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Post by YukiTen on Feb 11, 2012 8:08:13 GMT -7
Amaya padded out of her room slowly, following the tall boy. She didn't take the time to wipe her face, didn't take the time to calm down, didn't take the time to even think about what just happened.
She didn't care to.
Stepping over the insane amount of money on the floor - which she would note is STILL there - she frowned slightly. Everyone's eyes were on her, Yuki's especially. All of them were staring at her like she'd done something strange or surprising. She frowned deeper.
Odd.
No one said anything as she passed them to waddle into the kitchen, as she opened the refrigerator, as she searched for a bottle of her favorite carbonated water, as she pulled it out after finding it, as she closed the fridge, as she twitched her ears and stared back defiantly. No one made so much as a twitch. Well, Rage wasn't exactly staring at her though. He appeared to be doing his own thing - maybe getting ready for something?
Not even Yuki made her sarcastic string of remarks.
Or Vell.
Or Kiba.
Or Awaji.
Or Scythe.
Amaya shook her head with mild confusion and gingerly walked passed them all again, bottle in tow.
Fuckin' weirdos. >>
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Post by Gracie-kun on Feb 11, 2012 14:32:57 GMT -7
[In terms of fruit, ya! I was thinking snacks. ;;] Vell's ears pricked as Rage and Amaya finally came out of the girl's room. His expression was still bored as ever, but it got the others' attention enough to look. Scythe and Awaji stared in bewilderment. Amaya was a mess. Tears streaked down her face, looking moist and sticky as it pooled from bloodshot eyes. She hadn't even tried to cover the fact that she'd been crying. Confused, Scythe turned to Rage where he was cleaning up after the breakfast that didn't really happen. The black haired teen shot Scythe a stern look; something along the lines of 'Leave Amaya-san alone, or I'll stop making meals. >(' "Naa, you guys have to hurry if you want to make it to Kakashi-san's in time for your mission," Scythe piped up, grinning. Vell quirked a brow at him before shrugging to himself. "I'd say I'm glad I'm not the only guy right now, but..." He left Kiba to figure that one out and left, Scythe shaking his head wearily. [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=if3EfCenTgI EARGASM]
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Post by YukiTen on Feb 11, 2012 14:47:05 GMT -7
"Na, Amaya-san, stay home. We'll tell Kakashi-tousan tht you're VERY sick," Yuki said, not bothering to hide her extremely obvious confusion. Her eyes were impossibly wide, widening just at the thought her best friend was crying. She swerved and teetered in her confusion, waddling out after Vell.
Kiba only followed. Confused as well.
Amaya blinked and watched them all leave, letting herself breathe a sigh of relief. She leaned up against the wall and closed her teary purple eyes, sliding down slowly to the floor.
So, she got an actual day off?
Good. Very good.
But now that she doesn't have anything to do, what can she do? There's cleaning, cooking, eating, bathing~ Oh, a bath sounds nice. She probably smells weird anyway. But after that, what's there to do? Clean, watch tv, nap, eat, cook. Hm. She could talk to Rage, maybe? She figured she needed to talk to him anyways.
About what happened in her room.
[Shit reply. >>]
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Post by Gracie-kun on Feb 11, 2012 15:07:40 GMT -7
"I need to stretch my legs," Scythe announced with a heavy sigh. He tousled Awaji's backwards-spiking brown hair. "Don't cause trouble." Then he ruffled the short, soft black hair on Rage's head, making the mute teen flinch. "Look after the house, ne? ^^"
Rage watched the brown haired man walk out of the apartment after Vell, Yuki, and Kiba.
Awaji, meanwhile, crossed his arms. "Oh, no. No. He is NOT leaving me here again," he decided with a squeak. And yet even in his stubbornness Awaji remembered to give Rage a quick hug goodbye. "I'll stay with Scythe-senpai, so don't worry," he called as he scurried to follow his eldest caretaker.
The door slammed shut. And Rage was painfully aware of the girl in the room with him. The girl who'd been bawling her eyes out earlier. Rage avoided Amaya nervously by grabbing a broom to sweep up Awaji's cake crumbs.
He was burning with curiosity. No, that wasn't the right word. Concern? Yes, that was better. Amaya had started crying without any given provocations, and it was eating at Rage. Because what if he'd made her cry?
Ridiculous. He'd done nothing to her before she started crying. But he had a bad feeling.... What if he really had made her upset? Rage supposed the best course of action was to avoid contact with her, so he wouldn't accidentally make her cry again. At least, for now.
