| [Mar. 4th, 2008|10:57 am] |
"Scars're cool," Ryouma tried to console himself. He had more than enough already, and somehow his fingers couldn't help slipping over the smooth ridge of one that ran from the bottom of his ribcage to burrow under his waistband, stretching nearly to the opposite hipbone. The only memento he had of the time he'd probably come closest to dying, and a constant reminder that he'd survived instead.
He would've been happy to continue surviving without more of those reminders.
"You're gonna have some good ones, too," he said, forcibly refocusing his drifting attention. His belt had ended up coiled around his feet somehow, though apparently he'd managed to close the pouch before he dropped it. The tiny bar of soap was still in his hand, and he could still taste blood in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he peeled the wrapper off the soap and lathered up. It wasn't much more than a cursory wash, a half-hearted attempt to scrub away the worst of the caked mud and dried blood. The back of his head seared with pain when he touched it; he hissed softly and jerked his hands away through his matted hair. Real washing could happen later.
Apparently Kakashi thought the same. He'd made no effort to find his own soap; he was leaning against the wall again, head tipped back to the water, hands hanging loose at his sides. The spattered blood was gone from his silver-grey hair, but pink water dripped steadily from his left hand, and his right curled loosely around itself without closing. Ryouma blinked, remembered blue-white chakra flickering at the fingertips of a hand so blistered and burned they'd probably have to cut the glove off...
"You idiot," he said. "How far're you gonna push yourself before you ruin those hands?" |
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