DON'T MIND ME
Just. You know. Dug up some months-old Naruto fic that I plodded out and I think I forgot my ffnet password again. So YOU'LL HAVE TO FACE IT. fffff, with the exception of Pi because I'm pretty sure I've shown her all of these back in the day.
||****||
The place is far from impressive. Small and dimly lit, there always seems to be a haze of smoke in the air, always a need to stoop down to avoid hitting the lamps strung around the ceiling. A regular across the room will be singing old war tunes that the rest of the crowd has half-forgotten along with twenty or so less than honorable assignments. The drinks are terrible and the glasses are dirty; there are meals listed on the menu, but if someone orders the food word never seems to get to the kitchen.
Nobody orders the food anymore.
This nameless, shabby bar- the sign hung outside has long since been scratched beyond recognition, and people ask about the name about as often as they order food- has been a staple of the ninja community for about as long as the village has been standing. The tradition goes that shinobi see their first of it once they've earned the rank of jounin: whether it's the day they get the paperwork filed, a chuunin's outstanding service, or the completion of the first mission that didn't bring everyone back alive all depends on the person in question.
But everyone makes it in eventually and finds something of a gathering of brothers in arms. The important events in the days of most jounin could usually be delivered in a one-sentence format, no matter what they'd entailed, and in turn most of their comrades could sigh and shake their heads in understanding. Another staple of the ninja community, that.
They've been coming in for a few good years now, seen missions and friends come and go and grown tolerant of the foul-tasting alcohol that once made even the most reserved of them grimace and cough. It's fully possible they're fond of it, but no one is willing to admit it.
Tonight's weather is cool and clear, the occasional cloud quick to pass across and moonlight making the carved Hokage faces take on a dramatic shadow.
It's foreboding, he figures.
Kakashi is the first one to turn up for once, legendary orange book in hand and turning no pages while he waits. Asuma marches in with a bit of grumbling, scratching at his head and reaching for a cigarette, followed by Kurenai (but not too closely, of course- Kakashi's noticed that she always seems to walk in seven-point-three seconds after him). They both stop short and raise an eyebrow at him, which he responds to with what they've learned to recognize as a smile beneath the mask and a raised hand.
“Yo,” he says simply. Kurenai is the only one smiling when she sits down- Asuma's gotten over his surprise, opting to slouch in the nearest seat with a greeting grunt and the click of a lighter. Kakashi doesn't outright ask, of course, because he knows that if he waits long enough he'll get something out of this.
After ordering a drink (any drink, he says, as long as it gets here), Asuma finishes off his first cigarette of the night, straightens up, and says:
“I passed my first genin team today.”
Kurenai pats him on the shoulder exactly three times, perfectly timed and not too gently.
Kakashi closes his book and smiles again. “So did I.”
Asuma's newest cigarette hits the floor. Kurenai seems to be composing a silent prayer for the team in question. Gai- who has somehow, miraculously, made a silent entry and found a seat at the table in true ninja fashion- laughs and claps them on the back (if Kakashi were any less mature he'd have batted the hand away).
“I knew this day would arrive someday, my eternal rival! Congratulations on your newest endeavor to unravel the mysteries of youth!” After some minutes of dramatic speech, dramatic weeping and another game of rock-paper-scissors, he insists that he pick up the night's tab. Asuma and Kakashi don't ask why (or really thank him, for that matter), but he explains anyway with his patented 'I'm Actually Very Competent' smile. “You'll be spending a lot more money here in the future.”
They exchange a flat glance, side-by-side, that says they know they will.
----
“So,” Asuma states simply, not entirely able to hide the grin on his face, “Shikamaru's IQ is over 200 points.”
Kakashi is quiet for a long while, quite possibly sulking or maybe just taken aback by the knowledge that he's not the only one who passed a genius this time around. He doesn't mind either way; it was mostly thrown out because even if he doesn't know his students all that well, this is a fact he knows he can damn well be proud of.
“Impressive.” It's all the acknowledgment he figures he'll get, so Asuma grins a little more widely. Somewhere halfway through his second drink, the other man's visible eye seems to flatten (he's pretty sure it's resignation mixed with fatigue). “Sakura punched Naruto into the river again.”
