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fallen_kakashi ([info]fallen_kakashi) wrote in [info]fallen_leaves,
@ 2008-02-01 04:20:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Current mood:annoyed
Entry tags:kakashi, mission, sumire

Pass the Perfume, Hold the Glitter. [closed to Kakashi & Sumire]
ANBU received their missions for a whole host of reasons. Sometimes you were selected for a specific skill set you had. A jutsu you'd mastered. A mindset you'd perfected. Sometimes it was something as simple as the way you looked. Sometimes you volunteered because you had bills to pay. Sometimes it was completely random.

Kakashi looked at the mission scroll in his hand once more and didn't sigh.

Mission Rank: A
Number of Agents Requested: Hatake Kakashi, Jounin 009720; Murakami Sumire, Jounin 010327
Description/Objectives: Target: Miyake Sou. A well-connected civilian from the Land of Lightning with known ties to the Village hidden in the Clouds has been reported to be selling high level intel obtained from Konoha. Verification is needed. Target must be detained and interrogated without alerting Cloud or revealing Konoha as the source behind the attack. Agents Hatake and Murakami assigned for their respective areas of expertise. Murakami will obtain the information in any way possible. Hatake will provide support and back up as necessary. A cover story is essential. Target is known to frequent local 'swinger' clubs, it is possible he may be accessed that way. Target is to be terminated once information is obtained.
Expected Hazards: Target is a civilian and thus poses little threat. The close proximity of the mission to Cloud requires all appropriate stealth measures must be taken, Cloud must not be alerted to the presence of Konoha shinobi.

Signed
ANBU Mission Desk

Sometimes it was because the mission gods just liked to screw with you.

Kakashi rolled up the scroll and slid it into a pocket, absently slapping a seal over to top to conceal it. Reflex. Then he went to find his new mission partner.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 04:27 am UTC (link)
Sumire had just finished looking over the last page of her mission detailing. Holed up in her office, it seemed like the gods had once again decided to throw a little piece of dammit at her. In the form of the notorious Hatake Sleeping Beauty. The briefing was set for a few hours from now, and she had might as well meet him before heading off to mission hell with him. At least this time he wouldn't be under the covers of his hospital bed, or staring at her with his creepy one-eye from a chair in the briefing room.

She wasn't nervous, really. In fact, Sumire was absolutely one hundred-and-fifty percent sure she wasn't nervous. The fact she'd forced herself through thirty pages of coded script and had double checked her work twice meant nothing. It was just a mission, and it was fine. Sumire could handle it. A knock on the frosted glass of her office door made her jump-- sloppy. She cleared her throat and called out, "You may enter."

Worse come to worse, it could be Shibata, coming in to annoy her as his volley for the day.

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 04:29 am UTC (link)
Murakami smelled anxious. That was the first thing Kakashi noticed when he opened the door and leaned against the frame, not quite entering the room. She'd dragged him through several unpleasant mission debriefs before. Dead ninja and dead dogs and Kakashi half dead from whatever trick he'd tried that hadn't worked but had left a little black mark on his record. She'd questioned his reports and corrected the details and dragged out every irrelevant fact until he wanted to snap her pretty little head off at the neck. She'd never smelled anxious before.

Kakashi eyed Murakami steadily for a moment from under his hair, and then pulled the scroll from his pocket, flipping it towards her with a neat little movement. "Mission," he said succinctly, "But I bet you already knew that." She was Intel; they took pride in knowing everything.

Kakashi's eye narrowed just a fraction. People died when you got the wrong intel. Ninja died. The wrong ninja. Kakashi wasn't a fan of Intel. They made too many mistakes.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 04:30 am UTC (link)

Sumire caught the little scroll in with a long tendril of hair, "Of course I do; Munakata let me know and gave me my scroll this afternoon." Murakami Sumire get her own mission scroll? Please. That's what Munakata was for, after all, he was a mission planner. She sat back in her chair, reining in the not-nervousness in her chest and exuding superiority and confidence.


"If we're going to work together, do me a favor? Stop giving me the evil eye," you depth perception-impaired freak, she added to herself. "I don't wish to be paired with you anymore than you want to be paired with me. As long as we keep it in mind, I'll do my part to make sure that this is over as quickly as possible." This, Sumire realized, wasn't starting off on the wrong foot. There was a whole leg and perhaps a few ribs of wrongness here. Might as well make it as painless as possible.

