Gunshots like Lullabies
Who: Naruto Uzumaki (couragetodare) and Scar (lonestray)
When: November 3rd-ish. After this.
Where: City outskirts, near the ruins.
Format: Paragraph, present tense.
What: Scar, Naruto, the inability to move on and the urge to look back.
Warnings: I have no idea. Some blood?
Naruto's pace is fast, efficient, well practised as he leaves the Outlander complex behind, his Forge held in one hand. It is a familiar shinobi lope, a step-fly-step rhythm that he can speak easily around. He does so, conscious of the subtle exhaustion in the voice that comes from the small speakers on the device he holds.
He remembers the sight of blood. The memory spurs him on and has him pick up speed. It echoes older memories and he wonders how many times he will come across that feeling in this place, of history on repeat. Of people stolen from their homes and thrown into a world and a situation they are not only immediately ignorant of, but where they are unwanted too.
The natives do not want them here. The irony is, none of the Scorched that Naruto has spoken to over the network seem to want to be here either.
It is ridiculous. More than this, it is infuriating and he cannot help but think that if the natives would just work with them then perhaps they could find a way home. This would in turn give the people here back their home.
But why would they do that? S'too easy, makes too much sense-
And there is too much long-standing resentment it seems.
Naruto heaves a frustrated exhale. He abstains from the streets completely and uses the rooftops to travel instead; no people up there, the elevated vantage point allows him to see further than the ground ever could and he needs to keep an eye open for this (wounded) newcomer. And the thing he managed to kill.
He'll use it. He'll skin it and sell the pelt at the market place, provided it hasn't been too damaged. But it's still an addendum as to why he is moving out to find this man. His real concern is the blood and how much of it has been lost and not for the first time he wonders if he should call Sakura but the thought scatters when he alights on the edge of the ruins - perched on a pillar- and his eyes pick out just the person he is looking for, to judge from the wound at least.
He raises a hand, hoping he has been seen.
When: November 3rd-ish. After this.
Where: City outskirts, near the ruins.
Format: Paragraph, present tense.
What: Scar, Naruto, the inability to move on and the urge to look back.
Warnings: I have no idea. Some blood?
Naruto's pace is fast, efficient, well practised as he leaves the Outlander complex behind, his Forge held in one hand. It is a familiar shinobi lope, a step-fly-step rhythm that he can speak easily around. He does so, conscious of the subtle exhaustion in the voice that comes from the small speakers on the device he holds.
He remembers the sight of blood. The memory spurs him on and has him pick up speed. It echoes older memories and he wonders how many times he will come across that feeling in this place, of history on repeat. Of people stolen from their homes and thrown into a world and a situation they are not only immediately ignorant of, but where they are unwanted too.
The natives do not want them here. The irony is, none of the Scorched that Naruto has spoken to over the network seem to want to be here either.
It is ridiculous. More than this, it is infuriating and he cannot help but think that if the natives would just work with them then perhaps they could find a way home. This would in turn give the people here back their home.
But why would they do that? S'too easy, makes too much sense-
And there is too much long-standing resentment it seems.
Naruto heaves a frustrated exhale. He abstains from the streets completely and uses the rooftops to travel instead; no people up there, the elevated vantage point allows him to see further than the ground ever could and he needs to keep an eye open for this (wounded) newcomer. And the thing he managed to kill.
He'll use it. He'll skin it and sell the pelt at the market place, provided it hasn't been too damaged. But it's still an addendum as to why he is moving out to find this man. His real concern is the blood and how much of it has been lost and not for the first time he wonders if he should call Sakura but the thought scatters when he alights on the edge of the ruins - perched on a pillar- and his eyes pick out just the person he is looking for, to judge from the wound at least.
He raises a hand, hoping he has been seen.