The Half-Blind Samurai

Shinjirio's impulsive rebuttal was met by equal impulse. Samira's hand cracked like a whip on his cheek, leaving such a strong impression, her fingerprints could be pulled from it. With a yelp he rolled off of her and covered himself with his hands as he leapt to his feet.

"Don't stand there facing me!" she cried as she pointed at his exposed manhood, her face redder than his cheek. In a panic he obliged her, but in response to his backside came a squeal, followed by a kick to the rump that sent him head first into the closed door he'd fallen through.

"What makes you think I want to see your ass?"

"Make up your mind, dammit!"

Samira gasped. "Is that any way to talk to your new master?"

"Master? Screw you, bitch! How about I pluck your eyes out so you can't see anything?"

"I'd rather accept that offer than look at your door frame of a backside!"

"I'm a samurai! My body is well trained!"

"You're no Musashi Miyamoto, I can tell that much!"

"What did you…" Shinjiro snapped, and he forgot about his shame, his eyes burning with rage as Samira did her best to look anywhere else while standing her ground, arms crossed.

He'd never had an interaction like this with a woman. All of his years practicing discipline and modesty, gone in an instant, merely at the sight of this precocious woman flaunting an air of confidence he knew she couldn't back up. Or perhaps it was the slap. Or the insults. No, it must have been the tattoos on her arm. Even with his poor sight and the dimness of the room, he could tell what it was. Seven dragons scaling the entirety of her one arm, and no sign of another drop of ink on the rest of her slender, somewhat lanky body. And the ink looked fresh.

Is she trying to look like a samurai, or yakuza? He wondered, and she finally noticed his wandering gaze.

"W-what?"

A crash sounded downstairs, with what sounded like two or three men barreling through a door.

"Oh, no," Samira said, rifling through leftover wood scraps looking for something big or sharp enough to use as a weapon. "The doormaker said they'd be able to get in. Now I'm stuck with a useless naked samurai. I can't believe this was all for nothing. Is this really how I die?"

"What are you talking about? What's going on? And who the hell are you calling useless?"

"Well unless you're going to swing that little thing around like a rubber man and block uzi bullets with it, then you're useless to me."

Shinjiro's eye twitched, another proverbial straw snapping as one of the intruders downstairs tripped over something and yelped as they crashed into a pile of wood. "I'm supposed to be at my retirement party, swimming in a pool full of women. To think I'd be killing one instead."

"Retirement party? You're too young to be retired, especially for a samurai. You must have sucked so bad they fired you, and told you it was a retirement to make you feel better. Besides, you could never get women in a pool with you. You smell like a donkey's ass."

His knuckles crunched, and his nostrils flared. The footsteps below finally found the stairs, but he was equally concerned with her impertinence as he was their animus.

"Oy, what's that rolled up parchment sticking out of your belt? Right there where your garments show how flat your behind is."

Her knuckles cracked twofold, and she stopped searching through the wood scraps and slowly stood up. "What the hell did you just…"

"Someone can hurl stones, but doesn't like it when they bounce back at them, hu-"

"Half-assed nudist samurai!" she cried as she launched the tightly wrapped newspaper at him, paying no mind to the men entering the hallway, pointing their guns at them and shouting.

Shinjiro snatched the newspaper aimed at his face, and in the same movement took a sure step forward and let it fly. It remained straight as an arrow as it knocked the uzis out of the hands of the running men before they could pull the trigger. Samira gasped, and Shinjiro rushed in as they continued into the doorway, reaching for the short swords protruding from their suits.

No sooner than they'd entered the room, Shinjiro had their swords in either hand. As he darted between them, he slashed his arms across each other, and the men fell forward with a thud.

"Oh my god…" Samira muttered, standing over the men to check their pulse.

"That was fatal, trust me," Shinjiro said as he moved to sheathe the blades before remembering he was naked. He held the swords awkwardly at his sides, until an immense pain coursed through his hands and shot through his head, landing in his eyes. He dropped the swords and grabbed at his eyes, but took a sharp breath in as his vision shuttered.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a headache."

The third set of footsteps emerged from the wood pile downstairs, and came drumming up the stairs. Shinjiro snapped to, and moved to grab the swords. The pain seared his eyes before he could even grip them, though, and he grunted, reluctantly leaving them behind as he rushed into the hallway.

"Hey, what are you doing? Do you have a death wish or something?" Samira cried as she picked up one of the swords and followed him.

"Stay back, idiot!" Shinjiro yelled back without looking as he snatched the newspaper up and met the third man, who wielded a longer sword, on the stairs. He effortlessly evaded the sword, and with one newspaper wack to the back of the neck, knocked the man out. Samira stood at the top of the stairs, breathing ragged breaths as she looked down in amazement.

