Apparently Jaime of El Paso didn't know of the Shinsengumi. He would have recognized the name otherwise and would have understood the need for Okita's secrecy. Checking over his plant for any more weeds, Okita started to pull out the ones he'd missed. "Simply put, my country is at war, Jaime-san. I am on one side of it, and my name is well known among our enemies. If given the chance to kill me and eliminate the threat of my presence in the war, they will strike at me and anyone around me. Thus, it imperative that I remain hidden in order to save the people I hold dear."
Heiji, Homura, Ayumu, the entire History Club was in danger should any Choushuu appear. Himura was here already, but Okita had a feeling someone else was in the area. He didn't have a clear idea of who, but he could feel it in the air somehow. "Do you understand now?"
Jaime was smart enough not to ask about the whispered secret. It was good because Okita wasn't about to reveal any more. If Jaime wanted to know how true his statement was, he'd have to work for that information. People had shed blood for the accomplishments the History Club had made and Okita wasn't about to give up something so precious just to get Jaime to like them. He pulled at a particuarly stubborn weed, frowning a little at how hard it was to remove. "We're composed of war gods, generals, samurai and killers, Jaime-san. What sort of extreme methods do you--"
The weed suddenly broke free, sending up a small spray of dirt. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered Okita besides the fact that he had some smudges on his shirt now. However, at the same time, he felt something give in his lungs and he dropped the weed, covering his mouth as he started to cough. He'd been doing so well and now, it was all for naught. He felt like he was choking and he couldn't get air in. Why now? Why now?! Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed a hand against his chest until the coughing stopped. Swallowing, Okita lowered the hand over his mouth and sighed, brushing the dirt from his clothes. His throat felt raw and now his chest ached like he'd been punched.
"...My apologies, Jaime-san. Some of the dirt got into my mouth. What was I saying...?" He closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation again, but he could hear the difference in his voice. It wasn't as strong as it had been and it would take a bit for his throat to recover. While he didn't visually check, he couldn't feel anything wet on his hand, so he hadn't expelled any blood yet. He was still safe - for a little while longer at least. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, our methods are usually of the 'eliminate the enemy and ask questions later' variety. It doesn't sit well with the more intellectually driven groups here."
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Heiji, Homura, Ayumu, the entire History Club was in danger should any Choushuu appear. Himura was here already, but Okita had a feeling someone else was in the area. He didn't have a clear idea of who, but he could feel it in the air somehow. "Do you understand now?"
Jaime was smart enough not to ask about the whispered secret. It was good because Okita wasn't about to reveal any more. If Jaime wanted to know how true his statement was, he'd have to work for that information. People had shed blood for the accomplishments the History Club had made and Okita wasn't about to give up something so precious just to get Jaime to like them. He pulled at a particuarly stubborn weed, frowning a little at how hard it was to remove. "We're composed of war gods, generals, samurai and killers, Jaime-san. What sort of extreme methods do you--"
The weed suddenly broke free, sending up a small spray of dirt. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered Okita besides the fact that he had some smudges on his shirt now. However, at the same time, he felt something give in his lungs and he dropped the weed, covering his mouth as he started to cough. He'd been doing so well and now, it was all for naught. He felt like he was choking and he couldn't get air in. Why now? Why now?! Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed a hand against his chest until the coughing stopped. Swallowing, Okita lowered the hand over his mouth and sighed, brushing the dirt from his clothes. His throat felt raw and now his chest ached like he'd been punched.
"...My apologies, Jaime-san. Some of the dirt got into my mouth. What was I saying...?" He closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation again, but he could hear the difference in his voice. It wasn't as strong as it had been and it would take a bit for his throat to recover. While he didn't visually check, he couldn't feel anything wet on his hand, so he hadn't expelled any blood yet. He was still safe - for a little while longer at least. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, our methods are usually of the 'eliminate the enemy and ask questions later' variety. It doesn't sit well with the more intellectually driven groups here."