InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis 2: Legacies ❯ Chance Encounters ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Fl icking his ears, Jirou listened to the sounds of the forest as he followed the scent of the roasted rabbit that still lingered in the air.  His stomach had escalated from an unpleasant rumble to a full-out growl, and he sighed.

For a brief moment, he'd considered heading for the stream to catch a few fish, but stubbornness—a trait he had apparently inherited in abundance from his father—had reared its ugly head.  It was his rabbit, damn it.  He'd caught it, skinned it, gutted it, and hell if he wasn't going to eat it, too.

Erupting in a low growl as he quickened his pace, he couldn't help the rising irritation—the sense of indignant outrage—that someone would dare to steal something like his dinner.  'I mean, who the hell does that?'

Whoever the hell did that wasn't going to get away with it, damn it.  At least, they weren't, not if he had something to say about it.  How ridiculous was it, anyway?  In what world did he have to chase after his own damn dinner after it'd been caught and cooked?  It was enough to make his irritation spiral just that much higher, brighter, and it didn't help that Marisaiko had simply shrugged and dug into her pack for some dried meat she'd thought to bring along.

She'd offered him some, too, but Jirou had declined on sheer principle, and he'd heard her sigh when he stomped off into the darkening shadows of night.  It didn't help that he knew—knew—that she was back at the campsite right now, thinking that he was being ridiculous about the whole affair, too.

'Women,' he thought with an inward snort, hands unconsciously balling into fists as he stomped along,  With the exception of his mother, whom he figured was damn near saint-hood, most of the women in his life tended to drive him completely and utterly to the brink of his sanity at times, and, while Marisaiko normally didn't fall into that category, even she was grating on his frazzled nerves tonight . . .

He'd grown up with her around, though, and she was as close to him as a sister.  He couldn't remember a time when he didn't know her, but he'd always realized that there was something comforting about her, too.  She was, in essence, the big sister for both himself and Ai, even though it wasn't until later that Kagome and InuYasha had explained to them that Kagome had actually given birth to Marisaiko for Sango and Miroku.  Well, to be honest, it was more Kagome than InuYasha who had explained it.  Given that InuYasha wasn't exactly what one would consider to be good with words, it wasn't unusual.

Even so, it did answer the questions that had always lingered at the back of his mind, though.  Marisaiko had always smelled vaguely like Kagome, too, but it wasn't until Kagome explained it that he'd realized that the curiosity had always been there, not that it mattered, because it didn't.  Once, InuYasha had told him that family were those you chose to protect, not simply those who were related by blood.  It was a lesson that Jirou had pondered, and, in the end, had come to appreciate for the simplicity of the emotion behind it.

And he'd tried to do that over time, had paid more attention to the lessons, had fought that much harder during training.  He was good.  His father had said as much.  Sesshoumaru had seemed pleased enough, too.  Everyone said that he was definitely his father's son, and yet . . .

Yet, he knew, didn't he?  Knew the part that was never voiced out loud, knew in his heart what they were all thinking, even as they said the things that were nice to hear . . . All of them thought that he was good, certainly, but he wasn't like Ai, and not at all like Marisaiko, who was strong enough in her own right.  Jirou wasn't quite great, not in the same way that InuYasha was, and he wouldn't ever be, either.

Scowling at his own thoughts, he had to tamp down the slow burn that only seemed to grow brighter every time he let himself dwell upon it.  There wasn't much he could do about it, and it was his problem.  His family loved him, and he knew that, too, and because he did, he couldn't help the feelings of guilt that accompanied those thoughts every time they occurred to him.  He knew from what his mother had said that InuYasha had grown up alone, that he'd been a cast-out, unaccepted by humans or by youkai, that he hadn't really fit in anywhere.  But InuYasha had always gone out of his way, hadn't he?  Helping the villagers with their problems, fighting to make sure that everyone was safe, and he'd done all of that to ensure that his own children would never have to feel as though they had nowhere to belong . . .

And maybe that was what had made InuYasha truly great . . . and maybe that was the real reason why Jirou would never quite be able to measure up, after all.

The memory from his youth, the time that Ai had grabbed the last cup of ramen and taken off with it, sprang to life in his head.  They'd been left with their grandmother on the future side of the well while InuYasha and Kagome had gone to take care of some youkai that was bedeviling a nearby village . . .

"It's mine.  I found it," ten-year-old Ai taunted, waving the cup in her hand by rotating her wrist left and right in front of his face, but just out of his reach.

"Baa-chan bought it for me," he complained, making a swipe at the Styrofoam cup but missing when she yanked it back.  "Give it back, Ai!"

"Nee-chan," she corrected—something else that she knew damn well irritated the crap out of him.

"I'm not calling you that," he growled, making another swipe at the cup and missing yet again.

"But I am," she pointed out in an entirely too-logical tone, her gloating smile widening a few degrees as she continued to bait him.

"By five minutes!" he shot back, wondering vaguely just how much trouble he'd be in if he gave into the urge to beat on her.  "That's not enough to matter!"

"But I'm still older," she insisted, the gloating tone in her voice adding a luster to her bright golden eyes.  "If you want, I'd even let you call me 'aneue'."