"Help me get him upstairs so I can take his clothes," Shinjiro said, holding the newspaper in his mouth as he pulled the man up from the steps. Samira blushed, and nodded through a nervous tremor.

"What's your problem now?" he asked in a muffled voice.

"The n-newspaper…was in my pants."

"Huh? Who cares?"

Her red cheeks suddenly turned from bashful pink to wrathful red, and she snatched the paper from his teeth and stuck it back in her hip as she took the man's other arm over her shoulder.

"You realize you just put my spit in there right after getting all nervous, right?"

She went still for a moment, before clearing her throat. "Just shut up and come on, I'm sick of seeing your hairy ass."

Not wanting to dignify her with a response, Shinjiro let silence come over them, and undressed the unconscious man, whose mohawk hairstyle he'd never seen, until he was naked aside from his briefs. Samira faced the wall while he struggled to put the unfamiliar formal-wear on, which he found to be too tight in every nook and cranny.

"Thanks for your help," he said, scoffing. "What are these clothes, anyway? I've never seen anything like it. Yours too."

Samira blushed as he eyed her single-sleeved blouse and skirt. "Y-you're not in your time anymore. I'm not sure where you're from, but you're in the future now."

"What?" Shinjiro muttered, taking a step and crouching to peer into her eyes, which only made her redder. "You screwing with me?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head to drain her rosy cheeks. "I summoned you here. By asking the viking guy to make a door to the past.

"The bastard who stole my clothes…"

"He's a doormaker. My father told me people like him exist. Before he died, he sent me a letter explaining how I could borrow a samurai from the past to serve me. You see, we always loved everything about the samurai, and-"

"Enough," he replied, grabbing her shoulders to curb her rambling. However, she only grew more fidgety. "I believe you. So just tell me how to get back. I have…things to do in my time."

"Um, I don't think you can, based on what the doormaker told me."

Shinjiro sighed, and let her go. As she nearly gasped for air, and he reached for the doorknob of the double doors he'd come through, he noticed his hands were shaking. He glanced back at the slender shoulders he'd just released, and found himself going red.

Taking a page from her book, Shinjiro shook his head and threw the doors open, only to find a closet filled with hung up nordic furs and drinking horns..

He calmly shut the door, and turned back to her. "Where can I find this doormaker?"

"He went to your time, so I'm not sure if and when he'll even come back here," she replied, mostly recovered from her fidgeting.

"And how long did it take you to find him?"

"Well, I knew where he'd be, thanks to my father's letter. But it said to wait a month to come here and find him."

"A month?" Shinjiro muttered, crossing his arms. "Let's go look where you found him before." Without waiting for her, he made for the hallway.

"Wait, I signed a contract, you know?" she cried, stomping after him. "You don't have a choice but to serve me. You should be calling me Lord Samira, or Master Sam!"

Her words made him wince his already pained eyes, which hadn't yet returned to their normal functioning level- that of below average sight. Because of this, and his lack of focus, he didn't see the unconscious half-naked man suddenly lunge at him.

He only heard the second set of footsteps in time to turn around, face to face with the short sword the man had snatched off the floor. Shinjiro, as fast as he was, knew he didn't have time to dodge or deflect. However, before he could decide where to let the sword strike him, a tattooed fist smashed into the man's jaw.

Samira's flying punch sent him crashing into the scraps, and Shinjiro was saved from the unavoidable blow. Not only that, his eyesight suddenly returned to normal, as if whatever was blurring them had cleared away at the sound of her fist smashing into the man's face. He could only look on in amazement as she stood above the newly unconscious man.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, awestruck.

"I'm Shinjuku's new yakuza boss, Samira Nana," she said, turning a fierce grin at him, but quickly wincing as she shook off her punching hand.

He recoiled, muttering to himself, "…Nana…means seven…everything with her is sevens…she loves samurai…and yakuza…is this a nightmare? Did I die and go to hell?"

"So, you better introduce yourself properly, and ask me nicely, if you really want me to take you to the doormaker. I'll humor you, but I will make you serve me."

He swore to himself he was finished, that he would never have to take on another master, another duty he didn't personally decide on. Not only that, there was no way he could take this woman seriously. He could never work for the yakuza, and he was tired of hearing about the virtues of samurai. However, he found himself laughing. Not to mock her, not even to mock his misfortune- a genuine laugh born of appreciation for her audacity. If it's just for a bit, he thought, he could humor her. At least, he could treat her with the respect she earned with that punch.

"Okay, then. I am the samurai Shinjiro Oto. I'm sure you know my legend, so I'll spare the details. Please, take me to where the doormaker would be, Master Sam."

Samira smiled brighter, but then her eyes spun around as she tilted her head as if scraping the corners of her mind.

"Hmm, nope. Never heard of you."