| Learn the Hard Way (Kakashi & Genma) |
[Feb. 12th, 2010|07:13 pm] |
(Backstory. Takes place September 16th, four years post-Kyuubi. Half a day after How Many Ways Do You Wanna Die? and a day and a half before Mightier Than the Sword)
Kakashi thrashed his way back to consciousness to find no light in the world, his head splitting open, and his wrists in chains. He stifled a groan and lifted his chin off his chest, popping every vertebrae in a neck gone brittle-stiff. Strobing pain pulsed in the base of his skull. Dried blood flaked away from the nape of his neck.
As bad wake ups went, this one ranked about the middle of the list.
The room -- it felt like a room -- was cold, musty, and smelled of stone. Of old blood. He tried to move and realized he'd been manacled to a metal chair, tied at ankles and wrists. Thick straps of something more flexible, probably leather, wrapped tightly around his forearms, torso, and legs. Someone was taking no chances.
He twisted his hands, searching for a weak spot in the manacles, and hissed when hot, sick agony crashed up his right arm. For a lurching moment he thought someone had already started in and broken his hand, then he remembered the sword wound. Untreated, judging by the feel of dried blood caked all over his fingers and the lack of anything like a bandage. If it had scabbed, he'd just cracked it open.
( Upper-middle of the list, maybe. ) |
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| Something We've Been Missing [Kakashi, Katsuko] |
[Feb. 8th, 2010|04:46 pm] |
(Takes place on April 10th, the day after This Time It's Different, and an as-yet unposted Kakashi/Genma thread.)
It could have been the start to a wonderful day. There'd even been birdsong and blue skies, which should have warned her straight off that everything was going to go to pot--but hell, she'd always been an optimist.
Katsuko rolled out of bed somewhere between late breakfast and an early lunch, shrugged on a shirt (that was, strangely, several sizes too big for her) and loose pants, and meandered down to one of the training fields. Her swords she left in their gleaming armor stand on her dresser, not wanting to handle live steel when she was still sleep-dazed. Dredging up the effort to go find her wooden practice bokken had been quite beyond her, so it was only with her hand-wraps and work-out bag that she found her way down to a wooded field near the outskirts of the Village.
She hadn't practiced her kata in gods-only-knew how long, so after contemplatively chewing on a stale meal bar for a few minutes Katsuko sighed, stretched, and started on the first empty-hand set.
It didn't take long for her to fall into the half-trance that repetitive movement and exertion induced, sweat running from her hairline and the nape of her neck as she kicked and spun her way across the clearing. Worries, petty annoyances, the latest mission with Ryouma--it all faded away. There was just her, the wind, and the next move in the pattern-dance.
Of course, then it all went to pot. |
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| How Many Ways Do You Wanna Die? [Kakashi & Genma] |
[Jan. 22nd, 2010|08:18 pm] |
Set the morning following No Matter How We Try, four years post Kyuubi, September 16th.
Awareness came long after the sun had risen. Kakashi twitched back awake in the blank space between unhappy dreams and spent a long, thoughtful moment contemplating the green tent canvass two inches from his nose. Suguru was dead; the mission was successful. And Kakashi had definitely fallen asleep in his armour: joints and buckles and hard edges had all pressed themselves efficiently into cold flesh, leaving impressions like marks in clay. His hands were freezing, feet even more so in their open-toed sandals. His back...
His back was a long strip of heat, braced against something solid. His neck was even warmer, tickled by a gentle, intermittent stream of hot air. It smelled like ginseng and poison and morning breath.
Which made sense, given that Genma seemed to have decided the best place to sleep was wedged up tight against Kakashi's spine, with his face against Kakashi's neck. Kakashi could feel the subtle twitches of a dream-in-progress in Genma's hands, pressed into the small of his back; when he paid outward attention, he could see his own breath clouding on the morning air. The canvas was dark with cold morning dew. Birds sung undisturbed nearby: always a positive of an enemy-free forest, when the animals were relaxed.
( Kakashi warred with himself. ) |
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| Meant to Live [Kakashi & Ginta] |
[Jan. 22nd, 2010|02:36 am] |
Takes place April 6, the day after All My Regrets Are Nothing New and The Little Things Give You Away.
