe down and the belt beside the trousers.

 

“At least you will be well shod when the pasta goes flying. You will still be able to cut a dashing figure when you skulk away like a chastised cur.”

 

Sesshoumaru turned his back to Miroku for a final inspection of his raiment for the evening and in a lethally quiet tone retorted.

 

“Your pathetic attempt at verbal fencing with respect to my antecedents will cause your tongue to be severed one day by this Sesshoumaru. Save it for our business adversaries in future.”

 

The lawyer shivered, despite his best efforts. It was times like this Miroku remembered who exactly, and more importantly what exactly, Sesshoumaru was.

 

Heavy, bone-straight silver hair shimmered against Sesshoumaru's dark kimono as his jyaki spiked a fraction in warning, the cloaking spell fading. He could feel the man's trepidation. The Taiyoukai's upper lip quirked with satisfaction. It was always good to instill the fear of Kami in the hired help, however trusted.

 

Feeling generous of spirit for some reason as yet unclear, Sesshoumaru decided to bring the conversation back to Miroku's comfort zone.

 

“Please listen to me, Sesshoumaru. To put it crudely, you stand a very good chance of having your balls handed to you.”

 

A silvery brow quirked with malicious glee as the Taiyoukai turned. “Again, you mistake me for you, Miroku. These modern females are far too high handed and need to be reminded of their place in the grand scheme of things. These ridiculous concepts of marriage, mistresses and the like are merely monikers, nothing more. In many ways a concubine is superior. She is a professional at delicacy and finesse and exists solely to pleasure her patron.”

 

“Of course, what was I thinking?”

 

The dark-haired male began massaging his temples, exhaling in exasperation.

 

“Sesshoumaru, at the risk of being beheaded or something equally unpleasant before dinner, I would like to point out that she is human and not a demoness. She might not take well to your suggestion.”

 

The Taiyoukai glared at Miroku as though he was talking through that other orifice and continued with his dissertation, unheeding. He… after all, knew best.

 

“Nonsense. A mistress nurtures false hopes and is without means. And a wife, well, she is an albatross. When the male in question tires of her, he hasn't the right to put her down in this modern age; entirely too tiresome. There is but one option.”

 

There were times that the Big Dog amazed Miroku with his innocence. How did a being so long lived, possessing razor sharp instincts and an intellect to match still be such a flatulent ass when it came to matters of the opposite sex and their psychological make-up?

 

`You missed a spot,” Miroku said, cutting his losses for the night, the call of the spring taking precedence over this uphill battle of wills and culture.

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Blood, left cheek,” Miroku said helpfully with a suddenly serious expression. The impromptu visit to Naraku's lair had not been planned and his arm still ached from its intimate encounters with goons A and B.

 

“Difficult?” violet eyes grew cold. They had risked much because of Sesshoumaru's need to win the hand of this fair maiden.

 

“No. Awkward, but timely. She is never to know. Honor dictated my actions and it might forestall any further plans the hanyou may have towards her.”

 

The soon to be elegantly accoutered male touched his cheek, coming away with a dark, dried patch. Looking at his finger tips with a hint of annoyance, he strode toward NO S the shower with disgust. Hanyou filth! How had he not sensed its presence? He had grown sloppy with age.

 

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” the Lawyer practically yelled in frustration, having given up on decorum. He had to talk some sense into Taishou before he blew everything.

 

“She will want for nothing and lower your voice. Rin is preparing for bed,” was the clipped retort. “Leave.”

 

Miroku sidled up to the open door, fatigue evident in his steps as he passed one hand through onyx hair in frustration. He needed that soak, then food. He would grab a glass on his way to the spring.

 

“My Lord, I would like to remain gainfully employed. Please, please, listen to me Sesshoumaru, don't … What are you planning on doing anyway? How exactly are you going to explain your sudden presence? I don't remember you being invited?”

 

A damp,silvery head peeked from behind the Plexiglas stall.

 

“Why are you still here?” Sesshoumaru asked softly, citrine eyes having a predatory gleam.

