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 Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }

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Shiranui
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PostSubject: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Sat Jan 21, 2012 10:09 am

.A. fading myriad of color....
....Twist into shades of revolution



"The life of solitude suits me well.” Seijuro Hiko inquired whimsically, before pouring a small amount of fermented rice sake into the cylindrical cup situated on his makeshift table. Solitude…..eh? When did I become an idealistic old fool? He mulled, as greenish-brown eyes scrutinized the plain white walls devoid of unnecessary decorations which in normal sense might distract Hiko from his artistic creativity. Despite the fact his ’home’ wasn’t grandiose or eloquently furnish didn’t brother the jaded male at all, his handcrafted pottery had enough color to brighten up even the gloomiest room corner. Burnished earthenware lined every available shelf space in the diminutive timber shack, however the careful application of gloss over fired clay provided a brilliant contrast against tatami-covered floors. “Will the sake taste sweet today?” The raven-haired warrior asked out loud, knowing fathomable silence would be his sedentary cohort during his sake induced endeavors. The silence wasn’t always this heavy. His restless mind whispered, invoking pleasant memories spent in company of a certain red-headed male he had rescued after slave traders rendered the entire camp into a despicable grave site. Seijuro shook his head savagely, wanting nothing more then to burn each memory from mind. Why? What prompted him to suddenly feel remorseful? Because he had an incredible will to live. That stubborn apprentice of mine survived despite how hopeless his situation appeared. Indeed. The boy known simply as ’Shinta’ would be the legendary master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style someday, that is if his hotheaded student managed to complete the arduous training requirements. Brushing problematic thoughts aside, he pressed the vile of sake to his parched mouth, and as soon as the chilled liquid touched his tongue Hiko’s gag reflex kicked in. “T…Tastes bitter!” Rice wine should never taste acrid! Scrunching eyebrows together, the burly professor coughed until all traces of pungent sake left his mouth, yet the sickly sweet aftertaste stayed with him until a baritone sounding voice broke Seijuro out of his afflicted state.

What does my baka denshi want now?! Using the course mantle to wipe his mouth, the robust swordsmen climbed to his feet in one swift motion. Decades of intense physical training transformed lean muscle into sculptured pieces achieved through hours of hard work and dedication to training, surprisingly though the male’s broad body never impeded in his agile ability. Slipping loose bangs behind his left ear, Seijuro trekked across the short distance divided between his table, and the cloth-covered door tied partially upwards to let natural sunlight in. “He better not complain about hurting hands or else I’ll make him chop firewood all day!” Hiko groaned, showing blatant displeasure over the unintended interruption Kenshin had caused. Moving leather curtains aside, he stepped outside the homely-looking structure to meet his younger pupil face to face. Fiery red tresses complimented determined indigo eyes, however the light of determination wasn’t one the battle worn warrior wanted to see ever again. “That expression….” He noted quietly, as the fifteen-year old adolescent continued his silent walk through last nights accumulated snow. “The revolution in Edo has commenced….many innocent victims have already died! I can’t keep on training while many more lives are at stake….I have to do something! Master…I must go!” Kenshin suddenly blurted out, hoping his pleas would coax the stoic professor into a ceding understanding. “So…you would abandon your training because the outside world is in turmoil? Fool! Don’t be stupid…..finish your training! After all of this is over…you will be a stronger swordsmen.” Seijuro stated calmly, however his serene tone didn’t match the fierce expression of narrowed eyes. He doesn’t understand anything! Tightening hands beneath alabaster-colored cloak, the stout male shook his head helplessly for Kenshin Himura continued his naïve serenade of using the sword to usher in a new era of peace. “Silence! Your words are nothing….but garbage! How would one man wielding one sword hope to change history? Are you going to let yourself be the pawn of reprehensible men? The only petty experience you’ll ever witness in war is murder and death! To achieve victory….you will kill legions of men just because their ideals are different from yours! Whatever…do as you please! Go ahead….brand yourself a murderer.” Hiko retorted, knowing his warnings would fall on deaf ears. Your once pure heart will be torn asunder... Squaring rigid shoulders together, the raven-haired warrior took refuge inside his shack all the while leaving Himura Kenshin to wallow in self-ordained misery.

Had Seijuro Hiko locked himself away from society? Hadn’t the great swords master participated in previous revolutions before? Did he consider lower classed peasants as disposable fodder? “You don’t understand….master. You just don’t understand my motives. The principal of Hitsen Mitsurugi is useless if I can’t use it to save the lives of innocent civilians.” Kenshin mouthed involuntarily, blatant shock evident on his angular features. “What did I do wrong? Is it wrong of me to help the less fortunate?” Why? Why would the red-head abandon five years worth of laborious training? Was he passionate enough in his ideals to leave his solitary instructor alone once again? Let your survival be your families’ memorial. Five years. It had been five long and agonizing years since ten-year old ’Shinta’ witnessed the cruel slaughter of his adopted family right before his eyes. My survival… If Hiko hadn’t shown up on time, Kenshin would’ve become just another routine causality in the never-ending cycle of violence. “Sumimasen…..” The fifteen-year old adolescent apologized between gritted teeth “Perhaps…I’ll be branded a murderer. Perhaps…these hands of mine will become soiled in blood…but I can’t stay blissfully ignorant of another’s suffering. Five years ago…I could do nothing to prevent Akane and Ayame from being killed.” He had the strength. He had the element of youth on his side, however Kenshin’s mentally didn’t comprehend the full brutally of guerilla warfare. Glinting cerulean hues ghosted across the footfalls left behind in the snow by Seijuro, yet the strong memories tying him here were as fleeting as the changing seasons. “Thank you.” Himura muttered at last, bowing his head in tribute to the man who had been his master and adopted father during chaotic times. Are you sure about this? His rational mind inquired, although the red-haired male unsheathed his katana in response. Polished silver reflected Kenshin’s taut facial expression as his indigo-colored eyes flickered between Seijuro’s humble home and the snow laden path leading down to war torn Edo. “Good bye.” Mumbling his final words of departure, the vermilion-haired youth vanished into the rising mist. My sword will bring about a new era...of that you can be certain.

----

“Katsura? Katsura? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm? What do you need Tama? I’m really busy right now.”

“You’re always busy! Since the rebellion started four years ago…you haven’t looked at the Sakura petals even once! Look at you! Look at how the strain of war has debilitated everyone…”

“Perceptive as always eh? Spring did indeed arrive early this year….though I must say the falling petals remind me of blood rain.”

“A rain of blood? Blood rain….don’t tell me he is here?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken into account how vital Battousai is for our group. Without him on our side…we wouldn’t stand a chance against the Shinsengumi.”

“Katsura….how long do you think Battousai can hold out? I’ve only seen brief glimpses of him…but that boy is way too young to be a professional assassin. Sooner or later…all those actions will comeback to haunt him."

“The warnings maybe already too late. Every time his sword slices into another person…the boy loses a part of himself. There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind….that Battousai knows in his heart of the atrocities he has committed by his own hands.” Katsura explained “Though isn‘t it ironic…how tragedy can transform any sane man into a devil?” Letting his questionable analogy dangled unanswered, the dark-haired captain eyed Tama warily, as if expecting the iron-willed women to collapse from induced shock. Tama…can we really function as a married couple? Much like the notorious Battousai his loyalties belonged to the Choshu group ,and putting his beloved fiancée in danger was the last thing Katsura wanted for her. Selfish motives perhaps? Marriage? What is marriage for? The last married couple I sent to Osaka met their end rather tragically. Reflecting on past mistakes wouldn’t necessarily relieve the mounting tension on his shoulders, but at least he held enough knowledge in his hand to prevent another tragedy from befalling his beloved Tama. “Captain! Captain! Pardon the sudden intrusion…but my men have gain insight as to where the Shinsengumi are hiding. Sources pinpoint their location to a remote village thirty minutes from here, I believe the group might be up to no good.” The samurai explained, watching Katsura’s facial expression contort between apprehension and barely veiled rage. “Are you absolutely certain? If the Shinsengumi split up…I’m certain their planning on attacking Edo again. Why would the group split up though? Quantity in numbers might have a better chance at overtaking our group….unless…” His analysis tapered abruptly as a familiar looking figure stepped into the dim candle light. Dancing yellow flames transformed Kenshin’s violet gaze into burning amber pools, which indicated Hitokiri Battousai had slipped in unseen and undetected. “It’s a mere distraction.” The red-head commented coldly “Sending the entire Choshu Ishin after them leaves Edo completely unprotected.” He finished his sentence, dead silence suffocated the entire room while Katsura considered Himura’s observation carefully. “You’re right…leaving the city unprotected means greater causalities among the civilians. I will have part of the Choshu group stay here to man the city, but you and Battousai shall take the remaining members to the remote village. Perhaps…it would be best for you to start heading out…anymore delay ensures annihilation for the innocent civilians.” Waving right hand in a dismissive gesture, the older male sent his two most trusted men and the Choshu-Ishin after the offensive clan.

We could’ve lived like this if you hadn’t picked up a sword. You would be happy with some land and some seeds to plant. Why couldn’t the haunting voices cease to exist? Why did Kenshin remember those words after three years? My humanity was on the verge of losing itself in madness. The red-haired adolescent reflected quietly, instinctively resting his left hand on the katana’s cold hilt. The simple gesture could be equated to seeking comfort from a known source or perhaps sheer paranoia played an important factor in the boy making sure his battle weapon hadn’t gone on missing. “Are you ready?” Hisoka interrogated, sardonic bemusement illuminating his facial expression “Or did the incident two years ago cause your swordsman spirit to break?” The youth understood how risky mocking words were to the Hitokiri, however Battousai had never shown any aggressive tendencies towards his comrades. You were always Katsura’s most trusted prodigy! You always had everything handed out on a silver platter! Anger nearly clouded his rational judgment, but any experienced samurai knew passionate sentiments made concentration impossible on many levels. In fact the mocking words caused an undesired effect on Kenshin Himura, for he had stiffened noticeably. “Let’s go.” Himura responded shortly, boring narrowed violet eyes into Hisoka’s widening brown ones. Despite arrogance being Kamachi Hisoka’s deepest fault, he knew from experience that Battousai’s demeanor remained consistently unpredictable. Jealousy will only lead you down the path of self-destruction. Kenshin contemplated, before darting through paper thin doors, and into the deserted streets of Edo. Unpleasant silence met the young warrior until Hisoka appeared besides him with slender hand touching the katana for good measure. “The remote village lies south of here….I’m sure the Ishin samurai have gone ahead of us.” The brunette hissed beneath his breath, although the red-head figured out the location long before Hisoka ever did. Go ahead….brand yourself a murderer! Seijuro’s scornful tone filled the nineteen-year old adolescent with guilt, unfortunately Kenshin Himura had already branded himself a murderer. Hitokiri Battousai. Himura the manslayer. Fitting names for a man stained in blood right? Shaking unnecessary concerns from mind, the ginger-haired samurai acknowledged his companion’s words before allowing Hisoka the pleasure of leading him up Edo’s main city square and into the isolated panorama called Jima forest.