She cocked a thin, black eyebrow at him, "Does that sound acceptable enough to you, Hatake?"

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 04:31 am UTC (link)
Kakashi watched the sinewy dance of Murakami's hair and the way she gathered herself up, spine snapping straight as she leaned back. Big tough body language, big tough words, enough attitude to fill up three more Intel annoyances and leave plenty left over to grate against his nerves. She still smelled anxious. It hung around her in a faint cloud, coloured with anger.

"Unnecessary haste gets unwary shinobi killed," he quoted after a moment. "I should think you would know that too, Murakami." It was in the one-hundred shinobi rules of conduct after all. Kakashi held up a hand to forestall her reply. "Fine. We'll play nice like good little ninja and turn in a glowing report." He nodded at the scroll. "You have a plan?" Of course she would. She knew everything.

It was fortunate the mask hid the way his mouth twisted.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 04:32 am UTC (link)
"Be that as it may," Sumire replied, noting the little signals that told her how 'delighted' he was with her partnership. "It doesn't mean that this is any different from any other Ero-mission. And of course, I have a plan. However, without the added information that the briefing will give us, I have little reason to share it, mm?"


Irritating prick. Who died and made him Hokage, anyway?

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 04:35 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 04:36 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 04:41 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 04:43 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 04:47 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 04:49 am UTC

[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 04:55 am UTC (link)
Kakashi was not particularly happy with the plan. The club he liked even less. It was dark and loud, full of too many people and too many smells that were all unpleasant. The flashing lights especially made him wince. The clothes he was wearing, despite Murakami's assurances that normality was better, seemed to cling in ways that were decidedly un-ninja-like. Which was pretty much the point, but that didn't makes him feel any better about it. And his shirt was red. Not grey, not blue, certainly not black. Red. An eye-smarting shade of crimson that would go fabulously with his sharingan, the delighted ANBU costume designer had informed him, ignoring Kakashi's low warning growl. It was a moot point anyway, Obito's eye was hidden behind a functional strip of black cloth wound around Kakashi's head like a bandage -- he'd chosen that over an eyepatch on the grounds that it felt a little more like a hitai-ate, and that meant one less thing to get used too.

Weapons, at least, he still had. Hidden beneath the stupid clothes and pressed against his skin. Senbon mostly, a few lightweight kunai, several flat throwing blades, and any scrolls he thought might be useful. Of course they were nothing compared to the many jutsu he knew, worked into memory and muscle, but they were still reassuring to have.

Kakashi was especially unhappy about the loss of his mask. But this was a civilian club -- such a lie, he could see ninja all over the room, they were easy to pick out just from the way they moved, the way they watched people carefully in the way civilians didn't -- and they didn't wear masks, he'd been told over and over until he'd finally stripped the bit of cloth off and shoved it in his pocket. He felt naked without it. Naked and guarded as he maintained an absolutely still face. Rule twenty-five. Except he was supposed to be a civilian and they didn't have that particular code guiding them. It didn't matter so much, he was supposed to pick a fight soon anyway, a grumpy demeanor before that would be perfectly in character.

Murakami danced like a serpent. Sinewy and graceful and nothing he wanted near him. Kakashi gritted his teeth and followed her lead, moving to the music that roared far too loudly and drowned out any chance of listening to any useful conversations. Or having one. He let his hands rest on her slender waist and scanned the shifting crowd subtly, uncovered eye hidden by hair that had been dyed black for the mission. He felt ridiculous, but he could admit that at least they looked the part.

Then Kakashi spotted their target and everything else fell away. He tensed fractionally and pulled Murakami closer to tap a hidden code on her hip with a bare movement of his fingers.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 04:59 am UTC (link)
Sumire looked up at his face. With her heels on, they were almost of a height. She ran her fingers across his jaw and gave him a loving, sweet look before frowning slightly. Just as they'd planned. The cute girlfriend worried about her boyfriend's reaction, playing up the idea that this wasn't their usual kind of hangout. She shook her head as though to shake off a bad thought and kept dancing, sliding her fingers over and through his, replying to his message. I see him. Advance?, she questioned him. At least the Copy Ninja could dance a little, though, he'd probably just copied off someone else's moves before they left for the mission.