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Post by YukiTen on Feb 13, 2012 12:02:04 GMT -7
Amaya very, very slowly pushed herself off the floor, getting up to her feet. She decided. A bath and then she would talk to Rage. Letting her typical cold breath, she headed off down the hall and turned into the bathroom.
The shower curtain was a calm lavender, hanging softly over the porcelain bath tub.
She let out another quiet breath and stepped over to the tub, shoving the curtain out of the way and lazily turning the silver knobs to hot. She loved hot water. Well, because her skin was so cold. She needed something to warm her up. But by the time she was all warm, her skin would be cherry red.
A sigh.
[Blah...my brain is like...DIE BITCH{
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Post by Gracie-kun on Feb 13, 2012 20:54:34 GMT -7
[You're brain's mean. D:]
Amaya slipped into the bathroom and Rage relaxed once the door clicked softly shut.
Why was he so tense around her? He'd never know. Well, actually he might if he owned up to himself instead of hiding like a child fearing rejection. Rage shoved these thoughts away along with the broom between the kitchen and the counter, storming off to find something else he could clean.
While he was vehemently trying not to allow a certain small, purple-haired child to come skipping into his thoughts, his brain made a more nostalgic alternative. Back a few years, when his life had finally found something to hold onto. Someone to hold onto....
A ten-year-old shouldn't be used to violence. Even young shinobi weren't exposed to death until far into their career, if it could be helped. There was a line of childhood innocence that just shouldn't be crossed no matter what a person believed.
Musohito - Rage - wasn't used to violence. The assassins taught it, preached it, breathed it, but Rage hadn't been able to desensitize himself to it quite yet. On the day he made his first kill, he wished that he was.
The shinobi didn't see him hiding in the brush dressed in white and red. He watched anxiously as three genin were trained by a jonin. The boys were standing to the side, blank-faced, empty-eyed. The blond one didn't even look at his last teammate. The brunette with wild hair gazed with an apathy that startled Rage. The female genin was attacking a tree for training while the jonin watched with folded arms.
Suddenly the girl collapsed out of exhaustion. The blond didn't stir. The brunette stared with empty horror. "You're not done. Get up," the jonin ordered.
She lay on her side and didn't move, as if already dead. Rage felt his insides twist with unease. Their jonin snarled and started towards her--
--only to have the brunette throw himself on the much-larger man. He grabbed his fisted hand and held as if his life depended on it.
"Naora-san, run!" he shouted.
The girl's gray eyes were wide, terror giving her expression life. Their blond teammate had already fled. "Kozue-chan...!"
"You little brat," the jonin barked as he took a fistful of that knotted brown hair.
Kozue didn't even sound like he was in pain. "Please! Just go! GO!" Naora looked frozen in uncertainty before she tore her eyes away and barreled into the trees to escape.
It was like the fire in Kozue's eyes was snuffed - or had there been fire at all? - as soon as the red haired girl was gone. The jonin threw him to the ground and set to work on him, and Kozue just took it. Hot tingles ran across Rage's skin and he felt the emotion that he'd been named after rising up in him. The dagger was in his hand. He just had to run in and do it. The jonin would never see it coming--
The hot water stopping also halted Rage's reverie like slamming the brakes on a car. He actually had to steady himself with the wall, blinking.
Wow. That'd been too intense.
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Post by YukiTen on Feb 13, 2012 21:23:00 GMT -7
[My brain's a BIG meanie v.v Amaya's personality differs greatly from her current personality. >>]
Amaya paused, her fingers drifting over the cool silver of the bathroom door handle.
It wasn't simply that. No. Never. Not at all. But the sheer loss of memory at where she had come from was unfortunately a surprise. She didn't know when she'd started thinking about this, maybe it was the steam of the sweet heat of the bath water, but she couldn't keep herself from it.
There was so much, she decided, that she'd forgotten over the expanse of time she was gone. She couldn't remember the day she left, or who she left behind. But...she wanted to.
'Oh, Amaya. Tsk, Tsk. A trip down memory lane, you request?'
She ignored him.
'You want to visualize the empty boy you deserted for your own selfish goal?'
She closed her solid purple eyes, ears twitching in her mess of hair.
'Do you want to see?'
And then it forced its way through to her conscious mind.
