Shades of Revolution {M&P for Shiori}

[Azeri]

.A. fading myriad of color....
....Twist into shades of revolution

"The life of solitude suits me well.” Seijuro Hiko inquired whimsically, before pouring a small amount of fermented rice sake into the cylindrical cup situated on his makeshift table. Solitude…..eh? When did I become an idealistic old fool? He mulled, as greenish-brown eyes scrutinized the plain white walls devoid of unnecessary decorations which in normal sense might distract Hiko from his artistic creativity. Despite the fact his ’home’ wasn’t grandiose or eloquently furnish didn’t brother the jaded male at all, his handcrafted pottery had enough color to brighten up even the gloomiest room corner. Burnished earthenware lined every available shelf space in the diminutive timber shack, however the careful application of gloss over fired clay provided a brilliant contrast against tatami-covered floors. “Will the sake taste sweet today?” The raven-haired warrior asked out loud, knowing fathomable silence would be his sedentary cohort during his sake induced endeavors. The silence wasn’t always this heavy. His restless mind whispered, invoking pleasant memories spent in company of a certain red-headed male he had rescued after slave traders rendered the entire camp into a despicable grave site. Seijuro shook his head savagely, wanting nothing more then to burn each memory from mind. Why? What prompted him to suddenly feel remorseful? Because he had an incredible will to live. That stubborn apprentice of mine survived despite how hopeless his situation appeared. Indeed. The boy known simply as ’Shinta’ would be the legendary master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style someday, that is if his hotheaded student managed to complete the arduous training requirements. Brushing problematic thoughts aside, he pressed the vile of sake to his parched mouth, and as soon as the chilled liquid touched his tongue Hiko’s gag reflex kicked in. “T…Tastes bitter!” Rice wine should never taste acrid! Scrunching eyebrows together, the burly professor coughed until all traces of pungent sake left his mouth, yet the sickly sweet aftertaste stayed with him until a baritone sounding voice broke Seijuro out of his afflicted state.

What does my baka denshi want now?! Using the course mantle to wipe his mouth, the robust swordsmen climbed to his feet in one swift motion. Decades of intense physical training transformed lean muscle into sculptured pieces achieved through hours of hard work and dedication to training, surprisingly though the male’s broad body never impeded in his agile ability. Slipping loose bangs behind his left ear, Seijuro trekked across the short distance divided between his table, and the cloth-covered door tied partially upwards to let natural sunlight in. “He better not complain about hurting hands or else I’ll make him chop firewood all day!” Hiko groaned, showing blatant displeasure over the unintended interruption Kenshin had caused. Moving leather curtains aside, he stepped outside the homely-looking structure to meet his younger pupil face to face. Fiery red tresses complimented determined indigo eyes, however the light of determination wasn’t one the battle worn warrior wanted to see ever again. “That expression….” He noted quietly, as the fifteen-year old adolescent continued his silent walk through last nights accumulated snow. “The revolution in Edo has commenced….many innocent victims have already died! I can’t keep on training while many more lives are at stake….I have to do something! Master…I must go!” Kenshin suddenly blurted out, hoping his pleas would coax the stoic professor into a ceding understanding. “So…you would abandon your training because the outside world is in turmoil? Fool! Don’t be stupid…..finish your training! After all of this is over…you will be a stronger swordsmen.” Seijuro stated calmly, however his serene tone didn’t match the fierce expression of narrowed eyes. He doesn’t understand anything! Tightening hands beneath alabaster-colored cloak, the stout male shook his head helplessly for Kenshin Himura continued his naïve serenade of using the sword to usher in a new era of peace. “Silence! Your words are nothing….but garbage! How would one man wielding one sword hope to change history? Are you going to let yourself be the pawn of reprehensible men? The only petty experience you’ll ever witness in war is murder and death! To achieve victory….you will kill legions of men just because their ideals are different from yours! Whatever…do as you please! Go ahead….brand yourself a murderer.” Hiko retorted, knowing his warnings would fall on deaf ears. Your once pure heart will be torn asunder... Squaring rigid shoulders together, the raven-haired warrior took refuge inside his shack all the while leaving Himura Kenshin to wallow in self-ordained misery.

