At night, when the pale moon rose above the horizon and the nocturnal winds carried the calls of crepuscular forest creatures emerging from their holes, Konohagakure would briefly wallow in the darkness accompanying dusk. Tall buildings and skyscrapers silhouetted against the surrounding landscape appeared as solemn monoliths in contrast to the hovels and residences clustered all around them. Then, after mere moments of darkness and tranquility, the entire city would alight with the yellow glow of electrical bulbs and street lamps, becoming an illuminated beacon alone in a sea of swaying treetops. The sight of so much civilization concentrated in one single area was a rare one when so many human settlements across the land existed as groups of shacks centered around whatever local resource the people could make a living from; besides the capitol cities of the various Daimyō, sights such as the one Rokumaru enjoyed existed only where the Four Hidden Villages stood today.

The people of the Leaf were apparantly aware of what a sight the village lit up at night would make, as they had created a rather impressive vista atop the rocky cliffs Konoha crowded around that they had carved into the faces of the previous Hokage. Above the stony likeness of the First Hokage the cliffside had been worn away and smoothed into a level walking surface, scuffed from the boots of countless generations of Konoha-nin, and the carved effigy rose just slightly above the cliff it jutted out from to offer an unhindered view of the surrounding landscape. Many of the carved faces of the Hokage Monument had some sort of viewing platform like this to add to the village’s picturesque reputation and take advantage of Hi no Kuni’s natural beauty, but Roku found that he enjoyed the older one’s better. The first few loomed over central Konoha and its most important districts, letting one look down on all that kept the Village Hidden in Leaves in its place above the other, lesser villages. They had also been spared the gratuitous development several other heads on the cliff side had forced upon them with high-value residential properties, opulent businesses and administrative-related buildings.

Here, atop the carved likeness of a legendary and ancient shinobi he did not who the name of, Rokumaru had found one of the few places in the entire village that seemed almost tranquil and detached from the activity taking place hundreds of meters below; the ceaseless chirping of voices in the streets would be lost to the wind long before it could reach the cliffs, and so long as he came at night there were very few civilians willing to make the climb to enjoy a cliched view of the land they had lived in all their lives. Sunagakure had no structure or natural formation that served only to provide a breathtaking view of the village and the land surrounding it; elevation in Kaze no Kuni was limited to the few tall buildings that had stood in the administrative-district, the tallest dune of sand that you could find or as high as you could jump. He envied the Leaf for the simultaneous beauty and strength it seemed to waft from every orifice; having only been graced with the sight of two of the five Great Villages, he had to wonder if the other three had similar qualities.

But Rokumaru had discovered, analyzed and appreciated the great views afforded by the Hokage Monument in his first week within the village, and it was beginning to grow familiar and mundane in a way that he found complacent and alarming. Now, when he visited the clearing above the First Hokage’s carved likeness, it was to either absorb his daily requirement of aestheticall beauty if there had been few pretty faces in the streets or to spy on those who also visited the site. Unlike the vast majority of faces lining the stretch of cliffs, few civilians would bother making the climb here and fewer still were willing to jump through the hoops needed to wander through the shinobi districts of the village as a civilian to even reach the spot. It narrowed the visitors of this spot to the more motivated among the local populace or shinobi, the latter being much more interesting to a curious potential enemy such as the sand-laden redhead.

As he would often do when faced with the remaining hours of the day that weren’t spent slogging through D and C-Ranked missions, Rokumaru would observe those who came to sit atop the cliffs and study what he could. His selection of specimens were almost always Genin, Chuunin and low-level Special Jounin; without stronger techniques to mask his presence more perceptive shinobi would almost immediately know they were being watched, and would leave out of caution or scare the teen off with threats of violence. On one occasion, a woman wearing Kirigakure garb plucked Rokumaru from the few grains of sand scattered around the clearing and threw him from the cliff to the streets below. After thanking the masked ANBU who had caught his leg with chakra wire and turned the shattering of his entire skeleton when he hit the ground into a simple dislocation, he made it a point to only watch and bother the people he assumed were any rank lower than Chuunin.

Tonight was another spent hiding atop the Hokage Monument in the form of grainy silicates, spying on those who journeyed to the cliffs on a whim. Many who came were of little interest, even to him: several Exam participants from foreign lands coming to get an obligatory view of the gorgeous Konoha landscape, some strange canine wearing a Leaf Hitai-ate as a collar stopped by to briefly mark its territory (which really tickled the boy when he realized he could literally piss on the legacy of every Hokage), and a rather determined civilian youth who seemed to use the gorgeous view of Konoha illuminated against the dark forests beyond the walls as muse for his poetry. Pretty good stuff from what Roku could hear from his spot several feet away in a pile of sand, but he wasn’t here to absorb the pointless ramblings of lovestruck civilians now matter how verbose and emotional it was. Wiping away the tear threatening to escape from the flowery words of longing the man spoke, Rokumaru scared him off with several pebbles thrown using his sand to remotely manipulate the stones.

Now, he laid in wait for another unsuspecting soul to arrive in search of natural beauty, bored from fruitless hours spent in the presence of garden variety shinobi and civilians. Feeling a bit whimsical, feeling a bit of the youthful exuberance he was supposed to still possess, he considered what he could do to the next person to show up on what he was beginning to think of as his carved Hokage. It had been a long, draining month spent in this village of strangers that begrudgingly allowed his presence; perhaps he was entitled to a bit of fun at someone else’s expense for once. The sand he hid within as a chakra construct flowed across the smooth cliff until it began to gather into a pile of aggregates resembling a parody of the dunes of his home. An unusual sight, a mound of sand on top of the cliff that was not blown away by the ever-present breeze at this elevation, and hopefully a good distraction should someone prank-worthy show up. If it was a young shinobi from one of the other villages, he definitely would pounce on the opportunity to harass a foreigner if it made himself feel even a tiny bit better about himself and the situation he was in. Only one way to find out: even if he had to wait all night, someone was going to be punished for the sin of trespassing.

1307

Chakra - 285/300:

Her left shoulder would dip downwards as her form twisted out of the way as a young male hurried past, hustling his form away at a pace that too many could be seen at ‘quickly’, looking quite, to say the least. Yet her form would turn a little further allowing her visible piercing yellow right eye. Though she wouldn't pause for long it would be just long enough to watch the males form retreat, her brow arched before allowing her gaze to scan over the area around her form before setting her sights back upon the top of the hill, still quite some ways to go she would give a subtle sigh. Her right hand would shit to her left bicep, her fingers brushing against the black band of cloth, before allowing her fingers to curl about the muscle, grazing her thumb along, back and forth as though to brush some warmth into it.  Each step would take her further and further up the walk path, closer and closer to the great stone face of the second and first Hokage’s.  what had once been the highest point of Konohagakure no Sato, at least that is what she had been taught once upon a time.  With the way she seemed to absentmindedly observe the area around her, she could very easily be mistaken for a simple villager or one coaxed in with the crowds that had come to bear witness to the chunnin exams.  

clad in a body suit made a pitch black in colour for the most part, being a tight fit to cover her left side from ankle right up to her jawline completely, whereas the right side showed visible flesh of her chest and arm. Yet draped about her form, giving some form of cover to her chest and the area from her waist down to her thighs in a diagonal slant, was a lightweight material, its colour that of deep clotted blood, her gloves the same in colour and material. Her right glove just reaching past the bone in her wrist whilst her left hand’s glove had been specially designed to fit snuggly to the deformity of her hand, missing the space for her missing pinky digit all together, instead made as a perfect fit as though a pinky finger had never had a place within a pair of gloves, a subtle padding within to give some form of not only protection to the hand but comfort, whilst reaching up to her elbow, ensuring the flesh of her left hand and arm would be covered as it lapsed over the body suit itself, however from midways of her biceps would flow wide hemmed sleeves, long enough that the very tips of her fingers would be the only bits visible of her lower arms and hands, the material similar to the drapes about her form, again a deep clotted blood colour. With a blood clot coloured Obi coils about her waist, styled at the back as a taiko musubi, nestled within her obi  one would fine Amai at the front and Tatsu at the back, both seeming like nothing more than simple fans, at a push they might have been considered dancing fans, by the looks of them at least.  Beneath the folds of the draped material ton either side of her, what covered the rise of her chest, on either side would be found her sheathed Ripa tsume blades, one each side with the arched curve of her blades set upwards so that their tips pointed downwards for easy access whilst her kunai sat beneath her bust, all discreetly covered just as her modesty were. Three of her senbon would be nestled into the folds of her drapes, resting against her right shoulder. The other three settled within the high bun of her snow-white hair, the section of hair that would usually be classed as the ‘undercut’ however was left to hang loosely, trailing right the way down her back like a flowing river to brush against her rump whilst she walked as it peeked out from the section of drape she wore like a hood, protecting her from the elements that danced along the Hokage mountain. The left side of her hair, including the left side of her fringe, would be tightly braided with dull loops entrained, attached to said loops a thin veil that would, in turn, be attached to the high collar of her bodysuit, completely covering the left side of her face from view, whilst the right side remained exposed, her cheekbones high enough that she could be considered a regal beauty with the addition of her pointed features and pale flesh, if it was not for the traces of malnutrition set deeply within her, accenting the deep scar that set in a line along her upper and lower lip the material black to match the body suit. Whilst it covered the left side of her face it would also encroach back over the side of her head below the makeshift hood to also cover her ear and though insipid for an onlooker, with the material so close to her she would see through and hear through with very little discomfort now. Standard issue army boots had their place upon her feet yet little sound would flow from her movements, somewhat reminiscent of a waithe.

