![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intraspectiveKonoha was a warm contrast to the lack of power and heat in the dorms. That wasn’t why she was shivering though, trying not to, as her thoughts spiraled around her head, over and over. She had to stop shivering, chin up, back straight, hands shaking a bit though she had them clasped behind her back so that they weren’t right there for everyone to see. Had to look professional, had to... be a ninja. All over again.
Baby steps. First mission in a year and a half. She wanted to throw up, but Shikamaru was there, just to her left and while he wasn’t looking at her, she knew he was paying attention. He was always paying attention, covering the gaps in her knowledge, even as he sighed and acted like it was such a bother. She didn’t know, now, if it really was one or not—or if it was just something that he said. Chouji on her other side, Ino could feel his eyes on her but didn’t turn to check. Strength enough to cover for her, if she couldn’t—
Too much of her energy was on not trembling. She didn’t know if she was ready.
And she’d run out of time.
Time to see if she could get back her edge, remake herself, become closer to who she’d used to be. Asuma-sensei hadn’t said anything when he’d seen her, but Ino was sure, pretty sure anyway, that she hadn’t just imagined the approving glint in his eyes. Okay, good, see? She could do this.
The mission briefing flew by. Playing courier. Watch out for bandits. Get the documents to the client’s son, Himawari Raidou, then come back. Short-term C rank mission. It stung, a bit, to realize that they were going easy because of her. That, even now, it was her fault that the team was being held back.
Ino wanted to cry. Scream. Throw a fit. She did none of that. Instead she bowed, eyes bright and not with excitement, when the rest of them did as Hokage-sama dismissed them. She wasn’t going to act like a kid. No matter how much crying and screaming might make her feel better for the short term.
Long term, though, she knew that this was the best way. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—complain about the mission. Even while it was too easy for the rest of the team, playing mailman, no conflict with shinobi from other villages, just a C rank—deep down, so far down she’d never say it—Ino was so pathetically glad that she wasn’t being flung into the deep end to sink or swim. Baby steps. One foot after another.
They headed out exactly thirty minutes later, meeting at the North Gate. Her stomach was tied in knots, but she was as ready as she was going to get. Equipment inspected, forehead protector tied on firmly around her waist, and her hands had settled down to a fine tremor. If you didn’t notice her hands, she looked fine. Not cheerful, not exactly, but nothing to note.
Asuma-sensei considered it good enough not to comment on, beyond a light pat on her shoulder as he walked by. Chouji just smiled, and Shikamaru muttered something that was both insulting and encouraging. She found a scrap of temper enough to snap back at him and they bickered for a minute or two, almost like normal, before Asuma-sensei told them to move out.
It was like being dunked in cold water. Shivering, unpleasant, and then numbing. Her hands stopped trembling, her thoughts shut up and, though she didn’t know it, her eyes went cold. Her insecurities didn’t matter right now. Just the mission did. It felt, it felt...
Good.
Ino took refuge in that, hiding from herself and her doubts. She was her own worst enemy, right? So leave that part of her behind. Just the mission, just the mission.
They started slow and steady, an even pace, warming up muscles that were going to have to run for hours upon hours. As they went, they picked up speed—faster, and faster and it felt good to run like this, run because you were the fastest mode of transportation on land. She didn’t get to run like that back at Fandom. Not even when she trained. Not with her arms held low and extended behind her, like an arrow, flying over the ground.
And now they did it for hours at a time. Fire burning in her legs, but not too hot, she could stand it, and they weren’t using chakra yet. She never could explain to people at the school, what was and wasn’t different. They looked the same, but they weren’t. Faster and stronger, no matter that they physically looked no different. At Fandom, in that world, you weren’t supposed to be able to leap straight up ten feet, twelve feet, into a tree from the ground. You weren’t supposed to, but they did it and never even thought about it.
Stronger than she looked, they all were, but she was still the weakest. During breaks she took the longest to stretch out, being extra careful to make sure that her muscles didn’t tighten up—cramps were the last thing she needed, the final nail in the coffin of how good she was, Ino didn’t want that nail—and made sure to choke down the ration bar and water Chouji passed her. Had to eat, even when her stomach was in agreement with her mind and they were both decidedly Not Hungry.