Had Seijuro Hiko locked himself away from society? Hadn’t the great swords master participated in previous revolutions before? Did he consider lower classed peasants as disposable fodder? “You don’t understand….master. You just don’t understand my motives. The principal of Hitsen Mitsurugi is useless if I can’t use it to save the lives of innocent civilians.” Kenshin mouthed involuntarily, blatant shock evident on his angular features. “What did I do wrong? Is it wrong of me to help the less fortunate?” Why? Why would the red-head abandon five years worth of laborious training? Was he passionate enough in his ideals to leave his solitary instructor alone once again? Let your survival be your families’ memorial. Five years. It had been five long and agonizing years since ten-year old ’Shinta’ witnessed the cruel slaughter of his adopted family right before his eyes. My survival… If Hiko hadn’t shown up on time, Kenshin would’ve become just another routine causality in the never-ending cycle of violence. “Sumimasen…..” The fifteen-year old adolescent apologized between gritted teeth “Perhaps…I’ll be branded a murderer. Perhaps…these hands of mine will become soiled in blood…but I can’t stay blissfully ignorant of another’s suffering. Five years ago…I could do nothing to prevent Akane and Ayame from being killed.” He had the strength. He had the element of youth on his side, however Kenshin’s mentally didn’t comprehend the full brutally of guerilla warfare. Glinting cerulean hues ghosted across the footfalls left behind in the snow by Seijuro, yet the strong memories tying him here were as fleeting as the changing seasons. “Thank you.” Himura muttered at last, bowing his head in tribute to the man who had been his master and adopted father during chaotic times. Are you sure about this? His rational mind inquired, although the red-haired male unsheathed his katana in response. Polished silver reflected Kenshin’s taut facial expression as his indigo-colored eyes flickered between Seijuro’s humble home and the snow laden path leading down to war torn Edo. “Good bye.” Mumbling his final words of departure, the vermilion-haired youth vanished into the rising mist. My sword will bring about a new era...of that you can be certain.

----

“Katsura? Katsura? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm? What do you need Tama? I’m really busy right now.”

“You’re always busy! Since the rebellion started four years ago…you haven’t looked at the Sakura petals even once! Look at you! Look at how the strain of war has debilitated everyone…”

“Perceptive as always eh? Spring did indeed arrive early this year….though I must say the falling petals remind me of blood rain.”

“A rain of blood? Blood rain….don’t tell me he is here?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken into account how vital Battousai is for our group. Without him on our side…we wouldn’t stand a chance against the Shinsengumi.”

“Katsura….how long do you think Battousai can hold out? I’ve only seen brief glimpses of him…but that boy is way too young to be a professional assassin. Sooner or later…all those actions will comeback to haunt him."

