Into The Night
It begins to rain as they stop to check their equipment.
At the moment, its light, only a smattering of drops pattering half-heartedly against the canvas of their bags. Droplets of water run together and form minute puddles in the dips and grooves of the weapon and provision laden bags, before the pools become too heavy, too full, and spill in rivulets down the sides to dampen the hard-packed earth into submission.
Sakura shades her eyes with one black gloved hand and looks up at the grey sky. She knows this kind of rain well. It's just settling in, building up, in a matter of hours, it'll be a torrential downpour, replenishing the hard baked summer earth.
Sighing, she pulls her bag to her and re-checks all her equipment.
Weapons – check. Food – check. Medic-kit – check. Canvas – check. Rope – check. Civilian clothing – check. Cooking utensils – check.
Everything is in its place and accounted for. She tightly closes her pack, putting it to one side. She checks her on-body equipment.
Armour – check. Mask – check. Hidden weapons (she lightly brushes each in turn, with strong, deft fingers) – check. Thigh-pouch – check. Tanto – check. Tonfa (loosely strapped to her back, within easy reach, her fingers linger over these, almost caressing them) – check.
She leans back against the tree. Physically, she's ready. She's had the training – years of that, since she was a child really – she's got the weapons, the poisons. She's practiced – for weeks before taking the mission, Tsunade-Shishou forced her to practice and practice hard, to train herself for the chance of such a mission.
But emotionally – she's still not quite ready. Or she likes to think she isn't. At twenty-one, Sakura has seen her fair share of death and mayhem, no more nor less than every other Kunoichi of her generation (though, perhaps a little more, considering who her teams mates were as Gennin and Chuunin) but she likes to think she's been able to keep a small part of her innocence intact.
This mission, she believes, will eradicate what little innocence she has left.
She looks to her team-mate, silently watches as he checks his own equipment, going through the same controlled, silent actions as she had. There is a certain grace to the unhurried, almost languid movements of his body. Sakura can't help but notice them. In fact, she had been noticing for a number of years.
Kakashi looks to her, eyebrow raised in question, as he finishes checking his equipment. The scant moonlight, visible only as the clouds thin, catches on his tightly-bound silver hair, turning it white as snow for a moment. He does not wear his hitai-ite on this mission – instead, it is replaced with a lighter eye-patch, something he can remove quickly if needs-be.
She shrugs and picks up her bag, strapping it to her hip. After a moment of silent contemplation, he follows suit and they both stand.
Sakura pulls a hood up and over her distinctive hair – it's braided tight against her scalp tonight, aiding in its concealment – there are to be no distinguishing marks, no village-identifications, nothing to mark them out as who they are or where they come from on this mission. The hood is scratchy – she's not used to wearing them – and snap-locks onto small hooks under her chin, holding it in place.
As she picks up her mask – a bear, to match her strength, with green swirls to match her eyes – Kakashi brushes his gloved fingers against her bare shoulder, silently asking if she's ready. She nods, a determined look crossing her features and then ties her mask in place.
For a moment, Kakashi looks at her, nothing showing in his eye, his features, but he nods in return and places his own mask – a dog, much like his own pack – over his face.
Sakura steals herself for her first assassination and the rain begins to fall harder, rivulets caressing the porcelain features of her mask, almost like tears.