Note: Doumo arigatou, nice people who left reviews! ^_^ I'm sorry this has taken so long, but I write slowly sometimes and besides that, my internet connection has been mean to me. :( Thanks for reading, though! ^_^ ^_^
"I don't believe you!" Misao spat, obstinately refusing Soujirou's proffered hand and leaping to her feet a good five paces away. "Listen, you smiley-faced psycho boy, I'm not letting you get anywhere near Kyoto!"
Soujirou sighed and continued to lean on his sword, half an ear attuned to the girl's ranting, his mind wandering away. He truly hoped that he wouldn't have to harm her in order to pass...or humiliate her either; to Makimachi Misao, they were one and the same. Such a prideful ninja, he mused, staring at her as she postured and gestured and dramatically posed. Swordsmen, ninja, martial artists...the Oniwabanshu, the Juppongatana--they were groups of fighters, and they all had pride, though how they expressed it varied. A fighter's pride carried him through battle: look at Aoshi and Saitou and Shishio-san!
Of course, they had all been defeated by Himura in the end. All except Saitou, as far as Soujirou knew. Himura-san had pride as well, but he used it to protect, to keep promises to his loved ones. He had fought Aoshi to stop him from harming Misao and kept his pledge to the girl to bring her commander back; similarly, he had fought Shishio to protect all of Japan, and kept his oath to his own woman, Kaoru, to come back safely and leave Kyoto with her and his other friends. And he had fought Saitou because of the ages-old unspoken pledge of warrior-to-warrior fighting, to finish the battle between them, testing the true extent of their abilities against each other.
Protective pride? Prideful protection? It was an interesting thought. Soujirou considered himself briefly, wondering at his own pride; at first he had thought it nonexistent, but now that he put himself in the light and angle that he viewed Himura in, perhaps he did. He had been nicknamed "Tenken" for a good reason, and it had been a blow to him when he lost to Himura. Granted, it was also because it proved--or seemed to prove--that he was in the right and Soujirou had been in the wrong, had torn down his carefully bricked and mortared emotional barriers, but--
"OI! YOU AREN'T LISTENING TO ME, ARE YOU?"
"Arara?" Soujirou started, glancing up with an embarrassed smile to see Misao leaning face-to-face with him a bare half-inch away, veins bulging, eyes glowering, fuming impotently. "Ah, Misao-san! Gomen nasai...I was not." He ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, apologetic laugh.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly the wrong thing to do.
"Nobody laughs at the great Makimachi Misao!" the girl thundered, outrage making her eyes glow a particularly fierce, unsettling white-blue. Her hands snapped out, filled with sixteen kunai each, their blades glittering in a way that meant fatal business.
Soujirou was not particularly concerned--she had been throwing knives at him for quite a while and hadn't so much as clipped a hair from his head--but he was rather worried that night was approaching and he really didn't want to spend it standing on the muddy shoulder of the road dodging knives thrown at him by a raging young ninja girl.
So at that point, the rurouni took the first reasonable course of action that presented itself.
He flowed beneath the next wave of tobi-kunai and easily swept Misao's feet from underneath her again--but this time he caught her shoulder as she fell and slammed her into the ground with all the necessary force to send her unconscious, catching a glimpse of her brief expression of shocked incredulity. Her head lolled on her neck and her shoulder would bear a nasty bruise, but it wasn't broken and all of her vital signs were strong; she would not die, although she might wish she had when she woke up due to the monstrous headache she would have.
He hoped he hadn't given her a concussion.
That would really be very bad since he only wanted her down long enough for him to get the rest of the way to Kyoto. And he hated to think of the Oniwabanshu murderously following him into infinity just because he'd given her one unintentionally. They were persistent, with spirit and pride--especially Aoshi. And there was that word again...prideful protection, he decided with a grin.
"Gomen nasai, Misao-san," he said, a touch regretfully, stooping to retrieve her cloak from the ground. "Perhaps when we meet again in Kyoto, you won't be so very opposed to my presence. Ne?" He held the cloak thoughtfully for a moment--it was very humid, after all, and it might do more harm than good--but covered her anyway. It would be dark soon, and with the dusk came the cold and probably a myriad of those annoying chirping insects as well as biting bugs. He carried her to a less muddy shoulder of the road and set her gently down against a tree.
After regarding the unconscious girl for a moment more, he gathered up the thrown kunai from the trees and ground as well (he counted six hundred of the slender blades before he lost track, marveling at the number) and neatly bundled them up beside her. Then he turned and loped off down the road at an easy pace that nonetheless sent the scenery around him blurring with speed.
