Author's Note: OMG, it has been a sad 5 years since I did any writing, especially for fanfics of Rurouni Kenshin! This is supposed to be a one-shot to just get me back into writing. It's not supposed to be a continuation of anything. It is nothing special, and boy and I am so rusty. I do hope to continue my other stories soon! Enjoy. Please remember... this is a "COLLECTION" of writings, a "COLLECTION" of drabbles, a "COLLECTION" of one-shots, a "COLLECTION" of a bunch of crap. I did not want to create a new "story" as ff . net puts it for EVERY one-shot I write. Would you know how frustrating it would be to see an author's profile, littered with HUNDREDS of one-shots because they uploaded a story as a new story everytime? Hence the aforementioned: COLLECTION of writings. =) Maybe I should call it an anthology? Some of the very last paragraphs also have a handful of lines that are replicates of lines from the first episode of the anime-so SPOILER warning.

Disclaimer: I really wish RK was mine, but then again I'd be the millionaire, wouldn't I? Watsuki's the true brain of all this!

First Impressions

Too cold...

The fog that loomed over the waters of Tokyo Bay greeted the small boat that was soon to depart with its contents. It had been what seemed eons to the lone figure that stood with bright eyes surveying the nearing land. Try as it may, the Sun did little to claim its victory over the land, allowing the merciless fog to add a gloomy appeal to the city of Tokyo. Two, three, maybe even four years have passed since his last visit to this city. And oh the changes it has endured as a city in the last 10 years! But of course all of these changes came with large consequences that helped shape the now dormant nations of Japan. Though governmental unrest was a thing that would emerge gladly and unannounced, he admitted to himself it was a more peaceful time.

Amethyst eyes again surveyed the ever approaching dock and skyline of the city; what was a wanderer to do in a city as large as Tokyo? His stomach grumbled.

This one would benefit from some food, that he would.

The wandering part was the easiest of all things. He never stayed too long in one place, or rather, was never comfortable; infact he knew not of true comfort. His presence-and that undeniably flaming red hair of his-was as fleeting as the wind. It was an art in it self, this wandering business. But to ask whether it was lonely would be a conundrum. A wanderer such as himself would have no business to open up to the world around him. Let alone a wanderer who had a sword to his hip.

It was never easy, he reminded, to keep that adoring Rurouni face his facade that begged no questions from onlookers to why a sword was bound to him, or to even that distinct cross scar on his left cheek. But one could easily grow accustomed to a routine as simple as this: stay alert, smile, and remain calm. In the end, each face in the city was a passing pebble. It would be nice to have a place to call home, but there is no room for such pathetic feelings, especially when you were once the Legendary Man-slayer.

And the weight of the world is a heavy burden. Though the onslaught of dreams would be something to carry with him to the grave, atonement was a rather hard thing to achieve. But what was there to atone for? In his mind, it was for the countless lives that the Hitokiri Battousai took to better the state of Japan. But to those in feuding states, he was the benchmark that created the now peaceful Meiji. The once powerful sword of Battousai was now a thing of the past, his new-found sakabattou a different sword that protects lives, rather than the initial property of killing. He had surrendered to the life of a wanderer, searching for atonement in the form of helping those who were weak and oppressed. It just wasn't fair. All men deserved peace. But was he a man? No. He was a monster. No matter how much he lied to himself that he was the gentle wanderer, the unpredictable monster known as Battousai seethed beneath his persona; battling inwardly to control the two was an exasperating feat, that it was!

As the boat finally came to a rocking halt, Himura Kenshin stepped foot into the city of Tokyo. And as he heaved a sigh of relief (it was more a sigh of disparity), took dedicated steps and vanished into the gloom of the city.

"Well now," his warm and welcoming voice subtly announced, "I really should get something to eat."

Striding past dark alleyways, Kenshin stepped into a small beef hot pot restaurant. The warm array of scents and sights and definitely the faces of smiling people were an added amenity from day to day life. Everything was peaceful in the world around him, and without having had him as the Battousai to carve this new era with his sword, things would not have been as simple as they are now.

A curt nod of his head was enough to convince the waitress of what he wanted to eat. Allowing himself to settle in a more relaxed state, Kenshin sat with his back to the other occupants of the restaurant. Unbeknownst to the untrained eye, he remained alert as ever, his hearing and senses acute to his environment. He closed his eyes and smiled at the waitress as she put a small carafe of sake in front of him.

"Thank you very much," he afforded to the waitress, "this will definitely be a good time for some warm sake!"

As he gingerly poured himself a cup of the warm beverage, Kenshin was overhearing an argument among the other residents.

"I am telling you the truth!" A slightly crackled voice meowed. "That Legendary man-slayer was found to have killed two more people today! I thought the life of the sword was dead with the Tokugawa Regime! How could anyone continue to kill-"

"For all we know, it's probably just some hoax! This is a time of peace now! Battousai the man-slayer is a ghost of the distant past!" A hoarser voice.

"It makes no sense!" More meowing. "How can it be that he is a 'ghost of a distant past' as you so blindly put it, when we have some crazed man running around killing for no reason!"

"It's not the real Battousai, then, now is it?"

"Whazzat?" Kenshin could hear the affects of the sake wearing its potency on the man.

"The real Battousai killed for the better of Japan, not just to eliminate the streets of filthy dogs!"