What atrocities would Himura encounter? Had the Choshu arrived on time as planned? Time was of the essence if unnecessary bloodshed was too be avoided , but running at full speed through craggy terrain wasn’t helping either samurai advanced through the dense foliage. Hundred year old cypress trees lay scattered in various positions conveniently placed by mother nature herself to provide weary travelers with ample shelter from the elements, however the biological sanctuary also hid common dangers for traveling swordsmen. The wolves of Mibu or Shinsengumi as they were commonly known through out Edo lived up to their name sake, after all wolves cooperating with each other were capable of catching their intended victims off guard. There is no end too this forest. The Battousai observed, placing his right hand gingerly on the katana’s ornate hilt. As much as he was tempted to cut time by hacking an alternative route, the red-haired swordsmen knew better then too risk being spotted wielding his blade out in the open countryside. Risky. Very Risky. Releasing his scabbard took tremendous will power to achieve, seeing as Kenshin’s paranoia hadn’t faded away since Hisoka spoke those contempt filled words at him. Why? Why did the young samurai loath him so much? Contorting slender eyebrows thoughtfully, the nineteen-year old adolescent considered Kamachi’s odd attitude carefully. An ill-tempered samurai had greater possibility of betraying his comrades in battle, though Himura wondered if Hisoka would stoop so low. The abrupt shift in wind direction brought about an unsettled feeling within the Hitokiri Battousai as fresh blood and distant screams filled the surrounding landscape. “It has started.” Hisoka commented out of the blue, instinctively drawing his katana from it’s sheath, and jumping straight into the entangled mass of Shinsengumi troops fighting against Choshu-Ishin samurai. Do you really want to fight? Are you willing to kill again? The teen’s subconscious mind spoke, while Kenshin Himura scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger. Hazardous objects in motion remained faraway, although indigo hues captured graphic images of torn corpses littered across the grassy terrain. I don’t have a choice! If the Shinsengumi aren’t defeated here…they will only take more innocent lives! He reasoned logically, promptly swinging his sword out to parry an attack, as one of the turquoise-clad warriors charged full speed at him. Jumping quickly backwards, the vermilion-haired youth relied heavily on his speed to use the fabled Hitsen Mitsurugi style against the opposing enemy. Slanting the katana slightly too the left, Kenshin unleashed his pent up rage upon the unsuspecting warrior; sword clashed against sword sending both sparks and blood spraying straight into the air

“Captain Hisoka!”

“Yes?! What is it?!”

“The Shinsengumi are no longer a threat to this village….we have caught the remaining survivors and will have them returned to headquarters for interrogation.”

“What about civilian casualties?”

“I’m afraid half the village has been decimated….we do have an elderly couple who survived the carnage though. Our men tried questioning the pair…but they refuse to cooperate with us. The woman is crying hysterically…however the male is shouting obscenities."

“Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! Ungrateful wretches should be executed for disrespecting the samurai!”

“May you find happiness in the afterlife.” The auburn-haired swordsmen murmured beneath his breath, eyelids squeezed shut momentarily blocking out macabre scenes of death from Kenshin’s sight. He should be used to seeing death everywhere. He should be used to the assigned task of killing men over an ideology. He shouldn’t feel remorse for taking lives with his very own sword. What if they had a family? Himura contemplated somberly, parting eyelids taking in the vast amounts of blood dripping from his curved saber to the floor below. “I’m probably covered in more blood…then my sword could ever be.” Quivering lips curled into a humorless smile, as he recognized the undertones of irony lining his wistful words. “Battousai? Where are you? Ah…there you are.” The brunette male called out, his authoritative voice commanding Himura’s undivided attention immediately “You’ve done an excellent job so far playing the part of Hitokiri. I can see why the name ‘Battousai’ strikes fear into your opponents….you hardly give them any opportunity to scream.” Fake chuckles escape through pursed lips, until Hisoka’s faux amusement ended abruptly “Say Himura…do you know what the penalty is for offensive behavior towards a samurai? I’m absolutely certain such horrendous acts carry the heavy weight of execution isn’t that right?” Shimmering brown orbs studied his companion’s behavior closely, for the russet-haired adolescent wished every ounce of bad luck to befall Katsura’s favorite swordsmen. “What do you want from me?” Kenshin hissed in response, tightening petite fingers around the hilt till knuckles became white from exerting vast amounts of pressure on them. “You’re Battousai the manslayer right? I have a simple task you must accomplish…let me see.” Moving muscular body aside, the eighteen year old male stepped aside revealing the only civilians to survive the Shinsengumi occupation. However, their emotional state could be called deplorable especially in how Hisoka treated them like inanimate objects capable of feeling no pain. “Those people….why are you treating them badly?” The red-haired youth interrogated, locking indigo eyes squarely on Hisoka’s fiery-filled brown ones. “Because…they disrespect the Choshu clan! Death must be dealt swiftly and accurately Battousai! The task of taking their lives will fall on you….after all its only right the fabled assassin take more lives!” Is that how he viewed the life of the living? Were the civilians truly disposable? My promise was to usher in a new era….not massacre the innocent! Kenshin retorted mentally, feeling partially numb inside. Battousai the manslayer…born out of chaotic times. Gritting teeth back and forth, he watched the elderly couple pray profusely to the heavens for one last opportunity to see their adopted daughter Kadory before Himura ended their life for good. “This isn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Swallowing dryly, the red-haired samurai raised his bloodied weapon above their heads ready to strike them down with the stained sword, but at the last instant Kenshin froze in mid-swing. I can’t! I simply can’t! Whether guilt stopped him from become Battousai once again remained to be seen, however the hesitation displayed by Himura Kenshin left him completely vulnerable to the unmerciful elements.


OCC: Phew...finally posted! Hope this is sufficient to allow your character to come in as she pleases. I had so much fun typing this up Smile

Disclaimer: Kenshin Himura belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki



Last edited by Shiranui on Sat Jan 21, 2012 10:19 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Sat Jan 21, 2012 10:10 am

“We have no money for food,” the elderly woman commented casually. She always said this before dinnertime—never a day passed when these words weren’t spoken (or simply uttered) at least once. The fiery-haired, younger, woman simply smiled and shook her head. Her adopted mother, while saying this, was cutting up a head of cabbage.

The cabbage, however, had been stolen. Kadory had yet to tell her adopted mother—Sarai—that it had not been bought.

After a moment’s thought and a fond look around the ragtag shelter, Kadory sighed, “Yet we have a roof over our heads and we have each other. If you are really so hungry, mother, I can go out and hunt.”

Sarai looked at Kadory thoughtfully, her bright green eyes scrutinizing every aspect of her. Despite her youth and unbecoming lack of proper education, Kadory was quite intelligent—and sly. Not only was that deceiving, but her slim, rather lanky build completely betrayed the strength that Kadory had acquired of the years by training herself. Sarai disapproved of Kadory’s daily escapades, not enjoying the fact that Kadory returned home without being able to stand on her feet for more than a few minutes, much less walk.

On top of that, the entire family never got a sufficient amount of food. Occasionally the spunk redhead would bring home a deer, large enough to last an entire week, but even that was becoming rarer and rarer in these troubled times. That never stopped Kadory from going out and hunting—she said she “liked the risk.”

Succumbing to her own selfish desires, Sarai shook her head and continued chopping up the cabbage, “If you must, dear. Just remember to be home before dusk. And if you see Kyrro tell him to come home.”

Kadory nodded, moving to the left side of the two-room hut and grabbing the necessary things: her bow and quiver of arrows (with laboriously hand-made arrowheads), her dagger, and her ever-present belt in which she stored her weapons. As Kadory reached the door, she turned and took in a deep breath of her home’s aroma.

Cabbage, freshly chopped wood, people in their elderly age, and the slight hint of the fire that was crackling on the right-hand side of the room. The smell wasn’t pleasant to outsiders (she remember very well her first reaction to the pungent odor), but to her it smelled of home, and she’d miss it when she finally decided to leave this home and find one of her own—seeing as she was well past the age of being able to care for herself. Something about her foster parents kept her there.

“Stay safe!” Kadory called over her shoulder, pulling herself away from her thoughts, “With and luck, our stomachs will not go hungry tonight!”
- - - -
The promise had been good enough for her mother. The promise of food had sufficed. Though she knew her parents wouldn’t judge her, she absolutely loathed coming home empty-handed. It’d been a waste of time and energy, only to return without a simple fowl to eat.

She stared at her shoes, noting their worn leather would need patching of some sort; and her baggy hand-me-down pants from her father would probably need hemming. Kadory had started to zone out a bit when her foot landed with an unexpected splash. Pulling her foot up and examining what she’d stepped in, Kadory clenched her teeth.

The shiny red fluid was unmistakable. As she lifted her brown eyes upward, cat ears twitching angrily, she scanned the horizon for where the blood had come from. She saw who it belonged to, no more than two yards away, to her right, was an emaciated corpse, their clothes drenched in a crimson rain. Peeling off her leather gloves, Kadory kneeled beside the body of the corpse, flipping it gently onto its back. The face, however, had been slashed beyond recognition. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably as she wondered who would’ve done this—it was obvious that it had been no accident.

Face hardening, Kadory slipped her gloves back on and picked up a silent yet desperate run. She was forced multiple times to hop out of the way of mutilated carcasses. The whole village reeked of metallic blood, making her scrunch up her nose. She flipped out her dagger, her mind racing. Who had come here? Who was cruel enough to obliterate more than half of a village? Who would destroy the peace that’d once been here—a peace that hadn’t been intended to be broken by the people who lived in it? And, more importantly, who’s throat would she have to cut out if any harm had come to the couple who had raised her for 18 years of her life?

When she reached their heart, her heart caught in her throat. The hand-made cherry wood table and chairs had been overturned, the fire doused, its big billowing thunderclouds of smoke making the air nearly completely un-breathable. The only few wall decors had either been dismantled completely and lay cracked on the floor, or were strewn unevenly against the wall. And to her great horror, her foster parents weren’t there.

