Two Wings - an RK fanfic
2 - Finger Trails
Peregrine Vision
Soujiro sat in the police chief's office, a blanket around him and a coal brazier next to his chair. He had not been allowed to change and have a bath till he had answered the officers' questions.
Sagara-san sat in the chair opposite, still dripping, but with his upper body bare. He was acting as interpreter. His familiar presence and rough Japanese comforted Soujiro, former enemies though they were.
To the police chief, Soujiro related the details of his accidental capture and subsequent escape. He described as best he could the ship itself, its cargo, and descriptions of Kiyooka and the others, especially the two men who had unwittingly brought him aboard. As he talked, Sagara-san translated, rattling off in the Cantonese dialect to the police, translating in turn the questions for Soujiro to answer. Soujiro looked at the wild-looking street fighter with more respect. He'd heard Chinese was extremely difficult to learn, and here was Sagara-san, speaking a complicated dialect like a native.
The Cantonese police, as it turned out, were extremely suspicious and distrusting of foreigners. At one point the officer in charge leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Soujiro, clearly not believing what he was hearing. He then said something at which Sagara-san flared up, bursting into a stream of dreadful language without bothering to translate. Soujiro didn't know Cantonese, but he *did* know a little of Sagara-san, and he didn't need to know the language to realize when the man was swearing. After a while the officer subsided, a little red about the ears, and allowed Soujiro to continue. Soujiro's own cheeks were a little warm as he answered, and he kept his eyes on his lap.
Finally the police chief nodded and leaned back, grunting a dismissal. Soujiro stayed where he was, radiating outward calm, but mentally twisting his fingers. He wondered how to broach the subject of getting back to Japan. No money, no language skills...what was he going to do? How was he going to get home?
It was so easy in the old days. If you wanted something, you took it. Soujiro couldn't help thinking that only a few years ago, he wouldn't have had to sit in this stuffy office being questioned by a man who was quite probably his inferior in all things. It wouldn't have mattered that he didn't know the language. He could have slain everyone aboard the smuggler's ship except the steersman, whom Soujiro could have forced to take him back to Japan. Or he could have killed the two men on the boat in the first place, because he would still have his sword.
It would be so easy to go back to that life. To *take* things, instead of having to beg for them.
But...
He looked up from his lap to see Sagara-san watching him intently. Those burning chocolate eyes made Soujiro nervous. Last time they had met, Sagara-san was standing off to one side while Soujiro had been doing his best to kill Himura Kenshin. Sagara-san had just saved his life, possibly, but did he still harbor a grudge for the one who had almost killed his best friend?
"Hey, you worried about something?" the taller man asked gruffly. "You looked a bit sick for a minute there." He scratched his stubbly chin, raising his eyebrows.
"Um..." Beg for things? Soujiro didn't even know how to *ask*. "Am I...staying here? Will they detain me?"
"Staying? *Here*? Hell, no." Sagara roared with laughter. He said something to the chief, who burst out laughing too. It wasn't a feeling Soujiro liked, having them laughing at him. No one had ever laughed at him before.
"Sorry, sorry," chuckled Sagara-san, shaking his wild mane. "Have you *seen* the place? Cockroaches, fleas, rats...and those are the *officers'* quarters!" He went off again, and so did the chief.
The laughter died down eventually, and Sagara-san grinned at the very confused Soujiro. "Nah, you're staying at my place, o'course. Special treatment for the friend of a special narcotics agent." He winked, startling the young man considerably. That wink had carried no malice at all, not the slightest hint of lewdness....and yet Soujiro found himself blushing.
"A...arigatou gozaimasu, Sagara-san...."
"You brought things? Nah, 'course not. Okay, come on, then."
Puzzled but grateful, Soujiro followed Sagara-san out.
* * *
The "place" was a decent little house on a rather plain street. The neighborhood was conveniently close to a large all-goods market, but far enough away as to be relatively quiet. This was a relief to Soujiro, who had gotten very dizzy on the way through the market. The noise and the press of people were too much for his already-taxed body, and Sagara-san had practically had to carry him home.
The inside of the house was tiny, two-story though it was. A futon was laid out in the far corner, instead of being tucked away upstairs. A worn folding screen was next to it. Across the room from the futon was a small wooden table with squat stools around it. Sagara-san rummaged in a small cupboard near the back of the house and handed Soujiro a faded green yukata.
