InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Prudence ( Chapter 81 )

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


'So never judge a book by its cover
'Or who you gonna love by your lover
'Love put me wise to her love in disguise
'She had the body of Venus
'Lord, imagine my surprise …'

-'Dude (Looks Like a Lady)' by Aerosmith.


"Here ."

Evan leaned back when Valerie stuck the nondescript brown paper sack under his nose.  "What's this?" he asked, eyeing the bag almost dubiously. He didn't reach for it right away, and she shook it to encourage him.

"Come on, Roka.  We don't have all day," she said, dropping the bag into his lap so that she could cross her arms over her chest and tap her foot impatiently.

He stared at her for several moments before finally daring a peek inside the bag.  The slight confusion on his features faded quickly enough, and he chuckled.  "Is that right?"

"Well, you did promise to show me around," she remarked airily as she made a show of checking her fingernails.  "Are you going to get changed or what?"

"You know, Mike's not going to be too pleased about this," he pointed out as he stood up and pulled the bright fuchsia floral print baby doll sundress out of the bag and turned it around to give it the critical once-over.

"Oh, please!  He's a totally different person since his wife showed up," Valerie scoffed dismissively.  "Didn't you notice that last night?  I have to admit, though . . . seeing him smile so much was a little creepy, wasn't it?"

"I don't know," Evan drawled, holding up the dress in front of him.  "You think it's my color?"

"Absolutely," she replied without missing a beat.  "More importantly, it was the only one they had in extra-extra-large."

Evan rolled his eyes but grinned as she dropped the dress on the sofa and reached for his zipper.

"Don't you think you ought to change in the bathroom?" she asked before he could take off his jeans.

Smiling to himself at the hint of pink that filtered into her cheeks, Evan chuckled.  "What's the matter, V?  Don't want to see my wang-dang-doodle?"

"I think I'd rather not," she replied stiffly, her skin darkening prettily.

He laughed but scooped up the dress and shuffled out of the room.

Letting out a deep breath, she pressed her hand against her belly as she watched his slow retreat.  To her surprise, he was still sleeping when she'd woken up a couple hours ago, so she was able to slip out of the house without being asked where she was going and the residual pouting that she figured she'd have gotten if he'd known at the time that she was actually going to leave him alone for any length of time.

She's only meant to walk to the little market she saw on their way from the airport to pick up some fruit, maybe a newspaper.  But some time between running down the porch steps until she reached the market, another inspiration had struck her: the idea of putting him in a disguise that no one would be able to see through.  After all, he'd been kept under pretty close supervision for awhile now, and she knew well enough that he was feeling the strain of it all.

Besides, there wouldn't be any security issues; not today.  Even if the locals were aware of Evan's presence, they certainly weren't going to expect to see him disguised as a girl, right?  It'd work, she was sure of it . . . and if something did happen, then she supposed she'd take full responsibility.

She felt as though she owed him something, didn't she?  Maybe that was the real reason that she wanted to help him escape.  She'd been having entirely too much fun during the mini-tour thus far, and she knew well enough that Evan really was going out of his way to make sure that she did.  Now it was her turn, even if it was something as silly as this . . .

Glancing at her watch, she frowned.  It was taking him entirely too long just to put the dress on, wasn't it?  "Move it, Roka," she called, raising her voice so that he could hear her in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he reappeared, and Valerie blinked and slowly shook her head, convinced that there really had to be something wrong with him, considering he was completely naked.  Stretching his arms out wide, he bent one knee across the other demurely, striking a pose as he grinned at her.  "Check me out, V!" he said.  "I'm Jame Gumb!"

Valerie sucked in one cheek and blinked.  She recognized the reference, of course, as well as the infamous scene where the fictional character who was immortalized in the book and movie, The Silence of the Lambs, had struck the very same pose—including the tucked penis and testicles.  "Wow," she said, heaving a mighty sigh as she struggled to find the right words.  "That look suits you."

Evan chuckled.  "You mean the shaved legs?"