Rushing through the already-broken doors, Kadory let herself out onto the blood-soaked streets. Clutching her dagger’s hilt to the point that her knuckles whitened under the force of her fist, she began to make her way to the edge of the village, her heart heavy. She stopped when she heard voices: two familiar, two un. The two she recognized filled her with hope, though they were praying and shouting up at the heavens for something, the tears garbling their voices so Kadory had a hard time deciphering what the couple was saying.

Slinking deftly through the shadows of the houses, Kadory came upon a small group of people, all armed with weapons that made her dagger look no more threatening than a toothpick. Though she was very aware that her weapon was highly inferior to that of her opponents, she had to protect her family, no matter the cost. If that meant the shedding of her own blood, Kadory would gladly apply herself in order to keep the people she loved safe and sound from the intruders that surrounded them now.

Kadory flinched when she saw a samurai who was in the middle of what seemed to be an execution, swing his sword downwards to halve her family. To her surprise, he stopped in mid-swing, seemingly hesitant on killing the older innocents. Without a second to spare, Kadory dashed out from her hiding spot in the shadows, shoving her way through the other samurais (many of whom tried to grab her, but her determination worked in her favor) and severed the distance between the redheaded assassin and her parents.

Though she knew he’d stopped swinging, Kadory put her dagger against his blade, with a small clink! No matter the predicament, she couldn’t help but notice the odd features of the male assassin, who looked to be around her age, possibly even younger. She could tell almost instantly that he was a good swordsman, and the features describing his build and facial features made her remember something. A name…nonetheless, the name didn’t come to her right away, and she quickly dropped the idea. Now was not the time to let her guard down.

Applying force to her dagger, hoping to push him back a bit (she didn’t want to cause anymore bloodshed if necessary; there was enough blood in this town to coat a whole ocean, or so it seemed), and hissed, “You’re going to have to kill me before you so much as lay a finger on them.” Kadory’s expression went taut, her gaze unwavering as she glared into his strangely indigo eyes.


OOC: sorry it sucks. XD but yours was good!
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PostSubject: Re: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Sat Jan 28, 2012 2:41 pm


A. fading myriad of color....
....Twisted into shades of revolution


‘What have we done to deserve such a wretched punishment? Haven’t these people caused enough heartache already?’ The old man questioned contemptuously, struggling internally to quell the ever increasing sentiment of hatred and desperation forming in his stomach. ’Why don’t you give up? Why are you stubbornly clinging to life? No matter how much you struggle or plead…these men will never know the true meaning of mercy ’ His subconscious whispered ‘Look at the bright side…after your execution ends…you and your wife will rest six feet underground.’ Death was part of a natural life cycle right? The elderly would simply waste away, leaving behind bundles of precious knowledge to be exploited by ungrateful charlatans. “A-All of you are murderers! What do you demand from us? Respect? Money? Gratitude? Why would I express my gratitude to a bunch of corrupt samurai!? The poor are merely disposable assets to the dishonorable swordsmen who only reign in vast amounts of terror!” Insulting the swordsmen with his sharp tongued beliefs might not be the best approach to dealing with hostility, however on the other hand staying silent gave the warriors a chance to practice domineering through displays of intimidation. ‘How far can ambition carry a man too do terrible deeds?’ He understood poverty was a catalyst for barbaric acts committed in the name of survival, yet the brutal murders associated with the ’honorable’ samurai contradicted every notion known to man. Did these swordsmen have family? Had any of them experienced the feeling of death firsthand? Brushing trivial conjectures aside, the elderly male wrestled fruitlessly in his vulnerable position attempting rather unsuccessfully to rid himself of the rigid twine binding both wrists together. If Kyrro could liberate himself long enough to free his wife Sarai and draw attention away from her, she might have a better chance of surviving. He overlooked one tiny detail though. How would he cut his wife’s bindings? ‘It would be a miracle if we escaped out of this alive.’ Impossible. Escape was absolutely impossible. He and Sarai were destined to meet their end at the hands of a so called ‘praiseworthy’ warrior. Twisting head sideways, Kyrro offered his long term companion what little comfort he could muster - a loving smile filled with genuine sentiment. “Please forgive me Sarai….please…” He half choked between restrained sobs “I should’ve listened to what my heart was telling me! You were never intended to become a needless victim of this senseless war!”

“Are you insinuating I’m a murderer?! How dare you bring dishonor to our name! If we hadn’t arrived on time this pathetic village would’ve been wiped off the map!” Hisoka remarked neutrally “Of course…what would a peasant farmer know about ambition? You’re poor…not to mention quite illiterate. The new government doesn’t need refuse like you running the show. Don’t worry about your impending death sentence, Battousai has a reputation for swift kills!” Letting his morbid speech gradually sink in, the brunette-haired youth snickered beneath his breath “Foolish old man…what were you thinking? Humiliating me was your worst blunder yet…and to think I was planning a proper funeral arrangement.” Should he leave the bodies to decompose naturally? Or should Hisoka convert the deceased occupants into macabre trophies? ‘My son… you will encounter treacherous men on the battlefield…..in order to survive one must take advantage of any present opportunity. Humanity in war can be exploited by enemies and comrades alike…remember the wise saying nice guys always finish last.’ Were these valid reasons to plant apathetic thoughts into a fragile human mind? ’Fragile human mind? What am I talking about? Fragile minds only pertain to dismal idealists wanting equal justice for all of mankind!’ Egalitarianism obliged flimsy leaders to assist the financially deficient farmers with free distribution of precious supplements, however the swordsmen battling for their lives day and night struggled constantly to survive on despicable snippets left by the poverty stricken farmers. ‘Why Katsura?! Why prefer him over me? Have I not proven my worth as a responsible swordsmen?!’ Perhaps Katsura planned on pitting his two most experienced swordsmen against each other? For what valid reason though? “I…..I despise Kogoro Katsura.” He spat between gritted teeth as honey-colored eyes studied Kyrro’s body language tentatively. The elderly male displayed palpable signs of wanting to fight against his predestined execution, but the russet-haired adolescent would ensure every last civilian in this remote village paid with fire and brimstone. “Why should she forgive you? Isn’t it your fault for opening your mouth in the first place? Still I find public displays of affection to be trivial assets. Love is the weakest emotion anyone can experience…it is a dirty sentiment I as a swordsmen will never display.” It wasn't unusual for Hisoka to keep controversial topics hidden from sight, especially if said opinions mentioned involvement in the needless massacre of innocent civilians - still the inoffensive lexicons could provoke an unintended reaction from Kenshin Himura.

What glory could a four year war bring to the countless citizens whose livelihoods were wiped out instantaneously? Had the self-righteous swordsmen forgotten their original purpose? Humility and temperance were once character traits highly admired among the aristocratic class, but now chivalry seemed more like a pleasant dream from the distant past. Absolute power corrupted weak-minded merchants ,who in turn gave away all their hard earned wealth to obtain the exclusive privilege of abusing the unstable Japanese infrastructure known as sovereignty. The island nation had already sustained enough plundering from foreign countries wanting to extend their vast empires into fertile land, of course Japan wouldn’t fall easily unless the internal government collapsed. ’Our proud Japanese heritage threatens to be divided if both sides don’t reach an agreement soon.’ Kyrro contemplated scathingly, although internally he loathed himself for allowing pessimistic thoughts to persuade him so easily. Why should he care about nonsensical thoughts? Why should the elderly male care if the central government crumbled before his very eyes? ‘Sarai…Kadory..’ His mind mustered up images of the two most important people in his life - Sarai being the first person who understood Kyrro’s traumatic past ,and his deep involvement as a samurai during the bloodiest revolution. ‘If we die here….how will Kadory fare?’ He asked himself internally, yet his foster daughter had more advantages then the average girl living out their lives in relative comfort. Kadory held remarkable knowledge of how to utilize raw materials into useful objects - still despite all the innate talents his adopted daughter possessed; Kyrro feared she would lead a solitary life. After all the greater majority of society found great displeasure in assimilating humanoids, particularly those baring anatomical abnormalities into their niche for fear the latter would unbalance strict traditional values. “How predictable! Expecting respect from your would-be-victim is laughable by nature. No one in their right mind would show deference to an adolescent still wet behind the ear!” The older male retorted bitterly, demolishing inner laments as he chose instead to face Hisoka’s egotistical nature head on. Flouting subsidiary remarks aside, Kyrro’s jaded gaze bore deeper into the brunette’s twisted psyche - while examining the boy’s brutal nature with a pained sense of reality dawning before his eyes. ’Such a pity….that at this age boys would lose their innocence.’ Piteous how the real world worked right? “My fault? The offender always finds excuses to relieve the burden from their own shoulders correct? I refuse to comment on your misshapen attitude pertaining to love…evidently someone of such high caliber doesn’t need distractions.” Thinning leathery lips into a forlorn grin, Kyrro decided to allowed himself the luxury of watching his intended ‘executioner’ materialize out of the shadows.

Traditional folklore constituted of gossip acquired through outside sources, and brought into the secluded village via the artistic method of orally spoken rumors passed down from one generation to the next generation. Perpetual legends had a chance to flourish untouched in a barren community devoid of foreign intrusions, consequently the minimal passage of traffic ensured the myths purity. Desolation had once provided ample protection against trouble looming past the distant horizon, however in recent times Jima’s hearsay resonated with a different tone. Youkai, ghosts and otherworldly apparitions slowly diminished from local legend - replaced by a mysterious swordsmen capable of murdering hundreds with a single sword strike. Were the story tellers rehashing traveler’s experiences into falsified information? Was it even possible for a mortal man to slaughter legions without sustaining injury to himself? “Farfetched fabrications…my old mind must be at it again.” Kyrro surmised, instinctively coming to the conclusion that his fellow villagers needed a new source of entertainment. If the mere mention of an assassin sent townspeople into chaos, then most of what the old man heard rung true; which meant said warrior might be hidden away. ’What should I do? Is this the end of the line for both of us? Can Kadory cope alone? What about our beautiful village? Eighteen long years living in peace….while the world beyond fell into chaos. Who would’ve thought Jima’s demise came in the form of ’honorable’ devils disguised as samurai!’ Holding onto prized memories made departure almost bittersweet in some aspects, yet his greatest wish was for his surviving daughter to remember her parents in their ecstatic moments. He didn’t want Kadory’s smile to falter - but inner anguish sometimes succeeded in smothering happiness. Who ever heard of preexistent joy during warfare? Perhaps, the only bliss present on the battlefield came from victorious soldiers enjoying their conquest. ‘Faux victory at the expense of others.’ The grey-haired male brooded, mentally picturing the ’executioner’ as an older military man - highly regarded in his regiment for his expertise’s in slaughtering defiant scoundrels; undoubtedly, Kyrro and Sarai wouldn’t be the only victims dealt with an unjust capital punishment. ’What appearance will my murderer take? Will he do the job slowly?’ Jostling macabre thoughts aside, he tried forming visual images in his head to correspond with the shadowy figure emerging out of the darkness almost menacingly. Regardless of his retired military status, the ex-samurai still possessed the ability to decipher physical prowess based on a careful analysis of bodily movements, although his earlier postulations dissolved like ashes in water - rendering the totality of his assessments useless. Forlorn smile immediately faded from Kyrro’s face, replaced by a grimace as the dark figure turned out to be an adolescent looking no older then nineteen-years of age.

