Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Four Swords ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I will be going on hiatus for the next 3-4 weeks due to AP testing and general senior-ness.

 

All I can do is continue to beg for your reviews…

 

Thank you prantik_c for the review! Here's the next chapter!

 

Mild shounen-ai in this chapter.

 

Chapter 8

 

Sagara watched the assassin disappear into the shadows, Sano hugged to his body. The man was small, and carrying Sano would be awkward, but Sagara hoped that they would both escape.

 

“We have to cover for them,” the parallel-blade swordsman said quietly, raising his sword. Sagara saw the deep shoulder wound, and winced. He glanced at the kodachi-swordsman. There was a shallow, neat cut across his left wrist, but it continued to bleed out of use.

 

“How long?” the kodachi-swordsman asked neutrally.

 

“As long as possible,” Sagara muttered through gritted teeth, straining to stand. He propped himself up with one of his katana, clumsily sheathing the other one.

 

The parallel-blade swordsman nodded. “Then we fight.”

 

The kodachi-swordsman beckoned to Sagara. “We'll stand closer together. We stand a better chance at surviving if we stay close. I'm assuming we're looking to survive this, too?” The question did not require an answer.

 

They stood in a triangle, back to back, swords raised. Three pairs of eyes settled coldly on their opponents, as they prepared themselves for the waves of men that surged toward them.

 

-----------------

 

Mieko ran without falter, feeling Sano's weight heavy against her hip. She didn't dare look behind, but she sensed that they weren't being heavily pursued. She wondered why. This whole affair was confusing her… why were these three men here, anyway? She wished she could remember if Kawami had ever said anything about the Sekihou Army…

 

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and continued running. Sano was silent, face buried in her shoulder. She hadn't expected him to be so easy to carry; he looked to be about 10, and a 10 year old boy shouldn't be this easy for her short frame to carry.

 

At last, she saw the dim lights of the Sekihou camp. This camp was better prepared than Nobori's army had been, and she saw men moving in patrol around the border. She made enough noise so that they would hear and stop her.

 

“Halt! Who are you?” a voice called.

 

“It's me!” Sano called, wiping tears from his eyes. Mieko understood. Her older brother, Isamu, the youngest of her brothers, had never wanted to be seen crying.

 

“I know you won't talk,” Sano said directly, with the simplicity only a child could know. “If they asked, you wouldn't say anything. And they know my voice.” Mieko smiled sadly. So perceptive…

 

“Sanosuke? Where's Captain Sagara? Does he know you were gone?” the man called, clearly worried. Mieko smiled to herself and returned to the present situation. Sano was the child of the army, the son of all these men who had left their own behind or would never have one.

 

Sano's self-imposed restraint crumbled at the mention of the captain. Sagara… Mieko thought, filing the name away for future reference. Sano managed a nod. “He's still back there,” he sniffled.

 

The man gasped, and ran up to Mieko and Sano. Rather than going to him, though, Sano stayed curled in Mieko's arms, sobbing. She tightened her grip on the boy, then handed him quickly to the other man. She needed to get back to have a chance in hell of saving Sagara and the other two.

 

“Wait,” Sano whispered, brushing away his tears. “Are you going back?” Mieko nodded in the darkness. Sano looked at her curiously, then ran to her legs. He hugged her around them, large brown eyes gazing up into hers. “Tell him I'm waiting,” he whispered. “He'll be okay, right? It's okay,” he whispered up to her. “You can whisper in my ear. No one but me will hear you.”

 

What am I supposed to say? Mieko thought wryly. Slowly, she knelt down and placed her lips beside the boy's ear. Careful to keep her voice as low as possible, she whispered, “Of course. I'll tell him you're expecting him. I'll make sure nothing happens to him.”

 

With that, she stood quickly and darted away, leaving Sano and the guard straining to see her black clad figure in the inky darkness.

 

------------------

 

Okita hissed through his teeth as the scythe he was fighting nicked the flesh of his upper right arm. He forgot about restraint as his blade lashed out. Gasping for breath, he looked to the other two men. The twin-katana swordsman, who was only able to wield one sword, was not faring well. He was weak, wounded, and barely standing. Okita knew it was the thought of the little boy—Sano—that kept him upright.

 

The kodachi-swordsman was faring better, but not at all well. He struggled with reading the moves of his opponents and reacting. He'd taken the least damage of the three, but he was also out of breath, and Okita saw the small cuts and nicks increasing in severity as he fought.

