lolanzuo

Navy Blue. It's the color of thin mattresses on bunk beds in the place we first met, with you, talking about the horrors of your hair, and why your name didn't match your face. Brown. It's the color of your skin, of your eyes, your dark eyes, the same eyes I looked into, thinking "oh my god, I just called the cops for someone." Black. It's the color of your clothes, the color of the hair we bleached together in a bathroom, one fun night in December. Pink. It's the color of your kurta, the soft fabric you graced us with when we made you the angriest I thought I'd ever see. Taupe. It's the color of the nails on the fingers that grasp the pe

It could never be said of Kyou Nagai that she did not enjoy walking. In normal circumstances, Kyou preferred it to any form of transportation you could have given her. On a particularly nice day, or any day, really, she despised the notion of shoes and would often be seen around Torogakure clad in bare feet—the only protection offered between her soles and, occasionally, the hot stone ground being a thin layer of fabric wrapped around the most sensitive areas of her foot for that purpose. And, to avoid splitting callouses on her feet that had built up from years upon years of willingly not wearing shoes around the village. Of course,

In the wake of reuniting one child with her distressed family, Kyou knew this ordeal was still far from over. With most civilians now having made their way to a vastly safer, not burning part of the village, what was left involved seeking out more lost or disoriented villagers. Innately, one may end up having to rummage through a burning building in order to find said civilians. Kyou, after what seemed like an eternity of nervous mental debate, opted for the safer option—rummaging through a building that was not on fire. Seeing as it was not a building in the fire and flames, she couldn’t necessarily demote this act to “ru

“Nagai! Give that back!” And, with three simple words, Kyou’s wet kimono and qualms about whether or not teamwork between the shinobi of Torogakure could really put out this fire were diminished. If this fire was going to go out, she wasn’t going to have a huge part of it. And, simply, she was fine with that. What was more important at this point, she realized, was being sure to salvage what could be salvaged from the fire and flames. In some cases, it included important clan artifacts. In others, much like this one, it included entire families. Kyou paused for a moment, trying to assess her own situation. Wet kimon

Initially, Kyou hadn't really wanted to leave the house. While festivals in the village were always a fun event, it was more the process of dressing herself up beyond a normal level that deterred her from wanting to partake in the festivities. But, as her mother and friends persuaded her, she donned the long sleeves and sunset-shade kimono and made her way amongst the merchant stalls decorating the streets at that time of night. Seeing the lanterns decorating the sky like stars and even letting one off herself was a subtle reassurance that she'd made the right decision in hassling through layers of fabric to enjoy the village tonight. Even