Hazard- noun (1) Game of chance played with two dice. (2) A source of danger.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. This is written only for fun, and I am gaining no profit.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Sanosuke Sagara found himself pounding down the back alleyways of Las Vegas, unable to come up with a more articulate curse. The rubber soles of his sneakers burned as he skidded around another corner, trying to put as much distance between him and what was behind him.
Fear- danger- the horrible pull of his Ki from his very being- oh, no. But it was true. He'd been terrified, like he hadn't been since Poland, and he'd reached out to a long unused connection. A brush of fur, an animalistic snarl…
He'd called Saitou. Shit! K'so! Shit! Lightning brushed across his skin, and Sano decided that now was not the time to be worrying over whether Saitou had heard him or not. Pushing burning lungs to their limit, Sanosuke cursed the concrete walls of the city. Where was running water when you needed it?
Then again, not all those Ki sensitive were of the supernatural. Aoshi had proven that, and Karou, and various others he had known. Just because the art had died didn't mean it was forgotten. This was very bad for him. Trying to run, breathe, find his way and wrestle his Ki into shadows was also very bad for him. His health specifically, because he couldn't do it!
Rounding another corner Sanosuke plowed right into open air and lamplight. A quick glance found his sense of direction just a horrible as usual; with one glaring exception. Down the street and to the left was an apartment building that reeked of modern magicks. He could hide there, lay low, and relearn how to conceal his Ki. And no one would be sought out for the transgression of harboring prey, because it was a Wicca building. Demon or no, none of malign intent would dare enter there.
Grin firmly fixed on his face, Sanosuke made his way to safety.
Hajime Saitou was not a pleasant man as a rule. Everyone in his department knew this. So when he came to work the next morning, irritable, snappy, and distinctly jumpy, no one had really thought twice about it. He was Hajime Saitou after all.
That attitude had changed when he had gone into the Captains office and requested down-time. Saitou never asked for down-time. Then again, he'd had a run of bad luck recently, ever since he'd gotten that Merccuchi as a partner. The Captain had been understandably startled when his most rock solid officer had asked for time off. But he'd granted it on the bases that everybody needed time off, and that if Saitou was asking, he really needed it.
This all led up to Saitou standing in the airport, smoking. He'd been woken at two o'clock this morning by a burning fire of Ki pulling at Ki, and the terrified cry of a pup in danger echoing in his head. Sanosuke. It had been decades since he'd heard from the ruffian, and whatever had pushed Sano to calling on him, consciously or not, was a definite problem.
Trust the bird-head to find it. Saitou mused darkly, pulling extra hard on his cigarette. He could admit to himself, if no one else, that he was worried. So he'd gone to work this morning in a particularly foul mood, playing it up as much as he could without being suspicious. The Captain had been quick to give him the absurdly large amount of time-off he'd asked for. And then he'd ditched that idiot kid Merccuchi and gone strait for the airport, determined to make the flight he'd booked that morning.
He was early, and he found the time gave him more room to think. Better here than in the air. Wolf demons were earth connected, as most were, and flying was never pleasant for him. He wanted to get to the cub's aid as fast as possible, so with a determined air Hajime headed east.
Rachael Downing had started that day like any other. She'd gotten up at six, eaten breakfast, cursed her most recent ex, and decided to do her laundry. She'd then gathered her clothes and some quarters, and made her way to the basement. There her day became a little strange. A tall muscled brunette was sprawled out sleeping on the dryers. Hesitant, Rachel inched closer. Something tingled across her skin, and then the man's eyes snapped open.
He snarled. But then Rachel blinked, and he was perfectly normal. Light brown eyes watched her, and the young face looked pained. Concerned, Rachel reached forward.
"Hey, are you all right?" Her fingers, which had just gotten in close proximity of the guy, sizzled as energy lashed out warningly. Surprised and scared, Rachel jumped backwards and dropped her laundry, hands coming up automatically to protect her chest and forehead.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm not gonna hurt ya." The man, looking to be a twenty something, sat up with a pained hiss. Fascinated, Rachel lowered her arms. He was… how did that happen?
"Like you could." She snapped back, before her curiosity got the better of her. "How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"That!" Rachel gestured vaguely to his shredded aura. "What did that?"
"Oh, this? I think he was some kind of demon." The woman blinked at his bold statement, before smiling.
"Well, anyone in this era who can say that truthfully is either nuts or worth my time, and I think it's the second in your case. Why don't you come up to my apartment and I'll fix you right up."
"Really? That would be great."