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Log cast: Makie, Kenshin
Log date: 2/29, 3/1/00
Editor's note: This is the third and last file in the three episode
 series of the battle between Otono-Tachibana Makie and Himura Kenshin.

Makie stays on the ground for a few moments, the hand that gripped her
 shoulder moving to splay fingers against her chest, as if doing so
 would help her lungs to recover from getting the wind knocked out of
 her quicker or make the bitter chill in the air easier to swallow. As
 Kenshin turns to face her, the glow of the moon behind him outlining
 his silhouette in an ethereal cast, as if someone had taken a piece of
 wet chalk and sketched him out against a black canvas, she raises her
 gaze slowly from the ground to his face, the harsh gasps of breath she
 utters painting grey in the air. The revealed bandages do not escape
 her notice either. Dark eyes shift briefly from his face to the expanse
 of chest and wrappings revealed by V-opening of his kimono top. Her
 breathing returns to normal after a while, though it pauses for a
 moment as she holds her breath, then releases it in a light sigh.
 Rolling off of her rear end and into a kneeling position, Her head bows
 gently; invisible fingers tousle her harshly-cut hair, causing it to
 ripple in the breeze, the dark strands playing shadow games across her
 porcelain features. "No, I suppose I won't, will I?" she asks suddenly,
 her gaze descending from the opening of the rurouni's gi to the ground
 at his feet. What this, a change of heart? For a moment, it might seem
 as much when indecision takes hold of the young woman, her ken-ki
 wavering like a candleflame caught in the breeze, threatening to go
 out... Her fingers tighten gently around the sectioned staffs of her
 glaive. "Then I will have to go through you." And, just like that, she
 flares again, and the woman surges forward, a streak of black, white,
 and red, rising to her feet in the same motion, the chain of the glaive
 clinking melodically in the air as she spins it, bringing the blade
 towards the rurouni in an upward slash, the momentum of both the weapon
 itself and her rising motion lending speed and power to the slicing cut. 

Kenshin quickly reacts when she strikes, a deep frown forming over his
 expression as at first he felt that she might back off, that this could
 all be avoided. But now the fight has stepped up to the next level,
 anger filling his heart as she betrays the trust he was about to offer
 her, his face holding the frown but eyes holding a certain sadness.
 There is a bright flash as he quickly strikes out at the blade racing
 for him, the moonlight glinting off of both pieces of steel as they
 strike together and the loud shimmering tone echos out once again.
 Perhaps louder and with more aggression than before. His eye close for
 a heartbeat then flash open as he grits his teeth and growls low in his
 chest. His eyes lightening more, the violet hue so faint, the eyes
 thinning as his dark crimson eyebrows slant downward. He knows he
 cannot let this person get by him, to protect over his friends in the
 house yards away he must fight back -this- friend. A choice that breaks
 his heart as he blocks the upwards strike from the stoic swordswoman.
 The force of the strike pushes him back, where he comes to a sliding
 halt a few feet away and shakes his head, his grip tightening on the
 hilt of his ready weapon. "Gomen nasai, Makie-dono.." He ducks low then
 suddenly launches forward in a blur, clouds of snow kicked up in his
 wake as he races towards her. "AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" His course is a
 straight line for her, but then he turns off quickly to try and get
 around Makie, to get to her side where he switches the grip on his
 sakabatou to his right hand and attempts a hard strike to her back with
 the dull edge of his reversed blade.

Sparks fly when the steel of the two blades clash again. The stars from
 the heavens above descend to dance between the two, melting the snow at
 their feet, the hissing streaks of light reflected in the rurouni's
 amethyst gaze as well as Makie's dark one. The emotion is gone from the
 woman's face again - the void has once more taken her eyes, the shape
 of her expression, the set of her lips. Only haunted emptiness remains.
 Does she know the betrayal that Kenshin feels in response to her
 actions? Does it affect her in any manner? It's hard to tell; whatever
 she feels is carefully hidden behind her porcelain mask. When the force
 of her attack, even deflected, forces the rurouni back, Makie presses
 onward, blurring forward to meet him as he launches towards her in a
 responding attack-- only to move? The manuever catches the girl by
 surprise, sandals skidding against the snow as she tries to stop, her
 head jerking around to look back at him-- only to hear the clean
 whistle of steel slicing through the air, blanking her mind out,
 leaving her to instinct. She drops suddenly to her knees, still
 skidding a few inches, snow soaking into the folds of her kimono, the
 sakabatou's blade sailing past over her head, only a few inches shy of
 collision. In the same movement, she twists and whips her glaive about,
 aiming it towards the rurounin's shin.

A streak of white light follows just behind the path of the sakabatou as
 Kenshin misses with his attack, the force he put behind the strike
 throwing him slightly off balance and leaving him open to the strike to
 the lower part of his leg. To the side of his shin, striking him hard
 but luckily not by the sharp edge of the glaive's blade. But hard
 enough still that it takes the rurouni off of his feet and he falls to
 the ground on his side, arm hyper extended over his head and the wind
 knocked out of him as his body takes the brunt of the power of his
 missed strike. He lands and looses snow clouds up, along with chunks of
 dug up dirt, his cry silenced as the air is taken or rather, -forced-
 from his body leaving him to gasp as he rolls away from Makie. To come
 to a stop on his stomach and face down. But he isn't down for long as
 his survivalistic instincts kick in and force him up to his knees, no
 time given to catch his breath, no time to even get his blurred vision
 focused. The uncanny instincts gained when he was hitokiri called up
 from within, to rely on his gut instinct rather than physical senses.
 Reeling from dizziness and swaying, he shakes his head and stands,
 staring over with a unfocused gaze and taking a battle stance. Drawing
 his blade to the front as he widens his footing, digging in firmly and
 getting his whits with what little time he knows he has. His right arm 
 aches from being stretched, his chest burns and head throbs. Unsure
 fully of Makie's position he rushes forward to the spot he remembered
 her being just seconds ago, lifting his sakabatou over his head with a
 two handed grip and then strikes the ground with aggression. The Hiten
 Mitsurugi Ryuu - Do-Ryu-Sen, the attack of the Earth Dragon, the power
 at the point of impact where the sword strikes the ground, breaking
 apart the ground and sending chunks of rock and frozen dirt forward
 towards his opponent. He is not sure where she is as he is still
 recovering, so he calls upon this wide range attack to buy him some
 time. To attempt this if she is still where he remembers.

