| Follow My Lead |
[Aug. 12th, 2015|07:45 pm] |
[Takes place the morning of May 15, Yondaime Year 5, a day following Bottle of Smoke and a few hours after Devil’s Got My Secrets]
Genma woke with the sun slanting across the foot of the bed, which in the north-facing bedroom meant he’d slept four hours later than usual. A glance at the clock proved it: nearly half past eight. Asuma had rolled away in his sleep, presenting broad, bare shoulders, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Genma studied the scar he’d run his fingers over the night before. It was clean-edged and well-healed — the mark of a bladed cut that someone had tended to while it was still fresh. He wondered which of the Guardian Twelve had been proficient at healing jutsu. Was it one who’d died a traitor, or one who’d stayed loyal to his vows and his Daimyou?
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Far more important was the question of what sword Asuma had blocked. In the year and a quarter since Asuma had left to serve in Hikouto, how many threats to the Daimyou’s life had come and gone? What missions had Konoha taken on as a result of those threats?
In the morning light, Genma’s problems should have paled. They were minor compared to the nightmare Asuma had lived through. But the attack on the Fire Daimyou, the dissolution of the Guardian Twelve, Team Six’s mission against the Tsuto family, and Raidou’s uncertain future were inextricably linked. You could no more separate the eggs back out of a baked cake.
( He sighed, ruffling the hair that had fallen into his eyes. ) |
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| Bottle of Smoke |
[Mar. 27th, 2015|10:19 pm] |
[Takes place the evening of May 14, Yondaime Year 5, a day following God Save the Foolish Kings]
There was a point in time when Asuma was pretty sure he did, in fact, like kids. He got on well with the Daimyo’s children; they were well-behaved and polite in public, hilariously cheeky in private, and generally didn’t cause any trouble. And these kids had to be the epitome of ‘spoiled rotten’, right? So any other children had to be a walk in the park in comparison.
“Durian harvest?” Mariko exclaimed, nose wrinkling. “I’m a genin, not a farm-hand!”
The two other genin behind her nodded in agreement. Their jounin instructor pinched the bridge of his nose and stayed silent.
“The trees on this farm are over a hundred feet tall,” Asuma repeated, for what had to be the third time today. This wasn’t the first group to reject the mission out of hand. “Not to mention the fruit is larger and heavier than your head. It’s going to take two teams at least three days to harvest the entire orchard, which would normally take a civilian group around two weeks. It’s good practice for coordinating between teams, not to mention your climbing skills.”
“But we’re training to be ninja,” the girl replied. “Picking fruit and climbing trees isn’t real training, it’s… it’s…”
“Baby stuff,” one of her team-mates piped up.
“Baby stuff,” she repeated. “How are we supposed to become amazing jounin if we’re wasting our time on ( this?" ) |
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| Reunions and Ruminations |
[Apr. 23rd, 2014|12:48 am] |
[Takes place the early morning of May 5, Yondaime Year 5, shortly after Diversionary Tactics.]
The heavy stairwell door swung closed, muting the sounds of the general inpatient floor behind him. Asuma had nearly forgotten just how busy a real shinobi hospital could get. He wasn't entirely sure he missed it. But then, there were a lot of things in Konoha he was finding alien after only a year away.
Like elevators. When the hell had he developed an issue with elevators? The bizarre slap of panic that hit him when his ride went from one passenger to five over the course of two floors had completely blind-sided him. There was nothing inherently dangerous about the situation—just a gaggle of nurses on their way from one station to another. The car was more than big enough to hold all of them. And yet there had been that sudden dump of adrenaline, the sensation of restricted breath, that still hadn't fully subsided.
The stairwell, at least at the moment, was empty. That wouldn't be the case for long, of course; he couldn't be the only shinobi with a distaste of elevators. Blessed quiet and relative isolation could only do so much to calm the nerves, though. A cigarette was what he really needed, but Asuma knew better than to try lighting up in a hospital. That was added stress he did not need right now.
Down the stairs, through the lobby, out the door. Apply red kings liberally; find quiet corner to unwind in until disturbed or nicotine runs out; find new corner/buy new cigarettes; repeat as necessary. It wasn't the most well-thought-out of plans, but it would serve his needs for now. Better than all this talking he was having to do lately.
( He took a breath, stuck his hands in his pockets, and started down the stairs. ) |
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| Leading the Lost Ones |
[Dec. 26th, 2013|10:04 pm] |
[Takes place in the early morning of May 4, Yondaime Year 5, a few hours after We Started Nothing.]
