| [Jun. 26th, 2008|12:23 am] |
Training around a hangover was a unique and never forgotten experience. Much like syphilis. Or being barbecued alive.
Kakashi was starting to think he'd prefer the latter.
The sun was high and absurdly hot for February. He gave it an unfriendly look with one grey eye and set himself back into a loose guard. Feet planted firmly, hands held steadily in front of him. Sweat marked two dark V's down the front and back of his black top. Grass stains lent a slightly green look to similarly black pants. The clothes weren't typical ninja gear, they were loose and light-weight--perfect for training.
They were also going to get burned in a fit of pique if he couldn't master at least one full set of kata in the next hour.
Kakashi moved, chakra rippling under his skin as he slid from one pattern to the next. A strike, a block, a counter blow. Weapons flickered between his fingers and vanished, integrated neatly into something that was almost a dance, if dances were designed to practice a perfect form of violence.
He didn't stumble, but every so often he checked--brought up short by one pain or another. A week could give you a lot of healing, especially if you happened to hang around in a village staffed by ninja medics, but a lot wasn't all.
And there was still the hangover.
Kakashi scowled behind his mask, skin prickling beneath the cloth with heat and sweat, and swore for the thirtieth time that if he ever ended up at Ginta's place again he wouldn't touch anything that had even been near alcohol. He cursed his headache for good measure, and kept moving.
He wasn't thinking about waking up tangled with the man. Not at all.
Block, kick, punch, side-step, wince, check, punch, keep going...
He only remembered he was supposed to be meeting Ryouma when the man's chakra flared slightly in the distance.
"Ah," said Kakashi, pausing mid-strike. "Shit."
Personal barbecue was definitely the best option. |
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