Valerie narrowed her eyes.  Sure enough, he really had shaved his legs, too—something she hadn't noticed since the sparse hair that he did have was so pale that it didn't stand out, anyway.  "Actually, I meant the missing penis and balls," she replied.

"Oh, those," he drawled.  "Eh, don't worry.  They're still there."  Turning around, he started to do the strangest little waddle-walk, and Valerie's mouth fell open when he bent over and wiggled his ass at her to make sure she saw the head of his penis sticking out behind him.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, covering her eyes with her hands.  "There's something so wrong with you . . ."

His laugher lingered behind him as he disappeared into the bathroom once more.

Shaking her head, she affected a full-body shiver.  "Ugh," she muttered despite the incredulous little smile on her face.  "Warped . . ."

A few minutes later, he re-emerged from the bathroom with the dress on.  Valerie rolled her eyes, though because, shaved legs or not, there was just no way that he was going to pass for a woman as he was.

"I'm hot, right?" he asked, grinning at her as he stood, waiting for her approval.

"N . . . No," she said, resting her elbow on the hand she crossed over her stomach, curling her fingers over her lips as she stared at him critically.  "You walk like a guy."

Rolling his eyes but refraining to point out the obvious, Evan chuckled.  "Like a guy, eh?"  He considered that then shrugged.  "It's because I have balls."

"Well, pretend you don't have balls," she countered.  "We're trying to keep you from drawing notice, remember?"

Evan grinned.  "Because you're springing me from the big house, right?"

Shaking her head, she slowly looked him over, waving her hand to encourage him to walk around.

He did, and he tried not to walk so much like a guy.  He succeeded in moving like a constipated guy, instead.  "Well?"

"We'll work on that," she muttered, narrowing her eyes at his chest.  "Your boobs are crooked," she pointed out.

Evan looked down at his chest and blinked.  Then he grabbed his left breast and pushed it up.

"Wrong one, Picasso," she said, grabbing one in either hand and pulling down on the left while pushing up on the right to straighten them out.

Evan chuckled.  "V's playing with my boobies," he remarked in a completely barbaric sort of way.

"Oh, get a grip," she grumbled as she stepped back to survey her handiwork.  "Those had better be your socks that you stuffed into that bra . . ."

Evan shrugged, turning toward the mirror hanging over the back of the sofa and sticking out his faux chest.  "Relax, woman," he retorted.  "They're wash cloths . . . but you know, balloons would be better, wouldn't they?  Then they'd have more jiggle . . . It is your bra, though . . . Yours are prettier than the one you bought for me."

"What?" she gasped, eyes widening at the very idea of Evan having put on one of her bras.

He chuckled and shook his head.  "Just kidding.  You really think I could fit into one of your little, lacy, sexier than fucking hell bras?"

"You're so bent," she muttered, shaking her head.  If she had stopped to think about it, she'd have realized right off that there really wasn't any way that Evan would fit into one of her bras.  Too bad she didn't put it past him to try anyway . . . But it was something else entirely that brought a scowl to her face, and she sighed.  "You have a bulge," she pointed out with all the finesse of an executioner.

"Well, of course I do," he scoffed, rolling his eyes again.

"Yeah, well, women don't have those, genius," she shot back.  "Didn't you put on those panties I bought for you?"

"Hell, no!" he insisted, pinning her with a look that bespoke his abject horror at the very suggestion.

Valerie rubbed her forehead.  "Are you telling me that you're freeballing under there?"

He nodded.  "I figure that this is kind of like a kilt, right?  Scotsmen freeball under those, you know."

"You're not Scot," she remarked mildly.  "And I'd hardly call a floral printed sundress a kilt.  Now go put on the panties, will you?"

Heaving a sigh, Evan rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

Valerie sat on the sofa, resting her chin in her hand as she waited.  If they ever made it out of the house, she'd be amazed . . .


"Stop blinking.  That guy over there is starting to think you're flirting with him."

