The corners of Urami's mouth writher slowly to form a sneer worthy of her
name. Deep within her, a monster stirs. A creation born to greed, hate,
pain, and discipline, it is a creature of death. In the back of her mind,
Urami watches it rear its ugly head with smug satisfaction.
With her cat-like ease, Urami slips through the bars and slinks out of the room. Hugging the corners of the hall, her instincts guide her to her quarry. She peaks into an open doorway, but a shock of fire colored hair identifies the person as her brother. Urami slips forth.
Silently, Urami pushes a door open and peers inside. Nope. A purple braid hangs off the edge of the bed. 'It's pretty bad when you have to identify people by their hair.' Urami thinks to herself, touching her own tresses. Noiselessly, she reaches the next room.
Finally! She is at Chichiri's quarters. Urami grabs her spare tanto from under her sleeve. Stealthily, she sneaks forward, raising her weapon for increased force. The monk's peaceful face is mask-less once again, bearing his scars. Urami grits her teeth, fighting her urge to leave him unhurt. A haunting voice arises in her mind. 'Weakling.' Nakago's voice mocks. Urami accidentally growls aloud, unknowingly giving Chichiri warning.
Urami thrusts her arm downward at his heart. Chichiri sits up and pushes her away in one fluid motion. Urami skids on her feet, then springs back with lightning speed. Launching himself out of bed, Chichiri meets her halfway. He grabs her arm, expecting her to try and stab him. Planning on this, the assassin head-butts him in the face. Surprised, he is knocked back with ease. Urami hits him again with a sweeping kick in mid-air. He collapses to the ground. Landing solidly on her feet, Urami looks down on the wreck of a man. "What a shame. Not much fight in you, is there?" She stomps on his back, earning a pained cry.
She steps back, admiring her work. The monk struggles to his feet then lunges at her, exerting a remarkable force. His superior weight pins her easily. She looks up into his face with a slight smirk. "Kinky." She whispers. Disgusted, Chichiri pulls himself away from her. Not knowing what to say, he picks up his staff. "Freak." He finally replies. Rising to her feet, Urami hisses. "You have no idea." Suddenly, his staff is under her jaw and pressed to her throat. A metal fan is held in front of her. "I told ye not to mess with my friend, bitch." Tasuki's familiar voice growls, though it barely reaching Urami's ears.
With her cat-like ease, Urami slips through the bars and slinks out of the room. Hugging the corners of the hall, her instincts guide her to her quarry. She peaks into an open doorway, but a shock of fire colored hair identifies the person as her brother. Urami slips forth.
Silently, Urami pushes a door open and peers inside. Nope. A purple braid hangs off the edge of the bed. 'It's pretty bad when you have to identify people by their hair.' Urami thinks to herself, touching her own tresses. Noiselessly, she reaches the next room.
Finally! She is at Chichiri's quarters. Urami grabs her spare tanto from under her sleeve. Stealthily, she sneaks forward, raising her weapon for increased force. The monk's peaceful face is mask-less once again, bearing his scars. Urami grits her teeth, fighting her urge to leave him unhurt. A haunting voice arises in her mind. 'Weakling.' Nakago's voice mocks. Urami accidentally growls aloud, unknowingly giving Chichiri warning.
Urami thrusts her arm downward at his heart. Chichiri sits up and pushes her away in one fluid motion. Urami skids on her feet, then springs back with lightning speed. Launching himself out of bed, Chichiri meets her halfway. He grabs her arm, expecting her to try and stab him. Planning on this, the assassin head-butts him in the face. Surprised, he is knocked back with ease. Urami hits him again with a sweeping kick in mid-air. He collapses to the ground. Landing solidly on her feet, Urami looks down on the wreck of a man. "What a shame. Not much fight in you, is there?" She stomps on his back, earning a pained cry.
She steps back, admiring her work. The monk struggles to his feet then lunges at her, exerting a remarkable force. His superior weight pins her easily. She looks up into his face with a slight smirk. "Kinky." She whispers. Disgusted, Chichiri pulls himself away from her. Not knowing what to say, he picks up his staff. "Freak." He finally replies. Rising to her feet, Urami hisses. "You have no idea." Suddenly, his staff is under her jaw and pressed to her throat. A metal fan is held in front of her. "I told ye not to mess with my friend, bitch." Tasuki's familiar voice growls, though it barely reaching Urami's ears.