They said that learning about one’s history helped one avoid repeating the same mistakes. That was the whole reason historians existed, to study what was and to brainstorm how to guide their less than predictable future. Then, there was the other part of history, to entertain people when they were bored. To teach them more of their culture when they had nothing else to keep their attention, and sometimes even to personify the art that defined their culture.

That was the very definition of history that Ashelia was currently looking at. It was a regal depiction of a princess from a long time ago, several decades actually, who was to be wedded with the Daimyo of the time. She bore the same crown that Ashelia did, one of the many traditional heirlooms that formed the basis of what constituted as royal treasure; Ashelia knew she was in no way related to this woman, who stood glassified at a height of ten meters atop a circular glass base. The only part of the exhibit not made of glass was the metal plaque slanted on a single stand, telling her brief history and small importance in ending a small skirmish with one of the local tribes of back then. It wasn’t anything major, but apparently it was all you had to do to get your name immortalised in history.

Ashelia took a step back from the words engraved in metal, performed using the same technology that mass produced their headbands. Or, ninja headbands. She lacked one, despite heavily associating herself with Sunagakure, preferring to keep her freedom over registering as one of their own. She’d managed to lose most of her prissier garments during the first few months of her travel, switching out complicated dresses with a dozen pins for simply one limb to look even mildly covered to a simpler, freer wear, a simple top and a long skirt, with several pieces of armor embedded into her clothing to provide herself with more protection where her weapon, a sword hanging by her waist, would normally fail to protect. Her mother would have gone into a shock if she’d seen Ashelia with the split down her skirt, though, calling it an immoral advertisement. She’d treat Ashelia no more human than she would treat any dowry she was presented; such was the traditional mindset her mother adopted.

She’d left a few years back, that was true, and she’d only spoken to her father in written letters, with her mother refusing outright to speak to her unless she returned home and begged for forgiveness. It was a, for lack of a better word, dick move on her part, Ashelia knew, but she needed to find her place in this world beyond being the prize of a man who held no emotion for her other than possession. She’d even purchased a sword for the purpose, having left home with nothing more than complicated wedding dresses her mother had made for her, and a few hundred ryo to stave off her hunger for two weeks. Other than that, she’d been bare-handed and blind in the world with no knowledge as to how it worked, and almost taken advantage of multiple times in her eye-opening days.

Turning around from the large glass statue, she looked around the room, trying to find another exhibit to pass her time at, without an idea in the world as to what she should really be doing to pass her time leisurely.

WC: 591
TWC: 591

A self prescribed field trip to the 'Mystical Glass Museum' was a well deserved break from the constant vigorous training he had been putting himself through day in and day out. Some would have by this point called him obsessed with his fitness. He actually was just doing what he thought was right. It was no trouble to him to work his body to extremes, he was in the mind of shape that allowed that. Today was an off day though. The lactic acid in his muscles was devastating him today and as he lumbered his way down the street in a pained, stiff demeanor he was still happy.

It was time to exercise another metaphorical muscle. The mind. It was time to solidify what he knew about the village he was now sworn to protect, and to witness the glassified glory of those monuments. The people and items which needed to live on forever, by some standards were all here. It was a silly thought to think that such priceless artifacts could actually be destroyed with one misstep.

The place wasn't extremely popular, as a museum wasn't the standard individual's idea of a fun activity. When Futoshi entered the circular room there were multiple displays, and he was immediately drawn to the statue of a man. The glass was stained a deep green color. Actually, one could say it was teal. Futoshi's favorite color. It reminded him of the wind. The glass figure had his fists at his side, held straight downward with his fists clenched tightly. He was a warrior. One of the most renowned Taijutsu fighters in all of the lands. On the silver plaque which rested on a stand in front of the statue it described the scene of a single martial artist against an entire tribe. It read of craters littering the desert after the battle and the lone survivor expiring after unlocking the eigth gate.

He smiled at the image before him and clenched his fist with a smile. Futoshi wanted that power for himself. To protect his village, to become solidified in glass. Whatever it took.

He looked over and noticed a rather regal looking girl, blonde hair and pale skin were the first two features about her. She seemed lost. Her appearance almost made it seem like she was out of place here. Not just here in reference to the village. In this world of shinobi.

He took it upon himself to say something to her, hoping not cause much of a fuss.

"Many different kinds of people become memorialized here. Some for strength, others for diplomacy and courage. We can all find someone to idolize, can't we?"


WC: 451
[OOC: idk what's wrong with me tonight, but this post feels really crappy on my part. Sorry about the quality.]

It was no understatement that Ashelia currently had absolutely no place to go. She didn’t feel as if she fit in in this place, this magnanimous wonder built to honour the people who had brought peace, glory, or wealth to Sunagakure and the Land of Wind at some point in their lives, when she was just setting out to do the same. Her pilgrimage had been meant as a way for her to right the wrongs of the world, whether she was the direct or indirect cause, and she’d already injected some wrong by running away without her mother’s blessing, and only her Uchiha father’s.