"No matter what you say, I'm keeping my children out of the streets. Hoax or no hoax, this is a serious matter! Tokyo shouldn't have to suffer another bloody path!"

The lone wanderer inwardly agreed. This fake imposter should be dealt with immediately. As Kenshin redirected his attention from the argument and back to his own train of thought, a generous bowl of soup was placed in front of him. With adoring eyes, and his stomach crying for sustenance, he ate his food.

"How is the food, sir?" a gentle, feminine voice checked in.

"Wonderful! I am eternally thankful for it, that I am!" He looked up at the aging woman who bowed out of respect. She met his smile with a friendly, though hesitant one.

"You know, I don't want to be a bother, but you don't look like a person from here."

"Wanderer..." he politely corrected.

"Excuse me?" Confusion laced her visage.

"I am a wanderer; that is why you don't know my face." He smiled. "I happened by the city of Tokyo, and as it had been years since my last visit, I felt it would be a change of pace for me. I suppose the country was too much for a while, and wouldn't you agree that watching a large city boom into life is very exciting?" He stood, and placed some money on the table, taking his sake into both hands, finishing what was left from the carafe.

"Well," she began, "it is a change from country life. It's just that you came to Tokyo at the wrong time. I don't know if you know, but there are rumors in the streets of a man slaying innocent people."

"And so I heard," he heaved. "The patrons on the other side of your gracious restaurant were kind enough to speak of the ills Tokyo is experiencing at the moment. It is an upset, believe me. But I feel I have nothing to worry about."

"But sir-"

"Himura. It's Himura Kenshin."

"Sir Himura," she advised, gathering the empty dishes, "That sword you so carelessly expose would make you a target." Kenshin propped his sake cup on the bowl she had picked up. "And the authorities are picking fights with men who carry swords. This is the 11th year of the Meiji; just remember that swords are banned."

"I understand your concerns, but I do little to draw attention to myself." And with one last smile and hooded eyes, Kenshin spun on his heel to exit the restaurant, his wild red hair trailing after him.

"One last thing," the elderly woman shot at him.

Kenshin stopped. "Yes?"

"At least do me the honors of allowing a pleasant stranger such as you the shelter of our humble restaurant. It's nothing special. Small, yet quaint if I do say so myself. Besides, a man such as you looks too frail and weak. Maybe a good night's rest will do you in. Plus you look like you could barely afford this dinner."

"Oro?" Kenshin asked with a quizzical look.

"Just come this way," the woman mused, smiling at Kenshin's burning cheeks, "and enjoy some hospitality for a change."

Kenshin was soon guided upstairs to a corridor of rooms. He chose the shoji door furthest on the left. And with a decisive slide of the closed door, he surveyed the room. All felt safe, and without hesitation he leaned his back against the wall adjacent to the shoji, his sword resting assuredly on his shoulder.

A pleasant stranger, I am. With those few words the last dying thoughts for the night, Kenshin allowed the hardship of sleep to seethe upon his tensed body. Sleep came hard to an assassin; however, it was even harder for a man who lived throughout the bloodiest of all revolutions with which Japan had witnessed. Within the hour, sleep came, and Kenshin had to suffer the dreams of his past for another night.

Just as the Night was passing to day, Kenshin was up before anyone had stirred. Though the room was just like the elder had mentioned-quaint, small, yet all the more so comfortable-the tired wanderer felt it was time to thank the hospitable lady with silent appreciation and start his journey to nowhere. There was no need to tidy anything up; nothing had been used in the first place, and the futon on the bamboo matt lay the same as before, unused. Kenshin brushed his meager gatherings together, sword at hip, and padded stealthily through the corridor. Among the light snores and yawns of other occupants, he humbly smiled and thanked the gods for having such a caring individual as the aforementioned lady.

Taking one last glance over his shoulder, he placed a small note on a corner table with the simple words of "Thank you with all of my heart, the wanderer".

"It really is rude of you to just leave unannounced," a curt feminine voice cut through the silence. Kenshin stilled in his movements.

"I didn't want to be a bother, that I did not. I thank you for your kindness, but this unworthy one would best be on his way now." He smiled at her.

The old lady placed a vase of freshly picked flowers on the table near Kenshin's note. "Well, dear. Take care, and remember that maniac who has been killing people in the streets lately is still on the loose. And remember to try and enjoy all the little things. I noticed sleep came hard to you last night. And believe me when I say no one, and no one, is to be considered unworthy. Happiness is something entitled to all men, good and evil, pretty and ugly. Try to find happiness, and take care, Himura."

And with that, Kenshin left the small restaurant and continued on his trek.

The air outside in the city was still gloomy. This clammy weather had not let up, and it was indeed depressing that a beautiful city such as Tokyo could have such a monotonous aura about it. Nevertheless, Kenshin continued down a desolate dirt alley. Maybe the sun would come out later. No need in dwelling with pessimism, after all, he was just reminded he needed to find stability, if stability was a means to happiness. And indeed the sun would come out! Few sun breaks littered the ugliness which was the cloud; it was just a matter of time, just like happiness was a matter of time to soon set in his life.

He thought about this again, about trying to be happy. Better make the most of Tokyo. And before he could even finish his mindless inward ramblings, loud footsteps padded through the alley.

"Hold it right there! Don't move, Battousai the man-slayer!" a beautiful and innocent voice chimed.