| Hard Day's Night [closed to Sumire] |
[Jun. 10th, 2008|08:11 pm] |
[backdated to December, follows the events in Shut Up And Go Away]
The next night was Friday, and Yuzuya was at the counter of a pleasantly worn neighborhood tavern, working on his third beer and a generous plate of yakitori skewers. The place was dark and crowded but the music wasn't too loud-- just a lively pair of shamisen players in the corner, he secretly hated those places with the loud music and lights and shit that Genma seemed to love so much-- and it was slightly smoky yet none of the smokers were sitting directly near him. In other words, a perfect night.
He pulled at his dark malt beer and smiled softly at nothing in particular. He'd worked hard this week, and he certainly deserved a nice evening out, he told himself. Good work, self. |
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| Under Pressure [tag Ryuichi] |
[Jun. 10th, 2008|07:40 pm] |
This was the last straw. The pen-ultimate. The very, very last straw.
Shibata Yuzuya stormed out of the bath with a curt slam of the door behind him, unused clean clothes and bath bucket in hand. His shampoo fell out of the bucket and clattered with a plastic clank onto the cement floor. He kicked it, angry, and then remembered that he'd need that and went back to pick it up.
( Someone was seriously out to get him today. ) |
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| Running in Circles [Haruichi and Open] |
[Mar. 4th, 2008|06:06 pm] |
Hyuuga Haruichi was no stranger to multi-tasking: it took a high degree of talent in it to snark somebody's brains out and stitch their limbs back together at the same time. Given the amount of work he always had to do, the medic nearly always did two things at once if he could manage it and today was no different.
Three-two-five: Shibata Yuzuya - A, twenty-five, Intel, no history, no history; papercuts, dietary/vitamins and getting blown up.
It was seven a.m., three hours until the end of his shift, and Haruichi was silently running laps around HQs apartments and matching names, basic medical profiles and predicted healthcare needs to each door number every time he ran past it. It was the kind of exercise his cardio-vascular system needed, and more. Primarily it was an old game from his days living here, and had made it easy to remember the medical histories of everybody under the same roof and to know where to drag them back to once he'd finished treating them.
Three-two-four: Yamashiro Aoba - record lost/check again, twenty-four, Hunters, optical photophobia, no history; burns and opthalmic migraine.
Pass the door, match number to name and recite the profile before hitting the next one. It was like a quick-wits version of a flashcard test, but Haruichi found it invaluable - especially now that he was getting back into his stride as medic at HQ. He'd need this information, and reams more besides, to be available in a second if anything happened to any of them, on his watch or off of it.
Three-two-three: Oyate Ayumi - A, twenty, Hunters, no history, flagged; muscle strains and exhaustion.
Especially if he was going out into the field to bring them back. You couldn't carry a filing cabinet out to some godforsaken ditch to cross-check blood types and persistant medical conditions before you administered treatment. No matter how well-organized it was.
Three-two-zero: Shiranui Genma - too long, didn't read.
And so, despite the fact he'd been up all night, Haruichi didn't pause in his run - just reached up to flick some of his black hair out his eyes and kept racing along the corridors of the third floor over and over - his sneakers silent on the malfeascent carpet, delicately taking corners and gracefully navigating chairs and potted plants, hoping to do his twenty laps on this floor and head down to the second again before anybody arrived to interrupt him. Like that ever happened. |
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| Always At The Ready [tag Kotetsu] |
[Feb. 25th, 2008|08:10 pm] |
Intel had finally gotten an agent back alive from documenting the series of new towers built along the border between Fire and Wind Country. The data came in just as a new informant sent in information about the Tsuchikage's new pleasure estate, and on top of that, ANBU being sent to a mission in Lightning Country needed current maps, and needed them waterproof. Yuzuya had pulled an all-nighter and then put in a full day's work after that, which meant more than 32 hours of work with no breaks.
This was precisely why he was now lying passed out on the pleather couch in the first floor rec room with a news magazine in one hand and a bag of mixed nuts in the other. On the floor beside him was a warm half-empty beer and an empty package of what had been little chocolate covered donuts-- apparently he'd had time to get to the vending machines before succumbing to exhaustion. Yuzuya was snoring very, very faintly, and there was a growing puddle of drool forming by his open mouth.
Let it be known to all that this was not a wise position for a shinobi, much less an ANBU, much less a hard-nosed, strictly-business nerd like Shibata Yuzuya to let himself be caught in. Yuzu was prone and in a public space where just anyone (and there were very unsavory anyones lurking about ANBU HQ at this very moment) could happen upon the lanky shinobi as he drooled slept. |
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| War [closed to Sumire] |
[Feb. 19th, 2008|08:39 pm] |
[backdated to November]
This was war, plain and simple.
She was increasing the frequency of her attacks. Every day this week that code girl Murakami Sumire had had something oh-so-very important to discuss with him. She'd barged right into his workspace-- his desk area!-- without asking or even showing the slightest sign of awareness that she was intruding on another human being's personal space. The concept didn't seem to make it through all that glossy black hair into her thick skull. Yuzuya figured she wasn't used to the idea of her presence not being welcome. In fact, she probably considered her interruptions a wonderful favor. Other men fell all over her like imbeciles, treated her like she was the gods' gift to the humble planet. ( Yuzu was convinced by now that inside Sumire's exquisitely pretty little head, the story was not much different. ) |
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| Shut Up And Go Away |
[Feb. 17th, 2008|05:34 pm] |
Yuzuya drew in another angle on the blueprint he was creating, and then peered down at the scroll before him. The classified information contained a detailed description of the Tsuchikage's new pleasure mansion. Currently he was neck-deep in measurements that didn't quite add up to a proper floor plan. Had there been a mistake? He needed to go back and check each line from the beginning. This was a tedious one. The building was a veritable warren of hallways and secret passages, and each room more absurd than the last. There was a golden fish pond in the bathroom. In the bathroom. And what kind of elite shinobi needed so many rooms for concubines, anyway? Yuzu wrinkled his nose with distaste. He hoped that this place was high on the list of targets to take out. He'd be first to sign up for the mission.
Meanwhile there were other things that were distracting him from the Tsuchikage's wine cellars and plush boudoir. Namely, a soft, sweet, and slightly sultry soprano that had been filtering towards his ears all day. He traced a sharp line for a wall and trained his ears to hear the conversation outside his tiny office. Murakami was lurking about, and behaving rather ostentatiously... feminine today. He wondered why. Traced another line, and waited to see who she was talking to. A man? Who? How come she was sounding so nice? |
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