She wanted to keep running—stupid, even they had to stop and recharge—running made her feel good, even while she had to work to keep up with them. Running was moving and Ino had never been good at sitting still. Then they were running again.
On and on, not stopping until it was after midnight for longer than a break, and when they made camp it was basic, so basic that it couldn’t even, wouldn’t even, be called camp back home. It was a bit cold, for the Fire Country, but it was nothing compared to Fandom and she fell asleep deeply, only to wake up in what felt like a blink of an eye to take her turn on watch. When they were all awake, and breakfast—another ration bar, no need for anything more on a mission like this—and she was taunting Shikamaru because he’d gotten a natto flavoured one, and he hated those (she had cinnamon, which wasn’t her favourite either, but was a far sight better than natto flavouring) and he was snapping back because he wasn’t a morning person, and Chouji was just laughing and egging them both on by turns while Asuma-sensei smoked a cigarette.
And it felt right. She felt good. She was tired—more tired than they were, no doubt—but her spirits were up. This was her home. Crumbly ration bars, grumpy teammates and all. None of that empathy stuff, none of the pointless things that she didn’t understand about Fandom, none of that mattered here. She crumpled up the noiseless wrapper—far superior to the wrappers granola bars had back at Fandom—stuffed it in one of her bags (no point leaving evidence of their presence) and once their little camp, little hardly there camp was dismantled, they headed out.
Just after ten they reached the canyon. Asuma-sensei gestured for them to shut up and stay that way as they entered it, sticking with their speed, not yet picking up, no point in wasting energy if there wasn’t anything there.
Fifteen minutes of that proved that there was, and they were being stalked from up above. Asuma-sensei silently ordered them, hand signals, to start using chakra to boost their speed was Ino’s first sign. Feeding a steady trickle of chakra to her legs, wrapping it around her muscles, around the tendons, she went from fast, to a lot faster all of a sudden. Her hair flying out behind her, the blonde a brilliant contrast and an easy target—she made a note to bring a bandana next time—and they ran.
Shouts echoed down from above, the increase of speed meaning being taken just as it was. It was then that she started noticing the tan hats doing a good job of physically camouflaging their appearance, and she cursed herself for not noticing—pay attention—before all her energy had to go towards moving faster, and faster, and trying not to get hit. Hours of it.
Rocks hurt, small ones flung with great force, while larger ones were dodged—leapt over, rolled past, and then up, up!—and that was nothing. Arrows too, less of them, and one scored a thin line along one arm. Ino didn’t make a sound other than a slight grunt of pain, one hand flaring with green chakra as she brought it up to deal with that right away, just in case there was poison. Take care of the medic first. She was their medic right now, and an injured medic helped no one.
A few more cuts, some from sharp rocks that bit into her skin, and some from the arrows that were harder to dodge than the rocks—quieter, and the loudest thing in her mind was the pounding of her own heart—but she did it, nothing beyond the cuts, and Ino was pleased to see that, even though it meant more work for her, that Shikamaru and Chouji weren’t faring too much better.
She’d have been envious of Asuma-sensei’s skill—he was untouched, and looked like he was barely trying to avoid the projectiles—but there was too much going on for her to do really work up much emotion other than ‘when would it stop’ and ‘seriously, weren’t they near the end of this stupid canyon yet?’.
Blood ran in a fine tracery down her arms, a bit on her face, and Ino was just glad to know that none of it was serious, nothing to mention about, nothing to talk about at Fandom. Just a bit of blood.
People were squeamish back there. A little blood for training and they freaked out. This wasn’t anything. It was as if they didn’t understand that, if she wanted to hurt herself, she had much better ways to go about it. Even with her weapons kept in a locker.
Right now though, she had weapons, kunai, shuriken, wire, cards, and it was only the fact that Asuma-sensei had ordered no counter attacking unless they got closer that stayed her hand. Her fingers itched. She wasn’t the only one, at least, Ino thought, leaping over a boulder, landing lightly, sandals hitting the rock with a muffled thump and moving on without pause.
Nearly flying over the ground by now, not nearly so fast as ANBU, or even Jounin and most Chuunin, but fast, faster than any civilian could hope to manage, and she’s grinning, a vicious sort of grin, from the pure adrenalin rush of it all. It is freedom and pain—her legs burn with strain, her lungs heave, but she can keep moving and will—and blood—thin lines of it streaking her arms and she can’t be bothered at the moment to try to heal them—underpinned with fear.
