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While Ryuichi was telling himself to not be a rookie statistic, Aoba was trooping up the stairs with his latest score of liquor. Life was good for the tokujou; he'd seen at least three of his girlfriends, talked with his mother about nothing in particular (damn those "If I tell you I have to kill you" orders) and was planning to get Yuzuya and Genma and whatever other poor fool got in his way fantastically drunk. They were both running dangerously into high stick-up-the-ass mode, and while Genma might enjoy that kind of thing, Aoba wasn't about to let his personality reflect his bedroom whatevers.
"'Scuse me, kid," Aoba grinned and adjusted his ever-present sunglasses. "You new?" He had "rookie" written all over him, from the "I'm a Badass" attitude to the smoking like some kind of hoodlum, instead of a proper shinobi... not that Aoba had much wiggle room he belonged on that wall.
Ryuichi blinked, and then grimaced. "That obvious, huh?" Then he realized that it would be a good idea to bow, or something, because when somebody was your senpai, they got respect (or the faked version of it, depending if they were assholes or not), and dipped his head, once. "Senpai."
The guy didn't really look like the ANBU Ryuichi had come to know in the month he had been there. Most of them had been mean, scarred, and bad-tempered. Already he'd gotten three death-threats (though two were from the same captain, so maybe they didn't count towards the grand total), and one lecture. Plus there was Kotetsu, who had strung him up in a wire trap and slammed him against a tree. Twice. Still, he hadn't been half-bad, though he didn't like beer, which Ryuichi didn't understand (come on, how could someone NOT like beer?), and kept referring to Ryuichi as Zombie-guy. What the hell was with that? Still, most of the ANBU veterans hadn't seemed very friendly. Maybe it was something with his fighting-style they didn't like. Which would be a good reason not to spar with this guy just yet. Give him some time to form an opinion. Then maybe they could spar.
Ryuichi always had fighting on his mind. It could be something of a problem at times.
"I'm Arai Ryuichi, Hunters."
"Yamashiro Aoba, also Hunters. Don't be too embarrassed about the rookiedar, a lot of us get it after a year. Hell, after six months." Aoba shrugged and adjusted the bag of liquor, the bottles clinking together. "You live up here? I think I woulda noticed you, but some of you rookies hide under the damn rug."
It was true! Or maybe ANBU did cycle through their hunters a little quick. In either case, the rookie before him was certainly brand-new-out-of-the-package. His Rookie Sense hadn't failed him yet.
Ryuichi nodded, exhaling smoke. "Nah, live on the second floor. Just bored." He glanced towards the stairs. "Thought about practicing flips, or something, but figured I'd run into somebody."
If it was later, say, about two in the morning, then maybe. But not now. He had enough people pissed off at him as it was, and despite what the last captain had screamed at him, didn't have an intense desire to meet with a painful end. Ryuichi would rather avoid dying entirely, as it was, and if that wasn't possible (being ANBU, it was), then at least he'd hope to go out fast, and as un-messily as was possible for a Hunter to do.
"Yeah, probably not the best idea. Hate to see a kid like you get eaten alive by Her Royal Highness," Aoba grinned, but it faded quickly - Murakami would probably tie the kid up in her freaky hair and drag him back to her lair. "'Sides, best place to practice stuff like that is Training Field 127, yanno?" He nodded off to his hallway.
"I live over there, in apartment 324. If ya want to meet other people that won't bite off your head, pop on over to my place, I'll get you all good and drunk. It'll keep you healthy!" Aoba grinned and started off to his apartment. "Doing a little something tonight, too, but it's more like a rescue mission and less like a party. You know what I mean?"
No, he probably didn't, but Aoba was content in the knowledge that what he was doing was Good Work. Like a good Samaritan. Moreso if it meant that Yuzuya's face might crack into a proper expression of amusement, instead of looking so damn irritated.
Ryuichi shrugged, breathing in smoke. Healthy? Right. In which alternative reality was that? He was just failing to care at the moment. Besides, was it likely he'd live long enough to die from lung cancer or any of the other horrible things sensei screamed at him? No, and Kaede-sensei was a hypocrite. She drank too much, and....other things as well. Everyone had a crutch to lean on. Sometimes it dragged you down, but if it kept you alive, who gave a fuck?
