Nihao, minna-san! At the risk of posting something . . . er, incomplete . . . . *Mik-chan's muse gives her a whack upside the head* . . . and at the request of SAGE-sama . . . *bows reverently* . . . I present to you the second chapter of "The Other."
Mind you, IT'S NOT DONE YET! More Mikomi/Kenshin-ness is forthcoming and the lemon . . . well, that's a LONG way off right now.
This chapter gives us a closer look at Mikomi's character. And BOY, is she VIOLENT!
While I'm thinking about it, I'd like to respond to a particularly poignant review from chapter one, submitted by UrielFallen:
"Good story.
One minor nitpick:
...How does anyone know Hiten Mitsurugi that wasn't taught by Hiko Seijiro? There's always
only 1 teacher and 1 student, at most."
Good point. The truth is, I didn't even think about that until after I posted the first chapter and I kinda went, "Oh, CRAP! ." Anyway, let me just say this: HMR isn't Mikomi's primary jutsu. In fact, she doesn even HAVE a primary jutsu. She uses bits and pieces from many different styles, which is part of what makes her so effective . . . and dangerous. So, let's just assume that one of the people passing through her camp knew something about Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu and passed it on to her. Otherwise, we'll be nit-picking from now till Judgement Day.
Another thing to note: the sakabatou Mikomi was using in the original version of chapter one has been revised to be a katana, after I considered the odds against her having such a weapon. Not very good, let me tell you what. So, we'll just pretend I didn't screw that up, ne? ^.^;
Special thanks to UrielFallen for the above review and to SAGE for demanding that I post this next chapter, in not so many words. ^.^
The Other
By: Nizuno Mikomi
Chapter Two - Tea
[Later that evening . . . . ]
"And so, since I hadn't thought to leave my clothes in a more convenient place, and I couldn't very well walk out naked and demand them back, I ended up walking the two miles back to camp in my birthday suit," Mikomi finished, wrapping her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders to ward off the encroaching chill of nightfall.
"Kimi wa honki, de gozaru ka?" Kenshin asked incredulously.
"Yes, quite," she replied. "Although, I must say, while it's not one of my favorite memories, it certainly is entertaining."
"Agreed, de gozaru," Kenshin grinned, taking a sip of his tea. The two of them had been sitting on the porch of the inn where Kenshin was staying for Kami-sama only knew how long, talking and trading stories. To the casual observer, the two samurai, laughing and joking and sipping tea together, would have resembled nothing more than old friends, reunited after many years, catching up on old times. One would never have guessed that barely hours before, each had been on the verge of killing the other.
Kenshin wasn't particularly worried about the lateness of the hour. And Mikomi certainly had some interesting yarns to spin. He glanced over at the dark-haired samurai, examining what could be seen of her profile in the wan light of the single lantern overhead.
Mikomi was an unusual-looking woman. Not that she was unattractive. Just the opposite in fact. Her bronzed skin spoke of the years she had spent living as a rurouni, mostly outdoors. Her high cheekbones and pixie chin offset the determined set of her lips and the strange, chilling fire that always seemed to be smouldering somewhere in the labyrinth behind those incredibly green eyes. Earlier, during their fight, her face had been stony, harsh, colder than anything he had ever seen.
Now, however, her expression had softened, her eyes warmer, her features relaxed. There was a whimsical curve to one side of her mouth that could very easily be called a smile. Kenshin was given the impression that he was seeing the Mikomi behind the dangerous mask she showed the rest of the world. And he was grateful.
"Shabereyo," Mikomi said, breaking the silence. "Your turn, Himu- . . . . " She broke off, unexpectedly, her face transforming back into that mask, her eyes piercing the darkness around them. Kenshin peered about, but saw nothing.
"What is it?" he inquired. "Go-tassha, de gozaru ka?" Mikomi silenced him with a wave of her hand. She stared out into the night a moment longer, the silence becoming almost deafening, before climbing quickly to her feet. In one smooth motion, she tossed the cloak over her shoulders, freeing her arms, and stood scanning the darkened courtyard, one slim capable hand resting on the hilt of her katana. Her nose twitched; if he hadn't known better, Kenshin would have thought she was sniffing the air. Scrambling up beside her, sword also bared, Kenshin watched, listened, trying desperately to understand what it was that Mikomi knew that he did not.
He did not have long to wait. A twig snapped somewhere close by and before the echo had faded, Mikomi's hand closed around his elbow in an iron grip with a single word. "Run." Then she took off, dragging him along with her. Kenshin managed to get his feet back on the ground and he raced along behind Mikomi, following the black spread of her cape. For a time, the only reality was the pounding of their feet on the hard-packed ground.
Suddenly, Mikomi stopped short, and turned, her sakabatou in hand before Kenshin knew she had reached for it. He followed suit and they stood still and silent for a moment, staring into the darkness.
"Mikomi-san, nan da, de gozaru ka?" he whispered. Before Mikomi could answer, a shuriken sailed through the air, heading straight for her. The jade-eyed rurouni bent backwards, tilting her chin up, and the throwing star missed her throat by less than an inch. Masked figures materialized out of the deepening night and the two samurai faced their foes, back to back, swords drawn and ready.
"Kill them."
The ninjas leaped into action, but Kenshin and Mikomi were two steps and several flesh wounds ahead of them, already in motion, bodies moving in perfect synchronization with their weapons, so that the sakabatou became an extension of the warrior, as it should be. A split second passed and five men fell beneath Mikomi's sword, red fountains gurgling from their bodies. Kenshin dispatched his own opponents without killing them, something Mikomi apparently did not take much stock in. They glanced at each other briefly. Kenshin saw Mikomi's eyes turn from warm, amiable jade to cold, lethal peridot as she flexed her fingers on the handle of her sakabatou.
"Every so often, Himura-san," she said, her voice low and chilling. "There are times when even a rurouni must kill." Circled by her assailants, she coiled her leg muscles for a jump. "And now is one of those times." She spun quickly, then leaped high into the air above everyone's head, silhouetted against the cold autumn moon for a moment before dropping gracefully back to earth, black cape billowing. A short spray of blood and a few brief gurgling cries and her attackers collapsed, their throats sliced clean across. Kenshin felt the Battousai stir deep within his soul, where he thought he had buried it for good.
*Mikomi . . . she's not just any warrior,* he thought, suddenly uneasy as another brief splash of crimson threatened to drench his feet. *She's . . . she's . . . almost . . . EVIL . . . . *
The few remaining hired killers dispersed, carrying their wounded with them. Over half their force lay dead or dying on the frost-tinged grass between the two samurai. Her gruesome work finished, Mikomi sheathed her sword and turned back to Kenshin, who stared at her with mingled horror and revulsion.
"Something wrong, Himura?" she asked, her voice as cold and emotionless as the jewels her eyes now resembled. Kenshin looked down at the bodies strewn at her feet and fought down a wave of nausea.
"You . . . you killed them," he choked out. "How . . . ?"
"Simple," was her chillingly straightforward reply. "It was either let them kill me or defend myself. And I don't know about you, but I've grown rather attached to living."
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Gomen nasai, minna, bu that's all I have for right now. More to come! R&R please.