“The warnings maybe already too late. Every time his sword slices into another person…the boy loses a part of himself. There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind….that Battousai knows in his heart of the atrocities he has committed by his own hands.” Katsura explained “Though isn‘t it ironic…how tragedy can transform any sane man into a devil?” Letting his questionable analogy dangled unanswered, the dark-haired captain eyed Tama warily, as if expecting the iron-willed women to collapse from induced shock. Tama…can we really function as a married couple? Much like the notorious Battousai his loyalties belonged to the Choshu group ,and putting his beloved fiancée in danger was the last thing Katsura wanted for her. Selfish motives perhaps? Marriage? What is marriage for? The last married couple I sent to Osaka met their end rather tragically. Reflecting on past mistakes wouldn’t necessarily relieve the mounting tension on his shoulders, but at least he held enough knowledge in his hand to prevent another tragedy from befalling his beloved Tama. “Captain! Captain! Pardon the sudden intrusion…but my men have gain insight as to where the Shinsengumi are hiding. Sources pinpoint their location to a remote village thirty minutes from here, I believe the group might be up to no good.” The samurai explained, watching Katsura’s facial expression contort between apprehension and barely veiled rage. “Are you absolutely certain? If the Shinsengumi split up…I’m certain their planning on attacking Edo again. Why would the group split up though? Quantity in numbers might have a better chance at overtaking our group….unless…” His analysis tapered abruptly as a familiar looking figure stepped into the dim candle light. Dancing yellow flames transformed Kenshin’s violet gaze into burning amber pools, which indicated Hitokiri Battousai had slipped in unseen and undetected. “It’s a mere distraction.” The red-head commented coldly “Sending the entire Choshu Ishin after them leaves Edo completely unprotected.” He finished his sentence, dead silence suffocated the entire room while Katsura considered Himura’s observation carefully. “You’re right…leaving the city unprotected means greater causalities among the civilians. I will have part of the Choshu group stay here to man the city, but you and Battousai shall take the remaining members to the remote village. Perhaps…it would be best for you to start heading out…anymore delay ensures annihilation for the innocent civilians.” Waving right hand in a dismissive gesture, the older male sent his two most trusted men and the Choshu-Ishin after the offensive clan.

We could’ve lived like this if you hadn’t picked up a sword. You would be happy with some land and some seeds to plant. Why couldn’t the haunting voices cease to exist? Why did Kenshin remember those words after three years? My humanity was on the verge of losing itself in madness. The red-haired adolescent reflected quietly, instinctively resting his left hand on the katana’s cold hilt. The simple gesture could be equated to seeking comfort from a known source or perhaps sheer paranoia played an important factor in the boy making sure his battle weapon hadn’t gone on missing. “Are you ready?” Hisoka interrogated, sardonic bemusement illuminating his facial expression “Or did the incident two years ago cause your swordsman spirit to break?” The youth understood how risky mocking words were to the Hitokiri, however Battousai had never shown any aggressive tendencies towards his comrades. You were always Katsura’s most trusted prodigy! You always had everything handed out on a silver platter! Anger nearly clouded his rational judgment, but any experienced samurai knew passionate sentiments made concentration impossible on many levels. In fact the mocking words caused an undesired effect on Kenshin Himura, for he had stiffened noticeably. “Let’s go.” Himura responded shortly, boring narrowed violet eyes into Hisoka’s widening brown ones. Despite arrogance being Kamachi Hisoka’s deepest fault, he knew from experience that Battousai’s demeanor remained consistently unpredictable. Jealousy will only lead you down the path of self-destruction. Kenshin contemplated, before darting through paper thin doors, and into the deserted streets of Edo. Unpleasant silence met the young warrior until Hisoka appeared besides him with slender hand touching the katana for good measure. “The remote village lies south of here….I’m sure the Ishin samurai have gone ahead of us.” The brunette hissed beneath his breath, although the red-head figured out the location long before Hisoka ever did. Go ahead….brand yourself a murderer! Seijuro’s scornful tone filled the nineteen-year old adolescent with guilt, unfortunately Kenshin Himura had already branded himself a murderer. Hitokiri Battousai. Himura the manslayer. Fitting names for a man stained in blood right? Shaking unnecessary concerns from mind, the ginger-haired samurai acknowledged his companion’s words before allowing Hisoka the pleasure of leading him up Edo’s main city square and into the isolated panorama called Jima forest.

