Sunlight poked through evergreen leaves, lighting up the forest, which had some rather large company today. A commotion broke out a few hours ago; from what Shiranui had gathered, the Mibu mutts were fighting with someone. Not the Choushuu, of course. The clamor had attracted the oni’s attention and he spared a few moments to observe the battlefield, but he quickly grew bored and left the mutts to their own devices. After all, the Choushuu’s plans would hit a snag if he broke his agreement to keep a low profile for the time being.
A comfortable distance from the battlefield, Shiranui rested upon a thick tree limb half in the tree’s shade and leaning against the trunk. Tan fingers brushed over the cold metal in his lap, the cylinder open and chambers empty. Violet irises carefully examined his beloved pistol; sure, he didn’t have the tools with him at the moment to clean the gun, but regular inspections saved his ass on more than one occasion. Satisfied for now, tan fingers plucked up the bullets in his lap and slid them one by one into the chambers. A flick of the wrist snapped the cylinder back into place.
Strange, what humans can create. They were weak, pathetic, foolish creatures and yet their inventions were so odd. Unique. Deadly, yet beautiful in its own way. Sunlight gleamed off the metal, and Shiranui silently chuckled at the fact that humans had created something they could not survive against. One simple bullet was all it took to kill them. So weak. Pathetic. Even a tiny scratch or a simple sickness could cost them their lives.
Holstering his pistol, Shiranui cast a lazy glance around the forest. In the distance, the battlefield clamor had died down, though the oni had been preoccupied so he couldn’t say when exactly things had begun to settle. Shifting positions, he stretched for a moment. Leaves rustled now and then, with the occasional bush crying out when a small animal darted by below.
Violet hues narrowed. He should get going soon.