 

Miroku sighed in resignation. “Whatever, my Lord. I'm tired and the next time you need a batman, try to remember I am not a hanyou or a youkai. We humans bruise easily.”

 

Sesshoumaru blinked, thoroughly unimpressed.

 

“Irrelevant. You come from a long line of your namesake and are atypical of ningen. You would not be in my employ otherwise. Now if you don't mind, this Sesshoumaru has two appointments to keep, since Jaken is indisposed…again,” he finished with annoyance.

 

The damn reptilian's latest emotional breakdown due to an encounter with a belligerent youkai required bed rest.

 

It was Sesshoumaru's considered opinion a swift kick would have done much to speed his recovery, but the healer, Kaede, felt otherwise. Fortunately for Jaken's honor, said youkai was now, to use the euphemism, pushing up daisies.

 

In fact, the youkai in question's blood had produced spectacular cherry blossoms to the Lord's utter delight and surprise. It was something he would have to keep in mind for when next laying down mulch; undoubtedly he had family that could garner similar results.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

It should be a requisite in any woman's wardrobe, her mother had said.

 

Kagome laid the silk and chiffon number on her bed reverently, next to her best sheer silk hosiery and lace garters. Tonight, she would do it right.

 

She had always had a secret crush on her professor of Japanese Antiquities and Women's Studies, most especially since he had been there for the last three years when she needed a friend most. It must have been happenstance she had finally concluded, but he was always around in her bereavement with the exception of her grandfather's.

 

First, her mother's car accident two years prior, he had been the one to break the news to her on campus and even went so far as to fly her in to attend both wake, funeral and cremation. Her father's rudeness at the time to the man had been astounding to say the least. Completely out of character; Kagome had put it down to the extreme stress of the situation.

 

Kagome furrowed her brow in memory, as she recalled the unspoken tension between them and her grandfather's watchful silence. Souta was not permitted to come home, the other anomaly. Then a year to the day, her father had died of a rare blood disorder. Again, Naraku came to her rescue, providing solace. She owed him much. Neither time was Sango available another oddity.

 

The phone rang causing the dark-haired woman to jump, a sudden chill of foreboding overtaking her body.

 

“Hello?”

 

Silence.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Kagome could hear soft breathing on the other end of the phone, mild cursing. She breathed out in relief. That could only be one person. Kagome chuckled.

 

“Sango?”

 

“Hi, Kagome, sorry about that. The kickstand is giving me all kinds of trouble today. Sorry I left without saying goodbye earlier.”

 

Kagome knew better. That's not why Sango had called. Her friend had always had difficulty expressing need and right now, she sensed her sister needed her. She sat on the edge of her bed, being careful not to wrinkle her dress and waited, fingering her damp hair.

 

“What's wrong? Where are you?” she coaxed softly. “I called the house earlier and no one answered.”

 

Lying wouldn't do. Kagome could spot a lie at forty paces. “Just decided to take a ride in the countryside to clear my head; didn't mean to worry you,” she answered, looking beyond the gates to the imposing edifice that Mister Taishou called home and apparently where that sleaze was currently shacking up.

 

She had managed to find the lawyer's exclusive condominium complex earlier before being forcibly removed by two of the head porter's lackeys. The imperious little snot had looked down his rubicund nose at her, as though she were something a not too fastidious feline had dragged in. The mud-caked boots hadn't helped, she knew, but the swing she had taken in anger might have, just might have, expedited her swift and painful exit from the building.

 

Thank the Kami for the padding of her leathers.

 

“Well? Where are you?” Kagome asked again with just a little impatience. Sango was stalling, not a good sign, not to mention the car would be there for her in twenty minutes.

 

A very nice touch if she said so herself. A girl could get very use to all this pampering. Onigumo Naraku had style.

 

“Just out!” Sango said in exasperation, registering her tone and softening the words that followed in lieu of explanation.

 

“I hope you have a great time with your Prof. Tell me about it tomorrow over breakfast okay? I'll make French toast, just the way you like it,” she said in a singsong voice.

 

The dark-haired woman took a determined breath. Enough was enough. Sango was attempting to bribe her with her favorite food. This must be serious.