‘I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it!? Are my eyes deceiving me again? My executioner isn’t an adult like I originally expected….he’s nothing….but a mere child still.’ Was the regimen recruiting naïve youngsters to fight in their cruel battles? How could the older samurai allow such a despicable act to occur? Weren’t well educated children Japan’s only hope of survival? Or would the government simply stand aside without lifting a single finger? ’Death lies all around us…while the sickly sweet stench of blood entangles him..’ Calamity, impregnable silence, and despondent sorrow combined into an overwrought atmosphere, generating an eerie situation parallel to the one Kyrro went through nearly twenty-five years ago. Lucid images illustrating premeditated attacks on harmless civilians broke through the elder’s concentration briefly, sending him into the past when Sekigahara exploded into a gory full scale battle which resulted in heavy casualties. Would history repeat itself again? ’If high ranking officials ceased to be greedy…another battle like Sekigahara could’ve been avoided. Although I’m no longer an active swordsmen…I know many brave samurai risked their own lives to secure a better future for Japan.’ Sacrifices alone couldn’t solve many of the islands internal matters ,nor could opposing groups rally support in light of all the fatalities caused by ronins running amuck. Sadly, the central government only cared about unification of valuable goods - instead of questioning why minors had become increasingly violent. The continual strain between two opposing sides had spiraled out of control; giving rise to disastrous consequences as demonstrated by Jima’s scarlet covered streets ,and mangled corpses littering every inch of the city square. “People are losing hope…..” Kyrro mouthed lowly, resigning himself to an inevitable fate of execution at the hands of a skilled youngster. ’Reputation for swift kills….the corrupted youth called him Battousai? That name sounds quite familiar, but where have I heard it before? Could the legendary Battousai be the one standing in front of me?’ Should he even risk staring at the approaching young man? “Does it really matter anymore? We might as well face reality head on.” He spoke softly, making sure Sarai was the only person who heard his voice. Twisting his head slightly to the right, the grey-haired male settled hazel colored eyes on exotic attributes few individuals ever saw in their lifetime. Indigo optics emanated coldness, auburn tresses reminded Kyrro of freshly spilt blood, but the most sobering feature he saw on the red-head was his emotionless face. ’No mistaking it….he is the Battousai!’ Dawning realization nearly knocked the air out of Kyrro’s lungs, as the ginger-haired assassin moved slowly in his direction - brandishing a silver katana equipped for quick disposal of condemned prisoners.

“Are we done already? Did the other samurai runaway like cowards? I was seriously expecting more opposition from the Shogunate government and their corrupt lackeys.” Katsura growled softly, rotating his head in both directions to survey structural damage as well as assessing how many of his own group members perished battling untrained warriors. He was pleasantly surprised though to see the snow beneath his feet dyed crimson - after all the blood of despicable sinners should be abolished for the greater good of the country. “Don’t forget the people living their life in constant repression.” He added, sheathing his katana into it’s scabbard before navigating an erratic path carved into the ice; surely the trail had been excavated by Hitokiri Battousai himself to lead all party members to safety. Hitokiri Battousai, the legendary manslayer who had gained celebrity status almost overnight due to his impressive maneuvers remained largely unknown to the public eye. No one had ever seen his face, after all the only signs indicating his presence lay carved in the very flesh of his unlucky victims. “Murdering without remorse…the kid really does a good job.” Kogoro Katsura told himself, cresting up a steep slope until his sharp gaze picked up strands of reddish-gold hair whipping in the wind and a dripping blade froze mid air. The rising sun cast eerie shadows around the trembling figure, creating an allusion of how terrifying Battousai must be in the eyes of those unused to seeing an adolescent wield a sword with such grace. “Himura? Mr. Himura are you alright?” Tossing ridiculous observations aside the raven-haired male quickly ran to Kenshin’s side - shocked beyond belief when red-rimmed indigo eyes meet his ashen-colored ones. “The snow….why is the snow turning red?” Himura whispered “Why would I kill a man? For Japan….I will bury all my emotions…I will create an equal society free of corruption…even if it means losing my heart in the process. Katsura….I’ll become Hitokiri Battousai..” The red-headed assassin averted eyes to the floor, a bitter smile playing across his lips for he knew the implications of what he had just done. Hitokiri, the nickname given to a select few willing to become shadow assassins for the Choshu Ishin - in this particular case Himura Kenshin was chosen. One marveled why a fifteen-year old adolescent risked premature death working the frontlines, but for him isolation was a welcome break from his daily assignment. ‘This isn’t me! This isn’t who I am! I’m not a murderer! I would never kill unarmed civilians!’ Squaring his jawbone rigidly, Kenshin felt himself constricting the sword’s hilt tighter and tighter - till his knuckles turned pallid from pressure inflicted through Battousai’s own turbulent nature. ‘Aren’t we being hypocritical? The sword has and will always be a tool of destruction…salvation is just a stupid ideology.’ Was he indeed a hypocritical human being? Were his actions beyond redemption?

Redemption and salvation, the two terminological words held a profound symbolical meaning for Kenshin Himura, although his strong feelings for morality were often challenged by disagreeable individuals attempting to break him down into a common criminal. The red-headed assassin completed assignments without questioning possible motives leading others to believe he was coldhearted like everyone else, of course misshapen perspectives never saw the reality beneath the quivering disguise; no one dared to imagine that Hitokiri Battousai could one day have a nervous breakdown in part due to his diverged nature. “I…I will protect your happiness.” He voiced soundlessly, but noticed how the sentence seemed to affect his mental state as well as clouding his rationality with brutal sentiments. Protect whose happiness? Who should he protect? The raven-haired woman haunting Himura’s dreams late at night had been promised protection - to bad faith in the blood splattered samurai led to her premature demise. ’The faint scent of white plum and blood mixing in together….silver meeting white as crimson splashed everywhere. Screams, meaningless words spoken…apologies never heard….a broken heart shrouding itself in ever lasting darkness.’ Gritting teeth together, the nineteen-year old adolescent suppressed his troubled emotions, before revealing his hidden silhouette to the condemned prisoners of war; except Kenshin saw them as martyrs dying for a senseless cause. ’Hisoka maybe the one ordering the execution, but he won’t be the one stained in blood. Master Hiko was right all along….I’m just an imbecile following orders.’ Perhaps, all Katsura cared for was glory at the expense of delivering naïve youngsters down the path of self- destruction. “Human, yet not a ‘human’….I’m dispensable once my worth as Hitokiri is exploited.” Admitting evident facts pointing towards Kenshin’s usage as a ’means to an end’ infuriated the youth slightly - he didn’t want to consider himself a mere ‘tool’ for calamity. ’Stop fooling yourself…’ Admonishing himself harshly, the ginger-haired swordsmen hurried out of the darkness masking his emotions beneath Battousai’s stoic glare. Holding the silver-colored sword in his right hand, Kenshin drew close enough to see the signs of resignation and fear etched into the old man’s facial expression. Fear, every single victim he encountered displayed the same primal mechanism when facing imminent danger - the only difference was Kenshin's intimate front row seat set up purposely for Hitokiri to witness death firsthand. “We should be protectors of peace….We are part of the Choshu Ishin are we not?! Murdering civilians for the sake of silencing their opinions is a deed I won‘t participate in.” Scathing indigo eyes met equally derisive gold eyes, as the brunette-haired youth contorted his face into a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to barely veiled disgust. ’Shocked are we? Were you expecting an obedient Battousai?’ Raising forearms upwards, Kenshin acted as if he would carry out his dutiful task of sending the elderly couple into nirvana, but at the last minute Himura frozen mid-swing his katana blocked not only by an invisible force…but also the introduction of a foreign woman wielding a dagger.

‘Why are you stalling Battousai? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts!? Now isn’t the time to repent for all your aberrant sins!’ Hisoka snapped mentally, knowing visual temper tantrums weren’t appropriate in circumstances involving large group gatherings. If, he truly wanted to discharge his pent-up anger on Hitokiri Battousai: why not do so in private? ’I wouldn’t risk my life challenging such a superb warrior to a duel. Himura is capable of cutting his opponents in half…before they even get the chance to parry.’ Brushing chestnut tresses behind his right ear, the russet-haired adolescent narrowed eyes immediately after hearing Himura speak out loud - clearly using deceitful tactics and civil disobedience to call Hisoka’s unfairness to light. “Protectors of peace? Who ever said…I wanted to protect? The Choshu Ishin is nothing, but a stepping stone into obtaining absolute power over all Japan.” He mouthed the response soundlessly, since spoken words filled with corruption tended to be silenced by sympathetic patriots favoring a more equal government. Figures, the red-headed assassin wanted everyone on parallel fields, however Kamachi saw Kenshin’s dwindling character as a chance to take advantage of his dispirited heart. Eliminating Himura out of the picture should be easy, once Hisoka proved that Katsura’s favorite swordsmen was just a shell of his former self. Unfortunately, the intruder alarm had been raised among the tightly knit group as a young woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere - managing to evade all the samurai ,and even having the audacity to interrupt the execution mid-way. ’How did she get here? Himura should’ve sensed her!’ Pushing plans of conquest aside, Hisoka quickly accommodated the nearest samurai into position - not only would he cut of any possible escape routes, he would also make sure Kenshin accomplished orders right on schedule. ‘Not good…not good at all. What is Hisoka planning now? He won’t rest easy…till I shed their blood.’ Was his comrade ignorant? Couldn’t he see the red-head’s reluctance to kill? ’Simply a tool of destruction…’ He reminded himself, keeping the soiled blade frozen until Kadory’s appearance took him completely off guard. The old Battousai might have gone forward with Hisoka’s macabre plans, but the ’real’ Kenshin Himura took great care to avoid injuring his unexpected guest. “What are you doing here? This is a battlefield field if you hadn’t noticed already.” Himura stated bluntly, allowing himself to be pushed back several inches from Kyrro and Sarai. ’I don’t understand….why is she putting her life in danger to protect the elderly couple? Are they related?’ They had to be related in one way or another, otherwise she wouldn’t be risking her life to face Hitokiri Battousai in person. “Kill you? Now why would I have any reason to turn my blade against you? The elderly couple…must be related to you then. Well…stop wasting time…untie them and get out of here.” Kenshin hissed back, locking indigo eyes against Kadory’s mismatched ones.
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PostSubject: Re: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Mon Jan 30, 2012 9:15 pm