And yet, she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
The mixing twisting rush of emotions and underneath it all the wild, mad exaltation that she’s keeping up, isn’t something Fandom gives her. And that’s why it’ll never be home. This is, and she knew it, every beat of her heart, every footstep touching the ground for a bare half second at a time, her home.
Arrows are tapering off, the rocks too, and she can see, when she looks up the end of the canyon drawing near. Asuma-sensei puts on an extra burst of speed, and they have to follow it, matching it the best they can, her chakra a great deal lower than it had been, hours ago, but she does, keeping pace first with Shikamaru and then edging him out and she can’t tell if he’s letting her, or it’s because, as it used to be, she’s faster than him. Ino wanted to believe the latter, and tried not to think about the former.
Running, still, even once they’re out of the canyon, for another hour in case of pursuit before Asuma-sensei called a break, slowing them down carefully, not coming to an abrupt stop, sweat-drenched, and tired, she nonetheless stretched out, getting her breathing back under control. Ino was exhausted, but knew better to complain, it would only make her seem weak and that was easy enough to do without making it worse. Calling up chakra, more carefully this time, she dealt with her injuries first—all small stuff, but better to be seen to than left alone—before going first to Chouji, and then Shikamaru. Healing them. Her exhaustion is worth Chouji’s smile, and Shikamaru’s crooked half grin, the one he got rarely.
Asuma-sensei waved her off when she approached him, blue eyes determined enough to mask some of her weaknesses, but not nearly all. “I’m fine,” he said, eyes approving as she stood straight under his regard. “Take a breather. We’ve got a ways to go before we reach Aomori.”
She nodded, and did what he said. Six more hours of running before they were there, handing over the scroll to the client’s son—Asuma-sensei let her do it, and she knew that’s his way of saying ‘good job’, underneath the underneath—and she was almost dizzy with pleasure just from that. She can keep up. It’s hard, but hard wasn’t a bad thing. Easy was. Easy made her lazy.
They slept for six hours before heading out again. Her body protested vehemently at getting up, but she did so anyway, keeping up was what mattered. She could sleep when she got back to Fandom.
It was a good feeling, mission accomplished, and nothing bad to show for it. It had gone right, they were all alright. She was keeping up.
Mission accomplished, then, in more ways than one.
Baby steps. First mission in a year and a half. She wanted to throw up, but Shikamaru was there, just to her left and while he wasn’t looking at her, she knew he was paying attention. He was always paying attention, covering the gaps in her knowledge, even as he sighed and acted like it was such a bother. She didn’t know, now, if it really was one or not—or if it was just something that he said. Chouji on her other side, Ino could feel his eyes on her but didn’t turn to check. Strength enough to cover for her, if she couldn’t—
Too much of her energy was on not trembling. She didn’t know if she was ready.
And she’d run out of time.
Time to see if she could get back her edge, remake herself, become closer to who she’d used to be. Asuma-sensei hadn’t said anything when he’d seen her, but Ino was sure, pretty sure anyway, that she hadn’t just imagined the approving glint in his eyes. Okay, good, see? She could do this.
The mission briefing flew by. Playing courier. Watch out for bandits. Get the documents to the client’s son, Himawari Raidou, then come back. Short-term C rank mission. It stung, a bit, to realize that they were going easy because of her. That, even now, it was her fault that the team was being held back.
Ino wanted to cry. Scream. Throw a fit. She did none of that. Instead she bowed, eyes bright and not with excitement, when the rest of them did as Hokage-sama dismissed them. She wasn’t going to act like a kid. No matter how much crying and screaming might make her feel better for the short term.
Long term, though, she knew that this was the best way. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—complain about the mission. Even while it was too easy for the rest of the team, playing mailman, no conflict with shinobi from other villages, just a C rank—deep down, so far down she’d never say it—Ino was so pathetically glad that she wasn’t being flung into the deep end to sink or swim. Baby steps. One foot after another.
They headed out exactly thirty minutes later, meeting at the North Gate. Her stomach was tied in knots, but she was as ready as she was going to get. Equipment inspected, forehead protector tied on firmly around her waist, and her hands had settled down to a fine tremor. If you didn’t notice her hands, she looked fine. Not cheerful, not exactly, but nothing to note.
