| [Jan. 25th, 2009|08:34 pm] |
Dear Dad,
On my first night as a tattooed spook, a werewolf tried to eat me. ANBU's version of hazing sucks.
Asuma stared at the solid iron bars laced with complex seals, and tried to work through whatever bit of mental strategy had ended with the plan to lock himself in a cell.
Growling, gravelling, gut-tightening rumble from behind him. Check.
Teeth shining in the dark. Check.
Lunging wolf-bear-monster thing. Check.
Locking himself in a cell. Fail.
On the plus side, he hadn't done unspeakable damage to ANBU's basement ghoul, which was probably a good thing. But on the negative side, he'd locked himself in a cell. A cell on a freakin' empty floor, no less. If he starved to death before anyone found him, he would be so annoyed.
And, seeing as he had ration bars, trail mix, and water in his backpack, he'd have a whole lot of days to be annoyed in. That was bad for the blood pressure, dammit.
Slightly disgruntled, and not a little edgy (what with being suddenly trapped on his own), Asuma tipped his ANBU mask up, sprawled out on the solid wooden bench nailed to the floor, and lit a cigarette. Blue smoke coiled up between the bars and drifted down the hallway, spiralling through the weak yellow light.
He propped his head on his backpack, made vague plans to work out a Really Loud Noise Justu in a few minutes, and searched lazily for patterns in the dark. |
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