Minato landed on the red-tiled seal in the corded-off corner of the hospital lobby, staggered, and dropped to one knee. Someone grabbed for his shoulder. He shrugged the hand off. "When I'm facedown, you can grab me," he said sharply. "Not before then."
"Sorry, Hokage-sama," the woman behind him muttered. Her voice was thick with exhaustion, too. Fukui Ayane, he dredged up. ANBU Ferret. Rookie on Fukeda Hajime's team, currently one-half of what was left of ANBU Team Three.
Hajime himself lay on a stretcher on the floor with his face bare of his Squirrel mask and a mess of charred meat where his left hip had been. They'd sedated him for the nightmare jerk between realities from Hikouto to Konoha, like the others too badly injured for Hikouto's medics to heal. He'd brought back eight in total—four unconscious, one walking, Team Three's rookie, one medic, and the Sandaime's son.
( And three bodies, two ANBU and the brave, foolish Intel agent who'd triggered the traitors' trap for them. ) |
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| To the Rescue |
[Sep. 23rd, 2013|10:12 pm] |
[Takes place Yondaime year 5, April 29, a short time after Take the Heartland]
The message came by radio, garbled and static-broken. The genin who received it had been drowsing at her installation, at the end of a long shift; the transmission had been repeating for some time, she reported, before she startled awake and dragged her headphones on.
She was ashen-faced, trembling, holding the paper with her transcription in shaking hands. "Hokage-sama, I didn't— I didn't know. I'm sorry. I—"
"Just give me the message," Minato said quietly.
The woman swallowed hard, nodded, and looked down. "I caught it midway through the repeat," she said. "...palace guard uniforms. The Palace is burning. The Daimyou's whereabouts are unknown. The Guardian Twelve are in combat. At least six have joined the rebels, or are leading them. Urgent assistance requested. Damn you, send the Hokage!" She flushed, red on white, and said unsteadily, "Then it starts over. Konoha One, this is Fire One. S-Class transmission forthcoming. Repeat, this is an S-class transmission. There is fighting in the Fire Daimyou's Palace—"
"That's enough." Minato kept his voice even. Maybe too flat; Oita Gennosuke, standing by the window, turned to give him a sharp look. Minato ignored him. "Give Oita the transcription," he told the radio operator. "Is the transmission still repeating?"
She shook her head. "It cut out just after I recorded this."
( Fire had reached the radio room, or the rebels had. ) |
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| Take the Heartland |
[Sep. 20th, 2013|11:51 pm] |
[Takes place Yondaime year 5, April 28, in the Fire Country capital, Hikouto, at approximately the same time as When the Reckoning Arrives]
The Daimyo’s palace was on fire.
Sirens wailed on all sides of the city, warning of the battle that had spilled onto the streets. Bucket brigades struggled to form effective barriers against the flames sparked by fire and lightning jutsu, hoping to hold out just one second longer until more help could come. The elegant courtyard that led to the steps of the palace was now a shattered ruin, pock-marked and scarred. Great cliffs rose up through the curtain walls, and chasms drained the ponds and streams once stocked with koi. War had passed through here, and left fury in its wake.
Asuma tripped on a broken chunk of statuary and barely avoided catching himself on his face. His whole right arm was numb from the shoulder down, lacerated to the broken bones, oozing fluids from a charring burn he wasn’t looking at too closely. The rest of him was only marginally better. And underneath it all the bone-deep pain of chakra exhaustion, a serpent wound around his lungs and coiled behind his eyes that told him all he needed was sleep.
He wanted to sleep. He couldn’t sleep. He was already asleep and this was a vicious, unending nightmare. He coughed and spat out soot and dust, and kept his eyes away from the blood already clotting between his fingers.
( He couldn't sense Chiriku’s chakra anymore. ) |
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| Short Straw |
[Aug. 10th, 2013|10:17 am] |
[Takes place Yondaime year 4, February 19, towards the end of Asuma’s and Genma’s rookie year in ANBU]
“Beer has arrived,” Asuma called through the door, after giving it a solid thump with his fist. “Point-five bottle charge for every minute you make the delivery boy wait.”
Multiple sparks shifted behind the closed doors of the barracks hall. The one to his left jerked open not even a second later. “I’ll take it for two ryou more,” Yamada said, leaning around the jam. He looked like he’d just come out of the shower, skin dewy and hair a damp mess of spikes. The fact that he wasn’t even bothering with a towel was another decent clue.
“Only two extra?” Asuma replied skeptically. ( “Five and a handjob.” ) |
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