Nearing her chosen destination it would be her scent that would proceed her, announcing her arrival, sweet, almost sickeningly so, like lilly flowers left in an overly heated room where the resin of a cypress tree smoldered, the scent of long-awaited death, whilst it could un-nerve people it could also comfort, at times.  Keeping her chakra signature almost null to the point of it being a simple annoying buzz, somewhat like white noise in the background if any were to be looking for chakra signatures as she herself had been doing throughout her walk about the village.  As her steps brought her close to a small sand pile, giving it bearly a glance she would give it a somewhat wider birth that she had anything else, almost as though her steps naturally avoided it, keeping it upon her right side as she settled her stace close to the brim of the cliff side, close enough to peer off, her head would tilt downwards as though to simulating looking at the great stone face of the first Hokage yet her gaze  would sweep over the village, for was it not good practice to get a lay of un-familiar lands whilst staying there? Yet not only that she would be able to keep track of her villagers in form of their chakra instead of their scent ad sight alone having made sure to memorize the profile and scent of each that came from Iwagakure no Sato during their travel to Konohagakure no Sato. Her right hand would rise to lightly grip the makeshift hood, holding it just a little ways from the exposed side of her face, her tongue would slip out from between her lips to coat the visible area in a thin layer of moisture only for her to nip down on her bottom lip for a moment to peel it from the teeth. Her grip would tighten as she held the makeshift hood still against the breeze that whipped up the snowy strands of hair, allowing it to flutter off towards the left.

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Chakra 380/400:

Word count: 1243.

Time passed as the moon rose higher and higher above the distant mountains and endless treetop horizon, most of Rokumaru’s attention focused on the approach to the clearing above this carved monument the Leaves had erected for their Kage. The high elevation winds threatened to scatter the aggregate silicates the redhead had stored himself within using a modified Henge and Bunshin to mimic the form of the sand he held in such high regard, only his ability to remotely manipulate the sand keeping himself from being scattered over the village. Knowing very little about the technique he used and it’s limits Roku was not sure if he could recompose himself should the sand he was stored within go beyond a certain distance of each other, something he should have tested a thousand times over; more reason to regret the complacent behavior he had been unable to break free from while he was still a part of the village, more incentive to use what time he had left to get a better grasp on his abilities.

Left with time for introspection as no victim ripe for irritation had appeared, Rokumaru thought further about where he needed to go with his abilities and what habits he would need to let go of. He already knew well enough that everything he had been taught about his Kekkei Genkai, the supposed Sand Release, was really just one basic application of a very versatile ability that others called the Magnet Release. Like being taught to swim by using the backstroke form, then learning that there were many different strokes that were far easier to learn and perform, Roku knew a considerable amount about forming the connection to sand and creating a magnetic charge unique to himself that could bind the substance with while knowing absolutely nothing about how to alter the magnetic charges that already existed in metallic objects. He attributed this to a simple deficiency in practice at dealing with magnetic objects; left on his own to figure out how to affect the polarity of magnetic materials, the redhead had tried over and over to apply what he knew about sand manipulation. Rather than being drawn to his chakra as the sand does like a fish towards water, the flecks of steel he had taken from a scrap pile in a dumpster merely let his chakra wash over it without responding or connecting to the boy whatsoever. He could puzzle it out eventually through trial-and-error, but whether this understanding would come quick enough to be of actual use to him was what stressed him out. He could not escape this power plateau he existed on without the secret of Jiton application and every day he failed caused him to slip further and further away from the prowess of his peers.

A silhouette in the distance drew Rokumaru from his thoughts and the loose mound of sand he existed as buzzed momentarily as he focused on the figure walking further and further into his clutches. His night vision was still too poor to identify the stranger from afar using moonlight alone so he was forced to wait for the individual to get closer to the cliffside where the streetlights below could reach all the way up here. From the generally slim shape of their silhouette and the way their footsteps barely registered against the hardened carved stone of the monument Roku assumed the newcomer was a woman, a young one at that, and he had to remind himself that his fabricated need to harass and bother foreigners should not exclude any gender or age group.

As she drew close enough to the sand-ensconced redhead to be somewhat illuminated by the warm yellow glow of electricity bulbs hundreds of meters below, Rokumaru was not confident enough to determine whether she was a civilian or a kunoichi due to the dark form-fitting attire she wore; and quite a form it was, he couldn’t help but vocalize mentally with amused appreciation. The way she seemed to disregard the mound of sand placed atop the monument uncharacteristically, barely sparing it and Rokumaru a glance before avoiding it, suggested a lack of awareness and common sense that many low-ranked shinobi still possessed from their days as a non-combatant. His anticipation to mess with this stranger only heightened at the prospect of her being at most a weak Genin, someone even he could bully around like a meek pup. If she was just another villager looking for solitude and a view up on his favorite carved face in the mountain, he’d settle for a quick scare before letting her escape.

Letting the woman reach the edge of the cliff and look out across the village, hoping she fully distracted herself from the militant Kaze no Kuni native just a few meters behind her, Rokumaru observed her from his worm’s-eye view on the ground in the sand. His assumptions that the stranger was a low-risk individual seemed vindicated by her appearance; disregarding whatever subjective beauty she may or may not have possessed, her attire was fashionable and complicated with dark flowing fabrics that covered her slim bodysuit-covered form. An Obi-style sash wrapped around her waist in a traditional Musubi style that kept the baggy clothes she wore atop from hanging too far off her slim figure; tucked in at the small of her back was what appeared to be the handle of a fan. If she wore weapons they were kept beneath her clothing, as Roku could see no trace of a pouch containing any projectiles similar to what he himself wore. Against the strong breeze that blew against the Hokage Monument she held the cloth that acted as a makeshift hood. Taking one final appraisal of the ornate braids and tangles in the hair that he could see, a pinkish-purple color he would hesitantly label as lilac or a muted violet, the gaunt redhead decided it was now or never.

Carefully Rokumaru released the technique that held his form within the sand, ripples of his chakra spreading outward as the constant stream fueling the jutsu was cut off, appearing atop the mound of sand with only the faint sounds of displaced air to announce his sudden presence. Immediately after regaining his human form, recovering full awareness over his senses and now detecting a strange floral scent that seemed to waft from the woman overlooking the village, Rokumaru shifted into a state of focused multitasking as knew he had less than a few seconds to make this prank as efficient as possible.

The frail redhead inhaled deeply and quickly, flooding the oxygen within his lungs with weak Fūton chakra in preparation for a technique, while at the same time moving his right hand forward in a grasping motion towards his victim. Like a third limb the sand he had been hidden within shot towards the stranger, grinding against the smooth stone surface they stood upon as it moved, circling the girl’s legs within two seconds of the boy having appeared. Like a lasso the sand connected to form a loop and tightened; if she could not instantly raise her legs or jump from just a few seconds of warning alone the loop would coil around her ankles and tighten. As the loop would tighten to trap her legs together and restrict her movement Rokumaru would simultaneously expell the compressed, chakra-fueled air within his lungs in a strong gust of Nagare.

In his mind the redhead could picture the end result of his combined actions: the Stream he created, one of the few elemental jutsu Roku knew that required no handseals, would hopefully push the woman off balance or off her feet entirely towards the sheer drop of the cliffside that she faced. The Tendril of sand would, if she did not escape the construct and get blown off the cliff entirely, anchor her to the boy suspending the long ochre rope in midair and leave her dangling against the stone face of the First Hokage.

