7:22 AM
Heart of the Leaf -- Market District

There, in the distance! A red flash glows, somehow visible in the broad of day, moving along the rooftops of the marketplace at great velocity. The closer you draw in, the more you hear its sound - heavy breathing, and weighted footsteps against the shingles and boards of a common dumpling shop. Confused gasps emerge from the patrons below, their glances looking towards the sky as the sound of a passing demon rushes in from overhead. But, you see, this is no demon, nor a gremlin or imp. This is a young man by the name of Satoshi, and his eyes are bloodshot red, for he chose to start the day with a treatment of deep-breathed herbal incense.

He leapt from one building to the next, paying no heed to the gaps between their rooftops or the height required to reach the next. Satoshi was a shinobi of the Hidden Leaf, and for him, these physical feats were not what one would say requires leaps and bounds to achieve. For every building jumped, the ninja felt a burn in his muscles and an exhilaration for his ability to fly through the air. Compared to the lives of civilians, this felt like a small bonus to Satoshi's freedom, the ability to go anywhere without question.

If only that were the case. In Satoshi's, he was quickly reminded that as skilled as he was at quick movements and leaps of faith, he also had to pay attention to his environment. His eyes were fast enough to meet the obstacle ahead, but his foot slipped, caught by a ventilation shaft that was unseen over the decorative upper edge of the roof.

The crash was audible, but thankfully for this stoner ninja, there was no damage done by his aching head. He rubbed his temple, noting a stinging scratch that was made more uncomfortable by even the touch of the air beside it. It took only a single touch for Satoshi to learn not to touch it again, showing again the power of conditioning provided by painful stimuli. He grinned considering it, and reached into his tool pouch, examining its contents.

Within a moment, the young man found what he was searching for - a small cavalier-styled smoking pipe, the sort generally used for tobacco. Along with it, he retrieved another substance, covered in noticeable purple patches among a dense body of hairy green. Any onlooker with experience might understand the substance's purpose and origin, though Satoshi made no quick effort to explain it aloud to himself. He knew already that he intended on enjoying this alone, and felt no shame in admitting his selfishness - he loved what he did, as much as he loved doing it an hour ago when he awoke to the very same experience.

After a ritualistic packing ceremony, nuanced by guarded glances around the environment, Satoshi brought the pipe to his lips and struck the top of it with a flame. A single snatch of a lighter was enough to begin the shift in his state of consciousness, and so he returned the unneeded materials to his pouch for safe keeping - not to mention safe hiding. A stealthy approach was always the best when he wasn't on the run to sell or restock those clients of his father.

He arose, pipe in mouth, and sought once more the presence of any other individuals in the area. There was still no apparent need for alarm, so Satoshi approached the wall-like fence of the roof, peering down over the edge at the activity in the markets below. He knew he had no spare change for toys or gifts, and instead resigned to toking away at his pipe, indiscriminate to any other stimuli. Smoke billowed away from his mouth every so often, the passing of deep breaths the most notable marker of these exchanges.

There Satoshi stood, watching for something interesting to catch his eye, wondering about the thoughts of all those below. While he was in his altered mode of being, he felt not the anxiety that was brought upon his conscious acknowledgement of man's lack of necessity in the world. If not for a guarding of mental pathways, he might even consider the implications of humans never having ninjutsu, or making it to this point in time. A world of only animals, of pure and total anarchy decided by the survival of genes. A mad world, at the least.

A passing gale caused Satoshi's overshirt to whip about in the wind, invited to and fro without any distinction. It carried away the smoke from his lips, spreading it out along the passageways between the market's shops, and surely mingling the powerful scent down upon the unsuspecting consumers. Too oblivious to consider it, Satoshi continued to puff away, his throat refreshed by every in-between breath of the crisp morning air.

Word Count: 807
Total Progress: 807/3600

It was nearing noon and the day had successfully been spent starved. Under the brisk of of an Autumn's passing wind Komaru pounded away at his chest, dipping his torso toward the earth in slow controlled movements allowing for every fiber to properly feel the strain. The numbness originating from his chest told him that he was 60% toward exhaustion, but this was only running on yesterday's metabolism. With a fluid motion, Komaru brought his knees to his chest and launched out of push up position, bringing himself upright. The air tasted and smelled much cooler here, it was subtly distinct from the earthen breeze taking up granules as it passed by. He could feel in him a snarling will, inconsistent with his stamina, as his body neared its limits his will enticed to push harder - with a growing conviction.  

