shikako’s guide to deliquency & milatary insurrection, shikako+mikoto, 28) things you said but not out loud

Shikako Nara’s Guide To Delinquency and Military Insurrection, 28) things you said but not out loud

The girl is from the future. The future of a different dimension, she is quick to clarify, before going into a somewhat rambling and convoluted explanation of paradoxes and time travel.

Kushina, for all that she graduated from the Academy dead last, seems to pick it up immediately nodding along and asking questions about fuinjutsu techniques and something called causal stability conditions and relativistic spacetime. Hizashi doesn’t understand anymore than Mikoto, thankfully, but he appears to be content to just accept it as fact.

“She isn’t ROOT,” he dismisses with an affable shrug–a statement they had already confirmed by seeing the pile of corpses the girl had left behind, “And she looks… familiar enough that I’m certain she is also telling the truth.”

Mikoto frowns, “Just because she’s telling the truth doesn’t mean we can automatically trust her. ROOT soldiers is one thing, killing Danzo is another.”

Hizashi raises an eyebrow at her, “We don’t exactly have the luxury to turn away allies, even if she might not be as skilled as she claims.”

Mikoto bites back a surly response, surely no one could be as skilled as the girl claims, settling instead for a suspicious stare. Precaution as much as indulging her paranoia–the stare from an Uchiha is equivalent to an unsheathed blade from anyone else.

But she ends up not needing it, at least for the following days they travel with the girl, headed toward Land of Rain. The girl–Shikabane, she introduces herself with a resigned sigh–tells them what she knows of the organization called Akatsuki the current ruling force of the Land of Rain and how they, too, had a grudge against Danzo. How they, at least in the dimension she came from, welcomed missing nin–especially those formerly from Konoha. How they were led by an Uzumaki.

But she cautions them about their awful deeds. Their worrying ambition. “They went after the jinchuuriki,” she says, mindfully not looking at any of them. Still, Mikoto and her teammates exchange glances, “But they can’t go out of order, so you should be safe for a while… and hopefully the common goal of killing Danzo will be enough to divert their attentions.

“And plus,” Shikabane continues, as if she weren’t giving back and forth warning and reassurances, “Danzo did more to cause war and suffering than any other single person in history so that, at least, is in line with their original dream.”

“Have you worked with them before?” Hizashi asks.

Shikabane hesitates, “Not… this particular iteration, no.”

Mikoto asks, “Have you fought against them?”

“Yes,” Shikabane answers without pause. “My teammate was the jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi,” she says, again, very deliberately not looking in Kushina’s direction. Just as well, a conflicted expression blooming on her face.

In contrast to Mikoto or Hizashi–jaded by the clan systems as they were–Kushina had always wanted family. But the only reason for the Kyuubi to be transferred between vessels would be if the previous jinchuuriki were unable to contain it…

Still, Kushina was never one for shying away from something and so rather than continuing the somewhat worrying description of their new possible allies, Shikabane dutifully answers questions about Kushina’s successor–her son, Naruto–with as sparse details as she can get away with.

But not sparse enough.

“Who is Sasuke?” Mikoto interrupts as Shikabane is in the middle of an anecdote about her genin team.

Shikabane blinks, “He’s… your son.”

Mikoto can’t help the grimace that invokes, the idea that she had capitulated to the clan elders’ demands in some other life. Another thought crosses her mind and, with trepidation, she asks, “He’s not–was he the Uchiha clan heir?”

Bemused, Shikabane shakes her head slowly, “… No. Sasuke was never clan heir.”

Good, Mikoto thinks, at least that other version of her hadn’t fallen so far. Much easier to think she might have found someone she actually wanted to be with rather than end up brood mare for Fugaku Uchiha.

~

A/N: WELL. This certainly jumped around in places. I don’t think I had a real concrete idea about what exactly I wanted the things Shikako doesn’t say out loud to be, so I kind of just sprinkled a lot of different options in there.

ironwill, firenation tetsuki/azula, 21) things you said when we were on top of the world

Iron Will, 21) things you said when we were on top of the world

“Green suits you,” Azula says from behind her, voice as diverting as ever. Tetsuki doesn’t tense up, though with anyone else she would–hating the idea of anyone else putting her in such a vulnerable position. With Azula physical location means nothing.

And plus, her houndsnake continues to lounge lazily across her shoulders: he would not be so relaxed with just anyone. She’s travelled with the Freedom Fighters for months and he still growls when they draw too near.