The prospect of her tanking the weak Fūton jutsu completely unhindered and himself being left on the cliff with an upset kunoichi with an incriminating coil of sand wrapped around her ankles was a very unpleasant one, but rather unlikely given the assumption he had made towards her.

Chakra - 255/300:

1401 | 2708

Her grip would tighten upon the fabric of the makeshift hood just a touch more as the wind seemed to pick up at such an altitude. Yet, having spent many years within Tsuchi no Kuni she had become accustomed to both the height of places and the changes in wind rates that accompanied such. An odd place to find comfort as to which she hadn't realized that she had needed, was it a longing to simply be at home? Or was it something different... something more?  

The knot in her chest would tighten enough for her left hand to raise, to grip at the area. Grasping not only the clothing but a small portion of the flesh for a moment. Yet even as they weight sat heavily upon her shoulders her senses would not waver to her duty. Her gaze would continue about the area. In ways the sight of Konohagakure no Sato could be called beautiful, so very modern in all of its glory. Its fast-flowing electrical lights, its tall stong buildings but more so the railway. Of which she herself had yet to ride within a carriage yet had taken the chance to ride atop it. She would soak in all of the information the sights, sounds, and scents could. Then further upon to the imprints of chakra that littered the village. Following trails picking out the most used routes and seeking out the strongest then the weakest signatures committing all to the depths of her memory for later use. As was her duty in this land was it not? To keep those of her village safe and to bring back as much information as possible.  

Yet the short usual sound and change in the air, easily missed if you were not alert, would signal activity behind her. She would take a couple of, what would easily seem, absent-minded steps back away from the edge and closer to the male, as though the winds might topple her. Maybe the chakra signature she had picked up upon had decided to move on? At least that is what would naturally come to mind would it not? Her gaze would flicker to her feet, as though to watch a shadow move to confirm such a flash of thought only to be met with the sight of grains of sand dancing along itself shifting into formation as It curled about around her stance, yet keeping her head upwards as though she noted little to nothing of the activities behind her person. Her left leg would rise just as the lasso of sand clutched, taking her right ankle in its grip. Chakra would flood into her legs and the soles of her feet and her hands as she twisted her body in an awkwardly quick motion. Her body would twist, following her sweeping foot, as though to clear some space and to face an oncoming attack, the chakra within her legs and the soles of her feet and her palms ready to aid in balance, however, if the individual did not shift away her foot would connect with his wrist, the touch not harsh but sticking as the supernatural walking practice did its work, her foot would guide the male's hand to the ground with her foot atop it yet not fully weighted. If the connection was made it would send the male's jutsu off of course and with such her right hand would snap towards the boys left wrist yet simply taking what would seem to be a light grip, again the chakra sticking them in place before curling her fingers around to draw his hand upwards to their arms-length capacity. Her touch, even through the clothing and her gloves would be unusually cold, her flesh reminiscent in temperature of a corpse. Again if her movements were not averted of confronted her form would lower to lean in, close enough that her chest would press to his back, the art of enclosing the space to cause discomfort as words uttered almost silently from her lips in a sort of mutter, “Mein Domine, tak atts da’oel?” the accent thick in the roll of her native tongue, the strength of her voice unusual and almost alluring, like the D cord of a violin. At one time not at all long before the seemingly endless months in which she had been held within the Kaze no Kuni, she had waited in anticipation to see such kekkei Genkai and kekki tota that the lands beyond Tsuchi no Kuni. And now to see the art form and use of sand, like the great Kazakage Gaara from the legends her mother and father had told in her youth. Once she had found a juvenile sense of pleasure at seeing such yet the sight of the sand only drew forth cursed memories for which, if her stomach were weaker, could have churned the small contents of her stomach.  

Drawing her face closer as she held the male in place she would keep her chin just a brush away from his shoulder, enough for her breath to ghost along the flesh of his jaw as she spoke, this time for him to hear clearly yet still keeping her voice a mere whisper, “Child of the sand … didn’t your guardians ever teach you that its bad manners to sneak upon a defenseless lady?” From the rich tones of her voice as it had been but a moment ago with her murmer would come a dull and somewhat monotonous drawl as she articulated her words as her thick accent remained, leaving it safe to say that her mother tongue suited her far more than the common tongue. Her head would incline just a touch, enough to face him, setting her gaze upon him as she waited for his answer or retaliation to their predicament. During which she would inhale slowly and deeply to fill her lungs with his scent, one of many she would commit to memory as she did all the information that crossed her path.  

If he did counter before a connection could be made her form would drop lower to the ground within a crouch to weather the jutsu the male used as she readied to flush her form with enough chakra for at least one c rank and one d rank jutsu’s, her piercing gaze set upon him.

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365/400:

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Word count:1069.
Total word count: 2312.

With her attention focused solely on the landscape of forest and village below, something that enthused the mischievous redhead emerging from the out of place sand a few feet away, it seemed his plan was going to be executed flawlessly. In the back of his mind where it had been herded and segregated from the more malicious parts of his ego, caution nagged at Rokumaru to cease this tomfoolery; not only was this a horrible first impression to make on such an easily preyed-upon civilian or low-ranked kunoichi, there were countless unforeseen consequences that could result from this ‘harmless’ prank. She could do something to break his concentration sending her plummeting to the streets below, or a patrolling Leaf could assume he was attacking her for real and snuff his light out in her defense. But, using the well-worn excuse that he needed some levity and excitement to distract from the swirl of negative emotions filling his head, Roku let the thought of stopping slip away.

The woman took a few slow steps away from the edge of the cliffs, the wind blowing tresses of her hair in tangles around the hood she wore that obscured her peripheral vision. She now stood just feet away from where the frail male did, close enough he could take one step and reach out to touch her. But her distance from the cliffside didn’t matter in the face of Nagare and a tug from his Tendril. So long as he got the stranger off balance enough that he could pull her feet out from beneath her and yank her over the cliff, he would not worry. Breathing in and inflating his lungs to their maximum capacity until his ribs pressed against his skin noticeably Rokumaru forced his sand to snake out across the stone. Exhaling the Fūton-laced breath and tightening the coil of sand encircling her feet, Rokumaru made his move.

While breathing out the basic Wind jutsu, eyes squinting to keep his focus on the stranger, the redhead did not expect the girl to lift her leg suddenly leaving the sand Tendril to wrap around her stationary right ankle, leaving her legs unwrapped and able to move about freely much to his shock and horror. Any hopes that her awkward stance would allow the Wind technique he released to push her over were crushed when he saw the strong gust do nothing but blow her hair and clothing back, remaining upright. It was at this moment Rokumaru recovered from his surprise enough to recognize the situation he had created for himself, having wildly underestimated the perceptiveness of the woman, but a kick to his outstretched hand halted any thoughts of retaliation that had been trying to form.

Having not expected any resistance to his assault and having been caught in his normal comfortable stance with his feet shoulder-length apart, Rokumaru barely saw the motion of the leg she had lifted twisting around to smash her foot into his thin wrist and could not move in time to avoid it. The blow was painful enough, a surprising amount of strength in the woman’s slender limbs that was beginning to reveal just how much he had underestimated her, but the redhead could barely even grunt to acknowledge the pain before he was being pulled off balance towards the smooth stone ground. This entire time he had been blowing chakra-enhanced wind from his lungs, only barely catching her in the stream that she weathered effortlessly; with no air in his lungs and only one hand free to catch himself, the other stuck to her foot like it had been covered with adhesive, he could hardly stop from crashing into the hard stone. Her hand shot out to grab his free hand that had been stretching out to halt his fall, grasping his wrist and pulling the limb up until it stretched out completely above his body. In the end Roku was forced to bend his legs and drive his left knee into the ground to keep upright.

The whole incident happened within seconds of the boy’s attack being made, so quickly that Rokumaru was on his knees before the foreign woman with her foot atop his hand and the other arm stretched almost painfully in the air by the time his mind had caught up with his body. Taking his first breath since releasing the Stream jutsu, Rokumaru inhaled the sickly-sweet floral scent that now permeated the air around them. The whole movement had pulled Rokumaru just slightly to her side and the woman now stood behind him, and he twisted his neck to try to look at her in the hopes she’d reconsider lobbing him off the Hokage Monument.

