| [Jun. 10th, 2013|01:28 am] |
“Generous of you,” Kakashi said, turning a page. The sshh-thunk of arrows cut the air over the training fields, shattering the still-standing wooden posts. He didn’t look up; he knew that Hyouton already.
Ryouma’s voice bled self-satisfaction. “I’m a generous man.”
“Mm.”
The wind changed; a northerly slip of air twisted around Ryouma, blowing rain and rot-scent directly into Kakashi’s face.
He’d fallen onto a sun-bloated corpse before, when the Third Great Ninja War was at its height and bodies had dropped faster than they could clear them. When he’d been too tired to keep standing. His hands had broken into the swollen belly cavity and splashed, if he remembered rightly.
This smelled worse.
Not much worse, but the fresh edge of putrid death had something a little extra when you set it to the background of April rain and spring flowers.
Kakashi closed his book with a snap. “Excuse me,” he said, and got to his feet.
“Sensitive nose?” Ryouma said, mouth twisting wry. He leaned back, casually flattening his hand palm-down to the wet grass. “Guess you wouldn’t’ve wanted it anyway.”
Kakashi paused. “Is it that you don’t like to share?” he asked. “Or are you afraid someone might do it better?”
Ryouma’s smile thinned, but didn’t slip. “I’m sure you could. How long can you hold your breath?”
“Hatake!” shouted the vice-commander. “Front and center.”
Kakashi tucked Icha Icha away. “I guess you’ll have to test me sometime,” he said, and left Ryouma in the grass.
The rain had picked up, growing from a light shower to an actual downpour: the short, hard kind that spring enjoyed so much. Despite the wet, it still felt warm. Earth churned to gritty mud on the field. The proctors had left it swept clean after the last demonstration; the wooden posts were splintered toothpicks.
The vice-commander, a hard-muscled man in an abstract owl mask, nodded once and stepped back. “In your own time, Hatake.”
Kakashi offered him a shallow bow and faced the watchful audience. He thought, perhaps, there was a renewed edge of interest in the candidates, and even in the masked ANBU. Eagerness for a lightning show.
He didn’t call lightning.
Very precisely, he ran through six seals, flung the threads of chakra out into the rain, bowed again, and returned to his seat—slightly more upwind of Ryouma. |
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