Evan blinked a few more times and snorted.  "My eyelashes keep sticking together," he retorted.  "I can't help it."

Valerie giggled and kept walking.  They were just wandering along a beachfront boardwalk, simply enjoying the sights and smells of the shops that lined the washed out old plank walkways.  He'd told her that this area wasn't as thick with tourists as the areas closer to the hotels and trendier places that catered to them, and the laid back atmosphere was absolutely charming.

They'd eaten breakfast at a quiet little café near the house—beautiful French toast stuffed with mascarpone cheese and smothered in lots of local fruit in a light and delicious simple syrup.  Evan had ordered three servings of it, drawing rather strange looks from fellow patrons, not because of his looks—he actually was a disturbingly pretty woman—if one could overlook the too-broad shoulders, the huge man-hands, the large feet that were pretty scrunched into the three inch fuchsia sandals she'd bought for him . . . No, the strange looks were due more to the sheer volume of food that he had put away . . .

"Can I take the sweater off?" Evan asked at length, tugging on the sleeves with a pronounced scowl.

"No," she said, shaking her head since he'd already asked the same question a few times.  "Sorry, Evan, but your shoulders are just too masculine."

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, he let out a deep breath, poufing out his coral painted lips.  "But I'm hot," he whined.

"Fine," she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward a shop not far down the way.  'Ice cream,' she read off the sign hanging above the door.  Not exactly what he had in mind, but it'd just have to do, she figured.

"Two ice creams," she ordered at the window.  "Cherry and . . .?"

Evan read over the list of flavors.  "Orange rum raisin," he said.  Valerie rolled her eyes, mostly because of his idea of a feminine voice.  He sounded like Marilyn Monroe on crack . . .

Shaking her head when he pulled his wallet out of the little off-white purse he'd grabbed out of Valerie's bag, he paid for both ices and took his with a high pitched sex-kitten type giggle.

"That guy's still following us," Valerie remarked as they stepped away from the shop and continued along the sidewalk.

Evan grinned at her over the top of the wide blue cup.  "He's checking you out, schnookums."

"I'm so not your schnookums," she said.  "And I don't really think he's looking at me . . . I think he's got his eye on you."

"'Course he is 'cause I'm hot!"  Grin widening, Evan laughed.  "Everyone get's lei-ed in Hawaii," he sang.

Valerie snapped her mouth closed but giggled, which effectively undermined the sternness she was trying to achieve in her expression.  "You're so twisted."

Evan scooped a huge bite of the ice cream into his mouth then grimaced, squinting one eye closed as one side of his top lip curled up.  "Brain freeze," he rasped out.  "Ow, ow, ow . . ."

Giggling at Evan's show of silliness, she poked her spoon into his cup to sample the orange rum raisin.  "Hmm, this is pretty good," she ventured.  A moment later, she grabbed his cup and stuffed hers into his hand to trade.

"Hey!" he complained, reaching over to snatch his ice cream back.  Valerie turned away before he could get it.

"Excuse me."

Both of them stopped and turned to face the guy who had been following them for the better part of an hour.  The man—a huge man with an equally huge beer gut and long, scraggly hair that was caught back under a black bandana, and clad in leather from head to foot—grinned at Evan, summarily ignoring Valerie completely.  "Why don't you go for a ride with me, baby?"

Evan covered his lips with his hand and uttered an overly girlish twitter.  "Oh, I couldn't possibly!" he demurred, batting his eyelashes in a way that made Valerie snort.  "I mean, I don't even know you, big guy . . ." Twitter, twitter . . .

"Aw, that's easy!  I'm Big John," he said.

Evan twittered again.  "Nice to meet you, Big John—do they call you 'big' for a reason?"

Big John chuckled.  "Maybe."

"Come on, Prudence," Valerie said, grabbing Evan's arm to drag him away.

"Prudence?" Evan echoed, lifting an eyebrow at Valerie.