 

“We won't last much longer,” Okita ground out, guarding himself against an attack.

 

“We have to,” the swordsman gasped, cutting down another man.

 

“At a certain point, it's not a matter of `have to' or not. It's `can' or `can't',” the kodachi-swordsman muttered.

 

His words came true only a few moments later. Both he and Okita turned in shock as a spearman rammed the swordsman in the diaphragm. He doubled over, coughing blood. The spearman hit him over the head with the butt of his spear, and as the swordsman's limp body fell, prepared to run him through the heart with the pointed tip.

 

“No!” Okita yelled, lunging to block the spear. His block was complimented by the kodachi-swordsman's stab, which caught the spearman between the ribs.

 

Okita looked over at the kodachi-swordsman. “You'd best run now,” he said softly. “You're young. You can probably outrun most of these men.”

 

“You think I'd run now?” he asked coldly. “I thought you would've figured out by now that I'm not really in this for me.”

 

“Hn.” Okita gave a noncommittal murmur.

 

A flash of movement darted in front of Okita and the other man suddenly. “You're back,” the kodachi-swordsman noted smoothly, as the assassin landed gracefully before them.

 

-----------------

 

Aoshi smiled grimly. “So I assume the boy made it back safely?” The assassin nodded.

 

“Then we should run. We have nothing left to lo—“ the Shinsengumi man choked as a swordsman recklessly slashed him across the chest. Aoshi swore. They'd let their guard down for just a moment too long…

 

Before he knew it, the assassin had cut down the swordsman and was gathering the fallen twin-katana swordsman in his arms. Aoshi picked up the injured Shinsengumi man. “I think… he's going to help us.”

 

Without a word, the assassin sprang backwards and started running. Aoshi followed him, worried about worsening the Shinsengumi man's wound. They ran out into the darkness, and when the assassin was satisfied they'd put some distance between themselves and the army (whatever of it that may have followed them), they turned quickly and began running back towards Hanayama.

 

Why in the world…? Aoshi asked himself. But he said nothing. Not only would the assassin not answer him, but he seemed to know where he was taking them.

 

They continued to run through the darkness, the assassin as quick as ever. But Aoshi could feel himself slowing down. The Shinsengumi man's weight was new to Aoshi, and he didn't know quite the most efficient way to carry him. Also, there was a wound in his lower right side that had started bleeding again. It wasn't a bad wound, necessarily, but it bled a decent amount.

 

For an hour they ran through the darkness. The assassin took them not back to Hanayama, but to a dirt track running through the nearby forest. It was the same one Aoshi had come on from Edo, he realized.

 

Another half hour passed, and Aoshi felt himself grow numb. The man's weight hardly seemed heavy at all, and the throbbing in his side had ceased to concern him. He moved mechanically, putting one foot before the other, never stopping, never thinking.

 

He didn't notice the root protruding just above the ground, and the next thing he saw was the ground coming up to meet him.

 

--------------

 

Sagara groaned as he came to. Sunlight filtered in through a small window, landing gently on his face and barely illuminating the tiny room he was in. He squinted into the sunlight, gauging that it was just after sunrise.

 

He glanced down, and saw that he had been stripped of his bloody clothes, his wounds bandaged. He moved his arms tentatively, and found that the cuts there had been cleaned and bandaged tightly—but not so tightly as to restrict all use. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing, Sagara thought admiringly.

 

Remembering the night before, he didn't dare try to stand—he doubted that even with his wounds wrapped and the few hours of rest he'd had he'd be able to walk. Instead, he looked around the room curiously. A fire burned low in a hearth, and his clothes—and three other sets—were drying before it. On a futon to his right lay the parallel-blade swordsman, his hakama removed, revealing the wide bandages across his torso. The young kodachi-swordsman lay to the right of him, stripped except for the bandages across his abdomen and arms.

 

He glanced around again, and noticed the dark figure against the wall across from him. The amber eyes were lidded, and white strips of bandages broke the black clothing he still wore. Sagara smiled, and made a mental note to thank the assassin when he woke up.

 

A slight stirring beside him brought his attention to his new fellows. The parallel-blade swordsman opened his large brown eyes one at a time, blinking slowly to clear his vision. Upon seeing Sagara awake, he smiled broadly.

 

“You're blocking the sun,” he mumbled sleepily, and Sagara noted how youthful and almost innocent he was. With a smile and a murmured “Gomennasai,” he shifted his body to let the light flow in.

 

The other man—or boy, Sagara thought, glancing at the young body—was also awake. He was silent, small dark eyes watching them restlessly.