It was barely midday, the ever-brightening orange-yellow sun burning down on my nearly bare shoulders as I ran through the hot red sand, chasing after another kid my age. I couldn't resist the need to pant and breathe quickly, bolting after the kid. Trying to follow closely whomever it was that I was trailing behind to reach the safe zone [which was a small hill of reddish-brown sand], I felt two fingers jab into my sun-burned shoulder. I winced. That hurt... like hell. Whipping around to face the ass-hole of a tagger, I glared at him. Sandy brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Ass-hole smile. He was a few years older...and obviously an ass-hole. And I knew exactly who he was: Sabaku no Kankurou, eldest son of the ass-hole-ish Kazekage.
Hissing out of frustration [it's not like I actually want to be it, you know], growling and cursing under my breath, I spun sideways, scanning for an easy victim as that ass-hole laughed like an ass-hole and walked away. But, my attention was stolen from the idiots in the field of sand...By a flaming mess of bloody-red hair and pretty sea-foam eyes that seemed to score the skin beside my skinny black markings on my cheeks and arms. There was a kanji above his left eye, yet I can't tell what it is...
He sat quietly and alone in a swing hidden by the shade of an awning connected to an oddly shaped abode. His ashamed and angry stare at his black sandle-clad feet was slightly...I guess, unnerving. And very familiar. I've seen those reflective sea-foam eyes before; pained and completely alone. At the academy, I sit right next to this boy, but I don't really know his name. I just don't care enough to pay attention to my classmates' names. The worthless bastards...
I mean, I like keeping things to myself. I like having no friends. Well, no real friends. Life's just less dramatic that way. Sure, they all play with me. Invite me to a game of tag or soccer or kick-ball. Sure. I appreciate the excess attention. But I don't want it.
'You know that's not true.'
Even then... I don't like attention. At least, not from these hateful idiots... If they ever found out that I was a jinchuuriki, there would be rock-throwing and exhile and exclusion and supposed-to-be hurtful comments. More irritations. Those black markings on my cheeks {{like Naruto's whisker marks, only there's five and they're like diamonds--fat-ish in the middle and pointed on each end}} were the obvious clues to my being a container of a tailed beast. It amazes me how no one has found that out yet...
But as I turned to get a full view of him, seeing him sort of struck me. Hard. His sadness...Plus his being here baffled me. I knew about the hate everyone held towards him just because he was a jinchuuriki. I can't wrap my head around why he'd be here. Should I...?
'You should.'
Lifting my reddened arm, I waved away at the other children to continue without me, my gaze firmly fixated on this boy. Disappointed and disgusted mutters followed me as I stepped cautiously toward the boy that swung yards upon yards away. I knew what he could do, having seen and heard about it; I wasn't the least bit scared. I could do much worse than him... But I still had to be ready for a killer beat-down from a thick tendril of sand.
The chains of the swing quietly clinked together as he lightly pushed himself to move. I guess I must have cleared most of the distance because I was now three feet away from him. I padded closer, less tense, but he didn't even notice me. Quirking an eyebrow, I stopped maybe six-inches away. And, this time, he glanced up.
His expression... just...heart-breaking. He only stared back at me, with those beautifully broken eyes. I attempted to wonder if he really was as bad as they say.
He opened his mouth, and, in a horrifyingly depressed voice, he growled, "What do you want?"
I stood there, shaking my head slowly from side to side, a little caught off guard by that odd sound escaping his lips. Considering the way everyone acted when he was nearby, I couldn't just ask him why he used that tone.
"Keep staring and I'll kill you," he grumbled.
I'll just leave then. Threatening MY life after I decided to come over here and get to know him... No. So I turned, crossing my arms over my chest, readying myself to walk off.
"Wait..." So small and hurt... That voice just made me wanna cry. Damn. I already hate this kid.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I felt an expectant expression creeping across my face. Scrutinizing his eyebrow-less face in return, sighing exasperatedly, I pivoted my body untill I completely faced him. I dropped down to sit cross-legged, thinking about what it would be like to be him.
What would it be like to be him?
'Idiot. You're exactly like him; save for the dark purple hair, dark purple eyes, and black markings.'
I scowled inwardly.
"You..." the boy began flatly, hesitating, probably debating on a good way to kill me.
"I what?" I snapped impatiently, getting irritated by the slowness. Spit it out already! Tapping my fingers on my knee, drawing small circles in the cool sand around me, I gazed up at him, quirking my eyebrow as I waited for him to finish.
"You're name's Amaya, ne?" Oh, he knew? There's a first. His expression seemed to soften. I thought, nodding a reply to his question.
Leaning back on my hands, I glared back at the ones I left behind. They all glared at me with disgust and contempt, all standing in a line that spread across thefield. "Whatta bunch of pretentious jerks..." I hissed quietly, believing that noone could hear.