"You can have the bed," he said, nodding at the futon. "I'll sleep upstairs. I should anyway, but most nights I'm too damn lazy to drag myself up there. Or too damn drunk. Or just in a hurry to get to bed, if you know what I mean." Another wink.
Soujiro's ears burned with embarrassment. Too much information.
To his surprise, Sagara-san went a little red too. "Ah, I talk too much," he mumbled, turning away. "Tea? You want tea? There's a brazier out back where I heat water and cook stuff. How about water for a bath? Or maybe that could wait for later. You're prob'ly tired."
"Thank you so much--" began Soujiro, bowing. The other waved him off, looking sheepish.
"Don't mention it. So, uh, how you been?" asked Sagara-san, heading for the back door (which was Western-style, instead of a sliding screen). Soujiro ducked behind the screen, raising his voice a little as he stripped off his damp clothes.
"I've been traveling. I didn't know you were traveling too, Sagara-san."
"Actually, it's kinda more like running away." He heard Sagara-san chuckle. "Got into a bit of trouble back home. Hey, you know, your hair got longer. That's why I didn't recognize you right away."
Soujiro undid his short tail and shook his hair free. "I'm not used to it being this long," he remarked, accepting the change of subject. "I always forget. Your hair is long now, too."
"Yeah, the Wild Man of Mongolia, that's me. I need a shave, too." Soujiro heard the clink of cups. "At least I shave more than once a week now. Do you know how hard it is to get a razor in Mongolia?"
Soujiro laughed a little as he slipped into the yukata. "Mongolia? You really were in Mongolia?"
"Yeah, for a while. Came down 'cos I heard there was a little problem with drug-running at the seaports. Apparently someone's bringing in op--"
Sagara-san stopped as Soujiro emerged from behind the screen, tying his sash. The yukata, being Sagara-san's, was several sizes too big for him, and trailed on the floor. He had hitched the sash up at about ribcage level, where the obi would be on a woman, and crossed it over his shoulders and back to keep the robe from slipping off his shoulders.
Clearing his throat, Sagara-san busied himself with the tea. "--opium," he continued quickly. "A friend of mine..." there was an odd pause, "used to make a cheap, extra-addictive version of the stuff. The drug coming into the 'ports was like that, but a bad copy, as if somebody'd gotten hold of the original and copied it without the actual recipe. Um."
He turned around, setting two steaming cups on the table. "Here. It's called 'Pu Er'." The Chinese came naturally out of his mouth, although it sounded a little harsh, like his Japanese. "It's supposed to make you feel more relaxed after a nasty shock, or something. That's what Liu Chen says, anyway."
"Liu Chen?" Soujiro sat, and sipped at his tea. It was very hot, extremely strong, and quite bitter. He just managed not to pull a face.
"Neighbor. Across the street."
Soujiro downed his tea as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Surprisingly enough, it seemed to work. He could feel muscles all over his body stretch, releasing tension. The heat settled in his stomach and chest, leaving a very comfortable drowsiness.
"See?" Sagara-san grinned at him. "I know the taste takes getting used to, but it works, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," agreed Soujiro sleepily. He smiled at Sagara-san. "Sagara-san..."
"Go ahead and rest," said Sagara-san, standing abruptly and taking the cups. "It's my house; I'll clear up."
"Thank you," murmured Soujiro. "For--for everything." He wandered over to the futon, sank into it and was happily unconscious.
* * *
"Sou..." Rough lips on his, burning on the sensitive flesh. Hot palms and wandering fingers stung his skin. "You'll learn to please me properly, boy."
Soujiro writhed against the lean body pinning his own to the futon. Something brushed against his thigh, hard and searing. That demanding mouth took his again, a dry, hot tongue diving into his eager, wet mouth. And then he was filled, and it hurt beyond imagining, and it felt so *good*.... "Ah...ahhh...Shishio-san...!"
But the dream ended without completion, and Soujiro sank into blackness again.
When he woke it was dark. He was disoriented--rare for him; he really must have been tired. There was a blanket over him. His legs were bare under the blanket, his yukata tangled about them. Then he had been moving around in his sleep...also rare. But his body always reacted to those memory-dreams.
Absently his hands wandered over his own body, checking for the red handprints and burn marks that should have been left behind, that *had* been left so often before. But they were not there.
There was a scratching sound, and light flared suddenly in the room. Soujiro tensed, and wished he had his sword. The nearest available weapon, if he remembered, was a broom in the back of the house, near the coal brazier. A gentle and completely non-threatening voice interrupted his frantic calculating.
"Are you hungry?"