“That so?”
“He coughed up a live goldfish this time.”
Asuma, to his growing horror, finds himself genuinely impressed by such a feat.
He pays for the next round.
----
They've been official teachers for one month, two weeks and six days now, and they're slowly but surely learning that they no longer seem to possess a sense of dignity. Catching cats, pulling weeds, painting fences and babysitting alongside a gaggle of what they're sure are the most unusual genin they'll ever put up with seems to slowly be leeching it away. It's a routine they've fallen into, though, and one that none of them will admit to being fond of. Same as the alcohol and half of the comrades they think will end up dead someday.
They're bound to get used to it.
Kurenai steps in to find Kakashi and Asuma in their usual seats- Gai having long since joined that stranger across the room in belting out ballads- but for once, they don't appear to be drinking. The server across the room continually shoots them dirty looks- there are rings on the table's surface from where cups had been sitting mere seconds ago. She slips into the seat next to Asuma (careful not to push the stool too close to his own) and surveys their expressions with a calculating eye. Even the face mask can't quite hide Kakashi's air of overwhelming and utter defeat. Asuma seems truly shaken, face pale and cigarette unlit as of yet, and she's almost afraid to ask what happened.
Almost. But then she spots wallets that are usually much fuller and decides that it can't end too badly.
Kakashi is first to answer, tone carrying grief and residual shock. “They ate eighteen bowls of ramen.”
Asuma blindly feels at his vest for a lighter. “I wasn't fast enough to keep count.”
Kurenai smiles at them. “Maybe I should have warned you about that.”
----
He hasn't been in for quite a few days now; medical care will do that to a guy, not to mention how complicated the mission report turned out to be. For the time being, he doesn't mention just how cozy Asuma and Kurenai look as he takes a seat- they can probably feel a little teasing in the upturned curve of his visible eye anyway. There are no words of greeting, just a mildly uncomfortable yet expectant silence in the wake of fast-traveling news. Kakashi doesn't keep them waiting too much longer.
“My team successfully completed an A-rank mission.” The parts where they're three genin who barely get along, they all lived and Naruto has a bridge named after him (Kakashi has much better hearing than he tends to let on) get left unspoken. Asuma ignores the very small bristle of competitiveness that stirs up in the back of his mind- he can't beat that, really. But a nice one-sentence summary gets passed on anyway.
“Ino finally mastered that mind-transfer jutsu.”
Kurenai offers up a look for the both of them that gives away how impressed she is. It's quickly covered up by a more neutral expression, with just a hint of devious triumph attached. They wonder what she's got up her sleeve this time.
“We caught the cat in less than twenty minutes.”
And, well, there's just no topping that.
----
Darkness falls swiftly on this particular night. The rain outside combined with the subdued air of all of Konoha doesn't fill in the silence as well as it should. He feels an inkling of pride in spite of it all- his students did well, as they tended to do. It was probably interspersed with example after example of shoddy teamwork and on-the-fly strategy, but that's just as well.
“My kids defeated Gaara of the Sand,” he muses. They offer no response.
The Third Hokage died today.
The seat normally responsible for the majority of the cigarette smoke he finds himself inhaling secondhand is empty- the one next to it, too.
Kakashi drinks alone.
||****||
It begins as nothing more than motion caught from the corner of his eye. The lines are thin, fragile, almost insubstantial and yet somehow they are death to almost any who cross them wrongly.
Blue tugging on white, a plea for help.
The morning is devoid of sound in light of it, and it seems right that way.
For a brief moment, he stares: thinks he can understand the mindless struggle to simply survive; a faint fluttering movement standing out against the stillness and ultimately doing nothing.
For a brief moment, he is tired. Sixteen years of existence manage to weigh him down in more than body, now, though he is not often taken to considering the fact.
It ends as quickly as it began, a seeming eternity of struggle brought to its demise with the whisper of leaves underfoot, a brush of calloused fingertips.
