(Fic) Drabble - Coffin
woot. Just saw JB online, and she inspired this random crack drabble. So it's dedicated to her. And to Nezumiko, because I love her and her writing and her Genma & Hayate. Plus her wonderfully gay character Genta who thought I wrote hot porn.
Coffin
It was two days after Hayate’s funeral. It was always a good thing they didn’t have an open-coffin ceremony, here in Konoha - that sort of thing was barbaric, only Mist did it, the barbarians - and they didn’t cremate the bodies either. Apparently Konoha had a lot of land to waste, but couldn’t be bothered with tombstones, instead etching names on a giant piece of marble isolated somewhere in the middle of a forest.
Genma stood looking down at the newly turned soil, leaning on a shovel as he watched a beetle track across the earth.
“This is ridiculous,” Genma muttered, taking his senbon from his mouth and tucking it somewhere on his person.
The first shove of the blade of the shovel into the soil was harder than he’d expected, or maybe Genma was just not used to digging holes in the ground. Earth jutsus? No problem. Using a shovel and moving dirt? Hard as hell.
He kept at it anyway, even though half an hour later his back was drenched with sweat, and his arms were just starting to ache. “Whose idea was it to put it seven feet under?” he growled, instead of muttering curses, because it was Not Cool.
Ten minutes later he hit wood. “Finally.”
He had barely uncovered the wood when it exploded under his feet, throwing him about five feet away.
“What the hell?” Genma yelled from the ground, flipping over so he wasn’t getting a close up of mud and ants. “You got splinters in my FEET.”
“You buried me,” Hayate said, climbing out of the coffin, shaking loose dirt and splinters out of his clothing. “For two whole days.”
“How do you know? You were seven feet under.”
“I counted.” He looked over the pile of earth to the side, the shovel and glance to the other side to see Genma moodily picking splinters out of the soles of his sandals. “Thank you,” he said, politely. “Who blackmailed you into doing physical work?”
“I volunteered,” Genma sniffed. “Next time dig yourself out, zombie-kid.”
“I’m NOT a zombie,” Hayate said, squatting in front of Genma. He plucked at his clothing. It was still the vest with a huge slash across the chest. “It was barely a scratch,” Hayate complained. “I wasn’t dead yet!”
“Then tell them next time. Don’t lie there being all dead.”
“I got sunstroke, dammit! I was bleeding you know.” Hayate looked irritable at Genma’s wide-eyed gaze. “Oh, cut it out. You try sitting there for two whole days and see if you can still be polite. I was starting to think I’d need to use Tsume to cut myself free. And my head hurts.”
“They had to hit you over the head to keep you from wriggling free of the coffin,” Genma offered.
"Then they shouldn't have buried me," he muttered, straightening. Hayate held out a hand to Genma, and helped him up.
“Ow! Careful!” Genma hissed. “Why is it that every time I go digging you out I get splinters everywhere? I should dump your sorry ass.”
“Language, Genma-san,” Hayate said absently. “That’s because you love me.” He coughed at the foul stream of words Genma emitted, telling him exactly where he could shove his ‘love’.
“I wish they would find someone else to make angst and drama,” Hayate said when it seemed Genma had run out of curse words and discovered a splinter in his armpit. “That was what, the fourth time?”
“Suggest Asuma next time, he’s got a baby on the way,” Genma grunted. “Ow.”
Coffin
It was two days after Hayate’s funeral. It was always a good thing they didn’t have an open-coffin ceremony, here in Konoha - that sort of thing was barbaric, only Mist did it, the barbarians - and they didn’t cremate the bodies either. Apparently Konoha had a lot of land to waste, but couldn’t be bothered with tombstones, instead etching names on a giant piece of marble isolated somewhere in the middle of a forest.
Genma stood looking down at the newly turned soil, leaning on a shovel as he watched a beetle track across the earth.
“This is ridiculous,” Genma muttered, taking his senbon from his mouth and tucking it somewhere on his person.
The first shove of the blade of the shovel into the soil was harder than he’d expected, or maybe Genma was just not used to digging holes in the ground. Earth jutsus? No problem. Using a shovel and moving dirt? Hard as hell.
He kept at it anyway, even though half an hour later his back was drenched with sweat, and his arms were just starting to ache. “Whose idea was it to put it seven feet under?” he growled, instead of muttering curses, because it was Not Cool.
Ten minutes later he hit wood. “Finally.”
He had barely uncovered the wood when it exploded under his feet, throwing him about five feet away.
“What the hell?” Genma yelled from the ground, flipping over so he wasn’t getting a close up of mud and ants. “You got splinters in my FEET.”
“You buried me,” Hayate said, climbing out of the coffin, shaking loose dirt and splinters out of his clothing. “For two whole days.”
“How do you know? You were seven feet under.”
“I counted.” He looked over the pile of earth to the side, the shovel and glance to the other side to see Genma moodily picking splinters out of the soles of his sandals. “Thank you,” he said, politely. “Who blackmailed you into doing physical work?”
“I volunteered,” Genma sniffed. “Next time dig yourself out, zombie-kid.”
“I’m NOT a zombie,” Hayate said, squatting in front of Genma. He plucked at his clothing. It was still the vest with a huge slash across the chest. “It was barely a scratch,” Hayate complained. “I wasn’t dead yet!”
“Then tell them next time. Don’t lie there being all dead.”
“I got sunstroke, dammit! I was bleeding you know.” Hayate looked irritable at Genma’s wide-eyed gaze. “Oh, cut it out. You try sitting there for two whole days and see if you can still be polite. I was starting to think I’d need to use Tsume to cut myself free. And my head hurts.”
“They had to hit you over the head to keep you from wriggling free of the coffin,” Genma offered.
"Then they shouldn't have buried me," he muttered, straightening. Hayate held out a hand to Genma, and helped him up.
“Ow! Careful!” Genma hissed. “Why is it that every time I go digging you out I get splinters everywhere? I should dump your sorry ass.”
“Language, Genma-san,” Hayate said absently. “That’s because you love me.” He coughed at the foul stream of words Genma emitted, telling him exactly where he could shove his ‘love’.
“I wish they would find someone else to make angst and drama,” Hayate said when it seemed Genma had run out of curse words and discovered a splinter in his armpit. “That was what, the fourth time?”
“Suggest Asuma next time, he’s got a baby on the way,” Genma grunted. “Ow.”