| [Dec. 8th, 2011|08:16 am] |
Clearly, a pantsing would be insufficient.
“Stereotypes wouldn’t exist at all if people weren’t narrow-minded pricks and actually did their damn research,” Asuma growled, irritated by the waves of quiet smugness radiating from Ibiki, with his shiny ponytail and cold eyes. “Though you’re doing a damn fine job of upholding T&I’s reputation as a breeding ground for creepy, repressed anal-retentives.”
Ibiki gave him a patient look, venting a little sigh. “Tell me, Asuma, what it is you think I should be doing instead of attempting to understand the subtleties of the men we are going to take into custody."
“Helping,” Asuma corrected. “No custody.”
Unless Hatake and Sakamoto put up a fight about it, in which case some heads would get knocked together and there’d be a short, sharp conversation about how being really stupid wouldn’t bring anyone home alive, but dammit if anyone was actually getting arrested.
“And you’re about as subtle as a brick to the head,” he added, exhaling grouchy smoke. The land was close now; close enough that they could have stepped off the boat and water-walked to the shore. Behind them, sailors were yelling about ropes and cutting sail and other boat-like things. Asuma couldn’t help stretching his shoulders, feeling the pull of healed whip scars left from the last time he’d been anywhere near a boat-like thing.
Ibiki’s dark eyes flicked towards the movement, then back to the shore. "I hope helping is all that's necessary. As far as I understood, our mission was to escort them back to Konoha. And hope that they are smart enough men to understand that there could have been a squad of ANBU hunters chasing them down instead of us.”
Asuma snorted. “‘Your boyfriend’s dead, be grateful we aren’t killing you’. Yeah, that sounds merciful.” |
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