thoughts
*mental conversations*
amplified thoughts/meanings
She hurt.
Truth be told though hurt wasn't quite the proper term; regardless of how badly her body throbbed in agony. If she merely hurt than she would feel something more than the numbness that was creeping through her veins, threatening to consume her. The edges of her vision were beginning to darken and it was only instinct that kept her moving. If she passed out now then she was as good as dead. As dead as the thugs who had jumped her.
Cowards. Lips curled with a sense of contempt that not even exhaustion could stem. They had jumped her for the simple fact that she was a woman wandering about the darkened town without a single hint of an escort. Even the lightweight kisode, the color of maple in the ochre on cream coloring, and the ashen gray hakamas that were more suited for a man's outfit did nothing to disguise the fact that she was far too feminine to be a man.
As a teenager she probably would have stood there like a dump cow and screamed her head off for help, from someone who could no longer offer help. But it had been years since she had considered herself defenseless. Self-preservation had caused her to take the few lessons she had received at that more tender age with respect to swordplay to heart and perfect her own means of self defense. The fools hadn't noticed the blades resting comfortably at her left hip. The katana was sheathed above the shorter but just as deadly length of the wakizashi blade.
She would have gotten away scot-free if the overexertion had not caused a coughing fit. She was still sick it seemed despite the years spent overseas. It was then that the bigger of the thugs had attacked, the blunt edged cudgel that he had used as a weapon smashing into her back with all the force of some three hundred pounds behind the swing. It would have probably broken her back had it actually landed. And she had been foolish thinking that someone so big couldn't move fast and in the closed in area of the alleyway itself.
Feet stumbling, sandals snagging on the peddle-like stone of the walkway, azure eyes flickered beneath messed strands of ebony black hair. Her right arm hung limply at her side, dark crimson leaving from the edge of the jacket she was wearing and dripping towards the ground. Had she had the conscious mind she might have sought to cover the wound before she happened to leave a noticeable trail that anyone associated with the thugs could follow. But with a broken arm and possibly broken ribs covering her tracks were the least thing on her mind.
SLIGHT SWITCH / Character Change
The figure staggered out of the alleyway. Garbed within the confines of lightweight kisode, the color of maple in the ochre on cream coloring, and the ashen gray. But only a true fool would not notice the blades resting comfortably at the slender figure's left hip. The katana was sheathed above the shorter but just as deadly length of the wakizashi blade.
As for the being itself, stumbling, it leaned momentarily against one of the buildings before shoving away from the wood with a grunt. It was almost enough to knock the other off of their own feet if the left hand hadn't risen to steady the being against the other building. If anyone had been watching they would have immediately thought that the figure was drunk. But as the being moved out of the alley itself, a bloody handprint marked where the figure had rested their hand.
It was that handprint which caught the eye of one Sagara Sanosuke, the fist-fighter having just left one of the small-time gambling rings now that he had lost what little money he had. So caught up was he in his thoughts, wondering as to how he could explain the money for food went to fuel his little addiction, that he might not have noticed the blood. Might not of if not for the unmistakable tang of copper and salt that tickled his nostrils.
"What," beneath chocolate brown hair brown eyes narrowed. Someone had spilt blood.
But there was no denying the dark crimson, flickering softly in the light of the moon and the oil-fed street lights, that stained the wall in front of him. Breathe escaping through pursed lips, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him, Sanosuke raised his hand. The blood was cool but still liquid enough that some of it came off on his gloved fingertips. Brows furrowing he weighed the pros and cons of looking inside the alleyway that the bloody handprint led from.
His feet shifted, his boots kicking one peddle out of the way and he froze. What?
There was either a ghost here or the peddles in this part of the town sounded like someone groaning when they hit the side of the building instead of the little crack he was used to.
No not a ghost.
There, sprawled out in front of the business which wouldn't open for another five or even six hours, was a small man. Man or woman? The figure was slender but still there was no denying the muscling underneath lightly tanned skin. After all wasn't Kenshin small? But the sex of the figure took a literal backseat in the depths of Sanosuke's mind as he realized the blood came from this being. The right sleeve of the kisode was soaked nearly black with blood, the crimson liquid already beginning to spread out in an increasing circle.