How fate had a truly cruel sense of humor. She had told herself many times—and had firmly believed in it, as well—that she was not afraid of death. Though now that the situation and knowledge of certain demise was presented before her, she felt a cloud of fear shadow her heart. Cowardice was not acceptable in her nature. Sarai’s life had presented her numerous events in which she should’ve been fearful—some of which her life had been threatened—yet she had been unshaken. So why, then, was she suddenly so afraid? Was it her old age? The lack of flexibility, dexterity, and lithe movements she had attained in her youth? Perhaps it was the awareness that leaving Kadory behind would damage both the young woman’s social abilities and self-esteem? Undoubtedly Kadory could, physically, care for herself. Even now Sarai noticed the outgoings of her adopted daughter becoming more frequent—yet that was still no more than twice a day. With each word of Kyrro’s, Sarai’s unease grew. Inevitably her husband’s crude (and seemingly thoughtless) language would only speed up the arrival to their graves. ‘I admit to the foolish fear I have of death. But if I must, death for the sake of you and Papa will be readily accepted by me.’…Kadory had said that to her. The dawning realization of the statement’s meaning only made Sarai glad Kadory had been out hunting. It was only when Kyrro spoke to her did she break away from her thoughts. The way he spoke them nearly tore her apart. It was rare Sarai saw Kyrro near tears…but with the situation at hand it wasn’t all that surprising. All taken into account, the pepper-haired elder had already shed a few tears of her own. Sarai had been about to reply to her beloved Kyrro’s apology when one of the samurai spoke up. Sarai stared at him as he pursued with words a hellish speech of impending death. Unlike her husband, Sarai had the ability to hold her tongue. However, when the black-haired male made a harshly unnecessary declarative Sarai snapped.
“Because I, unlike you ungodly scum, have a heart! And the likelihood of your unwillingness to show affection is greatly based on the fact no woman in her right mind would willingly show love to you!”

Sarai kept her gaze on the young man for only a few seconds longer before her prior fear resumed. So, though it was only mental, Sarai was being hypocritical with unneeded and completely reckless outbursts. Sarai slowly let herself drift back into the horrid thoughts of fear that were purging her mind. Never once had she expected to be executed unjustly like this. The stinging, coppery smell of blood flooded her nostrils, and a few tears trailed loosely down her cheeks. These…monsters cut down the people Sarai had known to be friends and loved as family. What more could they take away from her besides her immediate family? “How would they feel if we murdered their friends and family? Are they heartless enough that they would jeopardize their wives and children to save themselves?” Sarai murmured, mainly speaking solely to herself. She gritted her teeth angrily, “As long as they find another woman to carry on their lineage, the death of innocents doesn’t even faze them!? If their pride is damaged it can be rebuilt, but do they not see the reconstruction of an individual is impossible?” Sarai shook her head dismissively as Kyrro began to speak again. Grimacing, Sarai eyed the boy Kyrro was speaking to. How awful and twisted could one be?

“Kyrro,” she whispered. “Don’t listen to him. It’s not your fault. Nothing we can do or say will make anything better. Be glad Kadory is safe. Our suffering will be over…” Sarai paused fleetingly. But Kadory’s will just be beginning. “You know very well Kadory’s capability. So leave and let be.” Sarai would give anything to be able to wrap her arms around her love if only for one last time. But now she couldn’t even so much as rest her head on his shoulder. Finally accepting her fate, Sarai drowned out every other sound but that of her own heartbeat.

Sarai looked up when a new form materialized before them, and for a moment longer she kept her composure. The redheaded executioner seemed to be fairly hesitant to even come out from wherever he had been. Maybe the young lad was trying to rethink a way of redeeming himself from killing Kyrro and herself? She knew she was being ridiculous, but fantasy-like reveries of life beyond this kept her wondering about the boy’s hesitance. In her view, this boy was no more fit to be away from his parents. And if he was of that age, he was definitely too young to be a samurai’s executioner. Sarai pitied the young man. Was he doing this on his own accord or was it the work of that devil samurai who was so incredibly rude? It seemed an agonizingly long time before their ginger-haired assassin prepared to swing. Instinctively, (or at least she guessed her actions were based off of instincts), Sarai flinched as the sword glinted and sliced through the air towards Kyrro and herself.

Sarai clenched her eyes shut, until the expected force of the blow was omitted. Perhaps he was just off cue…? Or her own timing of his swing had been wrong? Sarai hazarded to open one eye. There was the katana, seemingly frozen in midair. Was she dead? Was this the moment where your life flashed before your eyes? Like a recorded tape from death to birth, replayed behind your eyelids until you, eventually, faded from existence in a whirlwind of blood and agony? As her other eye opened, Sarai’s heart caught in her throat when she caught a glimpse of a familiar bright-red sash.

“Kadory,” Sarai mouthed breathlessly, staring at the hem of the white kimono. “Kadory, no!” Sarai’s heartbeat sped up. She knew she would never be able to live with herself again (seeing if she got out of this mess in the first place) if another one of her precious children died before her eyes, and she remained helpless and useless to prevent their deaths from happening. Her first two children…attacked and taken by cholera…her own hands unable to keep death at the doorstep. And now, Kadory, possibly going to be cut down in a cruel and unjust fashion by this redheaded samurai? Or, from what his appearance told her, the Battousai himself? Sarai couldn’t help but think what a punishing and ruthless world it was. And, again, she couldn’t stop it from happening. In a morbid way, the phrase ‘third time’s the charm’ fit this moment perfectly. Kadory would be her third child captured by death, but afterwards, it was inevitable that she and Kyrro would be slayed as well, and would be eternally spared from the heartache of living day-to-day with the knowledge that yet another one of their children had passed into the void ahead of their times… The premature death of a child was the worst form of punishment for a mother and father.

Kadory turned her head to the side, her ears flicking backwards, when she heard the shout of her foster-mother. Just the thought of the desperation in her Mum’s voice was enough to tear Kadory’s heart to pieces. These evil, twisted, conniving, traitorous samurai were going to take her parents’ lives away! Without so much as a second thought. How messed up were these men’s minds? Beyond any hope of repair, was all Kadory could say. Kadory’s lips, for a few seconds, played a grimly satisfied smile; at least she’d been just in time to save her parents from their certain dooms. Whatever fate had planned for her parents, Kadory was about to prove it wrong. The redheaded male before her began to speak again, drawing her attention back to him. She sneered at his comment about the battlefield.

Relaxing her arm somewhat, Kadory looked around in a mocking fashion before saying, “Blood, bodies, and a group of traitorous bastards all in one place…damn right it’s a battlefield. It’s called eyesight.” Kadory pinned her ears against her head and rolled her eyes as he continued to speak. He could just jabber away, couldn’t he? Was he blind? Could he not see that she was not the kind of person to risk her own life to save others that she had no relationship with? So much for deductive reasoning. Kadory was uneducated, yet she would’ve been able to decipher that if left to her own devices. As she decided to take into account what he’d said, her fists clenched tighter around her dagger’s hilt. With all the malice and spite in the world, Kadory retorted, “You didn’t seem to have any problem slaughtering an elderly couple. What difference should I make in your bitter vision? Another ‘unfortunate casualty,’ I suppose?” She stared at him skeptically for a few more moments before lowering her weapon and turning her back on him, still tense and ready to strike back quickly if need be.

Kneeling by her parents, Kadory allowed herself a smile of relief. She planted a gentle kiss on her Papa’s and Mum’s cheek before setting to work cutting through the bindings that kept her foster parents in their places. It still disturbed her that these people had to do a relatively-proper execution for her parents, when all the other villagers had obviously been mercilessly butchered. What about them? Why didn’t they get the “honors” of being slayed by these oh-so-high-and-mighty samurai? However it seemed, Kadory was far from done with the executioner. She’d make him pay for nearly killing the only family she had left in her life… The only people who ever respected and accepted her for who she was, even if they were forced to lie to her to make her feel that way. The only people who truly loved her. He’d get it…sooner or later.
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PostSubject: Re: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Sun Jun 24, 2012 9:01 pm


A. fading myriad of color....
....Twisted into shades of revolution


“Are our lives truly valuable? Are we fighting for the people or simply displaying a crueler side of humanity? The original samurai fought for their ideals - they waged a long battle against corruption! Yet, an era dedicated to maintaining fundamental ideals threatens to disappear just for the sake of wielding a weapon without knowing true responsibility!” The elder swordsmen snapped bitterly, livid hazel eyes reflecting unfathomable disdain as the news of meaningless slaughters reached him via rolls of parchment paper hurriedly scribbled in thick ebony-colored ink. Wasn’t it appalling to be the center of bad attention? Weren’t the old generation of samurai rolling in their very graves? How could Japan recover financially if both sides remained disunited? Enveloping sinuous digits around the sword’s garish hilt, Jin skillfully pulled out a brand new katana for his younger apprentice to scrutinize over. Resting the curved blade in front of his inquisitive novice, the ancient looking warrior muttered a few words of wisdom, “Kyrro, what do see? Do you just see a sword as a tool for victory? Weapons don’t constitute happiness, the decision ultimately lies with the sword’s wielder.” Responsibility or decisions? Which word held the most weight? Authentic choices required a large quantity of liability, otherwise the individual could shrink pertaining duties onto gullible subordinates. Kyrro suspected the latter was true of the brunette-haired adolescent controlling his group with an iron-willed fist.

