InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Fortuneteller and a Nerdy Hanyou ❯ Dangers of an Overactive Nose ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Inuyasha is not mine.

 

Chapter 1

 

Inuyasha growled again, thrusting his fists deeper into his pockets. Glaring at his friends' backs, he trudged along the dark alleyway. They weren't even at the club, and he could already smell it.

 

Having a sensitive nose wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

 

Two blocks away, he could smell that the toilets weren't working properly, or that the bathrooms hadn't been cleaned well for sometime. Mixed in somewhere was a soft, flowery smell. It could be perfume, or a bathroom air freshener.

 

A block from the club came the aroma of unwashed human bodies. Not that most youkai smelled much better, but full demons at least had the ability to block out unwanted scents. As a hanyou, he was born without such capabilities.

 

When they reached the end of the line to get into Club Miko, Inuyasha was nearly blown away by the most frustrating of all scents: the human female.

 

The scent was like eating something with a rotten center. It started out sweet, even sensual—tempting—but the moment one reached the core, there was nothing more intense than the need to rid one's body of the putrid food.

 

Not that Miroku and Sango understood that.

 

Granted, he had to be fairly close to a woman to have the full effect, but that didn't mean that a nightclub was his idea of a good time.

 

They bypassed the line and came up the to front where the bouncer stood. Sango, with Miroku as arm candy, said a few words to the gate guard, shook hands with him—more than likely slipping him a bribe—and easily stepped passed the velvet rope. However, when Inuyasha tried to follow, the bouncer merely laid a hand on his chest, shaking his head.

 

“You've got to be kidding me! I'm with them,” he shouted, motioning to the couple disappearing into the crowd. Not that he was so damn desperate to get into the club, but his ride home was with Miroku and Sango.

 

“Look buddy, I know the lady paid for you do get in, but man, we've go standards.” He gave Inuyasha a raking over, taking in thick glasses, nerd-wear clothes, and pocket protector. Didn't the guy have in clothes to relax in? He looked like he came straight from work, and that work wasn't a particularly fun place.

 

“I don't give a damn about your club—but they're my way home!” Inuyasha barked back at the man.

 

“Maybe so, but I promise if you go wait in line, they'll come out to leave before you can get in.” Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Inuyasha.

 

He didn't get a chance to smirk for long, however, as he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

 

“Come on Carl, he's with us and you know it. Stop giving Inuyasha a hard time.” Sango glared up at the guard, not intimidated at all by his size. Unlike Inuyasha, she was dressed to kill in strapless, formfitting dress the color of a dark wine. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and her tanned legs practically glittered from beneath the diagonal slash of the dress's skirt as her high black heels accentuated them.

 

Carl also gave Sango a once over, but this time conceded. “If I get in trouble for this, you're going down with me, Sango,” he grumbled as he lifted the velvet rope for Inuyasha amid the cries and moans of the waiting, better-dressed patrons.

 

Tucking Inuyasha's arm in hers Sango led him back to a waiting Miroku.

 

“You know, we wouldn't have this problem if you'd break down and bought some new clothes, Inuyasha,” Miroku said with a small smile. “I swear, you get attached to one article of clothing and you have to practically pry it off your dead body to get you to change. What was is last year? That red jacket?” Inuyasha shot him a glare, but Miroku continued. “Didn't you sleep in that thing?”

 

Inuyasha only gave low growl in response. Sango and Miroku exchanged glances but paid it little heed. They knew that he hated places like this, and despite usually being sensitive to his wishes, they were a little worried about him. Six months ago, the hanyou had broken up with his only “long term” girlfriend, or really she had dumped him. He hadn't made an effort to start dating again, and was getting more and more wrapped up in his work. In the past month, he had stopped hanging out with him, and Miroku had a sneaking suspicion that he was spending his nights at the office.

 

So being the good friends that they were, they stalked him on Friday night (he didn't go home from work) and kidnapped the extremely cranky hanyou.

 

Now inside the club they were questioning their wisdom. A nightclub had seemed like the best place for a guy to pick a woman, but Inuyasha wasn't a normal guy.

 

Sango practically had to drag him along. If she hadn't had to pay the bouncer and then the cover charge, she'd be more than happy leave, but it had cost a pretty penny and Inuyasha was going to enjoy himself whether he wanted to or not.

 

Finding a table unoccupied, she sent Miroku off to the bar, and sat down for some quality advice time with her favorite half demon.

 

“Inuyasha, you have got to snap out of this. Kikyo had her good points, but deep down, the girl was a frigid bitch. You need someone one with…personality.” She looked out over the dance floor, trying to scout out someone suitable for Inuyasha.

 

“I know, its just that it takes so long just to find someone I can stand to be around that it seems pointless to date at all.” He looked so downtrodden for a moment that Sango almost reached out a hand to him, but then his head shot up, “I don't need a woman any way.”

 

That was the Inuyasha she was used to.

 

“Are you sure Inuyasha?” Miroku said as he set down the three drinks he had balanced in his hands on their table. “At least with Kikyo you saw the light of day. If you have someone, it's a reason to leave the office. Right Sango?”

 

Sango had tuned out her boyfriend as the crowds had parted, revealing across the room a table set between two dancing cages. From the table, richly covered in a velvet tablecloth, sprouted a long line, or a line long for the circumstances. A girl was seated at the table, behind a large jar for tips. She was dressed in miko robes plus sex. Sango had never thought that the baggy costumes could be anything but prude and spiritual, but the club seemed to have other plans. It was either that the way the girl was carrying herself or the fact that her top had been cut a certain way, but she had to be the prettiest miko Sango had ever seen.

 

She was perfect for Inuyasha…only if she could pass the patented Inuyasha sniff test.

 

“Why don't you go get your fortune read Inuyasha? It might be fun.” Sango broke in, ignoring a frustrated grumble from Miroku who must have been trying to make a point. She motioned to the table and the miko girl.

 

Inuyasha looked over, his ears perking for a moment. Is it Kikyo? But flattened back to head as he squinted, seeing that she obviously wasn't Kikyo. “I don't believe in that shit anyway.” He stirred his drink absentmindedly before downing it in one go.

 

“I'll pay for it, Inuyasha.”

 

Inuyasha opened his mouth to say something, but Sango interrupted, telling him that he was going, grabbed his arm, towing him along behind her.

 

“I know what you're doing and its not going to work, Sango.” Inuyasha straightened his suit jacket and pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

 

“We're just trying to get you to loosen up a bit, Yasha.” Miroku said, coming up behind him. If they got Inuyasha out of the way, maybe he could get Sango alone for a while.

 

Inuyasha muttered something under his breath, but stayed in line. The flowery scent from earlier was back again, and he was curious enough to see where it was coming from. It had changed a bit, he had been mistaken—it wasn't a flower, real or imitation. The scent was something intangible, like a day in the clean air outdoors, which probably explained the floral scent. He had certainly had never encountered anything like that before.

 

They were closer to the head of the line, and the scent was stronger.

 

When they were next to go, it hit Inuyasha, the scent was coming from the girl, and then it all made sense.

 

Turning quickly to Sango and Miroku, he grabbed Miroku's arm. “She's a miko.”

 

Despite it being one of the greater revelations of his life, Miroku, and Sango for that matter, seemed rather un-phased. “Inuyasha, I think that that's the idea,” Miroku whispered, or at least did the best impression of a whisper that one can do in a club.

 

 

“No, she's a real miko.”