Tetsuki turns around to face her princess, “It suits you far less,” she responds, smile immediately curling on her mouth at the sight of the Fire Nation princess in overly traditional Earth Kingdom garb.

“Yes, well, needs must.” Azula sniffs, adjusting the headdress she took from the Kiyoshi warriors, “Terribly impractical, honestly, but it’s not as if I expected any better.”

“It seems effective enough,” Tetsuki nods, gesturing at their surroundings. If she had to be honest, she’d admit that she much preferred the throne room in Ba Sing Se than the Fire Lord’s–though she had only been there once. Something about the solidity of the stone, as if this palace were as old as the mountains itself.

Too bad the same could not be said of its monarchy.

“Was your ticket to entry as impractical as mine?” Azula asks, though surely she must already know.

“I wouldn’t say impractical so much as annoying.” Jet–and the Freedom Fighters through him–have been useful in many ways, especially in capturing Zuko without expending too much effort on her part, but managing his ego to guide him has been tedious.

She’ll be glad to be rid of the both of them.

“You’ve done adequately with the resources available,” Azula says and Tetsuki blinks at her, surprised. That… was a compliment, perhaps?

“You seems to be in a good mood,” she remarks, hesitantly, not wanting to spoil it but unable to ignore it. Tetsuki always wants Azula to be happy.

Fortunately, Azula’s satisfaction is not so easily soured, “Why wouldn’t I be? My idiot brother has been handled, the Dai Li is mine, this city is mine, and soon enough the Avatar will fall. Our victory is assured.”

“Our victory?” Tetsuki reflexively repeats, internally scolding herself. Azula is always careful with word choice, to question her is to doubt her.

Instead of answering her, Azula meets her eyes and reaches a hand out. Tetsuki can feel a twitch run down her arm, an attempt to reach back swiftly aborted. Tetsuki’s houndsnake sniffs at Azula’s hand, tongue flicking against her fingers in greeting. Those fingers can wield lightning, can form flames so hot they run blue; it seems neither Tetsuki nor her houndsnake are afraid.

Finally, Azula says, “I knew it would be a good match.”

~

A/N: Not quite on top of the world, but definitely “before things started going to shit”–for Azula, that is. Mostly, though, I’m not sure how much impact Tetsuki would have in the world. Like… maybe Ozai still loses, but surely Tetsuki wouldn’t let Azula fail as in canon?

Check out The Geek Show 2: BindleCon. Use promo code “FRIDAY” to get 25% off 4/20 tickets. Valid for tonight’s show only! 

54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance for the Nara twins?

Heart and Soul, 54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance

The transition happens too fast. One moment Shikamaru is dying, his heart destroyed, pain beyond imagining sparking along his neurons, blood clogging his throat in his death throes. The next, he wakes up, gasping, impossibly, his sister’s crying face the first thing he sees out of the void.

The next, her eyes go dark, expression flat. Her grief and relief erased, replaced by apathy.

Shikako dies instead of him, and Shikabane takes her place.

Shikabane plays the part, dutiful Konoha shinobi, dutiful Nara daughter, dutiful twin sister. It is a lie. Shikamaru knows this, but he still plays along because surely it’s better to have this fake than nothing at all?

But even in her new existence, the creature that was once his sister puts him first.

“You should say goodbye,” says Shikabane, tugging at his hand. His shadow hand, specifically. There’s some sensation in it, enough to tell there is contact, but not much in the way of detail. It can’t differentiate sensations: Shikamaru wouldn’t know if Shikabane’s hand is soft and warm like his sister’s would be, or if it’s as cold and hard as stone. As a demon’s lack of a heart.

“I,” Shikamaru hesitates. The face staring impassively back at him is still his sister’s. “I don’t think I can.”

It’s not as if Shikamaru wants to die. He very much enjoys living, thanks, he’s not that lazy.

He doesn’t want to die. He just doesn’t want his sister to hurt herself for him even more than he wants not to die.

But he cannot change the past.

He’s grateful to still be alive, he just wishes it hadn’t had such a high cost.

He’ll tell his sister thank you only when he manages to get her back.

Since you seem to like time travel and related tropes here’s a quote (that you could use as a prompt if you have the time) I found on an old drawing that I forgot the most of the context of: “You are not the man I love; and now you never will be.” I forget who is the time-traveler in that scenario; but good luck with your convention stuff!