‘Is the sword truly a weapon of happiness? Or have the samurai lost their autonomy?’ Had bravery evolved into cowardice? Ironic. Very ironic to see a century old practice trampled mercilessly to the ground. Narrowing blue-green optics at the younger teen, the grey-haired senior fought against an overshadowing sentiment threatening to shatter his composed demeanor into a thousand irreparable pieces. Bitter laughter welled up in his throat - persistently pushing the unrelenting ex-samurai past the extreme state of uneasiness, and straight down the path of absolute dejection. ’Am I about to lose my only grip on sanity? Mirth when facing possible execution can’t be classified as a normal behavior seen in condemned prisoners of war. I should be screaming till my throat goes raw! I should be pleading with the good-for-nothing bastards to let Sarai go free!’ Guaranteeing his wife’s freedom was like attempting a blind run through a field of landmines - both options provided no feasible alternative to Kyrro’s ever growing pile of worries. “He is nothing, but an insolent coward. Why not instigate a fight with Kyoto? Why take on a defenseless village? Of course, in his mind it is easier to dispatch a weaponless community with the single swing of a blade…even I could’ve done the same deed twenty years ago.” He muttered softly, averting a jaded gaze to the blood-stained floor below.

‘While my hands brandish a sword in the name of justice, my body is tainted red by their blood. Fear. What is fear? The term was meaningless to me…fear restrains a samurai from reaching full potential. Fear of death is a hypocritical notion - why be scared of dying…..when we as warriors take lives?!’ The ex-samurai contemplated grimly, tainted imagery of corpses littering meadows ,and drenched dirt streets danced mockingly before Kyrro’s very eyes. He hated constant reminders that dealt with loss of life, but how could a swordsmen allow himself to forget? Pallid faces twisted in fear, bloodcurdling screams resonating amid flashing blades - a vivid scene where one had front row seat to a bloody carnage perpetrated by greed alone.. Sagacious samurais remembered the face of every fallen victim, excluding swordsmen who placed no emphasis on lost human lives. ’We can forget the faces of our victims….certainly those slain in battle will never forget us.’ Trailing green-blue upwards, the pepper-haired male viewed heaven’s precious cerulean skies in a different perspective. Ivory clouds would forever linger out of man’s grasp - remaining pure even as the earth below continued to contaminate itself with the blood of the innocent. “Love is a sentiment only understood by those with compassionate hearts! You on the other hand are not worthy enough to be loved!” He suddenly retorted, joining his declarative sentence right after Sarai’s own statement fell onto seemingly deaf ears.

Was it wise to further provoke the teenager’s anger? Did it even matter anymore? Kyrro and Sarai would definitely meet their end sooner or later. ’Why do I fear death? Why am I fearful of a natural phenomenon?’ Mortalities perpetrated through famine, pestilence, and natural disasters were a part of a natural cycle, however death at the hands of a fellow human being fathomed against the very fabric of morality. “He doesn’t care. He simply discards emotions and humans aside like an old sack of potatoes.” Disposable. Easily replaced. Worthless lives deemed unfit for government protection. It was quite easy to pick out the corrupted souls from the uncorrupted ones, unfortunately the russet-haired commander possessed enough charisma to swindle the foolish samurai into committing atrocious acts. Silencing his turbulent mind, the grey-haired elder did his best to offer Sarai minimum comfort, before the ginger-haired assassin claimed both their lives with a single swing of his imposing katana. He gave heaven a steadfast prayer, feverishly optimistic that his summons would be answered by an extraterrestrial spirit. Perhaps, his desires were a little foolish. Perhaps, Kyrro wanted the impossible to happen - which on a subconscious level showed his passionate yearning for life.

Was the desperate wish of one man enough to save them both? Would bargaining his dignity spare Sarai from an unjustly death? What if his beloved wife escaped Battousai’s blade? What would happen to his adopted daughter and a newly widowed Sarai? Forfeiting his own life in a played game of equivalent exchange secured future gain for the Urameshi family, at the same time inevitable heartache would haunt surviving members of his kin until merciful death claimed them. ’Are these swordsmen utterly ignorant? Massacring an entire village for the sake of claiming victory is the worse move any experienced samurai can make! The sweet taste of victory is never assured….life is a game where odds can quickly change.’ He might as well keep his perceptive insight to himself- after all the russet-haired youth had nothing better to do, then flaunt misconceptions of a corrupt government into his victim’s faces. ’Compassion gradually wears away…leaving the human heart exposed to abrasive agents. The reason blood is readily shed lies in the inability to accept divergent social standards.’ Would human-beings ever achieve peace? Would induced warfare become just another part of history? True heroes strive day and night to make the world livable, regrettably their efforts were botched by lesser individuals interested in withholding all the riches to themselves - while leaving the lower classes empty-handed. “We have no one else to blame, but ourselves. Ambition is what converts any sane man…into a monster incapable of feeling pain nor sadness. Surely, the definition of ‘animal‘ is more praise…than insult.” The middle-aged man lamented, twisting his head sideways to avoid looking at Hitokiri Battousai.

He perceived mixed emotions emanating from the auburn-haired assassin, however Kyrro began to question the authentic integrity of the entire Choshu regiment. Democratic beliefs in a centralized government where citizens could freely participate dwindled with each passing minute - and yet the leader remained blissfully unaware of his own stupidity. “Ungodly scum? Do you honestly think a pair of poor farmers will insult me with diatribe criticism!? I have seen criminals come up with far better retorts!” Monotone snickering escaped the russet-haired youth, branding him automatically in Kyrro’s brain as a youth who hadn’t received proper discipline or a good lashing to knock his over inflated ego down a few notches. “Our suffering started when the war began…..do you remember how we chanced upon Kadory? She was just a wee little girl covered in blood…and traumatized by the horrific events occurring all around her. Although…..our own biological children were swiped away…..Kadory became an important part of our family.” He reminisced, lowering hoarse voice several octaves to keep unwanted eavesdroppers out of his intimate conversation. Despite Sarai’s intellectual insight on Kadory’s marvelous abilities - the pepper-haired elder knew that neko humanoids would never be fully integrated into society. “I know….Kadory has demonstrated her merit….but..” Cutting himself off mid-sentence, Kyrro accepted his wife’s observation without further argument.

‘Honestly, what good are your decrepit insults? Were the two of you looking for sympathy? Or maybe trying to find more time to strategize an escape plan? I have enough samurai and weapons here to annihilate the entire village off the map!’ Thin fingers caressed across the silver blade, tantalizingly enjoying a familiar sentiment of cold steel against warm human skin. He imagined himself as a new replacement for Hitokiri Battousai, earning title after title until his red-headed rival became just another legend to the people of Japan. Himura viewed Kamachi’s idealistic beliefs under criticism of favoring a corrupt government, while his older counterpart Katsura fought passionately to ensure an equal society for peasants and warriors alike. ’Kenshin Himura…you are a hypocrite! The blood of fellow man stains your clothing as well as your nightmares. How fortuitous….I’m the only rational being who never experiences regret?’ Were his thoughts mere tirades of suppressed psychosis? “Nonsense, I’m sane enough to fool ordinary men into sacrificing their own worthless lives - in the end all their hard work will be wasted on false promises of paradise.” Hisoka mouthed silently, allowing his sensitive fingers to trace the katana just a little bit longer, before smiling down at the pepper-haired female. The smile plastered across Kamachi’s youthful face belied an inner conflict between his deepest desire to dispatch the elderly couple into oblivion, and the instinctual need to face Battousai in battle. He knew the latter decision pitted him against an experienced opponent with years of swordsmanship, however Himura had to have another flaw in need of exploitation. What weakness did Kenshin have now? Could he use another samurai to carry out the execution?

“Sir? Awaiting permission to carry out your orders. If you don’t mind a simple question…how long are we going to dawdle here? Having our group split from the main Choshu in Edo leaves us extremely vulnerable to a counter attack should Hajime Saitou suddenly show up with more Shinsengumi troops.” Jiro hastily announced, his impenetrable gaze focused on the brunette’s twisted facial expression. Maybe questioning Kamachi’s final verdict was a stupid move, which could cause him to be demoted down several ranks or given a dishonorable discharge. Did he care? Not really, at times the eighteen-year old teen allowed ambitious feelings to obscure his coherent thoughts. “Are you doubting my capabilities…Jiro? I can very well make your life a living hell.” The russet-haired teen implored, twisting his head sideways to give the older swordsmen a toothy grin. “N-No! I would never question your authority…after all Kogoro left you and Battousai in charge of our unit! ’We’ only wanted to make sure the reconnaissance mission would be completed on time.” Jiro commented nervously, exchanging quick glances with the rest of his brethren. Two excellent warriors sharing one common name, should reassure the remaining group members to confide in their own abilities - yet tensions between Himura and Hisoka threatened to damage the fragile camaraderie. “Stop fooling around Jiro! Direct Sanzo and Kai to flank our Southern side! While, I’m barking out orders make sure our unintended guest doesn’t escape.” Hisoka hissed between gritted teeth, locking a seething gaze with Kenshin’s indigo-colored eyes. ’Incompetent bastard! How could you allow such a monstrosity to break into our group?! Look at those disgusting appendages…..someone needs to strike her down!’

Disgusting, repulsing, and sordid did little to describe Kadory’s unique appearance to the large group of swordsmen who had seen more corpses in battle, but had never laid eyes on a real neko humanoid before. Naturally, their reaction was inaudible silence as Kamachi demonstrated nary a shard of emotion to the bi-eyed woman standing between Battousai and his intended victims. Who was she? Where did she come from? Weren’t neko’s an extinct species? Narrowing honey-colored eyes, the brunette remembered a short segment his father had mentioned a long time ago; humans with cat-like features were virtually driven off the land for being ’different’. He suddenly understood why Jun demonstrated keen satisfaction to ridding Japan of vermin, his father had willingly participated in the last genocide against an unknown tribe occupying fertile soil. ‘Father did a great job eliminating bothersome neko’s from the surrounding terrain, but how did one manage to survive?’ The question fringed behind more important concerns, undoubtedly there would always be a lingering distaste for Kadory etched into his heart. Her name too was unimportant, but the joyful family reunion clued Hisoka as to the true nature behind Kenshin’s refusal to swing his katana. “Is family your true weakness….Battousai? I have never heard mention of his family…perhaps all of them are dead.” He contemplated inquisitively, refocusing his eyes on the interesting turn of events. “A neko and a human? What on Earth are we having next? Human’s adopting humanoid fish? Such a repulsive-looking creature who will never belong in a ‘normal‘ society. She is neither ‘human‘ nor ‘animal…just an abomination of nature which should be dealt with. ” Jiro retorted purposely, raising his derogatory tone several notched to be easily heard by anyone in close proximity.

