A rather mediocre day, in both weather and productivity. That is how Izayoi would consider this particular day in Konohagakure no Sato, deeming it a rather mediocre time for existence. Yet regardless, he had things to get on with, and thus, went about the day doing the menial tasks he had assigned himself to continue day to day life. Still, his grievances and displeasure at the day wouldn’t stop him from going about with a smile; he had people to meet, and smiles to spread – to Izayoi, joy was as much a weapon as a kunai. And while for now, he had no goal, no method for which to use this weapon, it wouldn’t stop him from storing up the ammunition.

So, dressing himself in his blue and white kimono, and wearing his wooden clogs, Izayoi began preparing the main tasks before heading out for his day. His first priority of course, was getting his hair pristine and neat; spending roughly ten minutes brushing his hair to its full length, before combing it backwards, and tying it up in a ponytail directly behind him, letting the black hair trail down his back. He wrapped his right hand in a cloth, like a bandage, and made his way to the nearest mirror to practise smiling. A few tries, and he was content. So, nodding to himself, he gathered his ninja tools, putting his forehead protector proudly on its place, and weapon satchel at his side, before walking to the front door, then out into the streets. He had tasks to do, starting with the simple objective of retrieving supplies to not starve to death. Food for the week.

After roughly two hours of tomfoolery in a market sales fair that does not need to be elaborated upon for the sake of overdetailing without need, Izayoi was now walking through the streets, with a bag in his left hand containing his groceries. While technically, the Hyuga could return to his home and relax, or get himself a nice lunch, he had other… Tasks. Self-inflicted tasks to be exact. For Izayoi had to find people that his influence would benefit, and in turn, their influence would benefit him. A corrupt method, but, if it isn’t broken. Thus, he kept his smile, nearly tripping as he left to walk throughout the market district. The streets were somewhat bare, with only a dozen people at most per street, and his feet resounded lightly against the cobbles of the ground. The greys of his eyes scanned the area for the chance of something, or someone, interesting, and he found himself soon traversing various streets and roads of the market district in search of something, anything. Of course, if Izayoi wished to guarantee a find, he could simply use the Byakkugan. But, showing proficient use in such a skill… It would perhaps prove inconvenient in the long run, and go against his persona of stupidity. No, for this task he set himself, Izayoi was little more than a dunce.

502

Shinako placed her book, still open, face down in her lap, raising her left hand to her face and rubbing the dull pain away from her eyes. She had just come to the realization that she had been reading the same two sentences over and over again for the past ten minutes. The dark-haired woman let out an exasperated sigh, letting the book rest on its own against the black cotton of her leggings. Her fingers slid down her face as she pressed her palm to her cheek, slowly moving her hand down to adjust the collar of her crimson qipao dress. Even then, her eyes did not quite refocus themselves, remaining open, but blind to the world around her. It was well into the afternoon, and the day’s second rush would soon hit the market district.

Even though she found increasingly little comfort and stimulation within the walls of the village, the Kunoichi had been unable to escape into the wilderness today. She was exhausted, and did not want to risk making mental mistakes. Jiraiya-sama’s Transparent Escape technique was quite sophisticated, but could not hide her presence from patrolling Shinobi using advanced sensory techniques. From her customary scouting position, she had seen two sweeper teams pass that morning, moving with a little bit too much precision for Shinako to believe they were not navigating by chakra-sensing techniques. As she had done a few times before, the Nara woman had resigned herself to a relatively mundane day of leave within the boundaries of the village.

Since her last mission, it had been difficult for Shinako to shake the feeling that she was being watched. If she had been honest with herself, she could have easily pieced together the timing of the patrols that silently surfed the shade of the trees, floating through that dark world as effortlessly as sharks through murky water. However, the very sight of them had nearly paralyzed her; her breathing had quickened, and it had taken a conscious effort to avoid panic. She had read a book once, about a girl whose daily life was consumed with paranoia after stealing a necklace. At the time, Shinako had found the literature underwhelming, but she was starting to gain a sense of perspective on it. It was difficult not to see any number of things in a new light, these days; to look at things and see all that was not beautiful about them.

Shinako imagined who she had been before becoming a Shinobi. Like a water-tight vessel, she had held all of her troubles safely inside, where they and the world were never to meet. Maybe now she was cracked open. Maybe that happened to everyone; maybe everyone was a their own floating ship, and then things began to sink them—people left them, or didn’t love them, or didn’t understand them. They lost, and failed, and harmed one another, a whole town slowly burning; smoldering to ash like a pile of dry leaves. Another sigh expanded in Shinako’s chest, and she pursed her lips against the continuation of her thoughts. Perhaps, as terrible as life could be, it always beat the alternative.

