BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
"Uuuuhhhhh…" moaned a brain dead girl, barely able to lift her head from her pillow.
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!" snapped Hannah. It was too early for this. Too early to develop a migraine upon waking. If the racket didn't stop soon, someone was gonna die. Probably the noise maker.
"I want those robes back!" shouted the familiar voice of the gay boy.
Hannah was surprised he was still there. Glancing at her alarm clock, it read noon. Perhaps he had gone home and come back. Perhaps he had a death wish too. Where did she keep her cheese grater in the kitchen again?
"Come back later, baka!" she yelled at the door.
Hannah leisurely ate breakfast as Kankuro's voice sputtered and died akin to a candle flame exposed to wind. Next, she took a shower, but forgot flushing the toilet made the water insanely cold or blazing hot.
After that Hannah discovered her white clothes were paler from the bleach and shrunk. Dressing in a dark outfit, the American snatched the Kage robes from the hanger and flung the door open, prepared to fling the troublesome thing at Kankuro.
She blinked. There was no one there.
Hannah stuck her head out the door, glancing up, down, and to the sides. Shaking her head and muttering about "someone out to get her", the American made her way up to Kazekage tower. Because Yuri was sick- a rare occurrence- she had no work in the artistic department. Ralph and every other business person were preparing for the ball coming up in two months- the birth of Temari's babies.
As Hannah slipped past the throng of desperate females being held back by a guard of shinobi, Baki caught her. "Where are you going?" he demanded, scowling down his nose at her.
She produced his robes. "I came to return this. I found it."
Handing over the robes to Baki, Hannah realized she was an unknown to the jealous women glaring daggers at her back. A privileged female allowed past their constraints, closer to the target than them. A threat to their mission- win the Kazekage.
In her own opinion, Hannah thought being the wife of the Kazekage was stupid. The danger of being used as blackmail, guards tracing every step…it would be miserable- like living in a cage. The Kazekage was the equivalent to a prince in Hannah's standards. Princes became Kings. Kings were in constant danger of being assassinated with huge responsibility in the form of a gold crown on his head. Anyone who wanted to marry into that job should have their head examined.
Hannah received a rather rude jostling through the crowd. The women shoved her in all directions until she fell out of the harassing riot. The nineteen competitors and fangirls' screams peaked to an all new level and Hannah guessed the Kazekage had made an appearance.
She stood up, brushing herself off and curiously glanced in his direction. His aqua marine eyes were glued to his Kage robes, body stiff. He didn't acknowledge his admirers. Without warning, his head rose and their eyes met, as if he had been sensing her gaze. The effect was a bad nervous shock of timidity as the different shade eyes of envious females condescendingly gazed upon her dispassionately.
To say Hannah felt 'inferior' would be the under-exaggeration of the millennium.
Some of the females fingered kunai and other unpleasant sharp, pointy objects. The American swallowed and ran out of the Kazekage tower with the speed of an excited Lee or Guy. Hannah ran into someone who caught her as she rebound backwards.
An annoyed, insanely tall (why are the males so tall? Hannah wondered) man with hair pinned up in a spiky ponytail, scowl in place. "Troublesome woman, watch where you're going," he muttered.
Judging by his attire of forest green and navy blue uniform similar to the Sand ninjas', Hannah assumed he was a shinobi from another country. On his headband there was a swirl that ended in a triangle that angled back into the outer rim of the swirl.
"G-gomen," she apologized, taking an automatic step back with her head downcast. She waited for a blow- physical or verbal- but none came.
The foreign shinobi gave a drawn sigh. "So are you here for the contest?" he asked.
Hannah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. How embarrassing!
He smirked. "Isn't the Kazekage tower that way?"
The American scowled. "I'm not going to hound the Kazekage. He's busy and has enough problems at the moment. I'll just be patient." She couldn't believe the last sentence she had uttered. Why did she sound like a stalker or black widow?
"Hm," he responded boredly. "Which way is the hospital?"
"Are you Temari-san's husband?" she asked, gathering the courage to look up at his face. Unfortunately, the nin was too lazy to react or bother shifting his facial expression. Hannah wondered if his face was frozen that way…maybe what her mom had said was true…
The shinobi, whom she identified as Shikamaru, barely nodded his head. Hannah led him to the hospital in silence. Neither of them attempted to converse.
The American wandered Suna in tranquility, eyes seeing everything. She stood on a wall that barricaded the city from attack, gazing up at the cloudless cerulean sky.
I can see more with these eyes than you could hope to see in a thousand years.
Hannah remembered the icon- and the blank, hopeless, depthless eyes of the girl. A voice interrupted her solemn pondering of why the universe was so screwed up. "Citizens don't belong up here," one of the men on watch informed her.
"Oh. Gomen." She continued her drifting, seeing and not seeing where she was going. Therefore, it was some surprise to Hannah when she blinked and found herself striding through a back alley of the Slums where she lived.