Looking up at the stranger with a fearful expression, expecting to be thrown over the woman’s shoulder off the cliff as anyone would do if they had restrained someone who appeared to be trying to do the very same to them, he saw that the hood she wore stretched down over the left half of her face, leaving the right half uncovered where a vibrant yellow eye stared down at him. Her hair was unnaturally pale, the white locks braided tightly together beneath the makeshift hood. The hand restraining his arm was cold, chilling his skin and sending goosebumps down the thin limb. His hesitant attempts to pull his hand from beneath her foot were unsuccessful as her shoe seemed to cling to his skin like glue. Recognizing it as the Supernatural Walking technique taught to all Academy students, an E-Rank technique that had completely nullified the risk of her losing balance as she must have stuck to the cliff using the jutsu, Rokumaru looked towards the ground before him in embarrassment while awaiting the stranger’s judgement.

The short hairs on his neck stood on end when he felt the woman lean herself into his back, the cold aura of her unusually low body-temperature doing very little to distract from the feeling of her slim, soft figure against his warm skin. In a language he had never heard, in a thick accent carried by an almost melodic and enticing voice, the kunoichi spoke a phrase that had the voice inflections accompanying a question. She knew he didn’t understand her and could not answer, and that seemed to be the point; probably mocking him for that admittedly pathetic attempt to get the drop on her. Rokumaru, in the meantime, had realized this was the first human touch he had felt in months since the fall of the village, and was doing his best to distract himself from that depressing and currently unhelpful fact. Looking around for the sand he had been using to make the Tendril, his heart dropped upon noticing most of it was sliding off the cliff after losing control over it from being kicked.

She leaned in closer until he could feel soft cool breathes across his skin and spoke again, this time in the common language but still carrying an exotic foreign lilt in her voice. Speaking with an even, monotonous tone like she was scolding a child the woman addressed him as a ‘child of the sand’, admonishing him for so rudely sneaking up on what she called a ‘defenseless lady’. Surprised that she was choosing to talk first rather than disposing of him Rokumaru turned his head slightly to look at her, aware of the close distance between them and doing his absolute hardest to ignore that facet of the situation he had caught himself in. The stranger waited for his response, idly breathing in the aroma of earthy sand that had to be unpleasant to a foreigner, and he hoped she did not notice the cold sweat that had started to trickle down his neck from an uncommon mix of feelings centered at the pit of his stomach; the strange feminine scent of her was overpowering the ambient scents of the forest and village below, making his head buzz with distraction.

Looking back at the hard stone floor, feeling the throbbing in his knees from crashing into the ground begin to fade, the redhead recovered some of the confidence that had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place. “Defenseless?”, he repeated upon replaying her words in his head, amused and relieved that she was treating the situation as the annoyance it was rather than a murder attempt that had been foiled. Recognizing the blatant falsehood as intended humor, he felt good enough about his chances of surviving that he had to grin and joke right back. “If you were defenseless I’d be dangling you over the edge of this cliff right now,” he admitted in his silvery tone. While the words were admitting that he had malicious intentions towards her, they also pointed out that she was not exactly a helpless maiden.

Roku again looked towards the woman hovering above his shoulder, taking his chance to take back some control over this exchange while he had the chance to speak. Smiling sheepishly, hoping she would forgive his antics, he asked, “Could we maybe forget this whole thing happened and start over?” He would pull his arms away from where she had them trapped lightly in the hopes she would free him, abandoning the attempt if she decided he was fine where he was in her clutches like this. “My name is Sabaku Rokumaru. I’m from Suna.” Hoping she would introduce herself in turn, he asked, “And you are?”

1601 | 4309

As the male looked up at her, the fear so very evident as it etched deeply into his features, yet her expression would remain impassive, as though a heart and emotion had no place within her. Hardened by the harsh events of her life it would seem. Yet it would be his scent that would draw forth a reaction as her brow creased her grip on his wrist would tighten and her form would stiffen for but a moment, her statue refusing to allow him to tug his hand away. Instinctively her piercing orb would close only for her to inhale his scent once again, slowly filling her lungs as though finding a sense of calm once again before allowing her orb to open, setting her gaze upon him. Her grip would loosen and her foot would raise slightly as to not cause harm, however, she would not relinquish her jutsu as she simply further pumped chakra for it allowing it to spread up to her right knee as she lowered to it drawing to his level, simply drawing them closer in the process. With her gaze fixated upon him, she would allow her senses to creep out feeling around to ensure he did not have aid close by that she hadn’t previously detected along with ensuring they were alone. Her gaze would only shift as she followed his gaze to the sand trailing off of the side of the cliff, something within her stomach lurched almost as though the urge to attempt to stop such a thing from happening, brimming within her mind. An odd thought admittedly. Her gaze would flicker back to him as he spoke up, replying to her question.  Her brow would arch and a light flicker of a smile would ghostly tug at the right corner of her lips finding the humour in his reply. His bravado had apparently returned as he admitted to the intent of his actions.

Her left hand would graze over his waist as it coiled around to travel up along the centre of his chest causing her wide hemmed sleeve to drop away, exposing the gloved deformity before allowing the three gloved fingers to reach the flesh of his throat before allowing her thumb to graze to one side as her fingers grazed to the other side until her thumb and index fingers rested just below his jawline close to the lobes of his ear, her actions slow and deliberate before drawing his head upwards a touch to her chosen angle whilst ensuring he would remain, so long as her movements were not hindered for any reason. With the ghost of a smile along her lips, they would part, her accent lacing her words thickly using the same monotone as she spoke. “You believed me to be defenceless and chose to act the way you did.” she would pause for a moment allowing her gaze to shift away for a moment as though seeking out the correct way to word her next sentence. Her tongue would pass her lips for but a moment to graze her lips, giving them a thin layer of moisture before nipping at it, only further indenting the flesh there. As her gaze returning she would continue, “You will have to forgive me for not trusting the man that just attempted to... dangle be from a cliffside.” using his own words against him for a moment she would allow him to continue before again speaking herself, yet her features would seem to darken some as the hint of a smile faded away leaving the air about her presence to become cold once again. “Unfortunately Mr. Sabaku, Rokumaru of Sunagakure no Sato, I never forget.” However, having said such a darker undertoned meaning to her words would echo within them. Her form would shift slightly away from him, allowing a few millimeters to find its way between their bodies as she continued to hold him in place, only shifting her left hand away from his neck before allowing he fingers to relax, curling them slightly towards her palm as the hand withdrew slipping back within its hiding place within her wide hemmed sleeve.

Remaining that way for a few moments allowing his question to hang in the air before answering, her posture would straighten drawing their bodies closer again yet removing her face from the proximity of his, her sin leaking forth to corrupt the air as pride laced her words, “Mameha, here under the banners and as a representative of Iwagakure no Sato.” The pride that laced her energy, voice and posture was not in-fact pride in herself but rather pride in the village she spoke of, even as she chose to use the alias she had been given by the very village her pride swelled for. Her form would slowly relax as a question sat upon the tip of her tongue causing the fingers of her right hand to twitch against his wrist. Would she ever get the chance to ask questions of a Sabaku in the flesh and blood again?  though she did not trust him enough to release the restraint she would, however, give a light sigh allowing her head to tilt forwards a would before shifting her form, taking his with her in the process, just enough so that he could find a more comfortable position for his legs should he have chose to do such. Though she continued to restrain him she had no malicious intent without reason and felt no need to cause more discomfort than necessary.  The indifference of her features had faded only to be replaced by intrigue setting her gaze upon him once again. “Is it true that with enough time you are able to create more sand from the earth or was that just your ancestor the forth Kazekage, Gaara of the desert?”

---

Word count: 979.
Total word count: 3291.

He hoped that he could ease the worries his sneak attack had brought on her by being truthful about what his plan had been, harmless pestering of a stranger from whom he wanted to get a scare out of, but by the look on the woman’s stoic visage she was less than entertained by Rokumaru’s tomfoolery. Or she might have been; it was somewhat difficult to tell from where he kneeled in front of her, and he did not dare antagonize her further by openly staring like a senseless child. The small, cold and frighteningly strong hand wrapped around his wrist did not yield to his attempts to slip his arm free and escape from the vulnerable hold he was in. Well, so long as he remained where he was rather than several feet forward where he echoes of the village were carried by strong winds, he supposed it was fine where he was. The foot against his wrist eased its pressure slightly, no longer pinning his hand as tight as it was to the smooth stone, and Roku felt the presence against his back grow closer.

