tampered | (no subject)

Current Location: Ukitake's tea shop

(no subject)

When; Sept. 26th, early afternoon
Rating; PG-13 for violence
Characters; Okita Souji

crossshapedscar and Ukitake Jyuushirou

floating_bamboo
Summary; Okita visits the tea shop; the last thing he expected to see there was a certain redheaded assassin....
Log; Shopping just wasn't the same when you had to do it on your own. Okita wandered down the street, peering into shop windows, the bags over his arm rustling with each movement. He'd found the "club soda," and gotten some more chocolates to make up the depleted stash, and now all he needed was green tea. Where was Ukitake's shop again? --oh! There!

He broke into a smile, geta clattering more quickly against the cement pavement, and repressed the impulse to turn to his side. There it is, Hijikata-san-- Hijikata wasn't here. His day seemed twice as long without the other man there to harass, talk to, and drag out on shopping trips. And at least three times as boring, even with all the people he'd met here.

Of course, he'd survive. All he needed to do was find a way home. And until then, he wasn't so fragile as to fall apart in two weeks without his friends.

He just missed them, that was all.

He pushed open the door of the shop, calling out, "Excuse me." It was dim inside, and his eyes took a moment to adjust from the bright outdoor sun.

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"Welcome," Kenshin called out out of habit when he heard the bells on the door ring--of course when he heard the voice that accompanied the bells...

Shimatta... He moved to peek around the shelving unit he was stocking.

That was most definitely Okita Souji.

He gave a long sigh before walking out in the open. There was no point beating around the bush, was there?

Hopefully Ukitake could break them up if it got violent...

Okita froze. He knew that voice already... though he had only heard it a few weeks ago, the redheaded assassin had a distinctive tone. He couldn't stop himself from straightening, taking a step back, ready for what might come.

Of course they were from different worlds. Of course Himura was from his future, fourteen or fifteen years away. After the war. He still couldn't stop himself. His hands itched for the blade he'd left at home. Nagakura always did say it was foolish to go out without it. You never knew when you might meet an enemy, after all.

He forced a smile, though he knew how false it must look when he couldn't control his eyes.

"Kenshin-san. Fancy seeing you here!"

Kenshin inwardly winced, feeling the instant spike in kenki. So much for this ending peacefully. He was thankful then that Ukitake had no issue with him keeping the sakabatou with him in the shop, though thankfully he saw that Okita didn't seem to have a sword with him.

He didn't attempt to put a pleasant look on his face. He moved from the stacks toward the register, a tray and several boxes in-hand, his eyes trained on Okita the entire time.

"This unworthy one works here."

Control. Okita took a deep breath. He would keep control. It should not be this hard.

His instincts rebelled as he half-turned to look at the racks of pottery. Cups, pots. They blended together. His focus was all on the man to his side, his skin prickling under the gaze he didn't need to meet to feel.

If he had a sword! If he - no. No. Killing the other man would do no good. Fighting in the shop of a man who had him as a guest would be unforgivably rude.

He couldn't help but notice that there were a few knives, meant for cutting sweets on the tea-tray.

Calm. Calm. "Is that so."

"Aa," he answered, reaching the counter.

Okita wasn't armed, true. But that didn't necessarily mean much. Anything could be made into a weapon. Especially in such close quarters.

"Ukitake-dono is a good friend of his."

What expression was left drained from Okita's face. He knelt, setting his purchases by the side of the shelves under the pretense of looking more closely at a set of cups. If he couldn't hide this side behind a smile, he would have to hide it behind his hair.

He could still smell the curse's blood lingering on him, even though he'd bathed time and time again trying to scrape the smell off. It made it worse. To be in the same room as an enemy - an enemy who claimed so coolly that their war was lost - and not to be able to strike against him....

Okita ran his fingers lightly over the edge of a cup and did not bite his lip. Calm.

"Is that so," he repeated, meaninglessly. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Tried again. "I would have expected you to have found work as a fighter or a guard, Kenshin-san, not a shopkeeper. Or is that part of your life done?"

'The calm before the storm' didn't seem to fit this situation at all. There wasn't anything calm about the air at the moment.

Carefully. Tread carefully.

"He will fight to defend those around him when it's needed. But otherwise he has no wish for violence."

Okita darted a sharp glance back through his hair at the redheaded assassin.

"How noble."

His left hand came to rest on one of the little knives. Unsharpened, frail metal. His right remained still on the edge of the cup, both still hidden behind his kneeling form.

"Whether it's noble or not, it's the truth."

He kept his eyes trained on Okita, but did his best to take in his surroundings with his peripheral vision to know the best ways to react.

No. This wasn't going to end well.

It was a relief to let go of the tension, surrender to the mad violence clawing at his mind. Kenshin was an enemy, after all. And no matter where he might be, Okita was a loyal member of the Shinsengumi.