Kakashi woke at 6AM when a nurse put her hand on his shoulder. He didn't attack her, or flinch, or do anything much beyond crack his jaw in a yawn and bury his face deeper in the pillow. He'd been in Konoha's hospital enough times--and long enough this time--for the smell to crawl inside his skull and program his reflexes accordingly.
"Sorry, Hatake-san," the nurse whispered. "I just need to check your vitals and get some blood."
"Mmm," Kakashi agreed. He shrugged one arm free of the sheet and laid it out for her, eye still closed. He was still wearing Ryouma's hoodie; something he realized only when she had to push the sleeve up past his elbow to get the needle in.
( Maybe that explained why he'd dreamed of Ryouma. ) |
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| No Matter How We Try [Genma, Kakashi] |
[Jan. 21st, 2010|12:29 pm] |
Backstory. Set immediately following We All Have a Weakness, four years post Kyuubi, September 15th.
Kakashi might not know a damn thing about poisons, but he was the tracker. If he said there was a suitable campsite up ahead, he was probably right. A suitable, safe campsite, because deep inside Waterfall's borders only the most well-protected of locations would be worth considering for two battle-weary, poisoned, Leaf ANBU.
Which, Genma resolved to remember to point out once they were safely entrenched, Kakashi still was. Poisoned. Just because the antidote had saved him didn't mean he had nothing more to worry about. In fact it was Genma's responsibility as medic and poison specialist to check on that sooner rather than later. With only one tube of the antidote remaining to share between them, he'd need to titrate the repeat dose for Kakashi very carefully.
"How's your breathing?" he asked. "And your stomach? Are you hungry at all? Hungry would be a good sign."
Kakashi lifted his ANBU mask and gave Genma a look of rank curiosity, as if Genma had just turned orange, or suggested a swim in lava. "Are you hallucinating that you're a nice person, now?"
"I'm doing my job," Genma snapped. "And trying to make sure that you don't drop dead for want of a repeat dose of antidote."
Kakashi's eye flicked wide, then narrowed under a lowering scowl. "Repeat dose? There's only one of your tubes left and two of us. How's that going to work?" Before Genma could answer, Kakashi exhaled sharply, forcing the air out of his chest with a raw wheeze at the end. Testing. He shook his head. "It's fine. Sore, but fine."
"It will work fine, as long as we're careful. You got a much bigger hit of the toxin than I did, and I've got some immunity, or I'd have been lying on the ground choking to death hours ago." And Kakashi was breathing fine. That was also a good sign. His mask must have afforded him some protection...
And he was still wearing it.
"Take your mask off," Genma ordered.
The storm clouds that skated across Kakashi's expression were impressive.
"I'm serious. Take it off, rinse it the fuck out, and make sure you're not just re-poisoning yourself. If you go down again, and I'm not one hundred percent..." He didn't need to finish the threat. "Take it off and clean it. I promise not to look, so your modesty won't be compromised," he added with an eyeroll. |
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| We All Have a Weakness [Genma, Kakashi] |
[Jan. 14th, 2010|01:48 pm] |
Backstory. Set four years post Kyuubi, September 15th. One year after Kakashi and Genma's encounter in a safehouse shower, Love the Sounds When You Come Undone, two years after the mission where they learned to hate one another, How to Lose a Life. One year and seven months prior to Leaves' canon starting.
Genma hated several things about this mission already, not least of which was his mission partner. He ran next to Kakashi through the farmland that covered the plateau above Konoha, still well within the penumbra of their village's protection. A glance to the left showed a sea of vermilion and crimson, where autumn had set the trees aflame. That was another thing to hate: leaving Konoha at the peak of the fall flush, although if he wasn't looking for things to be unhappy about, Genma had to admit it wasn't as if they'd see no trees on their journey. But they were heading north, he grumbled to himself, and the trees to the north were more oaky, less maply, so less colorful. And anyway by the time they got back to Konoha the peak would be over.
Then there was Kakashi, with his disdainful silence, the twitching eyebrow when Genma had entered the briefing room, the dismissive snort that had stood for an answer when Genma had made what he'd considered a generous effort and greeted Kakashi with a shallow head-nod of a bow. Two years later and Kakashi still hadn't forgiven Genma for his dog's death? Just a month ago Genma had stood at the memorial stone, tracing a calloused fingertip over the names Ishida Nobuki and Oda Ayako, remembering carnage and failure, and the feeling of Ishida's heart stilling under Genma's hands. How did a dog's death weigh more heavily than that?