525/525

He continued weaving in and out of the crowds, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of an individual of which he could deem worth introductions; it’d likely come across as odd, but perhaps it would be a useful thing to force an encounter out of, for his reputation had to be spread, whatever the cost to his time and no matter how odd or goofy he allowed himself to appear. To that end he would continue to go against his wishes for solitude, traversing the streets that were beginning once more to grow crowded with the locale, the rabble that he deemed a nuisance to him on moments like this. At moments like this, he’d simply like to do nothing, meditate, or perhaps some other orderly event. A puzzle for example, where all the pieces fall into place as they must, would be perfect.

So, wandering as he did with no direction or aim in particular, except for that to simply wander for the sake of wandering, he roamed the streets of Konohagakure no Sato. He opted for the choice of searching in the area where there were more trees, the less built up parts of the market district. To him, those that dwelled in the more domestic and crowded parts, in his mind, were more generic. And while generic wasn’t bad, or a flaw by any means, it simply did not aid him. It meant nothing if a nobody knew him. Yet that wasn’t to say he viewed all those within the main location as nobodies. Just… Most of them. He certainly had met peculiar or interesting individuals among the large populace, such as a young kunoichi he had recently met that was interested in medical skills. Still, aside from that, he found the more interesting were to be found separated; the birds of a feather perhaps not unlike his own. Potential pawns, or, more importantly, potential strangers. He never liked using others as his pawns, for Izayoi himself was and always will be a pawn.

Now in the more foliage set parts of the village, Izayoi strolled quite calmly, a smile plastered upon his face as he went, his footsteps light and posture relaxed. He swung his arms with his step, before finally, something caught his eye. Or perhaps something was a poor choice of wording, as the reality was that the grey of his eye looked emptily upon an unfamiliar figure, with dark hair, a book, and an expression that seemed rife with the sort of things Izayoi loved; a story. This thing allowed a person to best be understood, and only through understanding could true equality be reached. Continuing his carefree grin, he approached, waving slowly to the person as if to emphasise his location before calling out. “Hello there!” he said, voice soft and mellow against the slight evening breeze that threatened to drown him out. “I hope you don’t mind me being curious! I’m a fond lover of books myself, so, I like talking to people who have books. I am Izayoi, from the Hyuuga clan if the Byakkugan didn’t give it away. A pleasure to meet you!” he finally stopped talking, continuing his grin and now just watching from a distance, deciding to first await a reaction before continuing further. It was clear that if nothing else, from her expression, this was his senior.

562 + 502 = 1064

The Kunoichi noticed the approach of the stranger before he made himself known. She had been noticing, as of late, that her senses grew sharper and sharper as her chakra pool and her control over it increased. As she was not a fighter, there had been no need for her to go through the rigorous chemical treatments administered to increase the physical abilities of Shinobi on the front lines. However, the simple act of becoming a Shinobi had seen her body changing in many new and unexpected ways. Hearing the light brush of a stranger’s footsteps over dry grass was only one of the new sensations her mind found itself sifting through. It seemed rude, and almost predatory in a way. Shinako didn’t turn to face him until he made himself known.

As the boy introduced himself, Shinako went back through her almost encyclopedic knowledge of the members of the Noble Families. Once he provided his name, Shinako was able to pinpoint who he was immediately. He had been about a year behind her in the Shinobi Academy, and she’d had little occasion to interact with his particular family. The strange and divisive segregation which occurred in the Hyuuga family often showed itself in social situations. The branch families were often seen, and not heard, though the classification in the modern day seemed to be largely self-imposed. By any estimate, the Byakugan was a secret well worth protecting, and there were still dogmatic Shinobi willing to give their lives in defense of it. It was this strange and archaic devotion that often made the Hyuuga something of a morbid curiosity among the other Noble Families.

Realizing that she outranked the newcomer in both age and rank, she offered only a short bow of her upper torso. Looking into his featureless eyes, Shinako found it difficult to connect them emotionally to his wide grin. His clan seldom smiled, and were known through the Hidden Leaf for their stoic demeanors. Raising her left hand, the dark-haired woman waved him forward, uncomfortable with the distance between. Minimizing personal contact and maximizing tactical maneuvering space was something which all Shinobi were taught to do, and Shinako intended to intentionally buck that norm. If they were going to speak, it would be as people, not as weapons. To that end, she mustered her most shining smile.

