I half-assed this one.
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Her calloused fingers dug into the soft, cool peel of the citrus fruit, and smirked wiseassly as the stinging, sour juice seeped into her slightly overgrown nails and dripped onto the white carpet of the hotel room. A sharp spray of the stuff flew into the air, casting a rainbow and causing her to lick her lips in anticipation of eating the treasured tangerine.
Heading over to the closed balcony of her room, she quickly shoved aside the screen door and stepped out onto the patio, relishing her fifth story view of the nearby beach and the wild array of tourists and natives sprawled on the hot sands. Her agile fingers laid hold of the fruit and ripped off a juicy segment, daintily slipping it into her mouth and letting out a little moan of happiness.
It was like sex, she relished, but without boys. Good stuff.
With a little shrug, she stood there and finished the tangerine, watching the peaceful, hurried life of the inhabitants of the coastal town. She was pleased to be there; Sunaga was less and less appealing every day, and besides, she was twenty-five now. Long ago, she had abandoned the ninja way of life and had decided to go into a more practical way.
Granted, she still practiced all her specialty moves, took her fan with her absolutely everywhere, and did all her push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups every day, but devoting herself to the nation that now was firmly beneath the palm of her most feared brother wasn't something she desired. He had enough good nin, each willing to go on that kamikaze, suicide mission and go out in a fiery blaze of screaming glory.
She was fine with simply being his secretary, slash part time war general. Like it's hard, she scoffed to herself, vaguely remembering that all she really did was tell them where to kill people. North and west, she had spat at them, shooing them away with a sharp glare and returning to Gaara's office to tell him that the job was taken care of.
"My family's like the damn mafia." she muttered aloud, not sure if she should be proud of the fact that her two brothers and the distant cousins, aunts, uncles, and godparents were all intimidating, rich, and feared. It was a nice thing, undeniably, to be looked at with eyes filled with respect and fear, but she half-joked to herself that it was just because people have a common phobia of being eaten alive.
Ah well. Temari reached into the refridgerator of her hotel room, which she personally had stocked with her favorite wines, fruits, and foods, and produced a bottle of vodka and a grin. Mixing the stuff with tomato juice, she began sifting through her things in search of something to wear to the beach. It was mid-afternoon and oh so pleasurable.
She had thought tonight she could go shopping, perhaps, since she hadn't done that in years. Maybe a new pair of boots, a dress. Some pencil skirts and a men's dress shirt for her office days at Gaara's headquarters. Some sexy new stockings- and ugh, there she was again, musing on uselessly about work.
That was why Temari laughed, very long, and very hard, when she breezed past a men's store some few hours later and saw Kankuro, Gaara's chief advisor and the one who whined most about work, trying on several pinstriped suits and seeing how they matched his new briefcase.