It would explain why his leg kept pressing between hers as they moved through the crush of people. His agreement was subtle and the couple began to move.. Getting closer to the target would have been easier, she thought waspishly, if there weren't so many damn people trying to get a face full of my damned cleavage. He was little less than a meter and a half from them. It easily could have been miles, comparatively. Still, a little half turn of her face, a little press against Kakashi for friction (and yes, perhaps she was enjoying his torment this whole mission), and she caught their target's eye. It was beady and black, like a pig's, set inside a rough-hewn face that might be considered handsome by those rough-and-tumble kind of girls. She'd hardly been impressed by his picture during the briefing, but that's how it always was for ero-missions. One never got the guy they preferred, only the kind that liked them.

Come on, you son of a bitch, come closer. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy.

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 05:04 am UTC (link)
Kakashi watched the target register Murakami's look. The man wasn't subtle -- dark eyes widened fractionally and then gave Murakami a thorough once-over, head to toe before flicking back up to the curves he clearly appreciated. Kakashi resisted the urge to roll his own eyes. Instead he shifted and slid a hand up Murakami's back to settle between her shoulderblades, fingers splayed. His other arm tightened around her trim waist and pulled her closer -- a jealous boyfriend yanking his lover's attention away from the interloper. Kakashi bowed his head a little, angling it to rest his cheek against Murakami's, and gave the target a glare.

It was an impressive glare. Kakashi was good at them.

This close, all he could smell was Murakami and her perfume. Something subtle and no doubt expensive. Kakashi wrinkled his nose fractionally and suppressed a sneeze. Shinobi tended not to wear scents -- it made you so much easier to track -- but for kunoichi on these sort of missions, everything became a weapon. Everything became a temptation. Though Kakashi, personally, couldn't see the appeal of smelling like dead flowers. It would make Murakami easy to trail, though, so he paid attention, filing the particular scent away.

"So, Murakami," he said quietly into her ear, almost subvocal, careful not to move his lips, "Do I actually need to insult you, or can you just assume I really don't like you and go from there?"

Which was pretty much her cue to slap him.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 05:10 am UTC (link)
And slap him she did. The kunoichi's face twisted into anger and her hand flew to his cheek. The sound was muted, and she'd held back the strength she normally would have used (especially on Hatake), but it was still enough to look painful and stung like the dickens. "Just get the hell away from me, okay?!" she yelled over the din and pushed away from him, twisting through the crowd of dancers to the less clustered area near the bar.


She even managed to look angry, sad and vulnerable, feeling the target's eyes on her back. Sumire wrapped her hands around her waist and started walking to the door, just like they planned and hoped that the gambit would work.


"Miss? Miss?" there was a big hand on her shoulder, one she could instantly feel the strength in. Her stomach took a frightening tilt inwards and it took more gumption than it should have to make her voice come out.


"Y-yes?" she stuttered, through crocodile tears. Boyfriend-kun had really hurt her character's feelings, hadn't he? It was easy to pretend, and so she let their target continue. He took her to the bar and kept a triumphant eye on Sumire's "boyfriend".


"You two had a bad fight here, huh?"


"We... we don't come here at all... thought we might like to try something new-- ah--and..." she moved his hand from where it had crept up her thigh. "And... well, it's--" she hiccuped, trying to bottle emotions that she wasn't really feeling. "He's just a jerk, that's all."


"Yeah, he is," their target agreed. It was easier, she realized, to think of him that way. Rather than as someone with a name, a past, friends and family. What were those to a ninja? He started buying her drinks, and Sumire was suddenly very happy that she'd taken that alcohol-absorbing set of pills before they had entered the club. It wouldn't completely curb the effects, but it metabolized them fast enough to get her out of there if need be.


She had to get him away from this place, they had to get their information! It was somewhere around her third whiskey (god, she hated whiskey, but his profile had said he liked woman who drank strong liquors, none of that margarita and fuzzy navel crap) she suggested they get going somewhere... private.


"What about your boyfriend over there, sugar?" he questioned in her ear, his hands sliding up her thighs to hold her hips.

"Screw him," she answered in a drunken giggle. Get him off me, get him off me, ohgodohgodohgod. Her stomach flipped and flopped and made the whiskey taking residence there want to vacate. Sumire kept her act up, "I want to go with you. This is a Swinger's club, right? I'm swinging!"