What atrocities would Himura encounter? Had the Choshu arrived on time as planned? Time was of the essence if unnecessary bloodshed was too be avoided , but running at full speed through craggy terrain wasn’t helping either samurai advanced through the dense foliage. Hundred year old cypress trees lay scattered in various positions conveniently placed by mother nature herself to provide weary travelers with ample shelter from the elements, however the biological sanctuary also hid common dangers for traveling swordsmen. The wolves of Mibu or Shinsengumi as they were commonly known through out Edo lived up to their name sake, after all wolves cooperating with each other were capable of catching their intended victims off guard. There is no end too this forest. The Battousai observed, placing his right hand gingerly on the katana’s ornate hilt. As much as he was tempted to cut time by hacking an alternative route, the red-haired swordsmen knew better then too risk being spotted wielding his blade out in the open countryside. Risky. Very Risky. Releasing his scabbard took tremendous will power to achieve, seeing as Kenshin’s paranoia hadn’t faded away since Hisoka spoke those contempt filled words at him. Why? Why did the young samurai loath him so much? Contorting slender eyebrows thoughtfully, the nineteen-year old adolescent considered Kamachi’s odd attitude carefully. An ill-tempered samurai had greater possibility of betraying his comrades in battle, though Himura wondered if Hisoka would stoop so low. The abrupt shift in wind direction brought about an unsettled feeling within the Hitokiri Battousai as fresh blood and distant screams filled the surrounding landscape. “It has started.” Hisoka commented out of the blue, instinctively drawing his katana from it’s sheath, and jumping straight into the entangled mass of Shinsengumi troops fighting against Choshu-Ishin samurai. Do you really want to fight? Are you willing to kill again? The teen’s subconscious mind spoke, while Kenshin Himura scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger. Hazardous objects in motion remained faraway, although indigo hues captured graphic images of torn corpses littered across the grassy terrain. I don’t have a choice! If the Shinsengumi aren’t defeated here…they will only take more innocent lives! He reasoned logically, promptly swinging his sword out to parry an attack, as one of the turquoise-clad warriors charged full speed at him. Jumping quickly backwards, the vermilion-haired youth relied heavily on his speed to use the fabled Hitsen Mitsurugi style against the opposing enemy. Slanting the katana slightly too the left, Kenshin unleashed his pent up rage upon the unsuspecting warrior; sword clashed against sword sending both sparks and blood spraying straight into the air

“Captain Hisoka!”

“Yes?! What is it?!”

“The Shinsengumi are no longer a threat to this village….we have caught the remaining survivors and will have them returned to headquarters for interrogation.”

“What about civilian casualties?”

“I’m afraid half the village has been decimated….we do have an elderly couple who survived the carnage though. Our men tried questioning the pair…but they refuse to cooperate with us. The woman is crying hysterically…however the male is shouting obscenities."

“Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! Ungrateful wretches should be executed for disrespecting the samurai!”

