The blade is less than an inch from her jugular.

Hyakurin has an arrow ready to fly, pointing straight at her opponent's heart, but there's a blade less than an inch from her jugular, and she's not trigger-happy enough to trade her life for a clean shot.

She's fucked. Or so she'd think, but she's been fucked before and came out of it in few enough pieces to be put back together. Nothing's saying now's gonna be any different. Hyakurin isn't about to roll over just yet.

So she puffs the hair out of her face and grins at the other woman with as much teeth as possible. No reaction, of course. This one's a tough cookie. With a stick pretty far up, Hyakurin would add, but the cookie just more or less kicked her ass, so she supposes she's gotta show some respect.

She could really go for a smoke right now. Maybe that'd make her knees stop shaking. Yeah, she's shaking and it's embarrassing as hell, but holy fucking shit, this woman's eyes. Scares her enough to piss herself, the look in them. Hyakurin's not ever seen anything like it, and she's seen a lot. She'd be happy to avert her eyes, but even if it's at a standstill right now, she's in the middle of battle and she isn't feeling especially suicidal today. Instead, she grins wider. What else is she gonna do?

She's lost her sandals, surprise, surprise. Heels aren't practical in this line of work; it's not like she doesn't know that, not like she hasn't ever thought of ditching them for something more down to earth, so to speak. Then she has moments like these - barefoot in a dirty back-alley, pressed up against the wall - and she's reminded why she really fucking needs them, really fucking needs the confidence boost those extra four inches give her.

With her faithful sandals, unfit for close combat as they may be, she wouldn't have to slightly crane her neck to meet the other woman's eyes. Those terrible eyes. Not cold so much as detached, like she's slicing up a radish rather than outclassing one of the best assassins in all of Edo. Pretty, though. All of her is; from her pouty-lipped, pale-skinned face to her dainty feet. Her obi tied tight around her slim waist, and slits all the way up to heaven. That's a lot of thigh right there. Risque doesn't begin to cover it – pun most definitely intended.

At least she gets to be taken out by a looker. Woop-dee-doo. She's grateful, honest. And fucked. Truly, majorly fucked; it's sinking in now, finally sinking in. She'll die here, because the woman's just too good, and you can't bluff yourself past steel of this calibre and she's fucked. She's fucked.

But like hell she's ever gonna roll over.

So she grins wider still, until her cheeks ache. She's a fighter, a head-turning, ball-busting force of nature, and she'll be damned if she won't get a reaction out of Miss Murder here before she goes to find out what's in store for her on the other side.

The sweat runs down her temples as she slowly lifts her foot. When she first brushes her toes against the woman's ankle Hyakurin stops breathing, waiting for the slice, but when seconds pass and her head remains attached to her neck, she turns the soft brush into full-fledged touch, climbing up the leg.

Smooth legs for a killer. State of the art, really. The downy, slender curve of her calve and the hollow of her knee. The kimono Hyakurin pushes aside as she ventures further is silky as, well, silk, but it's got nothing on the delicate softness of the inside of the woman's thigh, the skin hot against Hyakurin's foot despite her cool facade.

There should be someone around to appreciate the amount of self control it takes Hyakurin not to laugh. A helluva lot, that's how much. She's feeling up her soon-to-be-slayer behind Shokichi's place as if they were a couple of dykes into some seriously kinky knife and arrow play. Someone should be there, because even if she lives to tell the tale, no one's gonna believe her.

Hyakurin holds the woman's gaze - or maybe it's the other way around, fuck if she knows and fuck if she cares - and she watches her eyes widen and the flush spring out like roses on her cheeks and she knows that she has won. She'll die, but she'll have won. The surprise turned confusion in the woman's eyes is her victory.

She means to stop there, honest to goodness, she only means to tease and delay the inevitable, she didn't mean to actually, you know- But then the woman leans forwards and downwards and Hyakurin's foot is all up in her- And the woman's eyes are almost shut but her lips are parted and- Hyakurin's toes are wet with- The woman is moving, hips rolling, and it's sexy enough that there's probably some law against it- She's even softer here between her- Hyakurin is moving, too, though her leg's started aching, but- Somehow, they're closer, she can feel the woman's breath on her face and her plan has gone to shit and she doesn't even care.

It's too messed up to be true. It's got to be a game, but Hyakurin has a set of (really, truly magnificent) tits right in her field of vision and it's hard to think much further than that, hard to think much further than the wetness between her legs. Give it another minute, and she'll be slimed to the knees.

So maybe it is a game, but okay, fine, so be it. Hyakurin started it, anyway, and she can still win, so she moves along, matches the woman's pace and grins wider and she doesn't roll over.

She rolls with it.