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."...

Though it was a solidifying experience with his father, Honnari certainly never dreamt that it would be his last. And now he had gone to the last place they had been before he left never to return.

This place, despite the delicious smells that meandered the eatry, held nothing but miserable memories. His gaze languished down to the table. Each word his father said replaying like a broken record in his mind. It took him aback, as if he were there in that exact moment in time. But he was very young, and that was so long ago.

Whilst his mother knew that they had spoken before he passed, he never informed her to the extreme of what their final conversation had been. In the end, he revealed that he held contempt for his son, a mirror that hosted his empty reflection. In real time, Honnari glowered. The sheer hatred in his father's voice left him with a sting in his heart. He hung on to every second of the exchange.

His food finally arrived, ambried into the bento box he asked his server of. How ironical. He knew he was mourning a man that was not worthy of being mourned. He ate small bites that were very meager at first, but grew more hungry and intense as he remembered the words, like poison coursing through him. At one point, Honnari bit hard enough to feel his tounge snag, tasting a rust. He physically flinched, and prayed that no one noticed.

The bustle of the pub, daughters with their mothers, and sons presumably with their fathers. He brooded over his late father, the light hearted atmosphere, friendship and camaraderie that he would never be apart of.

Nonsense! This was his day. After fasting at his shrine yesterday evening, he owed himself to a delightful way to break the day-long fast. And these thoughts were not going to ruin his meal. Though he sat alone, he brought a small goddess statue with him that sat on his table. It was a headless, female shaped trinket that cradled the crescent moon. It stood about only 3 inches or so tall. But it earned him some strange looks all the same.

An unnerving slience overcame him before he closed his eyes, murmuring a grace: "Moon dea, cratered by imperfections, glisten down."

WC: 596/596

Outfit:

Tamago adjusted the sun hat she wore as it flared in the wind, threatening to be blown away. The young girl appreciated the breeze, especially in the heat that would occasionally wash over Konoha with unforeseen intensity. Her other hand held her long skirt in place as she looked at the scene before her. The village's streets were crowded as they usually were during the weekends, with civilians and shinobi alike enjoying their time off. Young girls huddled around shop windows, families made their way to food stalls and restaurants and shinobi restocked on weapons and supplies. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the young girl enjoyed it all the same.

Her butler was right, she needed a day off. He had practically kicked her out of the house around noon and told her to act her age for once. What a preposterous notion. What did that phrase even mean? Act her age. In any case, she had decided to dress casually. A lacy choker, a pink and white top matching her skirt and a light purple hat - she looked like any other civilian in town. Tamago made her way to one of the more popular restaurants that she had yet to try, the Sushaya Pub. It had likely devolved into a tourist trap over the years, but it still merited a visit. After a message written in the air - her go to form of communication - the waitress gladly led her to a table, menu in hand.

The place had a nice ambiance to it, although the decor was nothing remarkable. It would have been fine, save for the fact that there was already someone seated at her table.

This week, we embrace community seating! Enjoy a meal and get to know a stranger! The flier attached to the menu read. Her teeth clenched for a moment and she sighed. Turning around and leaving would cause a scene. People would turn and look at the rude girl who refused to sit with someone else for no reason other than her own selfishness. Moreover, some of those onlookers were bound to recognize her. More than once, the young heiress had appeared on the cover of a magazine for one reason or another. The Yasuda Conglomerate was a high profile organization, her position was bound to draw attention towards her. "My image is the company's image," she reminded herself. Tabloids would have a field day if she ever had an outburst in public.

With a gentle sigh, she took her seat in front of the boy, telling herself that she didn't need to keep up a conversation. She would have her meal in silence and enjoy a day out. If she was in the mood, maybe she would go shopping later. Yes, that sounded lovely - a nice time, to be sure. All she had to do was endure a meal with a stranger. Even if she had had the ability to speak, she wouldn't have waster her breath to introduced herself. With a nod, she acknowledged the young man's presence and that was it.

[519]

He heard the air forced from a chair in front of him. Slowly his gazed languished from the grace he was reciting in his lap, to the young-brunette that had taken a seat without as much as saying a word.

His eyes smiled before his lips did. But with her dismissive nod and deathly silence, he assumed that she was not too enthralled to be stuck with him as a tablemate. How mortifying indeed.

