Samurai Champloo

Genre: Romance/Angst

Type: In-Progess

Pairing: MugenxFuu

Spoilers: (it's true) Episode Two--Redeye Reprisals (Pandemonium)

Title: Quadrivium (place where four roads meet)

Summary: A firefly glows in her hand, illumination, and she thinks about the future.

Notes (at the end)

xx

Acorns.

He's holding two acorns in his hand and they're looking at him like they've never seen someone more insane. A snide grin, narrowed eyes, and he retaliates with an accusation. Glasses reflect the sun and jump back in protest when swords meet in disagreement.

She sighs, tells them to give it a rest, reminds them of their promise.

And he remembers sunflowers; objects he doesn't understand, doesn't know. When asking, he hides behind the question mark, gives her a narrowed look. The samurai is baffled, shocked, mostly amused, and she just stares incredulously. Explinations launch, tangents follow, soon they're both curious. Glasses and Attitude are all alight with rapid-fire questioning, she can't keep up; it stops when she's doubling over in hunger. All gratitude, she suggests food and they're moving on their way. Cusory glances fly between the uninformed and the subject drops.

For now, the questions go unanswered, but the curiosity grows.

xx

They're pulling an occupied cart down the middle of an untraveled road.

Dusty footprints litter the dirt and he's staring downward at her unconscious form in scrutiny. She's young, noisy, passed out (drunk); her kimono has a slight tear near the hem. It's a completely impersonal evaluation, meaningless, and when he hears her steady, rhythmic breathing, the slight jerk to the side of his mouth means absolutely nothing.

She's dumpable, he says, robbable. The man with glasses slows in his wake and there is movement out of the corner of his eye.

A woman is walking their way, beautiful and mysterious, broken sandals in her clutch. There is a smile on his face, crude and suggestive, and he forgets all about ripped kimonos.

xx

She's sitting on the floor, drawn back in anxiety, afraid for her life.

A sillouette in her line of vision, against the window, stands holding a weapon; he's tall, monstrous, but she doesn't feel afraid. There is movement, tentative footsteps, and she's trying to get a closer look. A shroud turns to face her, the voice of a man, and it's telling her to look away. The makings of a smile, small and unsure, plays on her lips, as she addresses the sad look in his eye.

He stares ahead, straight, and she's staring outward. Fireflies are dancing in the darkness, green and glowing, making patterns with their kind. A gasp, wide eyes, and they both marvel as the tiny lights flutters into the room.

It's close to her face, she can catch it, and her hands clasp around the creature.

A firefly glows in her hand, illumination, and she thinks about the future.

xx

Sake burns his throat on the way down.

He's holding a cup, empty; the beautiful woman refills. It's soft-glow and quiet, they're together in a extravagant room, and conversation is overrated. Their eyeing one another, he's taking a sip, she's pulling down her kimono purposefully, leaning on his shoulder. He comments on her eagerness and sets down his drink. Moments pass to the sound of rustling fabric and creaking floor; lips meet, eyes go wide, limbs react.

She's on the floor and there is a wild gleam in his eye. He wipes his mouth, curses at her cleverness, demands answers, unsheaths his sword; she faulters, says its poison (A One-Night Mushroom), clutches her kimono shut. It's the work of an armless man, revenge by definition, and he's got something of his, something precious; living, breathing.

He grabs his sword and storms out thinking of ripped kimonos.

xx

It's dark out, haunting, and the ropes that bind her fragile wrists are rawing through her skin.

There are two men nearby--the cloaked giant, his (armless) employer--keeping guard, standing ready, and she's breathing so hard, so fast, that they can't help but hear. She's trying not to panic, trying to keep calm, rational, aware; they'll come, someone will. Eventually. A promise was made, it was vowed to be kept, and she knows (swears) the ones she made it with will show up in due time.

A shrine looms in the background of the landscape (tattered, boarded, old and gray), wooden monuments (respectful debts) line the ground like picket-fences and everywhere she looks there are fireflies, green and glowing. In another life or time, awe would have engulfed her, made her gasp, but now she only shivers, waiting.

Movement stirs below her, a man quick and limber, and suddenly they're fighting; a vagrant and a hooded giant facing forward in the moonlight. A clash of metal, flying debris, rageful shouts; it's a scene she can't help but watch and she has to tell herself to keep breathing (he's here).

The armless, taunting civilian is wearing a wild expression; he's holding a thin bottle, long and full of swishing liquid, outward with his good hand. Explinations of antidotes, of poison and revenge, fly from his mouth and the vagrant swears, grips his sword a little harder, prepares to retaliate.

It's a futile mission; he's down on the ground, barely-breathing and swordless, before even making it half a step. The giant is towering, readying his blade, and she can't help it, the involuntary clench of her chest.

"Mugen!"

A head snaps in her direction, wild eyes, and suddenly he's knocked off his feet, facing down, breathing river water.

Armless man is laughing hysterical, foot pressed against the vagrant's back, and she knows he's slowly dying, can feel it in her chest (a steady ache). She watches the cloaked giant, sees him standing nearby, motionless, and forgets herself.

There's a flash in her eye, determination (fear?), and before she can realize her actions, the armless man is flying. He's stumbling in another direction, cursing her, preparing to fight back. When he rights himself, slaps her across the face, says he loves sharing pain with the world, she flinches, feels the sting of contact, and steals a glance at a motionless body lying limp upon the shore.

She doesn't have to look twice; he's alive.

The slight smile on her lips has no time to linger as the armless man advances steadily forward. He's making a point to torture her, just out of spite, but before he can touch her, monstrous hands clamp around his throat; they're squeezing so tight, like hatred, that the snap of bone and loss of life hardly can suprise her.

A twist of the body, grab of a weapon, and she's screaming in protest. It's rapid, the hesitation of the giant, and leaves him wide open for attack. Blood and sword decorate his chest, he meets the ground, and the moonlight shines above him.

She watches him die.

There are fireflies in the air, quiet in their exploration, and she stares at the man now lying upward on the shoreline. His chest is heaving, eyes closed, and the sword is his hand is marred by silvery scarlet that drips idly into the water.

He's alive, she's protected, and the promise made on the flip of a coin remains intact for now.

xx

It's like scene re-telling---only different. More of a dissection, really. The scenes are recounted, picked apart, contextualized, and shared. What happens in the show and what happens in the fic are slightly skewed in comparison. Means that things can happen out of order or simply not happen at all. Think of it as an underlining commentary. Or an insight. The writers didn't pop up and elaborate every time Mugen and Fuu got into a fight or throw out exclimation points when Jin made such-and-such comment, so I'm going to do it. Hopefully.

A project in twenty-six parts; one chapter per episode.

(questions?)