 

“Good morning,” the parallel-blade swordsman greeted cheerily. The boy merely nodded and continued watching, making both of the other men highly uncomfortable.

 

“Well,” the parallel-blade swordsman spoke up after the moment of silence. “I suppose we should thank him,” he said, gesturing to the sleeping assassin.

 

The assassin shook his head gently, causing Sagara and the other man to cry out.

 

“Wahhh!!! Don't scare me like that!” he cried, stifling a laugh. After recovering from his shock, Sagara also tried to stifle a grin.

 

“Didn't you sense him?” the boy asked, an almost irritated edge in his voice. “He's been awake for some time.”

 

Sagara glanced curiously at him. “You can sense him?”

 

“I am quite sensitive to ki. You give off ki every waking moment, even if there is no emotion.”

 

“My, my. I'm impressed,” the parallel-blade swordsman said with a smile.

 

The assassin finally chose to look up, amber eyes fixing on them. The face cloth still covered his mouth, and Sagara wondered why. With a little sigh, the assassin stood and moved to the fire, building it up a little so that the damp clothes would dry faster. Then he returned and resumed his seat across from the three, golden eyes watching sharply.

 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, then the parallel-blade swordsman spoke up. “So… why were all of you there last night?”

 

More silence. Finally, he continued, answering his own questions. “I was sent to spy on Nobori's army a bit… see what they were like. My superiors wanted information on how much of a threat he was.” Sagara noted that he gave away nothing—no name, no title, and no occupation. He made a mental note to do the same.

 

“I was doing essentially the same thing,” Sagara said slowly. “Only Sano followed me, and things got ugly…”

 

“The little boy?” Sagara nodded. “Curious little devil, isn't he?”

 

Sagara laughed affectionately. “You have no idea…”

 

“So what about you?” the man asked, turning to the boy.

 

He shrugged nonchalantly and tipped his chin towards the assassin. “I was following him.”

 

The assassin's eyes widened a little, and redirected the piercing gaze to his face. “I heard about you from some men in Kyoto… seems you took out some highly trained assassins a week or so ago. I direct a network of assassins, and wanted to see you in action.”

 

The assassin gave no response, but looked away and out the window, contemplating what the boy had said.

 

“Dare I ask why you were there?” the man asked the assassin. The assassin, to no one's surprise, said nothing.

 

Even more silence. “We really don't trust each other, do we?” Sagara asked suddenly.

 

The man beside him shifted uncomfortably, a sign of agreement. “How can we?” he asked softly. “When there is so much bloodshed… we don't know who is our enemy and who is not. But,” he added, “I would like to trust you. We saved each other, didn't we? Without asking any questions, or knowing where we came from…”

 

“You're Shinsengumi,” the boy said quietly, taking the other man by surprise.

 

“Yes…” he finally admitted.

 

“I recognized the Hirazuki—the flat blade thrust created by Hijikata Toshizou, for use by the Shinsengumi.”

 

Sagara paled a little, feeling his muscles clench. The assassin turned his amber eyes on him, and closed them gently. He recognized Sagara, knew he was Ishin Shishi. He seemed to reassure Sagara that he would not let the Shisengumi man kill him.

 

“Well,” the Shinsengumi man said, smiling embarrassedly and scratching the back of his head, “Now that you know I'm Shinsengumi, I suppose I might as well tell you my name. Okita Soushi, captain of the first unit of the Shinsengumi.”

 

----------------------

 

Aoshi started. “You're Okita-san?”

 

Okita smiled a little sheepishly and nodded his head. “You're… different than I expected.”

 

“What did you expect?” he asked, with a little boy's curiosity.

 

“Someone more like Saitou-san…” Aoshi muttered.

 

“Ah, Saitou-san? You've met him?” Okita smiled, as if understanding Aoshi's surprise.

 

Aoshi nodded. “Yes, not formally, but I've spoken with him on several occasions.”

 

“And what might those occasions have been?” Okita asked.

 

Aoshi shrugged again. “He gave me some information, told me about some goings-on in Kyoto, that sort of thing. And I've given him some equally valuable information.”

 

“Oh?” Okita asked, eyes widening.

 

Aoshi nodded. “Yes. We've been especially useful to the Shinsengumi.” Aoshi was enjoying this game of cat-and-mouse. Okita still didn't know that Aoshi was Oniwabanshu…

 

Okita frowned a little, and Aoshi couldn't help but be reminded of a child pondering a parent's riddle. “I give up,” he said finally, sighing a resigned sigh.

