“The only thing I am doing to do to that top is burn it,” Megumi said flatly, fixing her gaze on the bloodstains, for a second, thinking about where the holes and blood and wear and tear had come from. “the pants as well, once I get things sorted out.”
She looked over at Kenshin, and her expression brightened a little. “I thought about what you said last night, about finding a place to stay. I’ve been working on it, but being here, meeting you…it’s made me want to try harder.”
She took the folded blanket and put it away then walked over to the area of the room that served as a makeshift kitchen and started rummaging, picking up a carton here and a can there, trying to think of how to use the modest ingredients at hand to fix her friend a wonderful meal. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “I’ve been working on accessing my bank accounts, and think I’ve found someone who is willing to set up a secure transfer that hopefully won’t attract any undue attention.”
She twisted open a bottle of miso paste. “One we’ve eaten and I know that your shoulder is really feeling better and you’re not trying to be all heroic and manly and whatnot, I’d like to take advantage of your hospitality one final time and borrow a pair of shoes,” she looked down and wiggled her toes at him, “if they fit, and head to a library, or web café and work on getting some sort of meeting set up.”
She said nothing for a while, immersing herself in the simple, peaceful act of preparing food for herself and someone she cared about. Memories of doing this with her brother, of fixing favorite dishes and sitting beside his bedside as he ate filled her mind. (I wonder who’s caring for him now?) A part of her feared that with her gone and presumed dead, that the government would no longer have a reason to keep an invalid alive.
A familiar ache began to form in her heart, a painful little knot of worry and sorrow. She pushed it away, tried very hard to set it aside for another time and stay positive, to smile like her friend did. God knows his life wasn’t easy. She’d been a fugitive for what? Three weeks? He’d been doing this for years. While Megumi knew next to nothing about his life, she knew that simply being a Hitokiri was nothing short of a death sentence and that if caught, he’d end up being quietly eliminated, or worse, yet taken to some nameless military hospital and experimented on, to see why he’d manage to stay sane (and kind, and compassionate) while so many others had not.
And that, she realized, would break her heart.
“When I get things sorted out, and if you want to, I’d love to fix you a real meal, prepare whatever your favorite foods are,” she offered her voice and expression becoming hopeful and vibrant as she thought about being able to offer something back, to be a contributor to this dynamic rather than just a consumer. “It will be spring soon, and I can make us a huge plate of Ohagi to share.” It was an old family recipe, one that she’d loved fixing from the time she’d been a little girl.
The loaded burner, unused to dealing with anything more robust than reheating canned items and the occasional package of noodles began to smoke. Megumi swore under her breath and turned down the temperature a little, lest she cause a fire.
“I think I gave it a stroke, poor thing,” she looked down at the overwhelmed burner in mock pity, then up at the smoke that was accumulating above her head. “I’d best open the door, before we end up huffing our meal, rather than eating it.”
She stood up, then walked over to the door, and opened it so that the smoke could clear.
Backlit by the tiny space heater, Megumi peered out into the dark, cold hallway for a second. (Is someone out there?) She squinted a little, her sharp eyes detecting movement…detecting…
Megumi's eyes went wide with horror as she saw a red dot rapidly moving up stomach, locking on her chest, the blood red laser light the only warning she had that something horrible was about to happen. She gasped, her body starting to shake with a mixture of adrenaline and terror and took a step back, raising her hands out in front of her to show she was unarmed. (It won’t matter..)
“No!” she pleaded, her voice cracking as she threw herself against the door, trying to shut it before it was too late, “Please! Don’t do…” Another light appeared on her chest and she had the split sensation of hearing an electrical crackle before a bolt of searing light and heat tore into her…tore through her.
no subject
She looked over at Kenshin, and her expression brightened a little. “I thought about what you said last night, about finding a place to stay. I’ve been working on it, but being here, meeting you…it’s made me want to try harder.”
She took the folded blanket and put it away then walked over to the area of the room that served as a makeshift kitchen and started rummaging, picking up a carton here and a can there, trying to think of how to use the modest ingredients at hand to fix her friend a wonderful meal. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “I’ve been working on accessing my bank accounts, and think I’ve found someone who is willing to set up a secure transfer that hopefully won’t attract any undue attention.”
She twisted open a bottle of miso paste. “One we’ve eaten and I know that your shoulder is really feeling better and you’re not trying to be all heroic and manly and whatnot, I’d like to take advantage of your hospitality one final time and borrow a pair of shoes,” she looked down and wiggled her toes at him, “if they fit, and head to a library, or web café and work on getting some sort of meeting set up.”
She said nothing for a while, immersing herself in the simple, peaceful act of preparing food for herself and someone she cared about. Memories of doing this with her brother, of fixing favorite dishes and sitting beside his bedside as he ate filled her mind. (I wonder who’s caring for him now?) A part of her feared that with her gone and presumed dead, that the government would no longer have a reason to keep an invalid alive.
A familiar ache began to form in her heart, a painful little knot of worry and sorrow. She pushed it away, tried very hard to set it aside for another time and stay positive, to smile like her friend did. God knows his life wasn’t easy. She’d been a fugitive for what? Three weeks? He’d been doing this for years. While Megumi knew next to nothing about his life, she knew that simply being a Hitokiri was nothing short of a death sentence and that if caught, he’d end up being quietly eliminated, or worse, yet taken to some nameless military hospital and experimented on, to see why he’d manage to stay sane (and kind, and compassionate) while so many others had not.
And that, she realized, would break her heart.
“When I get things sorted out, and if you want to, I’d love to fix you a real meal, prepare whatever your favorite foods are,” she offered her voice and expression becoming hopeful and vibrant as she thought about being able to offer something back, to be a contributor to this dynamic rather than just a consumer. “It will be spring soon, and I can make us a huge plate of Ohagi to share.” It was an old family recipe, one that she’d loved fixing from the time she’d been a little girl.
The loaded burner, unused to dealing with anything more robust than reheating canned items and the occasional package of noodles began to smoke. Megumi swore under her breath and turned down the temperature a little, lest she cause a fire.
“I think I gave it a stroke, poor thing,” she looked down at the overwhelmed burner in mock pity, then up at the smoke that was accumulating above her head. “I’d best open the door, before we end up huffing our meal, rather than eating it.”
She stood up, then walked over to the door, and opened it so that the smoke could clear.
Backlit by the tiny space heater, Megumi peered out into the dark, cold hallway for a second. (Is someone out there?) She squinted a little, her sharp eyes detecting movement…detecting…
Megumi's eyes went wide with horror as she saw a red dot rapidly moving up stomach, locking on her chest, the blood red laser light the only warning she had that something horrible was about to happen. She gasped, her body starting to shake with a mixture of adrenaline and terror and took a step back, raising her hands out in front of her to show she was unarmed. (It won’t matter..)
“No!” she pleaded, her voice cracking as she threw herself against the door, trying to shut it before it was too late, “Please! Don’t do…” Another light appeared on her chest and she had the split sensation of hearing an electrical crackle before a bolt of searing light and heat tore into her…tore through her.