“Izayoi-kun….please, a bit closer. I believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you in passing before. I’m Nara Shinako, and I’ve seen you grow into a young man. There’s little need for formality.”

Shinako slid to her right on the smooth wood of the bench, making room for the younger Shinobi to sit, if he desired. She place the book in the middle of the bench as a sort of sub-conscious buffer. The pages contained the letters of poetry exchanged between the Fifth and Sixth Mizukage, a tale of love confined to the shadows by the harsh realities of politics and war. The thought was a depressing one. Shinako seldom thought about the prospects of finding love anymore. The notion seemed almost antithetical to the turbulent lifestyles of Shinobi.

520/1,045

To Izayoi’s surprise, this sombre individual seemed to perk up somewhat at his arrival, raising a hand and signalling for him to approach. It was so… Out of tune of the scene he had stumbled upon that, for once, he hesitated, unsure on if to follow the signal. After a brief deliberation within his mind, he allowed his shoulders to relax in a sigh, stepping forward and resuming his smile in time to meet with the smile of the stranger. Or at least, who he thought was a stranger. Yet perhaps this notion was an incorrect one, as they showed him a sense of familiarity that he hadn’t expected to feel today, or, at all, really. Shinako… And a Nara, no less. For some reason, this meant nothing to the Hyuga child, yet regardless there was a sense of… Recognition in this person. She clearly knew him, so, surely he must know her, at least in a miniscule way?

He shook his head to himself, for it didn’t matter right now why she knew him. She had stated that she had watched him grow, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her. Yet still, a friendly face was near impossible to find in the world of shinobi, so, Izayoi would welcome one, even if it was an unknown one. As the woman slid to the side and made room, albeit with a boundary, Izayoi would bow in appreciation, sitting down at an appropriate position, and allowing his shoulders to droop, sighing once more. At this moment, they were simply two citizens of Konohagakure, and the militaristic lifestyle of being a shinobi was behind them, or at the very least to the side of thought. He allowed a moment’s pause for the duo to grow more… At ease, and allow the tension of their lifestyle to fade to the side rather simply.

And that’s when it hit him.

The name finally resounded in his mind as he recalled a slight bit of gossip that the Hyuga had heard while traversing the market place, a juicy bit of info that he had thought was merely baseless knowledge. An interesting mission situation, with the person who had caused such a situation being named one Shinako Nara. While this didn’t allow any better furthering of conversation, to break the silence he was enjoying, it at least allowed the feeling of familiarity to become one that was mutual, as well as allow the grey eyed child to have potential information to use in the future, something that he could probe for information about at a later date. Taking in a breath of fresh air, he allowed his smile to resume before speaking up. “Ah, yes, I’m sorry Shinako-san. I suppose casual attitude is something hard for someone so used to being, well, I guess with you I don’t need to finish that sentence, right? So, how has life been to you? I will admit I have no memory of you, so, I apologise for that, I may have been younger when we met. Still, given your demeanour, you strike me as the sort to be rather proficient in this world of shadows we live in – shadow pun with a Nara unintended, I assure. So, any wisdom, or tales of the world from a superior?” While both civilians at this time, Izayoi saw no need to pretend they weren’t both weapons to this village. But, they say that work can be a good conversation topic sometimes, when one doesn’t know what else to do. And Izayoi wasn’t exactly the most socially aware.

598 + 1064 = 1662

“Whatever you’re doing to prepare yourself for it….don’t bother.”

The harsh bite of cynicism in Shinako’s voice surprised even her. The world was terrifyingly vast; deep, and wide. In her recent adventures, it had been difficult to reconcile her desire for freedom with her own comfort and safety. In the world, as it was, life outside of the walls of a military village was often brutal and short. The blood of Shinobi often paid the tax that extended the lives of those in the Hidden Villages. It perplexed her that Izayoi would describe her as “proficient” in the world of Shinobi. She spent her time alternately trying to either escape from it or to keep from drowning in it. These days, she was too exhausted to pretend otherwise.

