| [Jan. 26th, 2009|01:34 pm] |
"I liked some of them," Natsumi allowed. "The yacht-thing you made for your mother was very pretty." If not nearly pretty enough to entice her down into the basements. She'd heard stories...
Ibiki had told her stories. Carefully edited, she realized now, to turn what must have been personal experiences into second- or third-hand accounts. The rookie interrogator who'd pressed his silent subject for answers for almost a minute before he realized the man had already passed out--had that been the boy who whispered ghost stories in their tent late at night, until Keigo shrieked with fright and Natsumi hid in her sleeping bag and Hitoshi-sensei roared at them to go to sleep?
Well. Ibiki always had been a good storyteller.
She found her glass again and took a sip. "If you were recruited... You must be good at it. I'm not surprised. You were always good at whatever you did--or else you just didn't do it, if you weren't good. Do you enjoy it?" |
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