And one year ago there had been that... That incident in the safehouse showers. As far as Genma was concerned, that ought to have set them more than even over whatever karmic debt Genma had accumulated for failing to save Kakashi's dog. In fact the sums were looking decidedly to him like Kakashi was the one still owing something. The bastard.
( But there were other things to hate, too... ) |
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| Find Me Faithless [Kakashi & Rina] |
[Jan. 5th, 2010|11:46 pm] |
Takes place five years previously, four days after the Kyuubi attack.
Kakashi was late for Minato's funeral.
It was a village-wide affair, held at the smoke-charred base of the Hokages' monument, attended by anyone with the strength to stand. Or lean on a friend's shoulder. Or maneuver one of the wheelchairs that was suddenly a precious commodity. Several hundred shionobi, ordered by clan and rank and allegiance, clad in sober black and hitai-ate steel. More civillians, clustered into tight-knit family groups and marked by tears they felt free to shed. Masked ANBU, fringed around the edges and stiff with battle-weariness that still lingered. Dignitaries paying their respects from other villages still under treaty. Fire Country Daimyos.
The Sandaime. Jiraiya.
And Kakashi, slipping through the massed ranks like a pale wraith to stand between them, ignoring the ripple of sound that followed him. Mid-sentence, the Sandaime paused and laid a hand on his shoulder. Jiraiya slanted him a sideways look.
"Obito sends his regards, I'm guessing," he said, voice scraped deep and flat.
Tight-jawed, Kakashi jerked his shoulder. The Sandaime's hand fell away. Calm and dignified and utterly weary, the newly reinstated Hogake returned to his eulogy speech, delivering it with the measured skill of a man who'd recently had cause to practice.
( One week after the Kyuubi attack, Kakashi had lost count of funerals. ) |
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| All My Regrets Are Nothing New. [Kakashi & Ryouma] |
[Oct. 30th, 2009|10:39 pm] |
Takes place seven hours after Welcome to My Morning, and begins two hours before The Little Things Give You Away
This time, when Kakashi woke up, it was with the little mental click of reality slotting back into place. He knew where he was, and why he was there. He knew that Ginta was across the hall, Tsuyako was in the ground, and Ryouma--
Was fast asleep in a chair.
Stiffly, Kakashi raised himself up on one elbow and glanced around the room. The clock said he'd been asleep for at least seven hours, but nothing much had changed. There were more food wrappers in a crumpled heap around the rubbish bin (Ryouma must have eaten), a stack of Intel forms on the rickety bedside table, and a pile of neatly folded black clothes at the foot of the bed: Kakashi's clothes, with a mask on top.
So Ryouma had paid attention to his free pass into Kakashi's room.
Kakashi raked a hand through oily grey hair, pulling it out of his eyes, and decided he was okay with that. Well, mostly okay with that. Ryouma wouldn't be curious enough to mess with his scrolls, at least; not if he couldn't read them.
Welded metal bed-struts creaked quietly as he shoved himself back against the pillows and looked at the man. Ryouma had curled himself up into the ugly vinyl chair, long legs folded beneath him, arms crossed loosely over his chest, head resting against a stolen hospital pillow. Definitely there, not easy to miss, but taking up as little space as possible. Which was not surprising, given that he'd probably had to negotiate for his right to be there all week.
The red Atomic Sunrise hoodie was draped across his stomach and wedged beneath one arm, a makeshift blanket. He breathed soft and slow, eyes not even flickering beneath their lids; too tired to dream, probably, if the fresh hollows in his face were any indicator.
( Good. That would make things easier. ) |
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| Welcome to My Morning [Ginta, Ryouma, Kakashi] |
[Aug. 29th, 2009|02:08 pm] |
[Takes place late morning on April 5th, almost a week after All We Know is Distance.]
A week in the hospital was enough to drive even the calmest man to extreme measures. Or at least that was Ginta's thinking. When they finally allowed him up from his bed, five days in, he immediately started making boredom contingency plans. Many of them, in fact most of them, involved finagling himself into a wheelchair and over to Kakashi's room with a deck of cards and a couple of cans of apple juice, to help Ryouma keep watch.