 

“Shinomori Aoshi, Okashira of the Oniwabanshu.”

 

----------------

 

Mieko's eyes widened. So. The Oniwabanshu are chasing me… Well, I suppose I should be honored, but I don't think I'll be playing their game anytime soon.

 

“Ah, Shinomori-san!” Okita exclaimed, clapping his hands in childish delight. Mieko smiled to herself, bemused. She liked this Okita, Shinsengumi though he was. She hadn't taken much of a liking to the few Shinsengumi she'd met in her work, but Okita seemed like a good man.

 

“Call me Aoshi,” he said automatically. “Formalities largely elude me in my line of work.”

 

Okita nodded, understandingly. “I don't think you'll be talking anytime soon,” he said, smiling at Mieko. She didn't even nod in return.

 

“So that leaves just you!” Okita said brightly, turning to the man on his left.

 

Mieko noticed that Sagara looked uncomfortable. “Well…” he began. Mieko understood his hesitation. Telling a Shinsengumi—probably the best Shinsengumi there was—that he was Ishin Shishi wasn't going to be easy. In any other circumstances, it would probably get him killed.

 

“I suppose there's really no easy way to do this,” he said finally, sighing. “I don't think I'm quite as famous as either of you seem to be. Sagara Souzou, captain of the first unit of the Sekihou Army.”

 

-------------------

 

“Well,” Okita murmured, rocking back on his heels. “How interesting. An independent assassin, an Ishin Shishi patriot, Oniwabanshu, and Shinsengumi.”

 

There was silence as they contemplated each other's identities. Okita and Aoshi would get along fine, seeing as they were on the same side in the revolution, but Sagara…

 

“I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get along splendidly,” proclaimed Okita finally, clapping his hands.

 

“But… I…” Sagara stammered, surprised.

 

Okita shrugged. “So what if you're Ishin Shishi? Doesn't make much of a difference to me. Granted, I'm not supposed to like them, and I'm theoretically supposed to kill you, but really… do you know the code of the Shinsengumi?” I can't believe I'm going to quote Saitou-san, Okita thought to himself.

 

Sagara shook his head. “No, I try not to associate with anyone but my men.”

 

“Aku. Soku. Zan,” Okita repeated dutifully. “Technically, I'm only supposed to kill evil. And, to be perfectly honest, you're not evil. Unfortunately, you will not have the honor of dying on my sword.” A slight smile played over Okita's lips.

 

Aoshi and the assassin remained silent. They had nothing to contribute to this conversation. Aoshi's job was to protect Edo Castle from the shadows, so he wouldn't be crossing swords with Sagara, who was a man of the light, anytime soon. And the assassin had already protected Sagara once, and was likely to do it again.

 

“That's a relief,” Sagara muttered dryly, smiling a little at Okita's wit.

 

“Now that we've got that out of the way, maybe we should rest some more. These wounds are far from healed, and I'm sure they won't help us much in combat. We can all return to Kyoto or Edo when we're ready. Oh, and thank you,” Okita said, turning to the assassin. He nodded in reply.

 

“What are we going to do about Hanayama?” Aoshi asked suddenly. “We can't just leave it.”

 

“I suppose we should go back and finish what we started,” Okita mused. “We left everything in a great deal of chaos, I imagine.”

 

“I don't want the army taking it out on the villagers,” Sagara cut in.

 

“Then we go back,” a new, quiet voice said. The three men looked in surprise at the assassin, who had finally said something. He had a pleasant tenor, which didn't surprise any of them, since he looked so young.

 

“He took care of Nobori last night,” Aoshi added, gaining an appreciative whistle from Sagara.

 

“I imagine we took care of a good part of the army. We either killed them or scared them away,” Okita continued.

 

“If we can finish the job…” Sagara said quietly, almost to himself. “The Sekihou can stay in Kyoto and not be bothered by battles and politics.”

 

Aoshi turned his eyes on the older man. “You really believe that you can remain above the politics of the revolution?”

 

Sagara sighed, and nodded. “I'll do my best. My men, their families… they only want equality. And that's all we'll fight for. We want to stay out of the politics, out of the dirty deals that go on.”

 

Aoshi's eyes narrowed as he snorted. “Go ahead and think that, then. Maybe I'm just a cynic, but even the Oniwabanshu can't stay above politics.”