Dark, flaking red consumes everything in the silence. Fighting ceases to exist for him in another short-lived stretch of time. Chouji comes to the realization that he's not as innocent as he used to be.
He lets the butterfly go.
||****||
The place is far from impressive. Small and dimly lit, there always seems to be a haze of smoke in the air, always a need to stoop down to avoid hitting the lamps strung around the ceiling. A regular across the room will be singing old war tunes that the rest of the crowd has half-forgotten along with twenty or so less than honorable assignments. The drinks are terrible and the glasses are dirty; there are meals listed on the menu, but if someone orders the food word never seems to get to the kitchen.
Nobody orders the food anymore.
This nameless, shabby bar- the sign hung outside has long since been scratched beyond recognition, and people ask about the name about as often as they order food- has been a staple of the ninja community for about as long as the village has been standing. The tradition goes that shinobi see their first of it once they've earned the rank of jounin: whether it's the day they get the paperwork filed, a chuunin's outstanding service, or the completion of the first mission that didn't bring everyone back alive all depends on the person in question.
But everyone makes it in eventually and finds something of a gathering of brothers in arms. The important events in the days of most jounin could usually be delivered in a one-sentence format, no matter what they'd entailed, and in turn most of their comrades could sigh and shake their heads in understanding. Another staple of the ninja community, that.
They've been coming in for a few good years now, seen missions and friends come and go and grown tolerant of the foul-tasting alcohol that once made even the most reserved of them grimace and cough. It's fully possible they're fond of it, but no one is willing to admit it.
Tonight's weather is cool and clear, the occasional cloud quick to pass across and moonlight making the carved Hokage faces take on a dramatic shadow.
It's foreboding, he figures.
Kakashi is the first one to turn up for once, legendary orange book in hand and turning no pages while he waits. Asuma marches in with a bit of grumbling, scratching at his head and reaching for a cigarette, followed by Kurenai (but not too closely, of course- Kakashi's noticed that she always seems to walk in seven-point-three seconds after him). They both stop short and raise an eyebrow at him, which he responds to with what they've learned to recognize as a smile beneath the mask and a raised hand.
“Yo,” he says simply. Kurenai is the only one smiling when she sits down- Asuma's gotten over his surprise, opting to slouch in the nearest seat with a greeting grunt and the click of a lighter. Kakashi doesn't outright ask, of course, because he knows that if he waits long enough he'll get something out of this.
After ordering a drink (any drink, he says, as long as it gets here), Asuma finishes off his first cigarette of the night, straightens up, and says:
“I passed my first genin team today.”
Kurenai pats him on the shoulder exactly three times, perfectly timed and not too gently.
Kakashi closes his book and smiles again. “So did I.”
Asuma's newest cigarette hits the floor. Kurenai seems to be composing a silent prayer for the team in question. Gai- who has somehow, miraculously, made a silent entry and found a seat at the table in true ninja fashion- laughs and claps them on the back (if Kakashi were any less mature he'd have batted the hand away).
“I knew this day would arrive someday, my eternal rival! Congratulations on your newest endeavor to unravel the mysteries of youth!” After some minutes of dramatic speech, dramatic weeping and another game of rock-paper-scissors, he insists that he pick up the night's tab. Asuma and Kakashi don't ask why (or really thank him, for that matter), but he explains anyway with his patented 'I'm Actually Very Competent' smile. “You'll be spending a lot more money here in the future.”
They exchange a flat glance, side-by-side, that says they know they will.
----
“So,” Asuma states simply, not entirely able to hide the grin on his face, “Shikamaru's IQ is over 200 points.”
Kakashi is quiet for a long while, quite possibly sulking or maybe just taken aback by the knowledge that he's not the only one who passed a genius this time around. He doesn't mind either way; it was mostly thrown out because even if he doesn't know his students all that well, this is a fact he knows he can damn well be proud of.
“Impressive.” It's all the acknowledgment he figures he'll get, so Asuma grins a little more widely. Somewhere halfway through his second drink, the other man's visible eye seems to flatten (he's pretty sure it's resignation mixed with fatigue). “Sakura punched Naruto into the river again.”
“That so?”
