Title: The Misadventures of a Foreigner

Author: Cecil Kain Cerberus

Characters (central focus): Hakuouki cast and the Lost Foreigner (OC).

Pairings: I honestly have no clue yet. X3 It's still undecided!

Rating: T, might change to M.

Warnings for the reader: Blood, violence, cursing, and general stupidity from our wayward heroine.

Setting: Hakuouki.

Summary: Cody wasn't looking for an adventure, but somehow she wound up getting, more or less, kidnapped by the Shinsengumi, has to suffer several attempts of kidnapping by Kazama, gets involved in a war when she'd rather hide under a rock, and all the while try to remember how she got into this mess in the first place and save the people she will soon call friends.

Length: No clue. We're shooting for the stars, folks.

Genre: Romance, adventure, humor, friendship, tragedy, you know the drill.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Otomate and Idea Factory do. But if I did . . . well, let's just say some people would lose their sanity, while others would . . . erm . . . yeah.

***In which Cody becomes hopelessly lost***

You know those stories where people are transported into another world in some ridiculous form? And then they go on those great, fantastic adventures with these characters, befriending them and crap like that? Those sort of adventures we all as kids wished would happen to us, hence why we push ourselves so close to TV, hoping it will suck us up into its carefree world, full of laughter and never ending excitement.

Yeah. This isn't one of them. I'm not in some Looney Tunes show, playing Marco Polo with Daffy Duck and avoiding Elmer Fudd like a plague. I honestly would trade places instantly. Hell, I'd rather be trapped in Barney the Purple Dinosaur than here.

What is "here," you might ask? Well…

To be perfectly honest, I haven't the foggiest. I'm guessing Japan, and by Japan, I don't mean the Digimon world version, or even the Godzilla version.

Nope, it is probably closest to the Rurouni Kenshin version. How can I tell, you might be wondering? Well, geez, I know I need glasses and it might be night time, but I ain't freakin' blind, I'll have you know!

Ahem, sorry, didn't mean to yell. I'm kinda on edge at the moment. Why? You all seemed to be full of questions, today. But if you must know—

"Hey! Get back here, you little bastard!"

That's why. Meet the Three Stooges. Okay, okay, they're not really the Three Stooges. I really wish they were, though. In fact, there's a lot of things I really wish were but, certainly, are not. Like not being alone in the dark, not being cold, not being chased, not not being at home—

I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, I was running for my life, and no, I'm not fleeing from Yosemite Sam. I really wish I was. At least I can trust an ACME anvil to fall on top of him. Really, I NEEDED that anvil. Idiots plus really sharp swords doesn't equal good news for me.

Ok, I really should be focusing more on the concept of running rather than making monologues in my mind. I can do that when I'm safe and sound in my bedroom, AWAY from these nutters.

Speaking of nutters…

"Come back!"

Pfft, like I'm gonna listen to a guy waving a sword at me? Okay, rhetorical question. Don't answer that. Either way, I'm not going back. Geez, and all because I had this stupid sword on my waist.

My fingers briefly brushed the handle of the katana by my side. I have no freakin' idea on how to use them, and according to Cracked, these were the worst weapons to use in a zombie apocalypse. Why? You'd have a better chance cutting yourself than actually killing anything. Hence why I didn't dare pull out this puppy and cut them a new one.

I jerked my body toward a turn, sprinting as fast as I could down the alley before making another 90 degree turn. I was actually pretty proud of myself; for a chick who could never run an entire mile without getting sick, this is excellent. Thank you, adrenaline rush. And thank you, endorphins.

My third turn in a row gave me a perfect opportunity. There were barrels, planks of wood, beautiful places to hide in. So I did what any sensible person would do; I hid behind a stack of wood that was leaning against a building. To help in the concealment, I tugged a barrel over in front of me, covering one side. The other side was still open, but I wasn't stupid or desperate enough to hole myself in. Peeking out of the opening with my back facing the barrel, I waited, resting on my haunches, listening.

There came footfalls, and I saw one of the creepers running down, growling under his breath. I almost giggled, but I quickly covered my lips. No good will come if I reveal myself, after all.

