It was the inherent gift of a woman to bewitch men, even when unintended, in fact – especially, for it was the gift of men to become entranced by beings they could not possess. Azalea was common to most, her eyes easily identified her as a local woman, raised by the coast, a child of the sea, the spawn of a kind old fishermen. There was a contrast to her, a darkness, an enigmatic sense of beauty in the way she held her sake cup, sipped at it casually while being careful not to drink too much. She was graceful, soft with a traditional beauty complimented by the charm of her bright azure eyes. Her dress was modest, she wore no jewellery and exposed the flesh of her wrist each time she reached for another piece of sashimi, she was quiet, she tried not to attract attention.

It did not work.

He was a younger man, late twenties, older than her. Certainly not a samurai, a rogue perhaps. His hair was unkempt and tied back so that the rough, uneven, uncut lengths spiked out the back of his head, his shirt was open slightly too wide and he held the hilt of a kanto sword, stuck in a thin obi. His breath smelt rancid and underlying it was the scent of too much rice wine, his cheeks were flushed, his pupils dilated and though a fit, muscular man, he wobbled like some drunken oaf over to her. He sat hard next to her, on his behind and not his knees in an untraditional manner. Azalea held her sake cup firm, did not let the wine touch her lips before she lowered her hand and set the cup down onto the table.

“You looked so lonely, over here all by yourself, does the fisher girl need cheering up?” He spoke to her as if they’d met before and were in fact familiar with each other and while he laughed as though he’d made a joke, she stared at him blankly, blinked and looked back to her meal.

“Don’t ignore me river girl,” his words were stern, an easily angered drunk. Out the corner of her eye she could see Akemi, the elder woman began to roll up the sleeves of her kimono but with a glance from Azalea, she relaxed and instead, crossed her arms to watch contently. The rogue reached for her, grabbed her by her thin wrist very tightly, she narrowed her eyes but still she said nothing as with her left hand she lifted both her chopsticks. It was not a particularly violent scene, but it had the potential to spiral out of control, she’d nip it in the bud before it had the chance.

Her hand was fast, quick, she pressed two fingers against his wrist, his hand fell limp much to the rogues surprise and a moment later she’d twisted his wrist around, using his own strength against him in simple resistance.

“I do not require company, least of all from the likes of you,” she stared straight ahead and lifted both her chopsticks high, tilting her head to stare at him now as she clicked her chopsticks together at eye-level. “Bother me again, and I’ll take your eye for a trophy- is that clear?” She was monotone and blunt, threatening in her own right, he nodded quickly and after a brief pause, she released him. Standing, the man held his wrist close, cracking and popping the joints sorely as he turned, muttering profanity to himself, he made his way across the tavern and back to his own table.

A small smile curled about the edge of her lips and Azalea sighed as she straightened her back and brushed her long, silken bangs from her eyes, she could still see the rogue. He was sore, angry, if he was smart he’d leave her alone – he didn’t look like the type though.

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