I came up with this after watching the Rurouni Kenshin OVA that took place when he was still the Battousai. (I can't remember its exact name. ^_^;;) It presents a possible scenario on how Kenshin got that little wooden top he was always playing with. (I also can't remember if they ever explained that in the OVA, but if they did this is just an alternative.) R&R, please!
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Kenshin Himura, the Hitokiri Battousai, stopped halfway across the bridge and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He hadn't planned on this - he hadn't planned on killing. He'd planned on going on a walk in the moonlight and then returning to the hotel his employer was staying in. But there was a price on the Battousai's head, making him an even more attractive target for the Shinsen-gumi than revenge already had. A warm trickle on his left cheek - the wound Kenshin had received some time ago had reopened yet again. He ignored it.
The hitokiri quickly counted the number of adversaries: twelve - six before, six behind. They'd done an admirable job of surrounding Kenshin; he hadn't even noticed them until they were a block away. Silently, the Battousai read the posture, facial expression, and other cues in order to determine who would strike first and how. Suddenly, the man to his front and left - the one with long bangs - gave the telltale twitch of the fingers. Before one could even blink, the Battousai reacted.
A glint of moonlight reflecting off Kenshin's sword was the only visible part of his attack. In the next instant a spray of blood shot from the torso of the long-banged Shinsen-gumi member and he toppled backwards, dead before he even hit the ground. In the next breath the Battousai pivoted on the ball of his foot and slashed twice; first the arm and then the head of another opponent thudded to the ground, trailing blood and sinews.
The rest of the Shinsen-gumi squad finally unsheathed their katanas and began their attack. Kenshin parried the blow of the nearest attacker, carrying it over to a thrust that ran the Shinsen-gumi member through. Not ever losing momentum, the Battousai swung the blade of his katana upwards, slicing the next opponent neatly in two. The resulting spray of blood and entrails splattered onto the river below like apocalyptic rain, forming crimson ripples that grew in concentric circles across the water's surface. Before the ripples had subsided, every last member of the Shinsen-gumi squad was dead.
Kenshin raised his sword above his head and swept it down to his side him with one fluid movement in order to remove the blood that had accumulated on the blade. As he sheathed his katana, the Battousai happened to glance down at the carnage that lay sprawled across the bridge. At his feet lay a boy - he couldn't have been older than thirteen - whose eyes, glazed with death, stared unblinkingly up at Kenshin as if to ask why he had taken his life away.
He's just a child, Kenshin thought. Surely the Shogunate isn't so desperate to send children into battle? He turned away and looked over the rail of the bridge to the smooth, dark waters of the river below. Children should not witness killing, no matter the circumstances, he thought bitterly.
The pallid moon shone down, providing just enough illumination for Kenshin to see his reflection staring back up at him from the bloodied waters. Yet you still are a child yourself, his reflection said.
No. I am no longer a child.
What makes that distinction? What do children have that you lack?
Kenshin raised a hand to the gash on his left cheek, feeling the slick blood that perpetually oozed from it. "Innocence," he murmured aloud, his lavender eyes filled with sadness as they replayed the countless lives they had seen taken.
"No, please, stop... stop!"
"I don't want to die... I don't want to die..."
"Spare the child! Please, he's only a child..."
"You must live, Shinta. Live..."
Something small and hard brushed up against Kenshin's foot. Glancing down, he spied a little wooden top that had fallen from the slain boy's kimono and rolled to his foot. He bent down and picked up the toy, admiring its painted surface. The wood was cool and smooth against the calloused skin of his hand, and the toy was surprisingly heavy.
Kenshin looked down at the boy he had killed once again. This time, though he knew it was impossible, it seemed the boy's eyes were saying something different - something Kenshin couldn't decipher. Tucking the little top into his kimono, Kenshin knelt beside the boy's body. He took a soft piece of paper tucked into his sleeve, wiped off the blood that was drying on the boy's face, and brushed back the hair that had come loose from his topknot. Lastly, Kenshin placed his fingers on the boy's eyes and gently closed them, murmuring, "Forgive me," as he did so. It was the most respect he had ever shown for one that he had slain.