"Got thrown down some stairs, while back. Don't want to repeat the experience." Shitty mission, shitty captain. Bruised ribs and a broken wrist. But no one had died (from Konoha, that was), so it was alright. So he trained to avoid it a second time. And people said he never learned. Ryuichi would have liked to kick some faces in if he heard that statement again.
He didn't comment on being called "kid" (better than brat, anyways), and didn't ask who the woman Aoba referring to was. Maybe one of the Intel ladies. They always seemed like snobs to Ryuichi. Or maybe that was just an act. He wouldn't know, being a Hunter. You needed brains to be in Intel. Something besides being pointed at somebody and killing them (though for some, that was difficult) in whatever way they could manage.
Rescue mission? Realization took a moment to settle in. Oh. So the agents did stuff like that? Somehow, Ryuichi was slightly surprised. He'd sort of thought ANBU just toughed it out, and if they didn't, well, nee-chan hadn't, and it made sense to think others wouldn't as well. Saiyuri had been strong, but anyone could break under enough pressure. Or not break. Just....hurt. Get hard and full of jagged edges that cut if you got too close. It made sense that comrades would care. He felt cold, or something like that, for assuming they wouldn't. ANBU were human, though they were often called otherwise.
"Yeah, I understand." Ryuichi exhaled. "I'll tag along, if you want."
Probably not, but what did he know? Just a rookie who didn't really get it yet.
"Sure, always room for another. He gestured to the line of doors at the end of the hall. "So, lemme tell you about our party-mates. That door there belongs to Shibata Yuzuya, Intel. He's a nice guy, kinda. Don't ask about what he does and don't mention Murakami. He'll clam up faster than than a virgin on her wedding night."
Aoba laughed a little and pointed to the next door. "That apartment's my place, but you already know me, so no sense in explainin', yanno? Door nexta me is empty. Nexta that is Shiranui Genma, good friend of mine, good friend. Survived my first experiment with summoning bees and sacrificed his eyebrows to my first Katon."
Aoba stopped and looked behind him to see if he scared away the rookie, and was pleased to still seem him there. "The next two guys aren't so important." Raidou would probably throttle him, but eh. The kid meet the Jolly Red Giant later on. "There's a good girl, Itou Ren, she'll be joinin' us if I can convince her, not that'll take too much. Also Intel, but of not-bitchy variety. And finally, at the end of out little hall, Murakami Sumire. Intel of the bitchy variety. I heard she kills off people with her hair and eats their livers." Aoba shrugged.
Ryuichi raised an eyebrow at all the names, wondering how the hell he was going to keep them all straight. There were a hell of a lot of people on the third floor, and he didn't even know most of his neighbors on his own floor. Oh well. He'd manage, and could probably bullshit his way through the whole "who the hell are you, oh wait, I remember now" thing until he actually did know which name went with which face.
If he didn't speak overly much, then he'd probably avoid getting anyone pissed off at him. Yeah right. How would that work, exactly?
"You've been here a while?"
Ryuichi thought Aoba talked like a veteran. But how long was that, exactly?
"Couple years," Aoba replied noncommittally, looking for his keys in one pocket. Receipt, receipt, love note from Hanabi, love note from Haruhi, grocery list from Machiko. "So, how long you stayin', kid? In ANBU, I mean."
Keys were located in his pocket and gently extracted, and Aoba paused in front of his door with them dangling from the lock. "Told myself I'd stay six months, and I'm still here." And delightfully not fucking batshit, but that was more Machiko and his Ma's doing than anything else, Aoba knew. It was their job to keep him sane and his job to keep his friends sane. Nice little setup they had now.
"Ah." A few years. Probably not five then, though why he'd been hoping for that, Ryuichi didn't really know. How would that help? Besides, just being in the service that long didn't mean they would know every agent. Probably not know his sister. Ryuichi decided not to bring it up. Being a rookie was bad enough, being a rookie who asked about his dead sister was worse. Sentimentality wasn't becoming of anyone. Just brought you down, and why bother, when you could just hit something, and feel so much better? Yeah, exactly.
