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Run, Rabbit, Run [Jun. 9th, 2013|08:59 pm]
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[User Picture]From: [info]tousaki_ryouma
2013-06-10 04:07 am (UTC)

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“That needs salt,” a man said, finally.

The blade fell away. Ryouma turned, looked up at the blue-haired man he’d noticed in yesterday’s trials: Abe, the first candidate to choose a scroll today. One of the seven he’d pegged as a shoe-in for ANBU. He was perhaps a year or two older than Ryouma, with a square jaw cut by an L-shaped scar and a tousled, wind-blown look to the short, straight hair. Dyed or natural, Ryouma couldn’t tell.

“I packed for a stay in Kawashima’s redlight district,” he said apologetically. “Not the Forest of Death, or wherever this is. No salt. On the other hand, no poison, and you get to save your rat bars for tomorrow or next week or whenever you really need them. Which d’you want?”

“You first,” Abe said, pointing with his sword-blade. “That one, third from the top.”

The meat was searing hot, still a little bloody in the center; Ryouma ate it in careful bites from the tip of his kunai, then held the rest of the stick out. Abe hesitated a moment more, then sheathed his ninjato in a swift, sharp movement, and hunkered down on the other side of the fire. “So what’s your angle?” he asked.

There was no point in deceit. “Information,” Ryouma said bluntly. “What did that scroll say?”

Abe’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to yours?”

“Can’t read,” Ryouma said. “Mostly.” He shrugged. “Something weird in my head, and we needed bodies on battlefield so bad by then that the Academy sensei thought it wouldn’t much matter. Usually I get my teammates to read the mission assignment to me, but looks like we’re independent operators out here.”

Abe studied him, measuring. “So you’re the guy.” He nibbled at the seared edge of a rabbit shank, made a thoughtful noise, and tore half the chunk off. Swallowing, he added, “And you’ve got the rot thing going. Must be hard to make friends.”

“So long as nobody asks me to read ‘em a bedtime story, we’re good,” Ryouma said. He blew on another piece of sizzling meat and bit it in half. “So. What’re we doing out here?”

“Racing,” Abe said, with his mouth full. “First ten back to Konoha win the cake.”

Two days, the scroll had said, in the few characters Ryouma could read. He chewed thoughtfully. Two days was time enough to run halfway to the border of Wind Country, which meant either those scrolls had landed them more than a thousand klicks from home, or they were expected to be delayed on the way.

Abe hadn’t come in just for breakfast. He’d meant to attack, to eliminate or at least incapacitate the competition, and it was luck and friendliness and, most probably, Abe’s empty stomach that had stayed his blade. Which meant Ryouma had been far, far stupider than he’d thought in baiting his trap.

He stripped another chunk off the stick. “Run into anyone else yet?”

Abe shook his head. “Your smoke’s the first sign I saw. From about two miles away.”

Dammit. Too successful. Ryouma popped three cubes off the skewer and into his mouth, thinking furiously. He still didn’t know exactly where he was, that was the problem. Had to be somewhere in northern or southeastern Fire Country, because if you went too far west of Konoha you’d run into the endless sweeping grasslands from which Kusa no Kuni took its name, and due east there were too many population centers.

He should’ve taken the opportunity at first light to climb above the canopy and look for landmarks. He hadn’t known what the objective was, but that was no excuse. One mistake might be survivable, if you were lucky. Two meant you probably deserved to die.

The slight shift in his weight, drawing his knee under him, brought Abe’s attention flickering back. Ryouma tried a crooked smile. “How many ANBU d’you think they’ve got hunting us?”

Shit,” Abe said, and was gone. Ryouma killed the fire with a water jutsu, scuffed mud over the tracks where he’d been crouching, and took to the trees.