“He coughed up a live goldfish this time.”
Asuma, to his growing horror, finds himself genuinely impressed by such a feat.
He pays for the next round.
----
They've been official teachers for one month, two weeks and six days now, and they're slowly but surely learning that they no longer seem to possess a sense of dignity. Catching cats, pulling weeds, painting fences and babysitting alongside a gaggle of what they're sure are the most unusual genin they'll ever put up with seems to slowly be leeching it away. It's a routine they've fallen into, though, and one that none of them will admit to being fond of. Same as the alcohol and half of the comrades they think will end up dead someday.
They're bound to get used to it.
Kurenai steps in to find Kakashi and Asuma in their usual seats- Gai having long since joined that stranger across the room in belting out ballads- but for once, they don't appear to be drinking. The server across the room continually shoots them dirty looks- there are rings on the table's surface from where cups had been sitting mere seconds ago. She slips into the seat next to Asuma (careful not to push the stool too close to his own) and surveys their expressions with a calculating eye. Even the face mask can't quite hide Kakashi's air of overwhelming and utter defeat. Asuma seems truly shaken, face pale and cigarette unlit as of yet, and she's almost afraid to ask what happened.
Almost. But then she spots wallets that are usually much fuller and decides that it can't end too badly.
Kakashi is first to answer, tone carrying grief and residual shock. “They ate eighteen bowls of ramen.”
Asuma blindly feels at his vest for a lighter. “I wasn't fast enough to keep count.”
Kurenai smiles at them. “Maybe I should have warned you about that.”
----
He hasn't been in for quite a few days now; medical care will do that to a guy, not to mention how complicated the mission report turned out to be. For the time being, he doesn't mention just how cozy Asuma and Kurenai look as he takes a seat- they can probably feel a little teasing in the upturned curve of his visible eye anyway. There are no words of greeting, just a mildly uncomfortable yet expectant silence in the wake of fast-traveling news. Kakashi doesn't keep them waiting too much longer.
“My team successfully completed an A-rank mission.” The parts where they're three genin who barely get along, they all lived and Naruto has a bridge named after him (Kakashi has much better hearing than he tends to let on) get left unspoken. Asuma ignores the very small bristle of competitiveness that stirs up in the back of his mind- he can't beat that, really. But a nice one-sentence summary gets passed on anyway.
“Ino finally mastered that mind-transfer jutsu.”
Kurenai offers up a look for the both of them that gives away how impressed she is. It's quickly covered up by a more neutral expression, with just a hint of devious triumph attached. They wonder what she's got up her sleeve this time.
“We caught the cat in less than twenty minutes.”
And, well, there's just no topping that.
----
Darkness falls swiftly on this particular night. The rain outside combined with the subdued air of all of Konoha doesn't fill in the silence as well as it should. He feels an inkling of pride in spite of it all- his students did well, as they tended to do. It was probably interspersed with example after example of shoddy teamwork and on-the-fly strategy, but that's just as well.
“My kids defeated Gaara of the Sand,” he muses. They offer no response.
The Third Hokage died today.
The seat normally responsible for the majority of the cigarette smoke he finds himself inhaling secondhand is empty- the one next to it, too.
Kakashi drinks alone.
||****||
It begins as nothing more than motion caught from the corner of his eye. The lines are thin, fragile, almost insubstantial and yet somehow they are death to almost any who cross them wrongly.
Blue tugging on white, a plea for help.
The morning is devoid of sound in light of it, and it seems right that way.
For a brief moment, he stares: thinks he can understand the mindless struggle to simply survive; a faint fluttering movement standing out against the stillness and ultimately doing nothing.
For a brief moment, he is tired. Sixteen years of existence manage to weigh him down in more than body, now, though he is not often taken to considering the fact.
It ends as quickly as it began, a seeming eternity of struggle brought to its demise with the whisper of leaves underfoot, a brush of calloused fingertips.
Dark, flaking red consumes everything in the silence. Fighting ceases to exist for him in another short-lived stretch of time. Chouji comes to the realization that he's not as innocent as he used to be.
He lets the butterfly go.