Chapter 3 of The Game
This one took me a while to write. I keep agonizing over my portrayl of the female Kyuzo. Oh well, I've always been my toughest critic. Anyway, it might be a tad rough, but it's pretty much the third chapter. Enjoy!
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Contrary to what she knew was popular belief, Kyuzo did not wake up with the instant urge to kick puppies, make children cry, and steal limbs from unfortunate mecha-samurai. In fact, she had never kicked a puppy, and she avoided children like the plague and therefore never got close enough to make one cry. As for stealing limbs from mecha-samurai…well, Kikuchiyo was still holding a grudge about the time she had held his left leg from the knee down hostage for two days. It was during the early stages of healing after the battle. She could walk, but could do little else and the boredom had nearly driven her mad. Watching Kikuchiyo make one-legged attempts to get his leg had provided amusement.
But she did not wake up homicidal.
Kyuzo awoke to an awful headache, a tight coil of frustration between her legs, and a feeling of heavy annoyance when she didn’t feel the warmth of another body. The blond samurai instantly chided herself for having grown accustomed to Kambei’s presence. These numerous encounters had only started a few weeks ago and already she felt too comfortable next to him. Cuddling in bed was something Kambei would do with a lover, not Kyuzo. Still, the bed felt too cold for her liking.
Perhaps it was better that way. The alcohol had intensified her dreams tenfold. Kyuzo did not dream very often, but ever since their first meeting, Kambei found his way into what dreams she did have. Last night’s dreams were worse than normal. She would never be able to look at a rope the same way again. Her head throbbed as she grimaced and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.
The knuckles on her left hand were ever so slightly tender, as if she had hit something with a closed fist. Kyuzo generally used a palm strike, not a closed fist punch. There was less danger to the delicate bones in the fingers and it was more accurately powerful. Had she hit someone? The vision of someone with orange hair immediately jumped to the front of her mind and she groaned as she remembered. She could only hope Heihachi wasn’t injured. As Kyuzo recalled, her aim had been off and she had hit his forehead, a blessing since she would have normally aimed for his nose. A broken nose was never pleasant and she felt a stab of guilt for an unprovoked attack on someone she actually got along with.
At least she was in her room and hadn’t stumbled into someone else’s. Nausea had engulfed her stomach by the time she got there, but where had she thrown up?
She vaguely recalled vomiting into a bucket that had mysteriously appeared in her room. Then, warm, roughened hands had held her hair out of her face, arms gently supporting her as she heaved. A cup of water pressed to her lips so she could sip and rinse her mouth. She knew who had done it. Even horribly drunk and nearly unconscious, Kyuzo still knew the feel of Kambei’s hands.
No one else would have dared enter her room unless they seriously believed she was in danger. Being sore in the morning from lying in an awkward position certainly wasn’t a danger. He had changed her from the soaked robe into a dry sleeping yukata, his hands never once straying.
The previously subdued desire had flared in the pit of her stomach when he had gently laid her on the double futon. Her hand snagged his sleeve and she asked him to stay. Or at least she thought that’s what she said. The request shouldn’t have amused him so much as he extricated himself from her embrace.
Kyuzo hoped she hadn’t said anything too embarrassing. Her pride had taken enough of a hit over the course of the evening.
Kyuzo pushed her body into a sitting position and her head throbbed. Food and water. That was what she needed.
Kyuzo didn’t care at all this morning about getting dressed. It wasn’t unheard of for some of them to come to breakfast in their sleeping attire, though she had certainly never done so.
To hell with her clothes. If anyone had a problem, they could challenge her to a duel if they felt so strongly about it. She was in the mood to kill someone anyway.
But before she left, Kyuzo did make sure that her yukata was securely tied shut. No sense in giving Kambei any more opportunities than he already had.
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Kambei was playing a dangerous game. One could tell with one glace at the seething woman who looked like death warmed over countered by the smug look on the older man’s face.
There were only two things in the world that scared Shichiroji. Heights and Shimada Kambei. And the female species in general, but he counted that as a perfectly rational sense of caution.
Heights had always terrified him. It wasn’t hitting the ground that worried him, and he’d done that plenty of times. Just looking down at the world below and feeling your gut wrench was enough.
Ironic that he became a pilot.
His second fear manifested later in life, a little after his 16th birthday. Manifested in the form of a madman named Shimada Kambei. It wasn’t an obvious madness, of course. He didn’t laugh crazily in the middle of the night, nor did he drool or fling about various bodily fluids. Shichiroji had once had the pleasure of babysitting another samurai who was high on…something. No one ever did figure out what the man had consumed. Nor did his reputation ever recover.
No, it was a different madness. Even now, years later, Shichiroji didn’t exactly know what that madness was called. Whatever it was, it involved loving a challenge.
Sure, Shichiroji liked a challenge as much as the next samurai, and some might say Kambei was just a passionate man. But Shichiroji had been through too many close calls to be fooled. Kambei was plain crazy.
Take the latest ‘challenge’ for instance. Kyuzo, who was a twin blade master, severely anti-social, not to mention unpredictable, and a samurai.
In short, the kind of woman you have random, disturbed, painful fantasies about, but outside the dream world, you stay as far away as possible.
Instead of accepting Lady Kirara, who had practically offered herself on a silver platter, Kambei went after the one who wanted nothing more than his head on said platter.
And despite the fact that Kambei had won her over, at least in bed, Shichiroji didn’t think Kyuzo had changed her mind. She still wanted Kambei’s head.