The accent was heavily Cantonese, and the voice, high and a little nasal, was not Sagara-san's. Soujiro peeked out from the blankets to find a handsome, if round-faced, young Chinese man hanging a large paper lantern from the ceiling. The Chinese was dressed as most of them were, in high-collared jacket and pants, both of a bland dark-blue color. A long braid hung down his back, but the scalp around it was shaved clean. A jaunty little black cap perched on the back of his head, giving him a friendly, scholarly air.
The young Chinese smiled at him. "I am Liu Chen. Xian Ho Xiu Que asked me to look after you until he comes back."
The heavy accent made it hard to discern Sagara-san's first name, but Soujiro figured it out after a few moments. "Thank you." He sat up, feeling far from refreshed, even after his long nap. There was, he noticed suddenly, a delicious aroma of meat and shrimp and vegetables in the air. His stomach growled. "I think I *am* hungry," he admitted, smiling apologetically at Liu Chen.
Liu Chen laughed. "Come. I made dinner--Xian Ho cooks a little, but his cooking is still far from edible to everyone but the desperate." His Japanese was very good, but very formal, and a little old-fashioned, as if he'd learned it from an outdated book. Then Soujiro realized what he had *said*, and began to laugh too.
"Well, I've been rather desperate lately, so this is a nice surprise." He got up, self-consciously rearranging his yukata, and joined Liu Chen at the table.
Dinner was delicious, the best Soujiro had eaten in years. There were fat shrimp dumplings in translucent dough wrapping, toasted noodles with a thick sauce of mixed beef slices, mushrooms, and all kinds of buttered vegetables, and a large plate of steaming rice. The rice was long grain, not the little Japanese kind, and had been fried and mixed with a lot of things like egg and shrimp and minced vegetables. It looked strange, but tasted wonderful.
Liu Chen chuckled when Soujiro closed his eyes to chew. "I am glad you like my cooking." He had a very young smile: wide and completely artless, like a ten-year-old boy's. His eyes crinkled up when he grinned.
Suddenly the door banged open, and Sagara-san crashed into the room, his eyes wild, his hair and the ends of his red bandanna flying everywhere. He threw aside his shabby dustcloak and launched himself at Liu Chen, roaring.
Liu Chen leaped in front of the table where Soujiro sat frozen, and countered Sagara-san's punch. He whirled, lashing out with one foot. Sagara-san caught it.
There followed a series of moves so fast Soujiro could hardly follow them. His jaw fell as Liu Chen led Sagara-san away from the table and around the room, punching, kicking, blocking and leaping with a speed that even Soujiro had never imagined. Soujiro had been known among the Juppon Gatana and the rest of Japan's underworld as the fastest fighter in Japan, but he knew that in a test of pure speed he would lose to this little man with the boyish grin.
The storm of whirling limbs ended with Sagara-san flat on his back, Liu Chen's hand held rigid at Sagara-san's throat, ready to crush it. One foot rested on the larger man's stomach.
Before Soujiro could even cry out, both men began to laugh. Liu Chen let Sagara-san up and received a heavy, good-natured clap on the shoulder.
"I'll beat you yet, you Shaolin bookworm," claimed Sagara-san. "Hey, Soujiro, sorry to scare you."
Soujiro managed to close his mouth, swallow the food that was still in it, and assume a polite smile.
"So you met Liu Chen," said Sagara-san, slinging an arm around the young man, who clutched at his cap to keep it from falling off. "He's a Shaolin monk. You should see them fight--I guess you just did, huh?" He came over to the table and sat down beside Soujiro. "Damn good, isn't he? Give Kenshin a run for his money, that's for sure. Maybe you, too." He grinned.
Amazing. Not a shred of hard feelings. When the Juppon Gatana had gone against Himura-san and his friends, it had been a life-and-death, win-or-lose battle. And here was Sagara-san, literally digging into the food with his chopsticks, only a few inches away from someone who would once have killed him without regret. He even had the audacity to mention Soujiro's fighting skill, which he had only ever seen from the business end, as it were.
"You done eating?" Sagara-san said, with his mouth full, rice bowl in hand. "Your plate's still full. If you're not going to finish that..." His blunt Chinese chopsticks were already edging toward one of Soujiro's dumplings.
Quickly Soujiro snatched plate and bowl out of the way. "Don't even think about it, Sagara-san!"
Liu Chen began to laugh, and Sagara-san grinned again. Soujiro laughed too. It felt funny, like something snapping in his chest. He laughed for a long time. They all did.