’How long are the devil samurai going to torture us? Is their leader planning on leaving one of us alive, while he commands Battousai to slaughter every last living being? The carnage abounds fruitfully, I doubt any of our neighbors even survived.’ The chances of surviving an unforeseen attack were minimal, connoisseur warriors made sure to dispatch all of their intended victims to oblivion - while leaving room for no marginal error. Otherwise tactless slaughtering placed the entire group of unorthodox samurai at risk of being discovered by Japan’s unscrupulous government. What punishment could fate dealt upon the rogue group? Would Kyrro allow his last moments to be filled with hateful thoughts? No amount of human justice could ever rebuild broken lives. ’Justice’ was a loosely used term associated to equality and freedom for all, nowadays terminology held little meaning to those suppressed under militaristic opposition. “Hitokiri Battousai….the legendary manslayer. Quite a fancy title you have carved out for yourself! Tell me….does your conscious let you sleep peacefully at night? Will you be able to rest easy after our blood stains your blade red?!” He cynically retorted, jaded eyes expressing resignation, though at the same time his famished sentiments provided a contradictory statement. Dying seemed to be the best course of action, even if Kyrro himself wanted to live another twenty years to see Kadory get married and start her own family. ‘Enough! Hasn’t life already tormented Kadory enough?! How much pain will she continue to endure? Fate left her orphaned once as a young toddler….now it threatens to repeat history again!’ Sarai’s earlier words reminded him of adoptive daughter’s ingenuity for surviving alone, but dismal advice could never quell the rising anguish in his heart. “Why are you hesitating? End our pain quickly…don’t make a mess trying to honor our dead bodies.” He commented, positioning himself for his inevitable demise.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to prove Kyrro wrong, but covering up his mistakes automatically converted him into a hypocrite. Were former ideals of a just society dispersible? Had Battousai forgotten his initial reason for joining the Choshu Ishin? Himura’s primary reason for fighting stemmed on a life long memory of Akane, Sakura and Ayame - three females who treated ’Shinta’ as one of their own. Sharing meager meals together despite knowing he wasn’t biological related to them; How could anyone forget their heartfelt sentiments? ‘Are you trying to play the role of savior? My stupid apprentice, I want you to get your head out of the clouds this instant! What type of nonsensical gobbledygook are you muttering about!? Winning one battle amounts to nothing…in the end everything you believed in…is naught, but a hollow lie!’ Seijuro’s convicting words echoed through out Himura’s mind, prompting him to further question his role as Katsura’s lead assassin. Had his original master been right all along? Had Kenshin cast all his ideals aside in a zealous bid to change history? ’How can one man change history? Is Utopia truly an unreachable dream?’ The red-headed youth brooded quietly, sweeping an emotionless gaze over the elderly couple positioned beneath his blade. “It would be easy to just….” He spoke beneath his breath, searching inside himself for any justification concerning Hisoka’s cold-blooded orders, all Himura noticed was an entrenched desire from the brunette to test his splintered moral boundaries past the breaking point. ’One slash seals the deal permanently, too bad I’m going to live out the remainder of my life wallowing in self-induced guilt.’ Gripping the sword’s ornate hilt tighter, Kenshin ignored Kyrro’s cynical retorts, however most of his statements hit home. Of course, he wouldn’t be unable to sleep peacefully at night - knowing he and his silly idealisms caused the death of countless civilians. Would Himura ever share those feelings with someone? Probably not.

Samurais’ had a propensity to travel across less then friendly routes to reach their destination, however the luxury of free movement between one battled scared village to the next drained massive amounts of stamina from it’s victim. Unfortunately, aristocratic assassins like Himura lived their lives in constant darkness - only unveiling his stoic face long enough to deliver a killing blow that no one has ever been capable of escaping or countering with their own blade. ’Lies! Everything fabricated about Battousai is a lie! The X-shaped scar on my cheek is a testament to the sins…I’ve committed during my life time! Unfathomable sadness has befallen the land…nothing is ever the same once violence has inflicted it’s fatal bite.’ He brooded thoughtfully, noting how his suspended weapon quivered in mid-air as if to remind him to think twice before making a hasty decision. Which option should Himura choose? Spare the elderly couple from a bloody death or follow Hisoka’s twisted orders? Either selection left Kenshin floundering helplessly in the dark, but in the end he found himself face to face with a real neko humanoid blocking his path. ’Neko humanoid? I have traveled across Japan multiple times, yet I’ve never encountered a human with animal-like features. The other samurai are being critical of her appearance…personally the teasing brings back bad childhood memories of a time when red-hair and purple-colored eyes were seen as an abomination. I’m ashamed to be working with such ignorant people…I’m one to talk about equality!’ Shaking his internal observations aside, the ginger-haired adolescent felt a humorless smile tug at his lips “You talking casually about having eyesight, but fail to even use said ‘eyesight’ to observe the battlefield. Such a careless mistake won’t save your family if you die a fool’s death.” Himura answered calmly, taking four step backwards as Kadory worked on setting her adopted parents free. “K-Kadory!? What the hell are you doing here!? Save yourself! Don’t worry about us…you still have a long life to live! Use it wisely!” Kyrro called out, his weathered features expressing horror “I wouldn’t provoke him any further if I were you! The man you speak so foully too Kadory is none other…then Battousai!”

‘Don’t kill her! Don’t touch her with your dirty blade! Please spare our hearts the agony of witnessing our third child get torn to pieces!’ The elderly male screamed internally, knowing full well he and Sarai were practically helpless to save their adopted daughter from the clutches of death. He recognized aging as a natural human process, but having dexterity to take action against the traitorous men would be nice - Kyrro still remembered how to utilize a few sword techniques if only his body weren’t so fragile. “Curses! If time could be reversed twenty years into the past…I would be kicking every single one of these samurai to kingdom come! How dare they demand respect! How dare they slaughter our friends as if their lives didn’t matter!” Dirt trodden streets bore grisly reminders of the massacre carried out beneath Kamachi’s orders, while humble wooden homes bore testament to their owners’ cruel demise - ordinary lives lay in shambles most likely to never recover again after such a traumatizing event. What would happen to the countless deceased? What about the injured in need of medical treatment? Three people couldn’t possibly save more then ten lives at a time, given how lack of proper sanitation might lead open lesions to getting badly infected. “Stubborn daughter of mine…I’m happy to see your safe.” The ex-samurai commented, pulling off the rope bindings before turning around to lend his beloved Sarai assistance. ‘How stupid can one be? Why didn’t I listen to Master Hiko in the first place?! Is it to late to begin atoning for my sins?’ Cerulean colored eyes scrutinized his blade carefully, perceiving tiny crimson droplets still clinging to the sharpened edges of his Japanese sword. Too Kenshin Himura each crimson stain served as a solemn reminder of one more life lost to the uncertainty of warfare - along with the fact he could never undo what has already been done. The bi-eyed female had every right to express disdain towards him, after all he nearly plunged his sword into the elderly couple. ’You’re wrong! You’re absolutely wrong about me! I don’t want to claim anymore unfortunate causalities! Yet, stopping now for the sake of morality will undermine what I’ve been fighting for my entire life.’ Turning her back towards him and lowering her guard left plenty of chances for Battousai to strike without warning, instead Kenshin decided to deliberately sheath his katana right in front of the other samurai. The other swordsmen might regard integrity as being an unnecessary accessory next to the power received through fear, however Himura was more then willing to keep his values intact.
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Shiori

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Posts : 7
Join date : 2012-01-21
Age : 23
Location : Kisaragi City

PostSubject: Re: Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }   Mon Jun 25, 2012 6:24 pm

Every minute that passed seemed to be a lifetime for the pepper-haired woman. Something she had never expected to do was to wait for death. And through all this time, Sarai felt she’d been given more time to think than she’d ever been given in her entire life, which she knew was completely absurd. Perhaps being faced with death made one reconsider their past actions and think about what could happen if only they were given another day to live. Despite knowing that she and her husband could be slain at that very moment, her mind was stuck on her adopted daughter. Though she spoke confidently to her husband about Kadory’s abilities, she was afraid that their adopted daughter would not even try to socialize if they were killed now. Kadory had always been reserved from the rest of the world, and often told the couple that solitude suited her. Sarai knew, still, that her precious daughter wouldn’t bother trying to live another day if her foster parents were taken away from her. Losing her parents, whether blood-related or not, for the second time would be a huge blow to the young woman, Sarai knew. Sarai had tried over the years to slowly and subtly push her daughter to at least try and be more outgoing. Within the family, the young woman could be cheery, though Sarai knew Kadory’s smile was fake nowadays. Sarai now, in these few minutes, realized all the mistakes she’d made and all the places she could’ve improved in to help her daughter gain some self-esteem. And yet, Sarai knew that was asking a lot. The least she could have ever done for Kadory was be there for her and talk to her. Cleaning the young girl’s wounds and patching up her kimono every now and again had become a routine in Kadory’s younger days. The young girl had been inquisitive about the world, born with a natural ability to learn and adapt to things and people around her. She’d always wanted to explore new places, try new things. Though it was people like the samurai here that had forced the young girl back into her protective shell and refuse to come out. Despite this, Sarai remembered days when Kadory’s smile hadn’t been fake. But those days were long gone.

All Sarai had wanted to see again before she closed her eyes for the final time was her daughter smile once more. And she didn’t want a fake smile, either; she wanted a smile that proved to her that at least one thing was right in the girl’s life. It seemed that Kadory was isolated in her own world, and the rest of the “normal humans” were on the outside, looking in on her and immediately judging her because of her appearance. Sarai knew that Kadory had a tongue that would one day land her into a heap of trouble, but she’d seen sides of the girl that showed that she was nothing more than a regular woman with regular emotions. The only differences Kadory had from a regular woman is how strong she was, emotionally and mentally, and her determination to rise above the world. Kadory had once shown promising signs of being determined to find a place in this world. Now all Sarai saw her do was help around the house and occasionally go out hunting to attempt to prevent having cabbage ‘soup’ again. Sarai had to admit that the ‘soup’ was not at all filling, nor was it anywhere near tasty, but the older woman worked with what she had without complaint, despite her frequent comments on not having enough money for proper food. Sarai said this with two things in mind: one, genuinely wanting proper food, and two, hoping that it would prompt Kadory into interaction with other people to perhaps get money for the small family of three. Sarai knew it was a selfish way of trying to get her daughter to interact with the outside world, but it was something she’d always tried to do, even though it had never worked, nor showed even any signs of working. Sarai was slightly comforted by knowing she was trying, in her own special way. Turning green eyes to scrutinize the brunette samurai again, she sighed.