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 05:13 am UTC (link)
Ouch.

A slap to his face felt vastly different without his mask to ease the sting of skin against skin. Kakashi didn't have to fake his wince. He didn't have the fake the one-eyed glare to Murakami's back, either, as she twisted away from him and landed practically in the target's lap. He played the jilted boyfriend with a scowl and a mutter, touching the hand print marked red on his cheek and giving the new 'couple' an ugly look. Then he made his way to the bar, gaining a sympathetic look from the barkeeper and something that smelled like paint thinner in a shot glass. Some basic sleight of hand got rid of the drink without it ever touching his lips. His act, at least, gave him the perfect tailor-made excuse to keep a close eye on both Murakami and the target.

Eight shots later and a distinct fake wobble to his slouch against the counter, Kakashi was about ready to be done playing boyfriend-kun. He couldn't tell much from Murakami's pitch-perfect performance, but he felt confident betting she felt roughly the same. That was confirmed when she got up, laminated herself to the target, and led the man towards the door.

About damn time.

Kakashi gave them a minute to get clear, slammed his last shot glass down on the counter and staggered to his feet. He gave the bartender a well crafted bleary look and muttered something about; "Damn bitches and their leading a man on, s'criminal. S'what it is. I'm gonna go... thing, place. Home. Thass the one. Thanks, buddy." Before making his way to the same exit with a list in his step.

The list disappeared when he got outside. As did his face when he slid into the shadows and pulled his mask back on. Murakami's trail wasn't hard to follow, coloured with her distinctive flower scent. Kakashi pulled a basic henge around himself, hiding the bright crimson of his very stupid shirt, and vaulted up onto the rooftops to track them into the night.

(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 05:16 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_npc, 2008-02-01 05:18 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 05:19 am UTC

[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 05:21 am UTC (link)
Kakashi was having a slight problem with some roof-walking Cloud ninja. The quick detour he took to avoid compromising the whole mission and getting himself and possibly Murakami killed, cost him precious time and lost him the scent. He waited, swore silently, and tried to think like roof tiles. The henge helped a little with that.

And then the Cloud ninja decided to stop and admire the sky. Ten feet away.

There were not, Kakashi thought, enough expletives to fully vent his frustration. He settled for repeating the ones he knew over and over until they made new words. Then he counted to ten. Then thirty. Then one-hundred.

Right around three hundred -- two-hundred and ninety-eight, fuck, two-hundred and ninety-nine, fuck -- he was debating going for a quick strike and balancing that against the likely probability of losing a limb, when they moved on.

If Murakami had gotten herself dead, Kakashi was going to revive her and kill her all over again. Twice.

It took him more time to backtrack and pick up the scent again -- now considerably fainter -- and follow it to a hotel that ranked far south of sleazy. Kakashi took the direct route up the side of the building, moving as fast as he could push himself -- not quite the speed of Minato-sensei's body flicker, but pretty damn close -- and spread out his chakra carefully, searching for the familiar pattern of Murakami's.

When he couldn't find it he almost chidori'd the building out of sheer agonized annoyance. If she was dead--

No. Wait. There.

Thank all the gods I don't believe in, thought Kakashi, and dropped twenty feet to the right window, landing quietly on the ledge. A single glance through the glass was enough to confirm that a) Murakami was a damn good actress, and b) he never wanted to see her that naked again.

Kakashi picked the lock with a simple flare of chakra and a very basic jutsu, slipped into the room and grabbed the target very precisely around the back of the neck. "Hi!" he said cheerfully, and pinched a specific set of nerve points, triggering paralysis, panic, and unconsciousness in roughly that order. The sharingan helped with the aim somewhat, but that hold was something any ninja worth his salt could pull off.

The target crumpled with a whimper of an exhale and Kakashi pulled him away, letting him hit the floor on his side. The drop was unnecessary, particularly as the target was no longer awake to feel the ouch, but Kakashi felt more then justified doing it anyway. He had some annoyance to vent.

He glanced at Murakami and then looked carefully up at the ceiling. "So," he said, pulling the strip of black cloth back over his sharingan, "miss me?"

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 05:22 am UTC (link)
If there were words to exactly vent how being plowed like a field while Kakashi took his sweet time, Sumire didn't have them. At least, not ones that any lady as naked as she was should say. "Like a hole in the head," she replied, looking down at the ripped waste of a shirt that had once been almost salvageable. Oh well, she still had her bra, a quick tie would fix the strap at least until they got back to the hotel they'd agreed upon.


