[AIM Log][Temari + Jiraiya][Random Plagarism][Closed]
[Parts played respectively]
Descending the stairs with an uncharacteristically invigorated hop, carrying a bag of trash with him that jingled as he went (no doubt just bottles), he stopped and gasped with all the pep of a master thespian having spotted her. The clatter of bottles echoed against the dreary walls of the building, like chimes, and in a moment he was before her, having slid against the derelict wood floors. How he managed to slide so gracefully was anyone's guess. "Hey," he greeted, pointing at her with both fingers. "You remind me of the babe."
Temari almost stumbled as she stopped mid step, changing directions from forwards to backwards as her way down the hall was suddenly blocked by the old man from the fifth floor. Stiletto heels were not designed for that kind of stepping.
She slid her hands to her hips and shifted her weight onto the right one as a pale eyebrow arched blandly. “What babe?” She replied in a bored voice, having made the split second realization that this would all go much faster if she played along rather than trying to force her way past the man.
He swept his bathrobe out behind him, a grandiose motion, and gestured his arms out to the side with a smile. "The babe with the power," he stated, matter-of-factly.
Temari’s eyebrows drew together in both confusion and suspicion. He was setting her up for something, that much was obvious, the question was ‘what’.
“What power?” She asked, sounding slightly annoyed despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.
He snuck in close with the same impressive delivery of before, eyeing her closely with a single finger pointed up at her. If she didn't know any better, she might think she was in a play. "The power of voodoo," he nodded with a smirk, winking only once.
Temari resisted the urge to either step back or push him as he invaded her personal space and the smell of stale alcohol assaulted her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the trash she’d seen him carrying, from spills on his clothing, from the first bottle of the day or if he was just such a drunk that the water in his cells had been replaced with alcohol, but she really didn’t care.
“Who do?” She replied trying to stop her lip from curling as she compromised and side-stepped, keeping the ideal of stepping past him in mind.
He only popped back and snapped his finger at her, still pointing, "You do."
Rare were the times when Temari was faced with such uncurbed and practiced cheese. “Do what?” She replied half exasperatedly over her shoulder as she managed to step past him and further into the hall.
He leaned down to grab the bag of trash, motioning himself in a kind of slummed version of a bow, and then a quick pop back up. He let her past with a shrug. "Remind me of the babe," he stated again, a sort of longing exasperation in his voice, and he was off.
Descending the stairs with an uncharacteristically invigorated hop, carrying a bag of trash with him that jingled as he went (no doubt just bottles), he stopped and gasped with all the pep of a master thespian having spotted her. The clatter of bottles echoed against the dreary walls of the building, like chimes, and in a moment he was before her, having slid against the derelict wood floors. How he managed to slide so gracefully was anyone's guess. "Hey," he greeted, pointing at her with both fingers. "You remind me of the babe."
Temari almost stumbled as she stopped mid step, changing directions from forwards to backwards as her way down the hall was suddenly blocked by the old man from the fifth floor. Stiletto heels were not designed for that kind of stepping.
She slid her hands to her hips and shifted her weight onto the right one as a pale eyebrow arched blandly. “What babe?” She replied in a bored voice, having made the split second realization that this would all go much faster if she played along rather than trying to force her way past the man.
He swept his bathrobe out behind him, a grandiose motion, and gestured his arms out to the side with a smile. "The babe with the power," he stated, matter-of-factly.
Temari’s eyebrows drew together in both confusion and suspicion. He was setting her up for something, that much was obvious, the question was ‘what’.
“What power?” She asked, sounding slightly annoyed despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.
He snuck in close with the same impressive delivery of before, eyeing her closely with a single finger pointed up at her. If she didn't know any better, she might think she was in a play. "The power of voodoo," he nodded with a smirk, winking only once.
Temari resisted the urge to either step back or push him as he invaded her personal space and the smell of stale alcohol assaulted her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the trash she’d seen him carrying, from spills on his clothing, from the first bottle of the day or if he was just such a drunk that the water in his cells had been replaced with alcohol, but she really didn’t care.
“Who do?” She replied trying to stop her lip from curling as she compromised and side-stepped, keeping the ideal of stepping past him in mind.
He only popped back and snapped his finger at her, still pointing, "You do."
Rare were the times when Temari was faced with such uncurbed and practiced cheese. “Do what?” She replied half exasperatedly over her shoulder as she managed to step past him and further into the hall.
He leaned down to grab the bag of trash, motioning himself in a kind of slummed version of a bow, and then a quick pop back up. He let her past with a shrug. "Remind me of the babe," he stated again, a sort of longing exasperation in his voice, and he was off.