 

Okita put a restraining hand on Aoshi's arm as Sagara looked away. The assassin slid forward to sit closer to them. “Finishing the army should not be hard, once you're all healed.”

 

Okita raised an eyebrow playfully. “Quite talkative now, aren't we?”

 

“Don't expect too much,” the assassin replied, turning away, effectively ending the brief conversation.

 

“Are we agreed, then, that we finish this together?” Sagara asked suddenly.

 

“Of course,” Okita agreed readily. Aoshi nodded. The assassin gave him a look that screamed, “What kind of idiotic question is that?”

 

“Good,” Sagara said, mind beginning to calculate. “Four men, provided the three of us get healed up properly, to take on the rest of the army…” Sagara frowned, brow creasing. “We can't go at it like we did last night, we saw how well that worked. Give me the day to think of something.”

 

“A strategist?” Okita asked.

 

Sagara smiled wryly. “Not really. I'm just used to fighting against the odds.”

 

Okita and Aoshi deferred to Sagara; he was a natural leader, and he took charge of the situation without offending either of them.

 

--------------

 

Mieko knew she should get back to the Kawami mansion; he would be requesting her presence that afternoon, as usual, and would throw a royal fit if she wasn't there. She could guarantee it would be worse than when she had first refused him.

 

But she couldn't very well leave now… Sagara was factoring her into his plans for Hanayama, and she wanted to help the village badly. She was the least injured of the four, and her aid would be valuable. Besides, if worst came to worst, she was sure that Kawami would respect the word of Okita Soushi or Shinomori Aoshi in saving her skin this time.

 

That, however, required her to give away her identity, something she wasn't quite yet ready to do.

 

And something else was keeping her here too… As much of an outsider as she might be here, nameless and without a past, she felt accepted somehow, in a way that Bakumatsu Kyoto could not accept her… There was camaraderie, however slight, and a connection between them lying just below the surface…

 

She could just barely remember the last time she'd felt this pull, this tug on her heart. It had been many years… she counted on her fingers—five years. Five years since she'd last seen her older brothers and younger sisters. Five years since Isamu had hugged her and told her to be strong. Five years since she held her little sister Nakuru's hand and braided her lovely black hair, praising her beauty. Five years since…

 

She sighed, and stood to tend to the drying clothes. Who was she kidding? After the Hanayama incident was wrapped up, and they knew who she was… they'd protect her from Kawami this once, and then leave her on her own again. That was how it always was.

 

After all, who would accept a woman who was more male than female, a woman who could never be fully female again, nor could ever be entirely male?

 

-------------------

 

Aoshi was surprised by his own willingness to finish this off. The job of the Oniwabanshu wasn't to take on enemies like this. They were defenders… Aoshi had come out here originally to track down the assassin and convince him to join the ranks of the Oniwabanshu. Now, he was going to fight alongside these three men to take down the renegade army.

 

He couldn't forget the men and women he'd seen streaming from Nobori's manor… the fear in their eyes, their gratitude when he made no move to stop them, even taking down guards for them. He couldn't even really figure out why he'd done it. It wasn't making the assassin's job any easier at that point. He'd done it just for those fleeing people.

 

And then the little boy—Sano. He'd fought to protect that man—Sagara, the Ishin Shishi patriot—because of the boy. So that Sano would grow up someday to be a great man, a man with dreams and vision, a man with the power and strength to do what Aoshi could not—protect Japan.

 

Now, he could care less about convincing the assassin to join the Oniwabanshu. He would settle for being trained in martial arts by him.

 

Interesting turn of events, Aoshi thought wryly, breaking out of his reverie.

 

After this was over, he could get back to Edo and the Oniwabanshu, and take up the duties of Okashira again. Everything would return to normal.

 

And he could train to make himself stronger… to ensure that every battle he fought in, every opponent he cut down, met with the true strength of the Okashira.

 

-------------------

 

Sagara lay back down on his futon and readied himself to doze off. He felt assured that Sano was safely back with the Sekihou, and that he would be rejoining them shortly. In the meantime, he'd have to come up with some brilliant strategy.

 

He thought over what Aoshi had said, about staying out of politics. Hadn't Fukihiro always told him the same thing? Hadn't Fukihiro always chided Sagara for being too idealistic—to the point of foolishness?

 

But if not for idealism… where would men be? Sagara thought, a little sadly. Why was it that thing that made men so strong also made them so weak, that those principles that gave strength also made one vulnerable?