Shiratori had debriefed him and sworn that the docs said Kakashi was mending. The nurses and even his own doctor had said the same thing. Ryouma had gotten the same story, evidently. Chakra exhaustion and a soldier pill overdose were serious conditions, but they were known quantities. Kakashi would be in an uncomplicated coma for several days, and then he'd wake up. It had happened before, it would probably happen again. And it was happening now.
Patience, they said. Ironic that patient and patience were such similar words. Even his grandmother could get nothing more from the doctors. And, she'd told Ginta, she believed them. Of course Ginta believed them, too, at an intellectual level. Kakashi's vitals were stable, and his chakra readings were improving daily. Believing didn't make the wait any easier.
( On the seventh day home, the fifth of April, at a little after ten in the morning, Ginta talked his nurse into helping him get set up in the wheelchair again. ) |
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| All We Know Is Distance [Ryouma and Ginta] |
[Jun. 15th, 2009|10:37 pm] |
The message was waiting when Ryouma came home, pleasantly tired and only slightly splattered with drying black slime and blood that wasn't his. He shoved back his ram-faced mask and leaned hipshot against the mission desk, grinning cheerfully down at Reiko. "Guess who didn't even get scratched this time, eh? You can put 'COMPLETE VICTORY' in that little box up at the top. It was glorious. They didn't even--"
"Ryouma-kun," Reiko said very quietly, "you need to go to the hospital."
He blinked down at her. "Shuuhei isn't colicky anymore, is he? I know it's awful hard stayin' up all night with a crying baby, but I didn't think you could go deaf. None of this blood's mine, all right?"
( Reiko pulled a sticky-note off his file folder and held it out. ) |
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| Death and All His Friends |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|04:26 pm] |
[Set immediately after Fall to the Ground]
They had almost fifteen minutes' warning that there were two critically injured shinobi on the way in. Fifteen minutes, plus the ninja's registration numbers, so there was already blood typed and crossed and ready to hand. O-pos for one, B-pos for the other, eight units of each, almost enough to replace every red cell in their bodies. They had time to send for a chakra specialist, because the medics radioed in that one of the casualties had been poisoned with chakra pills. Technically an overdose, not a poisoning. And technically not even an overdose, so much as overuse. Massive overuse, combined with some kind of brutally draining jutsu.
They had time to bring in crash carts and chakra monitors. Time to order up pre-made seals for chakra support, sterilization of wounds, tissue repair. Time to set up the trauma room to receive two criticals, to assemble doctors and nurses and technicians. Time, even, for a grim faced agent from ANBU's mission control to arrive and set himself up in the corner of the room with recording devices.
Fifteen minutes after the call came in from the north gate, non-critical patients had been moved to side corridors, the man having a heart attack sent to ICU, the kid with asthma shunted off to pediatrics. There was a quiet anticipation, a nervousness underscored by the hum of fluorescent lights.
( Sixteen minutes after the call came in, the silence broke in carefully choreographed chaos. ) |
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| Fall to the Ground [Ginta & Kakashi] |
[Jun. 7th, 2009|09:55 pm] |
[set roughly six hours following Hide from the Sound]
Sunlight slanted in through the window, golden and warm. Hot, in fact. Ginta floundered awake, drenched in sweat and so hot he could feel the air in every breath try to catch fire in his chest. For a moment he was back in that burning factory, with orange flames licking at his skin and chemical smoke searing his lungs. He choked and coughed, tensing up with a gasp, and finally broke the surface of consciousness.
Hot. Searingly hot. Burns pulled on his shoulders, and his right leg was a maddening blaze of crushed bone. But it was the left that had his attention now, a pounding inferno that kept time with his pulse, racing in waves from the deep furrow an arrow had dug. He reached gingerly under the blankets to brush the edge of a damp bandage, and felt bile surge in his throat before he quite realized it was pain that caused it.
His own breath rasped in his ears, purple-black blotted his vision. When it cleared, he lay still for several long minutes, trying to gather the strength to move. Hot. So hot. If only there were a breeze, but the air was stagnant, as if it were midsummer. He remembered missions to Suna, baking in the oven-like desert air. His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth, and his hands swollen and clumsy. Every joint and muscle sapped by the heat.