He pulled his goddess trinket closer to his end of the table. He seemed to consider her appearance for a moment. The look of a princess, but the charm of a wench. He sighed, a gossip column maybe? A princess? But that would beg the question of why she would deign on a place like this.

His eyes were locked to the table cloth, and his half eaten box seemed less appetizing by the moment. And colder.

"Something--troubling you?" He feigned. While he was just as uncomfortable as she was, maybe even more so; awkward silence could perhaps be a fate worse than death. He fiddled with his chopsticks, dissecting  what was left of his bento box from earlier. No doubt that she was, or considered herself, acclaim to a high esteem. With an ace eye, he noticed her eyes stalk the walls of the pub. Her eyes said what her mouth dared not to. It brooked all her feelings.

Sure, the day-to-day bustle tended to be better than the usual fare, but even he found the décor and atmosphere a little…gimmicky at times. Perhaps even cheep. But unlike her, most of that were either harsh memories, or jaded dissappointment. This place held a rememberance of time that was hard to shake. And his dad, a herald to that dissolution.

Sod the world.

Now wasn't the time to bump heads. To engage in some great argument and draw more attention to himself. But he was never one to kill with kindness. That didn't make matters better. Considering that now he was overgeneralizing a brief look given to him with a girl he had just met, along with swirl of feeling he had brewing. If there was one thing that he was hoping for, it was that she was as high classed as she looked. And could maintain civility at the table.

Taking a page from his father's book, he says,"Whatever."

WC: 404/1000

It had been a long few days. Zinan had not slept in three days, either from missions or from simple insomnia. Add to that the stress of losing his sensei and team, Zinan was fit to simply have food, enough alcohol to make him drowsy, and to be left alone.

So, why on Earth did his sleep deprived feet bring him to the most gimmicky public house in Konoha? He was shifting his weight to turn when a small boy, playing with his father, bumped into him and knocked him into the restaurant. Before he had the chance to right himself, he heard a cheery "Welcome!" and he was being ushered to a table.

He paused before the chair and sighed. He was being sat with two people that were complete strangers. With a squinty, partially fake smile to the hostess, Zinan took a seat. He looked at his tablemates: one seemed like a pompous brat and the other obsessively guarded a little statue. This is going to be interesting... he thought, irritation running through his mind.

Zinan ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair, furrowed his thick eyebrows, and waved for the waitress. It seemed like an eternity passed before she reached the table and her bright "Are you ready to order some drinks?" ground annoyingly into Zinan's ears. With another fake smile, Zinan ordered. "Nihonshu. Make it a large bottle." Cause I'm gonna need it... he thought, glancing back over his tablemates.

WC: 247

A heavy sigh - it seemed like a quiet lunch was out of the question. The boy in front of her made some attempt to initiate conversation followed by a rude dismissal. The girl huffed and fished in her purse for a pen and a piece of paper. Sure, she could have written in the air with her chakra, but the young heiress couldn't be bothered. Moreover, the colorful letters of her chakra would probably draw added attention to her that she very much did not want. Finding want she needed, she laid out a piece of paper and began to scribble on it. Once she was done, she turned the piece of paper over to her unwanted companion. "Do not mistake my silence for mere rudeness," the message began. The handwriting was overly elaborate, with unnecessary loops that looked like extra strokes on the kanji. It looked beautiful, sure, but it was hard to read. "I am unable to speak. Unless you know sign language, this is the only way I can carry out a conversation," she explained.

As if this wasn't enough, another young man was unceremoniously seated at their table and proceeded to immediately order a drink. It was hard alcohol, no less. Wonderful. A brooding zealot - judging by the statuette on the table and the expression on his face - and a drunkard. The perfect company. She passed the piece of paper to the newcomer, reading the same message still. It was best to clarify what needed clarifying straight off the bat. She would tap her fingers on the table, waiting for the boy to finish reading her frilly handwriting so that she could write her drink order down for the waiter.

Unfortunately, the young lady left with the drink orders she already had. Tamago gritted her teeth and raised her hand to draw any waiter's attention, but to no avail. She huffed, impatiently and somewhat frustrated. She grabbed her pen and the piece of paper once again. "My name is Yasuda, Tamago. You may call me Yasuda-sama or Yasuda-san, if you must. While I cannot speak, as I already stated, I am perfectly capable of listening," she stated. To make things a little faster, she held up the piece of paper in front of her for the two young men to read.

[924][/color]

Honnari watched tentatively as she gathered her pencil, paper, and slowly conveyed her thoughts. The gesture seemed silly, and outright offensive to him at first. Too good for small talk?

Had he overreacted and spoke his mind, he would have looked the fool. Somehow, her sense of disability and vocal ineptitude, regarding her mysterious muteness, had seemed to intrigue and connect with him all at once. He wondered after her, assuming yet again that this wasn't a fit of pique, he thought the two of them, similar. How debilitating could it be to not have the ability to speak? The most basic form of communication?

It seemed that he had some blessings to count later. "Do not mistake my silence for mere rudeness," The pen-craft worthy note said. "I am unable to speak. Unless you know sign language, this is the only way I can carry out a conversation,"

"Apolo--gies." He stumbled, a bit flustered. "I was not privy to it. Many blessings to you. Pray, how do you accommodate for such an ailment?''

Inhaling sharply, he clenched his eyelids shut in a last spurt of self punishment. The temptation to throw his own inherent grievances at her and waste his diginity was almost unbearable. He resigns himself to the inevitability of opening his eyes. Slowly, his eyes blink open… shut… then open once more. His vision clears and adjusts. And he finds himself staring blearily at a dark-haired, unfamilar male. Had he payed attention earlier, he would have known that this pub's current activity was the seating of persons with complete strangers.

His forehead creases into a frown. There were only so many formalities he could offer. And he was never one to be rude, unhinged. He show his best until met with opposition.

He owlishly blinked at the man. Said male requested a large bottle of presumably alcohol. But, he couldn't be too sure as that wasn't a practice of his. By no way possible could a mind that was two sheets in the wind be revealed to the lumionus, almighty God. He was certain that They would not abstain themselves from denouncing this man as a heretic; swathed in darkness. He noticeably clutched his goddess statue closer to him. Making sure the man saw that he did not want his holy possession to absorb some of that louty clamorous aura he was giving off.

She seemed bearable, friendly even; once he was able to  figure out that her silence wasn't merely selective. But this one was not in Honnari's best grace just yet. He was already off to a bad start. Slowly, his mind exhaled, allowing itself to calm down and breathe normally. It felt to so weird to Honnari to meet someone so indulgent in something like that. Surely, the gods cannot be in agreement woth such a thing?

While the man was occupied reading his new aqquaintance's note, he slipped in an almost inaudible "Apostate." His chopsticks picking at the remanents of the box's contents.

WC: 511/1511

Zinan's eyes fell on to the two other people at the table with him. The other man eyed him with shaded eyes and jealously clutched something close to him. Zinan thought he glimpsed sight of a miniature statuette. What is with this guy? Zinan thought. He had heard of religious fanatics scattered throughout the lands, but they were few and far in between. Religion was something that was hard pressed to put someone's trust in within the shinobi world.

Rolling his eyes slightly, Zinan turned his gaze over to the lady that was at the table. She had slid a note over to him. The kanji was sloppy and included a gratuitous amount of frills and flips; Zinan took this as a mark of poor discipline. Sure, he liked to drink alcohol, but at least he could properly write. The note explained that the girl could not speak and could only communicate through writing or sign language. This was fine with the Kumonosu; perhaps with a man who seemed intent on silently judging him and a woman who could not speak, he could have a quiet lunch.

A single word made it's way to his ears. If he was religious at all, Zinan would have considered it offensive. Apostate. The word held the meaning of someone who had rejected a religious belief or principle. In a world that almost universally rejected religion, apostates were not a rare occurrence; it was the opposite that was a nonoccurence. So, for this man to judge him for being a human without a religious ideal was actually more of a mark on the religious man's character and lack of understanding than it was a dark mark in Zinan's character.

Shaking his head with an amused smirk, Zinan turned his attention back to the lady who held aloft a second note. This note introduced herself to the other two. However, if she thought that Zinan would call her "-sama," she was in for a rude awakening. He did not care who her family was; her clan was not one of the ancient clans of Konohagakure, thus the title of "-sama" would not be reserved for her.

Zinan had noticed her disdain when the waitress left without taking her drink order. "I noticed that you were not able to order a drink," Zinan said to her. "If you would like, Yasuda-san, I could share my drink with you when the waitress returns. It is rice wine, if that is something that you like." While he was certain that this lunch could be held in silence, and as much as he would like that to be the case, Zinan knew that it would be better for him if he were to speak to those around him and get to know his neighbors in the village. The Kumonosu were known to stay reclusive and secluded in their forest home, surrounded by webs and spiders.

He looked over to the religious freak who was still jealously hunched over his statue of a goddess. "I could even share it with you, if you ask nicely and apologize for your mean name-calling."

---

WC: 528
Total WC: 775

Honnari had had quite enough. He was ready for the check.

Honnari called for the  waitress from earlier. She was too young to look as weather-beaten as she was. And on closer inspection, she was an unpleasant woman. She was not overly drole, but her body had aged passed her years so much so that she wore the wizened features of an old crone. The occasional strand of her once golden hair could still be seen though the lifeless grey mane that limply framed her aging face. Her forehead was wrinkled by many peaks and trenches - caused by years of consistent scowling - which unflatteringly crowned eyes that permanently harboured a disdainful glare, shadowing their beautifully unique shade of blue. Her entire face seemed drained of any signs of joy and amusement, instead her frumpy cheeks told a tale of regular displeasure.

No tip. For sure. Then Honnari looked at the boy. Even without taking a drink, he got flashbacks of his father. He was a drunkard, plain and simple. His breakfast was whiskey with a rum chaser. He was slurring his words by lunchtime and passed out by the afternoon. What little food he ate was in the form of chips and cold wieners from a jar. He didn't leave the house for anything. He even paid a widow neighbour to shop for him. Empty beer cans and spirit bottles lay discarded about the house. Wherever a can or bottle was when it became empty was where it stayed. Only when his nephew visited once a month or so did the empties get thrown out. No-one else came. His temper was legendary. He detested himself and anyone who showed him kindness. When he was sure he was alone he would often cry for all the regrets and mistakes he'd made, for all the love he had driven away.

He would drink in silence, hoping that the answer lies at the bottom of the glass and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next bottle and the next. And so days and nights drag on. Few words exchanged between us. And the words that are spoken are slurred and senseless.

He looked at Tamago. Mute and kind. Part of her eyes, baring onyx.  Brown eyes that contain the gold that people so desperately search for.  Where blue eyes like his mother's were concerned, ones that swam with the ocean, her eyes held gold. The same gold most people spend their whole lives acquiring.

The Sun and the Moon. Forces that reminded him that everyone was made of star stuff. This whole thing had been rather uneventful. And Honnari was already finished with his meal.

"Enjoy the rest of your days, you two."



(OOC: Tamago does not have the time to post right now. You should probably exit as well, Zinan.)

[Thread Exit]
WC: 458/1969

WC Distribution:

Zinan eyed the religious fanatic as he called for the waitress once more. He scowled as the strange man's eyes bored into the woman's face, as if he were trying to eat her facial features with his piercing stare. Zinan shuddered. This man was strange, even in a village full of shinobi. However, Zinan took the time to follow the man's gaze. The woman's face was, indeed, aged, probably due to the strain and wear of the food service industry in which she worked. It must be hard to serve food in a village full of busy people that had even busier agendas. Not to mention the fact that shinobi's burn a lot of calories and need to eat a exorbitant amount of food to maintain their body weight.

Zinan shook his head. The Kumonosu genin turned his attention back to the religious freak of nature and sighed again. The man did not even tip the waitress for her service. He pulled out enough money, once he saw the other man's rudeness, to cover his meal and drink, in addition to the two people's worth of tips he laid down.

He rose to his feet and nodded towards the waitress to let her know that he would not, unfortunately, be finishing the beverage that she brought to him. He turned to Yasuda Tomago-san and bowed. "You have a good night," he muttered to the other genin. He turned on his heel and left the restaurant.

[Exit]

---

WC: 253
Total WC: 1028

---

Jutsu Training C-rank = Hiden Technique: Sticky Webs = 1000 Words