Perhaps to the rurounin's good fortune, Makie has not moved far from her
 original position. The metal rod of the glaive strikes against
 Kenshin's shin and ricochets, a snap of her wrist furthering the
 movement and bringing it back to smack into her open, waiting palm,
 fingers curling over it. She watches as the crimson haired swordsman
 rolls out of the way, slowly rising to her feet again as she does so,
 ignoring the wet chill that creeps into her knees where they met the
 cold, frozen ground. She frowns as the rurounin gets to his feet again,
 almost immediately after being knocked to the ground. "Hnh," she
 murmurs through closed lips, fine eyebrows drawing together to shoot a
 line over the bridge of her nose, her perfect mask marred with
 frustration and bemusement. As Kenshin settles back into a ready
 stance, she starts towards him again, taking her time, letting him
 recover, believing that he won't do anything until she's within reach
 of his sword. Her arrogance, her loss, for when Kenshin executes the
 Do-Ryu-Sen, she is once more taken completely off-guard, and with far
 less time to react. She jerks her glaive up, crossing the two blades in
 front of her face to serve as shield, clods of dirt and rock
 ricocheting off of the steel, her feet moving into a wider, firmer
 stance against the onslaught. But the twin blades offer meager
 protection at best as a shield - projectiles escape between the cracks,
 between the edges, raining against her face and body. But that's not
 the real danger: while she can stand up against the rain of rocks
 against her slight form, backing away slowly as she does so, the clods
 of frozen dirt that strike the flat side of her blades end up
 exploding, flinging cold dust into her face and eyes. Crying out
 sharply, a hand goes to her face, dropping one of the blades and
 jerking out of the way of the remaining barrage of stones. But once
 she's out of the way, she doesn't move, shoulders hunched forward
 slightly with the back of her hand pressed to her eyes, the girl left
 temporily blinded.

Kenshin lowers his head as the attack follows through, a free hand
 reaching for his face to clutch as he takes in a deep much needed
 breath, despite the burning in his chest and aching in his upperbody.
 His vision focuses and some of the diziness fades, only the sore after
 affects felt from the fall now. Having regained some of his senses, he
 lifts his face and gaze to look over to Makie, drawing his sword up and
 dropping back into a battle ready stance. The sakabatou gripped firmly 
 with two hands now, a single step taken forward, snow crunching
 underfoot, the chill in his cold feet ignored as he readies to move in
 on Makie again for a follow up. But he pauses, the tip of his sakaba
 lowering slightly, his guard still up but the pause given as she is
 blinded. "Makie-dono, turn away now.." is called over in a low tone,
 his movements halted as he stares to the other fighter in this battle.
 The stern tone of his expression has lifted just slightly, still the
 hurt of having to fight her is there, along with the determination to
 try and stop her, but for a moment something else mixes into his gaze
 as he sees the image of another for a fleeting moment in time. The
 image of Makie fades to be replaced by another, the image from before,
 the woman with stoic guise and dark hair, dressed in a pure white
 kimono. Kenshin blinks and shakes his head, to regain his composure. He
 cannot be distracted, but was that faint second of distraction noted?

Makie doesn't answer the rurouni's low request. Her hand stays pressed
 to her eyes, breathing raggedly. From the slight distance between the
 two kengou, it might seem as if the temporary blindness was the only
 injury sustained by the rain of dirt and stones. Then spots of red
 begin to show up on her arms, the milky perfection marred by scrapes.
 None of them are too serious, not painful enough to impede her
 movements, but as Makie draws her hand away from her eyes, blinking
 carefully so as to regain her vision painfully and slowly, her
 attention is drawn to the crimson rivulets darting down her snowy skin.
 She stares for a moment at the scrapes with a mixture of astonishment
 and disbelief, then looks up again towards Kenshin only to see a
 similar expression written across his face. The distraction is indeed
 noted, as well as the emotions thick behind his pale violet gaze.  She
 frowns quietly; a step is taken forward, then another. Blood drips from
 the scrapes on her arms, dotting the snow, already dirtied and tossed
 about in the wake of Kenshin's technique. There's silence for the
 briefest of instants. Then her glaive screams through the air in a
 horizontal swing, as Makie twists her body and arches outward with the
 weapon one-handedly, handling it like one would a whip, using the
 height of the glaive to close the distance rather than her body. "Don't
 turn your eyes away, Kenshin-san!"

Kenshin's eyes flash and widen as she launches into her attack again,
 the scream of steel ripping through the air heard so very clear in his
 ears. Quickly he steps back and raises his sword, tightening the
 muscles in his arms and wrist to take the full effect and shock of the
 impact of the blade when it hits. There is a loud sharp clang as the
 two blades hit, sparks flowering out everywhere, speckles of melted
 snow surrounding the two fighters in the clintch. He even gets pushed
 back slightly, his feet digging into the ground beneath him to keep him
 steady, his arms bending a little from the force. Kenshin's eyes thin
 and then he pushes forward with his blade, to try and push back Makie's
 weapon and buy him room for his next move. His body flickers into a
 blur as he launches skyward, his sakabatou held out to the side, the
 air howling around him as he climbs up higher. His battlecry roaring
 out. At the peak of his climb he flips, gripping his sakaba with both
 hands and holding it over his head, then he freefalls towards Makie at
 the same blurring speed used to gain such height. In an attempt to
 strike Makie down with this one solid hit, launching into the Hiten
 Mitsurugi Ryuu - Ryu-Tsui-Sen, but if missed he may be left dangerously
 open.

