The bleeding wail of police sirens jerked him back to the bright cold Feburary day. His breath thinned white in the air. Kenshin blinked the sweat from his eyes, flicked the blood off Kitetsu with his left hand and knelt to rummage through Salamander’s pockets. Car keys. Tictacs. A wallet. ID. ID Chip. Some cash. Kenshin pocketed the cash, tossed the wallet and searched until had found a slim grey phone. This he jammed into his pocket and went back into the diner, his shoulder stiff. The blood was already drying on the floor. The dead were already past any state of having lived once.
He saw the woman tending to…to the cop. He could see her back. Bare and vulnerable as she wrapped her shirt around his wound. Kenshin hurried into the back room. Startling Jiro who was hiding there, shaking, tears running down his face. He let out a short yelp and pressed himself into the corner. Kenshin wanted to reassure him but there were no words. The worst wasn’t over. The worst couldn’t be over. Not in New Meiji.
He grabbed his coat and his messenger bag which he gingerly slipped over his opposite shoulder. His arm twinged and he firmly told himself he would hurt later. Later when there was time. He took a moment to retrieve Kitetsu’s bag from Susanoo-san’s office and realized there was no sheath for the bright blade. No wonder Jiro had been frightened. Kenshin sighed and moved back into the diner, picking up the sword’s red sheath and sliding it home before putting it in the back and leaning it against the counter. Then he took his jacket and laid it across the woman’s shoulders, looking at the cop who was still breathing after being a complete and utter idiot.
“It will be okay, it will, miss,” Kenshin said softly and squeezed her shoulders. The sirens were closer. They sure had taken their time. He started to leave when he noticed the cop’s tablet gleaming on the table. There would be a lot of information in there. He licked his lower lip, wincing at the coppery taste of blood, and approached it. It was probably DNA locked, though. Kenshin pressed his fingers to the glossy surface and then saw that it was. He cursed under his breath…and looked to where the cop was lying.
“Better keep pressure on that leg,” Kenshin told the woman as he came closer. He knelt, gingerly took the cop’s hand and pressed it to the LED screen until it flicked green, gave the woman an apologetic smile and bolted out the back way, hearing cop cars pull to a screeching halt outside. They would take care of her.
As he darted out into the open air, he realized it was chillier than before and then recognized it as bloodloss. Well—it couldn’t be helped. He had to run. If they caught him he would be taken back.
no subject
He saw the woman tending to…to the cop. He could see her back. Bare and vulnerable as she wrapped her shirt around his wound. Kenshin hurried into the back room. Startling Jiro who was hiding there, shaking, tears running down his face. He let out a short yelp and pressed himself into the corner. Kenshin wanted to reassure him but there were no words. The worst wasn’t over. The worst couldn’t be over. Not in New Meiji.
He grabbed his coat and his messenger bag which he gingerly slipped over his opposite shoulder. His arm twinged and he firmly told himself he would hurt later. Later when there was time. He took a moment to retrieve Kitetsu’s bag from Susanoo-san’s office and realized there was no sheath for the bright blade. No wonder Jiro had been frightened. Kenshin sighed and moved back into the diner, picking up the sword’s red sheath and sliding it home before putting it in the back and leaning it against the counter. Then he took his jacket and laid it across the woman’s shoulders, looking at the cop who was still breathing after being a complete and utter idiot.
“It will be okay, it will, miss,” Kenshin said softly and squeezed her shoulders. The sirens were closer. They sure had taken their time. He started to leave when he noticed the cop’s tablet gleaming on the table. There would be a lot of information in there. He licked his lower lip, wincing at the coppery taste of blood, and approached it. It was probably DNA locked, though. Kenshin pressed his fingers to the glossy surface and then saw that it was. He cursed under his breath…and looked to where the cop was lying.
“Better keep pressure on that leg,” Kenshin told the woman as he came closer. He knelt, gingerly took the cop’s hand and pressed it to the LED screen until it flicked green, gave the woman an apologetic smile and bolted out the back way, hearing cop cars pull to a screeching halt outside. They would take care of her.
As he darted out into the open air, he realized it was chillier than before and then recognized it as bloodloss. Well—it couldn’t be helped. He had to run. If they caught him he would be taken back.
And he would rather die first.