Another day same as the first
May. 25th, 2012 02:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katananokokoro posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
gumi_reloadedDate: Wednesday, February 8th, 2060
Time: 4:00
Place: Kenshin's western safehouse.
Characters: Kenshin
A chilled wind swept down over the edge of the building and shivered down the back of his neck, drying the resin on his fingers. Kenshin shivered and tightened the bandanna that blocked out some the dizzying smell of the gunk, and gripped the paintbrush again, dipping it in the silver can and then spreading the stuff out on the soles of his sneakers. It was probably the only good thing that had come from Takani. This stuff, whatever it was, made it so he could run as much as he liked without his shoes falling to ruin since Takani was tired of replacing them. (Though can you really count them as good if you're using them to commit murder?)
Kenshin sighed and pushed the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on getting the resin in every little ridge and even along the seams, but trying not to get any on the red of the converses themselves or it would stain. He supposed it was rather frivolous, but he liked at least something he owned to look good... especially since his jacket was gone. He didn't regret putting it on the woman, but it was probably long gone now. And hopefully to a better place.
Speaking of women, he wondered how Megumi was fairing. He had almost expected her to call right away. But she hadn't, of course. Which could either mean she had no phone or...or something worse, but there was nothing he could do about it now. (You can't help anyone that really matters, can you?)
No. He couldn't, but that's who he was. A hitokiri was a hitokiri, at least until the Nezumi Syndicate was eradicated. (Don't fool yourself. As if you'll stop. As if you can)
Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was destined to stand in a pool of blood. Maybe that was all there really was.
He finished applying the resin and screwed the silver lid back on the can, and sat for a moment in the chill, waiting for the shoes to dry a bit. If he left them out here they would be stolen. He traced the faded star. It was just a shoe. It didn't matter. If someone more worthy than him needed it, they could have it. But not after he nearly froze his fingers off applying a new coat.
Kenshin leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the sharp blue sky, the clouds hard and white. The phone buzzed and he picked it up. Hiroko-chan of course. It always was. But he had come to an understanding, of sorts. Though he wasn't sure if it was a penance or what.
[What are you doing, Murderer?]
It was almost a pet name for him. He tasted blood in his mouth whenever he saw it, but that was a sort of penance, too. (Not even a penance. Not even half of what you deserve)
[Fixing my shoes,] he texted back. [And hungry...]
[We could have coffee]
[No I think not]
Someone would end up getting killed. Even if she didn't actively want revenge, and he still wasn't sure what it was she wanted. He still hadn't figured out what her bodyguards had been waiting for that night and didn't feel as if it was right to ask her.She might still be in danger and he didn't want to be in the middle of another fight if he could avoid it. At least until the news had died down.
Kenshin closed his eyes again. They'd gotten a pretty good look at him. Of course they had. Saitoh had seen him after all. The only saving graze was the yellow eyes. Not his. Not all the time. (Just inside you) Hopefully, if he was careful, and not an idiot, he would be able to get blend in for a few months and this would all blow over. But he wasn't holding his breath.
Phone buzzed.
[Murderer, you owe me a cup of coffee]
[I'll send you a gift card]
[I deserve to see you]
[That's not a good idea]
[You always say that]
And he always would. At least for now. The really pathetic thing was that this phone was useless to him now. The police knew he had it, though fortunately couldn't track it as Salamander had been paranoid. More importantly, Salamander's contacts knew he had it which meant that he would have to find another way to follow up on them. One stupid shortcut and he was flung all the way back to the beginning.
But oh well. What was another year or two.
Or three...
Or five...
Time: 4:00
Place: Kenshin's western safehouse.
Characters: Kenshin
A chilled wind swept down over the edge of the building and shivered down the back of his neck, drying the resin on his fingers. Kenshin shivered and tightened the bandanna that blocked out some the dizzying smell of the gunk, and gripped the paintbrush again, dipping it in the silver can and then spreading the stuff out on the soles of his sneakers. It was probably the only good thing that had come from Takani. This stuff, whatever it was, made it so he could run as much as he liked without his shoes falling to ruin since Takani was tired of replacing them. (Though can you really count them as good if you're using them to commit murder?)
Kenshin sighed and pushed the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on getting the resin in every little ridge and even along the seams, but trying not to get any on the red of the converses themselves or it would stain. He supposed it was rather frivolous, but he liked at least something he owned to look good... especially since his jacket was gone. He didn't regret putting it on the woman, but it was probably long gone now. And hopefully to a better place.
Speaking of women, he wondered how Megumi was fairing. He had almost expected her to call right away. But she hadn't, of course. Which could either mean she had no phone or...or something worse, but there was nothing he could do about it now. (You can't help anyone that really matters, can you?)
No. He couldn't, but that's who he was. A hitokiri was a hitokiri, at least until the Nezumi Syndicate was eradicated. (Don't fool yourself. As if you'll stop. As if you can)
Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was destined to stand in a pool of blood. Maybe that was all there really was.
He finished applying the resin and screwed the silver lid back on the can, and sat for a moment in the chill, waiting for the shoes to dry a bit. If he left them out here they would be stolen. He traced the faded star. It was just a shoe. It didn't matter. If someone more worthy than him needed it, they could have it. But not after he nearly froze his fingers off applying a new coat.
Kenshin leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the sharp blue sky, the clouds hard and white. The phone buzzed and he picked it up. Hiroko-chan of course. It always was. But he had come to an understanding, of sorts. Though he wasn't sure if it was a penance or what.
[What are you doing, Murderer?]
It was almost a pet name for him. He tasted blood in his mouth whenever he saw it, but that was a sort of penance, too. (Not even a penance. Not even half of what you deserve)
[Fixing my shoes,] he texted back. [And hungry...]
[We could have coffee]
[No I think not]
Someone would end up getting killed. Even if she didn't actively want revenge, and he still wasn't sure what it was she wanted. He still hadn't figured out what her bodyguards had been waiting for that night and didn't feel as if it was right to ask her.She might still be in danger and he didn't want to be in the middle of another fight if he could avoid it. At least until the news had died down.
Kenshin closed his eyes again. They'd gotten a pretty good look at him. Of course they had. Saitoh had seen him after all. The only saving graze was the yellow eyes. Not his. Not all the time. (Just inside you) Hopefully, if he was careful, and not an idiot, he would be able to get blend in for a few months and this would all blow over. But he wasn't holding his breath.
Phone buzzed.
[Murderer, you owe me a cup of coffee]
[I'll send you a gift card]
[I deserve to see you]
[That's not a good idea]
[You always say that]
And he always would. At least for now. The really pathetic thing was that this phone was useless to him now. The police knew he had it, though fortunately couldn't track it as Salamander had been paranoid. More importantly, Salamander's contacts knew he had it which meant that he would have to find another way to follow up on them. One stupid shortcut and he was flung all the way back to the beginning.
But oh well. What was another year or two.
Or three...
Or five...