He really, really didn't want to be there when she woke up.
"I don't believe you!" Misao spat, obstinately refusing Soujirou's proffered hand and leaping to her feet a good five paces away. "Listen, you smiley-faced psycho boy, I'm not letting you get anywhere near Kyoto!"
Soujirou sighed and continued to lean on his sword, half an ear attuned to the girl's ranting, his mind wandering away. He truly hoped that he wouldn't have to harm her in order to pass...or humiliate her either; to Makimachi Misao, they were one and the same. Such a prideful ninja, he mused, staring at her as she postured and gestured and dramatically posed. Swordsmen, ninja, martial artists...the Oniwabanshu, the Juppongatana--they were groups of fighters, and they all had pride, though how they expressed it varied. A fighter's pride carried him through battle: look at Aoshi and Saitou and Shishio-san!
Of course, they had all been defeated by Himura in the end. All except Saitou, as far as Soujirou knew. Himura-san had pride as well, but he used it to protect, to keep promises to his loved ones. He had fought Aoshi to stop him from harming Misao and kept his pledge to the girl to bring her commander back; similarly, he had fought Shishio to protect all of Japan, and kept his oath to his own woman, Kaoru, to come back safely and leave Kyoto with her and his other friends. And he had fought Saitou because of the ages-old unspoken pledge of warrior-to-warrior fighting, to finish the battle between them, testing the true extent of their abilities against each other.
Protective pride? Prideful protection? It was an interesting thought. Soujirou considered himself briefly, wondering at his own pride; at first he had thought it nonexistent, but now that he put himself in the light and angle that he viewed Himura in, perhaps he did. He had been nicknamed "Tenken" for a good reason, and it had been a blow to him when he lost to Himura. Granted, it was also because it proved--or seemed to prove--that he was in the right and Soujirou had been in the wrong, had torn down his carefully bricked and mortared emotional barriers, but--
"OI! YOU AREN'T LISTENING TO ME, ARE YOU?"
"Arara?" Soujirou started, glancing up with an embarrassed smile to see Misao leaning face-to-face with him a bare half-inch away, veins bulging, eyes glowering, fuming impotently. "Ah, Misao-san! Gomen nasai...I was not." He ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, apologetic laugh.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly the wrong thing to do.
"Nobody laughs at the great Makimachi Misao!" the girl thundered, outrage making her eyes glow a particularly fierce, unsettling white-blue. Her hands snapped out, filled with sixteen kunai each, their blades glittering in a way that meant fatal business.
Soujirou was not particularly concerned--she had been throwing knives at him for quite a while and hadn't so much as clipped a hair from his head--but he was rather worried that night was approaching and he really didn't want to spend it standing on the muddy shoulder of the road dodging knives thrown at him by a raging young ninja girl.
So at that point, the rurouni took the first reasonable course of action that presented itself.
He flowed beneath the next wave of tobi-kunai and easily swept Misao's feet from underneath her again--but this time he caught her shoulder as she fell and slammed her into the ground with all the necessary force to send her unconscious, catching a glimpse of her brief expression of shocked incredulity. Her head lolled on her neck and her shoulder would bear a nasty bruise, but it wasn't broken and all of her vital signs were strong; she would not die, although she might wish she had when she woke up due to the monstrous headache she would have.
He hoped he hadn't given her a concussion.
That would really be very bad since he only wanted her down long enough for him to get the rest of the way to Kyoto. And he hated to think of the Oniwabanshu murderously following him into infinity just because he'd given her one unintentionally. They were persistent, with spirit and pride--especially Aoshi. And there was that word again...prideful protection, he decided with a grin.
"Gomen nasai, Misao-san," he said, a touch regretfully, stooping to retrieve her cloak from the ground. "Perhaps when we meet again in Kyoto, you won't be so very opposed to my presence. Ne?" He held the cloak thoughtfully for a moment--it was very humid, after all, and it might do more harm than good--but covered her anyway. It would be dark soon, and with the dusk came the cold and probably a myriad of those annoying chirping insects as well as biting bugs. He carried her to a less muddy shoulder of the road and set her gently down against a tree.
After regarding the unconscious girl for a moment more, he gathered up the thrown kunai from the trees and ground as well (he counted six hundred of the slender blades before he lost track, marveling at the number) and neatly bundled them up beside her. Then he turned and loped off down the road at an easy pace that nonetheless sent the scenery around him blurring with speed.
He really, really didn't want to be there when she woke up.