Naked, naked, and, oh yes, naked. This guy had been quick with the tearing of the clothes, hadn't he? Sumire turned her back and loosened the rest of her hair as she dressed herself with what she had. "Do me a favor? Take Sleeping Beauty there and put him on the bed, I'll do the rest."

Despite her bravado, her stomach still flipped and flopped sourly. He had rubbed his scent all over her, and she was pretty damn sure he'd left at least two or three red marks on her neck. Gods in Heaven, she hated hickies. She hated ero-work. She hated the target, and she felt sick.There had better be a huge water tank in their hotel; Sumire was going to need a bath like he wouldn't believe.

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 05:28 am UTC (link)
I hear those can be good for curing insanity," said Kakashi, with his gaze still firmly on the ceiling. "Of course, my source on that was dribbling at the time, so I wouldn't necessarily trust his opinion." He slouched, hands in his pockets and weight canted onto one hip, relaxing fractionally. She was fine. Great, even. Pissed off enough to snap. Anger was always a good sign. He couldn't smell any blood or see any injuries -- actually, he couldn't see much beyond a ceiling fan currently, but his earlier glance at her had been enough to confirm she was in one piece.

She didn't smell happy. Kakashi could understand that. Mostly she smelled like the target. He bent down and picked up the man in question by the scruff, yanking him up easily -- fat, definitely, but that just meant he wasn't weighed down by muscle -- to toss him back onto the recently vacated bed.

Then he looked back at Murakami.

Definitely pissed off.

Kakashi bit his lip under his mask for a moment and then finally shrugged, "Sorry, ran into a little trouble with some Cloud-nin, or I would've been here sooner." He didn't generally apologize, but that one she deserved. "I can get rid of those if you want," he added, nodding at the bites marked around her neck.

He could be nice once in a while, he figured Murakami was smart enough not to make an issue out of it.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 05:38 am UTC (link)

"Where the hell are my underwear?" she muttered, mostly to herself. Going commando was not the most comfortable of--- Oh, there they were, in a cheerful cherry pink ripped wad at the foot of the bed. Son-of-a-bitch. "What? These?" she touched her neck self-consciously. "How... how many are there?" Sumire knew from experience that when ever someone offered to get rid of something for you, it was probably an eyesore. Clad in her bra and her skirt, Sumire flipped her fingers in a quick formation of seals that increased the length of her hair from hip to floor-length.

He at least hadn't said anything about walking in on her mid-act. Better than some of the partners she'd had before.

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 05:41 am UTC (link)
Kakashi had no comment for underwear, except perhaps why that colour? Instead he glanced at Murakami's neck again. "Three," he said simply. "Good colour. Goes nicely with your lipstick." He paused, "Well, the colour your lipstick used to be." Most of it was on the target now. It really didn't suit him quite so much.

Kakashi frowned slightly and tried to get colours out of his head.

The sudden cascade of hair was a little surprising. Kakashi blinked once, wondering if that was a simple jutsu or some sort of bizarre blood-line trait -- he couldn't tell without the sharingan. "Do you want them gone or not?" He said finally, holding up a hand and feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the whole situation. He blamed Murakami's sadly absent shirt.

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(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 05:44 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 05:46 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 05:56 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 06:08 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 06:14 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 06:16 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 06:16 am UTC

[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 06:23 am UTC (link)
The advantage of genjutsu was that you could inflict the worst type of damage imaginable -- literally imaginable -- and not actually kill a person, cardiac arrest aside. There was no danger of infection from souring wounds, no risk of a blood clot, no accidental rip of a broken bone into something truly important. It was, as torture techniques went, utterly perfect.

It wouldn't even leave a blood drop to mark their presence here.

Kakashi didn't nod at Murakami's murmur, he simply called back up the illusion and threw the target off the precipice. It didn't take much to bring him back to tears, and even less to draw out a scream. "You're breaking the rule," Kakashi said quietly, and hurt the man worse. The target ceased screaming only when he believed his lips were sewn together.

Hot. Kakashi began to count silently. Cold. Twenty-three, fuck, twenty-four, fuck. Sharp. Seventy-six, fuck, seventy-seven, </i>fuck</i>. Blunt. One-hundred and twelve, fuck, one-hundred and thirteen, fuck. Noise.