Asuma-sensei considered it good enough not to comment on, beyond a light pat on her shoulder as he walked by. Chouji just smiled, and Shikamaru muttered something that was both insulting and encouraging. She found a scrap of temper enough to snap back at him and they bickered for a minute or two, almost like normal, before Asuma-sensei told them to move out.
It was like being dunked in cold water. Shivering, unpleasant, and then numbing. Her hands stopped trembling, her thoughts shut up and, though she didn’t know it, her eyes went cold. Her insecurities didn’t matter right now. Just the mission did. It felt, it felt...
Good.
Ino took refuge in that, hiding from herself and her doubts. She was her own worst enemy, right? So leave that part of her behind. Just the mission, just the mission.
They started slow and steady, an even pace, warming up muscles that were going to have to run for hours upon hours. As they went, they picked up speed—faster, and faster and it felt good to run like this, run because you were the fastest mode of transportation on land. She didn’t get to run like that back at Fandom. Not even when she trained. Not with her arms held low and extended behind her, like an arrow, flying over the ground.
And now they did it for hours at a time. Fire burning in her legs, but not too hot, she could stand it, and they weren’t using chakra yet. She never could explain to people at the school, what was and wasn’t different. They looked the same, but they weren’t. Faster and stronger, no matter that they physically looked no different. At Fandom, in that world, you weren’t supposed to be able to leap straight up ten feet, twelve feet, into a tree from the ground. You weren’t supposed to, but they did it and never even thought about it.
Stronger than she looked, they all were, but she was still the weakest. During breaks she took the longest to stretch out, being extra careful to make sure that her muscles didn’t tighten up—cramps were the last thing she needed, the final nail in the coffin of how good she was, Ino didn’t want that nail—and made sure to choke down the ration bar and water Chouji passed her. Had to eat, even when her stomach was in agreement with her mind and they were both decidedly Not Hungry.
She wanted to keep running—stupid, even they had to stop and recharge—running made her feel good, even while she had to work to keep up with them. Running was moving and Ino had never been good at sitting still. Then they were running again.
On and on, not stopping until it was after midnight for longer than a break, and when they made camp it was basic, so basic that it couldn’t even, wouldn’t even, be called camp back home. It was a bit cold, for the Fire Country, but it was nothing compared to Fandom and she fell asleep deeply, only to wake up in what felt like a blink of an eye to take her turn on watch. When they were all awake, and breakfast—another ration bar, no need for anything more on a mission like this—and she was taunting Shikamaru because he’d gotten a natto flavoured one, and he hated those (she had cinnamon, which wasn’t her favourite either, but was a far sight better than natto flavouring) and he was snapping back because he wasn’t a morning person, and Chouji was just laughing and egging them both on by turns while Asuma-sensei smoked a cigarette.
And it felt right. She felt good. She was tired—more tired than they were, no doubt—but her spirits were up. This was her home. Crumbly ration bars, grumpy teammates and all. None of that empathy stuff, none of the pointless things that she didn’t understand about Fandom, none of that mattered here. She crumpled up the noiseless wrapper—far superior to the wrappers granola bars had back at Fandom—stuffed it in one of her bags (no point leaving evidence of their presence) and once their little camp, little hardly there camp was dismantled, they headed out.
Just after ten they reached the canyon. Asuma-sensei gestured for them to shut up and stay that way as they entered it, sticking with their speed, not yet picking up, no point in wasting energy if there wasn’t anything there.
Fifteen minutes of that proved that there was, and they were being stalked from up above. Asuma-sensei silently ordered them, hand signals, to start using chakra to boost their speed was Ino’s first sign. Feeding a steady trickle of chakra to her legs, wrapping it around her muscles, around the tendons, she went from fast, to a lot faster all of a sudden. Her hair flying out behind her, the blonde a brilliant contrast and an easy target—she made a note to bring a bandana next time—and they ran.
Shouts echoed down from above, the increase of speed meaning being taken just as it was. It was then that she started noticing the tan hats doing a good job of physically camouflaging their appearance, and she cursed herself for not noticing—pay attention—before all her energy had to go towards moving faster, and faster, and trying not to get hit. Hours of it.
