Jun loves the rain. Loves how the earth feels so much more alive after a storm, loves the drizzle of the raindrops against the ground, and how the storm itself sweeps across nature.
But there are rainy days, and then there are rainy days.
During the latter, her eyebags seem heavier than usual, her limbs disconnected and joined in a strange fashion. Her frigid chakra pulses in response to the pattering rain, sending chills racing down her back and into her fingers.
Jun does what she can. She grabs pencil and paper, slinging a cheap 100 ryo convenience store bought umbrella over her shoulder as she steps out into the storm. Slipping on a jacket, she walks in time to the splatter of the rain and lets her feet carry her forward through the deserted streets.
Almost always, Jun ends up standing in front of the memorial stone. Its usual green sheen seems gray in the light of the overcast clouds. She traces her calloused finger over each name she can reach, and when she reaches the end, she repeats.
But because it isn't reverence that drives her here (It's guilt. Guilt that gnaws at her mind and threatens to drown her and smother her alive-); she sits down in front of the memorial, props up her umbrella, and draws.
As per usual, Kaia appears on the page first. Wide eyes framed with bouncy auburn curls and a smile with crooked teeth that stretches from ear to freckled ear.
(The graphite smears, and Jun stops to wipe away a tear.)
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-
She doesn't stop. The page turns, and Jun draws and draws as the rain keeps hammering down.
Kaia, Shiro, Aki, Agent 339, Agent 403, Agent 411, Masu, Agent 290-
Her hands cramp, and her joints ache and throb. But she has to do this she has to she has to she has
They deserve a tribute, an eternity in these pages. Each and every nameless root operative; six feet under and forgotten because of Danzo's lust of power.
Jun doesn't stop until the pencil snaps. By then, her trembling fingertips are gray from blending, and she ever so carefully wraps the journal in her jacket. Then Jun lets the umbrella fall, exposing her skin to the rain.
Often, Yasuhiro will find her hours later, shivering and soaked to the bone.
"You'll be sick," he chides every time, picking up the fallen umbrella and sits down next to Jun. He doesn't prod, doesn't ask why. And when the rain finally lulls to a stop, they sit together in silence and watch the sun peek out from behind the clouds.
Surprise! I'm not dead. Yet.
I've been working on Libertatum, honestly. I just keep ending up driving myself into corners I don't like, and scrapping the entire chapter. I think I'm working on the 7th or 8th draft or this point? I've lost count. Either way, please don't lose patience with me! Life's getting rough, but I promise I'll deliver soon! In the meantime I'll probably be pushing out little drabbles like these to keep you guys satisfied ;)