If Nagashi had any semblance of interest in the invitation, he had not showed it. The green haired youth had sported his signature blank look, his eyes hazed and cold, his lips unmoving. His body was slumped, that is to say, he looked nonchalant or perhaps tired, or perhaps a mixture of both, but he certainly did not seem perked or ready for anything in particular. Even his hair, which had normally a sense of organisation about it, seemed more so chaotic than per usual. His clothes were clearly not chosen for any particular purpose - certainly not to show him off in a good light. A simple black top decorated his upper body, whereas dark-green khaki trousers covered the rest, with the exception of the simple wooden sandals. His hand was wedged deeply in his right pocket, where, unbeknownst to anyone, he clenched a small flick-knife - a gift from his parents.

When he had received an ornate, perfumed-sprayed letter from the well-known Karisuma Clan, the youth had reacted with instant suspicion (and a degree of disgust). He had discovered his unusual talent - the other side of the coin to his otherwise, dull golden eyes - at a young age, and had used the ability to some degree ever since. It was useful, but not exactly a deal-breaker of any sort; nor did it make him feel in any particular way to the clan it originated from. His parents had explained to him that he had some vestiges of the Karisuma blood in his body, much like most Watari did (and probably the vast majority of Suna Shinobi as a whole) and, for whatever reason - an unquantifiable percentage, a one-in-a-million chance - he had awakened the ability hidden with the Karisuma's DNA. Now it seemed the clan wanted him to come in, to talk to them, to be indoctrinated in their ways perhaps? The youth cared little about all that, but he was advised to go nonetheless, for fear of causing disrespect. Still, his parents had made sure to watch him carefully; the Karisuma weren't exactly trustworthy. Whatever they wanted with their son, Nagashi's parents were well prepared to intervene.

He was met at the entrance by a boy of his age, though the green-haired youth noticed, with scorn and disdain, that his peer was worthless. It was hard to tell if the servant was the weakest shinobi in the world or the most fragile non-ninja entity in the whole universe. Nagashi felt like he could crush the very thing that would soon call itself a 'man' with a single, long gaze. But, as aforementioned, he was too bored or too disinterested or too tired to really care. He just gave the boy a look of contempt, and grinned a little as the servant ran off. Aww was he scared?

The boy returned quickly, letting the green-haired youth in. "Follow me" he muttered under his breath, nervously perhaps; Nagashi moved after him unwillingly. The two moved into a main hall, of some sorts, where a large wooden table was arranged, behind which, sat numerous figures. One in particular stood out, a brown-haired individual of some age; there was something about him that betrayed to the youth, that he was the leader of this little, happy gathering. "Wassup?" Nagashi intoned offhandedly, his amber eyes looking up from behind a fringe of emerald hair. He really couldn't care less.

Nagashi's eyes narrowed as he took a thorough look around his surroundings, his mind working furiously to determine his strategic position, for if he had been feeling uneasy and suspicious from the very start, now, the feeling was more akin to entrapment. The estate was nothing short of richly decorated and glamorous: the splendour was evident in every single detail, whether it was to be seen in a lonesome exorbitant vase or a tapestry from the Jōmon period, which he had noticed in the corner of his eye. The air was heavy with the thick, exotic smells of aromas, spices and perfumes the youth couldn't even hope to identify; he felt as if he was being choked. The clothing of the clan members was highly intricate and of an extravagant fabric. He must have seemed like a peasant to them, a lowly, impoverished nobody; if that was what they thought of him, he considered himself advantaged.

"Look, Akihiko...sama" the youth begun, taking care, after a momentary pause, to add the blasted honorific. "I can't help but feel confused as to the reason for this... meeting" the boy admitted, his left hand stroking his chin thoughtfully, though there was but a fledgling of hair on it for him to feel. "I understand that due to the... recent 'incident', the clan is perhaps short on manpower, but I'm but a lowly genin with very few prospects ahead of me" the youth spoke on, choosing his words carefully. He was suddenly determined to be out of here; the presence of the younger, stronger, well-built chuunin or jounin who occupied the table, unnerved him. But though he was such, his voice did not show it. Whatever he was feeling or thinking, Nagashi couldn't have sounded more monotone; his eyes did not betray him either.

"I would hate to waste your time" he added, his golden orbs turning their full focus to the so-called leader. He had heard many rumours, some believable, others - well - highly absurd. Some had said that it was this man before him - Akihiko - who was responsible for the death of the elders. It certainly seemed convenient, for the near-sixty year old, to have been one of the last aged-members left. And sure enough, where the clan had been poor under the prior's rule, Akihiko had returned it to glory... well, financial glory. Other rumours, rumours concerned with a glamorised form of prostitution, or so Nagashi had believed it to be, tarnished the clan's fledgling reputation more so than poverty had ever done. Is that why he was here? Did they plan to make him a pretty boy, to be added to some catalogue or collection?

Nagashi was disappointed, to say the least, by how the situation had devolved into a cliché scenario. Here they were, the evil or rather quasi-evil older superior trying to corrupt him - the young naive prodigy. Oh sure, he would gain power and glory and become the ruler of the world, the owner of everything, the new God, the handsomest, strongest - the ultimate - entity. All he had to was to sell his soul, sign a contract with his blood and sacrifice a lamb, that is, if a virgin wasn't available. A relatively cheap price to pay for the service rendered, wouldn't you agree? But Nagashi was unlike the empty tools of the older man - the men he presented to him, as if explicit proof of the wonders he had performed for them; he being the mastermind behind their rise to power. "All I see is pawns and puppets" the youth remarked, his tone not un-polite, but the words clearly so. There was some reaction from the so-called puppets; one clenched a fist, as if to intimidate - as if to suggest he would react in any way; perhaps teach the youth a... painful lesson about speaking his mind. But Nagashi knew better than that. They wouldn't harm him. Not in front of Akihiko.

"I fear they will fight bitterly between themselves once your position is available" the youth added, his tone contemplative and immersing. He looked at the elder's posse thoughtfully, as if to analyse them further - as if he could see the very event he had just described happening at that very moment before his eyes; as if to identify the eventual victor. "That's what happens when a master leaves one too many disciples" the boy remarked, his eyes returning to meet the elder's. He didn't feel inclined to even reply to the proposition; the statements he had made seemed, to him, proof enough of his opinion on the whole matter.

Around that time, a distant sound of glass breaking could be heard. It occurred at a fortunate moment perhaps, for it allowed everyone's attention, Nagashi's included, to move away from the meeting at hand. Distractions were never a bad thing in such tense moments. Akihiko reacted to the sound calmly, sending one of his pawns to investigate, but Nagashi couldn't help but feel curious. He was closer to the sound than the others; he couldn't help but hear the dire-remnants of impatiently uttered whispers. What was all this about?