| [Jun. 9th, 2013|04:24 am] |
The sudden appearance of a kunoichi with a chakra presence like a small blast furnace standing just out of striking range wasn’t a surprise, although really, where were the Uchiha? This ninja—undoubtedly a jounin with chakra that intense—was in civies: loose-fitting, grass-stained jeans, and a hoodie so much too large it hid her hands and swallowed any hint of curves she might have had. Her hair was a raven’s nest pulled back at the nape into a parody of a ponytail, and her eyes glittered with a mix of amusement and disappointment.
Genma was pretty sure he remembered her from somewhere.
He didn’t have time to pursue the memory, though, because the shorter of his two combatants showed surprising skill for an untrained civilian (and surprising stupidity), twisting in Genma’s grasp and making every effort to knee Genma in the same anatomy where he’d kneed his former opponent.
Genma swiveled his hips out of the way and kicked the man’s footing out from under him, knocking him prone. He sat on the man’s back, dragging the other man down with him.
“So here’s the thing,” he said to neither one of them in particular. “I’m planning to do quite a lot of eating and drinking and enjoying the blossom-viewing tonight. If you two idiots kill each other, or even if you just hurt each other enough, the cops are going to come and keep a close eye on everyone else, and then everybody suffers. That’s hardly fair, is it?”
The kunoichi’s face lit up with frank glee. “You could dump them both in the river,” she suggested. “They both smell like they need a bath anyways.”
The man Genma was sitting on made some choice (and muffled) suggestions about things the ninja could do with themselves, the river, and the cherry blossoms. The one Genma had in an arm lock looked a little terrified. And quite pained. Genma raised an eyebrow at him.
“I’m sorry, man,” he stammered. “He owes me five-thousand ryou. I need to make rent.”
That was a reason Genma could respect for breaking the peace. “Do you?” he asked the man on the ground.
“Fuck you.”
Genma looked the tall man in the eye. “I’m going to let go of your arm. Don’t run, or rent will be the least of your worries.” He felt a little bad when when he saw the finger-shaped bruise he’d left on the man’s forearm. It didn’t hold a candle to the shiner and split lip the other civilian had left behind, though.
Turning his attention back to his captive, he leaned down until he was lying atop the drunk’s back with his mouth right by the man’s ear. “Actually that’s, ‘Fuck you, shinobi-san,’” he said mildly. “Do you owe this guy five-thousand ryou?”
“Fuck him,” the drunk said. He bucked under Genma, and tried one more time with the knee trick. A murmur from the onlookers suggested that perhaps the military police were on their way at last.
Genma channeled a little chakra into his right hand and slapped it against the drunk’s ass. The man bellowed in surprise. Genma got up, dusted himself off, and left the drunk struggling to stagger to his feet with both legs half-asleep.
A glance at the kunoichi told him she’d seen exactly what he’d done, and from the look on her face, she wholeheartedly approved. The murmur of voices grew louder, accompanying a telltale surge of movement that heralded the imminent arrival of the Authorities.
“Here,” Genma said. He tossed the drunk’s wallet to the tall man. “If you want to play fair, take what he owes you and give the rest back. And if I were you, I’d get the hell out of here before the cops get here.”
He nodded at the reckless kunoichi. “You coming?” |
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