She tugs at his red necktie. Hidden beneath his black coat, she pulls its end and draws his face closer to her own. For a second he catches a venomous look in her eye; a violent red that isn't afraid to snuff out every inch of audacity in him, and crush it into fear. Mere bits and pieces of a cowardly being, a reflection of idiocy; she's staring right at it.

He's held at gunpoint with the click of her revolver aimed at his temple. He has nowhere to go--she wouldn't let him go. But she can't let him win. Not yet anyways.

His left hand still grips his katana that's laced with a sharp steel at its edge. He hisses a shallow breath and swipes his sword for her torso. He needs to knock her off her feet, fumble for balance to make her vulnerable. But she can't afford to lose.

The katana lands in the palm of her hand. She's no longer fiddling with his necktie. Her fingertips dance on the blade, almost gracefully, and though blood seeps from the slits of her wounds, she doesn't seem to be affected. Her hands are stained in crimson after throwing down the katana by the blade.

It hits the ground with a loud clatter--Ren knows he's defenseless.

Her hand snakes its way into his and she quickly interlocks their fingers together.

"Now what do you want me to do?"

He can feel the warmth of Tsubaki's breathing among his lips. Their noses are centimeters apart and he knows she's about to make a move: he'll hear an earplitting gunshot and an everlasting ringing within his eardrums, or she'll do something else entirely.

But before he can make any more predictions, she finally turns the end of her revolver away from his head; at last he can be at ease. She points the gun away from them both and fires a shot into the ground.

He doesn't flinch.

. . .

Word Count: 326

. . .

Side notes: Karakuri Series