-end 2-
Soujiro sat in the police chief's office, a blanket around him and a coal brazier next to his chair. He had not been allowed to change and have a bath till he had answered the officers' questions.
Sagara-san sat in the chair opposite, still dripping, but with his upper body bare. He was acting as interpreter. His familiar presence and rough Japanese comforted Soujiro, former enemies though they were.
To the police chief, Soujiro related the details of his accidental capture and subsequent escape. He described as best he could the ship itself, its cargo, and descriptions of Kiyooka and the others, especially the two men who had unwittingly brought him aboard. As he talked, Sagara-san translated, rattling off in the Cantonese dialect to the police, translating in turn the questions for Soujiro to answer. Soujiro looked at the wild-looking street fighter with more respect. He'd heard Chinese was extremely difficult to learn, and here was Sagara-san, speaking a complicated dialect like a native.
The Cantonese police, as it turned out, were extremely suspicious and distrusting of foreigners. At one point the officer in charge leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Soujiro, clearly not believing what he was hearing. He then said something at which Sagara-san flared up, bursting into a stream of dreadful language without bothering to translate. Soujiro didn't know Cantonese, but he *did* know a little of Sagara-san, and he didn't need to know the language to realize when the man was swearing. After a while the officer subsided, a little red about the ears, and allowed Soujiro to continue. Soujiro's own cheeks were a little warm as he answered, and he kept his eyes on his lap.
Finally the police chief nodded and leaned back, grunting a dismissal. Soujiro stayed where he was, radiating outward calm, but mentally twisting his fingers. He wondered how to broach the subject of getting back to Japan. No money, no language skills...what was he going to do? How was he going to get home?
It was so easy in the old days. If you wanted something, you took it. Soujiro couldn't help thinking that only a few years ago, he wouldn't have had to sit in this stuffy office being questioned by a man who was quite probably his inferior in all things. It wouldn't have mattered that he didn't know the language. He could have slain everyone aboard the smuggler's ship except the steersman, whom Soujiro could have forced to take him back to Japan. Or he could have killed the two men on the boat in the first place, because he would still have his sword.
It would be so easy to go back to that life. To *take* things, instead of having to beg for them.
But...
He looked up from his lap to see Sagara-san watching him intently. Those burning chocolate eyes made Soujiro nervous. Last time they had met, Sagara-san was standing off to one side while Soujiro had been doing his best to kill Himura Kenshin. Sagara-san had just saved his life, possibly, but did he still harbor a grudge for the one who had almost killed his best friend?
"Hey, you worried about something?" the taller man asked gruffly. "You looked a bit sick for a minute there." He scratched his stubbly chin, raising his eyebrows.
"Um..." Beg for things? Soujiro didn't even know how to *ask*. "Am I...staying here? Will they detain me?"
"Staying? *Here*? Hell, no." Sagara roared with laughter. He said something to the chief, who burst out laughing too. It wasn't a feeling Soujiro liked, having them laughing at him. No one had ever laughed at him before.
"Sorry, sorry," chuckled Sagara-san, shaking his wild mane. "Have you *seen* the place? Cockroaches, fleas, rats...and those are the *officers'* quarters!" He went off again, and so did the chief.
The laughter died down eventually, and Sagara-san grinned at the very confused Soujiro. "Nah, you're staying at my place, o'course. Special treatment for the friend of a special narcotics agent." He winked, startling the young man considerably. That wink had carried no malice at all, not the slightest hint of lewdness....and yet Soujiro found himself blushing.
"A...arigatou gozaimasu, Sagara-san...."
"You brought things? Nah, 'course not. Okay, come on, then."
Puzzled but grateful, Soujiro followed Sagara-san out.
* * *
The "place" was a decent little house on a rather plain street. The neighborhood was conveniently close to a large all-goods market, but far enough away as to be relatively quiet. This was a relief to Soujiro, who had gotten very dizzy on the way through the market. The noise and the press of people were too much for his already-taxed body, and Sagara-san had practically had to carry him home.
The inside of the house was tiny, two-story though it was. A futon was laid out in the far corner, instead of being tucked away upstairs. A worn folding screen was next to it. Across the room from the futon was a small wooden table with squat stools around it. Sagara-san rummaged in a small cupboard near the back of the house and handed Soujiro a faded green yukata.
"You can have the bed," he said, nodding at the futon. "I'll sleep upstairs. I should anyway, but most nights I'm too damn lazy to drag myself up there. Or too damn drunk. Or just in a hurry to get to bed, if you know what I mean." Another wink.