And from what he could tell from looking at her now, she might go after the rest of them just for the hell of it.
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Once, after her first, or third, time waking up with no memory of the night before, Kyuzo had asked her sensei what she was like when inebriated.
“You become an angry, horny woman with a pair of swords and an incredible lack of foresight.” He had replied instantly. And the bastard was always right.
Angry was normal. ‘Horny’ as sensei phrased it, was understandable. The last time she shared a bed before Kambei had been five years ago, and only for a few hours. It didn’t help that her attraction to Kambei was overwhelmingly intense and persistent.
If given the option, Kyuzo would have taken being shot again over waking up after a night of heavy drinking. After all, blood happened to be one of the more dignified bodily fluids. Vomit was far less favorable. At least she hadn’t gone to Kambei’s bed. That would have been the cap on the evening.
It was all Kambei’s fault. His fault for reminding her too much of her damn sensei. Both were shameless perverts who could turn any situation to their advantage.
Kambei’s declaration of love during their first fight had shocked her more by its similarity to her sensei’s insane comments during sparring than the words themselves. It’s hard to stay serious when your opponent is talking about the benefits of moisturizing certain body parts. Of course, when one lapse will get you knocked on your ass, it’s amazing how serious you could be.
But this was different. Sensei had done it to distract her, to train her. Kambei’s words had a lot more meaning behind them.
Anticipation made her edgy and as much as she’d like to deny it, she fully looked forward to paying Kambei back for leaving her in the bath. What kind of game was he playing? Why go through the fight, only to give up once you’ve won? Kambei was known for not giving up, not unless he had a plan… Did he have a plan? What could leaving her like that like possibly accomplish? Kyuzo now regretted not listening to her sensei when he had tried to explain the basic rules of courtship to her. His explanation had sounded suspiciously like a battle plan. That or a guide to fishing…
But if it had been a battle…It was technically a victory for Kambei.
She had lost. To Kambei.
She. Had. Lost.
And the lousy fucker didn’t even have the grace to honor his fucking fallen opponent by providing a swift death!
There was movement on her left and she lashed out by reflex. Heihachi barely managed to jerk his hand away from her bowl of rice, but his sleeve was not so fortunate.
There was a stunned silence around the room as Heihachi leaned as far away from her as possible, clearly unnerved by her expression, and by the chopstick she had used to pin his arm to the table.
“Sorry.” Kyuzo said. As an apology, she slid her bowl of rice over next to the pinned arm. It was what he had been trying to take anyway. Her stomach was upset from the small amount of food she had consumed. The room spun as she rose to her feet, but she stubbornly stood straight until the vertigo passed. Then she left as quickly as possible to get away from Kambei’s knowing look.
Kyuzo could hear Gorobei laughing as he helped pry the chopsticks out of the table. He had been the only one who hadn’t been giving her strange looks during breakfast. Kambei’s look was self-explanatory. Heihachi’s left eye was purple and slightly swollen. Katsushiro seemed to determined to look anywhere but at Kyuzo, though she had no idea why. She didn’t really care either.
Her clothes were where she had left them, folded neatly next to her pallet. Leaning against the wall by her clothes was her scabbard, with both swords in their proper places. Kyuzo didn’t even have to venture a guess as to who had retrieved her swords for her. Damn that annoying man!
She had just barely started to undress when the sound of the door sliding open had Kyuzo instantly shutting her yukata. Once again, Kambei was the only one who would enter her room, especially without knocking first. He was also the only one who invoked such a reaction. The female warrior had been taught from a young age to ignore her bared skin when in a fight. If you were more concerned about your exposed breasts than your opponents sword, you would get yourself killed. Besides, if your opponent is too busy staring at your breasts and not your sword, then you can kill them that much quicker.
Kambei was an entirely different matter. He seemed to have a real knack for removing her clothes.
He had that annoyingly pleasant smile on his face and a tray with a steaming bowl on it in his hand.
“Miso soup,” He said in response to her questioning gaze. She continued to stare blankly at him.
“…Hangover remedy?” He added. “For your head?”
Kyuzo nodded, not about to let Kambei know that she had never had a hangover remedy. She was, however, going to kick Sensei’s ass when she found him in the afterlife. She always wondered how he recovered so quickly from a night of drinking. He had never bothered to let her know that there was actually a damn remedy for a hangover.
Miso had never been a particular favorite of hers, but it soothed her stomach as she sipped it. Kambei had moved to sit behind her on the futon and his hands pressed against her back, kneading and working the tension out of her spine. One hand went up to run through her hair and massage her scalp. Kyuzo nearly melted against him as her headache began to dissipate.
His chest vibrated with his chuckle, but Kyuzo ignored it. He could mock her as long as he didn’t stop massaging.
“You’re still going to pay for last night.” She put as much threat as possible into her voice, but it still came out as a dull murmur.
“I’m sure I will.”
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Kyuzo was never one to sleep late, but Kambei’s presence soothed her aching head, even if other body parts didn’t get the same effect. She fell asleep with her face pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent. His very strong scent.
The man could use a bath.
When she awoke, he was gone, as she expected. But at least she felt better.
But he was still going to pay. If he thought a massage was going to placate her, then he was sorely mistaken. Kyuzo inhaled his lingering scent on the pillow and allowed herself a small smirk.
Oh yes. Kambei would pay. Dearly.