Monkey Wrench

Sesshoumaru coiled the length of his mokomoko around his shoulder again as he neared his father's castle‐base. He was fatigued, he was hungry, he was dirty and none‐too‐pleased to return, but he needed time to consider his next move. The scents from the kitchens carried to him on the wind made him painfully aware of his stomach, tempting him to hasten his pace.

Below in the practice fields, he could see Rekkonji running his current roster of volunteer fighters through their sparring paces. A familiar voice rose from below and caught his attention. This time as it spoke, however, it was different; forceful and angry. He landed quietly at a distance to approach at his leisure and observe. Coming into focus, he immediately recognized his hanyou on the field, standing alone. Its scent on the wind explained its rage.

"Will you disgrace yourself by backing down already?" it said.

There was an authority in its voice. Sesshoumaru's ears twitched.

Arriving to stand near Rekkonji, he watched his half‐breed attendant squared off with a fighter he did not recognize. His senses told him more of the story. The fighter had angered his half‐breed, and it, in turn, had challenged the fighter, a challenge the fighter seemed to have attempted to avoid.

This explained the suggestion of disgrace. The silence here was absolute now, the anticipation palpable, and all present save for Sesshoumaru and Rekkonji flinched as the paces of the duel sounded out.

Wood cracked against wood, zipped through the air, thudded against bone and muscle, and they were satisfying to him as he watched his usually calm and demure hanyou viciously force its opponent to retreat on the defensive. The fighter dodged and blocked several blows, perhaps now thinking it almost had an edge, but Sesshoumaru saw clearly what his half‐breed had been setting up for.

A definitive crunch accompanied its next stroke, and the demon lord did not even attempt to deny himself an almost pleased sort of smile as the bouken flew from the fighter's broken hand only a second before the half‐breed took his legs out from under him. Weapon pressed against his neck, the fighter fought back a sneer.

"Do you yield?" his hanyou asked, its tone cold and lethal. Sesshoumaru's ears twitched again.

After a moment, the fighter accepted his defeat, yielding with as much dignity as he could muster. Sesshoumaru studied the way his hanyou's now rather predatory gaze followed the defeated fighter as he relinquished his weapon and left the field to nurse his broken hand. His half‐breed strode with an air of satisfaction and superiority as it, too, left the field.

'So. There is a fire inside there, something more than the flames gifted by its demon blood.'

Sesshoumaru could hear its heart pumping hard in its chest, and it neither calmed nor flinched as it came to realize this Sesshoumaru had returned. Simply, quietly, his hanyou returned its weapon and bade Rekkonji' good afternoon'. It fell into place near him, offering its master a kindly welcome home, and Sesshoumaru nodded in acceptance of it as he led the way inside the castle‐base.

The fresh cool tabi were pleasant against his tired feet, the tatami mats soft beneath him as he allowed himself, finally, to relax. He spoke not a word as his servant worked. He did not need to; it knew what he expected. A bath and a meal later, he listened absently as Kazawa read off a summary of his father's latest message to himself, his hanyou knelt behind him as it combed through his clean hair.

'My hanyou?' he thought, now completely ignoring Kazawa. He frowned inwardly and let his gaze skim across his quarters, slowly turning his head until he could see the creature behind him out of the corner of his eye. It paused, comb lifted, a section of his silvery hair splayed across its palm, and blinked at him expectantly. It showed no irritation as part of his hair fell forward over his shoulder, ruining its work.

His hanyou...

He wasn't sure exactly when the creature had come to be considered this way in his mind. It was strange, but not uncomfortable. In fact, as he continued to examine the idea, it seemed only natural. The creature belonged to him, after all, in the same manner, his sword or obi did. It was a project of sorts, one he was rather pleased with thus far. When his current business was complete, he would have to find a way to test the creature further.

There was still much untapped power within it, he was certain. If he could coax it out, perhaps he could observe some manner of increasing his own, already formidable, power.

