Series: D.Gray Man
Characters: Kanda, Mugen
Rating: T (? for language)
Comments: Training. Tension builds. Things that were better left unsaid are spoken. The first falling out.
The moonlit clearing is perfectly still. No breeze stirs in the branches. No bird song breaks forth. In the almost eerie silence, a pair of shadows duel in deadly earnest, silver blades flashing brightly in the dark.
His breath burns in his throat and his sides ache. Sweat soaks his heavy fringe and drips into his eyes, momentarily causing his vision to blur. Blinking frantically, Kanda brings his blade up barely in time to block other blow. The shock reverberates down his arms, surprising him. Thankfully, muscle memory takes over and sends him leaping away before the next blow falls, a blow which could have easily decapitated him. It whirs by harmlessly, missing him by mere thumb-lengths. What's with her, he wonders, Normally, she didn't hit this hard.
Obviously, she's not in a good mood.
To hell with this. Some one keeps me up most of the night and then expects me to be fighting fit the next day. Snarling inwardly, he fights his anger down, channeling it carefully into the battle. Feinting with one hand to distract her, he lashes out with his sword. The superior reach of his longer weapon allows him to just touch the pale skin of his opponent's throat. In that position, he freezes, muscles trembling from the strain of holding back the lunge that would settle the fight once and for all. Only now, does he allow himself the faintest smirk of victory.
"Yield. I win this bout."
She's smiling again and gesturing downwards. A faint, sharpness pressing against his lower abdomen. He looks down impassively at the silver blade in her hands.
:Why don't we just call it a draw.:
"Why, I'll heal. Most of my opponents in your position, won't."
Her blade presses deeper, hinting at the drawing of blood.
:Call it. Or I'll make sure you make good on that boast: Her eyes are merciless, banked fires burn dangerously within. He is equally impassive. They face each other down, two poker-faced duelists, neither willing to give in.
"Che. Draw. What's with the temper anyway?"
:Coming from you. It's a wonder You noticed.: Mugen, lowers her own sword, turning away.
"I'm a little tired of having to fight someone who snipes nearly all the time, when she's not shoving her angst down my throat at night." Anger goes to war against a whole host of other emotions. It wars and wins.
:What do you mean by that?: Turning towards him, he can see that she's visibly paler and her mental voice shakes. The smaller voice of reason begs him to back off, but by now he's a little too irritated to hold back.
"You've been busy dying every night in my head. It's only a little disturbing." The words are torn from him. She's silent now, though her eyes glint suspiciously. Whether they be tears of anger or sadness, he cannot tell. He watches her back as she walks to Mugen's empty sheath and dematerializes in a shower of glowing sparks.
With her gone, the silence is deafening. His stomach growls, reminding him that it's been a while since his last meal.
Ah, to hell with it all. I'm going to get something to eat. With any luck, there should still be some soba left.