| Wild Dog in a Nest of Vipers [closed to Ginta, Tsume, & Ibiki] |
[Apr. 6th, 2009|10:44 pm] |
[Takes place Saturday, March 22, three days after Don't Wanna Fight This War, and two days after Picking Up the Pieces]
Ginta was just on his way out his door when he ran into Tsume and Kuromaru. That wasn't unusual--they were neighbors. But seeing them in the company of Abe Jimon was. He knew the man more by reputation than direct experience. Officially he was one of Intel's debriefers, but rumor held that he worked Internal Ops, handling the sort of debriefings that followed mission failures, agent deaths, suspicions of treachery...
"Hey Tsume, Kuromaru," he said casually. "What's up?" He nodded a half-bow to Abe, who returned it with stiff-necked formality. "You coming in or going out?"
Tsume gave their escort a sharp-eyed glance. "Going out, apparently," she said. Her voice held nothing more alarming than irritation. Kuromaru, at her side, evinced a distinctly doggy version of the same sentiment, shaking his ruff and grumbling something so low it sounded like a growl.
"That good, huh?" Ginta asked. He gave Abe a cool look. "Something going on a friend ought to be concerned about?"
"Not at all, Sakamoto-san," Abe replied smoothly. "It just happens that I was delivering a request to Inuzuka-san to go over some details of her latest mission. Since she happened to be in, we agreed that there was no time like the present." ( His smile made Ginta itch. ) |
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| Slow Dancing in a Burning Room [closed to Natsumi and Ibiki] |
[Jan. 26th, 2009|10:50 am] |
[[Set the day after Hit the Mark ends.]]
Late evening dimmed the room to twilight when Natsumi woke in a tangle of sheets and sweat. Her left shoulder throbbed angrily, and the lingering shreds of a dream teased at her mind. It had not been pleasant.
She sat up, bracing herself on her right hand. The clock on her nightstand blinked 18:35 at her; outside the window, the last color was fading from the sky. When she'd tumbled into bed in the small hours of the morning, too exhausted to do more than shed her clothes and brush her teeth, she'd planned to sleep the clock round. But the nightmare had wakened her, and now she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for hours.
At home, her parents would just now be settling down to a quiet evening, her mother reading aloud by lamplight while her father trimmed hawk-feathers for arrow fletching. Her brother Takeo might have stopped by for dinner, perhaps with his latest conquest on his arm; he'd be telling stories, illustrating the latest news from the village gossip vine with graceful hands and dancing eyes. If Natsumi showed up now, her old place beside her father would be waiting for her...
No. She kicked back the sheets that trapped her legs and stood up, smoothing the crumpled skirt of her sleeping yukata. Even in the dim light, she could see the bruises that bloomed like dark flowers on her right wrist. Those on her throat and shoulder would undoubtedly be worse. If she went home now, barely five days after her induction to ANBU, with the marks of a strangling still fresh on her throat and the memories of a nightmare still haunting her eyes, her mother and Takeo would know they'd been right.
( And Takeo, at least, would never let her forget it. ) |
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