"Prudence?" Big John said at the same time, grabbing Evan's other arm to keep him from leaving.  "I like that.  It's pretty.  Anyway, you could get to know me," he insisted, letting his eyes roam up and down Evan's frame.  "C'mon, baby.  I'll treat you right."

"No, sorry," Valerie interrupted.  "We were just leaving, right, Prudie?"

Evan frowned at her.  "Now, Val, we've talked about this.  I don't like it when you call me that."

"Too bad," she replied sweetly.  "You promised that you'd spend the day with me, remember?"

"But . . . But he has a bike . . ." Evan pouted.

Big John's grin widened—at least, Valerie thought it did.  It was hard to tell, hidden as it was under the copious amounts of mountain-man beard on his face.  "Yeah, yeah . . . You like bikes?"

"Doesn't every girl?" Evan countered.  "Maybe a short ride . . ."

"No," Valerie interrupted, grabbing Evan's arm and dragging him back a few steps.  "Come on, Prudie, we have to go."

"You know, you don't own her," Big John pointed out, frowning fiercely at Valerie.

"Yeah, you don't own me," Evan echoed indignantly.

Valerie narrowed her eyes on Evan, wondering briefly if Big John would think it was odd if she kicked the idiot rock star in the shin.  "I do today," she gritted out, trying her hardest to keep a somewhat pleasant smile on her face as she shot him a meaningful look.

Evan grinned and turned toward Big John.  "Do you suppose Val could come with us?"

Big John didn't look too pleased about that idea.  "Oh, I'm sure she can find something else to do," he ventured.

Valerie rolled her eyes and stepped in front of Evan, effectively daring Big John to come closer.  "Look, Big John," she said in her best no-bull tone of voice, "she's my girlfriend, and she doesn't like men."

Big John blinked at that.  Behind her, Evan was chuckling.  At least, she thought he was.  She could feel the soft puffs of air escaping him though she didn't turn to verify it.  "Your . . .?"

"That's right," Valerie cut in.  "Besides, she's pretty gross.  You wouldn't like her.  She burps and farts and steals all the blankets."

"I don't fart; I fluffy," Evan added.

Valerie smacked him in the center of his chest to shut him up.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Big John muttered.  "You should've just said so, to start with . . ."

"Bye!" Evan called as the large man lumbered away.

Valerie heaved a relieved sigh, but she didn't turn to look at Evan until well after the man was out of view.  Then she whirled around, pinning Evan with a fierce glower.  "What was that?" she demanded, waving her hand behind them.

"Well, I thought it was kind of nice," he said defensively.  "It made me feel pretty . . ."

"It made you fe—?" Cutting herself off, she sighed again and shook her head.  "You are so messed up," she muttered.  "I mean, really, really messed up . . ."

"Hey, V," he said as he hurried after her when she started walking again.

"What?" she asked without looking at him.  She was too busy trying to figure out if putting him in a dress wasn't a huge, huge mistake . . .

"Let me borrow your lip gloss."

She snapped her mouth closed and stifled yet another sigh as she dug the tube of Tangerine Creamsicle lip gloss out of her purse and handed it over.

Yep, putting the man into a dress was a colossal mistake, after all . . .


"Hey, look!  I could get a hula dancer to match the one you bought me," Evan said, flicking at the plastic figurine's fake grass skirt with his index finger.

Valerie glanced over and grinned.  "Why do you need another one?"

He chuckled.  "Well, don't you think that Kaleilelukimaka gets lonely sometimes?"


"Her name," he told her.

Valerie sighed.  "You named her?"

He nodded happily.

They were standing in the middle of Aloha! Novelties, a very interesting and eclectic shop that specialized in both the cheesy normal stuff like the plastic leis and hula girls as well as some really warped versions of the classic Hawaii gifts—hula girls with light up boobies, water squirting leis . . . and the all-time best one—he'd already bought one for Cain's Christmas present—a very pretty hula girl with a very large penis hidden under her skirt . . .

