| [Jan. 23rd, 2009|01:25 pm] |
The first cardinal rule of getting involved in dog fights was always don't get involved in dog fights.
But Asuma had never really been a pet person.
"Son of a bitch," he yelped, as claws swiped from the front and teeth from behind. The teenager dangling from his hand--whose voice was really a lot higher than it should have been--kicked around in a furious circle, almost frothing at the mouth.
Asuma snapped a heel backwards, catching the older Inuzuka on the knee when he got too close, and shook the little bastard again, dislodging claws.
"Look, I'm trying to be a nice guy, here--"
The teenager snarled. The older Inuzuka answered in kind and leapt forward, nearly six feet of fast-moving muscle bent on killing something.
This time, Asuma met him with the non-business end of a trench knife, hastily yanked from his belt. The brass-knuckles grip smashed into the Inuzuka's throat, driving a push of chakra into one key pressure point, dropping him with a gurgle.
Asuma sighed.
"Trying to be a nice guy," he repeated, toeing the unconscious man over. "It's hard, y'know."
He hooked up a second table, flung it at the still-battling dogs, and turned his attention to the dangling teenager--
Who had soft curves showing through the wet, clinging fabric of his shirt.
Her shirt.
Asuma blinked. Then ducked fast when a swipe of claws tried to take his head off at the neck.
"Y'know," he said, dropping her back down to her feet, "generally people don't thank their rescuers by trying to kill them. I'm just sayin'." |
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