The kusarikama whistled straight and true through the air to the
woodpile. A split second later, it made contact with the highest piece of
wood. The wood fell to the ground, but the kusarikama did it one better and
drove right into the dirt next to it.
Sota frowned, his mouth slightly open like he was going to say something. Why hadn't it worked? He'd done everything right. Throw it, let the chain run, hit the log, stop it - Wait. Stop it? He'd forgotten to catch the chain.
Sota smacked himself on the forehead with the flat of his palm and groaned. {I am so STUPID! Sango's going to think I'm a complete IDIOT!}
He turned to Sango, giving her a classic, 'I'm a helpless little modern boy, how could I know?' look. Sango was running her tongue along her bottom lip, seeming a bit unsure of what to say.
"Uh...don't worry, Sota. Just try again. It was a simple mistake. Just remember to catch the chain directly after the blade makes contact." Sota nodded and ran after the kusarikama, humiliation still burning in his gut. He pulled the top of the blade out of the soft ground, and was ashamed to know he'd gotten dirt and grass on it. He brushed the worst of it off, then cleaned the rest off on his shirt. No doubt Mrs. Higurashi would have a lecture for him when she saw the brown streak.
Sota wrapped the chain around one hand and walked, face still flushed, back to Sango. " It's not broken or anything," he said quietly. "Well, I didn't expect it would be," replied Sango, opposing the urge to laugh. Broken? As though a bit of rain-softened ground would even scratch the kusarikama.
"It'll take a bit more than that for it to break," she said gently.
"Oh. Oh, all right," said Sota, looking immensely relieved. He unwound the chain around his fist and stood in the stance Sango had shown him once again. {Arch, swing, let go, straighten out, and CATCH THE CHAIN. I can do this.} He followed the mental pattern, and the blade made direct contact with the piece of firewood, once third down, that was now on top.
He snapped his loose fit shut with just inches of chain left to hang slack behind his fist. The portion of chain in front of his fist snapped taut, and Sota barely had time to register that the blade was coming back before it was there.
"Sota!" Sango scolded. "You should never try to catch it by the blade, -always- the handle. You're lucky it didn't go back far enough to cut into your hand."
Sota gritted his teeth. "Sango, I have to go upstairs. I have to use the bathroom. Yeah," he said, and took off, pretending not to hear Sango's calls to give her the kusarikama first, and trying not to let her see the rivulets of blood that were trickling through his fingers.
"Ohh," Sota moaned as the cold water gurgled over his palm. The water, turned a pale shade of pink with his blood, swirled slowly down the drain. There was no way anyone could know about this - Kagome, Sango and his mother would all probably have a little meeting and decide to never let him hold so much as a butter knife ever again.
Sota opened the medicine cabinet with his left hand, right hand still held stiffly under the faucet. He pulled out some old athletic wrap of Kagome's and a wad of cotton balls, and set everything on the counter. Pulling a black hand towel from a rack close to the sink, he turned off the water and pressed the towel close to his palm to stem the flow of blood.
Quickly, he pulled it away and set three cotton balls in his palm in the shape of a triangle, which was the shape of the wound. Sota wound a strip of athletic wrap around it, his untrained left hand fumbling around the ends. The strip came to an end on the back of his hand when he could wind it no more, and Sota tucked the end under a fold, brought it back through, and tied a knot around it.
Crude, but it would suffice. Now all he had to do was make sure Kagome, Sango, and his mother never saw it.
Sota frowned, his mouth slightly open like he was going to say something. Why hadn't it worked? He'd done everything right. Throw it, let the chain run, hit the log, stop it - Wait. Stop it? He'd forgotten to catch the chain.
Sota smacked himself on the forehead with the flat of his palm and groaned. {I am so STUPID! Sango's going to think I'm a complete IDIOT!}
He turned to Sango, giving her a classic, 'I'm a helpless little modern boy, how could I know?' look. Sango was running her tongue along her bottom lip, seeming a bit unsure of what to say.
"Uh...don't worry, Sota. Just try again. It was a simple mistake. Just remember to catch the chain directly after the blade makes contact." Sota nodded and ran after the kusarikama, humiliation still burning in his gut. He pulled the top of the blade out of the soft ground, and was ashamed to know he'd gotten dirt and grass on it. He brushed the worst of it off, then cleaned the rest off on his shirt. No doubt Mrs. Higurashi would have a lecture for him when she saw the brown streak.
Sota wrapped the chain around one hand and walked, face still flushed, back to Sango. " It's not broken or anything," he said quietly. "Well, I didn't expect it would be," replied Sango, opposing the urge to laugh. Broken? As though a bit of rain-softened ground would even scratch the kusarikama.
"It'll take a bit more than that for it to break," she said gently.
"Oh. Oh, all right," said Sota, looking immensely relieved. He unwound the chain around his fist and stood in the stance Sango had shown him once again. {Arch, swing, let go, straighten out, and CATCH THE CHAIN. I can do this.} He followed the mental pattern, and the blade made direct contact with the piece of firewood, once third down, that was now on top.
He snapped his loose fit shut with just inches of chain left to hang slack behind his fist. The portion of chain in front of his fist snapped taut, and Sota barely had time to register that the blade was coming back before it was there.
"Sota!" Sango scolded. "You should never try to catch it by the blade, -always- the handle. You're lucky it didn't go back far enough to cut into your hand."
Sota gritted his teeth. "Sango, I have to go upstairs. I have to use the bathroom. Yeah," he said, and took off, pretending not to hear Sango's calls to give her the kusarikama first, and trying not to let her see the rivulets of blood that were trickling through his fingers.
"Ohh," Sota moaned as the cold water gurgled over his palm. The water, turned a pale shade of pink with his blood, swirled slowly down the drain. There was no way anyone could know about this - Kagome, Sango and his mother would all probably have a little meeting and decide to never let him hold so much as a butter knife ever again.
Sota opened the medicine cabinet with his left hand, right hand still held stiffly under the faucet. He pulled out some old athletic wrap of Kagome's and a wad of cotton balls, and set everything on the counter. Pulling a black hand towel from a rack close to the sink, he turned off the water and pressed the towel close to his palm to stem the flow of blood.
Quickly, he pulled it away and set three cotton balls in his palm in the shape of a triangle, which was the shape of the wound. Sota wound a strip of athletic wrap around it, his untrained left hand fumbling around the ends. The strip came to an end on the back of his hand when he could wind it no more, and Sota tucked the end under a fold, brought it back through, and tied a knot around it.
Crude, but it would suffice. Now all he had to do was make sure Kagome, Sango, and his mother never saw it.