A gloved hand, the free one the woman had left as she had both of his trapped with a foot and her right hand, brushed against his hip unexpectedly forcing the redhead to remain still as she moved. Her loose wide hemmed sleeve flowed against the fabric-covered metal plates of his ochre flak jacket while she deepened the hold she had over the delinquent: a moment later he felt the same cool touch of fingers through gloves against his neck, but rather than the strong hold around his throat that was expected the woman gently held his chin and moved him to look up at her. Rokumaru could only count three cool gloved digits against his hot skin, a head-clearing reminder that this woman was a kunoichi experienced with violence and pain enough to take his assault as enough cause to retaliate. It also contrasted so starkly from the pleasant individual looking down at him with the barest hint of an amused smile across her lips that he felt, for once, genuine sympathy for a foreigner.

The woman swiftly crushed any hopes of survival that had been building in Rokumaru by commenting on how he behaved towards someone he considered harmless. He laughed quietly, and nervously, hoping she could see what a glorious prank it could have been; though she still spoke with that worryingly flat and admonishing tone he was now completely sure he had yet to hear an accent similar to hers from anyone else. Not a Kaze or Hi no Kuni native, then. She looked into the distance, wetting and nipping her lips absently while she seemed to gather her thoughts, then returned her gaze to his. She rhetorically apologized for not trusting him after he admitted to trying to hang the woman over a hundred-meter drop, which he supposed was the right reaction to what was probably a crime on the felony level. At that he nodded slightly, too embarrassed to say much in his defense. The fraction of amusement she expressed drained from her face as she warned the Sabaku that she does not forget, the underlying threat making itself clear to the redhead.

She allowed the hand lightly gripping his chin to fall free, likely assuming he understood the insinuation that further trouble would not be tolerated which he absolutely did. Thankfully, she indulged his thrown-together attempts at politeness and introduced herself as a representive of the Village Hidden in Stone (while also saying a phrase or word in that peculiar dialect of hers), to which he only barely managed to suppress the groan of defeat that threatened to escape him. He just had to go along and antagonize some backwoods mountain-ninja, didn’t he? She was probably already planning out which of her favorite shiny rocks she’d bludgeon him to death with. Considering she looked far, far different from the image of the cave-dwellers that had always appeared in his admittedly bigoted mind, Roku figured he could accept his fate to this appealing foreigner. Beats being glassed in the desert.

At least she seemed to take pride in her affiliation to her village, a quality he respected and admired. It reminded Rokumaru of himself; or at least, who he had been. He suddenly realized the word she had said, Mameha, was her name. The redhead assumed she had a more traditional name given to her by Iwa and that this was a personal and ethnic name, but why would she share it with someone she did not trust? It was probably just the throwaway name she gave that couldn’t lead back to her; he really needed to follow her example next time. Embarrassing to have forgotten a concept they taught year one at the Academy.

Mameha sighed quietly and the strong grip around his wrist pulling the arm loosened just enough to let his arm bend a bit, her body behind his relaxing enough to allow him to do the same despite keeping his arms restrained as they were. If she only knew he didn’t need much more than his fingers free to direct the chakra-soaked sand into sharp spikes or crushing fists. They were both lucky all his sand had fallen to the village below, and that he did not mind being at this woman’s mercy as much as he hated it when the Jackal was the one flexing such control over him. She could be doing a lot worse to him than what she was now, by far. He had enough leeway to widen his stance a bit to make kneeling a bit more comfortable, if she really insisted on keeping him restrained like some shoplifting civilian.

Waiting for her to deal with him, Rokumaru was surprised when Mameha unexpectedly inquired about the capabilities of his Sabaton, questioning whether it was possible to make sand from the earth like she had heard his distant ancestor Sabaku no Gaara had been capable of. The redhead glanced at her over his shoulder in surprise and sudden excitement, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel opening up from nowhere, and he smiled happily at the sensation of hope returning.

Almost every single person in the Elemental Nations had heard of the legends regarding the ancient Shinobi world wars and the figures involved in the events, and the powerful jinchūriki of the Ichibi was the most famous native of the Hidden Sand because of it. It was from him that the Sabaku clan descended, taking his title on as their surname, and so they had all benefited from his legend and power even to this day, apparantly. Perhaps he could trade a bit of conversation regarding the topic in exchange for her forgiveness?

Nodding his head at her question, Roku answered. “Most of what Gaara was capable of trickled down to his descendants, only he had the One-Tail boosting his bloodline which made his progress much faster than ours.” Pausing for a moment as an idea provoked by her words came to mind, dwelling on how she had specifically mentioned creating it from the earth and realizing how backwards the method he had been taught was, the redhead continued. “But creating more sand is simple... way more simple than I’ve been considering it until now.”

Thinking of what the hard stone monument the two of them both stood, or rather kneeled upon would look like as a tidal wave of broken-down stone and sand sweeping across the Hidden Leaf to bury it, Rokumaru explained. “We can create ninjutsu that can turn earth and rock to sand, but there are different ways to do it that are easier than others. And I’m now realizing I haven’t changed how I make mine since I was first taught.” The horrible, agonizing sound of Fūton blades carving away stone was reason alone to hate the simple process of creating sand that he had been taught, and reason enough to come up with a technique to replace it.

Ever since leaving the desert for this lush wasteland of trees and insects and some god-forsaken blight on nature that the natives called Poison Oak, it was the scarcity of sand that had been weighing him down. He had been so focused on making the sand he did have stretch further and disciplining himself with its use, he should have been focusing on the heart of the matter itself. It took the words of an outsider articulating the situation in words rather than his thoughts, and specifically mentioning earth, for him to have something resembling an epiphany.

Glancing over his shoulder at the foreigner restraining him passively, trying not to touch her or her long white hair with his own messy crimson locks due to how close she insisted on being, he continued. “I could easily do something like that with Doton, soaking the stone monument below us with my chakra and forcing it all to break apart until we both sank into a pool of gray quicksand.” Amusement and a hint of teasing mixed into his voice as he pictured the whole event, a bit of pride returning as he thought of how he could escape the situation. But then he shrugged as he knew it was a worse idea than continuing to surrender. “But they might have seals on these heads to keep Doton users from messing with them, and I wouldn’t risk fighting while you have me like this if I wasn’t completely sure it would work.” Even if it did, something told the youth that she’d probably know what he was doing and stop him.

Rokumaru wasn’t sure what Mameha wanted from him exactly, besides making him way more uncomfortable and confused than he had planned to make her in the first place, so he thought of she would want to hear next. Continued honesty couldn’t hurt, and maybe she would release him if he swore to act respectable and keep his sands to himself. “I can guarantee I won’t bother harassing you anymore, you aren’t the kind of easy prey I was hoping to find.” Clearing his throat and twitching his restrained hands, he asked “What sort of prey are you exactly, Mameha?” He emphasized the exotic name in a way that expressed he would accept that as her name, even if he didn’t believe it could ever truly be used to identify her. “You represent the Hidden Stone, so does that make you a Jounin here with a squad for the exams? I’d like to think a Genin wouldn’t have been able to sense my sand coming for you.”

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Though her form would not relax as it remained within its stance she would listen intently to him, her attention seemingly unwavering, however, her senses continued to creep about them as her attention split flawlessly, multitasking being one of her few talents. Noting how his eyes lit up it would seem her question had hit the correct note, yet watching him attempt to keep at least their hair separate she would register how close their forms were, her invasion of his personal space, in her mind, had to be uncomfortable at the very least. For such, she would allow his arm to bend some as she withdrew her form away from his by a few inches, a small attempt at making the situation as comfortable as it could be for the time being. Understanding the need for personal space yet unwilling at that moment to give him the freedom he bartered information for.  “How were you taught? I would have thought that that would have been the obvious way to create sand from rock.” Though her voice was monotonous when speaking the common tongue, it held the hints of curiosity that oddly suited her far more than the language. Her mind would search for other obvious way that sand could be created from the rock, yet other than grinding rock together or having water chip away at it her mind came up blank with easy ways.  

Yet as the males cheeky tone returned, suggesting the ability to swallow them in vat of quicksand right beneath them, though the thought should have set worry within her mind into a motion of the events, instead, with her curiosity piqued, a glimmer of excitement would flicker through the visible yellow orb as she stared down at him. Wouldn’t such an experience be thrilling? Terrifying without question, but thrilling none the less. The small glimmer changing her stern features into something different, not softer but warmer perhaps, smoothing the hard edges of her being. The corner of her lips would quirk into a faint smirk illuminating the somewhat sunken flesh of her face, “Smarter choice this time around.” smarter to go with what you know rather than banking your life upon a chance with little evidence such could work right?  

