| [Jan. 22nd, 2010|08:31 pm] |
Kakashi exhaled slowly, half an eye still on Genma's throat and ribcage, counting breaths in the back of his mind. "About a two," he said, sparing a flicker of thought to measure the slow burn in his chest against ANBU's pain scale. A ten was bloody, screaming death. A two was negligible.
"Asshole," he added as an afterthought. "You can't even do that jutsu. I managed it with no training, your instructions..."
Genma's breathing still looked normal, if annoyed now. Radiating palpable smugness, Kakashi stretched until his spine cracked, loosened up his shoulders, and crawled out of the tent. The September sunshine was barely a step up from arctic--or felt that way, at least, on armour-bared shoulders--but it was clear and bright, reflected a thousand sparkling times off dew-wet leaves.
"What makes you think I can't do it?" Genma demanded, struggling out of the tent. "I just can't do it on myself." He was dragging the blanket with him, and, with a deft twirl, swung it up around his shoulders to drape like a cloak.
"I can smell lies," Kakashi told him. "Literally." Then the corner of his mouth twitched a sharp smile when he realized he could. He could smell everything. The acrid chemical-scorch had eased out of his sinuses, leaving normal scents and just a faint metal-sting behind. He settled on his back foot, arms folded tightly to conserve heat, and inhaled deeply. Cold air bit at his lungs, but he could smell--
Breakfast.
Genma hadn't quite finished staring at him when Kakashi twisted, drew two kunai, and flung them arrow-straight at a low level bush. Twin squawks cut off into silence. Grinning, back in control of his nose and his muscles and his body, finally, Kakashi sauntered over to dig out a brace of quail.
He'd been right. It was a very good morning. |
|