O-Ren nodded, and pushed her way through the open doors, keeping Arya beside her as her as her eyes adjusted to the cool blue spilling through the room. She'd almost been hoping that because this was her version of the teahouse, that it would be the Crazy 88, that she might be able to command them.
There might have been nearly that many, though, swarthy and bulky men who seemed barely contained by their cheap black suits. Bright flashes of tattoo peered up from behind sleeves and buttons. Yakuza, all of them. She noted, in a quick, numb way, that their weapons varied from sword to chain to bat. No guns? It seemed unlikely.
And there, at the top of the stair, lounged a figure in white. Her vision crossed and blurred and she couldn't tell if it was her own self, twenty years from now, waiting for the Bride to ascend, or if it was the Man in White.
It was Bill, of course, and in lazy, patient Japanese, he gave the order to begin.
no subject
There might have been nearly that many, though, swarthy and bulky men who seemed barely contained by their cheap black suits. Bright flashes of tattoo peered up from behind sleeves and buttons. Yakuza, all of them. She noted, in a quick, numb way, that their weapons varied from sword to chain to bat. No guns? It seemed unlikely.
And there, at the top of the stair, lounged a figure in white. Her vision crossed and blurred and she couldn't tell if it was her own self, twenty years from now, waiting for the Bride to ascend, or if it was the Man in White.
It was Bill, of course, and in lazy, patient Japanese, he gave the order to begin.