Now, please remember, or recall if you will, that I don't remember much of what happened. . . .there is obviously going to be quite a big gap in the story at this point. I don't know how long I was out, or what was going on while I was. But my mind becomes less foggy when . . .
There is a loud clash . . . a noise . . . oh my head . . . What's going on. Looking up I see that my pants and jacket are gone. So right now I am basically in nothing but my "kiss me, I'm Irish!" booty shorts and a white tank top. My legs are covered in scrapes and newly forming bruises. My head is killing me and I feel as if my arms have been ripped off. Lifting one finger to my lips, I taste blood. . . I'm bleeding . . . why?
"Idiot!" It's that voice again, the voice of that child. "You honestly thought that you could run . . . and from me, of all the stupid things." It was him, but where was the orange haired kid?
"Relax their lass . . .?" I looked toward the sky, to see the mess of curls.
"Perfect." My throat is scratchy. Trying to find my focus, the rain had gotten heavier, so on top of being half naked, I was also soaking wet (makes great combo with white tank top and a D bra size)
"Stop!" I jumped at that noise, the sound of it.
"Shit!" I found myself trying to scramble to my feet. "It's that thing, that, that." My legs started to wobble, and I fell back. My Irish buddy caught me with quiet ease, which surprised me; his arms were strong and firm.
Another hissing noise bounced off my ear drums and it grabbed my attention. That small child had unsheathed a sword (I think he called it a katana, some Japanese sword. Wha- this is California!) from somewhere in his garb and had stuck it through . . . whatever it was that had attacked me. . . Then, something weird happened. It started to smoke. .
"Hiei" Though it is Irish spit that fell in my face, it was still spit.
"Dude, watch the spit!" I said, but was ignored. He continued. . .
"He was supposed to be alive when we brought him back!"
"Hn." Was the response that was given. He was walking toward me. I hadn't noticed it until now, but he was wearing a black cloak that covered the full length of his body. .
"Foolish child," his voice somewhat frightened me, (afraid of a 5 year old, pathetic I know.) "You've seen too much."