As the rurouni pushes her glaive back, Makie slides back a step,
 reasserting her grip upon her glaive, white knuckled, her mind already
 spinning in circles, readying to renew her attack. Except the rurouni's
 not there anymore. There was a brief flash of crimson and white, and
 now he's gone, leaving her to stop and stare at where he had been
 standing a moment ago. She blinks once, then twice, then rapidly, her
 head turning, her guard failing as her concentration shatters almost
 audibly. Crystalline shards of thought scattering, the melodic
 cacophony of her concentration being tossed to the wind. "Nani--?
 D-Doke da? -!!" Then the sound of someone's kiai draws her attention...
 up? Her chin lifts, her gaze shifting, and then with widening eyes, she
 stares as the rurouni propells himself upward to an inhuman height...
 and keeps going. The grip on her glaive suddenly goes slack, the woman
 just staring upward, time dragging to a lulling halt for the briefest
 of moments... She whispers faintly, "... chikushoume ..." Then time
 screams back into play, bringing with it the red-haired rurouni named
 Himura Kenshin, coming straight down toward her at impossible speeds.
 The Here and Now backhands her across the face; her eyes snap wider
 than before, then her arms blur upwards, taking her glaive with them.
 At the last possible instant, the twin blades cross above her head. But
 she isn't ready, and from such a height, at such a speed-- Makie's
 meager upper body strength gives away beneath the force of the Hiten
 Mitsurugi Ryu - Ryu-Tsui-Sen, the twin blades just barely catching the
 sakabatou before it strikes her. But... that's not enough. She stops
 the sword from hitting her, but God help her if it isn't enough.  Her
 knees buckle, as do her arms, then an explosion of sound and color
 preceding a blackness over her vision as the technique is completed.
 Even caught by her glaive, even braced as she was for it, Makie is
 pitched to the ground, the screaming sound of steel clawing against
 steel breaking through the air, flat against her back, the back of her
 head colliding with the frozen dirt hard.

The technique roars through its course like a raging river, the intense
 aura of ken-ki mixed in with the harsh battlecry, sparks flying heavily
 and the ground underneath the two fighters bodies exploding from the
 force of the impact. Loose snow, darkened by ripped up soil, spouts
 upwards in a wide cirlce around the imediate area of where they stand.
 The attack finished, the target of this assault falling back to the
 ground, Kenshin pushes upward and flips, to land a respectable distance
 away. A silence almost as deafening as the roar of the attack befalls
 the area, the only sound is the soft hiss of the wind through the ice
 covered branches of the trees nearby, the soft lapping of waves against
 the shoreline. A faint mist creeps in from over the lake, carrying with
 it the chill of the night, moving onto the shore and surrounding the
 two that are here. The silence lasts a little longer, then the soft
 panting is heard as Kenshin stays in his landing position, kneeling
 over on one knee with his sakabatou in one hand. Stuck into the ground
 and used for support. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes in deep
 breaths, his face hidden by layers of dark crimson hair that have
 falling to the sides of his face, the details of his expression hidden
 in shadow. He stays like this for what feels to be long moments in
 time, as if time had stopped, as if it isn't even a factor for the two.
 His heartbeat is felt strong from within his chest, heard within his
 ears, the hot racing blood pumped through his veins. The moonlight
 casts a spotlight on the players of this stage, sharp shadows
 stretching out over onto the sparkling snow along side them. There is a
 soft jingle and then Kenshin pushes himself to his feet with some
 effort, a quiet wince heard as he does so, his still healing body
 having taken some damage from the technique. He rises to his feet and
 lifts his face, the shadows falling away as the moonlight illuminates
 it, a pale mask with a stern expression etched there. The crossing scar
 seems to glow as the moonlight catches it, his thinned eyes catching
 that moonlight as well and alit with the fires of this fight. His dark
 shadow reaches towards Makie when he is standing at his full height,
 his footing steady, shoulders square and rising and falling, eyes aglow
 with a sharp golden hue.

For a long while after the manuever has ended, Makie simply lies there
 on the ground, heedless of the dirty snow sinking into her kimono, 
 chilling her skin. She's flat on her back, the middle section of her
 glaive digging into her spine, the other two still clenched firmly in
 her hands, thumbs tracing the line of the staffs, the two blades still
 held above her in a high x-block, deflecting an attack that's no longer
 forthcoming. She stays like that, unmoving. Then closed eyes slowly
 crack open, her senses screaming, her vision a sea of blackness and
 stars... no, wait, that's the sky. The night sky. Her brow wrinkles,
 then she frowns, eyes squeezing shut and blinking open again. Then her
 arms go slack, bringing with them the two sections of the glaive,
 thump!ing into the snow-strewn dirt mutedly. Her body relaxes, just for
 a moment, exhaling a misty breath. Then, with effort, she pulls herself
 off the ground, a shaking hand going to her forehead, index finger and
 thumb pinching the bridge of her nose. She'd stay like that were it not
 for the shadow that descends over her form. She goes still, then lowers
 her hand and lifts her gaze, chin tilting slightly as she looks towards
 the rurouni, meeting his ...golden eyes? No, something's not right.
 Reflexively, her fingers tighten over her glaive again, though she
 doesn't yet move. "Kenshin-san?" 