Even if the assassin had escaped justice for more than a decade, it was past time he faced it.

Spinning, coming to his feet in a single fluid movement, Okita hurled the cup at Kenshin's face with stunning force and lunged after it. The frail knife in his hand was no true weapon, but it would be more than enough to gut the other man at this speed.

And the dam broke.

The tea cup was an obvious feint. This man wanted to do more damage than simply throwing something at him. He easily dodged to the left and caught Okita's wrist with his right hand, his left taking hold of the tray he had been carrying. He wasn't sure what he'd be doing with it, but you could never discount the usefulness of found objects.

Blocked; Okita continued the movement, though, pivoting around the trapped wrist. He found his feet on Kenshin's side of the counter, his free hand darting to grab Kenshin's, holding the man in place as he whipped a kick towards Kenshin's head.

Geta made such useful weapons.

He saw the kick coming. So much for the tray--he let it drop, the same hand catching his sword and pulling it from the sash of his hakama just in time to catch the iron sheath between the blocks of Okita's geta, and with a strangled sound twisted the sword and the foot currently attached to it sideways.

Pain shot up Okita's shin - twisted, maybe broken, but the injury only deepened his resolve to fight. He pulled his foot away, letting it fall to the floor as his hand on Kenshin's wrist tightened and twisted. Injury for injury.

And he'd have to move quickly - unarmed, and now slowed by a foot that wouldn't hold his weight for long, he was at too much of a disadvantage.

He hissed with the pain at this wrist and without a second thought whipped the lower part of the sheath around hoping to crack Okita upside the head with it.

A blow - Okita dodged back, reflex taking over, then fell to one knee as his ankle failed to take his weight. He struck out with a punch at the assassin's knee, putting his faith in a swifter attack to make up for the defense he couldn't easily manage from this position.

As soon as Okita released his wrist, his hand shot up to sword, righting it properly, though still sheathed over his head.

He saw Okita's next attack coming. It was fast--not so fast that he couldn't dodge it, but fast. However, he also saw how terribly open Okita left himself in the desperate move and he saw thhe opening to end this with one more blow.

Oh, this was going to hurt...

Holding his ground, he brought the sheath down hard, connecting with Okita's head--and at the same time felt white-hot pain blossom from his kneecap as the punch connected.

Oh, was he ever thankful he knew people who could fix that now...

Okita had no time to feel satisfaction at his attack's success; Kenshin's sword sheath struck his head with stunning force, and he reeled back, slumping. Black sparks pinwheeled through his vision as he fought to maintain consciousness - he would not go down so easily, he would not, he would...

Despite his efforts, his eyes slid closed.

Edited 2008-09-27 09:00 (UTC)

He went down about the same time--though determined to stand back up if he absolutely had to. But when Okita clearly passed out he let himself slump against the counter, spreading his mangled leg out in front of him with a strangled moan.

For the first time in weeks he really was glad that his wife wasn't there. Because she would probably kick his ass over this one.

He leaned his head back on the counter, eyes sliding toward Okita before lifting his sword and tapping the unconscious man in the shoulder just to be sure. He let his eyes close then and called out.

"Ukitake-dono! If you are in here somewhere this unworthy one could really use some assistance!"

Edited 2008-09-27 09:16 (UTC)

"Are you two quite done now?"

The calm voice came from the inner room, and Jyuushirou opened the door, stepping outside. Eying the mess and the two injured men, he sighed slightly and then crouched next to Kenshin. "How are your injuries?"

He had been present during the fight, listening to the two men from the inner room, but he had not stepped out to intervene. It was a fight for pride, after all, and he did not wish to damage either man's pride. He called one a friend and the other seemed like a good man. It was an issue that would have to be resolved one way or the other, but he had hoped it would not have come to this...

He looked up at the older man from his planted spot behind the counter, beading up in sweat from the pain now that the fight was over. He thumbed at the unconscious form beside him. "Aa... at least for today."

He let out another small moan, touching his knee. "Avoidable," he growled before continuing. "Shattered kneecap. He probably has a good sized concushion..." He gave a sigh. "This unworthy one is sorry this took place here... He tried to end it quickly."

"It's alright, Himura-san."

The white-haired captain said, giving him a slight smile. He carefully stood up again and nodded to Kenshin. "Be careful, take slow breaths. I'll call for a very talented healer to fix you both right up."

He found his computer and made a quick notice to Unohana-taichou.

"Aa... Thank you, Ukitake-dono." He did as he was told. He felt like he did want to pass out. Since the danger was over his adrenaline was quickly leaving. He'd fought through worse pain that this... alright, he had never tried to fight with a shattered kneecap, but horrific gashes, dislocated limbs, severe blood loss, yes. But in all of those instances he couldn't afford to pass out.

Of course, he wouldn't do so now for no other reason than the little pride he did have.

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lol I'm never sleeping again >>;

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