Taking a moment to breath, a deliberating congress came to some startling rationalizations in his mind; there couldn't be limits, we learn this everyday - as well, we are gods. This too, though at some distance from the admittance, we learn everyday. God would not wait on his muscles to silence before commanding them forth, and neither would Komaru. His shins stung with a prickling resonance, which crawled around his calf and up to the knee. At some point his legs had begin falling behind, and this was unacceptable. Any part of the body that lacked the capacity to keep up with the highest performing part, inhibited the entirety of the system. Komaru had to run, he had to exhaust the rest of his fuel and punish his legs for being weak.

The wind pushed by with a bit heavier a persistence, rattling the soaked grey undershirt Komaru wore. Away with it, the breeze took along the musty waft that was attached - freeing a high percentage of Komaru's olfactory perception. Something was immediately detectable in the air. There was a scent, a magnificent cult of complex molecules Komaru knew all to well. It was the sort of cult that made a familiar man tap his toes together, and with closed eyes and nose high, begin clapping together their hands and singing out sutra. Komaru knew then what had to be done. Taking advantage of the wind as it still remained, and the absence of his odor, Komaru took several longed breaths. His muscles could use the oxygen and he the motivation.

Somebody was smoking some dank herb, and Komaru was going to smoke with them.

He didn't know where his legs were going to take him, or how long they would have to work. The  abstruseness of the run allured him. Breaking from his location, Komaru headed west. Neural circuits worked at max capacity, jumping from neuron to neuron as they analyzed the spatially relevant information; it took a moment to reach his conscious cortex, but the thought came to Komaru- the scent was emanating from the market district. The density of the smell, the direction, the known population of the market during this hour - it made the most sense, if not as correct - then as a starting point.

The voice in his stomach was mute, it had no say in his pursuit of happiness. Fasting was not a health fad, but rather an ascetic fad. It was for the sake of him and his pain that he needed to wait, wait to give his body what it needed - because the will and soul came first. What his soul needed was some weed. The body was meant to be a slave to the will. Komaru had to keep himself reminded of this as the level of physical exertion jumped up a notch; coming to face with a fence, Komaru brought his foot to the horizontal support of it and launched himself high over, allowing momentarily gravity to soothe him and his dangling legs. He could not rest once coming to a land; with a fluid hurl he pushed off from a frog squat and began running his maximum speed across the building top. The scent became stronger with each step.

Ahead, just two buildings over, Komaru could see and confirm the culprit. Both his eyes and nose had settled on the location, it was inescapable to his senses. The man had midnight blue hair which was highlighted by a lightness to the air, a grey which drug away from the person and toward Komaru with the wind. Unable to slow down now, Komaru leapt from the building over toward the roof of another, and again a final time in order to reach the structure closest the stoner. The jumps had burned off Komaru's momentum and brought him to a rest that settled in the knees an excruciating pain. By now his mind was assessing how to approach the fellow, and no mental processes were being devoted to chanting and perseverance. Limply he made he way over toward the lad, taking slow and long strides as to reduce effort. Once he came within ear of the man, he announced himself. "Hello there! I couldn't help but smell... Well, your delightful freshness, friend. It is such a wonderful day. Such a wonderful day indeed, yet you sit here alone - alone with great company, I must say. Perhaps you'd like a bud to smoke with ya?". When the man would look back, Komaru would be standing there with a mischievous grin and his hands both firmly stationed at his hip.

Word Count: 922
Total Progress: 922/3600

The stoner, seated comfortably at the buildings ledge, seemed subtly alarmed by Komaru's directness. It wasn't that he shuttered at the gall of it, but rather with caution the man's head had twitched, the type of twitch of a man torn between turning around and analyzing his own perception. Though Komaru knew fully well that he couldn't posit internal cause to this; the fragrance surrounding the man's being told of enlightenment, of transcendence. He sat perfectly visible before Komaru's eyes, but this was a facade - in reality his physical presence accounted for nothing; whoever the comfortable looking man was - he was high above reality.

