[Closed]
Who: Naruto (couragetodare) and Sakura (sucker_punches)
When: After this.
Where: In the Ruins on the edges of the city.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Sakura returns with no memory of Anatole; Naruto makes a beeline for her anyway.
Warnings: Nnnnno clue. Will update as necessary?
Sakura tries not to want to fidget, but the truth is that she is restless and being stationary, waiting, makes her skin crawl.
Sakura tries to keep calm, but the truth is that she feels... well, it's that she just feels. Lost, confused, overwhelmed, a mess of adjectives webbed together, none of which could possibly be considered calm. She doesn't fidget and she doesn't pace, but if she could be called composed, the composure is a facade and a farce.
She feels young again, irrationally. The mist is not at all helpful in this regard. It's like the bridge all over again; the same unnaturalness of the fog, the same feeling of isolation, the same burn in her muscles from the tension of anticipating an attack from any direction that she would never see coming.
The same fear? She's not sure she's actually afraid. She's not twelve any more, and she certainly isn't all but defenseless any more. She doesn't need Kakashi to save her, her hands have their own calluses. Still, it's something that prompts her to keep a kunai in hand, and she'd rather dissect the more distant past than the nearer one.
On a reasonably stable portion of a crumbling wall, Sakura sits and waits and hates the waiting.
When: After this.
Where: In the Ruins on the edges of the city.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Sakura returns with no memory of Anatole; Naruto makes a beeline for her anyway.
Warnings: Nnnnno clue. Will update as necessary?
Sakura tries not to want to fidget, but the truth is that she is restless and being stationary, waiting, makes her skin crawl.
Sakura tries to keep calm, but the truth is that she feels... well, it's that she just feels. Lost, confused, overwhelmed, a mess of adjectives webbed together, none of which could possibly be considered calm. She doesn't fidget and she doesn't pace, but if she could be called composed, the composure is a facade and a farce.
She feels young again, irrationally. The mist is not at all helpful in this regard. It's like the bridge all over again; the same unnaturalness of the fog, the same feeling of isolation, the same burn in her muscles from the tension of anticipating an attack from any direction that she would never see coming.
The same fear? She's not sure she's actually afraid. She's not twelve any more, and she certainly isn't all but defenseless any more. She doesn't need Kakashi to save her, her hands have their own calluses. Still, it's something that prompts her to keep a kunai in hand, and she'd rather dissect the more distant past than the nearer one.
On a reasonably stable portion of a crumbling wall, Sakura sits and waits and hates the waiting.