Everyone knows back alleys are never a good thing.
Hannah didn't know why that was true. Maybe it was because a dozen diverse male silhouettes were surrounding her and closing in? Perhaps their crooked leering, catcalls, and whistles? Or possibly the fact every one of them resembled a moving trash pile?
Yeah. That wasn't suspicious. Or a good thing.
Hannah lowered herself into a defensive position, fists clenched, and head whipping around to check on each advancer. Whoever was making the first move would charge in first, the rest would follow.
The American wasn't a shinobi, but she did know a little Judo, karate, and street fighting.
"Look guys, why don't we discuss this over a cup of tea?" Hannah tried the English temptation of herbal tea. Apparently Japanese weren't all that into tea.
"How about in bed?" one whistled. The others laughed, a cacophony of barking noises.
A thin weed-like man with sallow skin, sunk in gleaming green eyes, and matted deep azure hair was the first to attack. He leapt forward and Hannah rewarded his bravery with a punch to the side of his jaw. The assailant crumpled in a filthy heap.
"'A woman is like a teabag- only in hot water do you realize how strong she is,'" Hannah quoted Nancy Reagan, lecturing groupo estupido.
A burly, albeit hairy, man grabbed Hannah from behind and hoisted her into the air, affectively preventing her from using her arms. The five- seven is a lucky number- left charged. It was like a classic Hollywood movie fight scene.
Hannah's legs pumped into four grotesque faces. The last one caught one of her legs and kissed her calf greedily. The American, blushing, gave a high harpie cry and kicked him repeatedly with her other foot.
Hannah screeched in her loudest voice, which was very loud because she didn't talk much, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING TO MY LEG, YOU FRIGGIN' PERVERTED DOOSHBAG?!"
Big-and-Hairy clamped a massive hand over her nose and mouth. Hannah licked his huge palm, dug her finger nails into his thick skin to no avail. The American began writhing like Sméagol with the elvish rope on his neck, glad she was flexible.
Apparently, the big man wasn't used to such wildly, flexible squirming prey because he had trouble keeping a hold on her. Finally, Hannah, thinking dog thoughts- basely pit bull- bit his large sausage finger.
Big-and-Hairy cursed and she tasted blood. Oh the bitter irony.
Hannah released his finger when he made it clear he was going to throw her.
Cool, foul air rushed past her body as it flew until her back collided with a collection of tin trash cans. The American groaned and shakily picked herself from the rubble. She eyed the Seven, wincing with each breath.
That fool had injured one of her ribs!
One was helping the sallow man she'd taken down first, another was staunching his bloody nose, and an angry Big-and-Hairy was fingering his…well, finger. Only three managed to escape her barrage of kicking with bruises. Only one was unbruised, the one who had kissed her calf.
These three were the ones approaching Hannah.
Feeling ill from the stench and in pain, the American had no energy left. All the adrenaline high had run out. Even Ralph's training techniques on fighting, her Judo, and karate didn't help without some energy.
Ralph said something about chakra…
Well, if chakra is energy, then I'm almost out, she thought grimly. Her vision swam and Hannah retched, choking on the acerbic bile. One of the men chuckled.
"Gettin' warn out, puss? I hope you're as feisty in bed as you are in battle," purred the middle one. His tone and pet names caused Hannah's sickness to recede into horror. She stared at him with utter revulsion.
Anger started roiling. Hannah was tired. Hannah was in pain. Americans don't do so well on that combination- especially when anger comes whisperin' devilish suggestions. Self control splintered and gave way.
She saw red mist. The three were close. Hannah leapt with a banshee shriek and viciously attacked the man with everything she had- fists, teeth, nails- anything to kill him.
A hand grasped her forearm roughly and in one motion, she was on him, screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs and tearing him apart like a rabid animal.
She whirled around to face the last guy, but he was making tracks. Hannah panted deeply, a trickle of crimson blood dribbling down her chin. She glared at the last man to disappear- the one who had smooched her calf. He treated her to a roguish smile and vanished in a puff of grey smoke.
Another group of men appeared, but they were ninja.
Hannah wearily repeated her defensive stance.
One of them held up their hands in a 'don't shoot' gesture and explained, "We heard you yelling. We're here to help."
Help?! HELP?! Where the hell were they while I was fending off seven males at once? Apparently 'help' pops up when it isn't needed and never shows up when needed.
'Screw help' was Hannah's motto. It was every man for himself. The American swore 'help' was simply a cruel joke to make people miserable.
Hannah gave a weary snort, coughing. When she moved her hand away from her mouth, blood ran through her fingers.
The leader took a step forward. "After we escort you to the hospital, the Kazekage requests a meeting."
Just what I need, she thought dryly. More 'help'.
Disclaimer: don't own Nancy Reagan's quote or Sméagol
baka- idiot, moron, stupid person
gomen- shorter version of sorry (gomen nasai is the polite verson)