 

Sango heard the sharp intake of breath. “Gotta skate,” the coach responded hurriedly, closing the cell before her friend could get a word in edgewise.

 

If she had stayed on the phone any longer, she would have told her what she intended to do to a certain lawyer. It wasn't going to be pretty.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Sesshoumaru listened at his ward's door. She was still awake and the female attendant was with her. He tapped lightly on the door before a small voice bid he enter sleepily.

 

Opening the door, there amongst the sheets lay the little dark-haired girl in red pajamas, which had faded to a sickly pink; its were edges frayed and torn from myriad washings.

 

Sesshoumaru's lids fluttered with barely concealed rage. He did not have time for this. Glancing in the general direction of the attendant with malevolence, his index finger pointed to the door with a silent command that brooked no argument.

 

The demoness hurriedly bowed and practically ran from the room, duly cowed, closing the door behind her.

 

What did her Master expect her to do? The little girl had insisted. She hoped Jaken-sama recovered from his current turn soon. She could then return to her duties, all of which, thankfully, did not include close encounters with the Taiyoukai's wrath.

 

Tipping forward on his toes, hands clasped behind him, Sesshoumaru leveled Rin with what he hoped was a disapproving glare.

 

She smiled winningly at him and offered up a book of fairy tales, scooting further into her bed and fluffing her pillows excitedly. Rin loved when Lord Sesshoumaru read to her. He did it so rarely.

 

The child was obviously mentally deficient. That look had been meant to wound and cause her to cower. Nary a tremor, instead he could feel her joy of anticipation and a warm feeling that he did not know what to do with enveloped him.

 

Sesshoumaru sighed and looked about the room. Everything appeared to be in order.

 

Though he knew the answers, he felt compelled to follow their usual ritual as he approached the diminutive lounger next to the lamp table. It wasn't exactly comfortable considering his size, relative to that of Rin. It having been made, along with the matching ottoman to replicate the one in his study the wretched child was so fond of.

 

“Bathed? he asked, imperiously.

 

She waggled her head and shyly smiled, handing the book to him, eyes merry with joy.

 

“Teeth brushed?”

 

“Bushthed,” was the somewhat mangled response, she having lost one front tooth recently.

 

He tapped the book with a claw. Her eyes followed his fingers' rhythmic tapping, knowing full well what would come next.

 

“We have spoken of this before, child. You will discard that disreputable nightwear. You are no longer a foundling. This Sesshoumaru…”

 

Rin sighed. It didn't look like she was going to get the rest of “Little Red Riding Hood” tonight. She so wanted to know what became of the Big Bad Wolf.

 

Lowering the diminutive pillows, she eased herself under the covers and closed her eyes, listening to the warm, resonant baritone expound. He had such a warm reassuring voice, despite himself.

 

She soon drifted off to sleep under its hush with a smile on her face. Sesshoumaru returned the book to its shelf and turned off the light after adjusting the covers and lowering the window. It would be cold by the time he returned and these ningen were so susceptible to inclement weather. He did not need the additional headache of the child having a cold, snot running everywhere, most especially on him.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Somewhere in the time that had elapsed a light rain had fallen, dampening the smooth, weathered stones of the walkway that lead to the bathhouse enclosing the spring.

 

The sound of silence; Miroku exhaled closing his eyes, taking in the crisp, clean smell of stunted pines, moist earth and the faint sweetness of the fading cherry blossoms as he sipped the excellent merlot, smoky yet with a nice fruity full bodied note.

 

Sesshoumaru's character left much to be desired, but he would say this for him. The dog had taste.

 

Removing his robe at the door, he carefully folded it, placing it on the bench provided.

 

He shivered as the air made contact with his skin, causing goose flesh. There was a slight nip in the air but it was invigorating.

 

Miroku stretched in preparation for a light meditation, his injuries smarting. Dinner would be ready soon. More than he could manage. The legal man had expected Sesshoumaru to join him, however unwillingly. Perhaps he should have warned him, there would probably be garlic involved. Hardly a way to win over a date, he chuckled. The pompous ass had it coming. What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall.