Kenshin just stands there over Makie, his shadow enshrouding her in
 darkness, his form sillhouetted by the full moon behind him. From out
 of the mask of pale white, almost ghostly in it's guise, stares forward
 the thinned piercing golden eyes of Kenshin. Unmoving. Silent. The
 breeze blows across him and takes with it the strands of his dark
 crimson hair, contrasting sharply with his pale face, drifting to the
 side like the loose fabric of his clothing. His soaked purple kyogi,
 blood stained hakama pants, damp socks and dirt etched wooden sandles.
 He doesn't move, not even a shiver as the chilling breeze whips around
 him. He stays silent and simply stares, the rage of the hitokiri
 finding the surface of this man who fights hard to keep the demon from
 his past down. The sadness in his heart, memories this fight causes,
 having to make the choice of one friend over another - these break down
 his barriers and allow the rage to well up from his soul. The sakabatou
 is held firmly in his right hand, the shimmering reversed blade held
 groundward and it is after another long moment in time when Kenshin
 breaks his gaze and looks away.

Though the hitokiri doesn't shiver, Makie does. It's a barely noticeable
 action; if asked, she'd blame it on the snow that soaked through her
 kimono. But she'd be lying. Something's woken up inside the rurounin,
 something as dark and frightening as her own demons. But hers reawoke
 on a dark back road surrounded by men with the ill intent. This man's
 demon... well, we know whose fault this is, don't we? Her eyes widen
 imperceptively, staring with morbid fascination at the liquid amber hue
 that Kenshin's eyes have become, the warm amethyst orbs she had been
 more familiar with long gone. A pang of guilt worms its way into her
 throat, just before she swallows it. Unsteadily, bracing her glaive
 into the ground for support, she rises slowly to her feet, her own dark
 eyes watching the snow until she's standing again. Then, looking back,
 her eyes settle upon his face just in time to see his shift away. A
 clink of chains; she holds the glaive in a two-handed grip again,
 sandals sliding against the slick ground to put distance between
 herself and Kenshin. Her voice quiet. "I'm not the only one changed
 now, am I?"

Kenshin doesn't answer the young woman. The wind changes direction
 slightly, to cast his crimson hair in the opposite direction, his
 clothing hugging his slender form and flapping with the breeze. The
 soft jingle of his sakabatou is heard as he lifts it slightly, his head
 bowing to look down to the blade, then one hand steadys his saya as he
 reaches over and resheaths his weapon. Clicking it into place with a
 single light tap on the end of the hilt. His head shakes and he reaches
 behind him, to the band that holds his long crimson hair into a
 ponytail, reaches for it and then pulls on it to allow the strands to
 fall about freely and be taken up by the wind. The band is cast to the
 ground, where it is skidded along the snow by the breeze and dropped
 into the glassy surface of the lake. Light series of ripples circling
 out from where it touches the waters surface. Kenshin shakes his head
 then turns it slightly to look over his shoulder to Makie, though his
 golden eyes do not meet with her face. His tone low and reserved,
 almost cold in that right when he speaks. "I do not understand what is
 going on with you Makie, I cannot understand. But know this, it is not
 the thrill of this fight that has driven the 'rage' to the surface de
 gozaru yo. I have been faced with making a hard decision, but I will
 stand by it to protect over my friends. Even if I must fight off
 another who I care about de gozaru." His words trail off with the
 breeze, his left hand moving to grip his saya again, a step taken to
 turn back and face Makie. And when he does, his gaze finds her again
 for the moment, then breaks away as he takes in a breath and slowly
 releases it. The tired showing in his expression. "I cannot let you
 pass, if you try.. Know I will defeat you de gozaru yo. Gomen nasai..
 Makie-dono..."

Makie smiles oddly, head canting slightly to the side, her breathing
 slightly ragged, though now it's beginning to calm some, to even out.
 As the hitokiri sets loose his hair, the crimson strands free to the
 wind, the young woman shifts the glaive to a one-handed grip, her empty
 hand reaching up absently to her own hair, rubbing awkwardly at the
 back of her neck. She still hasn't gotten used to the feel of a bare
 neck. Her hair hadn't been especially long, but it had been a
 respectable length. The butchered cut it's in now is shameful. But
 then, what part of Otono-tachibana Makie isn't? "I wish I had known
 more people like you, Kenshin-san," she murmurs softly, her eyes
 somber, melancholy. "Maybe then things would have been different. Maybe
 I would believe what you fight for." She shakes her head, hand dropping
 from the back of her neck, though her own shoulders square as well. Her
 fingertips found something amidst the windblown strands. Metaphorically
 speaking, of course; but whatever it is she found, it seems to have
 pieced back together what shattered when Kenshin descended from above
 and slammed her into the ground. Meeting his gaze as it turns back to
 hers, her eyes deepen, blackening slightly, swallowing the light. "But
 it's a little late to stop now, hm? Might as well finish it." A spark
 of moonlight dances off the tips of her blades, first one, then jumping
 on to the other, as she lifts them slightly. Then, softly, she laughs.
 Bittersweet and humourless, the melodic sound rings false in the air.
 Bowing her head slightly, eyes half-lidded, her sandals already
 whispering across the dirt to find a more comfortable stance, Makie
 replies quietly, "You can apologize after you've beaten me, 
 hitokiri-san. I'm not dead yet."