Even now, there were rumblings of a transfer. Shinako had received testing papers, stating that she would undergo further blood and chakra testing, to determine any late-onset elemental affinities. There was only one reason a glorified secretary would be asked to do that. She was being considered for ‘promotion’ to active duty. The very thought sent a noticeable shiver down the Kunoichi’s spine. Her smile had long since faded, and she looked pensively at the wall on the other side of the street. In all of this, she knew one thing, and her tone might have betrayed her determination: she would not slip gently into whatever plans were being laid for her life. She would not die without having lived.

“The world is not kind to people in our position. It would burn us right up and keep going.”

After a few moments, Shinako realized the impropriety of her remarks. Even if she deeply believed what she was saying, and she did, there was little excuse for dumping those concerns on the head of someone younger than her, or in a lower station. She shook her head, visibly rankling at the fact that she would have to make a verbal retraction of her statements so far. The words almost stuck in her throat, in stark contrast to her usual, silky cadence.

“I’m….sorry. I don’t mean to sound like such a defeatist. There’s a lot to look forward to.”

It was a lie, of course, but she could not help but think someone might be listening. Paranoia had become a constant but unwelcome bedfellow in Shinako’s life. She looked back at Izayoi and gave a half-hearted smile.

405/1,450

The tone in Shinako’s words resounded, the bitter truth about the shinobi lifestyle ringing, resonating through various thoughts in Izayoi’s mind. The idea of not bothering, of not preparing for the future. Her words were weighted with the bitterness of time, and seclusion, torture in a form where not a hand is laid upon the skin of the ruined. It was clear to Izayoi then that something, although the specifics of which were a mystery, troubled the kunoichi. The idea that even those that were his superiors had weakness… Had boundaries of which they couldn’t force themselves past. It filled him with a feeling of glee, one that he kept locked up behind the façade of his mind and bared hidden by the surprised expression he’d instead display on his face.

Although perhaps he was really surprised by this revelation, this idea that even at higher ranks, at higher echelons of life, emotion can still wrack and ruin a shinobi. Perhaps his parents training to become a tool of great obedience was useful, as much as Izayoi despised the thought. Still, as Shinako spoke aloud her thoughts and frights, the things that burrowed into her mind and threatened to consume her, Izayoi simply listened and nodded, wishing to remain as respectful as possible. It was after she finished, apologising for her seeming misdemeanour, that Izayoi paused, allowing her weak, faint smile to sink in as he registered the most appropriate way for him to perchance respond. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, speaking with a voice gentle, belying to the eyes void of emotion.

“I’m sure that, as Shinobi, we’ll all die a fate a terrible way. Tools to the system, puppets on their strings. And maybe there isn’t going to be something to look forward to…”

At this, he looked up, staring at the branches of an overhead tree and seemingly tracing along the details of the lines, and the slight bit of light that seemed to seep through the leaves. He drew breath, before sitting up straight, adjusting his posture to be one more proper, looking straight ahead now as he continued. “But, if I’m going to be sent to my death, if I’m going to be burnt as you put it, I’m going to let it be on my terms. So at the very least, I’ll accomplish my goals in spite of what the world wants. And I’ll go down with a smile.”

At that, he turned to Shinako, giving a full on grin as he did so and nodding slightly, giving a thumbs up with his left hand. How boring it was, to act so… Cheerful, when truly, Izayoi would wish nothing more than just neutral expression, but, alas, one had to play the part for the act they were performing. Still, he had said his piece, at least what he deemed… Appropriate words, while also continuing to maintain his façade’s personality, the act of which he delicately put together like a jigsaw puzzle. A somewhat mentally scarred jigsaw puzzle.

505 + 1662 = 2167
(OOC: Sorry for the delay in replying!)

Shinako didn’t know what she could tell the child. It seemed that her reassurance might have worked, and at least his assessment of the dangers that faced them was optimistic. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that there was something….off about Hyuuga Izayoi. His parents were fundamentalist zealots, and it was odd that he would be so cheerful about everything. A slight breeze blew through the market district, stirring the aroma of the various delicacies the merchants were preparing for their customers. The Kunoichi’s brow furrowed; intermingled with the scent of the town was the distinct fragrance of the trees. Underlying that was the smell of smoke, from fire consuming green wood. The sensation was unsettling, but Shinako’s conscious mind did not quite settle on that fact.

“I admire your devotion. You will make your family proud.”