Rising up, the redolent man liberated the molecules working to volumize his clothing- they were, after all, quite lame and required a touch of loud. This however meant nothing; clothing represented nothing of the character. It was instead in the pinkened eyes of the gremlin that Komaru found character - there was no denying it, it was often said that the eyes were a gateway to the soul, and in no sexual way - Komaru found the soul of a man he'd like to be with.

This was however the ninja world. No matter the allure of one's vices, one had to maintain a discriminate perception. Komaru's attention remained pry to the actions of the man; he seemed at the moment inclined, as his hands were retracted into his pockets, fumbling for something - something Komaru was confident he could predict. It took another moment for the man to retrieve what he was searching for; lo and behold, a bag thick with a green medicine that even the finest medics in Konoha hesitated to prescribe. Komaru's eyes widened and he locked his attention to the matter; within his brain, there were large localisations which were dedicated to the process of thinking about weed. Long years in the college had especially trained him to become excited upon exposure; already, his brain began producing copious amounts of dopamine.

"So you want some of this, do you?" the man began, shaking his bag of treats as if Komaru were some sort of dog. It was fortunate however that he wasn't, as his tail definitely would have been wagging. "Sounds like a plan!". The wind pulled by violently once more as the interlocutor leap over toward Komaru, closing the gap between them. Against the blast his experience showed, astoundingly managing to pack the rubble folia whilst peeling apart the nug whilst holding the bag whilst holding the pipe, without a single bauble lost. "I might be remembering wrong, but I'd say you look familiar from my time at the academy. What's your name?". Lost in his thoughts, Komaru hadn't the opportunity to make the first meaningful statement; it would have looked more polite, more interested in the person. He feared the kind man may take offense and think he was being used. The man had finished his packing task with an amendable agility, but Komaru's irrational guilt led to the denial of first hit. "Oh, I couldn't. Such a fine specimen. I know the host always has guest taste the wine first, but do you see that weed? So fine, so overlay with silken hairs - crisped with glistening diamonds of keef!" As he spoke, with honest passion, he was driven against his notice to creep closer. His voice raised a tad higher and shifted to an accented satire. "No, friend... This is not some expensive wine. This is... Well, so hairy and prurient - this is your god damn cat! You're trying to get me to smoke your cat..." Now within a meter of the man, Komaru threw his hand over to give a friendly shoulder pat, their backs to the active - likely snoopy - people in the market. "You must take that first hit. And to answer your question... I don't think we've met before - at most not at the academy. You seem about my age and so I have to assume you've been a ninja longer. I enrolled at the academy only two years ago! Though perhaps we have met before... I'm better with information than names. Tell me, what is your name and story?"

Word Count: 714
Total Progress: 1,636/3,600

The man took no hesitance in claiming his prize; while Komaru's dialogue was escaping him, the mans lungs were capturing heaven. Nietzsche once said "My Conception of the genius—Great men, like great epochs, are explosive material in whom tremendous energy has been accumulated". On this account the lame man may very well be great, for his lungs were exploding with the righteous convictions of thc. With eyes glued to the craft, a steep shaft which led to a deep bowl, Komaru appreciated the aesthetic of trichome fibers disintegrating. An average ear was deaf to its wonder, but those well acquainted with the bowl could hear - the fine whistle of psychodelic bonds being broken, being pulled to the deepest of the seven circles - one's lungs.

It was of wonder if the man would choke, if he could hold his own. Komaru eyed with suspicion as the sequence was completed, marked like a great revolution by the separation of lip from pipe. His hand lowered but the pipe was not passed, and the thought trickled into Komaru's mind God forbid, surely he isn't one of those stoners. "I actually joined and graduated the academy three years ago, when I was seventeen. But I've been lazy, and I spend more time helping out my father's business than really attending to missions or training."

The pipe was promptly passed after this and all was well in the universe. All was soon to be well in the soul, too. Deep genetic endowment emerged here, with a beast like insatiability coming over him - his eyes widened and brows furrowed to a concentrate. His nose, too, was drawn up like an excited beast. Fifteen minutes had been spent on his run smelling the freshness; upon the soreness of his legs and fatigue, Komaru owed this to his existence. His energy had been martyred for this, his energy died for the cause of paving a better way for tomorrow - so that those cells to be replicated tonight would be hosted in a country that loved them and granted happiness and pleasure as a natural right. It was truly revolutionary.  