 

Seated finally in lotus, Miroku began to breathe deeply and methodically, attempting to still his well-practiced mind, which was not being very co-operative. Flashes of recent memories flitting by as he allowed his mind to wander, seeking the peace of the delta state, knowing well to suppress them would only making them more prevalent.

 

That Sango woman; he furrowed his brow then chuckled. He didn't need to look at her to know she was infuriated. Though justified, he had gone too far. Miroku had always prided himself on his ability to be diplomatic, perhaps even duplicitous, depending on circumstance. He could have couched the obvious differently, but she had irritated him with her pomposity. The woman was jealous, plain and simple. She was delicious, though, and from what his body had told him, well proportioned and somewhat willing; a little too needy perhaps for a woman who feigned independence. With a little work there were distinct possibilities, just not for him. A lascivious smile graced his handsome face then faded as another thought took precedence.

 

Where are you, Inuyasha?

 

Miroku opened his eyes, worry etched in violet.

 

The clouds had parting revealing a silvery moon. He would be mortal now and in danger. True he had Tessaiga, but it would be useless in his current condition.

 

Rising to a standing position, the lawyer gave up and decided to take that long desired soak, favoring his left side. It was black and blue already.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Kagome applied lip liner, eying the diary in the mirror, remembering the words written.

 

In future, pick up this book and simply open it. What you need will be there.

 

That sudden chill she had felt returned when Sango had hung up. She hurriedly dressed; silk stockings being next to last before she applied make up. By the look of the clock on the bedside table, time was against her. Her eyes traveled once more to the dark, bound leather. It wouldn't hurt, maybe even alleviating this ungodly chill each time she thought of Naraku. Kagome shook her head.

 

This was ridiculous. He was a friend and a colleague. Finally, a chance to have intelligent discourse about something other than tea or the tiresome goings on in the neighborhood with Mrs. Lee, the resident gossip.

 

She smiled in thought. By now, everyone who was anyone knew she had a date with the estimable professor. Somehow, she would be taking credit for this and be there at the crack of dawn, inquisitive as ever, checking to see if Kagome had made it home.

 

A mischievous expression came over the young woman's face. She could make sure she was dropped later at Sango's house and sleep there for the night. Sango wouldn't mind. Now that would set the cats amongst the pigeons.

 

The petite, curvy woman laughed out loud. Dress, she thought, getting up from the stool and padding over to the bed. The dress had been worn once before. She had been dragged, practically kicking and screaming, to see the tragic opera Madame Butterfly with Sango.

 

It was the only time she had ever seen her best friend cry. It still perplexed Kagome. Sango was hardly the most romantic woman in existence, but the smallest things touched her heart and it was a constant wonder and game to find those things that brought a small smile to her best friend's face. She was a diamond, very much in the rough, having raised herself for the most part and her younger brother. This they had in common: younger siblings that looked up to them. The sole difference being Kohaku remained in foster care after she had left, then seemingly disappeared, but for the odd infrequent letter in his travels. Sango constantly worried for his safety and on occasion pursued to no avail.

 

Kagome never voiced her greatest fear to her friend. Kohaku was hiding something.

Wriggling into the slim snug fit of the dress, she smoothed the material over her hips, enjoying its feel below her manicured finger tips.

 

It was remarkably comfortable, long sleeves fitting her lithe yet femininely muscled arms. To the front it fit just below her clavicles modestly, the billowy chiffon collar forming a slight drape, revealing a hint of cleavage.

 

Kagome smiled at her daring.

 

On approach the dress looked modest and chic with its fitted bodice cut on the bias, emphasizing her hips and relatively long, well-toned legs. It fell just below the knees, equally demurely. However, its calling card was the back that strategically draped just above her pert backside, the flawless skin of her back displayed.

 

Twice in the process of choosing, she had skipped past it, thinking it too daring for the dinner, but what was the point of having it and not wearing it? She had bought it on a whim. Well, if she was honest, she had purchased it because the sales clerk had told her, point blank that her type could never carry it off, not having the sophistication required. She was far too ingénue.