Eventually he stopped swearing, he simply counted.

When the target threw up, Kakashi stopped everything. He released his grip on the genjutsu, letting it fade away, and stripped the pillowcase from a pillow to wipe yellow bile from the target's face, clearing his mouth before he choked. The scent of vomit hammered Kakashi's sensitive nose, obliterating all other smells. He forced down his own gag reflex.

"Miyake-san," Kakashi said, waiting until wet green eyes focused on him, red-rimmed now, "listen to me. This can end. Speak to us and it stops hurting. You'll stop feeling anything." He tossed the sodden rag to one side and leaned forward, letting the man see nothing but him. "You'll just go to sleep. I can even make it feel good." Kakashi reached out, pushing sweat-soaked hair away from the man's face, gentling his head for a moment. A single good touch in a world wrought entirely of pain. "Isn't that what you want?"

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 06:24 am UTC (link)
Blubbering and sobbing, Miyake reacted to Kakashi's gentle touch by breaking like a cheap toy. Between his sobbing gasps and pleas for mercy, which both ninja knew wasn't coming, he related his information. He'd gotten his information from an intel officer in Konoha, which meant now she had to return more things over to Internal Affairs without alerting the informant to their intelligence. Sumire memorized it, the litany ricocheting around her brain and settling in the spot she kept for such things. Instead of forcing herself to smell waxy bile, flavored with the cheap liquor she'd plied him with, Sumire wrapped her long bangs around her nose.


Bile and camellia. Nice.


"He... he didn't give me a name! I swear! Ohgod, ohgodhelpme..! An-an-an-and that's.. that's all! I swear!" Miyake finished with a ragged gasp. Sumire didn't have any idea how much it had hurt, but she mentally complimented Kakashi's time. It had been less than twenty minutes, there was certainly something to be said for genjutsu torture (though she knew intimately that their own interrogators preferred a more... hands-on approach). The kunoichi searched their target's face for traces of withholding information. Aside from the tears and snot, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary.


"And you're sure that's all the information?" she asked, voice kind despite the fact she had him trussed like a pig. He nodded profusely, though she tightened his bonds. She waited for Kakashi. Did he want the kill?

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 06:26 am UTC (link)
The target wasn't technically a traitor. He was nothing more then a civilian from the land of Lightning who'd made some very foolish errors in his life. Kakashi watched his face when he talked, letting the sharingan memorize the movement of his lips. It was not something that required active concentration on his part -- unlike the Uchiha, Kakashi couldn't turn his mirror-wheel eye off, it memorized whether he wanted it to or not. Useful for the most part, and its own very special curse at other times. It was a cloud and a silver lining all wrapped up in a red iris and tied into his skull.

Kakashi leaned forward once again, finding the target's eyes. Greener now against the redness that outlined them, wide and panicked and hopeful. "Thank you," he said, perfectly sincerely around the nausea that wanted to claw him in half. Hope grew, spilling over the man's face. Kakashi let him have it, pulling up a new genjutsu. He kept his promise, filling the target's head with something that felt good. His own survival.

Kakashi sat back and nodded at Murakami, collecting himself. "You can let him go. I need to heal his bruises first." He swallowed hard and kept his gaze on the target, holding the new illusion in place. "He won't run, he thinks he's already gone."

Kakashi's head ached fiercely. It was nothing compared to what he'd made the target live through, but it was enough of a warning sign. He needed to end this quickly before the sharingan proved itself more curse then gift and took him out of the equation entirely.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 06:26 am UTC (link)
Sumire nodded and let the target down on the bed easily. The lengths of hair snaked around on the floor, like bored cats waiting for a mouse. She would take care of them in a moment. "How are we to dispose of him? You don't look very well." Originally, the plan had been to have Kakashi kill him, but now the already pale ninja looked the same color as cream cheese, slightly tinged green. It worried Sumire; a weakened ninja in a foreign land was almost as good as captured and dead.


Besides, she wasn't sure if she was up to carrying the taller man like a sack of potatoes. Should he prove weaker than he let on - the town they'd chosen for their escape on the map was a good run away. That had even been with the "one of us is weakened to 70% capacity" handicap, and he looked a number less then seventy.

