The Shattered Heart, Ch. 2
Shuffle. Cut. Deal three from under the top. Perfect riffle, palm the bottom: as you move the deck to the left hand, air twirl palmed card with Ram handsign for show and misdirection: catch between right hand's index and middle fingers, flashing the nonexistent crowd: slap to table facedown, substituting one of the three previously-dealt cards as left hand does another perfect riffle. False cut, false shuffle, deal the preserved top card to replace the leftmost in the reading, what does that make? Well, according to the grooves in the backs, this is... The Magician, The Hermit, Justice. Eh. You can take the Magician, but the other two don't really suit you. Then again, Itsumi could've changed the deck on you again: she does that sometimes.
As the saying goes, "trust, but verify" -
Yep. Magician, Hermit, Justice. What a crappy fortune. So, according to, uh, bullshit superstitions or whatever, your past was to be the power of creation, your present is to be stuck in this room for fucking
ever, and your future is that you're gonna get what you deserve. Kami, you hate this deck sometimes.
Kindling a chakra-spark between your fingers, you roll over in bed and start trying to get it to change colors like you did last week. Your mother doesn't approve of you "wasting Chakra playing around with trifles", but you know she's just worried for you: she's a tech hacker too after all. And what the hell else is there to do around here on a regular day? All the patterns are so damn
dull. All starched and pruned and massaged to within an inch of their lives. It's enough to make you wanna pace, wanna bite your fingernails, wanna rebraid every single inch of your lightning-white ponytail. You check the weights you've got braided into it: yep, still secure, and the
special explosive tag for assholes who think they can grab your hair like some kind of kindergarten kid is right where it belongs.
Welp. This is sure boring. You keep rolling, right out of your bunk bed: a casual Rat handsign and a flicker of Chakra lands your feet firmly on the floor, despite the fact your head definitely left the bed first.
Wandering over to your dishful of sinks, er, sinkful of dishes, you give it the stink-eye for a few seconds: then you turn away, and slip out the door and down the hallway. Best not to forget to put the deck back like you did that one time back in ninja school: you'd never hear the end of it.
You take the long way round, just for a change, not that that it's much less boring: yep, the sun is still hot, Sand is still sandy, and the Kakero compound is still about as dull as dust. Very pretty, you have to admit, and a pretty good try at decent variety, but come
on. There aren't even any pachinko machines!
- there is, however, a red-haired ninja with a drawn kunai trying to conceal himself behind one of the ornamental cacti. It's very deliberately designed to be useless as cover, but apparently he did not get the memo. You sigh.
"Kai!"
The early morning heat-haze abruptly dissipates: half-turning, you lazily put two spark-charged fingers to Hiro's throat as he comes in from behind with a kunai.
"Fuck, Fuutsu." He drops the kunai. "What gave me away?"
You roll your eyes. "Give me some credit. Even
you aren't dumb enough to try to hide behind a cactus half your size."
"Fair," he says. "But honestly, how else was I going to bring any excitement into your life?"
You hum a little under your breath, your fingers sliding down to poke him in the chest. The teasing smile mom coached you on slips into your face - then spreads into an outright grin. "Well, you could've stalked me, slipped into my room while I was away, set up an ambush..."
Hiro just stares at you like you've grown an extra head. "In the middle of the compound? In your
room?"
You click your tongue. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. See you around, hey?"
"Wait, Fuu -"
But you're already gone.
