Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Thief and I ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm a poor, starving musician. Nuff said.

Author's Note: One of my New Year's resolutions is to make a drabble for every quote that my daily calendar gives me. This is my first drabble; therefore I shall call it "Drabble: I". Now if only life could be as simple...

“The condition of a military force is that its essential factor is speed, taking advantage of others' failure to catch up, going by routes they do not expect, attacking where they are not on guard.” -- Chapter 11: “The Nine Kinds of Terrain”

The Thief and I

Launching from branch to branch, the lithe figure made its way down the forest path, making sure to keep its target within its line of vision. The tail of a long braid revealed itself from beneath the billowing cloak, and piercing green eyes shone with a predatory gleam from under the cloak's hood. Makimachi Misao was hunting, and her heart began to race as she felt the distance closing between her and her prey.

“I have you now!” Three kunai slipped between her fingers as she leapt in the air, “Kansatsu tobikunai!”

The victim was pinned to a pine tree by his gi, and Misao landed on the grass soon after. A red line of blood stained the hideously bright green gi as the man struggled against his restraints, “Damn you, bitch!”

“It's what you deserve for running off with stolen goods, punk. Now hand it over…with your good arm,” Misao, despite her abbreviated height, towered over him threateningly, brandishing an expectant hand.

“Fuck you!” The man spat at the offending hand, “You wait till my father finds out about this.”

Misao laughed coldly, “I honestly wonder whom he would yell at, the thief or the avenger.”

“My father will have you hanged!”

“We'll see about that,” Misao landed a punch on the man's face. “Now hand it over, or you'll end up with more than just a bleeding arm and a swollen cheek.”

The man smirked suddenly, and Misao's eyes widened in alarm. However before she could turn to face her attacker, pain blossomed on the back of her head as the beam hit her. All was darkness as Misao slipped into unconsciousness.

She woke and discovered that she was enclosed in a dark, damp cell. A guard stood stationed on the other side of the bars, drinking a hot beverage and eating a plate of onigiri. The action of sitting up caught the guard's attention, and he stood peering into the cell, “You awake now?”

Misao glared at him as he ran his eyes up and down her form. Obviously, this prison didn't see many women in it. How disgusting, Misao thought as she leaned her back against the wall and ignored the guard. If anything, she knew that the thief could be making up some whacked up story that would disgrace her enough to be hanged. That spoiled little brat, she fumed, that he would have the sheer gall to sneak up on my belongings while I was bathing to steal my—

“You must be the prostitute my son was making such a fuss about,” a deep voice bellowed from the other side of the bars.

Misao blinked in response, “I beg your pardon?”

“You are sure to be hanged for the offenses you have made against him. I have it all arranged with the mayor,” a puff of smoke was exhaled, and Misao sniffed the air, noting that it was the scent of a rather expensive cigar. “Your execution is set for tomorrow morning.”

Misao blinked again.

“Have you nothing to say, you whore?” The man's voice rose in anger, and Misao met his glare until something behind him caught her eye. Her pack and weapons were sitting idly on the table at the guard's station.

Just then, another voice came echoing down the hall, a voice all too familiar and all too grotesque to Misao, “Father, you see? She's a fucking whore.”

“Yes, my boy. Not to worry, son,” the older man patted his son on the shoulder. “Father's taking care of everything.”

Misao's eyes widened in unchecked anger as she spotted the white piece of cloth that the son would bring up against his nose periodically. He is one sick, perverted-- Misao shuddered internally, her mind incapable of completing the thought. Neutralizing her facial expression, she met the son's eyes, her own promising years upon years of pain followed by years and years of the memory of said pain.

“Again, I ask you, wench,” the father piped up, “have you nothing to say?”

Misao faced him with a level glare, lifted her chin defiantly, and flicked him off.

The father's face reddened, and he sputtered angry nothings as the son yelled out, “That's it, bitch. I'm gonna teach you a lesson right now!” Keys jangled, and the guard cried out in protest. However, it was too late.

The door was swinging open, and the son was doubling over with his hands between his legs, courtesy of a pissed off ninja with a nasty kecho giri on hand. “I would like to have this back now if you don't mind, you sick bastard.” With movements almost too fast to catch, Misao retrieved the white piece of cloth that the son conveniently dropped in favor of clutching at his decidedly more important anatomical parts, snatched her pack, threw six kunai that pinned both the guard and the father to the wall, and made a quick dash down the hallway.

More guards were blocking her path, and Misao leapt up over their astonished heads to the other side. Her eyes quickly took in her surroundings when she made it outside, and she hurried over to busy streets, squeezing her way past buying customers and street-side vendors. She spotted uniformed guards racing toward her, and she unthinkingly dashed toward the left down an alley. She stopped in panic when she saw that it was a dead end. Her mind raced as she looked around for another way out.

The guards rounded the corner, standing in formation, their rifles aiming at the scattered shadows, searching for any sign of movement. Minutes passed before the leader of the group signaled for the squad to head back out. Misao uncovered her head from the black underside of her cloak, which was mistaken for a shadow, and cautiously made her way back to the main street. Appearing harmless, she found her way to the city gate and mingled with a group of people who were exiting before heading off the main road to the dense growth of trees bordering the city.

It took numerous washes before Misao deemed the cloth clean enough to be usable again.

- - -

Kaoru sipped her tea as Misao finished telling her tale, “All of that hassle for a piece of fundoshi, Misao?”

“It was my only extra one, and I wasn't looking forward to making it the rest of the way over to Tokyo merely with the one I had on,” Misao explained sardonically, sipping her tea in turn.

Kaoru sighed, “Still, what if that man were to come looking for you?”

“There's nothing to worry about, Kaoru,” Misao smirked. “If I spot a man walking funny-like toward me, I'll simply turn and walk away,” lifting the cup to her lips, Misao added, “for his sake, of course.”

“Of course,” Kaoru repeated, smiling helplessly before taking another sip of tea as well.

Owari