Such a condescending look in the boy’s eyes. In a sense, Sarai pitied the boy. Except Sarai was finding it hard to make space in heart to forgive this group of impudent group of samurai. It seemed this place was filled with enough blood to fill an ocean. And this was the blood of her friends; friends she’d known for years now and come to think of as distant family. If only such thing as a utopia existed—then this wouldn’t have happened, and Kadory would be accepted into society. How long had it been? Eighteen years? Nearly twenty years since Kadory had seen one of her own ‘kind.’ The old woman had always hoped somewhere in her heart that there were more like Kadory out there somewhere, whether in hiding or not, that Kadory could find and go back to. Long ago, Sarai’s life wish had been to see her two lovely children grow up and have a family of their own. They’d shown such promising signs of having a fantastic future—but it seemed fate had different plans in mind. Not that Sarai necessarily believed in what people called ‘fate.’ Some things just happened…and Sarai refused to show curiosity in wanting to know why. Ever since the death of her children and finding Kadory with her husband, Sarai’s goal had shortly after become trying to secure a place for Kadory in this world when the inevitable came. Sarai knew that she and Kyrro would pass on one day, though she hadn’t expected it to be like this. Leaving this abruptly worried Sarai. Had she done enough to secure Kadory a good home that she could live in at least for a little while before maybe going out and finding people who accepted her like Kyrro and herself did? Where there even people outside this world that would care at all? People who would give Kadory a second look, a passing chance? People who would love her?

Sarai turned her head when her husband commented on love towards the foolish young samurai. Sarai chuckled grimly before saying, “Compassionate hearts are relatively nonexistent anymore, my love.” She kept her comment quiet enough so only her long-term husband could hear her; she didn’t want another rude retort coming from that brunette samurai again. Drawing bright green eyes away from him, she looked at her husband. Compassionate hearts are relatively nonexistent…aren’t they? If they weren’t… people would care and accept our daughter more, wouldn’t they? They would understand that there is more to Kadory than meets the eye… that she can be just as beautiful, smart, and enjoyable as any other woman in the world. Personally I believe Kadory would make a much better lifelong companion than most women. Sarai sighed and closed her eyes, allowing bitter memories of many things her friends had said about Kadory flow through her mind. Why her friends treated Kadory so badly when they knew Kadory (and Kyrro) were the center of Sarai’s life, she’d never know. She realized now she should’ve told them all off long ago. Despite being the only reasonable one (in her own eyes, at least) in the family, she did have a sharp tongue when she needed to. It seemed that everyone in the Urameshi family was hard-headed and sharp-tongued. Sarai didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care to know, whether that was a blessing or a curse—she supposed it could work both ways. Even with that knowledge, Sarai knew she couldn’t ask for a better family to have, even if two of her former family members were no longer with her. Despite their physical absence, Sarai knew that if they weren’t anywhere else, they were always in her heart. Sarai opened her eyes when her husband spoke again, and she shook her head, “I hope that not all of the younger generation is like this… If they are, what hope do we have for a successful future?” Sarai turned vivid eyes on her husband once more, silently wondering if all of the younger generation were like this. Were they looking up to samurai and seeing them as heroes? Were the younger boys idolizing these self-centered, overgrown children?! Sarai was appalled by the notion, though she did realize that it could be true, and, if it was, there was nothing she could do to change it.

Sarai looked at the brunette samurai once more, a flicker of annoyance splaying across her face for a split second, wanting nothing more than to whack that boy upside the head. Though she figured not even a good smack upside the head would deflate that boy’s ego. Yet upon further contemplation, Sarai realized something she had not pieced together before the young man had spoken so ignorantly towards her, perhaps just for the sake of garnering a laugh from his fellow swordsmen. Watching his more-than-rude behavior, the elderly woman realized that she was less afraid of death as she was fearful of the improper raising of the younger generation. Were all children this samurai’s age the same in disrespectful attitude? Sarai, having been a mother once, knew the soft spot most mothers held for their children. Sometimes it was this very spot that was a mother’s weakness, and therefore discipline seemed secondary to them. However Sarai had not been afraid to chastise her children when they had done something wrong. Was it this generation that suffered from ill-informed parents? Had Sarai’s generation of parents slowly given up hope on their own children? Or was this boy’s case more of his own? Did children with active parents behave better than this one was behaving now, or where they all the same? Upon this discovery of his, Sarai said, just loud enough for everyone to catch, “Not all you are hearing is criticism, boy. Some of it is merely observation. When one is wise enough, they begin to see flaws in the younger generation. Perhaps you do have knowledge, but it is unbecomingly apparent that you do not know how to utilize it.” Upon making sentiments clear, Sarai allowed herself to fall back into silence. Sarai looked at her husband and merely nodded, allowing their conversation to drop there. What else was there that she could say? He was correct about when they first saw Kadory. The poor girl had been covered in blood that was not hers. She had been so young at the time…far too young to be exposed to the raw cruelty of war. Sarai knew that images of people dying would never go away, even if she had not experienced others’ death firsthand. It sickened her to know that Kadory had seen more death when she was a toddler than Sarai had seen in her life. Nevertheless, Sarai was thankful she had Kadory in her life. However, with Kadory’s unexpected presence made her very uneasy.

Kadory, unfortunately, couldn’t say she was surprised to hear one of the samurai comment on her. Pinning ears against her cranium, the raven-haired young woman did her best to let no emotion cross her face as she continued to help her foster parents. After all…wouldn't it be two-facedness if she had told her parents that comments like those no longer bothered her, and then go off and show a strong emotion towards them? Kadory closed her eyes and took a centering breath before continuing to work on setting her foster parent’s free. Though all the while her mind replayed that one meeting she’d had with the village boys that had changed the course of her social life forever. Perhaps if she hadn’t been stolen from and insulted the way they had insulted her, she might be a bit more open to human interaction these days. Perhaps if her seven-year-old mind hadn’t been so cruelly alerted to how people truly felt about having a neko humanoid living in their world, she wouldn’t be so cold and dismissive these days. But still, it irked her. Who was he to speak of an abomination?! Look at them at this very instance! Were they not themselves abominations not fit to live and breathe on this earth?! Were they not themselves only killers and liars?! If anything, Kadory could say she had integrity, unlike these foolish samurai surrounding her now. Finally giving in to the uncapped anger inside of her, Kadory stood up slowly and turned to face the man who had spoken in such a relaxed manner, mocking her with filthy lips that spoke nothing but lies. Kadory knew very well that she would never fit into society, but she sure as hell didn’t need people reminding her of that!

“What an intelligent observation, your majesty,” Kadory said coolly, “Though do not forget… you are none more than a creature yourself. Perhaps I am an abomination. But what does that make you and your group of filthy liars who dare call themselves noble and respectable? What kind of nonsense are you feeding yourselves? Over-inflated egos and empty words. That is all you will ever have. I will never fit into society, as you mentioned. And every single day of my life I have been bitter towards the people who have refused to see me as a person. It’s changed since then. I met people like you, and then I wonder why nobody accepts me into their society. Because the only people I see when I look at you and your friends is a group of monstrous abominations. You are no better than I am. It is damn repulsive to see you revel in your faux nobility. People who respect you are nonexistent. You gain respect purely out of fear. I don’t see how it gets any more abominable than that.” Kadory had masses of other things she wished to say to these fools, but she deemed it best to allow herself to relax. She had already done enough. After telling her parents she was no longer acrimonious about what people said about her, and then this little speech of hers… she knew she would regret saying it later, only for the fact she had gone against the word she’d given her beloved family members. However, that thick-skulled, self-absorbed imbecile had deserved every word of what she’d said. As did the others that stood there, looking all high and mighty. She didn’t like the vibe she was receiving from the brunette, either. Suddenly Kadory’s ears flicked backwards, listening to her foster father’s words. Battousai…himself?! Ah well…the bastard deserved it. Kadory had almost turned around to help her foster parents off of the ground when she heard this ‘Battousai’ speak once more.

She chuckled quietly at his words a second before responding, quiet enough so only he could hear her, “If I had failed to save my parents, I would have no reason to live. If I had died, you and your hellish band of ‘heroes’ would still kill them, and we would all be put out of our misery. If I died a fool’s death… Let’s just say nothing that happens to me could make anyone think any less of me. I’d rather die a fool’s death than live every day without having something to live for.” Kadory let bicolored eyes stare directly into unusual indigo eyes for a moment longer, as if to silently enforce her reasoning, before turning around to help her parents up. Kadory smiled a rather forced smile at her foster father’s words, but her mind was elsewhere now. It would be almost gracious if the Battousai had killed her right then. All her suffering would be over. All of her hatred would be let go, and no one would ever have to criticize her for being different anymore. That unflattering spot in everyone else’s lives would be gone forever, and they could go on living life as if she’d never existed at all. Her parents would’ve surely died after that, as well. All of them would be taken from this world and sent into a place where peace was ever-existent. Where pain was nonexistent, and heartache would never again be experienced. Kadory couldn’t help but suddenly wonder what would go through her parents’ mind if they had witnessed her die. Hopefully they knew that, if it had come to that, she wouldn’t have just stood there and let herself be killed, as tempting as that offer might sound. If it was to protect the people who had accepted her for who she was… she’d go down swinging. Kadory helped her foster mother to her feet before offering a hand to her foster father. How come death had managed to evade her again? How come she would be forced to live another day, especially knowing that this had occurred? Another scratch in her already beaten up past… She would never find peace, not even in death.

Sarai looked at her daughter, straining to hear the words exchanged between her and the Battousai. She smiled and thanked her husband once he had helped her get free, turning her head away from her daughter to smile at him. How was it that the two of them had gotten so miraculously saved? Though Sarai couldn’t help but wonder what a cruel god existed that would send them freedom in the form of their only child left. Especially when that only child was ill-learned and could’ve easily been overtaken and killed before their eyes. Even with these thoughts, Sarai knew they were free… and Kadory wasn’t dead, so these worries were now trivial. The only thing that concerned Sarai now was how they were going to get free of the ring of samurai that surrounded them. Even if the redheaded assassin had allowed them to go free, would the brunette allow it? She’d witnessed his foul attitude and had a hard time believing he’d let the small family go without a fight. Sarai nearly didn’t noticed the hand provided her to get up, she was so lost in her thoughts. But finally she got up and stared at her daughter happily, “Dear, you really are quite obstinate sometimes… but I’m just glad you’re safe.” Sarai watched her daughter offer a hand to her father, and shifted her gaze to the brunette. He didn’t look necessarily pleased, and she couldn’t help but let a grim smile play across her features. Oh, how fate turns itself around.
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