"Fat chance, Ai!" Jirou shot back.

"Catch me if you want it!" she said, wheeling around on her heel and taking out at an all-out sprint . . .

Blinking as he stopped short, Jirou stared at the cave where the smell of the roasted rabbit was strongest.  Expression shifting into a close affectation of his father's infamous 'pout', Jirou squared his shoulders and strode forward with purpose.


Settling back against the cold stone wall of the tiny, dank cave—more of a crevice in the rock than a real 'cave'—Kiri tore into a rabbit haunch with a vicious abandon.  After weeks of little more than hit and miss meals that didn't really amount to much, it was a welcome change.  Still steaming from the campfire where she'd found it, the smell of the roasting meat had lured her near—nearer than was probably wise, all things considered.   It was a bit more daring and maybe closer to 'stupid' than she normally allowed herself to be, but it hadn't taken her long to ascertain that the pair that inhabited that makeshift campsite were too busy, sparring nearby, and the tantalizing aroma had ultimately been her undoing.

Uttering a low moan, she dropped the bones carelessly before reaching for the rabbit again.  The other haunch pulled away easily enough, and she stripped the meat off of it in record time.  By the time she finished that one, the edge of her hunger had waned, and she took her time as she licked her fingers.  She couldn't help the contented sigh that slipped from her as she reached for the rabbit once more, and in the back of her mind, she knew that she'd be sorry if she tried to eat the whole thing.  She ignored that voice of pragmatic advice.

Grasping the rabbit in her hands, she pulled it apart as more juices ran down her hands, as the aroma of the roasted meat strengthened with the burst of steam that escaped.  It was still plenty hot—nearly hot enough to burn her hands.  She didn't care.

"Just who the hell are you?"

Rasping out a high-pitched squeak, Kiri bobbled the rabbit but didn't drop it as she braced her feet against the rough dirt floor and tried to propel herself backward, only to be brought up short by the wall behind her.  She couldn't rightfully see his face as he filled the opening of the cave with his body.  Hands propped on his lean hips, he seemed much larger, much more ominous than he likely was.  She could only discern his outline, but she didn't have to be brilliant to realize that he was definitely one of the two that she had seen sparring near the fire where she'd found the roasting rabbit.

"Do you always go around, stealing people's dinners?" he growled, stomping forward and whipping half of the rabbit out of her slack hand when she remained silent.  He seemed to pause long enough to think about something before snatching the other half, too.

Clearing her throat once, twice, mustering as much of her waning bravado as she could—not much, given the situation—she sat up a little straighter.  "I didn't steal it," she shot back haughtily.

He grunted.  "Keh!  So this isn't my rabbit?"

Thankfully, the cave was too dark for him to really make out her features as her cheeks flushed hot, and she shrugged.  "It was there," she replied, "and you weren't."

"So, you found our camp, saw the fire, took the rabbit that was obviously cooking, had to have seen us since we never left that clearing, and that wasn't stealing?" he retorted, abject disbelief rife in his tone.  "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Face scrunching up into a scowl, Kiri forced herself to stand up.  "I wasn't stealing," she stated once more.

"Oh?  Then what do you call it?" he growled.

"I . . . uh . . ."

"Forget it," he grumbled, turning to stomp back out of the cave, only to stop short and pivot on his heel to face her again.  "You're the shrine thief," he said, his tone taking on a more incredulous lilt.

"I'm not a thief!" she shot back hotly.

He uttered a terse growl, and he moved so fast that she didn't have time to react.  Grabbing her wrist—he'd managed to stuff the roasted rabbit into his other hand—he dragged her out of the cave despite her protests.  "Move it," he ordered, giving her a little yank to propel her forward.

She tried to dig her heels in, but the moist ground, still damp from the downpour of rain that the area had received earlier in the day, lent her absolutely no real resistance, and she stumbled.  "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, struggling against his iron grip and failing miserably.  "Who do you think you are?"

"Come on," he growled, nonplussed by her lackluster show of resistance.  "You're going to explain yourself to the village headman tomorrow—and he can figure out what to do with you."

"N-No!" she gasped, yanking on her arm, struggling to wrench it away from his grasp, and irritated in the extreme that she couldn't.  "What does it matter?  It was just some cold rice and a little bit of sake!"

"Yeah, offerings that were left for Inari, not for you," he retorted.  "But I suppose you didn't steal those, either."

Wincing as his grip tightened slightly, she stumbled after him when he gave her a rough little yank, catching herself on the sleeve of his haori before she ended up, flat on her face in the dirt.  If he noticed, she didn't know, but he didn't slow or stop as he marched her back toward the campsite where she'd stolen the rabbit.

Sparing a moment to cast a fulminating glower at him, she frowned when she caught sight of the perky little white ears atop his head, nestled in the mass of the silver hair that almost seemed to flow around him.  She'd never seen his kind before, but she stifled a groan, anyway.  Not human, maybe, and that would have been bad enough, but to have been caught by a youkai . . .?

No doubt about it, she should have left the stupid rabbit where she'd found it.  If she had known it would come to this, she certainly would have.  Letting out a deep breath, she slowly shook her head, wincing again when his grip tightened just a little more around her wrist.