The response was almost mechanical, and Shinako’s actual thoughts were far away. Her dark eyes settled on Izayoi’s face, and she had to fight back the tears that welled in them. Izayoi was likely the same age as the boy she had encountered on her mission to the Hidden Sound Village; the boy she had killed. Nights, she would often awaken in a cold sweat, his name bursting through the barrier of her lips. Gantetsu, whose mother would weep. Shinako wondered, as Izayoi contemplated the moment of his own death, if the Hyuuga boy’s mother would shed tears for him. It was this deep consideration which made the woman’s platitude ring hollow.

Something in Shinako hoped that the fates would use Izayoi tenderly. She imagined his dark hair turning white with age, as pale as his eyes, and hoped desperately that her vision would come true. Too many children were taken too soon from their mothers’ laps. In that moment, it did not seem too far-fetched to hope that Izayoi had not been taken from his mother’s lap for nothing. Then again, there were far worse things the Shinobi world could offer a young man than death. Uncertainty….Paranoia. A loss of identity which would eat him from the inside. Perhaps to die would be far different than Shinako had ever supposed….and luckier.

360/1,810

For an instant, Izayoi felt his heart stop as Shinako almost automatically gave a response, furthered by the breeze that blew through the streets. The sound of leaves rustling almost stopped the thought that went through his head, the cocktail of emotions that were suddenly stirred by the faint echoing of pain that he felt. For a moment, Izayoi felt truly saddened, the façade of joy finding no footing in the clawing depths of misery that suddenly spiralled into his mind, dragging him into the abyss that only ever spirals down. He blinked.

Make his family proud?

It was almost like a mockery, and the boy found he had to take a deep breath to calm himself and regain composure, the mechanical nature of the woman’s response only furthering the wound that was reopened. He felt a tingling down his spine as he remembered the lashings of his parents. The boy returned to smiling. Images of the butter knife, ran across his fingers back, and forth, for hours on end. Bleeding from a blunt tool. He softened his face, looking to Shinako and tilting his head. The boy was confused, what had Izayoi said that had made her so distant, so solemn suddenly in nature that it was as if a string had snapped within her mind, a fragment of sadness seeping in and once more slapping her in the face. Mutual misery. Yet that wouldn’t stop him putting on a façade, attempting to be lightweight. He quickly looked away as he felt something he hadn’t felt in years. Tears welled in his eyes. He scrunched up his face as he tried to continue smiling, but, he knew that he couldn’t stop himself from letting the tears fall, he couldn’t stop the obvious signs of emotion.

Izayoi brought his hands to his face, wiping at his eyes to attempt to get rid of the obvious signs of distress. A shinobi shouldn’t cry. A tool shouldn’t have emotions. He turned to face Shinako, hands somewhat trembling as he once more forced a smile, tears rolling down his cheeks, the salty taste staining his lips from where he had just rubbed his eyes. His lips quivered, as images flooded his mind of the training inflicted upon him by his parents in their ever “loving” wisdom. Izayoi felt a failure, for feeling emotions which he could not identify, his façade breaking and revealing a currently vulnerable child, lost in the world that he was born into. Yet still, the person he was couldn’t be revealed. There had to be a lie he could use, one that would make sense. Then it hit him. They were talking of death. She said he would make his family proud. It only made sense that an orphan would cry, right? So then, the boy looked away again, wiping his eyes and muttering softly under his breath. “I miss my parents… I… I wish they didn’t have to go on that mission…”

This, of course, was complete bullshit.

500 + 2167 = 2667

Of course, Shinako had also failed to consider how many Shinobi in the village were orphans when she had made her statement. In her training for Genjutsu she had often read and been tested on psychological profiles. The subject matter often included exploitation of emotional damage, but the one which stuck out most was the use of Genjutsu as a subtle recruiting technique. Children were far easier to influence and recruit than those who had attained an age of maturity. If a military recruiter could find a child from a broken family, he had essentially hit the lottery. Most of the greatest Shinobi throughout history had started as child soldiers, with many of them turning to lives of violence after losing everything.

The Kunoichi watched silently as Izayoi cried, fighting her own tears into submission. Somehow, she decided that she had to be strong for him, even if they were no more acquainted than strangers. It wasn’t as if her sympathy would suddenly uproot him once again and plant him in a life and location of safety. Her mind jumped to the question of what kind of monster would send two parents of a young child on the same dangerous mission together. Shinako had been preparing for her Debut Party at the time, but she vaguely remembered sending flowers to the Hyuuga compound, only to have them sent back, with thanks. No service had been held, and the family did not accept condolences for those killed in the line of duty. Normally the subject matter would have made Shinako shudder, but instead she focused on the briny scent of Izayoi’s tears, and the way they reflected and refracted the light.