Arching the bowl to his lips, Komaru was only half conscious of the linguistic context going on. However, the brain was especially adept at understanding the absurd babbles that occur between individuals - and so in no time the meaning would reach his conscious space. Instead all effort was directed in taking a hit; as the mouthpiece found itself to Komaru's lips, his hand instinctively fluttered to the bowl, dissing a flame upon it.

It couldn't be helped. The chattering smoke which was drawn into his lungs triggered his internal sensibility; there was almost a cough, but as a wise man he instead leaned back and allowed his chest to rise toward the sky. Yes, this is the moment he had been waiting for. Only milliseconds had passed and already his own mind exploded into thoughts. God forbid? Is there even a God? In such a world - such a world with no institutionalized religions, with no constructs or founders - where nearly anyone can tap into the deep mysterious powers of physics and mold their own reality via instruments of physical and spiritual energy... Such a world must be godless. Such a world has no meaning or context to 'God'. But... Within his dialogue Komaru had forgotten of the bowl and his inhalation, and had done a fair job of filling his lungs. The bowl was surely finished, exhausted to ash with nothing left to take.

In checking, it was found that Satoshi had already prepared another bowl and had commenced the smoking session. Being kind, Komaru handed off the empty pipe to Satoshi with the most apologetic of expressions - it was from his dog inheritance that he could pull off such puppy dog eyes, whilst expelling the darkest of wind releases from his lips. Light had somehow increased a degree in brightness, adding a bit more depth to the colors of trees sparse in the market and to the garments of those in it. Without thinking, and while retrieving the ceramic bowl from his new friend, Komaru began "My stomach... There's a rumble in it. A grizzly. I thought that we were smoking a cat, and my morals were settled with that... But we've ingested some bears! And bears are quite hungry beast, just as we are." This was no lie, though Komaru only ceased to talk because a cough came up. "I still don't know your name. Mine is Komaru, Komaru Supika, and I am a damn famished bastard who doesn't know whether God has any use as a word or not. But! I do know that I am a damn famished basta-" It occured to him that his mind had looped and he was about to repeat himself, but he recovered and opted to go with the simplest of statements. "We have to get some food man. Know of any buffets?"

Word Count: 836
Progress: 2,472/3,600

A brilliant tid bit had been shared to Komaru, by the gracious Satoshi. It appeared that there was a particular restaurant in town, one frequented by the dank distributor, which held to be all you can eat - and dangered to place cream cheese ragoons and shu mai on the same menu. Information of this sort was what led the great philosopher Sun Tzu to write the art of war; for it is knowledge that guides armies to greatness, not power. Knowledge of fine food awaiting his eating was the empowerment necessary to triumph life. As the bowl was passed to him, Komaru would give Satoshi a stern staring in the eyes - his lips firm and stance strong - "We must go." This was not merely a statement but the will of gods, gods which nestled themselves in the crevices of his consciousness.

Satoshi was quick to lead and Komaru's legs dedicated to follow, bounding from store-top to store-top as they made way toward the damned shop and fine foods destined to perish. Over their trek Komaru took it upon himself to make wise and take a hit. A man dare not be he who would take too long to strike the bowl. This would be an insult to Satoshi, provider of fine merchandise, whose name was still unknown to him. It was a delicious hit, sweet and sticky with the taste of earth - it settled upon the tongue in a film and left behind an unforgettable taste. If pressed, Komaru was afraid that he could not describe this - it possessed a strong je ne sais quoi, long lived and forever imprinting. Though he not the words to describe this, he could however tell "Your hit!"