Soujiro's ears burned with embarrassment. Too much information.
To his surprise, Sagara-san went a little red too. "Ah, I talk too much," he mumbled, turning away. "Tea? You want tea? There's a brazier out back where I heat water and cook stuff. How about water for a bath? Or maybe that could wait for later. You're prob'ly tired."
"Thank you so much--" began Soujiro, bowing. The other waved him off, looking sheepish.
"Don't mention it. So, uh, how you been?" asked Sagara-san, heading for the back door (which was Western-style, instead of a sliding screen). Soujiro ducked behind the screen, raising his voice a little as he stripped off his damp clothes.
"I've been traveling. I didn't know you were traveling too, Sagara-san."
"Actually, it's kinda more like running away." He heard Sagara-san chuckle. "Got into a bit of trouble back home. Hey, you know, your hair got longer. That's why I didn't recognize you right away."
Soujiro undid his short tail and shook his hair free. "I'm not used to it being this long," he remarked, accepting the change of subject. "I always forget. Your hair is long now, too."
"Yeah, the Wild Man of Mongolia, that's me. I need a shave, too." Soujiro heard the clink of cups. "At least I shave more than once a week now. Do you know how hard it is to get a razor in Mongolia?"
Soujiro laughed a little as he slipped into the yukata. "Mongolia? You really were in Mongolia?"
"Yeah, for a while. Came down 'cos I heard there was a little problem with drug-running at the seaports. Apparently someone's bringing in op--"
Sagara-san stopped as Soujiro emerged from behind the screen, tying his sash. The yukata, being Sagara-san's, was several sizes too big for him, and trailed on the floor. He had hitched the sash up at about ribcage level, where the obi would be on a woman, and crossed it over his shoulders and back to keep the robe from slipping off his shoulders.
Clearing his throat, Sagara-san busied himself with the tea. "--opium," he continued quickly. "A friend of mine..." there was an odd pause, "used to make a cheap, extra-addictive version of the stuff. The drug coming into the 'ports was like that, but a bad copy, as if somebody'd gotten hold of the original and copied it without the actual recipe. Um."
He turned around, setting two steaming cups on the table. "Here. It's called 'Pu Er'." The Chinese came naturally out of his mouth, although it sounded a little harsh, like his Japanese. "It's supposed to make you feel more relaxed after a nasty shock, or something. That's what Liu Chen says, anyway."
"Liu Chen?" Soujiro sat, and sipped at his tea. It was very hot, extremely strong, and quite bitter. He just managed not to pull a face.
"Neighbor. Across the street."
Soujiro downed his tea as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Surprisingly enough, it seemed to work. He could feel muscles all over his body stretch, releasing tension. The heat settled in his stomach and chest, leaving a very comfortable drowsiness.
"See?" Sagara-san grinned at him. "I know the taste takes getting used to, but it works, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," agreed Soujiro sleepily. He smiled at Sagara-san. "Sagara-san..."
"Go ahead and rest," said Sagara-san, standing abruptly and taking the cups. "It's my house; I'll clear up."
"Thank you," murmured Soujiro. "For--for everything." He wandered over to the futon, sank into it and was happily unconscious.
* * *
"Sou..." Rough lips on his, burning on the sensitive flesh. Hot palms and wandering fingers stung his skin. "You'll learn to please me properly, boy."
Soujiro writhed against the lean body pinning his own to the futon. Something brushed against his thigh, hard and searing. That demanding mouth took his again, a dry, hot tongue diving into his eager, wet mouth. And then he was filled, and it hurt beyond imagining, and it felt so *good*.... "Ah...ahhh...Shishio-san...!"
But the dream ended without completion, and Soujiro sank into blackness again.
When he woke it was dark. He was disoriented--rare for him; he really must have been tired. There was a blanket over him. His legs were bare under the blanket, his yukata tangled about them. Then he had been moving around in his sleep...also rare. But his body always reacted to those memory-dreams.
Absently his hands wandered over his own body, checking for the red handprints and burn marks that should have been left behind, that *had* been left so often before. But they were not there.
There was a scratching sound, and light flared suddenly in the room. Soujiro tensed, and wished he had his sword. The nearest available weapon, if he remembered, was a broom in the back of the house, near the coal brazier. A gentle and completely non-threatening voice interrupted his frantic calculating.
"Are you hungry?"
