Matsuri strides along, moving with the press of bodies of the crowded food court. She darts her eyes about, sweeping the crowd as she approaches great arc that heads generally back where she entered. She has no intention of heading back, just yet. She sees what she seeks: At the edge of the curve slumps the sorry looking wagon, bold black letters upon plain white signs declaring "World Famous Ichiban's".
She slides over to where the crowd is relatively thinner, and presses the button of her radio. The vendor fusses with a low table, placing a number of simple folding stools within easy reach before he climbs up, with heavy footsteps, entering his wheeled stall.
"Team leader." She says.
"Go."
"Postition one. In position."
"Copy. Position 2. Status."
"What a bother." Drawls a male voice. She narrows her eyes slightly, recognising it as belonging to the Leaf nin she had seen on the roof. "Sigh. In position."
"Postition 3?"
"Ready." replied another male voice. Matsuri supposed it belonged to her Sand teammate. On impulse, hoping to catch a glimpse, she darts her eyes at where they were supposed to be. She recalls her orders, that she is not supposed to give them away with such wistful looks, and squeezes them shut instead. Just for a moment.
"Position one, begin operation."
Matsuri takes in a steadying breath, reminding herself of her cover story: she is only a nin, simply here to buy ramen.
"Copy." She said, struggling to keep her word even.
A mere genin, hunting down a truly dangerous jonin of unknown capacity and mysterious motivations. The kind of jonin she, and other Sand nin, have faced far too often of late. She remembers the terrible powers which nearly destroyed the village and Kazekage both, and swallows down her fear before it blossoms into outrage.
There is no indication of what village he's from. What his techniques are, exactly. She thinks as she steps up to the wagon, arching her neck and making a show of eyeing the menu.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees a small figure, long golden hair tied up in a loose pony tail dressed in the long dirty brown tunic she recalls quite clearly.
He slouches upon a stool, fingers clutching a single chopstick as its mate suddenly flings up and slops a mess of noodles into the large white bowl set before him. She startles as he slaps his palm down upon the low table, pinning the errant stick in place. The curtain of unruly bangs covers his eyes, but Matsuri catches a bare glimpse of gold.
We know so little of him, maybe. Before she can complete that errant thought, he growls something low in his throat. The harsh sound cuts through the bustle of the crowd behind her. She tries and fails to work out the words.
Brows meeting, she blankly watches his clusy fingers fumble the sticks time and again. Minutes pass, and Matsuri finds she is unable to look away from the strange specticle. She recalls a neighbor's baby having similar difficulties, but never, ever, someone who looks to be over the age of 9 years.
With a rather loud snarl, he savagely stabs a thin piece meat with the end of one stick, and, with shaking hands, brings up the uneven edge to his lips. She finds herself facinated by the play of muscles in his jaw as he chews. Glistening, sallow skin hinting at too sharp cheek bones.
Doesn't he know how to use utensils? She thinks in amazement. If this is a sort of act, a play on being a foreigner as her team leader believes, she has to admit it is quite a convincing detail. She certainly would never have thought of performing such an indignity, especially not in public.
"Can I help you?" Matsuri tears her eyes away, startling at the vendor's intrusive voice.
"Uh.. Sure." She says, forcing the corners of her mouth upwards. "You're open? I thought you had an explosion today."
"Yeah. That. Uh." The vendor rubbed the back of his neck. "Stove's fixed now though. Good as new. What'll it be?"
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
No comments:
Post a Comment