Dust had accumulated in thick layers over the years of idleness in this store room, spiders making their homes hanging from corners and ceiling. It made the room seem virtually unused. The light filtering through dirty windows and through the kicked-in door did nothing more than illuminate the millions of dust particles in the air which she had disturbed upon entering the storage room.
But the delicate blades locked behind the thick sheet of cold glass in front of her held her attention, not the dust, not the light. Those blades, polished wood hilts and handles of daggers and stilettos, or the sheathed throwing knives, were her fancy here today. Saiyura had her hand pressed against the glass as she gazed into the cabinet.
Such magnificently crafted tools of the trade. Sharpened and unused. And it didn\'t stop at blades either. No, there were swords and kodachis, scythes and reapers, bombs and bows, arrows and pikes. Throwing stars, articles of armor and mail, certain types of guns, staffs and so much more. Tools lined the cabinets of the walls, all behind the protective glass with key ports to unlock the glass doors. The glass was, no doubt, protected by some kind of magic which prevented break-ins.
But that would never stop Saiyura. It never had.
How she wished he could reach one, use it on someone. The girl stood almost entranced by them as she fell back into memory of that day. The effort of dragging the blade across muscle and skin. The screams and spatter of blood. The blood. The raspy, labored breathing. The profound profanities screamed at her as Hatsumomo gained her revenge.
Saiyura pulled away from the glass reluctantly, throwing a look over her shoulder to check for peering eyes. She paused before removing a small hairpin from her long dark tresses. This tool was her friend, always helping her out in a jam and perhaps it could help her out now in her desire to cleave a few new weapons. The young woman threw another quick glance over her shoulder before proceeding to slide the hair pin into the lock to pick it open.
Maybe if she were lucky, the lock would slip open. And while she wasn\'t actually expecting it too, she was always up for a surprise.