(Fics) Triple drabbles. :D
Lucky you, I had a spate of inspiration this evening, which resulted in writing three drabbles all at once.
For Nezu, MoM-Hayate:
One of those Autumn Days
Sometimes the rains come hard and fast in autumn; a hot morning with stifling tightness and in the space of an hour dark clouds amass and water pours with the torrential force of the gods opening up a river and letting it slam down to earth.
It was going to be one of those autumn days. Tight heat wrapping around hot and damp in breaths, humid warmth creeping under long sleeves so that it just took a little more humidity, a little less wind, and then he'd be sweating.
Hayate stood out in a bare courtyard, the grit of dirt under his feet loud in the empty court, his breathing almost silent.
It was just him, the humid heat, and the rising rush of wind.
The slide of metal from the scabbard was like liquid, silent and smooth, his movements just as sleek. He held his position, one hand starting to turn out, the other back to pull his katana out. Five breaths.
The trees rustled, and leaves in a shower of gold and brown whipped across his vision.
Slow. The kata always started out slow first, moving his whole body in one fluid motion for the space of ten breaths, one, two, three. His hair stung his face, his cheeks, but the point of his katana never wavered.
Ten.
Then the point twists, a sharp slash of silver and he strikes, a lethal slice up and across, both hands on the hilt and a moving blur. There's still nothing to hear, except him, him and the wind, his shouts as vicious as the precise strikes his katana makes across the still air.
Watching him is like watching a flurry of motion, a vortex of air concentrated in one position, whipping silver and dark and when he finishes it's as much a shock to the sight as the hearing.
The skies break.
It's one of those autumn days, hot heat breaking out into an explosion of cold rains, and in the bare courtyard, there is only one man moving in the motions of a kata that makes him the personification of his name.
For Dark, FL-Kakashi:
Cats
Cats hate getting wet. Dogs don't.
Someone had once said that cats weren't made to take extreme temperatures, and when you look at the way they slink across your path, all arch and sleek, aristocratic in their lean lines, you know it's true.
Funny, then, how Kakashi seems to be more cat then dog.
He is a long lean line of pure silver, a coiled curl on the edge of the shoreline, grey eye narrow as he watches the lazy flow of clear water by his feet.
It's not a large river - it's barely four metres across, barely counting as a stream for all intents and purposes, the depth nowhere near deep. But Kakashi isn't moving.
There's a short little dark shape on the other shore, shaking till water droplets spray like crystals in the cool winter air. "C'mon brat!" it calls.
Kakashi's grey eye narrows. He doesn't move.
"You a scaredy cat? Scaredy-cat!"
The grey eye doesn't narrow any further, but the lines just at the edge deepen. "I'm not," he says, straightening to his full height of four-feet, and steps out on the water, "a scaredy-c--!"
Cats hate getting wet. Little ninja geniuses just pushing the limits of their abilities hate it even more.
For Dark and Nezu, FL-Genma and Raidou:
It's Raining
It's raining, one of those spring rains that dust across the air in a fine mist, lowers the temperature and brings to mind a mild winter. Raidou can barely feel it, but it is still enough to turn the dirt at his feet to mud, sticky enough to leave prints.
He can't leave tracks. He can't afford to. While it's not an assassination that must be kept under tight wraps in the dead of night, it is no less important.
So he takes to the rooftops now, pausing to scrape his sandals off on someone's eaves, and then he's running lightly on the main beam of someone's tiled roof. The moon in it's last quarter across the sky, pouring silvery-gold light pours dark shadows this way and that, and it's more than enough for him to pick a quick, fast track down to his target.
He leaps across to another roof, then another, his fingers catching the edge of the last with his fingertips. He swings, using his whole weight, and he flips over onto the roof, crouched in a dark hunch of shadow. There's a light in the window he's targetting.
Raidou frowns; he's up too late, staring into a tea-cup wrapped around with too-cold fingers. He's up late and awake and far too aware, from the look on his target's face, so Raidou slides in through a darkened window instead, the empty room barely echoing with his presence. It's dusty, dusty and empty, and he can all but hear his target's heart beat.
He keeps his ears trained on that beat, that slow thud-thud that he takes into himself, keeps it close to his own heart so that he'd know it anywhere, know when his target moves.
It takes very little time to glide out of the empty room, to a door that is locked. The simple lock is nothing to Raidou and his skills, and he's out in an empty corridor. Almost everything is silent at this time of the night, even the plumbing, except for the thud-thud-thud of a man he had no intention of letting him know he was there.
He presses his palm flat on the next door, breathing shallowly and quietly. The target hadn't moved.
Raidou touches the pick to the lock, letting chakra leak out just a little and --
"Rai," Genma's voice is just loud enough to carry. "Just get in here, and leave my locks alone, will you?"
Raidou laughs, sheepishly and pushes the door open - it's unlocked. Well well.
"What did you want?" Genma asks, already leaning on the wall, his teacup in one hand as he runs his other hand through his hair.
"Well. I noticed you were out of Tea Country Red so..." Raidou doesn't do sheepish, but the way he holds out the little red container nearly verges on it.