Rising to his feet, the wooden top clutched against his heart, Kenshin looked down into the placid river once more. His reflection stared back, but there was something different this time - his eyes were no longer the hard, angry eyes of a hitokiri. They were softer, sadder.
They were the eyes of a child.
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Kenshin Himura, the Hitokiri Battousai, stopped halfway across the bridge and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He hadn't planned on this - he hadn't planned on killing. He'd planned on going on a walk in the moonlight and then returning to the hotel his employer was staying in. But there was a price on the Battousai's head, making him an even more attractive target for the Shinsen-gumi than revenge already had. A warm trickle on his left cheek - the wound Kenshin had received some time ago had reopened yet again. He ignored it.
The hitokiri quickly counted the number of adversaries: twelve - six before, six behind. They'd done an admirable job of surrounding Kenshin; he hadn't even noticed them until they were a block away. Silently, the Battousai read the posture, facial expression, and other cues in order to determine who would strike first and how. Suddenly, the man to his front and left - the one with long bangs - gave the telltale twitch of the fingers. Before one could even blink, the Battousai reacted.
A glint of moonlight reflecting off Kenshin's sword was the only visible part of his attack. In the next instant a spray of blood shot from the torso of the long-banged Shinsen-gumi member and he toppled backwards, dead before he even hit the ground. In the next breath the Battousai pivoted on the ball of his foot and slashed twice; first the arm and then the head of another opponent thudded to the ground, trailing blood and sinews.
The rest of the Shinsen-gumi squad finally unsheathed their katanas and began their attack. Kenshin parried the blow of the nearest attacker, carrying it over to a thrust that ran the Shinsen-gumi member through. Not ever losing momentum, the Battousai swung the blade of his katana upwards, slicing the next opponent neatly in two. The resulting spray of blood and entrails splattered onto the river below like apocalyptic rain, forming crimson ripples that grew in concentric circles across the water's surface. Before the ripples had subsided, every last member of the Shinsen-gumi squad was dead.
Kenshin raised his sword above his head and swept it down to his side him with one fluid movement in order to remove the blood that had accumulated on the blade. As he sheathed his katana, the Battousai happened to glance down at the carnage that lay sprawled across the bridge. At his feet lay a boy - he couldn't have been older than thirteen - whose eyes, glazed with death, stared unblinkingly up at Kenshin as if to ask why he had taken his life away.
He's just a child, Kenshin thought. Surely the Shogunate isn't so desperate to send children into battle? He turned away and looked over the rail of the bridge to the smooth, dark waters of the river below. Children should not witness killing, no matter the circumstances, he thought bitterly.
The pallid moon shone down, providing just enough illumination for Kenshin to see his reflection staring back up at him from the bloodied waters. Yet you still are a child yourself, his reflection said.
No. I am no longer a child.
What makes that distinction? What do children have that you lack?
Kenshin raised a hand to the gash on his left cheek, feeling the slick blood that perpetually oozed from it. "Innocence," he murmured aloud, his lavender eyes filled with sadness as they replayed the countless lives they had seen taken.
"No, please, stop... stop!"
"I don't want to die... I don't want to die..."
"Spare the child! Please, he's only a child..."
"You must live, Shinta. Live..."
Something small and hard brushed up against Kenshin's foot. Glancing down, he spied a little wooden top that had fallen from the slain boy's kimono and rolled to his foot. He bent down and picked up the toy, admiring its painted surface. The wood was cool and smooth against the calloused skin of his hand, and the toy was surprisingly heavy.
Kenshin looked down at the boy he had killed once again. This time, though he knew it was impossible, it seemed the boy's eyes were saying something different - something Kenshin couldn't decipher. Tucking the little top into his kimono, Kenshin knelt beside the boy's body. He took a soft piece of paper tucked into his sleeve, wiped off the blood that was drying on the boy's face, and brushed back the hair that had come loose from his topknot. Lastly, Kenshin placed his fingers on the boy's eyes and gently closed them, murmuring, "Forgive me," as he did so. It was the most respect he had ever shown for one that he had slain.
Rising to his feet, the wooden top clutched against his heart, Kenshin looked down into the placid river once more. His reflection stared back, but there was something different this time - his eyes were no longer the hard, angry eyes of a hitokiri. They were softer, sadder.
They were the eyes of a child.