Kenshin's eyes narrow as she talks with him, the mention of his former
 title. It causes the sharp colour of his golden gaze to deepen more,
 like a fire that has gained in intensity, fuel renewed to the dying
 flames. It is not fully Makie's doing that causes the anger to rise to
 the surface, it is anger within himself for allowing it to be there in
 the first place. It is guilt and sadness that has built up, kept under
 a cover, hidden behind walls that he has carefully built up to protect
 himself. It is instances like this one that plays out here that
 crumbles those walls. When it does, he has little control, he slips
 into another mode. Another frame of mind, another shell. Fading into
 the stream of time and whisked away to his painful past. Drowning in
 it's strong current. The reflection of moonlight, shimmering from
 Makie's weapons lights up his face again. Bringing light to this
 situation and how it must end. The words she said still echo in his
 mind, 'Maybe then things would have been different. Maybe I would
 believe what you fight for.' His eyes slowly close and he takes a step
 back, sliding that foot back so that he can angle his body, turn his
 side to face her and ready. One hand firmly holds his saya in place,
 his right hand moving to hover just inches away from the weapon's hilt.
 The hand around his saya flicks a thumb up to inch out the sword, to
 prepare it and have it ready. He takes in a deep breath and releases a
 quiet sigh, settling into the 'Battou Jutsu' stance.. Lightly his gaze
 flickers over towards Makie, slight like the flame of a candle,
 settling to her face and trying to read her eyes. 

Makie knows well the feeling of losing control. But unlike her crimson
 -haired opponent, she relishes it. Oh yes, she hates herself for it
 afterwards, but when she's fighting, when control slips and all that's
 left is the blades singing in her hands, she exists in a state of
 nothingness. The abyss. The void. Where she is nothing, and nothing can
 harm her, not even memories or ghosts from the past. When the young
 man's amber gaze lifts to her eyes, he will find a similar pain, a
 similar hurt and guilt for this situation among others. Looking back
 towards him, the odd smile never wavering from her lips, the
 swordswoman bows her head again, strands of hair dancing in the faint
 breeze. "You really are like my brother, Kenshin-san," she says softly,
 her voice scarcely a whisper now. "He wanted to do the right thing too.
 I just hope he wasn't as a good as a person as you are." How's that for
 cryptic? Looking up without moving her head, her eyes visible from
 beneath the curtain of dark hair, she pauses, then releases the one
 section of her glaive, keeping the other tight in her slender fingered
 grasp. The blade swings downward, a streak of silver steel, before
 hitting the dirty snow with a muted *thwock!* It's then that the
 emotion dies from her eyes, and the emptiness engulfs. For a moment,
 standing there, she really might be that figure that so haunts Kenshin,
 dressed in white with a face that never changes. Even fighting, Makie
 moves with a grace that befits a lady of samurai bearing. Her glassy
 eyes and porcelain face... Her skin seems to glow subtly in the
 moonlight, the blood from the gashes on her arms the only imperfections
 seen, tracing rivulets of crimson that seem black in the light. Her
 eyes are empty again; only the sword remains now. "Are you ready now,
 hitokiri-san?"

Kenshin doesn't answer as he locks gazes with her, the features of his
 face becoming sharper, more stern. The colour in his eyes deepens and
 he thins them, his expression serious, full of concentration with the
 shadow of regret. The images of this scene will forever be captured in
 the mind of Kenshin, painted on a dark canvas, the lifeless look in her
 eyes as she stares at him. The tone she speaks in will always be heard
 like a sad tune, a melody that grips at the heart and sends chills down
 your spine. Another slow deep breath is taken in, then released in a
 cloud of mist, his fingers curling around his saya. His right hand
 hovering, waiting, so near the hilt of his sakabatou. The fight is
 almost over, but how will it end? How could it, in any way that the
 result could make right what has happened? Two friends fight each
 other, over another friend. Bitter choices made. It all comes down to
 the next actions, so Kenshin prepares. His body, and mind. Then he
 waits, quietly, gaze locked to the other.

Silence seems as good as an answer as any other. "Then resign yourself
 to your fate," Makie whispers. Just like before, at the beginning of
 this confrontation, she holds one end of the glaive out to the side,
 the blade suspended between her fingers. Just like before, she lets it
 drop, the silver sheen echoing its path downward with agonizing
 slowness. As the young woman blurs forward, the weapon's blade skids
 along the snowy ground as if it were simply a tagalong item, not meant
 to be there -- until she comes within range of the hitokiri. Then, her
 body twisting with the movement, head ducking slightly as she whips the
 glaive up and over her head, the blades singing a high-pitched song of
 terror and death as they spin over her head. Skidding forward, she
 jerks her shoulders to the right, throwing the spinning circle of metal
 into a sharp angle, the blades aiming to slice open the kengou's chest
 from shoulder to hip. 

The blades of Makie come screaming for the rurouni, his eyes narrowing a
 look of determination intensifying as he tightens the grip on his saya
 and his right hand blurs. Reaching for the hilt of his weapon, curling
 fingers around it's grip, the muscles in his arm coiling up and
 tightening considerably. There is a silence that follows for a brief
 moment, everything falling into slow motion, only the sound of a faint
 heartbeat is heard. Everything flickers and then reality comes
 screaming back in the form of Kenshin's battle cry as he launches into
 the 'Battou Jutsu'. "AAAAAAHHHHHHH!" But as he does, he changes
 footing, stepping out with the left foot instead of the right as with a
 normal battou jutsu, betraying the true technique that he executes
 rather than just a simple counter for her strike. The Hiten Mitsurugu
 Ryuu Ougi (Succession Techniue) - Amakeku-ryu-no-Hirameki. The light
 reflecting off of the approaching blades shimmers over his form, his
 right arm tensing then quickly starting to draw his sakabatou for the
 final strike. Tears streaming from his eyes as he launches into this
 move. A strike that he is commited to, the most powerful of any of his
 moves that he can execute, the strain so powerful from the technique
 that it can destroy the body of the one executing it. Everything
 flickers into slow motion as he draws the blade, his gaze lifting and
 meeting with Makie's, the roar of power around his body collapsing the
 air around him. Then something strange happens, the cry dies away and
 his expression changes. The rage of the hitokiri fading away and the
 pale violet returning. He just stares into her gaze as the winds of his
 ken-ki swirl around him. Time stops and everything fades into white.
 Kenshin's grip changes on his sakabatou and he draws it, but not to
 strike, the succession technique is canceled and his blade is held
 infront of his chest, to protect his chest and heart. The strain is
 seen on his face if quick enough to catch, to break out of the move is
 like being struck full force with it, you have to absorb all of that
 power. All he can do is close his eyes and bare down for what happens
 next. There is the cocaphony of metal striking metal repeatedly,
 wildly, then the spray of blood and shredded clothing that falls to the
 snow covered ground. The rurouni is struck by the attack, then thrown
 back into the nearby lake. His body hitting the water and a large spray
 of water that spouts up and smashes against the shoreline.