The truth is, I don't care about them. They hate and hurt this kid for no reason. Besides, I'm just fine without them all, probably better off too. They're all just so full of themselves... I've put up with them for too long.
"If you talk to me, all they're gonna do is hate you and throw rocks at you, too." That voice jerked me from the path of murderous intent. I glanced up at him with slightly widened eyes. That totally surprised me. Does he care?
"As if I care what they think anything. They're just a bunch of losers anyway," I replied, monotone. But, with a small smile, I leapt up to my feet, holding my right hand out to him. I've grown tired of the sadness and anger. And I've just decided something.
He didn't take my hand right away, as I had expected. Instead, he glancd from my tiny fingers to my face, confused as hell.
Funny, I think this one's different. Maybe he's just...misunderstood? Or maybe he's... I dunno. But he doesn't seem so bad, even with the knowledge I have of him. Although, his hesitance is starting to annoy me. "Go on. Take my hand."
Still he stared, utterly lost. But as he lifted his arm, reaching for my hand, I could see his nearly unnoticable tremble. Poor kid... His skin was cold, almost devoid of all warmth. Ooo, shocking. I blinked and yanked him up, my smile fading into a flat line. I just noticed something. He's taller than me and he's supposed to be the shortest kid at the academy. Not cool. Ugh...
"What?" he grumbled quietly, looking down at me with somewhat annoyed, black-rimmed eyes.
Realizing that my pool of irritated and/or envious thoughts were inevitably going to drown me, I stared back at him. That questioning stare of his was a little...unnerving. But I wasn't about to get freaked out over optical organs. "What's yourname"? I asked, deciding to annoy him further with something so trivial.
He glared at me, puzzled by my sudden question. Perhaps even more puzzled by how unbearably long it took for me to ask. His forehead creased before he blurted out his answer. "Sabaku no Gaara."
Of course! Why couldn't I think of it before? He was the youngest son of the Kazekage. What made me forget...? Oh well...
I sighed. "Well then, Dou itashimashite." Turning, I dragged him along, escaping from the harsh glares the other kids threw us. The field eventually spat us out into a very crowded street. Very crowded. That and it was extremely hot already. Body heat+sun=...heat stroke.
Little beads of sweat rolled down from my forehead, dripping onto my sunburnt shoulders. My skin ached from being out in the sun for too long. It hurt even more, what with the scorching glares from the crowd making way for us.
Ugh. I don't care.
"Friends?" I mumbled through the silence. Friends? Why'd I ask that? Watch something horrible happen...
"Sure," Gaara replied in my ear. His voice had a certain edge to it. Was it...uncertainty? Appreciation? Sarcasm?
'You over analyze everything. '
I guess the stupid demon's right. It could just be nothing. I suppose that maybe this friendship will be built on similarity, not on lies... Hmm.
'You think WAY too much, too.'
A slight roll of my eyes and someone decided that it would be a good idea to throw rocks.
Her small hand was gripping the knob with such a strong intensity that she may have crushed it, her heart skipping beats. It didn't miss just one beat; it skipped what seemed like twelve at a time, forcing her body into overdrive. Every muscle in her tiny body was overwrought with the strength and weight of this simple childish memory.
The door clicked open, swinging out listlessly and creaking, pushing its way out to the middle of the hall.
[All Pre-written >>]
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Post by Gracie-kun on Feb 13, 2012 21:52:35 GMT -7
And there she was. Amaya. Couldn't she have taken a longer shower? Rage turned away quickly and his orange eyes jumped about the living room and kitchen for something to clean. Unfortunately, in his montage of memories, he'd cleaned EVERYTHING. Nothing was out of place. Rage mutely cursed his thoroughness.
He wanted to ask her what had happened. But how could he? It was so personal and not his business in the least. Besides, she'd just had ten minutes of alone time - that didn't seem sufficient time for anyone to gather their thoughts.
Amaya probably didn't want to confide in him anyway. It was pretentious to think she did. Well, maybe he didn't KNOW that she would - perhaps it was just a hope?
If she told him her feelings about something it'd mean that they were close. And being close is...good. Right?
[It's total bull but to put up the rest of his memory right now seemed poorly-placed. -_-'']
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Post by YukiTen on Feb 14, 2012 12:52:28 GMT -7
She fell to her knees, her eyes impossibly wide. The breath was caught in her small, overworked lungs, burning and aching. Her heart beat as hard as it could, ramming against her ribcage as if it wanted to run away.
