The Konohagakure National Museum of Art was a relatively new installation. The lacquered wooden façade was the same burnt orange as the sand-stone of the administrative building, and the tiled roof’s rich brown complemented the structure in a tasteful way that did not paint it as flashy or overdone. All of the most renowned architects from the Land of Fire had been commissioned by the Daimyo to present their best concepts. Every manner of sprawling, spiraling, and soaring structure had been proposed, and indeed the original designs were on display in the museum today. In the end, this traditional and elegant structure had been chosen. Drawn by an anonymous Shinobi from the village, one could hardly argue that it did not embody the Will of Fire.

Shinako remembered sitting on her father’s shoulders for the grand-opening some twenty years ago; being dazzled by the vibrant displays; her father’s rich voice reading her the plaques as her rowdy brothers chased each other through the crowd. The Nara Clan had been major contributors to the building of the Museum, as had the other Noble Families. As such, they had a family exhibit here, nestled between the Yamanaka and the Akimichi. As a teenaged debutante she had donned traditional dress more than once to come and retell her family’s history, made-up from head to toe and wearing beautiful jeweled headdresses that seemed almost ridiculous in retrospect.

Today it was another young girl, her brash and stunning cousin Temaki, at the vibrant age of 15, staging a formal tea-party and entertaining with her coy and knowledgeable conversation. Every half-hour she would stand and pose with the girls from the adjacent exhibits, allowing the visitors to form mock hand-seals and join in the famed Ino-Shika-Cho formation. Shinako had been perched on one of the comfortable padded benches and observing the display in action for about two hours now, and she had scarcely stopped smiling. The nostalgia of the scene was enjoyable enough without Saisai Yamanaka’s fake blonde wig and Choichi Akimichi’s ample padding to cover her thin frame.

It was Shinako’s first time off in a while, and she had spent the entirety of the prior day sleeping and resting her sore muscles. She had brought a bit of light reading with her, The Collected Philosophies of Nara Shikamatsu, and could not remember the last time she was this happy. She had dressed in a simple maroon kimono and white sash, and had observed her full self-care routine, buffing and polishing her fingers and toes a cool pink, fixing her hair in a loose cascade with a jade comb, and perfuming herself with orchid water. Every so often she heaved a contented sigh.

At the moment, Shinako was engaged in her book, reading a story about Master Shikamatsu and his clever use of trickery to strand an aggressive and boorish ferry passenger on an isolated island. She found herself humming along with the light koto melody that Saisai played so expertly. It was shaping up to be a good day.

505/505

Museums where always a solid place to start, once he got around to actually working. He might enjoy the scholarly aspects of his work; anything that involved even minimal reading and/or writing skills proved that he'd escaped the trap of his orphanage upbringing; and it was always a solid way to pad his time and give his requests for payments from his clan more credence. Not that he ever tried to get paid for nothing; no, he wouldn't do that, not at all. But really, this place was new enough, and while Konoha history was well documented, it was always worth having the most up to date information within the clan archives. This place had it. Ergo, he could get paid to wander the halls and make generalized notes. All in all, a good way to kill a few hours, and bore himself into forgetting about his troubles for a bit.

There was some event or other happening, so the place was far more crowded than it normally would have been; large, prosperous village or no, museums where rarely crowded after initial opening or festivals, neither of which was happening at the moment. As to what actually was, he didn't know, nor was he supremely interested. He merely made notes about what he saw, and moved on to the next tidbit presented on placard or board, and made more notes about that. Simple. Mindless.

It really didn't help as much as it should, or used too. But it was something. The repetitive nature of it all meant he could just 'check out', in a sense; let his hands do the work they where trained to while his mind shut off and let his body go on autopilot. It was what he needed, even if he couldn't fully embrace the emptiness of mind that he wanted. Too much that his subconscious was focused on; too much that he couldn't let go of. Oh well.

He... he really should start talking to people. Get the input of the locals, talk to the curators and guides. The people that would know more than just the couple of lines of text given at most stations. Uuugh. This was the part he didn't really like; for all his charisma and charm, he really wasn't a people person. Steeling himself, he picked the first person he saw; a woman sitting at one of the active exhibits and reading what looked like a book that was relevant to the stuff around the museum. Well, that might be a good place to start. He approached the person slowly, not being intrusive, but making so that he wouldn't be a giant surprise appearing from no where, allowing his voice to actually work and leading off with a simple, "Excuse me, but would it be possible for me to ask you a few questions? I'm new to the area and am trying to get a better feel for the history being told here..."

WC: 504

Shinako looked up to see the white-haired stranger approaching her so politely. She offered a smile by pure social instinct, though she was thrown by the boy’s pigmentation. She subconsciously located her shadow, where it lay to the left of her, separated from the stranger by the corporeal barrier of her body. From her readings in school, she was vaguely aware of a rare condition in which people were born without natural color. At any rate, her social reactions were well practiced, and she doubted that the newcomer would see her surprise.

