| [Jan. 12th, 2011|08:08 pm] |
Significantly more awake now, Asuma managed to catch most of that. He didn't understand it, necessarily, but he caught it. And the bits he had understood, he mostly wished he hadn't.
He tugged his shirt up over his nose and inhaled, then pulled a face. 'Strong' might have been an understatement. But hell, he'd been training--
He paused.
"Did you say Tsume was wearing a dress?"
Kuromaru's lips pulled up higher at the corners. "Yep."
"And make up?"
"That's the funny stuff on her face."
"Oh, crap." Date. Dinner. Hokage-thing. He'd forgotten. The Hokage he wasn't too worried about, but if he stood up Tsume he was pretty sure she'd tear his balls off and give them back in a basket. With a bow on.
Or her family would.
He vaulted over the bed, yanking his tee-shirt off as he went, and dropped onto his knees to scramble through the pile of clothes heaped on the floor. Tee-shirt, tee-shirt, blood-stained tee-shirt--
Dress shirt. He could have kissed himself. He threw it on, grabbed the tie and jacket that went with it, eyed the jeans he was in and decided they were fine, and bolted out of the door. Three seconds later he lunged back inside, grabbed his headband, his cigarettes, his trench-knives, raked a handful of gel through his hair, and splashed himself with aftershave. Then he ran.
If the flowershop lady had anything to say about half-dressed men trying to garrotte themselves with a tie while they studied bouquets, she kept it to herself. |
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