'Do you want to see your followers?'
Amaya stayed frozen.
'Do you want to see how they almost murdered you?'
She stared into the hard wood of the hallway floor, her purple eyes widening slightly.
'Do you want to see how you turned their bodies into ash?'
Her ears flattened and her heart raced, the blood in her body boiling. What did she do? Why were her followers after her? Why? How? What for? For who? Why?!
'Do you want to see how you were utterly defeated?'
"No!"
The sun had set, casting long, dark orange shadows across the flat, pillowed sky that had just begun to darken. Wind whistled through the thick green branches, twisting and batting at the already swirling leaves. Trees parted and made way for a winding dirt path, overhanging to give shade. Orange rays still shone through, lighting the way.
Twigs and shriveled leaves snapped and crunched underfoot as she ran, each stride quickening. Her destination was nowhere in sight, but still she bolted forward. She had been on the run for three months now, traversing from village to village in search of a safe place to hide. Sweat trickled down her forehead, sliding down to soak her dark purple scarf.
There were four trailing behind, their chakra signatures slowly diminishing until they were gone. Had they stopped following?
The breath in her lungs was strangling her, burning her insides. After being cooped up in a room no bigger than the size of a small apartment, surrounded by thick scrolls, for a good four years, one would find it hard to be fit. She let out a harsh cough, tiny knives seeming to drag down her throat. Her hands fluttered up, an attempt to soothe.
She forced herself to stop moving, collapsing into the tree she just now stood by. The protruding brown bark, now adorned with the dark orange light of the sinking sun, dug into her back. Having taught herself never to feel exterior pain, she couldn't feel it. Nor would she care to.
Breaths came easier, nowhere near as painful and difficult as before. She pushed herself away from the tree, the bark leaving oddly shaped indents in her clothed skin. Standing up straight, she took in a shaky breath. Then it hit her.
Four chakra signatures. Four bodies. Four men ready to brutally murder her. They wore such ugly uniforms... A purple rope tied around the waist; horrible light grey, unbuttoned shirts; black fingerless gloves; black pants and shoes.
"Hello, Amaya," one slimy voice stated slyly.
'Shit.'
Dimming sunlight revealed their disgusting faces; twisted and scarred, painted and rebuilt. These men were once under her command. They were once her followers. How... noble of her ex-sensei, ex-subordinate, ex-friend to send them after her.
"Hello, Tatsuke," Amaya wheezed, releasing her own throat. Jaw set, expression blank, she knew that no matter what she did, she wouldn't get out alive. She had little to no chakra left.
'There's always me, kid. I'm your trump card. Let me out and I'll take care of them for you,' a slick voice echoed from the inner recesses of Amaya. 'Listen to me and I'll save you.'
Liar. Houkou was such a sucky liar.
Only one heartbeat could be heard. The surrounding men were merely toys, heartless puppets of Orochimaru. Amaya's lips curled back in disgust, glaring down the supposed Tatsuke, who seemed to be a Kimimaro wanna-be. The only difference being the lack of make-up and longer hair.
Orochimaru had been her teacher, her friend, her subordinate. He had taught her most of what she knew and doted on her like she was his favorite. But the bastard was also a murderer and... an evil cow. The man switched from body to body in hopes of living forever. It was sickening. At one moment in time, a year ago, he wanted to use Amaya as his 'vessel'. Yet, he didn't because of the repercussions. There were certain things he would never be prepared to deal with. So he backed off of that idea and began his search for a more... fitting 'vessel'. And about three months ago, Amaya wanted to leave and start her own search. But of something much more normal, like a real friend or maybe even her sister and brother. Orochimaru didn't like that at all.
Weight shifted and the next thing she knew, they were circling her. Vengeful smirks tattooed their ugly faces.
'Play it cool.'
A slow sigh, her eyelids slowly sagged shut over her intense purple irises. Dust and dirt rumbled quietly under her once favored followers' feet as they moved in a sluggish circle around her person. She stood perfectly still, listening to their movements. Soft, quick swishes.
Something warm and wet began to trickle from a fresh cut on her cheek, dripping down like molasses. Same could be said for the other cheek. As for her arms and legs. A gash on her exposed stomach, in particular, gushed the hot liquid coursing through her veins.
More swishes. "I thought you'd put up a fight, Ami. I thought you'd wanna kill us." More gashes and cuts. "Turns out I was wrong," Tatsuke pointed out, disappointed. But he followed that up with a murderous cackle.