"You could have just said instead of sneaking around," Genma says, but he smiles, and gestures. "Sit down, the water's just boiled."
For Nezu, MoM-Hayate:
One of those Autumn Days
Sometimes the rains come hard and fast in autumn; a hot morning with stifling tightness and in the space of an hour dark clouds amass and water pours with the torrential force of the gods opening up a river and letting it slam down to earth.
It was going to be one of those autumn days. Tight heat wrapping around hot and damp in breaths, humid warmth creeping under long sleeves so that it just took a little more humidity, a little less wind, and then he'd be sweating.
Hayate stood out in a bare courtyard, the grit of dirt under his feet loud in the empty court, his breathing almost silent.
It was just him, the humid heat, and the rising rush of wind.
The slide of metal from the scabbard was like liquid, silent and smooth, his movements just as sleek. He held his position, one hand starting to turn out, the other back to pull his katana out. Five breaths.
The trees rustled, and leaves in a shower of gold and brown whipped across his vision.
Slow. The kata always started out slow first, moving his whole body in one fluid motion for the space of ten breaths, one, two, three. His hair stung his face, his cheeks, but the point of his katana never wavered.
Ten.
Then the point twists, a sharp slash of silver and he strikes, a lethal slice up and across, both hands on the hilt and a moving blur. There's still nothing to hear, except him, him and the wind, his shouts as vicious as the precise strikes his katana makes across the still air.
Watching him is like watching a flurry of motion, a vortex of air concentrated in one position, whipping silver and dark and when he finishes it's as much a shock to the sight as the hearing.
The skies break.
It's one of those autumn days, hot heat breaking out into an explosion of cold rains, and in the bare courtyard, there is only one man moving in the motions of a kata that makes him the personification of his name.
For Dark, FL-Kakashi:
Cats
Cats hate getting wet. Dogs don't.
Someone had once said that cats weren't made to take extreme temperatures, and when you look at the way they slink across your path, all arch and sleek, aristocratic in their lean lines, you know it's true.
Funny, then, how Kakashi seems to be more cat then dog.
He is a long lean line of pure silver, a coiled curl on the edge of the shoreline, grey eye narrow as he watches the lazy flow of clear water by his feet.
It's not a large river - it's barely four metres across, barely counting as a stream for all intents and purposes, the depth nowhere near deep. But Kakashi isn't moving.
There's a short little dark shape on the other shore, shaking till water droplets spray like crystals in the cool winter air. "C'mon brat!" it calls.
Kakashi's grey eye narrows. He doesn't move.
"You a scaredy cat? Scaredy-cat!"
The grey eye doesn't narrow any further, but the lines just at the edge deepen. "I'm not," he says, straightening to his full height of four-feet, and steps out on the water, "a scaredy-c--!"
Cats hate getting wet. Little ninja geniuses just pushing the limits of their abilities hate it even more.
For Dark and Nezu, FL-Genma and Raidou:
It's Raining
It's raining, one of those spring rains that dust across the air in a fine mist, lowers the temperature and brings to mind a mild winter. Raidou can barely feel it, but it is still enough to turn the dirt at his feet to mud, sticky enough to leave prints.
He can't leave tracks. He can't afford to. While it's not an assassination that must be kept under tight wraps in the dead of night, it is no less important.
So he takes to the rooftops now, pausing to scrape his sandals off on someone's eaves, and then he's running lightly on the main beam of someone's tiled roof. The moon in it's last quarter across the sky, pouring silvery-gold light pours dark shadows this way and that, and it's more than enough for him to pick a quick, fast track down to his target.
He leaps across to another roof, then another, his fingers catching the edge of the last with his fingertips. He swings, using his whole weight, and he flips over onto the roof, crouched in a dark hunch of shadow. There's a light in the window he's targetting.
Raidou frowns; he's up too late, staring into a tea-cup wrapped around with too-cold fingers. He's up late and awake and far too aware, from the look on his target's face, so Raidou slides in through a darkened window instead, the empty room barely echoing with his presence. It's dusty, dusty and empty, and he can all but hear his target's heart beat.
He keeps his ears trained on that beat, that slow thud-thud that he takes into himself, keeps it close to his own heart so that he'd know it anywhere, know when his target moves.
It takes very little time to glide out of the empty room, to a door that is locked. The simple lock is nothing to Raidou and his skills, and he's out in an empty corridor. Almost everything is silent at this time of the night, even the plumbing, except for the thud-thud-thud of a man he had no intention of letting him know he was there.
He presses his palm flat on the next door, breathing shallowly and quietly. The target hadn't moved.
Raidou touches the pick to the lock, letting chakra leak out just a little and --
"Rai," Genma's voice is just loud enough to carry. "Just get in here, and leave my locks alone, will you?"
Raidou laughs, sheepishly and pushes the door open - it's unlocked. Well well.
"What did you want?" Genma asks, already leaning on the wall, his teacup in one hand as he runs his other hand through his hair.
"Well. I noticed you were out of Tea Country Red so..." Raidou doesn't do sheepish, but the way he holds out the little red container nearly verges on it.
"You could have just said instead of sneaking around," Genma says, but he smiles, and gestures. "Sit down, the water's just boiled."