“May you find happiness in the afterlife.” The auburn-haired swordsmen murmured beneath his breath, eyelids squeezed shut momentarily blocking out macabre scenes of death from Kenshin’s sight. He should be used to seeing death everywhere. He should be used to the assigned task of killing men over an ideology. He shouldn’t feel remorse for taking lives with his very own sword. What if they had a family? Himura contemplated somberly, parting eyelids taking in the vast amounts of blood dripping from his curved saber to the floor below. “I’m probably covered in more blood…then my sword could ever be.” Quivering lips curled into a humorless smile, as he recognized the undertones of irony lining his wistful words. “Battousai? Where are you? Ah…there you are.” The brunette male called out, his authoritative voice commanding Himura’s undivided attention immediately “You’ve done an excellent job so far playing the part of Hitokiri. I can see why the name ‘Battousai’ strikes fear into your opponents….you hardly give them any opportunity to scream.” Fake chuckles escape through pursed lips, until Hisoka’s faux amusement ended abruptly “Say Himura…do you know what the penalty is for offensive behavior towards a samurai? I’m absolutely certain such horrendous acts carry the heavy weight of execution isn’t that right?” Shimmering brown orbs studied his companion’s behavior closely, for the russet-haired adolescent wished every ounce of bad luck to befall Katsura’s favorite swordsmen. “What do you want from me?” Kenshin hissed in response, tightening petite fingers around the hilt till knuckles became white from exerting vast amounts of pressure on them. “You’re Battousai the manslayer right? I have a simple task you must accomplish…let me see.” Moving muscular body aside, the eighteen year old male stepped aside revealing the only civilians to survive the Shinsengumi occupation. However, their emotional state could be called deplorable especially in how Hisoka treated them like inanimate objects capable of feeling no pain. “Those people….why are you treating them badly?” The red-haired youth interrogated, locking indigo eyes squarely on Hisoka’s fiery-filled brown ones. “Because…they disrespect the Choshu clan! Death must be dealt swiftly and accurately Battousai! The task of taking their lives will fall on you….after all its only right the fabled assassin take more lives!” Is that how he viewed the life of the living? Were the civilians truly disposable? My promise was to usher in a new era….not massacre the innocent! Kenshin retorted mentally, feeling partially numb inside. Battousai the manslayer…born out of chaotic times. Gritting teeth back and forth, he watched the elderly couple pray profusely to the heavens for one last opportunity to see their adopted daughter Kadory before Himura ended their life for good. “This isn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Swallowing dryly, the red-haired samurai raised his bloodied weapon above their heads ready to strike them down with the stained sword, but at the last instant Kenshin froze in mid-swing. I can’t! I simply can’t! Whether guilt stopped him from become Battousai once again remained to be seen, however the hesitation displayed by Himura Kenshin left him completely vulnerable to the unmerciful elements.


OCC: Phew...finally posted! Hope this is sufficient to allow your character to come in as she pleases. I had so much fun typing this up

Disclaimer: Kenshin Himura belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki

[Guest]

“We have no money for food,” the elderly woman commented casually. She always said this before dinnertime—never a day passed when these words weren’t spoken (or simply uttered) at least once. The fiery-haired, younger, woman simply smiled and shook her head. Her adopted mother, while saying this, was cutting up a head of cabbage.

The cabbage, however, had been stolen. Kadory had yet to tell her adopted mother—Sarai—that it had not been bought.

After a moment’s thought and a fond look around the ragtag shelter, Kadory sighed, “Yet we have a roof over our heads and we have each other. If you are really so hungry, mother, I can go out and hunt.”

Sarai looked at Kadory thoughtfully, her bright green eyes scrutinizing every aspect of her. Despite her youth and unbecoming lack of proper education, Kadory was quite intelligent—and sly. Not only was that deceiving, but her slim, rather lanky build completely betrayed the strength that Kadory had acquired of the years by training herself. Sarai disapproved of Kadory’s daily escapades, not enjoying the fact that Kadory returned home without being able to stand on her feet for more than a few minutes, much less walk.

On top of that, the entire family never got a sufficient amount of food. Occasionally the spunk redhead would bring home a deer, large enough to last an entire week, but even that was becoming rarer and rarer in these troubled times. That never stopped Kadory from going out and hunting—she said she “liked the risk.”

Succumbing to her own selfish desires, Sarai shook her head and continued chopping up the cabbage, “If you must, dear. Just remember to be home before dusk. And if you see Kyrro tell him to come home.”

Kadory nodded, moving to the left side of the two-room hut and grabbing the necessary things: her bow and quiver of arrows (with laboriously hand-made arrowheads), her dagger, and her ever-present belt in which she stored her weapons. As Kadory reached the door, she turned and took in a deep breath of her home’s aroma.

Cabbage, freshly chopped wood, people in their elderly age, and the slight hint of the fire that was crackling on the right-hand side of the room. The smell wasn’t pleasant to outsiders (she remember very well her first reaction to the pungent odor), but to her it smelled of home, and she’d miss it when she finally decided to leave this home and find one of her own—seeing as she was well past the age of being able to care for herself. Something about her foster parents kept her there.

