Disclaimer - I do not own any of the characters from Rurouni Kenshin. They
were born form the imagination of Watsuki Nobuhiro. After all "No one owns
a Miburou!" Or a roosterhead. But the former sounded cooler, even though I
didn't come up with it.
He told me he was an apothecary.
I didn't believe it for a moment. No matter how many years one spent gripping a pestle, it would not create the calluses covering that man's hands. And his eyes...he had the eyes of a hungry predator, looking for its next meal. Golden irises swirling around the black pits of his pupils. They concealed all the war and slaughter he had seen throughout the years behind a cynical smirk.
I could lose myself in eyes like those.
This man...this Fujita Gorou...had me at a disadvantage. He knew of me...my reputation on the street, but it was more than that. It was as though his eyes could pierce through my very soul, to learn my every thought, desire, weakness.
Fujita-san was a dangerous man. And he was after Kenshin. Meanwhile, I was in his way. No, not even something that significant. He was to leave me as a warning to Kenshin. Just some sign, to be carelessly tacked up for others to view.
He made my blood boil . His arrogance, that I, Sagara Sanosuke, was just some object to be used in his little grudge against Kenshin. I would wipe that smirk off his face. He'd regret ever coming here.
The blow hit him cleanly, burrowing into his cheekbone. There was no sound of bones cracking, but I had not intended there to be. Once this bastard knew what he was up against, he'd hopefully be smart enough to retreat quietly. And that would be the end of it.
His eyes snapped open, and he fixed me with the most demented grin I'd ever seen. The punch hadn't affected him at all. It would be an understatement to say that I'd been shell-shocked. That's when it hit me: the shit had really hit the fan this time.
The sword moved so quickly up and forward that I didn't even have time to react to it. Besides the blade piercing my shoulder, the momentum carried both me and the man flying backwards and through the paper-thin walls of the dojo. The sword, being a cheap modern weapon, was unable to take the force exerted on it, and it snapped. Now things would get interesting.
Fujita seemed unbothered that I was up on my feet within seconds, and that this time he would face me unarmed. Once again, he moved lightning-fast, stepped through my guard, and with a blow with the heel of his palm, he drove the broken blade deeper into wound.
Even for me, that final attack was too much, and shock from the pain overtook my body. As I fell backwards, the man stared at me, a humorless smile curling his lips. A smile that didn't reach his cold beast eyes. Those piercing orbs were the last things I saw before darkness clouded my vision.
I could lose myself in eyes like those.
He told me he was an apothecary.
I didn't believe it for a moment. No matter how many years one spent gripping a pestle, it would not create the calluses covering that man's hands. And his eyes...he had the eyes of a hungry predator, looking for its next meal. Golden irises swirling around the black pits of his pupils. They concealed all the war and slaughter he had seen throughout the years behind a cynical smirk.
I could lose myself in eyes like those.
This man...this Fujita Gorou...had me at a disadvantage. He knew of me...my reputation on the street, but it was more than that. It was as though his eyes could pierce through my very soul, to learn my every thought, desire, weakness.
Fujita-san was a dangerous man. And he was after Kenshin. Meanwhile, I was in his way. No, not even something that significant. He was to leave me as a warning to Kenshin. Just some sign, to be carelessly tacked up for others to view.
He made my blood boil . His arrogance, that I, Sagara Sanosuke, was just some object to be used in his little grudge against Kenshin. I would wipe that smirk off his face. He'd regret ever coming here.
The blow hit him cleanly, burrowing into his cheekbone. There was no sound of bones cracking, but I had not intended there to be. Once this bastard knew what he was up against, he'd hopefully be smart enough to retreat quietly. And that would be the end of it.
His eyes snapped open, and he fixed me with the most demented grin I'd ever seen. The punch hadn't affected him at all. It would be an understatement to say that I'd been shell-shocked. That's when it hit me: the shit had really hit the fan this time.
The sword moved so quickly up and forward that I didn't even have time to react to it. Besides the blade piercing my shoulder, the momentum carried both me and the man flying backwards and through the paper-thin walls of the dojo. The sword, being a cheap modern weapon, was unable to take the force exerted on it, and it snapped. Now things would get interesting.
Fujita seemed unbothered that I was up on my feet within seconds, and that this time he would face me unarmed. Once again, he moved lightning-fast, stepped through my guard, and with a blow with the heel of his palm, he drove the broken blade deeper into wound.
Even for me, that final attack was too much, and shock from the pain overtook my body. As I fell backwards, the man stared at me, a humorless smile curling his lips. A smile that didn't reach his cold beast eyes. Those piercing orbs were the last things I saw before darkness clouded my vision.
I could lose myself in eyes like those.