| [Nov. 19th, 2011|06:22 am] |
The next room looked uncannily like a doctor’s office, from the padded table to the glass-fronted cabinets on the walls. The instruments inside the cabinets looked more like scalpels than stethoscopes, and there was a line of chairs along one wall, as if people often came to watch. Ryouma turned his attention quickly to the smiling blond man coming to greet them.
Someone had finally beat Kakashi for the coveted title of Most Ridiculous Hair In Konoha.
Ryouma was prepared to concede that some ponytails could be manly; he’d seen a few samurai top-knots that looked downright dashing. This one was not. It was bright blond, nearly waist-length, and glossy as a girl’s, with a carefully arranged shock of bangs over the hitai’ate and one long tendril in front of each ear. His face was masculine enough, with strong-cut features and a well-defined jaw, and his long black interrogator’s coat was no laughing matter, but--
How on earth did he deal with that hair on missions?
Arakaki was performing introductions. Ryouma jerked his rebellious attention back just in time to bow politely at his own name and to learn Yamanaka Inoichi’s. This was the man Kakashi had recommended, then. He’s funny, and he doesn’t hurt.
Inoichi’s handshake was warm and dry, surprisingly strong. “Welcome home. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to look at your sex life.”
“So long as you’re sticking to the last six months, there’s nothin’ to see.” Ryouma reconsidered that. “You probably want to skip this morning an’ last night.”
“I could have lived without knowing that,” Arakaki said dryly.
Inoichi smothered his laugh in a polite cough, but his light eyes danced. “Have you eaten yet, Ryouma?”
“Had lunch just now. That a problem? I didn’t have much.”
“Nope,” Inoichi said cheerfully. “I’ve got a bucket.” He slapped the padded table. “Jump on up.”
Ryouma closed his eyes briefly, took one deep breath, and then swung himself up onto the slick plastic surface. He was a little too long for it; his feet dangled uncomfortably over the edge. “Don’t often see anyone as tall as you,” Inoichi observed, prodding gently at Ryouma’s head. Untying his newly reissued hitai’ate, he realized. The curved metal plate on its dark blue cloth dropped onto his stomach, and Inoichi’s fingertips settled in his hair, just over his temples. He was dimly aware of Arakaki taking a seat at the edge of the room, of a few murmured words between the Director and the interrogator, of another black-coated man slipping in to take notes. Then Inoichi’s fingers flattened against his scalp, and the world
went
backwards |
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