 

He wanted equality—that was no lie. And at one time, he would have done anything to help Japan gain it. But now, things were different. Now he had Sano, he had Katsu, he had hundreds of men looking to him for leadership and guidance… he had no choice but to be a moral, idealistic man. What would happen if he were not?

 

He'd let Fukihiro worry about those consequences. Fukihiro was Sagara's second-in-command, the one who reminded Sagara of the earthliness of the men he was dealing with, reminded him that not all men aimed as high as Sagara.

 

“You want to win from a pedestal, they just want to win,” Fukihiro often told Sagara. The first time, Sagara had been a little put-off at Fukihiro's words. All the consequent times, he'd understood what Fukihiro meant.

 

No matter. As many times as Fukihiro said those words, Sagara knew that he was just idealistic as himself. Fukihiro just had the sense to not depend on it, but he looked to Sagara to supply what he was forced to give up.

 

And once he and the others had succeeded at Hanayama… the Sekihou could go back to its peaceful government business, once again staying out of combat and politics.

 

----------------

 

Okita lay down and basked in the sunshine filtering through the window, smiling. Indeed, things may not have gone perfectly, but Okita was happy by nature, and few things could dampen his high spirits.

 

It helped, of course, that he was a master swordsman and a leader of the Shinsengumi.

 

He frowned a little, thinking about his comrades waiting for him in Kyoto. Not just the men who'd come with him to Hanayama and gone back without him, but the other Shinsengumi leaders. Saitou, for instance. The man could appear cold and rather arrogant, but Okita knew the soft side of the most terrifying Mibu Wolf—and knew that he would be deeply worried about Okita's safety.

 

Harada Sanosuke, captain of the tenth Shinsengumi unit, with whom Okita was good friends. Harada had the same happy-go-lucky sort of attitude as Okita, and enjoyed life thoroughly, despite his oftentimes dirty Shinsengumi work. Okita had to laugh, realizing that Harada would be more disappointed that he didn't have anyone to joke or drink with when Okita wasn't there than that Okita's assignment was a failure.

 

“You honestly think Hijikata would be angry?” Harada would kid. Okita could see Harada shaking his head, laughing. “Hijikata wouldn't have the heart to punish you, dear one, because in the end he would suffer too…” Harada's chuckle echoed in Okita's mind as he blushed. Saitou would only let Harada get away with that kind of talk; anyone else, and they had the Gatotsu to answer to.

 

And Hijikata Toshizou… the thought of the vice-commander brought a smile to Okita's lips and a flush to his cheeks. He hadn't seen Hijikata since the day he'd been assigned to the Hanayama job, and he hadn't been with Toshizou privately since nearly a week before that. They were both patient men, but still… It seemed too long for them to have been apart.

 

Okita sighed and rolled over, wincing as his injured chest hit the futon. He whimpered slightly, thinking about how long it would be until he could get back to Kyoto. He was lonely, and missed his friends. (Indeed, in this respect, Saitou was right when he observed that Okita was like a child.) And he missed Toshizou so…

 

But they would understand. They all knew how selfless Okita was (though Saitou might snort at it)—they all knew that Okita couldn't walk away from the village now. Even Toshizou would understand…

 

Though he won't be happy that I won't be able to see him again for another week, Okita thought as he drifted off to sleep, a faint smile gracing his youthful face.

 

------------

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay so… where to start…

 

Like the brief random glimpses into the characters' personalities? Too bad if you don't—they're staying.

 

Mieko's past is pretty important, and will be factoring into a lot of what she does, says, and is. It will all be revealed in time (and in a very dramatic fashion, if I do say so myself).

 

Oh, the thing with Okita, since that's likely to raise the most eyebrows. It just feels right. I like it. It's cute and sweet and keeps Okita out of the massive love square/quadrangle that erupts later. I switch between the names a little… Okita will often refer to Hijikata by the familiar first name Toshizou, because they're… well… you know, so please don't get confused. I do hope nobody's offended…

 

And Harada's in here because one day, I was reading Kenshin manga and I saw Watsuki's picture of the Shinsengumi leaders, and I was like, “WOW Harada is HOT.” So I decided to use him. Plus he's the model for Sano, so… how bad can he be?

 

I've tried not to borrow too much from PMK, but if the way I portray any of the Shinsengumi is weird because I've been influenced by PMK, I apologize profusely. I have now forbidden myself from watching PMK or Shinsengumi until I've finished this fic, vowing to base my characters entirely on pictures of the characters and Watsuki's brief notes. Come to think of it though… I only saw 1.5 episodes of PMK.