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A Ranma ½ / Rurouni Kenshin crossover story
by Griever

Foreword: You know, I'm actually going to be offended if this hasn't been done before, for exactly the same reason it's getting done here. I mean, come on people, ain't it obvious? Glaringly so, even. On a side note, this is spamfic. It's not meant to be taken seriously.

Disclaimer: Ranma ½ belongs to Takahashi Rumiko and Viz video.  Nobuhiro Watsuki owns Rurouni Kenshin. I make no pretense to be in any way, shape or form sane.


The man moved, or rather had to have moved, because his sheathed sword was suddenly in the path of the bokken, blocking the strike.

"Oro?"

The black-haired, blue-eyed young man blinked at the hakama clad girl who'd attempted to clobber him.

"I have you now!" the girl shouted, and brought the bokken down again. This time it was grabbed by the man's hand, and the girl was thrown halfway across the street.

"Ara. I think you're making a mistake here!" the youth held up his hands in a placating gesture, his sword thrust through the sash again. This was really getting out of hand. And he'd hoped Tokyo would be a little more peaceful, too. Fer shame.

Kaoru studied her opponent. He was lean, on the smallish side, with his dark hair cut short and slicked back. Dressed in a black hakama, with a pipe thrust through on the opposite side from the daisho, and the swords themselves seemingly not at all often used, judging from their grips' and sheaths' condition.

"I think not! I've finally found you! Now I can clear the rumors surrounding my dojo, that it trained the infamous Battousai who's tearing up the neighborhood!" the girl snapped at him.

"Battousai?! Me?" the man scoffed. "Such violence! I'm a man of peace. Make love, not war. That sort of thing, ya know?"

She tried, really tried, but couldn't stop her eyebrow from violently twitching…

And barely caught the motion behind her as a giant of a man, clad in rough black clothing and a ninja hood, brought a sword down where she'd stood moments before. Kaoru barely managed to dodge, and set herself, waiting for the follow-up.

"You thought that little wimp was me?!" the large man said in a gruff voice. "Foolish little girl! I'll show you what a real Battousai can do! Taste my revenge!"

The sword came down, and she blocked… or attempted to. The steel sliced neatly into wood, through it, and went on to nearly slice through her…

Kaoru regained her bearings, noticing she was a good few meters away from the Battousai now, and clutched — rather tightly — to the chest of the man she'd attacked earlier.

"Who're you calling a wimp?" the man demanded in a cocky tone. "Pathetic little twerp."

"You! How dare you?!" growled the big man. "But to move like that… who are you? Tell me before I take your pathetic little life!"

The black-haired man seemed nonplussed as he set Kaoru down, and got between her and the assailant. He smirked as he crossed his hands in front of his chest.

"You? Gimme a break! You may be a Hitokiri, but you sure as hell ain't the Battousai," the man said, confidently.

"Then… you…" Kaoru gasped, looking at him.

"What? Me? Naw, I've met the Battousai, and that ain't him," the man shrugged at her.

The enraged Hitokiri struck, his blade whistling in a wicked arc that would surely take the younger man's head off.

Moments later he found himself struggling to free his sword from the man's one-handed grasp. The hand had shot out at a nearly impossible speed, flat of the palm coming against flat of the blade, thumb pressing against the other side, and the entire limb as immovable as rock. The point of the sword was mere inches away from the smaller man's head, but he didn't seem worried.

"How?" was about the only thing the assailant could say, blinking in shock.

"Oh, a little trick I learned on the road." The younger man's grin was infuriating in its smugness.

"Who are you?"

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose it's only fair. Actually, I've been called a lot of things over the years, but one seemed to stick for some reason." He shrugged.

Kamiya Kaoru felt something odd, something she had no right to feel, something downright impossible… she felt a draft. Looking up, she blinked partly in disbelief, partly in shock, and then she just blinked in plain shocked disbelief.

"I am… the Hitokiri Happousai!" the man announced to the world, a pair of freshly liberated panties stretched across his head, and a wide grin on his face.

 

 


Author's notes: Why, yes, I wrote this only because I wanted to shoot that one-liner off. Sue me. Or… No, I'd rather you didn't. Please?

It's been waaaaaay too long since I last saw Kenshin, and my interpretation here, however loose, is based on what I can recall. It ain't much. Neither is the fic, but then again, it's a spamfic ain't it? Even if it ends with a corny line, has no plot whatsoever, and is totally devoid of anything even regarding ambition, that's what spam's all about. I just wanted to get this damn idea out of my mind so I can get on with more important fics, like Roadtrip, or (if I feel the need for it) Crimson, or hashing out more Spiral details.

'Nyways, as always, griever@wp.pl is where flames, comments, death threats, sharp pointy bits, and various hentai… er, you didn't hear that last part… go.

 
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