It didn’t take Ashelia long to notice the two increasingly loud footsteps in this marbled hall, empty of almost everyone and so empty of almost all chatter, with light pouring in from the open windows at the top and glistening upon the statues they touched. The man they belonged to was of a notable height, over six feet and towering almost an entire foot above her own. He almost seemed like a glass statue himself, had they not been made clearly ten meters of glass and glory. His hair was medium length, white hair parting down the middle to show his fair skin, which gave him a refined, scholarly look. Almost nerdy, if Ashelia had known the word, and didn’t think it was slightly offensive.

Her eyes met his as he approached, not challengingly but respectfully, as if she were mentally bowing to acknowledge his presence. There was something about her that couldn’t seem to shake off the teachings of her mother, drilled into her since a young age to be little more than a proper woman whose destiny lay out of her hands. Not that she wanted to shake these teachings off now, since they were most of what invoked memories and emotions of her mother, but that didn’t necessarily mean she felt blessed with always feeling as if she were kneeling in front of others during any exchange.

“Many different kinds of people become memmorialised here. Some for strength, others for diplomacy and courage. We can all find someone to idolise, can’t we?” he spoke wisely.

Ashe’s face would be completely still, the small curve of her lips an indication that she was intently listening and not disagreeing. Her default face, if you would, sheltering any reaction of her own. “I suppose so,” she answered, not really feeling otherwise but also not completely believing her own words. “And which of these captures your attention, sir?”

WC: 432
TWC: 1023

The regal looking girl gave him a look. It wasn't an easily read expression but at least it was acknowledgement. She seemed to give herself an amble amount of time to glaze over Futoshi, as if he were one of these glass exhibits himself. He offered her a gentle smile as she directed a question back at him. "And which of these captures your attention, sir?"

It was an unexpected delight to hear someone speaking with such poise and respect. Certainly an unheard of novelty with the way Sunagakure had been for the last few years. Futoshi didn't keep her waiting as he smiled rather uncontrollably, allowing a quiet chuckle to escape his mouth.

"This man right here. He found his place preserved forever in memory as a glass statue because he was exactly everything that glass is not. An unbreakable warrior who held strong against the forces which threatened his people. By unleashing the power of the body to its very maximum potential, he is responsible for having shaped the very landscape of a certain per of the desert with his strikes. At the end of his feat he was reduced to ash, his body burning up into nothing more. He wiped out hundreds of combatants all on his own, then joined the desert flecks of particles. The strength of the body is often overlooked when we have the shinobi arts such as ninjutsu to help us so much. This man reminds us of what our own bodies can do." he finished his speech, resting his hand on the glass figures shoulder gently.

"And how about you, M'lady? Which of these beautiful pieces do you find yourself drawn to most?"

He would ask that as he took a few more steps over to the next exhibit. The one she had been looking at, which placed him right next to her. He knealt down and read the plaque carefully, then stood to examine the royal looking woman. She had solved a major dispute in her very own way. The power of diplomacy and wordsmithing were not ones to be underestimated. Diplomacy should always be the first way a human tried to deal with a problem. Violence wasn't always the answer, another lesson all too often forgotten.

He would await the woman's response patiently, keeping his attention fixed on the works of art until he heard her speak, at which point he would direct his eyes at her in a mannerly way.

Post WC: 416
Total WC: 861

"Ah I see." Futoshi took the woman's words in and did his usual process of picking them apart, analyzing them to try and understand what she was implying. She referred to the noble woman being immortalized in a "ninja village" as if nobility and shinobi were distinctive. She must not have been a shinobi herself. She had a sword on her person but from first glance she didn't seem much in the way of combat oriented. She wasn't wholly wrong, given that it was normally the ninja who were assigned to guard the nobles. There were wealthy houses and clans within the ninja world, though. They weren't without there own sophisticated, rich folk.

A happy ending is what she was looking for in these glass statues, a heroic tale which didn't end in death. Wasn't that what everyone hoped for. To live. Futoshi smiled politely hearing what she had said. Happy ending huh. He wouldn't have minded a happy ending himself, but he also would like to be remembered for something fantastic.

"To have a happy ending is what we all aim for. The good thing is, happy endings are subjective. I'd wager to say that death in battle was something that some of these warrior-type people desired above all else. I suppose we shinobi traditionally stand for the ability of each individual to decide their fate. That's why we defend our homes. That's why we risk our lives."

He was being honest with her, hoping that if she did have an unfavorable opinion of shinobi he could change it somehow. She seemed some sort of royalty. Perhaps he ought to have been stunned by her gracing his presence. He then realized he hadn't introduced himself properly yet during the small talk.

"My apologies for not saying so sooner, my name is Futoshi. Matsunaga, Futoshi."

Post WC: 317