A/N: Ooh, I do love time travel and sad things, anon, and this prompt is amazing… the problem is that my go-to gal for time travel and sad things, aka Leanne Peridot of Counterclockwise, is doomed to never be able to change anything so this wouldn’t work in that.

I do kind of have an idea to fill this prompt which I know is fairly bizarre and convoluted, but which I hope you enjoy anyway? Thank you for your patience!

(In)Difference Remix, Or: Kiyoshi Fixes Her Mistakes (and makes some new ones)

The Utsugi clan is small, barely worth the term “clan” all told. Their shinobi rarely rank higher than chuunin, never above special jounin, and they are more than satisfied with their niche role in the village.

Snipers.

No other bloodline or technique in Konoha is as talented at ultra long range assassination as the Utsugi clan, and for that they are regarded with mild distrust and disdain. For all that shinobi espouse hardening their hearts, cunning above valor, for the most part their warrior heritage runs strong.

There is no honor in the Utsugi clan’s abilities.

Honor does not get results.

That is what she needs now: more than honor, more than valor, more than the lingering, unbreakable ties of love, she needs results.

She needs to make things right.

///

Kiyoshi is not a fuinjutsu master–she knows the basics and just enough to tweak said basics–but one of her adorable genin is, with the chakra capacity to power even the most outlandish of seals.

“Sensei are you sure about this?” Kushina asks, even as she dutifully traces out the shapes onto the cave floor. Kiyoshi has sent Mikoto and Hizashi out to check the perimeter; with this team, that’s as close to a command for privacy as she can get, though given who is after them, it’s not entirely a throw away.

“Honestly?” Kiyoshi prompts, because for all that her students will always be adorable genin to her, they are adults now. Equals. She can be the confident jounin sensei or the honest fellow fugitive on the lam, but not both.

Kushina pauses, blinks her violet eyes up at her. For all that it’s her teammates with the doujutsu, Kiyoshi can feel that gaze pierce through her as sharp and thorough as one of her own arrows.

After a long pause, Kushina turns back to her work, answer received.

Kiyoshi, shamefully, is relieved.

///

The problem is Kakashi.

No, that’s not right. The problem is her.

The problem is that without her Kakashi wouldn’t exist–and he has to exist, he is so vital to success–but in order for her to restore the balance of the world, she can’t be involved.

As far as the story she knows is concerned, Kakashi doesn’t have a mother.

Or, no, that’s not right either. As far as the story she knows is concerned, Kakashi’s mother isn’t present.

That’s a very fine needle to thread, but she’s always had impeccable aim.

///

Sakumo is well protected, for all that he thinks he is the protector of his team. He is earnestly charming and charmingly earnest, but Atsumi and Hozue have always been more socially shrewd than him.

The first go around, Kiyoshi avoided him in a misguided and failed attempt to stay away from the thick of things.

This second go around, she seeks him out for one specific reason. It has nothing to do with love or affection–though that night, there is enough similarities to blur those lines–and everything to do with her using him.

The first go around, Atsumi and Hozue were amused by her. Fond and welcoming in their own way.

This second go around, they hate her guts. It certainly doesn’t help anything when, nine months later, she leaves her baby on the Hatake doorstep.

///

The man she loved, the man she married, eventually went on to become the Yondaime Hokage. The White Fang of Konoha who would guide the village through a world war and succumb to the poisonous whispers of hidden roots.

This man with the same name and the same face will never get that far. He is the scapegoat for the war, sacrificed on the altar of public perception, but no further. She will not allow it. She shouldn’t even be in the village now, she has far too much to do, but if there’s one thing she will allow herself it’s this:

The man she saves from himself is as much a copy of the man she loved as the gruesome corpse she left in the Hatake house. But there is something in his dull stare that belatedly flickers at the sight of her. Recognition, probably, but maybe something more.

///

They are not the same. They will never be the same. But that doesn’t mean that he won’t ever one day also hold a place in her heart.

~

A/N: … so… this is my Kakashi’s mom SIOC Kiyoshi Utsugi from (In)Difference who has already lived through a life in the Naruto world, witnessed the way her presence has made things terribad, then convinced Kushina, her student, to send her back in time so she can excise herself from the story. But she finds there’s a way to technically stick to canon without actually letting all those people die (basically, Kiyoshi builds her own secret society of canonically but not actually dead ninja)

I dunno. It’s convoluted. I think mostly I missed Kiyoshi and that almost cruelly knowing manipulation of the world around her.

