| [Oct. 5th, 2010|07:31 pm] |
"Oh absolutely," snapped Haruichi, keeping a level expression. "Make it a page-turner would you? Because if you broke your bones without a good story for it I'll have to dock your pay to cover my therapy fees." Sarcasm seeping through, he narrowed his eyes at Genma, straining the swollen muscle around the right one's socket before he realized.
Haruichi's level expression tilted briefly into a frown, then he turned and retrieved a chair from its place against a wall. It took effort, but he didn't flick his byakugan back to life so he could see the proof of life darting weakly through Genma's body.
He was going to have to trust that the idiot wasn't going to die just because he took his eyes off of him at some point; irregardless of what the present evidence said.
Four metal-capped chair legs clapped neatly against the floor as he set his seat down opposite Genma and the physiotherapy machine. Haruichi watched Genma rather than the probing, pulling assemblage of steel and wires; his anger and concern restrained, but likely so clear in his eyes that he suspected anyone looking would see right through them and just see blank whiteness.
Most anyone, at any rate. Haruichi let out a quiet sigh of air and sat straight in his chair, sprained wrist resting on his knee below the table's height and out of Genma's line of sight. His other arm rested on the flat table, fingers conscienciously tucked into a flat, loose fist under his palm. "I don't care about the story, Genma. I never do. How are you feeling?" |
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