In a few minutes they had reached the restaurant; tall and poorish, the building reeked to them a luscious wail - that by oil-filled sirens preparing the crab-cheese ragoons of their prize. The building was run down but not terribly so; it had faced the noticeable hardship all good people do - the people were obviously not of money, at least not so that the second story balcony had been fixed, but their parking was filled with bicycles and porch concealed with shoes. Komaru was careful as he entered to leave his sandals where they may easily be identified, and made polite not to step on anyone elses. Inside he found his eyes awakened by the sight of many rows, too many - Perhaps not enough... - of food being kept warm. There was lo mein, rice vermicelli and bee tai mak. To the left of that there was yakitori, tonkatsu and dumplings! Komaru could not list all the food present, nor was there a wish to. They were immediately caught, red eyed, by the hostess and plump restaurant owner. The manager seemed pleasant enough, welcoming them with a script about their delicacies and limitlessness - though this seemed more for Komaru, as the manager seemed oddly familiar with Satoshi. All the while he spoke, the manager kept looking back to ensure there was enough food. Komaru became suspicious that they were being stalled.

Word Count: 520
Progress: 2,992/3,600

The entrance was warped in a fume, the escaping simmers and spells of the dishes being placed fresh. Komaru had the mind to listen to generous Jigo, to allow him to deposit on of the affluence of their foods - Satoshi however appeared familiar, and graced himself by Jigo with some sly grin. There seemed to be an understanding between the two, and Jigo took no offense. Either way, he would be paid.

Komaru followed behind, momentarily, through the hostess and owner. Great heaps of food called to them, hissing succulent steam amidst the aisles. When Satoshi had went for the dumplings, Komaru slipped away - he too had the craving for dumplings and their rich sauce, but it was a waste of substance when rice could absorb it. The mixed rice was of his palette, with enough spread to constitute a pancake across the plate if one ever saw. Great structures required fine foundations; across the bar Satoshi was visible, with bandit haste, loading upon his plate spoon after spoon of the soy ginger sauce. This gave great relief, as it meant Komaru himself could do so without grief. He would construct the finest of statues - shu mai and ragoon folded forth with an Eiffel tower of imitation crab sushi - this would be his fine craft, and it would be a fountain.

When Komaru made over to the cream cheese ragoons, decadently spared, he spooned the total of them upon his plate. They were not the sort he was accustomed to, but recognizable none the less. A little hub, half the size of this restaurant, was where he visited for casual dining. There the ragoons were served large, the size of shuriken, a half dozen. However there was no trading this infinite, dear they hold true to their title, amount obtainable for a single fee. He went on to help himself to the shu mai and dumplings - as he had intended. The dumplings he took doubly so, layering them upon each other and building up a dune. He was careful to cross them intelligently, so as to not direct all the sauce off the plate. Once his piling had been done, he ventured to the large bowl - conveniently paired with a mere teaspoon. Komaru's training had been for this. He glanced around to ensure nobody was closely watching - he would not be judged for his greed - when all seemed clear he did his work: eleven, twelve, thirteen spoons he would dish upon the dumplings and other morsels. With this his porcelain plate had been properly attired; Satoshi was however still scurrying about, preparing presumably yet a second plate.

Komaru's appetite was not so robust. Though it ached and squealed now, it was easily satisfied. He took his seat at their table, designated by two lonely water cups tipped with lemon, and a shameful mess of a plate on Satoshi's side. Not that Komaru's was any better. No time was wasted, nor speed untapped, once the chop sticks had been desheathed. Dumplings were loaded one after another, as if stripped in a hurricane, from the soy saturated fortress and into Komaru's abyss. By the time Satoshi arrived, no evidence would remain - of the dumplings - and Komaru would make small talk over the sushi. The food was excellent and so served his craving - positively reinforcing a morning of intense regiment. There never came time for a refill because the kind waitresses kept their cups brimmed and never ceased to wish them a good meal. By the time Komaru finished the rice flooring of his gourmet home, he felt bloated and exhausted.

After a few minutes of idle conversation, Komaru would explain to Satoshi that the weed had gotten to him good, and that he was quite exhausted from training earlier. He needed a nap but wished to meet up. As such he beckoned the young shinobi to meet him again, in two days, at the same spot. They would have a spar and train together. For now though, Komaru left - leaving enough money for the meal and a 5% tip.

Training
Per: E--> D
Rea: E--> D
End: E--> E3
Str: E--> D
Spd: E--> D

Word Count: 682
Progress: 3,674/3,600
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Topic WC: 3812

This topic is being used to train Satoshi's stats.