“I…”

A certain hesitation hit her once again. Shinako was not used to this at all. An inkling about what was truly going on here began to creep to the front of her mind. In her experience, Shinobi only had emotional conversations when it was convenient for them to do so; when their emotions could be of some use. The village was not hidden in the leaves for their beauty, but for their ability to surround and obscure.

“….was careless with my words. Your future is bright, regardless of the darkness that might lie in your past.”

This was probably the most convincing thing Shinako had said all day. She almost believed it herself. Living as a Kunoichi required some degree of comfort with distorting the truth, and Shinako had never exactly struggled with that. Society expected a certain amount of deception from every woman, in a way. Disguises, capitulations, petty assurances….these were all common place, as they were demanded. She could not bring herself to feel like any level of compliments or blanket statements of optimism would actually help Izayoi in any way, but here she found herself trying. For whatever that was worth.

In the next moment, Shinako extended her left hand and placed it gently on the back of the Hyuuga boy’s arm, giving a slight squeeze for comfort. Shinobi rarely touched each other casually. Besides being distracting, unnecessary, and occasionally rude, such a thing was also actively dangerous. May ninja modified their bodies, or kept weapons concealed in their clothes. Even in the heat of battle one could scarcely afford to deliver an unarmed blow carelessly. Yet, Shinako did not let the fear and paranoia of the world in which she found herself trapped intrude into the moment. She had known too many Shinobi who had allowed their training to erase any hint of human kindness. The boy’s body felt cold beneath her cupped hand.

600/2,410

Izayoi simply stared down to the ground as she apologised, and attempted to console him. It didn’t work, and he had to do his best to not blurt out with all the rage he felt. All of his meticulous plans could break away any moment by his foolishness, his decision to embrace human emotion. He took a deep breath, quietly allowing himself to begin calming down. In and out. His skin felt tingly, as if insects were crawling beneath. He felt… Uncomfortable, if he had to use a word to describe it. He still felt the tears down his cheeks, albeit their flow had stilled now. The taste of salt was against his lips, which, although recently wetted, felt dry all the same. He furrowed his brow, thinking thoughts to try progress him through the inevitable spiral of madness that came with reminders of his tormentors and family. The number eight. So perfectly balanced of a number, with it being able to be halved, or divisible by four. And the written form… Oh, how calming. Perfectly ordered, and balanced.

Yet suddenly, his attempt to distract himself found itself, well, distracted, as he felt suddenly a hand touch him on the arm, and all too suddenly, Izayoi remembered he wasn’t alone right now. How humiliating, to be seen by a fellow shinobi to have such weakness, even if in a context that wasn’t quite understood… Yet perhaps there was a way to turn this around? His mind buzzed, going at a hundred miles per hour as he thought of what to do now. He couldn’t tell the truth. Doing so would throw all that he was working for aside. But, there was a way he could perfectly manipulate this weakness into a strength for his alibi. Yes, perfect…

He shivered, looking now directly ahead of him, and moving a hand to properly wipe away the tears and sniffle back the emotion. He coughed. Then, he straightened his posture, doing his best to put on a smile. It looked somewhat forced, although Izayoi knew he could have done a perfect smile, right now was not the time to. He had already shown he was weak. Now to pretend to pretend. His somewhat weak smile stayed as he turned to look at his conversation partner, before speaking up slowly, his eyes shut gently. “Well… Um… I shouldn’t be crying… So, Shinako-san, what do you do to, you know, unwind? Have any hobbies? We’re not ninja right now, so… Let’s leave our ninja lives aside, and talk as, you know, two people.” He nodded slowly, continuing his smile, and wiping at his eyes once more, taking care to not mess up his kimono. He didn’t feel… Comfortable, with someone holding his arm as it was, but, that would not show. Right now, he was Izayoi, the vulnerable child that just wanted to be happy. The real Izayoi could take out his frustrations in training later. There was always later, for the reality of emotional distress.

501 + 2667 = 3168

The Nara woman gave a slight laugh. It was more cynical than was her usual tone, but there was a least a bit of mirth to it. Something about Izayoi was very difficult to figure out. As with many of the other members of the noble families, Shinako got the distinct impression when interacting with this boy that he was slightly more educated than the average Shinobi. He had likely spent his time as a young child devoting his time to the ninja arts, not taking care of a sick grandparent, or working in a flower shop. The whole of his cunning was aimed at diving deeper into that dark underworld. Yet, here he was, asking what she did for fun.

