| [Mar. 12th, 2009|10:22 pm] |
"It's way too early to play mental gymnastics," Asuma complained, taking the cake. "Pick a topic and stick to it, jitterbug. Slowly, for preference."
Now he remembered Ginta. Really remembered him. Scrawny, run-at-the-mouth little brat who laughed too loud and too long, had enough energy for six-dozen like him, and got into everything he shouldn't. Asuma had been wrong; he had grown up. Into what, exactly, was a different story.
But still, cake.
He shoved the half-eaten treat into his mouth (five years on the road made you anything but picky) and grinned at the weird blend of flavours sparking across his tongue. Not exactly breakfast for a man who didn't eat like a bird, but good enough for now.
He stole another cake, grateful he didn't have to worry about meat appearing in candy-goodness, and steered the conversation safely away from fathers. "Yeah, I played blacksmith. Half a dozen other things, too. What about you? You trip and fall into ANBU, or did someone kick you here?" |
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