For now, Sesshoumaru stilled his mind, simply existing as he took in the sounds and smells around him. In the state of deeper calm his small space brought him, he was acutely aware of how his hanyou parted each section of his hair, smoothing the tended locks down along his back before taking up the next. A familiar sensation from its careful and delicate touch fluttered across his skin and snaked down his spine. He clenched his fist softly against it but allowed himself to relish the feeling. In this space, he could.

There was control, reason, and order here, and everything was in its place. The servants fluttered to tend to the needs of their masters; the winds danced through the halls and windows to bring them sweet scents; the bonsai twisted and bent to a grander design; his hanyou breathed softly, fingers coiled in his hair, as it serviced him.

For the moment, all was right and well.

Sesshoumaru spent the next few days planning and preparing his strategy. He would only have one chance at this, and he had to do it correctly, whichever way, he chose to do it, lest he weaken the power of his name through an inconsideration. He examined each angle and variable that he was aware of, doing what he could to account for the unknown that was undoubtedly waiting to spring out from just beyond his view.

He reflected on his own technique for a moment. In the past, he might have gathered only a preliminary amount of information before rushing forth to eliminate what he perceived as a threat. These days he took his time. It wasn't because he himself had changed, but because this situation was different somehow. Yes, that was it. It was for the same reason that had scarcely struck or inflicted the suffering he so enjoyed on his attendants recently. He simply had better things to do. He refocused himself and returned to the subject at hand.

To the south, Sesshoumaru had found traces of the Boar tribe seeking to expand their influence. There were still many miles between the borders of their domain and his own –his father's, he corrected himself unpleasantly‐, but they would meet soon enough. At that time, he had no doubt of whom the victor would be but knew that the Boars were a stubborn people, who made allies with other stubborn creatures, and it was not a conflict that would be resolved quickly or easily.

Three options were before him, as he understood it: he could bring the issue to his father and let him handle it, initiate negotiations himself, or he could begin working to undermine the Boars' future expansions.

While he preferred to remain on neutral terms with the Boars in the interest of simplicity, he was not against slaughtering the entire clan should they stand in his way. They would need to be convinced to look in another direction to increase their holdings. Negotiations along this vein would be trying, but success was feasible.

As far as being pre‐emptive and undermining them went, it was something he found great amusement in planning and knew he would also enjoy the execution of. His only concern here was the tribe itself. They were a brash people, and under stress would more than likely blame and attack the next creature they encountered capable of causing them strife.

On one hand, those next persons were more than likely to be himself, his father, or his father's vassals. On the other hand, the Boars had short memories. This option he set aside to consider more thoroughly. The issue with his first option was that Sesshoumaru still was not speaking with his great and terrible, foolish father.

When the general returned home from his own excursion later in the week, Sesshoumaru did not greet him. When they met in the halls, Sesshoumaru deferred to his father's passing but remained silent. He was certain the only reason his father was in his son's wing of the castle was to attempt to pin him into another repetitive discussion of political alliance via female, but the softened expression on the daiyoukai's face as he passed made Sesshoumaru doubt his own assumption for a moment.

Examining his quarters and attendants, he found no scroll or hint of the subject.

Had he finally given up, realizing it was futile? Sesshoumaru smirked inwardly at the thought. Indeed, outlasting his father was not a difficult task, for the daiyoukai sometimes had little patience, but the idea still pleased this Sesshoumaru.

When he discovered what his father had left in his quarters, however, he quickly soured. Waiting on his normal sitting cushion was blue and silver crescent moon hair adornment with a white 6‐petal flower running through the center where the securing rod would usually go. It seemed similar to something he'd seen his mother wear before, and he knelt to examine it closer.

…It was exactly the item he'd seen his mother wear before…

'Father, you cunning bastard, have you finally had enough of this game of ours?'

It was an invitation, the general knew, that Sesshoumaru could not refuse.