[naruto] lunatic moon
Urgh? I wanted to write a Hayate-centric GenHaya fic. This is the poor result of that. I'd been thinking about it all day, and yet typed it doesn't have nearly the same quality to it. I can't wait until technology advances far enough for us to share each other's thoughts, because it would make this a HELL of a lot easier. Slight shounen-ai, ANGST, spoilers, death, random whatever. Naruto is SO not mine.
lunatic moon
(I'm going to dance now, I'm afraid.)
It is not a shinobi's business to make empty promises. To a shinobi, a promise is everything that keeps him alive, his reason to fight and survive and go on until there are no more promises left to be kept.
Too many don't understand this, the true wonder of a shinobi battle. It has little to do with jutsu, still less to do with employers and their money, and everything to do with a shinobi and his promises -- be it to his love, his family, his master, or his village.
It is for this reason that Hayate does not run. He remembers a time of autumn chill that makes fine hair stand on end and a heart-faced boy six years his elder, alone in the dark and a brief touch of lips to his promise of 'I'll protect you'.
No one ever had to tell Hayate what it meant to make a promise.
No one ever tried to stop him when he picked up a sword and swore his life to the Crescent Moon Dance, either, though they had said that it would hurt like hell.
A shinobi's will is iron, though, and Genma had always seemed to be near him when it had really started to hurt, his smile more potent than anything a medical nin could offer. As the years had slipped by them, the questions had turned from what to why, but Hayate had never really needed to answer, and Genma had never really needed to know. He'd promised, and that was enough.
His art has almost destroyed him, but he has no regrets -- the trembling isn't really so bad. The coughing stops, sometimes, if he concentrates really hard. He is a Konoha Shinobi. He is a protector.
He is cherished.
Hayate holds the image of that blinding smile in his heart as he straightens before the Sand nin, the chakra slipping in and around and through him like ghostly wings, everything but memory and unwavering resolution falling from him as he draws his sword.
There is someone that he loves here. Where his body falters, his spirit does not.
And he flies, giving himself to the Dance he's paid so dearly for.
. . . Strangely enough, he still has no regrets as the first blade of wind touches him.
He's wondering what promises this man has made.
- fin
december 26, 2003
That looked so much better in my head. ;_; I don't know -- for some reason, it seems that my writing is getting worse and worse, and it's bugging the hell out of me.
Please ignore me or beat me over the head (whichever suits you better) if you catch me sobbing against random electronics, mid-life crisis style. e.e;;
lunatic moon
(I'm going to dance now, I'm afraid.)
It is not a shinobi's business to make empty promises. To a shinobi, a promise is everything that keeps him alive, his reason to fight and survive and go on until there are no more promises left to be kept.
Too many don't understand this, the true wonder of a shinobi battle. It has little to do with jutsu, still less to do with employers and their money, and everything to do with a shinobi and his promises -- be it to his love, his family, his master, or his village.
It is for this reason that Hayate does not run. He remembers a time of autumn chill that makes fine hair stand on end and a heart-faced boy six years his elder, alone in the dark and a brief touch of lips to his promise of 'I'll protect you'.
No one ever had to tell Hayate what it meant to make a promise.
No one ever tried to stop him when he picked up a sword and swore his life to the Crescent Moon Dance, either, though they had said that it would hurt like hell.
A shinobi's will is iron, though, and Genma had always seemed to be near him when it had really started to hurt, his smile more potent than anything a medical nin could offer. As the years had slipped by them, the questions had turned from what to why, but Hayate had never really needed to answer, and Genma had never really needed to know. He'd promised, and that was enough.
His art has almost destroyed him, but he has no regrets -- the trembling isn't really so bad. The coughing stops, sometimes, if he concentrates really hard. He is a Konoha Shinobi. He is a protector.
He is cherished.
Hayate holds the image of that blinding smile in his heart as he straightens before the Sand nin, the chakra slipping in and around and through him like ghostly wings, everything but memory and unwavering resolution falling from him as he draws his sword.
There is someone that he loves here. Where his body falters, his spirit does not.
And he flies, giving himself to the Dance he's paid so dearly for.
. . . Strangely enough, he still has no regrets as the first blade of wind touches him.
He's wondering what promises this man has made.
- fin
december 26, 2003
That looked so much better in my head. ;_; I don't know -- for some reason, it seems that my writing is getting worse and worse, and it's bugging the hell out of me.
Please ignore me or beat me over the head (whichever suits you better) if you catch me sobbing against random electronics, mid-life crisis style. e.e;;