It took the Kunoichi a slight while to register what the young man was asking of her, though she soon caught on that he was a foreigner of some sort. She realized her innate prejudices against outsiders, but consciously set them aside. Growing up, she had interacted with young girls from many nations and villages, and had been taught about stereotyping and how rude it was. Seeing no identifying marks, Shinako was almost glad that none of those preconceived notions came to mind.

“Well, friend, welcome to Konohagakure no Sato. Of course, I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have.”

Shinako gave a shallow nod of her head from her seated position, realizing that her age and citizenship occasioned little more than a nominal show of deference in this situation. With her right hand, she indicated the empty position on the couch to her right, inviting the young man to sit. She closed her book and placed it gently beside her left thigh, tucked between the arm of the bench and her body. When she turned back, her smile dazzled once again.

“I am Nara Shinako. My Clan has long resided in the Village Hidden in the Leaves.”

Her voice became rich and warm as she introduced herself. The low, almost raspy quality, brought on by infantile colic, was not entirely foreign to these halls. She was not consciously aware of it, but she had the inflection and tone of a kind school-teacher. In fact, almost a decade ago, she had used the exact same phrase when she had addressed strangers at the Nara Clan exhibit just a few feet away. The feeling was so familiar that she never stopped to question why the red-eyed stranger would not simply ask the current presenters.

The Kunoichi folded her hands politely in her lap and waited for the inquiries she was expecting. It was the first time in a long while that she had felt useful. In the Shinobi world, she was a novice, and an often clumsy one at that. It was widely known that she had been promoted mostly by the strength of her family name, and her superiors often considered the duty of assigning her to be a hassle and a waste of time. Here, however, she was in her element. Nuanced and often archaic knowledge about the history of the village had been in her academic wheelhouse since her soft and sheltered childhood.

Oh, she was a Nara? Well, that was actually rather fortuitous. The clan was nobility within the village and country, and they tended to be smarter than average; many where scholars as well as ninja, so there was the chance of getting high quality information here. Excellent. Her almost enthusiasm (or maybe it really was? he couldn't be sure, he wasn't great with discerning truth beneath the face in most situation, not unless it was absolutely obvious, which most people where; however he knew better than to assume about a Nara) boosted his confidence a bit, charismatic or not, he wasn't much for self-esteem or any of that noise, so any positive reactions to his existence was helpful. That she didn't try to burn him alive instantly was a massive bonus as well. The peoples of Konoha tended to be less... superstitious, and therefore less likely to call him a demon, or try to kill him just for existing. It was definitely nice.

"Thank you. Anything you would be able to share is highly appreciated. I fully understand if you're not able to help me, my interests are rather... eclectic, and hearken toward the supernatural and spiritual worlds. I have seen several exhibits on the local temples and such, and I wonder; This Temple of Fire I see references toward everywhere... is this of some major significance within local history, or is it just a larger temple which controls the smaller shrines?"

WC: 250

250 + 504 = 754

Even as the young man asked, Shinako could see the Tengu flanking the great doors of the Fire Temple. It wasn’t every day that the people of Konoha had occasion to visit the temple. It was really only the high holy days that drew crowds to the iron facades of the beautiful building. The guardian monks had never reformed since the days of Uzamaki Naruto, but their Gift of the Hermit was legendary. Hearing their stories, Shinako had always imagined handsome, bald young men, honing their skill day in and day out in order to protect the Daimyo.

“The Fire Temple is a national treasure. It used to host the most elite of the Daimyo’s body-guards, but they were wiped out in the days preceding the Fourth Shinobi World War. These days it is really only used for the Daimyo’s religious ceremonies.”

Konoha, being a military village, did not generally participate in the civic celebrations of the Land of Fire. However, they were never left entirely without festivity.

“It’s said that the ancient monks who lived there had the power to access a special chakra, capable of taking form and striking out at their enemies with the power of an angry god. Sarutobi Asuma, the Jounin sensei of Lord Shikamaru, was a member of the powerful guardians that trained there in the days of old.”

Having read the works of Nara Shikamaru, she knew all about Sarutobi Asuma, and his death at the hands of the Jashin practitioner Hidan. That story had weighed heavily on Shikamaru’s heart until the end of his days, and had been the inspiration for one of Shinako’s favorite poetry collections, written by Asuma’s wife, Kurenai.

“Asuma was slain by the Akatsuki, but Lord Shikamaru’s revenge was swift and decisive. It’s said that the immortal Hidan still lives beneath the tree-roots of the forests protected by my family.”

Shinako smiled, realizing that she had gotten slightly off topic. However, as a master of conversation, she drew a talking point from it. She giggled jovially.

“I fear I’ve strayed away from the call of your question. However, that speaks to the nature of the Fire Temple. There is hardly a story worth telling in this village that is not connected to that temple in some way or another. It’s a type of generational symbol….a kind and stoic remembrance of where we have been.”

The thought brought a smile to Shinako’s face.

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