Note: Gomen nasai...this chapter took long, because I have school and...no excuses, eh? Sorry. But thank you for your reviews, and in response to one of them, yes, I meant "foundering horse" in chapter 4, it means something to the extent of becoming sick from overeating, or being made to run to fast...something like that. ^_^
Ah...how long ago had he had walked the streets of Kyoto? To mingle amongst the people, those without extraordinary fighting ability? To browse the vendors and shops? To buy dango or takoyaki or anpan or yakitori from a cart? To smile at children passing by and nod respectfully to elders?
To run from the kesatsu for bearing a katana?
As for the last, only a few days, Soujirou conceded grudgingly, easily sidestepping into a convenient alley and avoiding the policeman, who continued to chase through the crowd of people for the boy bearing a sword, forbidden in the Meiji Era. The number of police in Kyoto had definitely increased, but that wasn't a surprise given the condition of the city whence he had left.
He stepped back another pace into the concealing shadows of the parallel buildings as the policeman stormed back, scowling at the loss of his prey, sabre hilt clutched in hand. It would have been no difficulty at all to kill or even just defeat the man, weak and poorly skilled as he was, but it would have led to more trouble than the temporary relief was worth. Was this how Himura felt? Like a lone wildcat hunted by ineffectual but persistent jackals, and he unable to strike them down because it would bring the whole pack down upon him?
Or maybe they were insects instead, he thought irritably, slapping at a buzzing bug near his ear and succeeding only in deafening himself, the insect taunting him as it circled around and around his head, lingering near his ears. If they weren't chirping, they were biting, and if they weren't biting, they were buzzing. Or all three.
It wasn't fair. He was Soujirou no Tenken, champion of godlike speed, unmatched by nearly nobody in the world but the Hitokiri Battousai, and yet he still couldn't rid himself of a buzzing insect. So much for that godlike speed.
With an irritated sigh, he pushed our of the alley and into the everyday throng of people, taking care to weave a convoluted enough path that nobody got a very good look at what was slipped through his obi and borne at his side. It proved easier than he expected to evade the police simply by mingling with the everyday commoners, and as quickly as they were moving they paid him little notice--and the few who did carefully avoided looking at him again as they passed by with extra hurry to their step.
Kesatsu...kesatsu...Soujirou had the feeling that he was forgetting something. Forgetting something important, that was one of the reasons he had decided to revisit Kyoto, monolith of his past. Something to do with the police--
He paused in mid-step and laughed at himself, smacking his head with a hand. Saitou-san, of course!
Several people bumped into him and admonished him sternly for stopping so abruptly. And as abruptly as he had stopped walking, they stopped talking once they noticed his sword, and then passed on without another word, faces stricken white. Evidently much of what had happened during his last time in Kyoto was engraved in the memories of the people, along with that etching of fear.
With his perpetual smile now tinged with a hint of sadness, Soujirou began walking again. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, feeling the smooth metal and lacquer and bindings. Try though he might to be kind and considerate, to help people, he had the feeling that they would still fear him simply because of the katana he used to defend them.
People, Soujirou concluded, were stupid.
Of course, he had been stupid too.
A tragic personal flaw that everyone bore. At least that was one way he was like a regular person.
Soujirou turned off the road and examined the building before him, thoughtfully folding his arms as he looked up at the police headquarters of Kyoto. If Saitou-san were anywhere in Kyoto, he'd probably be here--or be returning here, some time. Or perhaps Chou might be present.
He was here, in Kyoto, in front of the police headquarters, to confront his past and put to rest ghosts of memory that haunted him; he didn't fear them, but they afforded him little rest and no peace of mind. Not that he'd ever had real peace of mind, but it might be nice to just exist without constant memories new and old crowding his head. These yure were as transparent as rice paper, he could think right through them and they flapped away in the slightest breeze of thought, but the selfsame breeze always brought them fluttering back full-circle.
He had learned, through trial and error, that more disturbing memories sometimes shoved the lesser ones ("lesser" being a relative term) out of the way.
Perhaps if he saw Saitou-san, Miburo no Ookami, with that sneer on his lips and sarcastic words on his tongue and cigarette dangling from his white-gloved fingertips, the memory of that sardonic face would chase everything else away.
Surely the ex-Shinsengumi captain was scary enough to scare his ghosts away.
But even if he did, it was only a temporary thing. The memories would be back. Which is why he needed to find out from either Saitou-san or Chou-san where Himura Kenshin lived, so he could drop by and pay him a visit, and get things cleared up and laid down permanently. Solid comforting memories engraved in stone, like memorial tablets or gravestones...but without ghosts haunting them.