A light snort would exit her, at his comment allowing her to roll her eyes, “You shouldn’t be seeking ‘prey’ if you are ill-equipped should you come across a predator instead.” giving a small pause as though she mulled over the string of her sentence before speaking again, “Would you really want some defenseless individual to have their possible first encounter with a representative and survivor of Sungakure no sato to be one of confusion, shock and possibly fear? What sort of image would that give them about what morals you had been taught there?” her questions flowed along one another, imposing and blunt, stitched together to dig deeper within the males mind, to see what was left of his village within his heart, if any at all remain. She would pause long enough for him to answer.

A soft almost musical hum would cause both her throat and chest to vibrate for but a moment, mulling her words before speaking, “I am simply here to make sure the genin of Iwagaure no sato do not bring dishonor to the village whilst outside of the matches. Within there is little I am able to do but outside of the matches, I am able to at least make sure they are well behaved to an extent. So, all in all, I am, for lack of a better term, babysitting. That and sight-seeing.” Her head would tilt a touch, just enough to cause her snow-white hair to fan away from the right side of her face, creasing against her own shoulder, “more so heard than saw. Your emergence gave more sound, somewhat out of tune with the breeze up here.” The male didn’t need to know her rank within her village nor did he need to know her reasons for being within the village other than to watch over the genin that came from Iwagakure and so, for the time being, would keep such to herself.

Her head would tilt back a touch,  almost drawing her face parallel with the sky as her visible orb closed, again her teeth would take a-hold of the sofa pale flesh of her bottom lip to chew at it for a moment before allowing a sigh to pass by them upon the lips release. Foolish were her plans yet, she would be ready for the consequences... at least she hoped she would be. Setting her gaze back upon the male her fingers would unravel from around his wrist and her foot would raise a touch more, yet she would not relinquish the jutsu that connected them, not yet at least. “I am willing to release you upon two conditions. First, you will not ‘prey’ upon the defenseless, there are other ways to release your tension, better ways, ones that will not tarnish the honor of your home. As for my second term, I would like to see you use your Sabaton. There were so many clans of which I had wanted to witness within Sunagakure, the Kirisuma with their dojutsu, the Ningyou and their abilities to administer healing through puppets, the Myugan, and their intoxicating chakra and of course the young  Kazagae Midori, I heard she came from the Chikamatsu clan, I had so many questions, yet I was too late. So, I would like to witness power from Sunagakure no Sato.” She would watch him for a short time, her gaze never wavering. Should he agree her fingers would curl back around his wrist before allowing her jutsu to disperse before shifting away and to her feet before lowering his arm to release his wrist. Taking a single step back she would offer her right hand for him to take, offering to help him back up to his feet once again. Whether he took her offer of assistance or not she would, in turn, step away another couple of paces, ensuring she was shifting away from the edge of the monument, again her gaze never leaving him. If however, he disagreed she would keep her hold upon him, ready to take in his response and reply in kind.  Was it not worth the attempt to gain more knowledge from those around her, especially those with abilities such as the young man's? Knowledge is power is it not? And she would return to Iwagakure with knowledge in many forms. The risk she posed to herself meant little in the grand scheme of things, as ever willing to give her body and mind for the preservation and strength of the village she called home.

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Word count: 1140.
Total word count: 4431.

Mameha allowed the redhead to lean a bit away and, upon hearing his mention of the training he received, asked how he had been taught to break down sand. That she would be interested at all in hearing about what he was taught was rather gratifying, and he answered accordingly. “The method I use is to grind away stone with a weak Fūton technique, although I’m guessing they didn’t expect us to use that method alone as long as I have.” That he had yet to come to that conclusion so far and needed an Iwa-nin to point it out was not quite so gratifying, but he’d manage.

Upon mentioning how he could use Doton to revert the stone beneath them to sand Rokumaru expected the woman to get upset at the veiled threat, maybe explain exactly how she’d go about preventing that and how she could make him suffer for it, but instead the yellow-eyed stranger simply said nothing. When the man reflected on how the monument likely had seals that would prevent him from doing so, Mameha agreed with an amused smirk hovering over his shoulder.

He tried to reassure her there would be no more trouble from him if she let Roku go, that he had been looking for easier targets than whoever she happened to be. In the same breath though, perhaps getting braver now that it seemed clear she wouldn’t open his throat if he chose to talk back, the redhead directly questioned who Mameha was as she had not provided a rank or other identifier. Searching for any scrap of info on what he could assume she was capable of. Probably not the best line of questioning to pursue given their respective positions, but it happened regardless.

As he should’ve expected Mameha was unimpressed, snorting at his assessment that she was stronger than the sort of prey he was after, and urged him to refrain from going after anybody with malicious intent if he ended up attacking someone he could not handle. A smart suggestion, without question, but it just showed how differently they both chose to approach life: while she preferred to be prepared and assured in her success, Rokumaru played things loosely without a plan and accepted whatever came as welcome retribution. Plus, it wasn’t much fun pulling pranks when you were strong enough to fight off anyone who were upset by said pranks, right? Surely he’d be doing something better with his time if he had such power.

Unexpectedly Mameha asked him, had his plan been successful and he had managed to capture an easy target ripe for the prank, if he was comfortable with making Suna-nin like himself appear to prey on the weak and defenseless regularly. A rhetorical question because, obviously, that would be a bad image to make for himself. But still the accusation made Rokumaru feel guilty, enough that he could offer no immediate words in his defense.

Pondering how to answer his question regarding who she was Mameha hummed, then enigmatically stated that her purpose here was to keep watch over the Iwagakure Genin in order to keep them well-behaved while visiting this foreign village. Babysitting she described it as, babysitting along with a bit of sight-seeing. Now knowing that she was here as an observer rather than someone accompanying a squad of Genin, coupled with her unusually sharp senses and a hesistance to identify herself, Rokumaru felt sure enough to assume that the woman holding him in place was an Iwa ANBU operative. That really didn’t matter to much considering she already had him restrained and at her mercy, something any shinobi with enough skill could have managed, but it did frighten the redhead somewhat to know how easily she could kill him and dispose of the evidence of such an act. Assuming she was even ANBU at all; he wasn’t going to ask. The snowy-haired woman informed the boy that his emergence from the sand had been distinct enough from the sound of the wind to alert her to his presence, feedback that he dutifully tucked away for future use in improving the technique so this whole entire situation did not happen again.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Rokumaru feeling Mameha lean back just enough to look upwards towards the dark sky above and sigh quietly; the redhead stayed where he was, wondering how the woman managed to have such a cold body temperature that he could feel it through clothing. Unexpectedly, he felt the firm grip on his wrist slacken just a bit through conscious effort on the stranger behind him’s part, sudden freedom that he was smart enough to know would come at a cost. Mameha offered to free Rokumaru from the hold she had him in on the condition that he refrained from trying this whole brainless prank again on someone who might actually fall for it, suggesting instead that he found new ways to entertain himself in the village. An easy task to follow, to which Rokumaru nodded his agreement to.

As a second condition, one he certainly didn’t expect from an Iwa cavedweller such as herself, Mameha asked for a more thorough demonstration with his Sabaton abilities. The woman apparently had a small amount of interest in the clans that had once inhabited Sunagakure and had wanted to see their abilities for herself, an interest he himself shared when it came to the shinobi clans from foreign lands. She seemed knowledgeable about them, to boot: mentioning the Karisuma and their unique doujutsu, the medical experts in the Ningyou and the puppetmaster Chikamatsu’s, it was apparent she took time to study the clans before she would risk facing them in real life. Even more unexpected was her mention of the former Kazekage, his former sensei Midori, a ghost from the past most people chose to forget if they hadn’t done so already. And now she had a wayward Sabaku in her clutches, demanding only a show of his skills in exchange for his liberty returned. He was not foolish enough to ask what would happen if he refused; the cliffside just a few meters ahead of them was the most likely answer.

Rokumaru pondered her deal despite knowing he would accept, wondering what she would want to hear and see in return for her trust. After a few moments he nodded. “That’s the best sort of deal I can hope for, I suppose.” Mameha disengaged the jutsu keeping his wrists attached to her and shifted away from him to pull herself to her feet. Taking a step back to clear space between them, the white-haired foreigner offered a hand down to the still-seated redhead who, a bit hesitantly, allowed her to help him up off the ground.