Oh haha, just like me to immediately be pessimistic about the loaded comment thing. :) good to know it’s all good, you’re awesome! Also, I keep rereading the prompt fill and the scene with shikako recounting her adventures to sakako as a “bedtime stories of mommy’s epics-filled but ocassionally (mostly) disastrous fun times” time is so sweet and kicks just the right place in my heart to make me so happy. And sakako just loving and enjoying it and melting in her mom’s presence (1/2)

(Bc it’s so ocassional that she comes back in that wanderlust!au or somethting — btw this is so sad that it hurts me) is just the right temperature to bake my heart into delicious goodness. I’m not sure what I just wrote really lol, but I love the time sakako and shikako spends together. Sooooo sweet 💕💕(2/2)

Thanks, anon! I’m glad you like it! (Sakako cherishing the rare moments of Shikako time is one of the best and saddest parts of the Walking Around series)

Haha no, it was never my intention for my ask to sound loaded, and I’m not sure I understand why it would. I know the barebones of the naruto series, and that crow summons appeared at least once in the anime with Itachi in the scene? Either way, I don’t mean to upset anyone. Just saw the recent post of a crow over at the main blog for DoS and it reminded me of sakako’s abilities since it was so creepy with all the haunting eyes staring at the viewer. But yea, love the prompt fill! Thank you!

Oh no, not loaded as in conflicting but loaded as in… loaded with feels. Because the fanon (or is it actually canon?) is that Shisui Uchiha–who is a Discord favorite–had the crow summons and Aoba also (somehow?) was a crow summoner. Along with Itachi, of course, which is canon-ish.

The only upsetting is the good upsetting, no worries, anon!

And I’m glad you like both the picture and the fill 🙂

Sakako with crow summons feels like the perfect mix between shadows and her dad’s hawks!

A/N1: OMG, anon! I’ve been going through Sakako posts recently as well and I was thinking about doing something in that ‘verse so…

I’ve consulted the Holders of Fanon™ over at the Discord (ie Pepperdoken! and frolic/wafflelate) regarding the… lineage?… of crow summoners because your statement is very loaded and I’m not sure whether or not you know that… so… um… here are some feels which are only peripherally related to Sakako that I’ll attempt to disguise with drama/mystery?

Walking Around (Flying Together)

After the sixth time Sakako summons Hansha on a mission–in all fairness, five of those were legitimate emergencies–the hawk gives her and Dad an ultimatum:

“It was fine when she was still a chick, but now she flies.” Hansha says, wings lifting partially in an awkward imitation of a human shrug. As if she, too, disliked the situation but had no choice but to comply. “She must sign a contract with us or I can no longer fly with her.”

Sakako and Dad exchange a glance. She’s not entirely sure what expression is on her face, but it must be telling, because Dad responds to Hansha with a firm, “One week. I’ll talk to Garuda-sama personally, if need be, but give her one week to decide.”

Hansha bobs her head, another borrowed human gesture, before she leans forward. Sakako, obediently and somewhat sadly, does the same, bowing her head so that Hansha can  fondly preen through her hair even if it’ll mess up her braids.

It won’t be the last time, surely–even if Sakako doesn’t sign the hawk contract, surely Dad can summon Hansha to visit–but it feels so much like the end of something that Sakako can’t help but think she already misses this.

Sakako knows that when it comes to personal matters–emotions and goals and friendships–she’s fairly… slow. She likes taking her time to think things over, analyzing all of her options and pondering the differences. Surely such important life decisions deserve proper consideration?

Mum says it’s definitely her Nara side showing through–“though I’m sure Ino will say it skipped a generation with me”–while Dad says it’s something that the Uchiha clan could have used more of. Either way, it means that her parents are indulgent when she asks them questions about their own choice of summons.

Mum explains her logic: variety in combat abilities, clan tradition, the ever present drive to be stronger, a desperate need for someone she could trust unerringly.

Dad’s reasoning is shorter, but equally weighted: “Hawks eat snakes.”

Her parents are not the only one she asks.

“What about cats?” Itachi-oji suggests.

Sakako shrugs, mouth matching with a twist of uncertainty.

“The Uchiha clan had an alliance with the Neko-baa for generations.”

Sakako nods; she is the heiress, she should know her clan’s past.“I’ve been to Sora-ku,” she says, then considers the possibility. Denka and Hina are competent ninneko, they and their clowder would be reliable and trustworthy partners… but it’s not…

“It’s not what you want?” Itachi-oji asks. Sakako shakes her head.

