Ruroni Kenshin is the creation of Watsuki Nobuhiro, may he
continue to work on it for a long time and may it be picked
up and sold for dirt cheap (and not the fancy stuff! Just your
regular, run o' the mill, plain ole dirt). I hold no rights
to the characters, ideas, situations contained within RKen, and
am doing this without permission, and also without the idea of
profit.

Now, first off, I'd like to apologise (is it me, or do I 
always start out doing that? Then again, if I always start out
like that, then it would be me. So, disregard anything in this
set of brackets, as it's nonsensical. You shouldn't trust what
people put in brackets, anyway. If it were important, the writer
would just put it in a sentence or something, instead of using
brackets)... aw heck with it. No apologies this time! Stuff it!
To hell with all of you! I ain't gonna apologise for nuttin'! ^_^

Right! On with the fic! Explanations to follow, so you may disregard
them at your leisure. ^_-


			A Few Thoughts on a Line

	An ever-so familiar scent was in the air, intoxicating, like an expensive
perfume, yet it was tantalisingly just on the outer edge of memory. What
was it again? Not a floral, or an herbal scent; perhaps a look around might
identify the smell.
	The carcasses of animals of all sorts and descriptions hung in a large,
vaulting warehouse-like building. Kenshin stood in the middle of a
slaughterhouse. In the middle of a pool of --that's where the smell was
coming from-- blood, higher than his sandals and seeping into and staining
his socks.

	Kenshin looked down at his hands, and saw a sword in them. They were
covered in blood, his hands and not the sword which gleamed in the dusky
light of a high window. There was something wrong with the sword, something
about the way it--
	  Not reversed? A regular sword? No, not regular. A masterpiece. Something
even the Arai's could only dream of making.

	Kenshin dropped the sword from his lifeless fingers and looked up. Where
was he, what has he done, are Kaoru and Yahi-- His eyes grew in horror as
unheard thoughts carried him onward, flying towards his destination,
Kaoru's dojo at a speed far greater than he had ever thought himself
possible of; speeds beyond Sojiro, beyond shuku-chi.

	The gate was open when Kenshin arrived, leaving tracks of blood in the
centre of the small craters he created with the force of his legs. The
stillness and the silence was absolute. No noises at all, not Kaoru and
Yahiko practising, not Sanosuke visiting, not even the everyday hustle and
bustle of people which should be around at this time of day. Even the wind,
caused by Kenshin's race to his (not-so)newfound home had suddenly quit.

	Walk inside, search it, room by room, place by place, until something can
be found. Only thing that could be done, Kenshin reasoned. None of his
senses alerted him to anything, his sense of smell still overpowered by the
coppery scent of blood that pervaded his person.
	Back to the gate then. Try the Akabeko, perhaps they went out for lunch
and are waiting for him and --Danger!--
	Kenshin's sixth sense, developed since he began training in the Hiten
Mitsurugi Ryu under Seijuro's tutelage, and later honed as a hitokiri in
the Bakumatsu, operated at a level unmatched by most so-called psychics. He
reacted swiftly, and without thought: quick dodge out of the way, pivot and
horizontal slash to the opponent's mid-section using the momentum from the
pivot to gain additional speed and force.
	Only when Kenshin had finished had he time to think of how he had a sword
in his hand, and more importantly, what sword it was, and who his...
attacker... was....

	"Kaoru?"

	It's funny how things are never quite what you think they would be. Take a
sword, for instance. Perfect, how it catches the light, and how it looks
like it could cut through diamond or the softest silk, with similar ease.
One would think that rivulets of blood on such a sword would ruin it as a
work of art. One would be wrong.

	Kenshin held up the sword above him and looked at it in rapt fascination.
He watched the drops of blood slowly make their way down to the hilt and
there bead until they fell onto the ground, onto the body of the life it
had just taken, onto--

	"Kaoru?" Kenshin said slowly, horrified at what he had just done, and
confused, because he was not sure exactly how it happened, and because of a
certain thrill doing it gave him, deep underneath the horror.

	"Kenshin?" 

	Turning around, Kenshin saw a shocked Yahiko at the gate. Yahiko's shock
was short-lived as he saw the sword in Kenshin's hand and quickly surmised
what had gone on. With a wordless cry, Yahiko rushed Kenshin, shinnai held
high as he charged. 
	A quick thrust and it was all over. An instinctive reation on Kenshin's
part, nothing more. Certainly didn't enjoy it, not the feel of warm blood
spattering against his face, nor the look on his victim's face as he
realises the end is coming for him. Of course not. Didn't feel a thing, not
a lust of more, not a thrill and a rush so great and so deep it was nearly
sexual. That would be wrong.

	--Danger!--

	Sixth sense and hearing were Kenshin's only clues, and even then, only
barely hearing. This attacker let out just a quiet sob before he came at
Kenshin. No matter. It was over, just as quick. Sanosuke Sagara might be
strong, but compared to the hitokiri-battousai, well, it was more a
slaughter than a fight, truth be told.
	If the truth is to be told, then one should also note that Kenshin
definitely enjoyed that kill, much more than the others. Perhaps it was
because Sanosuke was able to put up more of a fight. 
	The Hitokiri was here to stay now, and he lifted his head up with narrowed
eyes and a feral grin over his first victims. So many more people, and so
much more pleasure to be had.


	The next thing Kenshin did was wake up, gasping and covered in sweat. A
different dream this time, although only because of the people he killed in
it. Usually they were just memories of people he really had killed ten
years ago. There was one dream in particular that occurred more than
others, one person who--

	"Tomoe," Kenshin murmurred almost inaudibly to himself, "I'm trying, I'm
trying so hard, but sometimes.... Even after ten years, I can't forget the
feel." After checking on everyone else, and a few more minutes to sort
through his thoughts, and the emotions which churned through his belly,
Kenshin dropped off into a dreamless sleep.



~End~



	"You never lose the smell of blood, nor the pleasure of killing." 

Kenshin said that in (I believe) episode 10 (introduction of Jine Udo).
I find it a rather disturbing line, considering the source: Kenshin, who
has sworn not to kill, and has done so for the last ten years.
	Thus, we (or I, and now you, having read it), get this.
(Hey, this was a fairly short author's notes... Well, for me it is, at
least. Just doesn't feel quite natural. Maybe I'll just take up some
space here and... Nah)

	


Matthew "Maybeso" Lewis is:
Maybeso on IRC
Sojiro_Seta on Kawaiimuck
Not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean
Member of:
FFML, FFIRCML, El Hazard ML
	maybeso@ican.net
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Apricots and mini-vans are exactly alike, except
that they're completely different.
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