He wiped his pant-legs free of dust and turned to his newfound acquaintance, looking at her closer now that they were facing each other. They were close enough in stature for his placid green eyes to stand level with her own vibrant yellow iris, a color he associated jackals and coyotes watching him warily from a nearby sand dune. She took several steps away from the cliffside showing she too still regarded him with caution. Rubbing the skin where his wrists had been restrained, he sheepishly smiled at the veiled stranger to relieve the awkwardness he felt around the woman he had attacked. “If it’s any consolation, we might not have met if I wasn’t harassing people on these Hokage heads.” It probably was not, and the woman would have been well enough without knowledge of his existence, but they were here regardless.

But his thoughts returned to the question she had asked before, if he was happy with painting the ninja hailing from Suna as people who bullied and frightened others to relieve their own misery. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not bothered if my actions affect the other remnants of the Sand.” His hands returned to his sides and dug into the pants pockets at either side of his waist, digging his thin fingers through the clumps of sand held within. “We pay for the sins of the lesser among us every day that passes since that Sarutobi and his ilk burned down our home. Apparently it was a haven for criminals, slavers and any other vermin you could think of, so they burned it. I really doubt that anything I could do would bring more suffering to the Suna-born scattered around than what’s already happened. And if we were suddenly all marked with a target on our backs again?” Rokumaru shrugged, unbothered by the prospect. “They’re on their own, just like how I’m on my own. There’s only one person I need to look out for anymore.”

If she was disgusted by the way he washed his hands of responsibility to his former comrades, he would learn to live with it. Only a fool would assume every displaced Suna-nin out there was trying to hang civilians off of cliffs for their own amusement; people were people, good and bad, and some stereotypes were less accurate than others. Rokumaru coughed into his sleeve, still feeling the malaise that had descended upon him after that rainstorm earlier in the week, and cleared his throat.

“Now,” Rokumaru began as he prepared to share the information required to gain his freedom from Mameha’s cold, strange-scented clutches. “I can’t help you find out much more about the Ningyou or Karisuma, but I do know of a Myugan back in the desert who could discuss his own heritage. If you can get him to agree to meeting you, I’d look up the Jackal and ask him to discuss his clan. Just...bring your own refreshments,” he grimaced at the memory of horrible, burning vodka where he had been expecting water and had to suppress the ambiguous disgusted coughs that resulted from the phantom taste on his tongue.

Crossing his arms and taking a moment to compose himself, wondering how exactly an entire clan of shinobi managed to revolve their own kekkei genkai around the vile substance that was liquor, the redhead returned to his previous train of thought. “But I would happily show you my own abilities with Sand Release. Or, rather, Magnet Release used with sand specifically.” The first useful piece of info he could give to her was that the Sabaton did not truely exist, instead being a very specific application of the original Kekkei Genkai their bloodline descended from. Roku uncrossed his arms and returned the sand held in his palms to his pockets. “If you’re willing to spar with me, I can show you some of the more complicated techniques I’ve been working on.” He followed up the offer with a small, sincere smile as he hoped to reassure her there were no hard feelings between them.

Suddenly remembering how Mameha had mentioned Midori the slight smile he wore widened into a grin at the memories he had of his old Lily squad, the short time he had spent with Kuno and Aiden training under the newly-minted Kazekage. His feelings regarding that time were ones of sadness and longing, wishing he could go back to those times or at least have been able to appreciate what life had been like then, but reminiscing on the subject always managed to help him forget everything else for a little while. “This might surprise you, but you’re looking at the Kazekage’s former protégé in the flesh.” He pointed at himself with both thumbs, proud to finally have something to brag about for once in so long. “Or one of them, at least.”

Dropping his hands and pocketing them, Rokumaru scuffed the stoney ground with his foot. “We weren’t assigned to her for very long before the attack happened, but long enough to get to know Midori a fair bit.” Suddenly a bit embarrassed he laughed quietly, scratching the back of his head. “Lily squad we were called, something to do with the number of petals on the flower and our number or something. I was never a fan of it, and that was while being a pretty big sycophant back then.”

Again he pocketed his hand and kept them there, looking at the strange veil Mameha wore that covered only half of her head while he spoke. “She has been waiting on a visit from the Tsuchikage Sekuro and his delegation just before the village was attacked, and he was bringing his own Genin with him. She was planning for an exhibition match between the two squads, some friendly village rivalry supposedly. But then the Sarutobi arrived and buried us in glass, and that was the last we saw of my sensei.” The smile he had worn was gone now as Rokumaru wondered where exactly the remains of his squad were at that moment, likely lost in a sea of crystal and bones. “Your Kage must have returned to Iwa after seeing the state that they left Suna in,” he guessed off-handedly for the sake of the foreigner standing across from him.

He looked to Mameha for an answer to his request for a spar, keeping further information regarding the Chikamatsu learned from Midori to himself for now. The prospect of running out of interesting things to say to the woman was one that he wanted to avoid, if only to keep her around just a while longer. Very rarely did he get chances to speak and interact with people like this.

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Futon? How absurd, at least within her mind. He had been using futon to create sand from the rock...not only that, he had been taught to do so in such a way. Her brow would arch skeptically although, there had to be some reason for this method of teaching... hadn’t there? Yet, if he had been taught such, for the time being, she would assume it had been family that had given such guidance which meant that others of the same clan might well do the same, easily discerning at least two separate elements at their wills disposal. Family being a subject, for the time being, that she would at the very least attempt to avoid until absolutely necessary, knowing full well that many of the clan would have been taken out during the firestorm assault upon Sunagakure no Sato, leaving in its wake a maze of jagged glass and the wounds of losing kin was not something she intended to ‘rub salt’ in.  With her piercing gaze resting with him she would watch the a-ray of thoughts pass through his mind as she watched the indications flicker through his facial features, watching him process new information, in turn, spoke loud and clear about the male. She would, as her nature dictated, collect up any bits of information from the male right down to the way he structured the things he said aloud and the pauses between such.  

Upon the male’s agreement to allowing her to bear witness to the ability of sabaton the faint traces of a smirk like half-smile would ghost along the visible section of her lips. Her tongue would graze along her lips before allowing them to part as she spoke in return. “You are correct in your supposal.” her voice crisp and clear even with the heavy set of her accent. Yet as he took her hand her fingers would curl about his hand, easily drawing him up to his feet. Before immediately releasing the hold to step away from him a few passes, making sure to remove her form from the cliffside in the process, granting them both some personal space. Her fingers would curl loosely shut before resting it against the section of the obi residing against her stomach as she regarded him, his height as it almost met her own, his build thin as she suspected many of his clan, the green hue of his eyes, right down to the curve of the smile. Yet the tension in his features would remain. “That does not sanctify your actions, nor do I condone them.”  she would pause to listen, as intently as ever, allowing him to continue through his thought trail before speaking up, “Have you no pride?” Her gaze would shift through a flicker of sadness before becoming stern and almost harsh. “The harm done to your village means that you can continue to cause harm to it, to tarnish what is left of it? It is not reason enough, what happened to your village, to fight against such horrors?”  

Yet as he coughed into his sleeve her form would shift ever so slightly as though she might take a step closer only to still immediately; the move itself a simple shift in her clothing. Her form would become still, the façade of a wandering soul gone, replaced by discipline and poise, listening to the information so freely shared only give a subtle snort at the grims that crossed the male's features. “Thank you, both for the information and the warning.” knowing full well that the Myugan had such abilities with inebriation as to pass such to another whilst being at their best in such a state, she could only imagine the beverage the male had been given.  