Back to square one.

Understandably, the rest of the Uchiha clan ghosts aren’t keen on sharing space with the man who killed them.

Sakako has been helping them move on–a blend of her heiress and medium duties–and while some of them eagerly went on to the Pure Land without a second glance, others have elected to stay. Similar to Itachi-oji, but in separate areas of the compound.

Shisui-oji is one of them, but while he also avoids Itachi-oji’s ghost, he does so for an entirely different reason.

She’s been told that the Uchiha bloodline is prone to madness. Obsessive, possessive, consuming love that easily turns into insanity. But Sakako knows better–the most powerful Uchiha manifestation of love is not madness.

It’s guilt.

Mum’s career is long and storied. Literally. The amount of plays and movies inspired by some of her Mum’s adventures would be ridiculous if some of the more accurate and educational ones weren’t also occasionally shown at the Academy. Maybe that makes it even more ridiculous.

But there are some stories that aren’t shared with the public. Some that are just for her, Sakako falling asleep to the sound of Mum’s voice, quiet and somewhat scratchy and soothing despite the action of the tale.

There are a few that Mum holds back–with promises to tell her in the future when she’s older–but there’s one that doesn’t even get a mention.

In fact, the only reason that she knows it exists is because she stumbles on it by accident.

To Sakako, the majority of ghosts look like the living except for a slight translucence that wavers. When she was younger–before she could more clearly discern between them–it used to get her in trouble. She would look at a ghost or move around one and garner attention for her strange behavior. Thankfully she’d never been caught talking to one, but that has more to do with her reticent personality than luck.

The majority of ghosts.

There’s one in particular that looks different.

He glows, which is the biggest difference, a light so bright that she can’t actually make out his features. Just a vague, general shape. The only reason she knows it’s a ghost is because she’s the only one who can see him during the sporadic visits. He only shows up when Mum is around and given her traveling lifestyle, Sakako’s not sure how frequent he checks in with her.

Sakako can’t hear him, if he even is trying or capable of speaking, but she’s pretty sure he waved at her one time.

According to Kisuke-san, his name Aoba Yamashiro and he’s the First. The first what, he won’t elaborate, but the name alone is enough for her to work with.

He died before Sakako’s time, but he is far from forgotten. And besides, death is hardly an obstacle for her.

There’s a lot about the Uchiha which Sakako isn’t proud of–these are the histories which she learns nonetheless, because to forget them puts her fledgling clan in danger and already she will not stand for that–but there are others which are valuable. Tales that, like her Mum’s stories, are an important part of her heritage.

She will not sign a contract with the hawks or the deer, but her parents’ reasons applicable in their own way.

A balance of clan tradition and personal necessity. Flight and shadows, sharp eyes and sharper minds. Someone that she can trust.

Crow summoners may not have had the kindest of fates, but Sakako knows that fate is something that can be changed.

~

A/N2: I’m not terribly keen on the ending… but hopefully it’s still a fun read? Also, for all my pestering of the Holders of Fanon™ I only barely mentioned Shisui?! Ugh, I’m awful… a disgrace to the discord.

13 days until the show!

Just wanted to say how much I loved seeing Sweeper’s second bit! I also loved the power-play Sister’s got going on, there. Can’t ask for help without reminding people you’re better than them, huh?

😀 Thanks! I think this might be that last part for now? It’s getting plotty…

~

For all that the outside of your sister’s stronghold is a mess–officially a foreclosed warehouse covered in grime and rust–the inside is well maintained and clean. One of the few things that you share. The hardwood floors practically gleam despite the dim hallway lights, not a cobweb in sight even on the obnoxious wall sconces or the pretentious drapes.

The fabric of your clothes may be old and worn in comparison to the luxuries of the place, but there is no denying they’re clean.

As you pass by, you nudge one of the trinkets on display; not enough to push it off the shelf, but just enough to offset it from its original spot. The metal still shines, no fingerprints, of course.

There is another guard standing outside an ornate door at the end of the hallway. You stop before it at the third door from the end, less ornate, but for all the meticulous tidying, the one with the most wears and marks. You knock.

The second guard stares at you, assessing, and does not look away. The first guard was more for appearances, in training perhaps, or your sister’s version of a receptionist. This second guard is tactical. Let her enemies think she is behind the guard, behind the nicest door, they walk right past her and within her second guard’s reach.

