Wet Chapter 1
Title: Wet
Chapter: 1- Iruka
Rating: PG
Pairings: Kakairu
Summary: When it rains, it pours. And sometimes it just plain sucks. Slightly cracky.
Iruka was generally a very easy-going person. Sure, he was a little dull, very polite, followed a standard, set routine, and he liked to believe that he almost NEVER felt the need to throttle impressionable young minds into oblivion on a daily basis (sometimes he lied to himself, but don't we all?). He figured if he could deal with screaming, excited children for hours on end, most of whom had been frighteningly equipped with pointy projectiles, he could handle just about anything. Today, he decided magnanimously, was just not his day.
It had started out like many days in Konoha did during the month of March- with your average Fire Country style rainstorm, fully loaded with freezing rain scattered with hail the size of kumquats and friendly Mach 5 winds. And just because any sane ninja looked out the window in the morning, muttered "Screw it," and pulled the covers back over their head didn't mean that Iruka had to fall prey to such baser desires. He woke up and went for his morning run promptly at 5 a.m. as he did every morning.
Coming back frozen and soaked to the bone, he'd tried to take an invigorating hot shower. The invigorating part still held true, he supposed, but the fact that the pipes spewed out water even more freezing than what he'd been running in definitely put a damper on that whole "hot" idea. Feeling the head-cold beginning to set in, he'd immediately made some tea for himself afterwards, only to be scalded when his unfeeling-numbed hands fumbled while pouring. He refused to let it get to him, though, and performed a simple healing jutsu after sticking his burnt fingers under the kitchen faucet.
A few minutes later, he'd left for work at the Academy. He tried to keep a positive outlook, even when a particularly eager gust of wind had blown his freshly graded papers into a 2-foot-deep mud-puddle. At least Konohamaru had been quite happy to learn that he'd have a chance to re-take yesterday's quiz which he'd passed by the skin of his teeth. Several of the other students greeted the news with similar relief and all-around joy, and Iruka guessed that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to have happy students. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if it was entirely healthy for the vein in his forehead to be throbbing to the point where he was getting very nervous looks from all the students and a few of the faculty.
That whole fiasco at lunch where a few students, kept inside because of the rain, had managed to up-end Iruka's soup and beverage into his lap had been a fluke, surely. And when he'd gone to the bathroom to clean up and found that the Academy's pipes were apparently reacting badly to the flooding of the storm and puking out muddy-sludge; Well, that was something any civilized person would be unsettled by, but otherwise, he'd managed to take it gracefully. The 'Sensei-death-glare'TM he'd visited on his students for the rest of the day had been good for building up their defenses for intimidation techniques often used during questioning. All in all, no harm done.
So when Iruka got home that evening and found that his living room had been flooded to top it all off, he simply took a moment to whimper and slide down the wall to land with a slightly damp thud on the floor. If Iruka had learned anything from dealing with troublemakers of Uzumaki Naruto's caliber, he'd learned that patience and a good night's sleep could cure almost anything. He decided to get a head start and promptly turned in at 4 p.m.
He was awoken by a moist tap-tap-tapping in the middle of his forehead around 3 in the morning. His weary brown eyes opened and stared up through the darkness. There was a leak. In his ceiling.
The scream of rage that ripped out of his throat woke up half the hidden village. A few inquisitive neighbors peered in the windows to find the Chuunin had fixed himself to the ceiling with chakra and was apparently trying to pound it into submission.
Even Iruka had his limit.
Chapter: 1- Iruka
Rating: PG
Pairings: Kakairu
Summary: When it rains, it pours. And sometimes it just plain sucks. Slightly cracky.
Iruka was generally a very easy-going person. Sure, he was a little dull, very polite, followed a standard, set routine, and he liked to believe that he almost NEVER felt the need to throttle impressionable young minds into oblivion on a daily basis (sometimes he lied to himself, but don't we all?). He figured if he could deal with screaming, excited children for hours on end, most of whom had been frighteningly equipped with pointy projectiles, he could handle just about anything. Today, he decided magnanimously, was just not his day.
It had started out like many days in Konoha did during the month of March- with your average Fire Country style rainstorm, fully loaded with freezing rain scattered with hail the size of kumquats and friendly Mach 5 winds. And just because any sane ninja looked out the window in the morning, muttered "Screw it," and pulled the covers back over their head didn't mean that Iruka had to fall prey to such baser desires. He woke up and went for his morning run promptly at 5 a.m. as he did every morning.
Coming back frozen and soaked to the bone, he'd tried to take an invigorating hot shower. The invigorating part still held true, he supposed, but the fact that the pipes spewed out water even more freezing than what he'd been running in definitely put a damper on that whole "hot" idea. Feeling the head-cold beginning to set in, he'd immediately made some tea for himself afterwards, only to be scalded when his unfeeling-numbed hands fumbled while pouring. He refused to let it get to him, though, and performed a simple healing jutsu after sticking his burnt fingers under the kitchen faucet.
A few minutes later, he'd left for work at the Academy. He tried to keep a positive outlook, even when a particularly eager gust of wind had blown his freshly graded papers into a 2-foot-deep mud-puddle. At least Konohamaru had been quite happy to learn that he'd have a chance to re-take yesterday's quiz which he'd passed by the skin of his teeth. Several of the other students greeted the news with similar relief and all-around joy, and Iruka guessed that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to have happy students. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if it was entirely healthy for the vein in his forehead to be throbbing to the point where he was getting very nervous looks from all the students and a few of the faculty.
That whole fiasco at lunch where a few students, kept inside because of the rain, had managed to up-end Iruka's soup and beverage into his lap had been a fluke, surely. And when he'd gone to the bathroom to clean up and found that the Academy's pipes were apparently reacting badly to the flooding of the storm and puking out muddy-sludge; Well, that was something any civilized person would be unsettled by, but otherwise, he'd managed to take it gracefully. The 'Sensei-death-glare'TM he'd visited on his students for the rest of the day had been good for building up their defenses for intimidation techniques often used during questioning. All in all, no harm done.
So when Iruka got home that evening and found that his living room had been flooded to top it all off, he simply took a moment to whimper and slide down the wall to land with a slightly damp thud on the floor. If Iruka had learned anything from dealing with troublemakers of Uzumaki Naruto's caliber, he'd learned that patience and a good night's sleep could cure almost anything. He decided to get a head start and promptly turned in at 4 p.m.
He was awoken by a moist tap-tap-tapping in the middle of his forehead around 3 in the morning. His weary brown eyes opened and stared up through the darkness. There was a leak. In his ceiling.
The scream of rage that ripped out of his throat woke up half the hidden village. A few inquisitive neighbors peered in the windows to find the Chuunin had fixed himself to the ceiling with chakra and was apparently trying to pound it into submission.
Even Iruka had his limit.