The accent was heavily Cantonese, and the voice, high and a little nasal, was not Sagara-san's. Soujiro peeked out from the blankets to find a handsome, if round-faced, young Chinese man hanging a large paper lantern from the ceiling. The Chinese was dressed as most of them were, in high-collared jacket and pants, both of a bland dark-blue color. A long braid hung down his back, but the scalp around it was shaved clean. A jaunty little black cap perched on the back of his head, giving him a friendly, scholarly air.
The young Chinese smiled at him. "I am Liu Chen. Xian Ho Xiu Que asked me to look after you until he comes back."
The heavy accent made it hard to discern Sagara-san's first name, but Soujiro figured it out after a few moments. "Thank you." He sat up, feeling far from refreshed, even after his long nap. There was, he noticed suddenly, a delicious aroma of meat and shrimp and vegetables in the air. His stomach growled. "I think I *am* hungry," he admitted, smiling apologetically at Liu Chen.
Liu Chen laughed. "Come. I made dinner--Xian Ho cooks a little, but his cooking is still far from edible to everyone but the desperate." His Japanese was very good, but very formal, and a little old-fashioned, as if he'd learned it from an outdated book. Then Soujiro realized what he had *said*, and began to laugh too.
"Well, I've been rather desperate lately, so this is a nice surprise." He got up, self-consciously rearranging his yukata, and joined Liu Chen at the table.
Dinner was delicious, the best Soujiro had eaten in years. There were fat shrimp dumplings in translucent dough wrapping, toasted noodles with a thick sauce of mixed beef slices, mushrooms, and all kinds of buttered vegetables, and a large plate of steaming rice. The rice was long grain, not the little Japanese kind, and had been fried and mixed with a lot of things like egg and shrimp and minced vegetables. It looked strange, but tasted wonderful.
Liu Chen chuckled when Soujiro closed his eyes to chew. "I am glad you like my cooking." He had a very young smile: wide and completely artless, like a ten-year-old boy's. His eyes crinkled up when he grinned.
Suddenly the door banged open, and Sagara-san crashed into the room, his eyes wild, his hair and the ends of his red bandanna flying everywhere. He threw aside his shabby dustcloak and launched himself at Liu Chen, roaring.
Liu Chen leaped in front of the table where Soujiro sat frozen, and countered Sagara-san's punch. He whirled, lashing out with one foot. Sagara-san caught it.
There followed a series of moves so fast Soujiro could hardly follow them. His jaw fell as Liu Chen led Sagara-san away from the table and around the room, punching, kicking, blocking and leaping with a speed that even Soujiro had never imagined. Soujiro had been known among the Juppon Gatana and the rest of Japan's underworld as the fastest fighter in Japan, but he knew that in a test of pure speed he would lose to this little man with the boyish grin.
The storm of whirling limbs ended with Sagara-san flat on his back, Liu Chen's hand held rigid at Sagara-san's throat, ready to crush it. One foot rested on the larger man's stomach.
Before Soujiro could even cry out, both men began to laugh. Liu Chen let Sagara-san up and received a heavy, good-natured clap on the shoulder.
"I'll beat you yet, you Shaolin bookworm," claimed Sagara-san. "Hey, Soujiro, sorry to scare you."
Soujiro managed to close his mouth, swallow the food that was still in it, and assume a polite smile.
"So you met Liu Chen," said Sagara-san, slinging an arm around the young man, who clutched at his cap to keep it from falling off. "He's a Shaolin monk. You should see them fight--I guess you just did, huh?" He came over to the table and sat down beside Soujiro. "Damn good, isn't he? Give Kenshin a run for his money, that's for sure. Maybe you, too." He grinned.
Amazing. Not a shred of hard feelings. When the Juppon Gatana had gone against Himura-san and his friends, it had been a life-and-death, win-or-lose battle. And here was Sagara-san, literally digging into the food with his chopsticks, only a few inches away from someone who would once have killed him without regret. He even had the audacity to mention Soujiro's fighting skill, which he had only ever seen from the business end, as it were.
"You done eating?" Sagara-san said, with his mouth full, rice bowl in hand. "Your plate's still full. If you're not going to finish that..." His blunt Chinese chopsticks were already edging toward one of Soujiro's dumplings.
Quickly Soujiro snatched plate and bowl out of the way. "Don't even think about it, Sagara-san!"
Liu Chen began to laugh, and Sagara-san grinned again. Soujiro laughed too. It felt funny, like something snapping in his chest. He laughed for a long time. They all did.
-end 2-