"You're going to make my hand fall off," she complained as she renewed her efforts to emancipate her wrist.

He uttered a sound suspiciously like, 'keh', but remained silent otherwise and kept moving.  No, check that.  He lifted the rabbit to his mouth and bit off a huge hunk, which only served to heighten her already soaring irritation.

"You've made your point," she ground out, "so let me go, you oaf!"

The light from the fire could be seen through the dense foliage, and she made a face.  How the hell was she going to get out of this, anyway?  Curse her stupid stomach.  It figured, didn't it?  The one time—one time—she'd cast aside her usual sense of caution, and look how it ended up . . .

"I saved some dried meat for you," the woman called out from her spot near the fire.  She had her back to them, and Kiri's gaze narrowed as she took in the sight of the woman's clothing—clothing that labeled her as a taijya.

The one who still held onto her wrist snorted indelicately and propelled her forward with a little tug as he let go of her wrist and sent her stumbling along ahead of him.  "Rather eat my rabbit, thanks," he bit out tersely.

Casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at him, Kiri blinked and slowly turned to stare at him.

Golden eyes snapping, a definite sign of his irritation, she was sure, and yet, there was a frankness behind his gaze that was more than a little unsettling.  He eyed her without a change in expression, and she really couldn't tell exactly what he might be thinking.  There was a complete void in those eyes.  He could be staring at anything at all, and yet . . .

And yet there was something in his stance, in the way that he almost lazily slumped back against the trunk of a gnarled old ash tree, as he continued to eat the rabbit . . . There was an easy grace there, worn so loosely that she doubted that he even realized it about himself . . . She had a feeling that she couldn't outrun him, even if she tried.  Maybe it was the way his ears kept twitching, turning outward as he monitored the surroundings.  Of course, that didn't mean that she wouldn't try, just as soon as the opportunity presented itself, either.

"You . . .?" The woman trailed off as she glanced over at her companion and caught sight of Kiri, as well.  Slowly rising off the ground, she didn't seem especially wary, though she did regard Kiri with an air of open curiosity.  "Who are you?" she asked, though not unkindly,

"She's a thief—the shrine thief," he said in a no-nonsense kind of way.

The girl's eyebrows arched, disappearing under the thick fringe of black bangs on her forehead.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she slowly, carefully looked Kiri up and down, almost like she was trying to make up her mind about something.  In the end, she nodded vaguely, almost without realizing that she had even done it.  Kiri bristled, straightening her back, drawing herself up to her full height, which wasn't really that much, but still, as she fought down a blush that threatened at the entirely too-close scrutiny she was under.

"Eat that," he said striding over to deposit half of the rabbit in the girl's hand.

Staring down at the roughly torn carcass, she frowned at it for a moment before slowly stepping over to Kiri and holding it out to her.  "Here," she said in an almost friendly, definitely soothing tone.  "You only took food because you're hungry, right?"

"Keh!  She already ate some of it, Mari," he grumped.

"It's fine," she said, waving off the surly words as she handed over the rabbit.  "Here."

"Th . . .Thank you," Kiri replied, grudgingly accepting the rabbit while refusing to even glance over at the irritated male.  He unsettled her, and that knowledge only served to further her irritation.

The girl smiled.  "I'm Marisaiko," she supplied as she turned back to the fire once more and sat back down before waving a hand to invite Kiri over to sit with her.

"You're a taijya," Kiri remarked, slowly wandering around the fire, putting a safe enough distance between herself and the youkai exterminator.

Marisaiko nodded.  "I am," she agreed.  "What's your name?"

"Kiri," she said, unsure why she was telling Marisaiko any such thing.  How long had it been since she'd actually told anyone her name? she wondered vaguely.

"Kiri," Marisaiko repeated thoughtfully.  Then she smiled again.  "And him, over there, that's Jirou."

Kiri scowled into the flames for several seconds.  "But he's youkai," she ventured shaking her head in confusion.  "Why would you travel with him when you're a taijya?"

"Keh!" Jirou snorted, even though he was slouching far enough away that he really shouldn't have heard Kiri's commentary.  "I'm hanyou," he pointed out.  "Like it matters."

Marisaiko stared at Jirou before slowly turning her attention back to Kiri again.  "Ignore him," she said in a conspiratorial whisper.  "He's apparently in a bad mood."

"Yeah, having to hunt my damn dinner twice tends to do that to me," he added loudly.

Marisaiko sighed.  "You got it back, Jirou.  Let it go."

He snorted again, but didn't comment.

"He always gets grumpy when he's hungry," Marisaiko explained, a trace smile tugging at the corners of her lips,

Kiri swallowed hard, frowning at the rabbit half in her hands.  "Aren't you . . . hungry?" she asked, holding out the rabbit just a little.

Marisaiko waved a hand dismissively.  "No," she insisted, the friendly smile returning, "I had some supplies I brought along.  Anyway, you're welcome to it."

Kiri scowled, but bit into the rabbit.  It took a few tries to swallow, though, and she wasn't sure why.  Somehow, the friendly expression on the taijya's face . . .

It bothered her.


~Sue~