Tatsuke was her favorite little desciple, for lack of a better term. The wanna-be always sided with her whenever she and Orochimaru argued over certain matters. But ever since she left, he's betrayed the loyalty he had for her and volunteered to hunt her down.
'If all he's going to do is mock me and give me scratches, he won't get very far,' Amaya mumbled inwardly, her fingers giving the slightest twitch at the thought.
She was... usually a bloodlusting, murderous person. But during her confinement, she had forced herself into a stoic shell of her former self, afraid of the harm she could inflict unto the one person that she might possibly feel something for. However, that one boy was never going to forgive her for leaving, never going to let her be anywhere near him because she left...
It's been four-and-a-half years since Amaya deserted her home village, Sunagakure. Before she had left, she befriended a boy, a boy similar to her. Friendless, emotionless, lonely, tired, quiet, sad, angry, violent. A boy just like her. Yet, she kept herself different from him. Instead of murdering, she would analyze other people and decide whether or not they were worth her time.
Moving along...
She met this boy in a field of that unmistakable light brown sand. The time was around noon, judging from the position of the sun. Academy students flocked together to play stupid games like kick-ball or soccar, sometimes tag. None of these people she found particularly interesting. They were all so... bland and hateful.
She could notice and note how the other kids would exclude this boy she had soon befriended. Let's just say it wasn't her cup of tea. Stoic as always, she quietly made her way over to him, ridden with sarcasm and irritation. Emotions hadn't mattered to her at the time, so she didn't keep them on a leash.
Red hair, sea-foam eyes, no eyebrows. Amaya had to admit that the boy looked funny, but in a cute way. Kinda like a chipmunk.
This boy was horribly misunderstood and treated badly. She could sympathize since her sister would always attempt to murder her, since the wolf demon Houkou was sealed inside her, since she looked like she never slept either. A few steps toward him and the glaring contest began.
The walk down memory lane had been interrupted.
A brutal strike to her abdomen. She found herself in the air, suspended by a hand soaked in the blood seeping from the long wound just below her belly-button, facing the ground. And for the first time in a long time, she sensed a certain tingle. A pain that she was never supposed to feel again.
Years ago, as been explained before, she taught herself to never feel exterior pain. It would only get in the way, slow her down. She hated pain. Absolutely despised it. Not because it hurt, but because she didn't want to know how it felt to die. She wanted death to be painless. Now those foreign pangs of agony were going to slowly return.
Now... she was scared. And her second to last resort was her only option.
"No!" Amaya shrieked, blowing her composure. Her bleeding arms bolting in front of her, fingers forming the necessary hand-signs for the one jutsu that would make them go away.
A gust of cutting winds swirled around harshly, forcing deep slices to surface in the skin of her enemies. The leaf-and-twig littered ground rumbled around them all, slowly cracking and inching its way up the four men's legs. Essentially, the earth was going to be a thick weight, keeping the four cemented to the ground for the painful beating soon to come.
Amaya was sweating bullets, she was so horrified.
The air suddenly became cooler, freezing like the frost-bitten winds in winter. Icicles were forming, that much was apparent.
But before she could see it through to the end... everything went black and she was on a collision course with the crunchy leaves and twigs hiding the path.
She found herself flat against the wall, breathing extremely hard. Her heart was beating so fast her chest hurt. She cringed every time it beat, wanting desperately to just curl up and die.
Amaya wasn't good with memories. Especially the important ones. It wasn't really because they were important. It was because they were hard. They weren't ever kind memories, always parading around in her mind and crushing what attachments she had to sanity. Which...she had next to none now.
Between the memory flashes and the Gobi's taunting and her feelings for Rage, she just didn't know how she could hold on anymore.
[Also, Pre-written. >>]
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Post by Gracie-kun on Feb 16, 2012 14:45:31 GMT -7
Rage heard a small thump that made him stop trying to look for excuses not to be around Amaya. When he turned, the girl was against the wall, fighting for every breath. It looked like she was having some kind of attack.
Great - what did he do to her NOW?
Nothing. None of it was his fault. He needed to quit assuming that right off the bat.
The black haired teen rushed over to Amaya, hands painfully idle, not really sure what she was in such dire need of. Did she need food? Water? Was she going to pass out? A certain kind of shot? Maybe an allergic reaction to something? He had no clue, but the longer he stood there being useless the more it made him panic.
He looked down at Amaya, franticness lighting his orange eyes.
[Crap. Post. I just suck at writing lately.]
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