”Five days, seventeen hours, fifty-two minutes, and thirty-nine seconds…Five days, seventeen hours, fifty-two minutes, and forty seconds…forty-one seconds…forty-two seconds…forty-three…forty-four...”
The passage of time seems so inconsequential, right up to the moment that it is absolutely imperative that it move much, much, faster. Yatamaru didn't like to throw words like 'insanity' around lightly (probably because kettles know they're just as black as pots), but he was absolutely sure that if time didn't start moving any faster he'd actually start to lose his mind. This feeling...the clarity...Mother Suna, I can't take this anymore! He began to fidget — tapping his foot and drumming his fingers seemed just distracting enough to get him through these last few minutes of work.
”Aaaaaaaand, that’s it! I’m done! Out of here! Goodbye, sayonara, and see you later!~” Though his forte was field work, for the last week he’d been stuck doing clerical tasks in the Obsidian Palace. Filling out dossier reports. Notarizing mission requests. Staying out of trouble. Ever since he’d been called in to speak with the Occult Sennin, Senju Kazuki, he’d noticed a very sharp decrease in the amount of “fun” and “interesting” ANBU work assigned to him; while it wasn’t clear that Kazuki had any direct ties to the ANBU — any attempts to link the two, officially or unofficially, were met with sharp opposition and denial — it was clear that he had enough leverage, clout, or reputation to throw around in order to get what he wanted.
Right now, it seemed Kazuki wanted to make sure the crown prince of getting plastered remained utterly sober —a state he had not found himself in for a long, long, time — for as long as possible. Yatamaru, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the village for the weekend. Out in Soon’s Haven, Kazuki would never know how much alcohol his wooden warrior put away.
I can picture it now...a bar stool with my name on it...a full jug of sake...and no one to bother me about being on duty! Barely a week, and he was breaking already. Somehow, he didn’t see anything wrong with skipping town for the weekend so that his pseudo-boss wouldn’t catch him drunker than a skunk. To Yatamaru, it all seemed perfectly necessary.
Getting into Soon’s Haven was no problem. A passport from Sunagakure (and a properly placed bribe) was basically a fast-pass entrance. All the better to get me to a bar faster. As a professional in palliative potions, a tested toddy taster, and a connoisseur of all things cocktails, he knew every dive bar and tavern in this city like the back of his hand. His feet lead on before he even stopped to think where he would like to go.
”Oi, buddy, keep ‘em comin’!” It was the last thing he remembered from the first bar he’d been to. Before he knew it, as if someone had already pressed “fast-forward” on his life, he was stumbling out the back door, crouching and leaning against an alley wall. Hours had passed. Refuse and garbage, questionable smells, and no shortage of grime and dirt surrounded him. Between his forefinger and middle finger hung a half-spent cigarette that was probably the only thing keeping him from being completely blacked-out. He was used to it.
”Mmmmm,” he groaned, trying to straighten out the shifting thoughts that bounced around in his head, ”maybe I shoul’ get anoth’r drink?” Something, in the back of his mind, nagged him that this wasn’t a good idea. You’re going to get in trouble if Kazuki finds out. Anger flashed through his mind, along with spite, and he stamped those feelings down and aside. He didn’t want to be thinking about this now.
Yatamaru was about to move on towards his next destination — a cozy little tavern where the drinks were cheap, the pours heavy, and the women busty — when a sound deeper into the alley startled him. Something, or someone, was moving back there. His eyes swept over the piles of garbage looking for whoever, or whatever, had caused the disturbance. ”Hey,” he called out, ”come on out! I hear you squirming back there...”
The passage of time seems so inconsequential, right up to the moment that it is absolutely imperative that it move much, much, faster. Yatamaru didn't like to throw words like 'insanity' around lightly (probably because kettles know they're just as black as pots), but he was absolutely sure that if time didn't start moving any faster he'd actually start to lose his mind. This feeling...the clarity...Mother Suna, I can't take this anymore! He began to fidget — tapping his foot and drumming his fingers seemed just distracting enough to get him through these last few minutes of work.
”Aaaaaaaand, that’s it! I’m done! Out of here! Goodbye, sayonara, and see you later!~” Though his forte was field work, for the last week he’d been stuck doing clerical tasks in the Obsidian Palace. Filling out dossier reports. Notarizing mission requests. Staying out of trouble. Ever since he’d been called in to speak with the Occult Sennin, Senju Kazuki, he’d noticed a very sharp decrease in the amount of “fun” and “interesting” ANBU work assigned to him; while it wasn’t clear that Kazuki had any direct ties to the ANBU — any attempts to link the two, officially or unofficially, were met with sharp opposition and denial — it was clear that he had enough leverage, clout, or reputation to throw around in order to get what he wanted.
Right now, it seemed Kazuki wanted to make sure the crown prince of getting plastered remained utterly sober —a state he had not found himself in for a long, long, time — for as long as possible. Yatamaru, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the village for the weekend. Out in Soon’s Haven, Kazuki would never know how much alcohol his wooden warrior put away.
I can picture it now...a bar stool with my name on it...a full jug of sake...and no one to bother me about being on duty! Barely a week, and he was breaking already. Somehow, he didn’t see anything wrong with skipping town for the weekend so that his pseudo-boss wouldn’t catch him drunker than a skunk. To Yatamaru, it all seemed perfectly necessary.
Getting into Soon’s Haven was no problem. A passport from Sunagakure (and a properly placed bribe) was basically a fast-pass entrance. All the better to get me to a bar faster. As a professional in palliative potions, a tested toddy taster, and a connoisseur of all things cocktails, he knew every dive bar and tavern in this city like the back of his hand. His feet lead on before he even stopped to think where he would like to go.
”Oi, buddy, keep ‘em comin’!” It was the last thing he remembered from the first bar he’d been to. Before he knew it, as if someone had already pressed “fast-forward” on his life, he was stumbling out the back door, crouching and leaning against an alley wall. Hours had passed. Refuse and garbage, questionable smells, and no shortage of grime and dirt surrounded him. Between his forefinger and middle finger hung a half-spent cigarette that was probably the only thing keeping him from being completely blacked-out. He was used to it.
”Mmmmm,” he groaned, trying to straighten out the shifting thoughts that bounced around in his head, ”maybe I shoul’ get anoth’r drink?” Something, in the back of his mind, nagged him that this wasn’t a good idea. You’re going to get in trouble if Kazuki finds out. Anger flashed through his mind, along with spite, and he stamped those feelings down and aside. He didn’t want to be thinking about this now.
Yatamaru was about to move on towards his next destination — a cozy little tavern where the drinks were cheap, the pours heavy, and the women busty — when a sound deeper into the alley startled him. Something, or someone, was moving back there. His eyes swept over the piles of garbage looking for whoever, or whatever, had caused the disturbance. ”Hey,” he called out, ”come on out! I hear you squirming back there...”
