| [Jan. 23rd, 2009|06:31 pm] |
Tsume shook herself out of her stillness. Rotting. She put a hand to her neck, feeling pain but not agony, the smear of blood, and realized he didn't actually mean--the rot was gone. "Thanks," she mumbled, opening the kit back up and pulling out ointment and bandages again. If she put her beer right in front of her and stooped, she could make out enough of a reflection to slather the antibiotic gel over her neck and paste a bandage across it.
"We didn't do anything to him," Kuromaru said. "He was just being rude. All staring and everything." He sniffed. "Lowering his head. Just rude."
"Yes, that's it." Tsume chuckled, finishing up and closing the kit. "Rude. Head lowering."
"And he had that look in his eyes," Kuromaru continued. "You know. Like he's so much better than me. Like he could out-fight me. He can't take away my Pack." Somehow, he managed to make lapping up water look disdainful.
Tsume grinned across the table, sipping her beer. "Staring. Very rude." And unless you actually spoke dog, it probably made no sense. "It's an Inuzuka-clan thing. A bit like a genin insulting a chuunin." Her smile twisted humorlessly, and a flicker of her hand gestured toward her face. "'Fraid I'm a bit under the weather to be really straightening kids out. But he'd have figured it out eventually." And the fact that he wasn't a kid, and wouldn't have figured it out today, didn't bear saying.
The server arrived with platters, managing not to cringe at Kuromaru's slab of raw steak and setting the other two down before their respective diners.
Kuromaru leaned toward Tsume, muzzle lifting to her ear as sneakily as he could. "They forgot his meat."
She tipped her head and whispered back. "He didn't order any."
Kuromaru straightened. He peered suspiciously at Asuma's plate, then at Tsume, as if there was a grand joke being played on him. Then he leaned across the table. "They forgot your meat," he whispered loudly. |
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