Rambling

It is dark in the cave. Dark and sober, without light or shadow, all the more stifling for the promise of light and warmth at the entrance meters away and beyond an edge that toppled to disgrace and failure.

Slash behind me again, warning and just a touch smug, a dying man's pettiness in eons of nobility thrust upon me like burden and what's worse is knowing that he doesn't want to do this, oh nononono and that no matter how long it has been this man still knows me like I know my sword and that's worse, because lately I haven't known my sword at all and sometimes think I won't pull through and that's the wielder's fault, not the swords but really it isn't that old man's fault at all… damn, I need a drink. And a smoke. And a woman. And while I'm at it, my body and Kyoshiro's head on a plate will do quite nicely.

Or maybe just one woman… I think, and am distracted again, wondering her overtly-emotional state has got her sleepless and whining, and if she thinks I will fail, wondering if Shinrei will come back to finish the job, and damnit, I really do need a drink.

Thinking about drinking's got me thinking about her again, and I think I'll make her serve me when I get out, pouring almost constantly and taunting her to take some herself so that she's always in the same room and doesn't get out of my sight. And getting her drunk will be good for some groping opportunities, and for a glorious while, she'll be wonderfully warm and solid in my arms.

There's a flash of gold off the corner of my eye and I've been in this fucking cave so long I actually consider the possibility that the demon of Sekigahara has lost his mind. Then the blotches clear and sanity returns and I think, oh, yeah, the old man.

Then there's a flash of steel and Suzaku flies. I think that somewhere in the fire I can see green, and resolve to upset her thoroughly when I'm out of this damn cave. Tenro slides up, and the old man is knocked back.

I am ready now.

-end-

I think I'm doing far too much angst these days. Although this, by my standards, is fluff.

To the multitudes who scream 'OOC!' : this is my Kyo. Not yours. And for my Kyo, rambling is expected.