| [Jan. 21st, 2012|11:32 pm] |
As it turned out, Kaori Shin's temple-gate seal wouldn’t bastardize for anything.
Kakashi sat in the centre of a flat tornado, surrounded by scrolls, scribbled-on pieces of parchment, and a double-dozen replacement prototypes for Katsuko’s disintegrating seal—and threw a book at the wall.
On the bed, Ryouma startled halfway awake. He muttered something that sounded like I don’t need orange shoes werble smurf, blinked hazily at the room, then rolled onto his side and dragged a pillow over his head. He didn’t quite snore, but the rhythm of his breathing picked up a raspier edge.
The red numbers of the alarm clock blinked an accusing 04:13 AM. Ryouma had only fallen asleep, fully dressed, barely an hour ago, sometime around his fifth cup of coffee. Whenever he moved, paper crinkled beneath him.
Quietly, Kakashi balled up the diagram he’d just finished and threw it after the book. Then he sprawled onto his back, groaning soundlessly as his spine stretched the kinks out. Pinned to the ceiling above him, half a dozen more sketches drew his attention. He couldn’t help tracing the sinuous coils of one design: maybe if he inverted a fourth fire pole to stabilize the central helix...
Katsuko would overload and explode.
“Argh,” Kakashi muttered.
You do. You actually think you can do this.
He’d promised her. If there was a way, he’d find it.
The crack of knuckles on wood made Ryouma twitch without waking. Kakashi lifted his head and stared at the door. The only reason for someone to call in the middle of the night was a mission, but neither one of them was mission certified. Unless something had gone badly wrong...
Suddenly very awake, he hauled himself up and made it to the door in three strides, undoing the protective shields with a flick of chakra. On the other side—
Was Katsuko, like his very own personal bad luck charm.
The flip-flops caught his attention first, closely followed by the pyjama pants with little electric-blue stars on them. An overlarge hoodie hung its sleeves well over Katsuko’s hands; the hood barely concealed the wild tangle of her dark hair. Kakashi’s gaze went to the six-pack of beer tucked under one arm, then to the bottle of rot-gut shouchuu dangling from the other hand, then back up to Katsuko’s face.
Her scent was sweet, and sick, and hurting.
“If you want Ryouma,” Kakashi said. “You can’t bring those in.” |
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