“Stay safe!” Kadory called over her shoulder, pulling herself away from her thoughts, “With and luck, our stomachs will not go hungry tonight!”
- - - -
The promise had been good enough for her mother. The promise of food had sufficed. Though she knew her parents wouldn’t judge her, she absolutely loathed coming home empty-handed. It’d been a waste of time and energy, only to return without a simple fowl to eat.

She stared at her shoes, noting their worn leather would need patching of some sort; and her baggy hand-me-down pants from her father would probably need hemming. Kadory had started to zone out a bit when her foot landed with an unexpected splash. Pulling her foot up and examining what she’d stepped in, Kadory clenched her teeth.

The shiny red fluid was unmistakable. As she lifted her brown eyes upward, cat ears twitching angrily, she scanned the horizon for where the blood had come from. She saw who it belonged to, no more than two yards away, to her right, was an emaciated corpse, their clothes drenched in a crimson rain. Peeling off her leather gloves, Kadory kneeled beside the body of the corpse, flipping it gently onto its back. The face, however, had been slashed beyond recognition. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably as she wondered who would’ve done this—it was obvious that it had been no accident.

Face hardening, Kadory slipped her gloves back on and picked up a silent yet desperate run. She was forced multiple times to hop out of the way of mutilated carcasses. The whole village reeked of metallic blood, making her scrunch up her nose. She flipped out her dagger, her mind racing. Who had come here? Who was cruel enough to obliterate more than half of a village? Who would destroy the peace that’d once been here—a peace that hadn’t been intended to be broken by the people who lived in it? And, more importantly, who’s throat would she have to cut out if any harm had come to the couple who had raised her for 18 years of her life?

When she reached their heart, her heart caught in her throat. The hand-made cherry wood table and chairs had been overturned, the fire doused, its big billowing thunderclouds of smoke making the air nearly completely un-breathable. The only few wall decors had either been dismantled completely and lay cracked on the floor, or were strewn unevenly against the wall. And to her great horror, her foster parents weren’t there.

Rushing through the already-broken doors, Kadory let herself out onto the blood-soaked streets. Clutching her dagger’s hilt to the point that her knuckles whitened under the force of her fist, she began to make her way to the edge of the village, her heart heavy. She stopped when she heard voices: two familiar, two un. The two she recognized filled her with hope, though they were praying and shouting up at the heavens for something, the tears garbling their voices so Kadory had a hard time deciphering what the couple was saying.

Slinking deftly through the shadows of the houses, Kadory came upon a small group of people, all armed with weapons that made her dagger look no more threatening than a toothpick. Though she was very aware that her weapon was highly inferior to that of her opponents, she had to protect her family, no matter the cost. If that meant the shedding of her own blood, Kadory would gladly apply herself in order to keep the people she loved safe and sound from the intruders that surrounded them now.

Kadory flinched when she saw a samurai who was in the middle of what seemed to be an execution, swing his sword downwards to halve her family. To her surprise, he stopped in mid-swing, seemingly hesitant on killing the older innocents. Without a second to spare, Kadory dashed out from her hiding spot in the shadows, shoving her way through the other samurais (many of whom tried to grab her, but her determination worked in her favor) and severed the distance between the redheaded assassin and her parents.

Though she knew he’d stopped swinging, Kadory put her dagger against his blade, with a small clink! No matter the predicament, she couldn’t help but notice the odd features of the male assassin, who looked to be around her age, possibly even younger. She could tell almost instantly that he was a good swordsman, and the features describing his build and facial features made her remember something. A name…nonetheless, the name didn’t come to her right away, and she quickly dropped the idea. Now was not the time to let her guard down.

Applying force to her dagger, hoping to push him back a bit (she didn’t want to cause anymore bloodshed if necessary; there was enough blood in this town to coat a whole ocean, or so it seemed), and hissed, “You’re going to have to kill me before you so much as lay a finger on them.” Kadory’s expression went taut, her gaze unwavering as she glared into his strangely indigo eyes.


OOC: sorry it sucks. XD but yours was good!