A/N: For this next set of kisses they will feature waka (11th century Japanese poetry that was the precursor to the haiku) from Liza Dalby's historical fiction novel, The Tale of Murasaki. Sending waka (accompanied by a gift such as a flower) is an archaic protocol of flattery, whether it is between two friends, lovers or heads of state. Waka also are metaphorical obscuring the real message between the lines of colorful imagery. The waka that Kakashi and Kurenai are sending one another ranges from the flirtatious to the callous. Just read and judge for yourself.
Disclaimer: I'm lucky I have the head to write this fic let alone a whole manga series…
Eleventh Kiss: Gardenia
Her mother was always ready with a reprieve when Kurenai slammed doors in the house, but in her apartment she not only slammed them she kicked them, hurled kunai and cat scratched them with her key. Storming into the bathroom she ran the tap scalding and poured a generous dollop of bubble bath from the glass decanter on the vanity. Stomping back into the kitchen Kurenai ripped the gold wrapping from the five-pound box of gourmet assorted chocolates her cell chipped in to get her for Valentine's Day accompanied by the quart of Cherry Garcia buried in ice in the back of her freezer.
And to think her worst mood in months was triggered by watching the Uchiha brat burn ever gift presented to him by his legion of fangirls in the incinerator behind the academy and Kakashi utter not so much as a thank you to the groupies that clung to his circle of friends when they offer theirs. The teacher and his prodigal son. Were they ever going to learn how to be human? At least the Uzumaki kid's day was brightened when Hinata gave him his sole Valentine, she could identify with him. Now how pathetic was that? She was hardly a glamour girl in her academy days, and the boys respected her for her strength, but never would consider her as a date for the ohana matsuri. Oh what a tragic star she was born under.
Emerging from her bedroom wrapped in a thin rose terry cloth robe Kurenai realized she forgot to bring a spoon. Rummaging through the silverware drawer, stainless steel clanking around she withdrew a soup spoon and banged it shut hearing the utensils clang reproachfully. Something in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she stopped half way out the door and saw on her open window sill over the sink a package swathed in navy blue silk with a white gardenia nestled within the knot. Flinging the spoon across the melmac table she pulled down the parcel and removed the flower before undoing the knot. A scroll was unveiled and she sneered, unimpressed but hoping that the laugh she was surely to receive might liven the dejection.
It has a reputation as a sour fruit, by anyone who sees this plum
would surely not pass it by.
Kurenai blinked several times before full cognizance seeped in. Did he honestly think he was being cute? Seating herself at her desk she pulled out a fresh blank scroll and her writing brushes.
TSUZUKU