The guy pulled his sword, continuing to mutter something about a "brat." Twenty bucks says I was that "brat" he was talking about.

Either way, he walked slowly, trying to search everywhere for little o' me. So I ducked my head back inside my little sanctum and just waited for him to go away. I made myself as small as possible, something I can say a person like myself could do. Thank you, gymnastics. The one skill that never left me all these years.

When his footfalls started to get weaker, I continued to stay still, but I also allowed myself to peek over my shoulder, through the peephole that the barrel made. His shadow had retreated some feet away, with only his torso and head visible against the wooden exterior of the house. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, I let myself relax. Hopefully, things will start going as they should.

You know, this would the perfect moment where the hero of the story rushes in and saves the damsel in distress. I can tell you quite clearly that I ain't no hero, and while being a damsel ain't the best option in the world, it sure a hell of a lot better than being dead, so I'd wager I'm the damsel. In those fantastic adventures in Loony World, all would end well with the hero saving me and riding me off into the sunset. Er, moonlight. Cuz I don't want to wait that long, or end up being tied to the tracks by some moustache fiend with a top hat.

So, what happens next? Well, ladies and gents, according to the natural law of "Life's-a-bitch-and-just-loves-screwing-with-every-damn-person-on-the-face-of-the-planet," I get royally screwed in the ass by the one sound I did not ever need to hear.

A man screaming.

You heard me right. A man screaming.

HOLYCOWONAHEAVENLYBARBIQUE, what the hell was that? I actually heard a scream? I'm the one being chased. Did the Three Stooges find some other hapless victim?

My answer was given with a resistant cry from another; "Damn you!"

Another cried out, "What is this?! Why don't you die?!" There were pants, grunts, and then finally, "Dammit! We gotta get out of here!"

Sounds of fighting began to fill the alley way, with the guy who had walked past me before ran straight back the way he came, past my hidy hole and straight into the fray. What was that idiot thinking?

The clash of metal against metal was loud, so loud it could rival the sound of my heartbeat. I had long since stiffened up again, scared out of my wits that I would somehow get dragged into this if I so as much made a peep.

More clang-clang of swords colliding. I could practically imagine the cold blades swinging through the air, cutting the wind with a sharp whistle as it approaches its target. Cries of anguish as the men fight, laughter from their foes.

Oh God, that laughter…

Then…

A scream, laughing evil, a wet noise as the man's scream was cut short, and then finally, silence.

My heart stopped cold. My brain scrambled to understand what noises it just heard.

My God, I witnessed a murder. But the only difference between me and the victims of ID was that I didn't have the ability to call 9-1-1.

This had to be a joke. Some sick, twisted joke. Had I somehow gotten drunk when I was with friends, dragged onto a stage and made to look like a fool?

You know what? I hoped so. I honest to God hope so. I'd rather be furious at friends for this sick joke than it being real.

Oh God, please let it not be real, let it not be real, let it not be—

My eyes, having gone wide in terror, saw the silhoettes of what appeared to be men. But the action they were commiting was far from human. Down came the thin shadow of the sword, cast upon the wall by moonlight. Deep into the body, no, the corpse of the man who had fallen.

But it was not the shadows that haunted me so dearly.

No, it was the noise. The sound of swords cutting people up.

I heard it all. The soft slip of the thin blade penetrating the skin, the cracking of bone against metal, and, as my imagination took hold, the wet noise of blood oozing from the body with each strike.

I covered my mouth, trying not to vomit. The bile was rising up in the back of my throat as I heard the screaming of the dying and the sick, wet sound of a body being pierced over and over again. But nothing was worse than the horrible, Joker-worthy laughter coming from the killers. Dare I call it laughter? It didn't even sound human, just madness.

Nothing but madness and death.

The other two had met the same fate as their friend. Death had come to this dark alley, with me as its sole, sane witness. Keep calm, I repeated to myself over and over. Do not freak out. Whatever you do, do NOT freak out unless you want to be Dead Victim #4!