The explosion of ken-ki hits Makie like a gale wind, the sheer force of
 such a powerful technique stopped short of execution clawing into her
 senses, stirring up a mixture of snow, dirt, and blood spraying from
 the rurouni's wounds as her glaive bites into his flesh with metal
 teeth. Rather than catching the weapon as the speed of her own attack
 sends it spinning in a complete arch, she instead twists her body so as
 to hold it to the side of her, letting the circle continue without
 risking harm to herself, her hand now left free leaping up to her face, 
 her arm blocking the force that kicks the injured rurouni back, dirt
 and snow raining against her, followed then by the water from the lake
 as it shoots upward as the lake's surface is broken by the figure being
 pitched into it. Her throat thick, she realizes she should feel some
 form of satisfaction for having gotten her attack through... but the
 flash of pale amethyst once more replacing the liquid amber hue that
 his eyes had assumed, it stays with her even as she closes her own eyes
 against the splash of water against her face. She knows what he did. He
 stopped. He /stopped/ the technique, and took the full force of both it
 and her own attack upon himself. Fingers tightening around her glaive,
 forcing its spin to a halt, the bloodied blades sway back and forth
 lifelessly, red liquid seeping down its edge to splatter against the
 dirtied snow, soaking it a colour as bold a shade as that of her
 kimono. He stopped... he LET her hit him! The scene seems suddenly,
 frighteningly, silent once the splash of the rurouni colliding with the
 water has died away, leaving Makie to slowly straighten from her
 defensive stance, her arm lowering from her face, dark brown eyes
 gazing uncertainly out towards the water, her face a blank with
 surprise and uncertainty. He stopped... 

Kenshin's body floats over the surface of the water, on his back, face
 pointing skyward with eyes closed and arms limp to his side. The
 sakabatou still held firmly in one hand, the shredded shards of his
 kyogi top floating along side of him like ribbons, what little is left
 of the garb on his body doesn't even resemble any style of clothing.
 Just liiking to be shredded ribbobs as well. His body floats limply,
 slowly drifting out towards the center of the lake, then as the wind
 picks up and creates a wave, his body rolls into the shallower water
 just a few feet from the shoreline. Rolling into a crumbled ball, face
 down, no sound made since he was thrown into the water. The waves
 strike up against his body, half in the water, half in the mud of the
 river banks. For a long time, until Makie makes a sound or perhaps the
 down rurounin, silence settles in only broken by the quiet wind.

A little girl faces off against her opponent, the wooden bokken held
 firmly in her small hands, her delicate face a blank of emotion. The
 young man she faces is her elder in both age and experience, and yet he
 is the one that is bruised. The room they stand in is alive with
 motion, the surrounding observers all calling out and jeering, enjoying
 the show. They all stink of cheap sake, the room thick with the smell
 of it. Someone calls out, and there's a blurring motion as her opponent
 comes towards her, his own bokken raised over his head. Her stance
 shifts, her own bokken moving -- and the dull sound of wood striking
 flesh slaps the background noise into silence. The little girl lowers
 her sword, her eyes impassive as she watches her brother drop his
 weapon and double over, sinking to the floor with a low groan... 
The glaive hits the ground with a muffled sound, the clatter usually
 associated with dropping one's weapon swallowed by the cushion of snow.
 Makie's fingers have gone limp, her porcelain skin ashen. Horror fills
 her eyes with memory and the Here And Now, the brief surge of battle
 dying away as quickly as it came as she watches the rurouni's body wash
 ashore with morbid, deathly silent interest. He stopped. He /stopped/.
 Shaking hands slowly go to her face, pressing against her temples,
 clawing fingers through her hair to push the ragged strands back from
 her eyes as they squeeze shut, bile rising in the back of the young
 woman's throat. She should leave now. She has a reason for being here,
 a reason for fighting this man, for hurting him-- but what was it? It
 had to have been important; there had to be some justification to this,
 but-- what was it? Eyes opening again, Makie stares as the rurouni
 curls into a ball in the mud, slowly untangling her fingers from her
 hair. Then, lowering herself carefully, she retrieves her glaive with
 one hand before starting towards the fallen figure, her wooden sandals
 making wet squelching noises against the dirty snow and blood-strewn
 earth. 

Kenshin doesn't move as the wind blows over his body, light flakes of
 snow collecting over his fallen form, the moonlight shining a spotlight
 over him and casting him in a light blue glow. The fingers that are
 curled so tightly around the hilt of his sakabatou relax and fingers
 fall limp, a slow breath released and his chest falls as his shoulders
 slump. He doesn't move other than that though.. The waves lap on shore,
 a soft almost pleasant tone, if the air wasn't so thick with the stench
 of combat it would be almost serene and relaxing in it's own right.
 Joining in with the soft sounds of the waves, the light hiss of the
 wind, are the sounds of songbirds on far off trees. Singing out a sad
 song into the cold night air, as if to add the soundtrack for the event
 that has just taken place. The serene befalls the area and then there
 is a quiet gasp, the sound of movement in the water and the fallen
 rurouni stirs lightly. His body shivering, shoulders rising as he
 starts to breath again.

