Ginkotsu Rusts
Renkotsu always hated the rain. It proved deadly in battle, slowing down their movements, making them more sluggish, and worst of all, it rendered him useless. All his fire power, all his plans, washed away like writings in dirt.
Oh yes, Renkotsu did loathe the rain.
He was in his room, redesigning all their plans while the rest of the Shichinin-tai was outside doing what they loved the most – killing.
It was not often he felt lonely. Or left out.
But hearing the screaming and crying in the distance, Renkotsu truly felt the need for humanly contact.
About a good few hours later, the Shichinin-tai returned; tired, weak, wet, but triumph. As if their ooaniki would allow anything less.
When he saw the shifty looks on their faces, and Jakotsu's guilty smile, he knew something had gone wrong.
"Where's Ginkotsu?" he asked flatly.
"Well…" Jakotsu began nervously.
Bankotsu scratched his head in embarrassment. "We left him in the battle field."
Renkotsu hoped that this would not happen, oh, did he ever hope. Hopes were worth about as much as air in his world. "Why?"
"He was too heavy to move and…" Suikotsu tried to explain and looked at the other members for help.
Kyoukotsu burped. "He couldn't move. He was covered in browns stuff."
"Looked as ugly as anything," Mukotsu added.
Rust, that's what it was. Rust. Renkotsu sighed. He hated rain.