(no subject)
this is, quite possibly, the first samurai 7 fic ever written, considering that i scribbled it after watching a pathetic four episodes. also, it is experimental in a very bad way. and, horror of horrors, it's kyuuzou/katsushirou.
janice is brilliant.
you catch your first glimpse of him in a crowd of rowdy, dirty warriors - a pair of naively bright eyes and long silky hair that catches the wind, and flows. his skin is smooth; you know, that if you touch it, it will be soft. he is like a diamond, elegantly subdued in a sea of sharply glittering glass, and you wonder, for a moment, what ukyo sees in the girl, when the boy beside her shines so brilliantly. you think to yourself that he is not a samurai; will never become a samurai.
the crowd closes, and parts again. you see him in flickers and flashes of muted green, and you follow his elusive trail, catching the red swirls of his sleeves and the glints of his katana. you know that he senses you, in the way a person perceives the wind brushing past his ear, but he walks on, and you pursue him.
you watch as he reaches his destination, and a notion of danger, perhaps, pushes him swiftly down the steps towards safety. you see, from your vantage point high above, how his fire is doused with a word from the older man as his lips press together, and his hand almost, but not quite, clenches against his side. it fills you with a cold, distant rage, that he is caged so thoughtlessly, and when you are called, your strokes against the samurai come sharp and hard, until your blades whistle your fury.
the satisfaction you feel when the honed edge of your sword rests against the other man's throat is detached; you are distracted, momentarily, by the look in his eyes, loathing and fear coalescing into a churning mixture of hate, and you notice nothing else until the fool of a machine charges.
and as you walk away, you think his eyes linger, for a while, on your back.
i probably shouldn't post this on the community, should i?
janice is brilliant.
you catch your first glimpse of him in a crowd of rowdy, dirty warriors - a pair of naively bright eyes and long silky hair that catches the wind, and flows. his skin is smooth; you know, that if you touch it, it will be soft. he is like a diamond, elegantly subdued in a sea of sharply glittering glass, and you wonder, for a moment, what ukyo sees in the girl, when the boy beside her shines so brilliantly. you think to yourself that he is not a samurai; will never become a samurai.
the crowd closes, and parts again. you see him in flickers and flashes of muted green, and you follow his elusive trail, catching the red swirls of his sleeves and the glints of his katana. you know that he senses you, in the way a person perceives the wind brushing past his ear, but he walks on, and you pursue him.
you watch as he reaches his destination, and a notion of danger, perhaps, pushes him swiftly down the steps towards safety. you see, from your vantage point high above, how his fire is doused with a word from the older man as his lips press together, and his hand almost, but not quite, clenches against his side. it fills you with a cold, distant rage, that he is caged so thoughtlessly, and when you are called, your strokes against the samurai come sharp and hard, until your blades whistle your fury.
the satisfaction you feel when the honed edge of your sword rests against the other man's throat is detached; you are distracted, momentarily, by the look in his eyes, loathing and fear coalescing into a churning mixture of hate, and you notice nothing else until the fool of a machine charges.
and as you walk away, you think his eyes linger, for a while, on your back.
i probably shouldn't post this on the community, should i?