Spotting a seemingly innocent roll of toilet paper on the shelf, Evan grabbed it and read the box.  'Water activated,' it said.  If one were to wet the paper, the words 'anally retentive' appeared all over it.  He chuckled.  "Here, V.  The perfect thing to get for Ivan," he said, tossing her a roll of the 'anally retentive' paper.

She read it then rolled her eyes and chucked it back at him.  "Don't be a jerk," she warned though she didn't sound overly irritated at him.  "Why would I buy that for him, anyway?"

Evan grinned, tossing the box into the air and catching it casually a few times.  "Well, you're going to buy him a souvenir, aren't you?"

She shot him a blank kind of look like she didn't really understand what he was asking.  "Why would I?"

His smile faded as he continued to watch her, and it struck him that he had never actually seen her talk to him in the entire four weeks that they'd been out on the road.  "Does he even know you're out here with me?" he asked suddenly, suspecting what her answer was going to be yet unable to wrap his brain around it.

"Why would he?" she countered reasonably.  "I don't have to clear my agenda with him."

"Well, no," Evan allowed with a shake of his head since he still didn't quite understand how that little bastard could possibly let her out of his sight for that long a time, not to mention that he didn't even have a clue that she wasn't in New York City, either.  "You serious?"

Valerie sighed, tapping a book—A Visitor's Guide to the Big Island—against her palm idly.  "Look, I know what you're thinking," she said, a hint of the old defensiveness surfacing in her stance, in her tone.  "Marvin and my relationship isn't like that.  He has his things, and I have mine.  No big deal."

Evan snorted and set the box back on the shelf again.  "No big deal," he repeated with a shake of his head.  "If you were mine, I'd know where the fuck you were.  Hell, if you were mine, there wouldn't be a snowball's chance in hell that you'd be out here, running around with a goddamn rock star."

She stared at him for another long moment, but finally she smiled rather ironically and slowly shook her head.  "Good thing I'm not with you, then, huh?"

Evan didn't look even remotely amused.  No, he still couldn't quite grasp the idea that that little monkey she was engaged to wouldn't know or apparently care where the hell she was . . . and he certainly couldn't grasp the idea that he hadn't bothered to call his own fiancée in a month, either . . .

An unsettling rage crept up his spine—anger that Valerie couldn't seem to see exactly what was happening.  How dare she think that her relationship with that little nutsack was all right?  How dare she think that settling for stability was all right?  Just what in the hell had happened to her to make her believe such bullshit?  He didn't know, and he didn't understand, and the more he dwelled upon it, the more pissed off he became . . .

Valerie, however, wasn't looking at him.  She was standing on tip-toe, staring over the top of the shelf with the strangest sort of expression on her face, like she couldn't quite reconcile whatever she was looking at . . .

Tamping down his rising irritation, Evan frowned, raising an eyebrow as he watched her grasp the shelf and pull herself up just a little higher.  "V . . .?"

"Well, that's just creepy as all hell," she muttered, shaking her head, reaching across herself to wave a hand at him to shut him up.

"What is?"


Blinking in surprise, Evan finally shifted his gaze to see who was creeping Valerie out.  Then he saw them—the ones that Valerie was trying to break her neck to see.  Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back until she let go of the shelf and grinned down at her when she struggled to get loose so that she could resume her spying.  "Evan!"

Evan chuckled.  "Staring's rude, you know," he pointed out reasonably.

"They have got to be related to you," she said in an oddly accusing tone.

His grin widened, and he took her hand, dragging her down the aisle toward the two people in question.

"Eva—heh?" Bellaniece greeted, cutting herself off mid-way through as her eyebrows rose, only to disappear under the thick fringe of bronze bangs that framed her face.  "Oh . . . Oh, my . . ."

Kichiro quirked an eyebrow, setting something back on the shelf as he slowly pivoted to eye his nephew-slash-brother-in-law dubiously.  "Something you haven't told us, Evan?"

