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Being Found in the Normal |Karumo| Sat Apr 01, 2017 3:23 am
Sol
D-rank
Named one thing, served another purpose.
Funny how that worked out. The Administration Building, so many tools, even jutsu, he could name.....oh, but ninja themselves, too. Were they not also tools? Whether for amusement or ambition, their lives were still nothing but playthings for the Feudal Lord and the Shogun. This is how it always had been; the old send the young to die on behalf of their problems. Yes, even a shinobi, 'one who endures', was trained to do so much more. Each ninja's name, in some cases, even became meaningless; through ANBU, nameless even to the people they descended from. Through combat and war, no one learned the name of another. It simply made them so much harder to hurt or kill, knowing they were a real person. But, he supposed that too mattered little. Even as one hurts others, their heart closes, making it easier to do so again. That one might not have to feel something about killing others. He'd heard tales of the twisted ones that actually enjoyed maiming and murdering. Even then, could he kill someone like them? If he was...assigned to such a purpose? Would he do it under his own name? Or the one the village gave him? Would he--
Right, the stone. The tower. He was....here, yes. It took, apparently, a great deal of willpower even to keep his own mind on presence, let alone try to complete something simple like polishing the stone. It wasn't a mission that paid well, but it was easy, at the least. Ōnoki, of all people, was said to do the same even as a disciple of the First Earth Shadow, even before he took up that mantle under the Second. He never saw anyone really enter this tower....it crossed his mind that perhaps this was a task reserved for those studying under the Tsuchikage. Sol's right hand splayed, those fingers lightly dropping the polishing cloth onto the corner of the pedestal. His left hand's index and middle fingers curled at the first joint, while his other three completely contracted; his other hand simply wrapped around those two. As if a whisper to himself...
He always found it odd how reciting the name, verbally or otherwise, allowed him to better concentrate. The slightest of rumbles, given the small area he was using...but he couldn't stand getting wet for just a curiosity. By applying his basic Academy skills, he could even make the rocks stick to the conveyor-belt of earth beneath them. One at a time, he found it to be true. Each of these rocks, though possessing the smallest differences in shape, would yield no complaint if replaced. It was only due to him being there for the switch and seeing both that he could ever tell the difference. Tossing it into the surrounding pool - decorative or symbolic? - would leave no trace of which was the original.
Leaving no trace. Perhaps this was fine too.
Funny how that worked out. The Administration Building, so many tools, even jutsu, he could name.....oh, but ninja themselves, too. Were they not also tools? Whether for amusement or ambition, their lives were still nothing but playthings for the Feudal Lord and the Shogun. This is how it always had been; the old send the young to die on behalf of their problems. Yes, even a shinobi, 'one who endures', was trained to do so much more. Each ninja's name, in some cases, even became meaningless; through ANBU, nameless even to the people they descended from. Through combat and war, no one learned the name of another. It simply made them so much harder to hurt or kill, knowing they were a real person. But, he supposed that too mattered little. Even as one hurts others, their heart closes, making it easier to do so again. That one might not have to feel something about killing others. He'd heard tales of the twisted ones that actually enjoyed maiming and murdering. Even then, could he kill someone like them? If he was...assigned to such a purpose? Would he do it under his own name? Or the one the village gave him? Would he--
Right, the stone. The tower. He was....here, yes. It took, apparently, a great deal of willpower even to keep his own mind on presence, let alone try to complete something simple like polishing the stone. It wasn't a mission that paid well, but it was easy, at the least. Ōnoki, of all people, was said to do the same even as a disciple of the First Earth Shadow, even before he took up that mantle under the Second. He never saw anyone really enter this tower....it crossed his mind that perhaps this was a task reserved for those studying under the Tsuchikage. Sol's right hand splayed, those fingers lightly dropping the polishing cloth onto the corner of the pedestal. His left hand's index and middle fingers curled at the first joint, while his other three completely contracted; his other hand simply wrapped around those two. As if a whisper to himself...
"Chi-dō-daku."
He always found it odd how reciting the name, verbally or otherwise, allowed him to better concentrate. The slightest of rumbles, given the small area he was using...but he couldn't stand getting wet for just a curiosity. By applying his basic Academy skills, he could even make the rocks stick to the conveyor-belt of earth beneath them. One at a time, he found it to be true. Each of these rocks, though possessing the smallest differences in shape, would yield no complaint if replaced. It was only due to him being there for the switch and seeing both that he could ever tell the difference. Tossing it into the surrounding pool - decorative or symbolic? - would leave no trace of which was the original.
Leaving no trace. Perhaps this was fine too.
|505|
Hokage: 
Kazekage: 
Raikage: 
Tsuchikage: 
Mizukage: 