( Kakashi was there next to him still, asleep, or maybe dead. ) |
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| Hide from the Sound [Ginta & Kakashi] |
[Jun. 5th, 2009|12:36 am] |
[Immediately follows Can't See the Light]
The safe house creaked and swayed with the wind. Or maybe the sensation of movement was just a leftover from an overtaxed vestibular system, from pain meds and exhaustion. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Ginta rasped orders at Kakashi's clone--orders it probably didn't need--it would have seen to Kakashi anyway. It carefully carried Kakashi to a second camp bed, stripped him down, stitched and bandaged his bloodied hip, spread sweet-smelling balm across Kakashi's burned shoulders, and bandaged them too.
It was the same balm it had used on Ginta, from the same stash of medical supplies. It made their high-placed hideaway smell like summer grass, new tatami mats, a soft breeze.
"Lights," Ginta whispered, as the last of the twilight faded. The clone, whether on its own initiative or in response to Ginta's command, found a pair of oil lamps. It lit them both, setting one next to Ginta's bed, carrying the other back to Kakashi's prone form. After a moment it turned up the wick, casting strong shadows. Ginta glanced at the window and hoped the security seals concealing them were reactivated. It was how they were designed, he remembered, a sort of dead-man's switch--it took chakra to reveal a safe house, and only then if you knew the revealing jutsu. With no chakra applied, the native state was concealment.
( In the stronger light he could see more injuries. ) |
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| Can't See the Light. [Kakashi & Ginta] |
[Jun. 3rd, 2009|11:42 pm] |
[Set 27th March, six days after the Nightclub arc, four days after Dude, that was YOU?, and two days after Blind-sided.]
In the very early morning, two days after tangling with Kuromaru in the showers, Kakashi was yanked out of bed by yet another misguided soul who wanted to commit involuntary suicide. Growling, still dressed in the sweat-soaked training blacks he'd fallen asleep in, surrounded by half a pack of equally worn out dogs, he slammed the door open and contrived to laminate the harassed-looking Intel agent's eyeballs to the back of his skull with a look. "It's six AM."
The man broke eye-contact, found himself in the crosshairs of several intent canine stares, and studiously fixed his gaze on the ceiling. "Yes," he agreed, in the tone of a man not prepared to make that his problem. "It's also raining."
"What do you want?"
( A black-bordered folder presented itself for Kakashi's inspection. ) |
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| Love the Sound When You Come Undone. [Kakashi & Genma] |
[May. 17th, 2009|10:46 am] |
[Backstory. Set three years after the Kyuubi attack, one year after How to Lose a Life.]
Torture was an ugly word, but the kanji was simple to remember. Kakashi held his hands carefully above the paper as he wrote, trying not to smear wet ink with drying blood. He could feel the chuunin's eyes on him, tickling a wary brand as they looked him over from dripping silver hair to mud-caked sandals. He ignored the feeling for the most part, focused on not letting his fingers shake the words.
...captive was held for seven days, as instructed...
He felt buzzed--ramped up on chakra pills and bright red adrenaline. It hummed in his blood, danced along his bones. He narrowed one eye behind his ANBU mask, forcing himself to keep still as the pen scritched.
...genjutsu used first...
Illusions were easier. Quieter. They'd leave a scar, but not a mark. You could return a clean body and a shattered mind--if that was what had been paid for. Kakashi shifted, bracing his back against the cold stone wall. Fingers tapped against the board he was using to write on, spotting the wood with the marks of his trade. His left hand twitched through it, drawing out a pattern.
...progressed to physical methods on the third day...
( The chuunin was glaring. ) |
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| Blind-Sided [closed to Kuromaru, Kakashi, and Tsume] |
[May. 5th, 2009|07:11 pm] |
[Takes place March 25th, two days after Laugh Like You Really Mean It and Make Me Better]
Kuromaru shook the thoroughly-dead hamster, feeling its spine snap again, and trotted out of the Forest of Death. Forest of Death hamsters weren't easy prey. Not only did they have the agility of a rodent, but they had oversized teeth, too. And anything that weighed forty pounds and had nasty claws and paw-length incisors was something to be reckoned with. Not that Kuromaru had been worried--not even for a moment.
