| Laugh Like You Really Mean It. [Closed to Kakashi and Ryouma.] |
[Apr. 21st, 2009|04:46 am] |
[Takes place about an hour after The Storm Before the Calm]
It was later. The brown dye was finally gone from Kakashi's hair, the wound re-stitched on Ryouma's back; new clothes had been taken out and pulled on, and the aging rice had been thrown away. They were clean and tired, and the outside light was starting to fade towards a sunset--which was roughly when the enormity of it all sidled up and cracked Kakashi on the back of the skull.
He sat down hard on the bed.
Ryouma was on the other side of the room, steaming coffee mug by his side, busy re-packing their ANBU kits and tossing them back into the closet, just in case the hotel staff decided to get overly curious. He was wearing the same combat pants he'd woken up in (probably because they were the only trousers without bloodstains that fit him) and a loose green t-shirt with some colourful band logo on it. His neck was bruised. His jaw was clean-shaven--they'd both shaved--and sharp-edged in the low light. Black hair spiked up in soft, drying tufts, made worse every time he ran a hand through it. His face was mostly turned away, dark eyes focused on what he was doing, hard muscle pressing up against loose cloth every time he moved...
He was solid and real and alive, and Kakashi had slept with him three times. What were they doing?
His hands clenched on the rumpled blankets. He took a slow breath through his mask. Running didn't work. He didn't want to run. He just needed to think. Settle. Get back to peace he'd had in the shower, with Ryouma's fingers steady around the back of his head...
But he couldn't just grab onto Ryouma again. He wasn't a child.
"Hey." He cleared his throat when his voice stuck. Ryouma's head came up. "Mind if I summon a dog?" |
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| Survivor Mentality [Closed to Ryuichi] |
[Apr. 21st, 2009|03:12 pm] |
[Takes place on March 20th]
It took the entirety of the journey back home for the Intel agent to realize that he wasn’t interested in any aspect of her—stretching from her conversation to whatever the hell else she was pedaling, and even then, she wouldn’t shut up. Of course the other two agents had found it amusing as hell—mostly the girl with yellow eyes—and of course the only way to make it stop would have been to fight. It took glance down at his hand, all bandaged up in the splint that shouldn’t have felt as makeshift as it did, to dispel any thoughts to start one. Pain came and pain went, but Ryuichi didn’t want to make more for himself.
He just gritted his teeth and started counting the steps back to Konoha, imagining the various ways he could conspire to skip the debriefing completely. Sleeping held a strong appeal, as did a shower, something to get the dirt out of his hair and the fatigue out of his joints. Alas, neither came before the debriefing, and though Ryuichi went, he spaced out thoroughly enough to avoid listening to a single thing the Intel agent said.
There was a certain kind of annoyance in her face when they filed out, and Ryuichi considered smiling to let her know it had been on purpose. ( In the end he didn’t, and she watched him leave without comment. ) |
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| Ask Me Another [Closed to Hiro and Genma] |
[Apr. 21st, 2009|10:02 pm] |
[Takes place on March 18th, about an hour after The Color of Incense]
It was his first time in the ANBU wing of the hospital. Hiro looked around curiously, but the sparse hallways didn't appear any different from the regular shinobi wing--well, except for the watchful guards posted at the entranceway. The disapproving look the desk-ninja had given him when he presented his dogtags and mission assignment was different, too; of course, on the lower floors they didn't clear patients for debriefing immediately after they had regained consciousness.
But his contact had been cleared just ten minutes ago, so the tired-eyed woman had to wave him through. Not until he had wasted another ten minutes filling out a clipboard laden with paperwork, though. In triplicate. Almost like some kind of delay-tactic, he thought, annoyed.
This information was important, though. Intel was always important. And who did they think he was, T&I? He wasn't planning to hurt anyone. Hiro had filled out the forms and handed them across the desk politely--because irritability never got you anywhere--but he hurried on his way down the corridor, eager to get the interview done so he could leave for Juunan before it got too late.
The room he was looking for was about halfway down--number 418, the scarred desk-ninja had provided reluctantly. He paused for a minute before knocking, sending a thread of chakra to his eyes so he could survey the situation before he engaged.
The patient was resting quietly, eyes closed. His skin would have blended near-invisibly into the crisp white of the hospital sheets, if not for the flowering brown-purple bruises that spread luridly across his face, tense with pain even while sleeping. He twitched every so often, his shoulders hunched and haunted.
Hiro knocked loudly, releasing his Byakugan as he saw Shiranui Genma startle awake. |
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