The sensation of water lapping at his ears woke Rokumaru from his stupor, the redhead grateful that he was still sensitive to the high-tide. His boots were soaked through which was the sensation he focused upon to wake himself up; not the sweat, the booze, the blood on his tongue from a split lip he quickly began to feel. With a sigh he pawed through the beach’s sand until he was able to sit up and collect his thoughts.
He groaned, memories of the previous day coming to mind. Looked around for a bottle he’d neglected to empty, but even the empties were absent. “Alright,” he muttered to himself as Roku wiped his crusty eyes with a sandy hand. “Day two. Easy.”
How long had it been since he’d gotten so into his cups? His wallet was going to hurt, he knew that much. Training thickened his blood and diluted the alcohol; he wasn’t out in the trenches clawing at those Clouds, so why should he sacrifice his hard-earned money like that? Just made the hangovers that more painful. Those old habits were hard to break and he’d given himself at least a week to transition, but it almost made doing things the same way so much harder. Nothing a day or two of rest couldn’t fix. Already he was finding it easier to pretend that things would be okay.
Without his mother to cover for him he wouldn’t have long before some nosy Jounin came along, suddenly caring about the freeloader in their midst. Who was he supposed to turn to now for support? His old academy mates either hated him or were feeding worms, and they all probably didn’t matter much in the village’s eyes yet anyway. Uzushio was just a name on a map, filled with strangers. What was he supposed to do now?
The obvious answer was practically stabbing him in the chest with the way his face twisted up at it. He’d coasted along for long enough, again. Time to pretend he still cared, again. The Kiri hitai-ate strapped to his right bicep felt heavy as an iron chain as Rokumaru hauled himself to unsteady feet, wandering off to find his way home.
He groaned, memories of the previous day coming to mind. Looked around for a bottle he’d neglected to empty, but even the empties were absent. “Alright,” he muttered to himself as Roku wiped his crusty eyes with a sandy hand. “Day two. Easy.”
How long had it been since he’d gotten so into his cups? His wallet was going to hurt, he knew that much. Training thickened his blood and diluted the alcohol; he wasn’t out in the trenches clawing at those Clouds, so why should he sacrifice his hard-earned money like that? Just made the hangovers that more painful. Those old habits were hard to break and he’d given himself at least a week to transition, but it almost made doing things the same way so much harder. Nothing a day or two of rest couldn’t fix. Already he was finding it easier to pretend that things would be okay.
Without his mother to cover for him he wouldn’t have long before some nosy Jounin came along, suddenly caring about the freeloader in their midst. Who was he supposed to turn to now for support? His old academy mates either hated him or were feeding worms, and they all probably didn’t matter much in the village’s eyes yet anyway. Uzushio was just a name on a map, filled with strangers. What was he supposed to do now?
The obvious answer was practically stabbing him in the chest with the way his face twisted up at it. He’d coasted along for long enough, again. Time to pretend he still cared, again. The Kiri hitai-ate strapped to his right bicep felt heavy as an iron chain as Rokumaru hauled himself to unsteady feet, wandering off to find his way home.
