Crushed Organza by Hanyoukai

Speculation on Nocturnal Disturbances

Disclaimer:

Inuyasha: You don't own me, bitch.

HY: Fine! But no more ramen, mister!!

Inuyasha: Feh. So… um… you're not really serious, right?

Warning(s): Other than some rather vulgar, choice words, sexual insinuations, and Kagome's random acts of violence, there isn't much to worry about in this fic. Just be sure to duck when the going gets rough.

A.N.: This story is rather serious. Or at least it's supposed to be, unless Sesshoumaru and Miroku begin to do the cha-cha in front of me. In their boxers. Shiny boxers with hearts and lipstick marks. Lipstick marks that weren't there when the boxers were still brand new…

Anyway, please read and review this story, even though it really isn't all that I wanted it to be. As always, I welcome any flames or criticism!

As well, I don't think I'll be using many words in romanji (at least not any in the first chapter, since it's rather short), but if there are any that you're not too sure about, please don't hesitate to ask! As I will be too distracted by dancing boxers to write up translations. ^_^

.

.

.

Chapter One: Speculation on Nocturnal Disturbances

A loud banging noise pierced the stark night.

Tousled ebony locks peeked out from beneath the seashell-patterned quilt, and a slim hand shot out to rub crankily over sleepy eyes.

The neighbours must be at it again, Kagome thought irritably.

She cursed the invention of Viagra. And then prepared to throw something heavy at the adjacent wall.

Except she realized that the pounding was actually coming from her front door.

Right-oh.

It was either some deranged serial killer who was on the loose in the middle of the night.

Or her neighbours (did she mention that they were ancient, and well over the age to be involved in any activities that have to do with procreation?) were carrying on licentious activities in the apartment hallway. Against her front door!

She desperately wished it wasn't the latter.

Growing terrified at the thought, Kagome grabbed a pillow, throwing it with surprisingly accurate precision at a corner of the small bedroom.

"MEOW!"

"Go tell them to leave us alone, Buyo," she whimpered, sloppily wiping off some drool that had formed at the corner of her mouth, and thus proceeded to burrow her head back into her warm, comfy sheets.

And miraculously, the banging suddenly stopped.

An unearthly silence filled the room, interrupted soon after by the whimpers of a traumatized Buyo, attacked so viciously by his owner and the offensive pillow.

And then the clamor commenced once more with renewed vigour.

Round two!

Kagome's heart expired.

Mortification. Results in more deaths in Japan than cancer, heart disease, and drunk-driving accidents combined!

Somehow, she found the courage (and some would say stupidity), to go and check beyond the door herself.

At half-past one in the morning.

When psychotic murderers lurked in shadows, ready to attack young, vulnerable women.

Kagome armed herself with a tennis racket.

If there was going to be any spilt guts tonight, then she would be the one doing all the disemboweling!

Especially if it turned out to be her neighbours outside.

Okay. Inconspicuous, but potentially dangerous weapon. Check. Cell phone to call police. Check. Cosmetics bag for looking good, in case I get into the evening news. Check.

Slowly creeping out of the bedroom, Kagome slipped on a robe over her pink flannel pajamas as an afterthought.

All that was left behind in the small bedroom was an absolute quiet, broken at intervals by the erratic snoring of an obese cat in a laundry basket.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading, and please remember to review!