| Sleeping? Is Also Hard To Do [closed to Tsume and Ginta] | [Feb. 13th, 2008|11:13 pm] |
Set after Dog of War Meets the Blood Hound, early January.
Tsume had lost all of her covers. She blamed Kuromaru. He was, after all, laying on top of a giant pile of them, rolled into a little ball right in the middle of the futon. So directly in the middle of the futon, in fact, that her back was getting sore from twisting around him. But, really, how did you move almost two hundred pounds of dead weight dog?
A bucket of water was one option, but then her bed would be wet.
With a sigh, she sat up and glared at him.
He kept sleeping.
Rubbing a hand through her hair, mussing it farther, Tsume reluctantly admitted to herself that she hadn't really been sleeping in the first place. You'd think after a day like she'd had she'd sleep like a baby, but instead thoughts chased themselves around her mind like puppies just discovering their tails.
Kuromaru cracked one sleepy eye and looked at her.
She smiled, reaching out to run a hand over his fur, newly brushed after his romp through the snow. "Gonna get some water." Her zip-up sweatshirt was laying in a heap on top of her still-packed duffel; she grabbed it as she stood, pulling it on over her tank top without zipping it up and padding out of the room. The stairs to the cafeteria were to her left; she looked at them a moment and then went past them and to the right, pacing the hall, her chin tipped up and weaving slightly as she scented.
There was no reason to be scenting, really, except it seemed right to patrol her new place. Her bare feet were silent on the carpet, her pants shush-shushing across the floor, slightly too long and dragging. Down the hall and back, teasing out individual aromas. At the apartment next to hers she stopped, head tipping, listening.
Movement inside. Whoever lived there was awake. Tsume brought up the mental map Ryouma had given her, and realized even that didn't tell her who lived here. Well, if they were going to be neighbors, might as well be neighborly. Tsume lifted a hand and rapped on the door, open-knuckled and softly, trying not to wake anyone else.
He--it smelled like a him--could always pretend not to hear, if he didn't want company. |
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