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thinking things i shouldn't say
[it's only been a handful of days since the finalized date for their annual sports festival was announced and, frankly, shinobu's already sick of what her classroom's transformed into: a hive of activity. although she'd never go as far as intentionally spoiling anyone's fun, she can't count the numbers of times she's withdrawn from all the excitement and preemptive revelry, biting back her reservations in favor of fussing with her notes, or maybe poking at what sides she'd packed for her bento that morning. whenever one of her peers thinks to coax her into any ongoing classwide discussions, inquiring as to how confident she feels about her volleyball sets (fine) or the closing relay (awful), her most common response is to smile thinly, then carefully time a subject change.
funnily enough, her problem with the sports festival doesn't have anything to do with the actual event.
it's her bony wrists. her undefined biceps and her arms, which have always been more suited for steadily pouring tea out of a pot than lifting kettlebells. she's not an athlete; she gets too tired much too easily, even with spite fueling her past her limits. and even though, she's wise enough to know that there isn't a lot she can do about the physiology she's been born with, that doesn't make her feel better during practice, not as she sprints her fastest along eighty meters of running track.
shinobu's the third runner, which is essentially synonymous with being the slowest, but she tries to concentrate on nothing other than the sound of her rubber soles beating against the synthetic material, drumming in her ears. fast-approaching the next ring of the relay, she squeezes her eyes shut, as if it'll help force her through those last few strides. her chest is burning, and it feels like there's barely enough air to breathe, let alone yell someone's name out, so she hopes that inuzuka-san is ready and watching.
banking on that thought, her eyes flash open at the same time as she swings her arm out, baton outstretched toward what she expects to be a hand... but finds, instead, to be the open, slobbery mouth of some filthy mutt.]
Ah—
[thanks to what self-discipline she manages to dredge up in a split second, shinobu only gasps—as opposed to what would have been a yelp—and digs her heels into the dirt, yanking her hand back hard against her chest before her fingers can get caught in the thing's teeth. ignoring the sticky film of saliva coating her palm, she stares on with the same wariness someone might an uninvited bear at a campsite, and waits for her pulse to slow, the adrenaline to ease off. in the background, their teammates are calling out to them.]
...Inuzuka-san. I do believe it's against contest rules for a pet to participate in the relay.
[so, shouldn't he be keeping it leashed? better yet, muzzled. preferably somewhere far, far away.]
funnily enough, her problem with the sports festival doesn't have anything to do with the actual event.
it's her bony wrists. her undefined biceps and her arms, which have always been more suited for steadily pouring tea out of a pot than lifting kettlebells. she's not an athlete; she gets too tired much too easily, even with spite fueling her past her limits. and even though, she's wise enough to know that there isn't a lot she can do about the physiology she's been born with, that doesn't make her feel better during practice, not as she sprints her fastest along eighty meters of running track.
shinobu's the third runner, which is essentially synonymous with being the slowest, but she tries to concentrate on nothing other than the sound of her rubber soles beating against the synthetic material, drumming in her ears. fast-approaching the next ring of the relay, she squeezes her eyes shut, as if it'll help force her through those last few strides. her chest is burning, and it feels like there's barely enough air to breathe, let alone yell someone's name out, so she hopes that inuzuka-san is ready and watching.
banking on that thought, her eyes flash open at the same time as she swings her arm out, baton outstretched toward what she expects to be a hand... but finds, instead, to be the open, slobbery mouth of some filthy mutt.]
Ah—
[thanks to what self-discipline she manages to dredge up in a split second, shinobu only gasps—as opposed to what would have been a yelp—and digs her heels into the dirt, yanking her hand back hard against her chest before her fingers can get caught in the thing's teeth. ignoring the sticky film of saliva coating her palm, she stares on with the same wariness someone might an uninvited bear at a campsite, and waits for her pulse to slow, the adrenaline to ease off. in the background, their teammates are calling out to them.]
...Inuzuka-san. I do believe it's against contest rules for a pet to participate in the relay.
[so, shouldn't he be keeping it leashed? better yet, muzzled. preferably somewhere far, far away.]