The public-houses, with gas-lights burning inside, were already open. By degrees, other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people were met with. Then, came straggling groups of labourers going to their work; then, men and women with fish-baskets on their heads; donkey-carts laden with vegetables; chaise-carts filled with livestock or whole carcasses of meat; milk-women with pails; an unbroken concourse of people trudging out with various supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the village mainstreet, the noise and traffic gradually increased; when they threaded the streets it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle.

When the waning moon began to envy the darkness, Honnari gathered his things and waded through the crowd; his destination: the Naka River. Or more importantly the Old Citadel that he visited so long ago.

That endearing poem that he had read was enough to ruffle his curiousity, and revealed the way of a god to him. That no matter if one is in the midst of darkness, like these stars in the night, light shines forever. No matter how deep the abyss goes, God will still be waiting there. And They will be beautiful...

When the time came, Honnari threw a bag over his shawl, full of candles, food offerings, and other alter ingredients, and headed off into the wilderness. He packed a blade with him should the need arise, but he was never good with them.

The Naka river, a flowing body of water. What else could stand so firm, yet transient? A true testament to Them! The living God(s)! Under the stars, the water held the universe, and seemingly the moon deep in it's depths. One of the nicest parts of his travel, was the night walk against the shore just before the abyss came and elevated him away from the water. The river is located on the land where the Uchiha clan once lived and prospered and at some point, it passes through a deep ravine.

And even from this height he could still see the moon in the sea, staring at him. The moon's energy was very feminine to him, and he/d often bring boques and silver coins as offerings to his moon goddess. Praise the moon, praise the living Goddess who's womb may be the moon. She was the mirror, and she hosted humanities empty reflection. She was is like humanity; as is the bright side of the moon, with its darker side.

The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. She understood Honnari.

But she also reminded him that the moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.

His thoughts carried him all the way to the citadel. He walked as if to meet the moon herself, sack in tow.

The general structure is almost always the same: post and lintel support a large and gently curved roof, while the walls are paper-thin, often movable and in any case non-carrying. Arches and barrel roofs are completely absent. Gable and eave curves are gentler than most shrines and columnar entasis.

The roof is the most visually impressive component, often constituting half the size of the whole edifice. The slightly curved eaves extend far beyond the walls, covering verandas, and their weight must therefore be supported by complex bracket systems called.

These grand eaves give the interior a characteristic dimness, which contributes to the temple's ambience. The interior of the building normally consists of a single room at the center called moya, from which sometimes depart other less important spaces. Honnari layed these corridors with fresh wild flowers whenever he had the opportunity.

Inner space divisions are fluid, and Honnari could moddify the room size through the use of screens or movable paper walls. The large, single space offered by the main hall can therefore be altered according to the need. The separation between inside and outside is itself in some measure not absolute as entire walls can be removed, probably opening the temple to visitors in the past.

Verandas appeared to be part of the building to an outsider, but part of the external world to those in the temple. Structures are therefore made to a certain extent part of their environment. The use of construction modules keeps proportions between different parts of the edifice constant, preserving its overall harmony.

The impressive roof should be noted to have the famed Kumogakure symbol tacked in it's tile. In which Honnari himself engraved as a token of gratitude for the gods bringing him the poem. Said poem being signed by an anonymous author who was a self-proclaimed Lightning Country resident.

There seemed to be cherry blossoms galore surrounding the temple. Which was not off considering a Sakura's need for heat, and the Land of Fire's ability to quell that need.

Honnari invited himself in. It was a usual occurrence for him, and he made sure that this time no one here. The earlier strobing light had all but been removed, in favor of lamp that sat on the tatami nearby. The beginning of his alter also was illuminated by the lamp. It was very strategically placed.

Honnari shut the door behind him and unload his bag. There he bought the food offerings and placed them near the alter's flame. The reminents of his old offering had rottened and blackened. Withering away was a sign that the Sun and Moon God(s) had accepted his offering. He threw the food on that plate out, and replaced it with the fresh tonkatsu pork cut he brought with him for this trip. None for him of course, as a fast was always due when spending the night at his shrine.

"Oh Dea de Luna, swathed in darkness, but brighter than the bouquet of stars? Just what could compare, our lov(ed) starry night? Praise the moon, and all caught under her starry bosum.

He gave his hands to the ceiling above him, palms together, with fingers on either hand gesturing to a crescent moon. His charge as a keeper to the sacred moon goddess; though he was scorned at birth, he could still call god what They were: beautiful. He lit a flame on a candleon his alter, keeping eye on the moon sigil curtain that served as the alter's backdrop. It was then where he said a silent prayer to himself, thanking God for Their influence on his breathe for which he could live another day.

Because another day of life, was another day of God's grace. Glory be to be to God's eternal flame: The Sun and the Moon! Praise them!

A testament to their mercy, which in a divine since, would supercede the logic of man that They are not just. They are. And they will continue to be as time demands it. They are both merciful and merciless. Light and dark through prayer and prudence, in choice between good and evil. Honnari understood the divination that was this divine being. It did not escape him like it did most men and women. Though they would have no idea, as it takes a rather less-fortunate indiviudal to bare witness to Their Beautiful flame.

"Moon dea, and your slumbering counterpart, Sun deus. Both two halves of the perfectly imperfect being: God. I know that you will forgive the heretics that may run amok. Built in an image that is devoid of pain, and compassion. Why expect them to know a god, when they have yet to experience your greatest facet?"

The flame illuminated a shining thread racing past his nose."Through my revelation of the living God, have I humbly excepted my charge as your marytr. To spread the lore and evidence of your creation without fear of life nor limb. Yes, I except this task--graciously!"

Honnari saw this God entity as the ultimate authority. And he'd rather listen to authority. Afterall, they tended to be the right ones more often than not--or so he had convinced himself...

The last time Honnari saw his  father was in Shushaya Pub. He was going from his grandmother's stand in the market district that she had operated selling sake, and religious talismans. And he wrote his father that he would be at the Pub for an hour and a half, and asked if we could have lunch together. His father was a Jounin, acclaimed for his rank, but with the silent dishonor of his frail, begotten son.

He was off investigating the Ruins of Sunagakure and what remained, and he wrote back to say that he would meet me at the information booth at noon, and at twelve o'clock sharp. The following week.

He saw him coming through the crowd. He was a stranger to him— his feelings of inadequacy boiling from the flame in his eyes. No matter how hard Honnari looked at his own reflection, he never once saw that same flame in his own.

—But as soon as he saw him he felt that he was his father, his tree and he his apple, his grace and yet his fall. he  knew that when Honnari was grown he would be nothing like him; He would have to plan my limitations with his campaigns. He was a big, good-looking man, and Honnari his frail, ill-born shadow. He was the mirror that hosted his father's empty reflection.

However he was terribly happy to see him again. He struck Honnari on the back and shook his hand. His strike almost took his breath away.

"Hello, Honnari," he said. " I'd like to take you up to the pub. It a little--crowded around here if you know what I mean?"

His humor was always meek.

He put his arm around Honnari, and he smelled his father the way he would normally sniff a flower. It was a rich compound of whiskey, after-shave lotion, shoe polish, woolens, and the rankness of a mature male. Despite past transgressions, Honnari had hoped that someone would see them together. He wished that they could be photographed. He wanted some record of them having been together.

Son and father: two of a kind. What bond could be stronger?

They went out of the market and up a side street to a pub. It was still early, and the place was empty. They sat down, and his father hailed him in a loud voice. "So Nari, how ya been?!" he shouted. His boisterousness in the empty pub seemed out of place.

"Nari is a girl's name." Honnari grimaced. Had there been people there, how mortifying it would have been indeed.

Then he clapped his hands. This caught Honnari's full attention. From there proximity to one another it was deafening.


"Why are you clapping your hands at me?!" he asked.


"Calm down, calm down, Nari," His father said. "If it isn't too much to ask of you—if it wouldn't be too much above and beyond the call of duty, tell the staff that we would like an order of some damn delicious tonkatsu. Bento box for you, Nari."

"I don't like to be clapped at," Honnari said.

"I'll have to use my wadaiko drum next time!" His father said.  "Now, use your listening ear  and see if you can get this straight: one tonkatsu, and one Bento box for baby Nari Repeat after me:-"

"-I think we'd better leave," Honnari said quietly.

"Fine," His father said, "Though you'll have to find a bento boxy to suit your Nari-pallette somewhere."

He followed his father out of that pub into another. This time it was Ichiraku Ramen. He was not so boisterous this time, as they were out in the open near the market.

Their ramen came, Honnari's the smallest bowl, and his father's in the largest. He began cross-question Honnari about the Academy.

"To no avail. But I felt as of I got a little closer this time!"

"Feeling it don't cut it, Nari!" His father said. he digressed with a "typical" attitude. Having [not] expected much, of Honnari to see if he had finally even made it through. He then struck the edge of his empty bowl with his chop sticks and began shouting again. "You're so-- stupid! There is no "closer" and someone as frail as you cannot become. A. Shinobi. You're just delusional!

His father's eyes sauntered away from his him,"You're the only person I know that's in a competition to embarass themself. But what. Ever. Have it your way."

Honnari's heart was in his throat. As if all of his blood had focalized to his face. Every time he opened his mouth I got angrier.

At first, Honnari would swallow any retort and just endure it, smile and move on. But that only made it worse. because afterwards, his father usually felt empowered to micromanage every little aspect of his life, every thing that didn't go according to what he had envisioned for his son.

He formed white knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, his hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent. His face was red with suppressed rage, and even setting a finger on his shoulder, would cause him to swing around and mentally snapped.

Was this all he had hoped to see?

Honnari already knew. While time makes the heart grow fonder, some change-- but most do not. Every word stung only fueling the fire that burned inside of him. Every violated phrase was like gasoline to it, his fists began to clench and his jaw rooted. When the final mento had been added to the fire inside of him he could have exploded with anger, with no control, objects potentially levitating and breaking. People would drop to the floor as the primeval instinct took over. He had the choice of losing his temper, but something spoke to him that told that the time to release his father was now. Metaphorically speaking.

He kept the peace, and a slice of his diginity. He stood up, the heat of the sun cleansed him of his emotion which would have been lost on his father. "Goodbye, father."

He walked away, not saying another word. And his father went on an A-ranked mission, never to return.

And that was the last time Honnari saw his father.


He remembered as a little boy watching his mother each night get ready for bed. The bathroom door would open as steam and the smell of ivory soap would pour out into the hallway. Lotion would be slathered on, pumped from a cheap economy sized bottle and the talc she sprinkled on her skin, before putting on her long nightgown, would leave a light dusting on the grey tile floor.

Honnari would breath in the smells. He loved these moments of observing her femininity amidst a house that was so plunged into manliness avant to his father. He longed for the day when he would be twisting open small glass jars of ‘plumping serum’ and applying eye creams. In these moments he longed to be held by her warm body and lay his head on her firm lap while we watched the moon, even if it made her feel uncomfortable.

She loved jewelry and regalia, but not with a greed. She did not own many pieces, nor did she want to. Her pieces were aged or heirlooms, and she always had an eye for good silver. She would always feign over other women's jewelry, and Honnari would feel a guilt that he knew wasn't justified.

She always gave Honnari pocket money, and he would always spend it on two apples for the both of them. And they would eat them together.

A Rapscallion in youth, his mother was always there to save the day.

One day, off on a market run to buy the two apples, Honnari had an idea.
For those who were bored of the quiet countryside, the life and bustle of the city was a pleasant diversion - in more ways than one. The markets of the Village hidden in the Leaves, were flooded with its common folk, but Honnari was able navigated the urban corridors effortlessly, like a cat weaving underfoot. He wasn't dressed for show, nor were so sloppy and ragged in appearance that the locals would recognize you as a regular.

These rage and their gaud would be his disguise.

There was a great advantage in being seen, but not noticed. Blending in, as ordinary and innocuous as one could be.

He smiled discreetly beneath the fabric of his scarf. It was time to look for a mark.

"Fresh produce!"

"Bargain prices on fabrics, including silks and linens!"

"Discount on our best cleaning supplies and equipment! You won't see a chance like this again any time soon!"

From every corner of the street, merchant criers displayed their wares for all the world to see, drawing curious customers, window shoppers, and bargain hunters alike. The less attention drawn towards him, the better.

Winding his way way through the crowd, he glanced glanced over his shoulder. The last he saw sight of any Chuunin were a pair of guys lazing about over a game of cards. How nice of them to make his job so much easier.

A pair of well-dressed women, both bearing purses, were ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a trinket stand. Such attractive gaud.

The market was hardly a bastion for the upper-class, but these two potential marks were clearly better off than most. Making himself look as inconspicuous as possible, he made his approach. Natural. Relaxed. No jerky movements. Haste made waste after all, and the last mistake he wanted to make was one that would land him in a cell.

The women were both completely oblivious as to his deft fingers dove in, light as a feather.

Feeling a snag, he smiled and slipped the stolen pouch underneath his shawl. It felt crammed full of ryo.

His heart felt giddy with elation. He exited the scene as quickly as he arrived, leaving the two pick-pocketed women to ogle the trinket shop. And yet, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder with a gaze of longing. His skills earned him what was needed to procure the very basics. Silver, silver, and oh yeah, more silver.


The morning went routinely as usual. He made his rounds about the street, making small pilfers here and there.

Inconsequential amounts that no one would notice. Not until much later, anyhow. A handful of ryo here, a money purse there, and of course the occasional bauble. Jewelry and personal effects tended to be a little riskier, but this time he was lucky enough to nab a gleaming pocket-watch from one of the stands. How pretty it was! He longed to admire it. It looked like something that his mom would adorn herself in. But for the time being it remained safe and hidden in his oversized shawl.


Somewhere far behind him, one of his marks shrilled, "I've been robbed!" He took it as his cue to move on to another street.

The markets here were more spacious and less crowded, giving him more room to navigate. But that also made him a little more visible. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course.

That said, something gave him pause.

A handful of green-vested jounin, six of them in all, were making their way up the street. Each of them bore some manner of equipment. Logs, kunai, shuriken, chains, and wrappings. No doubt they were making weaponshop purchases for their  Academy supplies. And to take advantage of the discount prices.

One of them, a lively and bespectacled brunette, had her arms full of newly-bought knives. Balancing the bundle with some difficulty, she cheerfully called out to her companion.  He was a small-statured, black-haired man wearing his headband around his neck, who had stopped to peer at a fruit stand under a linoleum tarp.

The man’s back was turned. Honnari couldn’t see his face from where he was standing, but it was apparent that he was busy scrutinizing two variants of blood oranges.

He could hear him mumbling under his breath as he stroked his chin.

Honnari arched a brow. Obsessive much? Quite possibly.

The woman with specs let out a hearty laugh. “You’d best choose one and kick yourself over the details later, or we’ll be here ‘til morning! …Ah, whoops!”

She reached up to readjust the heap of knife bundles in her embrace. It was wonder she hadn't been maimed yet. Clearly, she had both hands occupied. As her hair swayed, Honnari spotted a sizable pack hanging at her hip, right at the belt.

Thinking fast, he glanced at the man. He was still preoccupied with window-shopping. Both were seemed absolutely unaware of the fact that he was eyeing them like a hawk. Stealing from a Jounin was a little riskier than civilian marks, but this looked like something he could handle. At the very least, he knew of a dozen different escape routes to disappear into if things got hairy.

But just as he was about to make another mark a familar voice almost whispered,[/color]"Honnari! Stop!" The woman whispered from a tarp, if one looked close enough they would swear to stars that she had a visible vein.

"Uh-oh." It was mother, rag clad-- and really mad.

Afterwards, she brought him home for a more formal scolding. But not before asking why he did it.

"I wanted to find you something beautiful, Mother." She told him that was the wrong way to go about it. But nevertheless, she smiled lightly and squeezed his hand. "Can we at least eat our apples now?"

Honnari retrieved the apples which he bought earlier. But they were warm and soft.  So he did something had never done before. He held both to his mouth and took a bite of both.

His mother was shocked, wide eyed and dissappointed. "Honnari, why? Honnari handed his mother one of the apples.

"Because, this is the sweeter one."

No more pit-pocketing.



[Thread Exit]

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[WC:3943]

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