( Okay, maybe one moment when it had gone for his balls, but anyone would be worried under those circumstances. ) |
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| The Storm Before the Calm. [Closed to Kakashi and Ryouma] |
[Apr. 20th, 2009|07:19 pm] |
[Takes place the afternoon following Watch Me Burn]
When Kakashi woke up, it was to the dull soundtrack of agonized blood beating in his ears. He groaned very, very quietly, and curled up, pressing the heels of his hands to his overheated forehead. That prompted another deep-in-the-throat noise when he touched what felt like the morning after-impression of someone's fist, and ratcheted his headache up from bloody awful to apocalyptic.
Most ninja were relatively good at waking up, putting the pain aside, and working out why they didn't know where the hell they were. But Kakashi was fairly certain most ninja hadn't had their skulls recently unscrewed and filled with hot tar. He bit down a third unhappy sound and focused on breathing for a while.
( When it felt like he could move without his head spontaneously exploding... ) |
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| Watch Me Burn [closed to Kakashi and Ryouma] |
[Apr. 19th, 2009|05:10 pm] |
[[Takes place immediately following Stand Your Ground.]]
Thirty-six hours later, Kakashi was still the pretty one. Chestnut-haired and chocolate-eyed, lean in leather so tight it might have been painted on, he was drawing admiring gazes even before he paid the bouncer at the door of Club 69 and gave up his jacket at the coat check. The mesh shirt glided over pale muscles masked by the liquid curves of a tribal tattoo that covered his entire left shoulder blade and half his upper arm.
He still looked dangerous, but it was the kind of danger that drew men hungry for a thrill.
Ryouma gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the hungry gazes, the naked lust. The naked people were harder to ignore--some guy was dancing on a stage on the lower level in little more than a feathered G-string, and a few of the dancers on the floor around him seemed to be following his example. Most of them really didn't have the physique to pull it off. Perceptions got skewed in Konoha, Ryouma was beginning to realize. Sure, you saw other civilians on missions and in the streets, but for the most part the people you interacted with--the only ones you got close to--were young and lithe and supremely fit. There were a few of that type here, but for the most part...
His gaze was caught, in a sort of fascinated horror, by a man dancing on the fringes of the crowd, near the bar. Surely no one was actually that fat and still mobile? And--oh, no--he was pulling off his shirt--
"Kakashi," Ryouma murmured. "Lend me a kunai. I need to gouge my eyes out." |
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| Stand Your Ground [closed to Kakashi and Ryouma] |
[Apr. 19th, 2009|04:29 pm] |
[[Set on March 22nd, around two weeks after The Safest Place You've Found and Straighten Up, Face the Day]]
Kakashi was late to the briefing.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the Intel agent shuffling his files behind the desk wasn't forty, greying, married, and male. Ryouma rearranged all his conversational gambits, tried the safe ones and then the more edgy options, and still got nothing more than grunted monosyllables and, once, a flicker of a scowl. He wouldn't have even known it was Kakashi they were waiting for if the Intel agent hadn't unwisely asked him, just after he entered the tiny briefing room, whether he'd seen Hatake in the hall.
In retrospect, Ryouma probably shouldn't have pounced with questions. (He's back from his mission? When'd he get back? How come they're sending him out again? Who're we killing? Sure you're not setting me up for another ambush this time?) The briefer shut up tighter than any bank vault, and Ryouma eventually shoved the chairs aside and started doing one-handed push-ups just to keep himself awake.
He was on twenty-three when the door opened, and he counted twenty-four and twenty-five out of sheer stubbornness before he looked up. "Welcome back, genius. Got tired of running?" He rolled into a crouch, chest heaving as he caught his breath. The view was better, from here; he could actually see a narrow slice of Kakashi's pale face and a single grey eye between the mask and hitai'ate.
"Or'd you just miss my scintillating conversation an' supernatural good looks? I gotta warn you, I'm going masked this time." |
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| Straighten Up, Face the Day. [Closed to Kakashi] |
[Apr. 19th, 2009|07:04 pm] |
[Backdated. Takes place the morning after The Safest Place You've Found]
Ryouma tried to wake him when the sun began to set; a quick touch to a shoulder bared by ANBU blacks that completely failed to startle Kakashi into actual wakefulness. Long fingers hesitated, then settled and squeezed. Kakashi mumbled something vague, eyes slitting half open, before rolling loosely over and burying his face into the soft fur of Hoshika's belly.
"Gotta try harder than that, kid," Pakkun yawned, curling back into a ball of brown fur at the foot of the bed.
( Ryouma did. ) |
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