Sesshomaru looked ridiculous. He had facial markings that didn't even match in shape or color; excessively long hair; pointed ears that stuck out on either side of his head; and an enormous mass of dog fur that reeked when soaked and served only to confuse every other spectator about its origin. But worse still, for all intents and purposes, the Western Lord looked like a lady.
Nope, demons didn't freeze in mid-strike because they suddenly sensed his raw, awesome strength; it was because they'd just heard a man's voice drone from that pretty woman's throat.
Naturally, they didn't say it to his face, assuming their vocal chords were still intact.
Of course, as far as Sesshomaru was concerned he knew nothing of whispered opinion and acknowledged no hints – poison-soaked talons assured that.
For every challenging idiot, there were a hundred more demons that steered clear of the bishonen with the fatal French manicure.
Sesshomaru cleaned off the blood, Jaken vested pride in his master, and Rin was just pleased to be protected by someone who was pretty to boot.