“You’ll find that the recreational activities of adults are a bit beyond your years, Izayoi-kun.”

Even her response seemed strange. This child go fight and die at the command of his superior. He could be pierced by arrows, broken by rocks from slings, or drowned, his body given to a river forever. A home, he could not drink or smoke. He’d probably never known the embrace of a lover. In fact, Shinako had known a boy sent off to fight at around the same age. Her friend at the time, Senju Haruhi, had talked about welcoming the boy back from her knees. Perhaps Izayoi would find a similarly grateful girl. The lewdness of the thought almost made Shinako shudder, and she wasn’t quite sure what had prompted it. She’d been thinking about Haruhi quite a bit lately, and it never failed to make her nostrils twitch with heat.

“I kid, of course. I suppose whenever I get a minute or two I stop and read.”

Shinako reached down and nudged the book on the bench beside them. Perhaps therein lay the source of her scandalous thoughts. Many of the letters between the star-crossed lovers were steamy, to say the least. However, under all of that, there was a deep caring that went beyond physical attraction. They had taken comfort in each other, and had prized a few kind words now and then above any display of skill. It was hard to imagine any of the Shinobi Shinako knew doing anything remotely similar. She had lived for twenty-five years in this place, and had never met anyone who cared about anything remotely important.

Mei had been a woman of incredible skill and power. She’d fought in countless battles, in countless lands by the time she became Mizukage. As a Chuunin and Jounin, she had never truly been challenged in combat due to her unique and stunning prowess, but she had been careful to document every trip, down to the wonders she had seen and the delicacies she had eaten. Mei had loved to travel. Shinako knew that it would be impossible to return home herself if she ever got the chance to feel the soil of other continents in her hands, and yet, Mei always returned for a simple dream of love.

500/2,910

Even Izayoi found himself surprised by the sudden mood shift in the, what he’d noted, sombre person of the Nara. Up until this point in the conversation, she had been… Grim, and clearly what would technically be called down in the dumps. Without meaning to he raised an eyebrow, looking at the quietly laughing woman, who in her voice had a hint of a lightened mood while still keeping the cynical attitude the conversation had thus far held. Although perhaps even more insane was the sudden blurt out that her recreational and pleasure activities were more adult. That comment was probably more information than the kid needed to know, and he simply looked at her with an expression of confusion and surprise. It was an extreme switch in the theme of the talk.

After a brief pause during which Shinako seemed lost in a thought that Izayoi would rather not question the nature of, the Nara spoke up again. Well, she was joking, and that to him was a relief. Still, as she stated the pleasure she derived from reading books, he simply looked to the book that was on the bench, nodding slowly in thought. Curious, he glanced a look to the title of the cover as she nudged the book, thinking upon the title, and thus what the contents could be. Interesting. Not exactly his particular interests, although he supposed there was some use in learning the thought mechanisms and how the mind worked of those that were deceased – perhaps therein lie patterns that could be recognisable in those that yet still lived, thus allowing the reader a superior ability to control and manipulate?

Shrugging the thought off, the Hyuga resumed his smiling, wiping at his eyes to properly dry them now, before nodding happily. Perhaps now would be a time to attempt to relate himself to the Nara, and then proceed to progress the conversation further, thus allowing for further influence? Well, one way to find out. He sighed lightly, before speaking up, voice with more chipper than prior. “Oh, that’s awesome! I love to read! Back when I was in the academy, I probably spent more time reading the things we were supposed to learn, than actually learning them! I remember distinctly reading a book on the importance of art in culture, as well as the concept of bread and circus… Those were interesting, definitely. Oh! And there was also this story that I remember absolutely loving! It was a story about a man with two souls, each fighting for control over the body… Oh! And there’s this one book, about a spy that would put on a fake moustache, over his normal moustache, and he’d constantly introduce himself by peeling his moustache off and announcing that it was him, Leclerc! Those books were very interesting and fun to me, and I’d really recommend them if you’d get the chance!” Of course, Izayoi being Izayoi, he hadn’t had an interest in these novels, so much as read them for the sake of reading through books to completion, seeing each book, every written bit of knowledge, as information worth acquiring. How would Shinako respond to the young Hyuga’s enthusiasm?