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 06:30 am UTC (link)
Kakashi had no intention of letting himself get dragged around like a sack of vegetables, either. Ninja pride and all. He shook his head without ever losing eye contact with the target and flicked a dismissive hand. "I'm fine," he said shortly, and ran through a new set of seals, calling up the same healing jutsu he'd used on Murakami's neck. Using two justu at once was no venture for the inexperienced, but Kakashi was nothing if not a ninjutsu expert. It came with the genius title. Even so, channeling his chakra two different ways at the same time didn't exactly do wonders for his headache.

Feeling slightly like the bones of his skull were coming unknit, Kakashi stretched out, healing the rope-burn --hair-burn -- bruises around the target's limp wrists, obliterating any sign he'd been bound. Then he moved down to the man's ankles, easing away the purple-red marks as he guided the blood away from the skin, repairing the small blood vessels and healing surface grazes. By the time he ended the jutsu, Kakashi's head was spinning. He took an unsteady breath and returned his attention to the genjutsu, sinking the target deeper under the layers of illusion.

"A natural looking death," Kakashi measured the levels of his chakra, they were south of low and slipping away even as he looked at them. He sighed softly, catching his breath. "You'll have to do it. Faster would be better."

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(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 06:31 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 06:32 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 06:33 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 06:53 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 07:02 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 07:04 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 07:06 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 07:08 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 07:10 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 07:12 am UTC

[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 07:15 am UTC (link)
The water was hot enough to turn her skin pink on contact, and it still wasn't quite hot enough. Almost as soon as they'd walked into their hotel room, she'd rushed into the bathroom with a half-spoken apology. Then, as always with these missions, she'd started her ritual. She remembered he'd raised his eyebrows (okay, eyebrow) at her for the large bottle filled with shampoo when she'd unpacked her bag to get at her mission clothing. If he'd said something snarky, she'd had told herself that she would brain him with the bottle.


About the fifth time through, the water had finally finished running pink and Sumire breathed a very felt sigh of relief. Clean. Clean. Everything was fine now because she was clean and they had their information. Tomorrow, they would start home after a good night's sleep. She bundled herself up in her towel and wiped the fog off the little bathroom window. Her skin was positively cherry tomato. But that was good. She scrubbed her smaller towel through her hair and pulled the last of the water from it, then collected her things and stepped outside.


"It's all yours, Hatake."

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 07:35 am UTC (link)
Kakashi had returned to his coping strategy of hanging onto the bed. It was serving him well so far. He couldn't fault Murakami for fleeing to the bathroom -- he had plans to stagger that way himself shortly -- particularly as she'd taken most of the blood stench with her. He sat himself unsteadily at the foot of the bed and leaned forward to hunch over his own knees and breathe. The covers under his hands were a noncommittal beige and perfectly mundane, Kakashi hated them on the grounds that they were something else to focus on.

Every after-mission hotel had beige, his kingdom for a delicate fawn print.

He was, Kakashi knew, being ridiculous. He was okay with that.

The carpet under his feet was just as beige and just as boring and just as hateful. Kakashi dug his fingers into the covers and devoted himself to summoning up the appropriate amount of loathing while he listened to the background rush of water and tried not to shake himself apart. Chakra depletion did that to you. It was just a side-effect. He could still taste vomit in his mouth.

Kakashi pulled his gaze away from the carpet when Murakami walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a bright floral scent. She looked clean and damp and slightly par-boiled. She also looked a whole lot better. Good. That was good. He nodded, pushed himself to his feet, caught his balance as the room tilted -- just a lack of chakra, he'd be fine once he'd rested, he would -- and slipped around her, picking up his kit on the way.

Shower. Normal clothes. Sleep. Home.

Good plan.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 07:37 am UTC (link)
Sumire didn't care if she had to share a bed with Hatake, so long as he didn't wake up face down and half-asphyxiated in her chest. Considering the size of the bed, though, so long as one of them didn't move, there was space for a whole other person between them. She finished drying her hair, listening for the sound of water to start running in earnest (please, please don't let him decide to finally off himself on this mission) before dressing for bed. She sat on the edge of her side of the bed after dressing for a long while, pulling her fingers through her clean hair.


Clean.


