| [May. 23rd, 2009|10:52 pm] |
Ryouma's friends at the hospital really hadn't been pleased to see him so soon after his last release. At least, he pointed out, it was a new injury, not his chest peeling off or his knee cracking open; he never made the same mistake twice! The pretty doctor who checked his knife-scored back wasn't amused. His clone was a lousy field-medic, she informed him, and if he was getting injured as often as his hospital records reported, he was probably a lousy ninja, too.
"I'm a real good kisser, though," Ryouma volunteered. "Wanna see?"
He left the hospital with fresh dressings over the painful red hole in his back (so maybe he should have used a little more antibiotic cream when the clone had first stitched him up) and a fresh pink handprint on his cheek (and maybe he shouldn't have gone in for the kill, either, but she was both pretty and annoying, and how else was he supposed to shut her up?). At least she'd given him painkillers, along with meds to kill the infection festering between his shoulder blades before karma took its revenge. Dying of gangrene would be undoubtedly poetic, but the only poetry Ryouma had ever really liked was dirty limericks.
He was working on rhymes for gangrene when he rounded the corner of the third floor showers and saw a lumpy black puddle of fur oozing into the hallway outside his door. The tail thumped briefly against the carpet as he came closer; the single ear pricked.
Ryouma eyed the gristly pelvic bone staining the floor under Kuromaru's paw. The janitors were so going to kill him. He'd spent most of his paycheck having Kakashi's door fixed, two and a half weeks ago, and the check from his last mission hadn't yet come in. Maybe he could shove the cleaning fee off on Tsume...
He dragged his key-and-dogtag chain out from under his shirt and unlocked the door. "Didn't know you missed me so much, pal. That's not anyone I know, is it?" |
|