Rocks hurt, small ones flung with great force, while larger ones were dodged—leapt over, rolled past, and then up, up!—and that was nothing. Arrows too, less of them, and one scored a thin line along one arm. Ino didn’t make a sound other than a slight grunt of pain, one hand flaring with green chakra as she brought it up to deal with that right away, just in case there was poison. Take care of the medic first. She was their medic right now, and an injured medic helped no one.
A few more cuts, some from sharp rocks that bit into her skin, and some from the arrows that were harder to dodge than the rocks—quieter, and the loudest thing in her mind was the pounding of her own heart—but she did it, nothing beyond the cuts, and Ino was pleased to see that, even though it meant more work for her, that Shikamaru and Chouji weren’t faring too much better.
She’d have been envious of Asuma-sensei’s skill—he was untouched, and looked like he was barely trying to avoid the projectiles—but there was too much going on for her to do really work up much emotion other than ‘when would it stop’ and ‘seriously, weren’t they near the end of this stupid canyon yet?’.
Blood ran in a fine tracery down her arms, a bit on her face, and Ino was just glad to know that none of it was serious, nothing to mention about, nothing to talk about at Fandom. Just a bit of blood.
People were squeamish back there. A little blood for training and they freaked out. This wasn’t anything. It was as if they didn’t understand that, if she wanted to hurt herself, she had much better ways to go about it. Even with her weapons kept in a locker.
Right now though, she had weapons, kunai, shuriken, wire, cards, and it was only the fact that Asuma-sensei had ordered no counter attacking unless they got closer that stayed her hand. Her fingers itched. She wasn’t the only one, at least, Ino thought, leaping over a boulder, landing lightly, sandals hitting the rock with a muffled thump and moving on without pause.
Nearly flying over the ground by now, not nearly so fast as ANBU, or even Jounin and most Chuunin, but fast, faster than any civilian could hope to manage, and she’s grinning, a vicious sort of grin, from the pure adrenalin rush of it all. It is freedom and pain—her legs burn with strain, her lungs heave, but she can keep moving and will—and blood—thin lines of it streaking her arms and she can’t be bothered at the moment to try to heal them—underpinned with fear.
And yet, she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
The mixing twisting rush of emotions and underneath it all the wild, mad exaltation that she’s keeping up, isn’t something Fandom gives her. And that’s why it’ll never be home. This is, and she knew it, every beat of her heart, every footstep touching the ground for a bare half second at a time, her home.
Arrows are tapering off, the rocks too, and she can see, when she looks up the end of the canyon drawing near. Asuma-sensei puts on an extra burst of speed, and they have to follow it, matching it the best they can, her chakra a great deal lower than it had been, hours ago, but she does, keeping pace first with Shikamaru and then edging him out and she can’t tell if he’s letting her, or it’s because, as it used to be, she’s faster than him. Ino wanted to believe the latter, and tried not to think about the former.
Running, still, even once they’re out of the canyon, for another hour in case of pursuit before Asuma-sensei called a break, slowing them down carefully, not coming to an abrupt stop, sweat-drenched, and tired, she nonetheless stretched out, getting her breathing back under control. Ino was exhausted, but knew better to complain, it would only make her seem weak and that was easy enough to do without making it worse. Calling up chakra, more carefully this time, she dealt with her injuries first—all small stuff, but better to be seen to than left alone—before going first to Chouji, and then Shikamaru. Healing them. Her exhaustion is worth Chouji’s smile, and Shikamaru’s crooked half grin, the one he got rarely.
Asuma-sensei waved her off when she approached him, blue eyes determined enough to mask some of her weaknesses, but not nearly all. “I’m fine,” he said, eyes approving as she stood straight under his regard. “Take a breather. We’ve got a ways to go before we reach Aomori.”
She nodded, and did what he said. Six more hours of running before they were there, handing over the scroll to the client’s son—Asuma-sensei let her do it, and she knew that’s his way of saying ‘good job’, underneath the underneath—and she was almost dizzy with pleasure just from that. She can keep up. It’s hard, but hard wasn’t a bad thing. Easy was. Easy made her lazy.
They slept for six hours before heading out again. Her body protested vehemently at getting up, but she did so anyway, keeping up was what mattered. She could sleep when she got back to Fandom.
It was a good feeling, mission accomplished, and nothing bad to show for it. It had gone right, they were all alright. She was keeping up.
Mission accomplished, then, in more ways than one.
