“That’s ‘cause nobody likes speakin’ ill of the dead. If you’d asked around seven months ago, you’d’a heard plenty of bad stuff.” Ryouma contemplated the last few bites of his sandwich and dropped it back on the plate. “Most of my old girlfriends. Probably my old sensei. Definitely an old stick-up-his-ass Uchiha captain. Hell, Kakashi and Ginta both. People only get sainted when they’re not around to annoy you anymore.”

Asuma propped his chin on one hand and curled the other around his coffee, studying Ryouma with a steady dark gaze. “What’d you do?”

“Which time?” Ryouma shrugged. “Ran out on my girlfriends when they asked for commitment. Irritated the hell out of my sensei, especially after I fell in love with her. Broke the Uchiha’s nose when I disagreed with his orders. Kakashi an’ Ginta... I messed up. A lot.”

“So freakin’ what?”

Startled, Ryouma looked up. Asuma met him with a savage grin. “You ain’t living if you ain’t pissing people off, and it sounds like you’re doin’ a bare minimum of both. Take a breath, man. Everyone loves their sensei. Punchin’ Uchihas is what they’re made for. An’ it looked to me like Kakashi didn’t exactly hate you this mornin’.”

There is nothing wrong with you, Kakashi had said, last night.

I’ll want whatever you want to be.

“Maybe not,” Ryouma said, dipping a finger in his melting whipped cream. “He seems pretty willing to put up with me for now.” He sucked his finger clean and decided, “I never wanted to be a nice guy, anyway. Cool an’ dangerous is more my style. The tattoos help. Though I should probably wait to rebuild my pecs before I get a new one.”

“Hard to be cool an’ dangerous when you’re concave,” Asuma agreed. Ryouma bit his tongue on several unwise comments; now was probably not the right time to engage in a debate over the state of his pectoral muscles. Fortunately Asuma moved on anyway, reaching out to tap the jagged black swirl on Ryouma’s left forearm. “This is a piece of pretty. Mean anything?”

“Old loyalties.” Ryouma rubbed a finger over the tail of the tattoo, near his elbow. “It was the symbol of my gang, back before I got into the Academy. Got the tattoo to remember ‘em after the war.” He sipped at his refilled coffee, eyed the abandoned sandwich. “You got any ink, other’n the usual?”

“Used to have Shutdown Assassin tattooed between my shoulderblades, but the whole flogging thing kind of put paid to that.” He shrugged. “It was a lousy tattoo, anyway. Got it when I was fifteen. Always meant to get something better.” He reached out again to shove the sandwich plate under Ryouma’s nose. “Eat, man. Before you go all fainting-damsel on me.”

“If you’re gonna have a band tattoo, Shutdown Assassin’s a good one to get.” Ryouma peeled the bacon out of his half-eaten sandwich and ate that by itself. “I’ll introduce you to my tattoo artist. Shisei Takumi, down by the pawn shop on Fifth Street. He uses a bit of water jutsu, gets colors like you wouldn’t believe. You won’t find anybody better in Konoha. S’a crime ANBU sends its agents to that butcher by the hospital instead.”

He considered the last sandwich, and ate the grease-soaked bread of the bacon one instead. “So what’s the story with the pirates an’ the flogging?”