Glancing down at himself, Evan laughed.  "I'm not Evan," he said in the girly-tone he'd adopted.  "I'm . . . Who am I?" he asked, leaning toward Valerie, who was apparently content to stare at Kichiro and Bellaniece Izayoi.  "V?"

She blinked and seemed to give herself a mental shake, reluctantly casting Evan a quick look.  "Oh . . . Prudence," she reminded him.  "Prudie, for short."

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head slowly.  "I don't like Prudence," he informed her.  "How about . . . Roxy?  Or better yet, Lola?"

"Or Hildegard," Valerie shot back.

Evan made a face then grinned.  "Prudie's just fine!" he stated as he turned back to face Kichiro and Bellaniece again.  "I'm Prudie."

Kichiro nodded very slowly, his gaze shifting from Evan to Valerie then back again.  "Prudie," he repeated.  "Okay . . ." Then he leaned toward Bellaniece.  "I knew your father was twisted . . ."

Bellaniece hurried forward and hugged Evan tight.  "Oh, my God!  Why didn't you tell me that you were going to be here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Bella," Evan replied, giving her a very loud, very obnoxious kiss on the cheek that left the woman giggling.  "But we're not going to be around long.  Got a gig tomorrow night, then we're out of here."

Bellaniece frowned then suddenly smiled as her gaze lit on Valerie.  "And who's this?" she asked Evan.

Evan's grin widened considerably.  "This is Valerie Denning—V, of course."

Bellaniece's smile brightened.  "Oh?  V?  As in, the name of the album?"

"Yep!" Evan pronounced happily.  Valerie sighed, long and low, beside him.

Kichiro smiled and shook her hand.  "Nice to meet you.  I'm Kichiro—this rotten little brat's uncle."

Bellaniece giggled and squeezed Valerie's hand warmly.  "And I'm Bellaniece.  Is Evan behaving himself?"

"Of course," Evan replied as though there shouldn't have been a question.

"So you're not," Bellaniece replied.  "That figures."

"Now, now, that hurts," Evan insisted, shaking his head slowly.  "Like you behave yourself any better, Bella."

Bellaniece reached over and tweaked Evan's nose.  "Don't sass your elders, baby brother," she said.  Evan chuckled.

Kichiro stared at Valerie for a long moment before finally nodding as though something or other made perfect sense.  "Your girlfriend?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes," Evan said.

"No," Valerie countered at the same time.

Evan chuckled.  "Not yet, but she will be.  Right now, she's just my attorney.  Eventually, she'll be Mrs. Evan Roka Zelig.  Just wait and see."

Valerie looked like she was trying to figure out if she'd be completely out of line to squash his foot under hers.  Evan slipped an arm around her waist to thwart her.  "He's not being serious," Valerie muttered with an uncomfortable smile.

Kichiro nodded slowly then finally smiled.  "Well, Evan . . . Prudie . . . whichever . . . you got time to join us for dinner?"

Evan grinned and glanced at Valerie to see if she was going to protest.  She shook her head slightly, and he winked at her.  "Love to," he said.  "Absolutely."

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'Dude (Looks Like a Lady)' by Aerosmith first appeared on their 1987 release, Permanent Vacation.  Song written by and copyrighted to Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Desmond Child.
The Silence of the Lambs is written by and copyrighted to Thomas Harris.  The film of the same name is copyrighted to Orion Pictures.
== == == == == == == == == ==
CatLover260 ------ theblackthorn ------ mynera ------ Ryguy5387 ------ FireDemon86 ------ Meru ------ JKD1989 ------ monkeyseemonkeynodo ------ Nozome ------ inyu01 ------ Dark Inu Fan ------ Ookami Mononoke ------ OROsan0677 ------ onmyown ------ fanfic7inu
Proforce ------ malitiadixie ------ Shiratsuki ------ GalatciFire ------ Meru ------ cutechick18 ------ OROsan0677 ------ WonderAway ------ archeronlover
Thought from Valerie:
Sohis uncle and sisterI see.
Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Subterfuge):  I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga.  Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al.  I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.