The self-proclaimed rurouni squared his shoulders and marched up to the doors, pushing them open and moving into the cool dark interior of the building.
notes:
obi = belt, not sure if that's exactly what it's called on hakama (anybody know...?)
yure = ghost
Ah...how long ago had he had walked the streets of Kyoto? To mingle amongst the people, those without extraordinary fighting ability? To browse the vendors and shops? To buy dango or takoyaki or anpan or yakitori from a cart? To smile at children passing by and nod respectfully to elders?
To run from the kesatsu for bearing a katana?
As for the last, only a few days, Soujirou conceded grudgingly, easily sidestepping into a convenient alley and avoiding the policeman, who continued to chase through the crowd of people for the boy bearing a sword, forbidden in the Meiji Era. The number of police in Kyoto had definitely increased, but that wasn't a surprise given the condition of the city whence he had left.
He stepped back another pace into the concealing shadows of the parallel buildings as the policeman stormed back, scowling at the loss of his prey, sabre hilt clutched in hand. It would have been no difficulty at all to kill or even just defeat the man, weak and poorly skilled as he was, but it would have led to more trouble than the temporary relief was worth. Was this how Himura felt? Like a lone wildcat hunted by ineffectual but persistent jackals, and he unable to strike them down because it would bring the whole pack down upon him?
Or maybe they were insects instead, he thought irritably, slapping at a buzzing bug near his ear and succeeding only in deafening himself, the insect taunting him as it circled around and around his head, lingering near his ears. If they weren't chirping, they were biting, and if they weren't biting, they were buzzing. Or all three.
It wasn't fair. He was Soujirou no Tenken, champion of godlike speed, unmatched by nearly nobody in the world but the Hitokiri Battousai, and yet he still couldn't rid himself of a buzzing insect. So much for that godlike speed.
With an irritated sigh, he pushed our of the alley and into the everyday throng of people, taking care to weave a convoluted enough path that nobody got a very good look at what was slipped through his obi and borne at his side. It proved easier than he expected to evade the police simply by mingling with the everyday commoners, and as quickly as they were moving they paid him little notice--and the few who did carefully avoided looking at him again as they passed by with extra hurry to their step.
Kesatsu...kesatsu...Soujirou had the feeling that he was forgetting something. Forgetting something important, that was one of the reasons he had decided to revisit Kyoto, monolith of his past. Something to do with the police--
He paused in mid-step and laughed at himself, smacking his head with a hand. Saitou-san, of course!
Several people bumped into him and admonished him sternly for stopping so abruptly. And as abruptly as he had stopped walking, they stopped talking once they noticed his sword, and then passed on without another word, faces stricken white. Evidently much of what had happened during his last time in Kyoto was engraved in the memories of the people, along with that etching of fear.
With his perpetual smile now tinged with a hint of sadness, Soujirou began walking again. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, feeling the smooth metal and lacquer and bindings. Try though he might to be kind and considerate, to help people, he had the feeling that they would still fear him simply because of the katana he used to defend them.
People, Soujirou concluded, were stupid.
Of course, he had been stupid too.
A tragic personal flaw that everyone bore. At least that was one way he was like a regular person.
Soujirou turned off the road and examined the building before him, thoughtfully folding his arms as he looked up at the police headquarters of Kyoto. If Saitou-san were anywhere in Kyoto, he'd probably be here--or be returning here, some time. Or perhaps Chou might be present.
He was here, in Kyoto, in front of the police headquarters, to confront his past and put to rest ghosts of memory that haunted him; he didn't fear them, but they afforded him little rest and no peace of mind. Not that he'd ever had real peace of mind, but it might be nice to just exist without constant memories new and old crowding his head. These yure were as transparent as rice paper, he could think right through them and they flapped away in the slightest breeze of thought, but the selfsame breeze always brought them fluttering back full-circle.
He had learned, through trial and error, that more disturbing memories sometimes shoved the lesser ones ("lesser" being a relative term) out of the way.
Perhaps if he saw Saitou-san, Miburo no Ookami, with that sneer on his lips and sarcastic words on his tongue and cigarette dangling from his white-gloved fingertips, the memory of that sardonic face would chase everything else away.
Surely the ex-Shinsengumi captain was scary enough to scare his ghosts away.
But even if he did, it was only a temporary thing. The memories would be back. Which is why he needed to find out from either Saitou-san or Chou-san where Himura Kenshin lived, so he could drop by and pay him a visit, and get things cleared up and laid down permanently. Solid comforting memories engraved in stone, like memorial tablets or gravestones...but without ghosts haunting them.
The self-proclaimed rurouni squared his shoulders and marched up to the doors, pushing them open and moving into the cool dark interior of the building.
notes:
obi = belt, not sure if that's exactly what it's called on hakama (anybody know...?)
yure = ghost