Ryuichi stayed a respectful few feet back from his newest acquaintance, more out of habit than anything else. Most ninja didn't like having their personal bubble invaded. Most of the people Ryuichi knew got violent when it was. He had no overpowering desire to get decked. Arriving at a mission briefing with a black eye wasn't fun. People stared.
"Dunno. Two years, or until I make jounin. Whichever comes first."
Two was a good number, if he could survive that long without taking too much damage. Permanent, that was. Ryuichi might make Jounin in a year ("might" being the key word there), but defiantly not before that. He had no illusions about the fact, seeing as most of his captains swore he was nothing but a stupid brat who needed to learn how to fight properly before he died in a bad way. Well, screw you guys, I can kill things just fine, thank you all very much. There's a reason I get assigned to you bastards in the first place, isn't there?
Ryuichi had gotten smacked by a great many of his captains. He was beginning to wonder if it was a trend.
Aoba's door was one of the few in ANBU that, for one reason or another, tended to stick. He pressed his shoulder into the door and yanked the handle up and in, making a noise of satisfaction (hadn't been beaten by this damned door yet!) when it popped open. "Good luck with the jounin-thing, kid. Test is a bitch and a half, without getting it through a war commendation." Because apparently, the one hot moment in the heat of an ongoing war meant that some schulpp was prepped for Jounin status.
Some of them actually deserved it, but ever single person he'd met liked to trumpet the fact in public. "All right," he grinned back at Ryuichi and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Welcome to Casa de Aoba, it's small, but hell if I can't fit enough people in here to give the fire marshal a heart attack!" Aoba's apartment was neatly furnished, neater than perhaps his general person gave away. "This is smaller than my place down at Plum was. You'd think in a service like this, they'd give us better housing, but oh well. It's cheap, right?" He grinned.
"What's say we drink to you joining the service, Arai?" Aoba offered, pulling a slim, black bottle from the bag. The golden set of characters down the glass indicated that it was from Tea. Aoba had to use big guns when it came to Shibata; the man could drink like a fish.
Ryuichi nodded calmly, though his eyes had widened slightly. Wow. Aoba-senpai's room was a lot neater than his. Ryuichi had gotten into the habit of organizing his weapons very neatly (having hooks for them on the walls helped a lot), but the rest of his stuff that wasn't going to be vital on his next assignment was simply piled up in corners. And under his bed. And on his desk. And on the floor. He'd get around to organizing it sometime. Yeah, right, and that would be when, exactly?
Sometimes Ryuichi knew himself too well.
"Sensei said I could make tokubetsu-jounin, if I went for it now," Ryuichi said, and smiled slightly. Kaede-sensei said nice things, sometimes, and he was pretty sure she'd meant it. "Not sure I believed her."
Natsume Kaede was certifiably insane. There were times when her judgement was questionable. That had been one of them. She might have said he was ready; didn't really mean he was. Ryuichi knew his teacher's point of view on such things as rank; you're good enough to kill whatever they send you after, and keep your teammates from following the target's example, then you should get promoted. Simple. Ryuichi knew there was more to it than that. There always was.
It would be a dark, dark day when he was given a squad to lead. Oh yes, very dark indeed. Body-bags would be used, and would probably number in the double-digits. Some people just weren't cut out for leadership positions. Ryuichi was one of them, and he knew the fact very well.
He gave Aoba a mock salute, and an easy smile. Good booze. Some of the ANBU were civil enough after all. He'd been beginning to wonder. "Yessir."
"We on a mission, kid?" Aoba raised his eyebrows over the red frames of his glasses. "No need for sir, yanno?" he grinned. The black bottle was broken open and shots of a dark amber liquid faithfully poured into two glasses. "Here ya go, Arai," he told the younger man.
"To your health, your sanity and your brand-new spiral. May they all be intact at the end of your tenure!"
Ryuichi took the glass, and nodded. He'd drank to worse things before, and surviving ANBU with most of his sanity intact would be a good thing. Whether it would happen or not, well, that was debatable, as were most things of the ilk. He'd do what he had to, and hopefully it would be enough.
He took a drink, and almost smiled. Good booze. "Good thing to hope for."
Maybe I'll even live up to it. | |
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