 

Never one to back down from a dare, Kagome had made it her first purchase on her newly acquired Visa. She had palpitations when she signed the thin slip of paper, effectively draining her bank account when the bill came. There wasn't enough cloth to merit the cost, but it was beautiful and she had bought the sheer lacy shawl that acted as a foil. It would never keep her warm, but then that wasn't ever the point. Its gossamer thin material showed hints of delectably, creamy skin and a well-sculpted back; she had Sango to thank for with their regular workouts.

 

A sudden thought occurred to the well-dressed woman. The hair needed to be up to pull off the look.

 

Quickly, she wound her hair and stuck lacquered chopsticks in. She smiled at her reflection. Rather silly really, they had mother of pearl inlay at their respective ends, depicting a crescent moon. They were Grandfather's final gift to her along with a long strand of pearls of the most beautifully soft, iridescent, dusky beige; antiques, perhaps the oldest treasures within the Higurashi family. She would have to seek their origins one day.

 

A faint honking echoed, it was time to go, she knew. Naraku has never been late for class. Why should he change now?

 

Kagome swung the pearls over her shoulder, the cool feel of them gracing her back, dipping suggestively in the hollow they found there. She could breathe again. How strange. It was comforting. She was safe.

 

Dashing for the door, she grabbed her purse, and pushed her feet into the rather high black leather pumps, checking the seam in the back of her hose to see if they were straight.

 

They were.

 

Just as the bedroom door closed, the book flew across the room landing on the floor, the wind from the half-opened window, riffling its pages.

 

No one remained to see the ambiguous scrawl.

 

“At last…”

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Sesshoumaru checked his watch. He was already late. The Western Lord had no time for the incessant ring of the guard from the main gate. Had there been danger, he would have sensed it miles before. Whatever Jaken had might be catching.

 

That incessant knocking... The child is asleep! If they wake her, someone will die.

 

About to charge the door, the Taiyoukai closed his eyes and focused on the ancient incantation that allowed him to walk amongst human kind undisturbed. There was a female beyond the door, with a familiar scent.

 

His eyes narrowed to slits, a malicious smile crossing his handsome features.

 

Miroku would not be having that quiet night in after all.

 

Helmet in hand, about to begin vigorously pounding again, Sango's next knock was cut off mid pound, as a dashing male with flowing silver mane opened the door and sidestepped her with a cursory glance.

 

“You will find him in the bathhouse. Go straight through the kitchen. Close the door behind you. The child sleeps upstairs.”

 

She watched as he walked down the damp gravel path without a backward glance, practically floating across the surface of the driveway to his car.

 

Sango's eyebrows rose in tandem with mild shock. She was clearly tired. The man practically glowed. Shaking her head, she quietly closed the door, mindful of what Mister Taishou had said, quickly removing her boots.

 

She hated him, but she did not wish to track dried mud on his pristine floors. It was bad enough she had come there with the express purpose of maiming his lawyer.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

This was different.

 

A female chauffeur in full regalia and high boots opened the Bentley's back door, doffing her cap chivalrously.

 

“Miss Higurashi.”

 

Kagome smiled.

 

“Thank you, Miss. Please call me Kagome.”

 

“Miss Higurashi, we will arrive at our destination in twenty minutes. Should you require anything before then, simply press the inter-com.”

 

The dark haired woman quirked a brow, in the very nicest way possible, her social faux pas had been corrected. Naraku was pulling out all the stops.

 

Kagome eased back into the soft, butter leather of the vehicle's interior, prepared for a lovely evening. There were even champagne flutes with a bottle on ice. She traced her finger tips over the cool sweat of the 1956 Dom Perignon - an excellent year!

 

She had worn the right dress.

 

Simply scandalous…

 

Author's Note:

 

I hope you enjoyed. Yes, we haven't gotten them both there yet…but wait…it is soooooo well worth it…TRUST ME…

 

Sesshoumaru thinks he's got a set? Well, our girl has a set too …a set of brass ovaries!

 

EP