[open] Too many words, too many lies. I can't quite see the truth when I look in your eyes.
Who: Haruno Sakura [nosamurai] and YOU!!@eleventy-one!1
What: Sakura is out jogging and it's the morning and -- that's that!
When: Some morning this week. FRIDAY see we can forward date this.
Where: The S. S. Thor, anywhere legal, she's an ambitious jogger?
Warnings: n/a
Notes: Shenanigans if you want them! Also prose or action bracket or *do this* or whatever it is that makes you smile guys I'm ~flexible~. Also the subject line and cut text are massively misleading 8|a
Footsteps had a heartbeat all their own. Even in the massive halls of the S.S. Thor, where there was never any space unoccupied by someone else, or filled with alien or even familiar sounds, footsteps still carried their own heartbeat.
They told a listener how fast you were moving, the length of your stride. You could guess at height and weight, you could listen for the steadiness, learn if there was any struggle. Every stumble was a skip, every pause a stop that told you something; maybe that the runner had reached a crowded intersection, or seen a familiar face, or had fallen down a staircase in a most unfortunate series of events. Maybe they had even found themselves, in the recycled air, thousands of light years away from home, or just five minutes from the space hospital they'd been born in.
Not that any of this mattered to Sakura. After all, she was jogging, and everyone who knew anything about anything knew that jogging didn't have it's own heartbeat, it had it's own clomp like a partly drunk but very determined cart-horse. So here was Sakura, doing her worst drunk cart-horse impression (she was far too steady and moving too effortlessly to be a true drunk, determined animal) through space, trying to ignore the thoughts that might have been going through her mind, taking in the sights (such as they were), and attempting to determine if she would play a round of Keno tonight with the credit's she'd just found in a fit of nostalgia for Tsunade's own habits, back home.
Yes; dressed in her exercise shorts and a shirt that stated "Rock is Dead" with "long live paper and scissors" in smaller print beneath the obvious heading, Sakura was headed for success.
Or something like it.
What: Sakura is out jogging and it's the morning and -- that's that!
When: Some morning this week. FRIDAY see we can forward date this.
Where: The S. S. Thor, anywhere legal, she's an ambitious jogger?
Warnings: n/a
Notes: Shenanigans if you want them! Also prose or action bracket or *do this* or whatever it is that makes you smile guys I'm ~flexible~. Also the subject line and cut text are massively misleading 8|a
Footsteps had a heartbeat all their own. Even in the massive halls of the S.S. Thor, where there was never any space unoccupied by someone else, or filled with alien or even familiar sounds, footsteps still carried their own heartbeat.
They told a listener how fast you were moving, the length of your stride. You could guess at height and weight, you could listen for the steadiness, learn if there was any struggle. Every stumble was a skip, every pause a stop that told you something; maybe that the runner had reached a crowded intersection, or seen a familiar face, or had fallen down a staircase in a most unfortunate series of events. Maybe they had even found themselves, in the recycled air, thousands of light years away from home, or just five minutes from the space hospital they'd been born in.
Not that any of this mattered to Sakura. After all, she was jogging, and everyone who knew anything about anything knew that jogging didn't have it's own heartbeat, it had it's own clomp like a partly drunk but very determined cart-horse. So here was Sakura, doing her worst drunk cart-horse impression (she was far too steady and moving too effortlessly to be a true drunk, determined animal) through space, trying to ignore the thoughts that might have been going through her mind, taking in the sights (such as they were), and attempting to determine if she would play a round of Keno tonight with the credit's she'd just found in a fit of nostalgia for Tsunade's own habits, back home.
Yes; dressed in her exercise shorts and a shirt that stated "Rock is Dead" with "long live paper and scissors" in smaller print beneath the obvious heading, Sakura was headed for success.
Or something like it.