532 + 3168 = 3700

The Kunoichi was sure of her suspicion now. It had taken only a matter of moments for the boy in front of her to go from shedding tears over the memory of his parents to discussing fictional spies with ridiculous mustaches. His casual reference to the bloody distraction of Kirigakure’s old colosseum was particularly unsettling. She was certain. For some reason, Hyuuga Izayoi was trying to deceive her. As he spoke, Shinako’s dark eyes settled on the pale blankness of the boy’s unnerving familial features, trying to discover whatever might be hidden there. It was hard to think that he hadn’t been sent by some ANBU operative, perhaps as some sort of psychological game. At any rate, Shinako was not interested in playing.

“The people in this village lack good mirrors….”

The sentence did not follow the arc of their conversation, and had all the bite of a pointed insult, spoken to an old friend after an argument that had gone on too long.

“….it’s so hard for anyone to show us how we really look, or for any of us to show others how we feel.”

She paused for a long moment, keeping her judgmental stare fixed on Izayoi. Her shadow crept along the ground, placing itself firmly between the two of them, though she did not exactly will it to do so. A part of her felt foolish, and hoped that Izayoi would understand that she had seen through his act.

“I keep looking at Shinobi and expecting them not to be Shinobi, but we’re fixed into it now….all of us fixed into it.”

If she had ever thought about it before, Shinako might have been of the opinion that a person had to be important to have enemies; to feel a sense of righteous paranoia, rooted in persecution or oppression. There, on an unassuming little bench in the market district of her hometown, she felt like all the world could be her enemy, despite how small she was.

330/3,240

The words stung, and the Hyuga boy soon realised perhaps he had overstayed his welcome in this conversation. The game they played was one of smoke and mirrors. The intense look upon her face that Izayoi caught out of the corner of his eye, plus the intonation and bitter tone in her voice. They were all the hints he needed to know that this round of the game was over, the Nara no longer a viable candidate for manipulation in the future. As she finished speaking, Izayoi closed his eyes, nodding, a small, subtle smile still upon his otherwise unblemished face. Without pausing, or leaving air to turn stale, he spoke his reply, simple and plain. “I fear what you say about mirrors is probably quite accurate… I know I personally was not allowed access to mirrors, for fear of becoming vain. Tell me, Miss Nara, what do you think of your mirror?”

He allowed himself to exhale, shaking his head slowly. He would have to be sure to keep an eye on this Nara, for perhaps in a bad case scenario, she could prove a hindrance in his plans before they are made manifold. But, there was something else as well. A bitter twisted joy in Izayoi that made his blood rush, a thrill. Here was someone that could understand the mind, and the true arts of the Shinobi. In reference to books, in reality the sort of books Izayoi had read were less so of the entertainment kind. And one such book debated the psychological benefit to a rival. The idea of using another individual’s existence and progression as a means of motivation, to push forth through the boundaries at which one was held victim. Perhaps, this Shinako Nara would prove a valuable asset in a way that Izayoi had not expected.

“On second thought, you don’t need to answer than Shinako-san. I wouldn’t wish to pry, especially on such a hypothetical thing, you know?”

Slowly and carefully he stood up from the bench, stretching his arms back as he took a step forward, before turning equally slowly on his heel to face the Nara woman, looking down at her with the empty, lifeless orbs that held no emotion that were his eyes. “I quite agree with you about expectations. Being a shinobi is like a curse, a disease. It doesn’t care who it inflicts itself upon, nor does it care for what damage its existence does. The title of shinobi just exists. It is a shame we met each other, both as shinobi. But if you don’t mind, I think I will go home and rest now. I have a medication I take that causes me… Unpleasant mood swings, and I fear the side effects have been causing issues within our conversation and ruining your day. I didn’t mean such, and apologise for… Well, myself.”

He turned once more, putting his back to Shinako as he begun to walk off, mind exploring the many thoughts it now held about this situation that he had just put himself in and through. There was little that Shinako could give away, except perhaps her own weakness – her morality. It was clear through her distaste for his mind games that she was not a true shinobi. She was still human. And every human was imperfect. Without looking back, Izayoi began walking away, down the street of which he’d come, and speaking up. “Truly Miss Shinako, I can promise you I have no ill wishes. Quite the opposite in fact. Yes, in your future, I can only wish you one thing…”

He stopped for a moment, turning back to face her with a face that was cold, stern, and completely unlike the young, empty expressions from before, like the grey of his eyes simply held fire. The expression contrasted starkly with the next word that left his lips before he walked away into the distance.

“… Joy.”

655 + 3700 = 4355

[EXIT]

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