Thursday, July 27, 2006

They passed by Rangi again in the living room, reading some Japanese manga cleverly hidden by a humongous news magazine. Peering at them over the edge of the book(s), his sly trademark smirk spread over his face again like a horrible virus. Kentei couldn't take his eyes off her. Such an obvious gesture. The boy still needs to learn the simplest lessons of life. Rangi chuckled to himself, but let the two of them leave on their way around the complex.

The apartment complex was actually many seperate buildings joined together at the oddest angles. The grounds of the complex used to be a large plaza and street of shops, and when the eccentric ol' billionaire had thought about the perfect place to put an apartment complex, of course he had chosen the one place that didn't need to be closed down. Nonetheless, everyone had gone away quite happily with pockets full of cash. Then, he had all of the buildings: all of the restaurants, all of the mom-and-dad coffee shops, all of the random tourist traps; he had them strung together, like popcorn string in one of those old Christmas movies. It resulted in what was one bizarre maze of wood, steel, and glue. (Shh! Don't tell anyone.) But thankfully, the dojo was still actually a dojo.

It was a seperate building, but only two minutes' walk from any of the buildings. And yes, even before the building came into view, Kikan could hear some pretty horrendous screams, all followed with the same sound: the sound of flesh hitting wood.

[Bother, whoever it is sounds like a fun one.] By this point in her life, Kikan was used to her weapon, her blade whispering to her with the tiniest wisps of voice, the softest of sounds translating into language in her mind. She didn't know if "Child's Play" was actually saying these things, but they helped occasionally and she didn't mind. Rarely did they had conversations, but they served their purpose. As strange as it would seem to someone who didn't understand, Kikan would trust "Child's Play" to save her if she was attacked. Even if she was sarcastic and jaded sometimes, and didn't take things quite seriously. Although, Kikan had to agree with that last comment.

Kentei slid open the door for her, acting like he actually had some sense of moral code for once, even though his eyes were rolled. And even before she stepped into the dojo, a voice rang out lightly, "Are you going to try to challenge me?" It was presumably the one who had defeated or otherwise ruthlessly beat into submission all of those other men, and the voice sounded female. Says something about the men around here, I suppose. Her thoughts were interrupted as she walked inside and saw the source of the voice.

She was slim all around, her neck, her arms, her legs. The fingers of her hand were long, but the nails were cut down to the quick. She wore no karate gi, but instead just a simple white blouse and a plaid skirt to her knees. Her day's-old blood red hair was pulled into a feather bun. But everywhere else on her, knives protruded out of pouches and slings like grotesque growths of steel, almost metaphorically encasing herself within them. She pulled one out of its case; a small, but sharp thing with an extra set of blades as a hilt. Holding it with two fingers, almost nonchalantly, as she tilted it to Kikan's direction, who already had her hand on "Child's Play", ready to unsheathe and kill. "Well?"

Her guide stepped up to her, trying to get her to back down from fighting the red/brown head, obviously knowing how strong she was. "Uh, Kikan, that wouldn't be very smart, 'cause Sariyuki here had beat everyone that challenged her, and she's pretty hurtful with the knives; I would know, I've still got a scar on my chest from it-" She cut him off with a curt glare, then turned her head back around and pulled "Child's Play" out of its bandaged sheath. And Kentei noticed, by accident, the barely dark scars that laced her hands as she held her blade before her with one hand. But that wasn't all. What in Japan....? When her weapon glinted in the lights from the dojo ceiling, he could sometimes see-what the hell?-a smear of dark brown with black in its center, a smudge of a line above it. It looked like a blurred eye, and at the angle it was at, it wasn't Kikan's. And it was laughing. Suddenly, it disappeared as quickly as he had saw it.

"Shall I start?"

Sariyuki smiled, not friendly, but threateningly. "Let's."

-SYC
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