| [Nov. 29th, 2016|10:19 pm] |
Body disposal was not a job that improved with practice. Especially because the more intact bodies were easier to move, and got first preference. By the end, they were down to limbs and other parts, and Kakashi was thoroughly tired of stepping on scavenging crabs.
The smell, at least, was manageable with genjutsu, but the constant brush of foreign chakra was making his skin itch. The addition of Raidou’s was familiar and solid, but Ryouma’s was so tightly clamped down, Kakashi could barely sense it.
When the last piece of anonymous flesh had been wrapped around a chunk of volcanic stone and sunk, Ryouma stood back and wiped sweat off his face with the back of his arm. “I think I’ll be ready to kill whoever did this. Tomorrow.” He looked down at his hands, gloved to the wrists with fresh gore. “Kind of had my fill of corpses today…”
Kasumi made a quiet, bitter sound, and turned away to stride back into the cave.
Watching her go, Raidou sighed. “Kurenai and the Uchiha should have food ready by now. Get cleaned up and take a rest.”
Ryouma, also watching Kasumi, scuffed his foot awkwardly on stone, smearing a fragment of something rotten, and dragged his gaze Fukuda, who stood staring down at the dark water. “Any other outlets?” he asked her. “We didn’t scout beyond this one.”
So far, that was the politest thing he’d said to her.
Fukuda didn’t move for a moment, watching a silver roil in deep waters, then her pale eyes went to Ryouma’s hands — to the gore dripping from his fingers. Kakashi straightened, a ripple of tension rolling down his spine, but Fukuda just said flatly: “Try looking.”
A few hours ago, that would have made Ryouma’s lip curl. Now he just turned, brushed past Raidou, and walked away. Kakashi growled softly under his breath and went after him, leaving Raidou to deal with Fukuda.
The main cavern floor was a map of dark stains and a handful of tired living people. Ryouma avoided both by picking a side-tunnel at random and striding up it. Kakashi had to jog to catch up with him. The tunnel bent away from the ocean, but it led to a slender crack in the floor, where a shallow pool of brackish seawater collected. It was just outside the effect of the anti-smell area genjutsu. Ryouma, inured or past caring, didn’t pause. Kakashi did for a moment, then made himself push on.
The scent hit like a rotting wall. Flesh and sewage and death, with a sweet-foul edge that clung to the roof of his mouth. Kakashi drew a slow breath and resolved to burn his clothes later.
Hunkering down at the edge, Ryouma swirled his hands through the rockpool. The water darkened, a greasy film sliding over the surface. Kakashi crouched on the other side and sluiced his own hands, washing black and red away.
Two days ago, Ryouma's feelings about Kiri had been simple. They'd tried to murder his team. He would not forgive. Now, though, there were slain children and Fukuda's shaking hand turning a woman who wasn't, thankfully, her sister, and it was hard to keep clarity when you had a massacre soaking into your skin.
This isn’t our problem, Kakashi thought. They had one objective, and if Kiri was dealing with civil war, the confusion would only help.
A third of the rockpool was still clean; Kakashi picked an upstream spot and dunked his entire head violently under the water. The cold was a sharp, briney shock. When he came back up, his mask was plastered to his face, the world tasted of salt and wet cloth, and Ryouma was staring at him.
“Judge when you have my nose,” Kakashi told him.
Ryouma gave him a small, crooked smile. “Sorry. It’s a good nose, though.” He tapped the bridge of his own nose, leaving a smudge, to indicate Kakashi’s allergy mask wasn’t as stay-fast as the normal ninja variety. Kakashi tugged it up hastily.
The compliment, he suspected, was Ryouma’s way of using air while his mind was on other things. Kakashi said, “Your bandage is starting to bleed through.”
Ryouma sighed. “It was a good forehead.” He looked down at his hands — still disgusting — then craned his neck in an awkward attempt to rub his forehead against his shoulder, which was also less than clean. |
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