Mud squelches wetly beneath Makie's feet as she leaves behind the frozen
 dirt for the moister edge of the lake. She pauses a few strides from
 him, her own appearance weathered and beaten. Blood continues to drip
 down her arms, her kimono wet and soiled with dirt, the dull ache of
 her injured shoulder beginning to set in now that her adrenaline is
 dying from her system, aggrivated by the wet cold of their
 surroundings. The Void has died from her eyes, leaving behind a pair of
 painfully bright orbs, their brown centers like polished stones, no
 less unreadable than before, but no longer so empty. She stands there
 for a moment or two, watching the rurouni as he finally breathes. Then
 she moves again, quiet steps taken toward the fallen swordsman, until
 she's paused again beside him, knees bending to take the young woman
 into a crouching position, the hand that doesn't hold her glaive
 reaching out lightly to his shoulder.

"M-makie-dono.." The soft shakey voice of the rurouni speaks, muffled as
 his head is bowed down, the sound of the water splashed and mud heard
 as he begins to move. His arm tucks in and hand presses flat against
 the ground, to push himself up somewhat, then his leg tucks in to do
 the same. Moving slowly and labored. His body is battered, bared pale
 skin the colour of cyan from the moon's light seen to have small cuts
 and scrapes over it's surface, goosebumps forming as the wind kicks up
 again and blows over his soaked form. His bowed down head, with loose
 strands of crimson falling to the sides of his face, lifts and he
 speaks again. Raggedly with a light wheeze, "..you are..okay de gozaru
 yo..." He coughs hard and makes it to his knees, mud soaked hand moving
 to clutch his stomach, lines upon lines of thin cuts covering his form.
 Even having sliced off a few of his bandages, leaving the stitches that
 the young woman beside him had sewn to be bared. Blood runs from these
 wounds and soaks into the snow mud mix where he kneels, running down
 into the water to stain it a light murky crimson. As beaten as he is,
 he lifts his face to gaze up to Makie, his face lifting from the
 shadows and dark violet eyes focusing on her. He looks to her and
 stares, then a certain familiar warmth mixes in with the pained
 expression on his face, his eyes thinning and head tilting to the side
 as a bit of relief begins to show on his face there.

Horror spreads across Makie's face as she stares into the rurouni's
 violet eyes. After all she's done, after all that she's put him
 through, forced upon him, there's still warmth there. There's still
 relieved. He's /relieved/ that she's all right. Had the situation been
 different, she would have killed him without a second thought, and for
 the stupidest of reasons! So she could kidnap a girl she had never met
 for a man she barely knew. The hand on Kenshin's shoulder tenses, ready
 to draw back. If only there were anger in those amethyst depths. Anger
 she can understand. Bitterness, betrayal, fury, retribution... "Why?"
 she chokes out suddenly, her voice thick, her eyes widening to take in
 the entire sight of him. The pale cast of his skin, the minute cuts
 lining his body like patchwork, the blood dripping through his fingers
 from the wounds that she herself had dressed only to break open again.
 She drops her glaive again, the weapon falling to the mud with a
 sickeningly wet plop!, and moves her other hand to him, until she grips
 him lightly by his shoulders, both supporting him as well as holding
 him in place, liquid glazing over her eyes as she stares back at him.
 Her voice comes out broken, confused. "Why did you stop? Why didn't you
 move out of the way?!"

Kenshin bows his head to Makie as he takes in a deep breath, grimacing
 slightly, his hand moving up to his chest as pain courses through his
 battered form. He looks down to the dropped glaive on the ground,
 slightly sunken into the soaked mud, her weapon having fallen over his,
 crossing over it and leaving the moonlight to shimmer off of both steel
 surfaces. He says nothing as he recovers, taking it easy for the
 moment, slumping down into a seated position from his kneeling state
 and letting his shoulders sink as he lets out a worn out sigh. "I do
 not understand why you were here de gozaru yo.." he remarks with a
 light breathless tone, "..but there was conflict in your eyes.
 Whenever..a warrior is given orders by someone, they switch into a
 mode..." The wind picks up, flakes of loose snow drifting past him, the
 tattered ribbons of what is left to his kyogi taken up and left to flap
 in the wind loosely. His hand lifts to brush away his crimson strands
 and expose his face, keeping his expression open for her to see as he
 looks back and says quietly. "Makie-dono.. is my friend de gozaru yo.."
 He watches her then starts to slump over from exhaustion..

Makie's hands lift from his shoulders lightly as the rurouni slumps
 forward. Knees sliding against the mud, she leans forward to catch him,
 her waiflike arms surrounding the swordsman and keeping him from
 planting his face into the lakebed, at the same time holding him in an
 awkward sort of hug. A strangled noise rises in the woman's throat,
 released as a sob that she just barely manages to swallow in time. "But
 I would have killed you!" she blurts. "Don't you understand? I would
 have killed you, and never have thought twice about doing it!" That's a
 lie and she knows it. Yes, she would have killed him if given the
 chance, in a blink of an eye-- but she would have hated herself for it.
 His face would have joined the ranks of those in her heart that she
 would never have forgiven herself for. Like her brother. But for all
 the guilt she would carry, that would never make Kenshin any less dead.
 Eyes squeezing shut against her tears, her tone drops, thick with self
-hatred. "I'm not a warrior, Kenshin-san. I just kill things." Eyes
 opening again, glassy in the starlight, she shifts her weight, head
 bowing slightly as she struggles to find her feet, still keeping the
 rurouni from falling forward. A shaky breath drawn and released slowly.
 ".. ... can you stand?" 