She curled her toes into the carpet, thinking as she looped and wound her hair into a bun, about the sleeping pills she kept in the lower pocket of her pack. She wondered if she needed to take them tonight, and after a few more minutes, decided she should. With another look at the bathroom door, she slipped the pills into her hand and sighed.


Sleeping pills were frowned upon in her grandmother's house, but Sumire knew the old lady took them anyway nowadays. Ah, the things they did for sleep. Sumire swallowed the pills dry, laid in bed under the blankets, and started counting jumping ninja. One jumping ninja, two jumping ninja, three...

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[info]fallen_kakashi
2008-02-01 07:41 am UTC (link)
Kakashi stripped his mission clothes off with more haste then was really warranted and followed Murakami's lead, taking a shower just short of lava-temperature -- don't think about hotcoldsharp- just stop -- in the bathroom that smelled of dead flowers. There were scents written under that; older, redder, and memory-wired right into things he didn't want to think about. Kakashi turned his face up under the spray and breathed water until they went away.

There wasn't much blood on him, all told it had been a fairly clean mission, but what was there -- transfer from Murakumi's hair -- had dried on his skin between the run back to the hotel and his silent wait on the bed. Kakashi scraped blunt nails across his arm, peeling the crusty red off in flakes that the rush of water carried down the drain. After a while he noticed the complimentary hotel soap resting by the faucet, wrapped up in transparent plastic. He spent a frustrating few minutes trying to get the wrapper peeled away with cold, wet fingers before he just smashed the thing against the wall and split it open. He clipped his fingertips on the tile and yelped softly at the sting.

Stupid soap.

He turned the little bar -- no flower smell -- on his skin and worked up a hard white lather that soon coloured pink. Then he dragged it through his hair in lieu of shampoo and worked the scent of the target finally off his senses, replacing it with something slightly chemical. His bare toes were very cold against the tile, Kakashi moved, dragging his feet until they were under the spray. Stupid to feel cold under hot water. Definitely stupid to be shivery. He clenched his fingers and told himself to stop, whacking a hand against the tile when that didn't quite work. The sound was muted in all the steam.

Stupid shower.

Kakashi turned the water off when he realized he was clean -- he hadn't noticed the difference when his skin had turned pink under the heat -- and stepped out, shaking himself off with a rattle of dog tags before he found a towel. Then he pulled on his normal clothes -- basic ninja blacks -- with a small sigh of relief and brushed his teeth. The return of his mask and hitai-ate made him feel slightly human again.
Murakami was already in bed when he walked out of the bathroom. Kakashi didn't much care, he just wanted to sleep. He dropped his kit quietly within easy reach and slipped under the covers, turning his back on her. His hair got the pillow wet, so he flipped it over. It made the other side wet, too, but by that point he was too drowsy to really give a damn. His toes still felt cold, so he curled his legs up. Murakami's soft breathing was loud in the silent room. Kakashi listened to it, counting the slow inhale-exhale, and fell asleep before he got to ten. He was not altogether surprised when he woke up in a nightmare.

Stupid mission.

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[info]fallen_sumire
2008-02-01 07:42 am UTC (link)
Sumire hadn't had the problems of waking up in Nightmare Land; drugging oneself into the sweet pleasures of oblivion brought along that pleasant side effect. Still, when she woke she found that over the course of the night (and mid-day, sweet goddesses, how long had they slept?) she'd curled closer to Kakashi just enough to earn her a dirty look when he woke up. And he had better wake up because she had no interest in carrying a corpse to Konoha. Stilling herself and her own breathing proved that he was still alive, so she crawled out of bed and went off to get dressed.


It had always struck her as odd to sleep in the same bed as her mission partner, she noted as she washed her face and detangled her hair. They either ended snuggling you, or offering comfort sex (puh-lease), pushing you away, or even off the bed. Kakashi hadn't so much as kicked her in his sleep, another plus to him. Rinsing out her mouth, Sumire looked into the hotel room from the mirror. At least when he was sleeping he actually bothered looking more like a cute, 20 year old boy. Yes, boy, there was never any such thing as a man before 25, even in the ninja world, just like grandmother would say.


She had long since finished dressing and had finally completed last-minute packing when she heard a stir, close to a whimper, from the bed. "Good afternoon, Hatake, are you awake?"

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(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 07:43 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_sumire, 2008-02-01 07:44 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]fallen_kakashi, 2008-02-01 07:45 am UTC

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