Naruto (c) Kishimoto Masashi
Blond-haired, blue-eyed –
No one will wonder; they won't –
– why would they bother, anyway?
So she packed her bags –
see the hot pink luggage, with the diamond motif?
– and vanished.
One less airheaded, blue-eyed blond.
there's a world out there that we should see
~rocketeer, far east movement
Ino never knew travelling the road was hard. There was the coordination, there was the focus, and there was the patience.
God knows she broke all the rules for being a blond.
Just by driving, nonetheless.
Red and blue flashes; blinding. Sirens wail; ear-piercing.
– and then there was the police; as annoying and persistent as flies in the summer.
Ino huffed. The idea of braking in the middle of the road was tempting. So she wonders why she didn't.
The policeman – oops, woman – neared. The flapping-chicken reflex jumps her pulse, labours her breathing and opens her blue-eyes wide; shit-a-woman-shit-shit-shit!-Ican'tdealwiththem-f–!
A step, two. She took a deep breath and slipped on her shades.
"Please take off your shades so we can identify you."
– dumbest action ever.
"But I'm disfigured!"
Her voice sounded strangled and high-pitched, slotting well with the hastily constructed lie; and she pats herself for being such a convincing actress.
"No, miss, please remove your shades so we can identify you with your ID."
Her interrogator sounds like a male, but looks like a female – gender crisis?
Now her interrogator look annoyed. No doubt about it; his – her? – body language told her as much.
"I'm sorry," she twitters breezily, "but you look so – I mean, your hair is so silky and straight!" As a precautionary measure, she asks, "Mind if I touch?"
Blond 1, Officer 0.
"I-I am a guy!"
The red subsides from his face – Ino speculates if that was anger, embarrassment or both. Her interrogator sighs. While he mumbles away into his two-way radio, Ino hopes she'll be released.
She has been sufficiently annoying for a stereotypical blond.
Her stomach plummeted when striking white eyes turned; her own spotting familiar spiky hair.
Enter her chicken-flapping reflex as she considers turning tail and run.
How did she not know that Shika was working in law enforcement?
Another shadow passes over her, blocking the afternoon sun.
"Ino. Go home."
But really, she isn't – and Shika knows, if his exasperated hair ruffling habit still holds true.
"Your dad – "
She scowled, "I said I get it!"
Huffily, she starts up her car (violently enough to remind herself that her car is her baby, and the one that should feel her anger is anyone but her baby.), kicking up dust at the law enforcers with a devil-may-care attitude.
She wasn't speeding. They singled her out just because –
– she was running away.
(i) don't mean in any way, shape, or form harm blonds here; but i'll apologise for the hurtful stereotypes society impose upon you
(ii) i'm giving up on my studies; fanfiction is a guilt-free distraction for my pathetic-ness (yes, i'm still pessimistic and gloomy and all that)
(iii) fanfiction convinces me to watch anime, and anime convinces me to read manga - such a skewered process