Kenshin shakes his head, his breathing shakey as he answers in a quiet
 wary tone, a whisper that just barely carries over the sound of the
 breeze. "..iie, I will need a moment to recover de gozaru na...." He is
 so worn out that he can barely keep his head up, close his fingers into
 even a light ball, move from his seated state in the mud. After a
 moment to rest it might be a different story. He thinks for a moment,
 pondering over what she had just said. That she would have killed him.
 His gaze lifts to find Makie's as she holds him, his hand lightly
 moving to her side as he responds to her statement. "..but you didn't
 Makie-dono.. I am still alive..." A light sigh escapes his lips as he
 slumps over again, his head falling forward as the mist from his breath
 rises up into the night air. "..I did not fight a killer tonight 
 Makie-dono, I fought a warrior... " His hand at her side, to weak to be
 kept there, falls limp to the ground. "..what will you do now though de
 gozaru ka? I cannot stop you from carrying out your task.." There is a
 sharp cough, then he continues. "..though I think you will make the
 right choice..."

Makie closes her eyes again and shakes her head, long lashes flickering
 lightly as a breeze sweeps over the bruised, bloodied, and soaking wet
 pair, causing an icy finger to be dragged up their spines. It's cold
 out here, a fact only worsened by the exhaustion and injury they both
 sustain. When he speaks of fighting a warrior, tears smart her eyes
 again. "Uso yo, Kenshin-san," is all she says, her tone dropping
 another few decibels until it's too low to be read. Of all the things
 that she could ever be told, that is the one belief she will never let
 go of. Once a woman lets herself fall, she has no right to dream. She
 gave up that right when she first picked up the sword. Warriors fight
 with honor; there's none of that left in her now. "Uso yo." Opening her
 eyes again to gaze up at the stars, she settles back after a long
 moment, on her knees now in front of the rurouni, her hands creeping
 back to his shoulders to hold him steady. Briefly, she looks down to
 where the rurouni's hand had touched her, a glint of gold showing up
 amidst the mud. Her hairpin. Chin tucked to her chest, she kneels there
 in silence for a long time, then finally looks back to his face, her
 eyes somber. "There's no right or wrong choice in this, Kenshin-san.
 Otono-tachibana Makie admits defeat. Until I can beat you in a fight, I
 have no right to finish my task, and..." Here a broken chuckle is
 offered up, a hoarse parody of laughter. "I am too tired to fight
 anymore today."

Kenshin nods lightly, lifting his face again, lifting his gaze to focus
 his deep violet eyes on her face. His response to her laughter is his
 expression and gaze growing warmer. A sigh is released, tired and wary,
 then he straightens his back to attempt to sit up straight now that
 some of his strength has returned. He took the brunt of not only her
 attack, but the power focused into his own succession technique. The
 power released with no where to go but be absorbed by himself. His held
 tilts to the side and a hidden smile is there on his face, to worn out
 to really even manage it as of yet, but there is no anger what-so-ever
 in his eyes as he watches her. He lifts his face to gaze past Makie and
 over towards the house, his look considering then he looks back to her.
 "Makie-dono, you should probably get going.. I am not sure if anyone
 will come out of the house to look for me de gozaru yo.." This time
 when he returns his gaze to her, he gives a smile, though weak and
 tired, it is honest.

And Makie returns the smile in kind, though hers is uncertain, wary and
 almost frightened. As if it represented something she wasn't sure she
 was ready to accept. As the rurouni straightens, she keeps her hands on
 his shoulders a moment later, then lifts them slowly, ready to catch
 should he topple over again. When it appears that he won't, she drops
 her hands to her lap, then thinks better of it and reaches to touch her
 glaive, her attention briefly distracted by what Kenshin had noticed
 before. The blades of her glaive crossed over the scabbard of his
 sakabatou. She hesitates before curling her fingers around the cold
 metal staff, returning her gaze to the rurouni's face. She chuckles
 weakly, "Yes, I should, shouldn't I... But only if you promise you
 won't bleed to death out here." There's humour in her tone, but it
 doesn't reach her eyes. The brown orbs remain somber, the meaning
 behind her words serious even if her tone isn't.

Kenshin breaks his gaze with Makie to reach over for his sakabatou, his
 hand slipping under the hilt to curl fingers around, then he lifts the
 blade and starts to sit up even more. There is a light jingle, a quiet
 sigh from Kenshin as he uses his sword to steady himself and pushes up
 to his feet. He stands hunched over, both hands over each other other
 the end of the swords hilt, breaths taken in while he gets used to
 standing. "Hai Makie-dono, I promise de gozaru yo.." He smiles to her
 and gives a light nod, still worn out but having the strength to stand.
 A quick look over towards the house, to see if anyone has stepped out,
 then he looks back to the other kensai and gives a respectable bow of
 his head. "Take care Makie-dono..." The wind brushes his soft bangs to
 the side, causing them to sway, causing the ribbons of tattered
 clothing to flow to the side gracefully. He watches her quietly for a
 long moment, the warmth from his gaze nevering wavering. Not even in
 the chill of this night.

Makie's deep brown eyes watch the rurounin as he struggles to his feet.
 She too stands up, her tired body protesting, though she pays it no
 heed. She rests her weapon's three sections over her shoulders again,
 in much the same way she first appeared with them, turning the blades
 outward from her so as not to risk further injury by accident. "You
 too, Kenshin-san," the swordswoman murmurs softly, gaze dropping, the
 same wind that feathers the rurounin's hair and ruined clothing
 ruffling her own ragged locks, shadows dancing against her moon-pale
 face streaked with dirt and blood. "Maybe next time we meet, one of us
 won't end up bleeding, ne?" She cracks a rueful smile at that, then
 shakes her head as she turns away, sandals making faint squish noises
 against the lakeside mud. The scene moves full circle this way, as she
 walks away from the lake where she first found the rurounin earlier
 this evening. They began here, and so it was ended here, and as Makie
 moves farther away, the shadows of the garden gradually swallowing her
 whole once more, until she vanishes completely all together. 

[end.]