| [Nov. 14th, 2011|02:29 am] |
Ichiba looked about twelve, and half-starved.
“Wish I had been,” Asuma said truthfully. “I just got sucker-punched when I wasn’t looking. How long’ve you guys been down here?”
“Three months,” said Ichiba, from his crouched-down huddle. His skinny legs suggested he might have some height when he unfolded, and his shaved down hair looked like it was probably dark. There was still a little baby-fat in his cheeks. “Katsuko’s been here six. We don’t know how long Hakuin’s been here.”
Katsuko grunted.
Asuma looked back at her. “Where is here? Last thing I remember is getting my ass handed to me in Funama. We still in Lightning?”
“Probably,” said Katsuko. “We’re somewhere near the border, I think. What were you doing in Funama?”
Getting drunk and chasing shepherdesses was probably not the most reassuring answer.
“Learnin’ to make knives,” Asuma said, which was also true -- as soon as he figured out how to bribe Onjin Michi into actually teaching him. “Lightning’s got the best steel, even if the weather wants to kill you. Who else is here?”
Katsuko shrugged one shoulder again. “A couple jounin from Mist, someone from Iwa who keeps screaming in the middle of the might. Most people only last a month before, well.”
There was no love lost between Konoha and Iwa, and Mist were an island of bloodthirsty psychopaths, but Asuma was getting the distinct impression that no one deserved to be here.
He crouched carefully and laced his fingers through the bars. In the jagged fluorescent light, fresh scars and wounds gleamed on Katsuko’s bare arms. They didn’t look like fight injuries.
“The war’s been over for three years,” Asuma said. “The hell are Lightning doing still taking prisoners?” |
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