Her head would tilt a touch to the right causing the snow-white hair that framed her face to fan out as far as the bead within it would permit, away from her face. “Are you able to magnetize anything? ...Or just the sand?” yet as he mentioned a spar her visible brow would arch whilst the rest of her features relaxed into a calmer set somewhat unusually so. “You wish to spar with me, even n...” She would pause as his features shifted, quite so as though a memory or thought had made its way to the forefront of his mind, only causing caution to bubble within her stomach. She knew she had been foolish by simply allowing him to stand without at least one safety measure but regardless, if her actions turned out to be for the worst then she would simply have to deal with the consequences'.  His words were indeed surprising, to begin with. The sour sensation of guilt would eat its way into her mind spreading like a virus through her memories to pick out what might torture her best. With a lump in her throat at the mention of the Lord Seventeenth, Karumo her form would sway almost as though her balance had been lost or at least wavered. The life in the piercing yellow orb flickered no more as her form loosened. Flickering back into a similar state she had spent so long in captivity wearing, her form would shiver causing a flush of goosebumps to crawl along not only her visible flesh but deeper through the layer of her flesh and like a heartbeat the aura of her chakra would seem to pulse into the air, as it swamped the area in which her scent infected, the sensation brought forth would harbour that of a creeping sickness as to which held the daunting feeling of not being able to escape. Yet she would do well to keep them from her facial features, allowing them to shift into a mixture of skeptical and amused as a smile cracked along her lips giving her stature an almost deranged appearance yet her teeth ground against one another, her words tasting rather like venom to her tongue, “The protege of the Kazekage and you lack pride in your villages name... I expected far more especially from our first encounter.” Though she did not directly mention being a-part of the squad to meet the male before her on their horrific trip towards the desert the hit was there none the less. “You will not speak of Karumo Sama in such a way, not in my presents least you lose the ability to do so altogether. Unlike you, I still hold pride for not only my village but the Tsuchikages that have partaken in the village’s growth. I do not accept sleight against them, especially not from one who lacks pride in their own.”  Her form would shudder and slowly the sensation of her aura would creep back towards hers as her features became stern once more, the venom leaving her heavily accented tone yet the taste of bile remained within her throat. “Lord Seventeenth and his squad headed to Sunagakure no Sato to form an alliance and build bonds. He did not turn away from the borders of Sunagakure no Sato, you should do well to remember that. You are not the only one that lost something dear during that time.” Even as she spoke and her gaze remained upon him, yet the images that flickered through her mind like a sickening sidereal accompanying the long since silent echo’s of voices spread through her mind like wildfire, the sights and sounds of the day of the ambush, Lord Karumo’s body laying broken and bloody in the sand... guilt weight her mind low yet the grated smile of a facade remained along her features.

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Word count: 1283.
Total word count: 5714.

If the stranger’s silence at his explanation of the Fūton technique used to grind away sand was any indication, she was even less impressed with such an inefficient jutsu than he was; any embarrassment he might have felt about that was shifted onto whatever deceased Sabaku had decided that was the best kind of jutsu to teach his or her successors before shoving them off into the world.

The redhead tried not to let the woman scrutinizing him notice how anxious and uneasy he felt around her, the memory of his attack upon her fresh in both of their minds, but Mameha seemed true to her word by letting the redhead go and helped Rokumaru to stand uninterrupted before stepping back while he brushed himself off. Upon hearing the boy reflect on how that was the best deal he’d recieve from her, petty information in exchange for not throwing him to the streets below, she agreed in a deadpan voice with his assessment. In direct contrast to her thin, feminine frame was a noticeable strength Roku felt as the girl pulled him to his feet without any noticeable strain on her part, leaving the boy wondering just how powerful she was with chakra enhancing her physical abilities. Stronger than he was, he decided was the best way to regard the Iwa-nin before him for the foreseeable future. His words on how they would not have met if he wasn’t doing things he shouldn’t on these Hokage monuments were met with no humor or forgiveness on Mameha’s part, choosing to be a stick-in-the-mud who’d probably hold that over his head forever.

She listened to Rokumaru’s brief monologue on how he doubted his actions could make the public opinion of the fallen Sand any worse than it was, and how he washed his hands of any responsibility towards his fellow remnants; words that likely diminished him in her eyes given how he chose to continue wearing his flak-jacket and headband anyway, but it was how he felt. Her reaction was expected, visible distaste with him hardening the soft lines of her pale face as she questioned whether he had any pride left, if he was really going to use that as an excuse to continue acting the way he was. His own feelings on the subject weren’t defined and clear enough to defend himself from her accusations, so he chose to simply narrow his sickly green eyes and ignore her rhetorical questions. It wasn’t anyone’s business what he chose to do with the sands of time left in his hourglass.

When she finished Rokumaru coughed dryly into his sleeve and cleared his throat, figuring she would have to leave the subject be if she was forced to listen to his information instead. Mentioning the Jackal to a stranger who he could confirm was a strong kunoichi did not bother the redhead in the slightest for two reasons: Ryu could handle himself if all his bluster was actually true, and it would be gratifying to see someone else lording their power over his head like the Jackal so enjoyed doing to Roku. He suggested she should bring her own water with her through the desert if she chose to go pursue the Jackal due to his drinking habits, as no one should have to go through such a disgusting experience like he had. Mameha blew air through her nose at the pained look on his face from the memory and thanked him for the warning, seeming to put their previous topic of discussion behind them.

The redhead crossed his arms and thought on what to tell her of his own clan. He offered to show her his clan’s usage of the Magnet Release with his sand, knowing a visual demonstration was more than his words could provide. Mameha voiced her interest by asking him whether he himself could magnetize anything than the sand he was accustomed to, something he himself had been investigating since leaving the dunes behind. “From what I’ve read regarding the ability, it should be able to let me change the magnetic polarity of almost any sold matter besides living beings,” Roku answered with a small smile at having someone’s interest again. “I can control naturally magnetic things from a distance pretty well now, but inducing a magnetic charge in non-magnetic things besides silica sand has been a challenge.”

He offered to spar with Mameha to give a full display of his sand wielding, an offer she seemed surprised to receive, but he was too distracted by having a chance to announce his very brief association with the former Kazekage to reassure her his offer was made with good intentions. Roku spoke briefly about the defunct lily squad, and felt that this stranger would find Midori’s business prior to the village’s destruction to be interesting.

The white-haired woman’s entire demeanor changed instantly upon the redhead’s mention of the Tsuchikage Karumo’s visit to Suna and the exhibition that had been planned between the villages, and especially when he talked about Karumo’s failure to appear before the attack had occurred. Mameha seemed to lose focus and her eyes glossed over, swaying almost imperceptibly with the breeze high on these cliffs. The sudden change in behavior at the mention of her Kage was enough to concern Rokumaru, wondering what had happened to cause distress at his mention and if he should question whether she was alright, but her eyes focused on him causing him to freeze at the intensity of her stare.

Her floral scent seemed to only intensify until it  began to be slightly nauseating to the redhead’s surprise and sudden fear, the wide and recognizably-false smile showing her clenched teeth only adding to the sudden distress he was starting to realize he should still feel. She mocked him for having been a protégé of his Kazekage yet lacking any pride in the fallen village, voicing her disappointment openly. Mameha commented bitterly that she had higher expectations for their first encounter, a choice of words that temporarily distracted Rokumaru from his growing unease as he processed what implications they could have.

Mameha explicitly warned Rokumaru that his words had been unappreciated and he would be wise to speak more positively about the Tsuchikage in her presence, or face the consequences she would administer to him. The redhead stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, mouth open slightly in confusion as his thoughts raced, and the Iwa-nin continued on.

Unlike him she still chose to honor her village and Kage’s, and would not accept a word of disrespect regarding either topic; Roku could only guess the Sekuro had not returned from whence he came upon seeing the village’s distraction and something had happened to him during the visit. Mameha spared him from her intense threatening smile, much to his relief despite knowing he was still on thin ice. According to her the Tsuchikage had gone through with his attempted visit along with his squad, and she would not entertain any implied cowardice on his part through fleeing from a village’s destruction.

The overwhelming sickly floral scent seemed to recede, and a quiet fell over the two of them as Rokumaru stood speechless from what she had told him. It was stupid to jump to conclusions on such fragile evidence, but the redhead was stuck on the choice of words Mameha used and her unyielding defense for the Tsuchikage. She had expectations about meeting him, implying they were supposed to eventually cross paths some time or another despite knowing nothing about each other, and he doubted every single Iwa-nin had such a dedication to their leaders like she displayed. As he came to conclusions his composure returned and Rokumaru had the good sense to nod quickly and pull his hands out of his pockets to hold them up in a yielding motion.

“You’re right, Roku agreed knowing his words had been negative, and that the cliffside was just a few feet behind him. “I shouldn’t have assumed someone of the Tsuchikage’s caliber would turn and run at the sight of danger. I sometimes forget not everyone would do what I would.”

Dropping his hands and glancing back at the lack of ground to walk on over his shoulder, Rokumaru coughed into his sleeve again and gestured towards the path down the Hokage Monument that stood behind Mameha, trying to smile in a appeasing and disarming manner. “Would you like to walk with me and speak further? I think I suddenly have something to ask you about as well.” He dropped his outstretched hand and waited for Mameha’s reply, hoping she had not lost the interest in having a discussion. “I would feel much more comfortable if we spoke somewhere less hazardous.”

If she accepted his offer then Rokumaru would walk past Mameha cautiously and allow her to walk behind him where she had the more secure position, grateful for the opportunity. If she declined his offer Roku would nod his head and thank her for speaking with him, apologizing again for accosting her as he had, and wait where he stood until she left while he would do the same a few minutes later.

Training: