If you asked Nara Shikamaru his favorite color, he would say blue.

Blue like the sky? Blue like the sea? Blue like the crystals? Blue like the icy wasteland up North?

It didn't matter. Trivial things like that didn't when you were a growing genius strategist in war. You take what you have and deal with it.

Small things like his favorite color, favorite restaurant, favorite past time and favorite game were little luxuries he could get himself in the midst of blood and war.

But when the war ended and the blue ended up someone else's, you take it in stride. Nothing you can do there, now. He didn't stake a claim. He didn't do anything, really.

(It wasn't his fault! They were always pinned on someone else! Desiring someone else! Not even paying him the attention he gave it! Those Blues always, always reaching for things he didn't want to! Reaching for things and places and names and goals beyond its limits! Looking for more, more, more!)

But after everything died down to a peace of rebuilding, repopulation, recreation, the Blues were already pinned once more on someone else.

He looked for the familiar specks of blue in the teal that was familiar, easy, convenient, and probably the more logical choice, and not as troublesome as the blue would be.