Alternatively, the second guard does have a better shot at anyone entering this third door from the end.

You do not knock again. You stare back at the second guard.

After what seems like a yawning eternity, the second guard nods, greets you, “Sweeper,” and walks over to open the door for you.

You nod back. You say, “Thank you, Deuteronomy.” You step through the doorway.

Your sister’s office is a disaster, desk overturned and files flung across the room. Shattered glass glitters on the floor, water and aquarium plants strewn alongside it, but that is not the worst of it. A body lies–blood pooling around it, gone dark and nearly matte with time–on your sister’s second favorite rug.

Your sister, sitting on the floor cross-legged puts out her cigarette on its face. Flings the butt carelessly into the pool, it sticks, tacky. There is no blood on her clothes, but there are still some spatters on her face, her neck, beneath her fingernails in crimson moons. Changed, then, but not showered.

It is quite the mess.

“Sweeper,” your sister says. She does not look pleased to see you, but this, of all things, you do not take personally.

None of your clients are pleased to see you.

You do another scan of the room, lingering on the bodies’ face. Not someone you recognize off the top of your head, but your sister has always been more of a people person, and no doubt she’ll tell you its identity soon enough. You eye the life size portrait of your grandmother, slightly askew from where it hangs on the wall.

“What is it you need swept?” you ask your sister, but you already suspect what it might be; you do not turn away from that askew portrait to face her. Your suspicions are confirmed when she, too, looks to the portrait.

Or, more accurately, to the vault door hidden behind the portrait.

~

16 days until the show!

team 7 moving into a house together tho. and then kakashi comes over and sleeps on the couch.

I kiiiinda ranted about something similar/related to this earlier (pre-Kinokawa’s birth, but the concept could still hold easily I think). It’s pretty short but it was fun to reread nonetheless, so hopefully you also enjoy it, anon 🙂

Ooo~ Count me intrigued. Is Sweeper a name, a nickname, a title? I feel there’s an implication of extra-normal skills–my mind leaps immediately to the supernatural, but I could also see it being simply very high competencies. And it sounds like there’s an antagonism between “you” and the sister–is she your boss, or only that guy’s? I’m SO CURIOUS

Thanks! Uh…. actually this was meant to be more of a one-shot sort of thing, but since you expressed interest I suppose I could get into it a little more… I definitely did dream up the further world even though I only wrote this little snapshot so…

Enjoy!

~

You stand and feel the weight of yourself, your exhaustion, in your joints. Knees stiff and near to creaking, echoing up your nerves. Your calf itches. Slowly, so as not to move more than necessary, you lift your opposite foot to scratch at it. Quietly, you put your foot back down.

The man standing guard outside the door glances at you, then away, dismissive. Your weight resettles along the soles of your feet. You are so tired. Your sister is cruel.

Would it hurt anyone to give you a chair? It’s been almost two hours since you were ambushed on the train. What a hypocrite. You cannot keep her waiting, but your time, apparently, is worthless.

You tamp down the anger, will your heartbeat to slow, you do not have the luxury of anger here, not in your sister’s stronghold. The man standing guard, as if sensing your disloyalty to his boss, glances your way once more. This time his gaze lingers, his mouth twitches, but he stays silent and looks away again.

He wears a suit, well tailored, or so you think, you are not an expert in mens formalwear. So like your sister to multitask, make her employees protection and eye candy both.

You are not self-conscious about your own appearance, rumpled and casual it may be. You were on a train that smelled of piss, heading home after a day of cleaning more and other bodily fluids. If your sister wanted you gussied up just to wait two hours in her chair-less waiting room, she should have let you go home and shower.

Your knees start to buckle. You have no idea who you’re trying to impress. The guard? Your sister? Clearly you’ve already failed on the former, and the latter has never been impressed with you. You allow your knees to bend, let gravity pull you down further. You might as well sit even if there are no chairs.

You feel much better. From this new angle, seated cross-legged on the floor, you notice the scuff marks on the guard’s shoes. Your exhaustion pulses. You let your eyes droop. You could nap, maybe, just a quick one to shore yourself up before seeing your sister.

A beep sounds from the guard’s wrist. He glances at his watch, at you, at the door, before reaching for the handle. “Sweeper,” says the guard, “Boss will see you now.”

For a moment you are filled with hate before you tamp that down, too. As it recedes, you imagine saying something witty, something cutting, but you let it ebb further into apathy. This is your sister’s stronghold.

You get to your feet.