"What the hell is that thing on his back?"
"That kid stinks like blood."
"Why are his eyes yellow?"
"Creepy..."

He was used to the stares, used to the gossip. Until someone tried to put their hands on him, he didn't care. He'd learned to let the words roll off of his shoulders long ago, the words meant nothing. Someone would always have something to say. None of it mattered. Suna was gone, and all of those who wronged him were probably dead. It was looking like this was going to be home... for now, at least.

A kid walked slowly through the street. He had to be heavy since he left visible tracks in the ground as he stepped. The kid stood only 4 feet tall with a muscular, stocky build and tanned skin, wearing a red outfit with yellow trim. It had a large collar which hid everything below his eyes from view. He had frizzy black hair that was cut short, and piercing yellow eyes half closed with the expression that he was sleepy, or bored, or both. Ankle length brown slacks were on his legs, with black sandals on his feet.

What had to stand out about this kid the most was the large black gourd on his back, nearly as big as he was. Composed of iron with a red sash around it, his old Suna headband still hanging from said sash, the thing looked heavy, yet this shorty looked to be carrying it with relative ease. The gourd stank of blood and metal, causing disgusted and terrified looks of those in the streets and standing around. The kid walked slowly with his hands in his pockets.

This village was bright, green and sunny; a cool breeze blowing. It was far different from the harsh, dry, blazing hot climate of the desert. He'd been accepted here, and while waiting to become an official villager he would have to allocate living space. The entire time he wondered if he would have to endure the judgmental and bullies. Every village had them. His primary goal was to train, to learn new techniques, to become as strong as possible, but there was always someone who tried to step on you, to hinder your progress.

He was silently hoping that wouldn't be the case here, in a new village, in a new surrounding where no one knew the dirty details of his past... not yet, anyway. He didn't make eye contact with anyone as he slowly walked, his yellow eyes scanning the scenery, memorizing everything he saw.


429 words

"Oh my god, what is that smell??"
"Geez kid, take a bath..."
"What's that thing on his back?..."
"He looks pretty cool!"

"..."

Every so often there was a compliment, sure. That was alright, but there were mostly insults. It was fine. His expression didn't change any, and he was barely listening. Would it be the same here as it was in Suna? He's never really had any friends, and he wasn't beyond the idea of making a couple, but he didn't figure he'd get the chance while carrying around this big iron thing that smelled like blood.

A lot of the kids that graduated with him from the academy got taken by squad leaders and formed squads. He never got the opportunity since the village was wiped out, and even if, most of the sand shinobi was opposed to the idea of teaming up with "that short yellow eyed freak." Maybe it would be the same here. Maybe he'd have to train himself, but it wouldn't be like genuine training from an accomplished shinobi. He was prepared to do things alone if he had to. It was the way it had always been since discovering who he was.

”I suppose they don’t have to get used to it with the peaceful lives they lead… the smell of blood that is.”

As if someone above was listening and watching his thoughts and decided to contradict him, a voice went into his ears, and he noticed someone walking along with him. Yellow eyes slowly moved though the sockets to land on this individual. She looked like a girl. She had white hair and pale skin, dressed in black. There were numerous weapons on her, most notably a bow and arrows. Her headband was different that that of the leaf; the headband of somewhere he'd never been.

His eyes went back forward, in front of him. "...But you are," he responded, his voice deep and baritone despite his small size. "...Maybe you've seen your share of bloodshed early on the same as me..."

He normally didn't talk so much, but she'd spoken to him, so he thought the least he could do was respond. he didn't know her intentions; was she friend or foe? Was she simply trying to welcome him to the village, or was she about to set him up? His trust in others was nearly non-existent, so he suspected everyone at first to be up to no good. Against ordinary people, like those in jail, he could defend himself pretty easily, but against other trained shinobi, his skills were yet to be seen, and even he knew he had a long way to go before he could properly take someone on. Yet, he was no stranger to beatings...

460 + 429 = 889 words

The girl said that it was true about her having seen blood and death the same as him, and being a part of it, having grown used to it, the same as him. He knew that it was part of the life of a shinobi, with some seeing more than others, with some even growing to enjoy it, even. He himself was torn between liking it and not, but taught himself to become immune to the stares and the comments from the normal everyday villagers who never had to endure some of the things he and others like him did.

She made a comment about how they should consider themselves lucky that they never had to fight and kill, since it was people like he and her who were out there keeping them safe. This comment, loud enough for those around them to hear it, silenced the talk, and caused people staring to look in another direction. He was silently impressed, but it was true. These villagers were probably bored, looking for something or someone to gossip about in their everyday, humdrum existences.

The girl told him her name. Jihi Mu from Kirigakure. He'd never been to that village before. Truth be told, this was his first visit to anywhere outside of the desert, having lived there his whole life. He was impressed with the size of this place, but it wouldn't show on what was revealed of his face. Did the girl have family? Brothers? Sisters? Parents? He wouldn't ask, but at the very least, they cared enough about her to actually give her a name. He never knew his father, and his mother gave him the cold shoulder for as long as he'd been able to know, up until the moment she disappeared.

"...I don't have a name," he responded. "I was never given one... I come from Sunagakure... before it was destroyed. Some of the people there called me 'Kinzoku.'... If you want to call me something, I guess you could use that..."

338 + 889 = 1,227 words

Then just like that, there were the memories. The memories of his mother, the woman who's face he barely remembered. the look of disgust when she looked upon him. The silence, the coldness. The fact that she never hugged him, never held him, never showed him any sort of love. The mumbles and whispers of the other villagers. The arguments between she and his grand parents. The many questions that went unanswered.

Then, his mother dropping him off with his grandparents, and vanishing one day. It was better there, but his questions still went unanswered, or were met with vague replies that produced more questions. The academy students and their whispers, their fake smiles. the revelation that his mother had been kidnapped and abused, with him as the result of that abuse. Then everything made sense for the first time. His transformation into a cold unfeeling young man. The first of several who made fun of him lying near death at his feet, bleeding out.

The smart assed stares turning into those of fear, and terror, which he preferred. Stealing, beating down those weaker than him, the only things that gave him joy. He got carried away, went too far, and end up in jail. A cellmate wanted to take advantage of him, to end up eventually crushed, within the metal of the very gourd he now carried with him everywhere. He was now deranged, a lunatic, crazy; he didn't care. Better that than the butt of someone's joke. Better that than to be laughed at...

Then one day, it was all gone. Destroyed. Swept away. All of the bullies, the people who spake bad on him, the people who laughed, used him as something to talk about in their boring day to day... they were all probably dead. Was it a freak of nature? Was it due to some insanely powerful ninja? Perhaps Kinzoku would never know. He didn't even know or why how he survived it all. The next thing he knew, he was wandering through the village gates of Konoha... and there were the looks, the gossip all over again. At least here, no one knew the truth.

And there was also the matter of this girl, talking to him as if he were a friend... something that had never happened before. Was it real? Or was she just one of them, wearing a mask? Maybe time would tell? "...I was accepted to live here from now on..." he responded to Jihi. "...My clan, the Kansen-Suru... I want to know how to control their powers... Up until now, it always happened at random..." He still didn't know why he was talking so much, but she hadn't come at him incorrectly... yet.

/Exit/

456 + 1,227 = 1,683 words