The laughter died down to chortles, and thankfully, the cutting sounds disappeared. That was over, but now I was stuck here, near these homicidal maniacs. I knew there was more than one. But I didn't know how many. Were there two, three, six? God forbid anything above two. And please let them be short. Not exactly helpful, but at least my longer legs might be able to outrun them.

Might be.

My imagination was now working overtime. I began to imagine the freaks outside, even going as far imagining one of them sticking their heads into my little peeping hole. I didn't even know what they looked like, yet my oh-so-wonderful creativity filled in the gaps with gut retching monsters with fangs, claws, and glowing eyes.

Please dear God, let them just be sociopaths. Not zombies. Anything but zombies! I'll even take the sparkling pixies from Twilight—

Wait, what was that smell? My breaths were shallow and quick, but as the scent filled the still air, I came the horrible realization that it was blood I was smelling. The metallic odor of copper.

I was trembling. My spine was stiff, eyes ready to pop out, ears straining, nostrils flaring, and the icy tingle of fear continued to spread. My hands were still covering my mouth, but I knew the moment I moved, I'd make some kind of noise. Just stay quiet and don't move a muscle. And whatever I do, DO NOT PANIC!

The seconds dragged on for what felt like hours. I heard the faint, uneven steps of the creatures outside, giggling as they left, not daring to move a muscle. I wouldn't move. No, I couldn't move. I was too stricken with fear. I had no idea if I could outrun these things. I had no idea what they even wear. I wasn't an athlete. It was mostly just a stroke of luck I managed to get away the first time. My wit couldn't save me, my legs couldn't save me, this useless hunk of metal on my hip couldn't save me.

I couldn't save me.

Tears began to well up in the corner of my eyes. I was trapped. There was nowhere to go. I could only wait until they left. Suddenly, my morbid sense of humor kicked in; Monster, monster, go away. Never come back another day—

CLUNK!

Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-OHMYGOD-I'm-going-to-die! was all that went through my brain as every part of me tensed. My right foot, which had long ago fallen asleep, had jerked out, perhaps due to my posture or what have you, kicking the boards down. But suddenly, the air was no longer still, but sparking with animalistic excitement.

My head had by then turned, looking directly at the faces of the killers I had only moments ago heard. Three of them. Blue coats clad their bodies, drenched in blood. Wide, evil smiles cracked their stained faces. White hair and red eyes. One even went as far as to lick his lips.

This was it. Do-or-die. Fight-or-flight. Can you guess which I chose?

My legs needed no command. My body needed no driver. I was suddenly on my feet and out, flying through the air with almost inhumane speed, my sensors suddenly sharper and more acute than ever before. I knew they were behind me, but I didn't care.

My legs had wings. I was faster than them. I could escape.

I turned for a heartbeat, to look at my pursuers. They were far behind, but still laughing. I could make it, I could make it—

And then it all came to a crashing halt when I ran head first into a warm body. I had only looked away for a moment, but perhaps with my speed, that moment covered a mile.

The force of my collision sent the person down with me, but oddly enough, instead of shoving me off, an arm enclosed me, holding me close, my face buried into the shoulder of the person.

Another heartbeat, and I heard steel being drawn. I tried to turn my head, but the angle I was at limited my vision greatly. Plus, the guy, as I definitely knew because of the chest, was already beginning to get up, carrying me with him. When he had finally sat up, I took that moment to turn my head and behold the horror behind me.

A man, with his sword drawn, faced the opponents, the cold steel blade practically glowing with bluish moonlight. In a split second, his sword screamed across the air, red flying all around him as the three monsters flew back.

It was then I realized that it wasn't red ribbons or clothing, but blood itself. The world suddenly blurred, turning gray, all the color gone. My body fell, dropping like a rock. Everything, from battle cries to screams were muffled, as if someone had jabbed cotton into my ears.

And then I saw white. Lots of white. It was suddenly brighter. Blurry faces were hovering over me, but I couldn't make out certain features. Nor could I understand what they were saying. Again, it was like cotton got jammed into my ears.

But before I knew it, everything went black, and I was out, left in the company of the strange people that would surely change my life.

For better or worse.