If you were to assume living in a ninja village that there was never a dull moment; you would be correct. Even as a civilian there was your fair share of every day ninja village drama— of course spurred on by the ever dramatic ninja that populated the village. It made for tough villagers that could hold there own. It also meant that the women at the hot springs always had something to talk about as well.
"You wouldn't believe what happened to me today, Hitoru," one woman gabbed to another on the other side of the spring. I had shoved myself into he back corner as to be left alone.
"Oh boy, what happened this time?" The other rolled their eyes and they settled down in the water.
You sunk deeper into the water with your nose hovering just barely above of it, absentmindedly blowing bubbles out of your mouth as you relaxed. You arms and back ached. It had been another hard day at the shop. You worked for a local store owner that dealt mostly in common ninja weaponry. Kunai, shuriken, senbon, your standard issue tanto, tags; they had the works. Most of your day was spent in the back lugging about the crates and restocking the front, rarely did you deal with the customers. They were a hassle.
For as much honor and reputation ninja held in the village, they were a bunch of accident-prone drama queens.
You would know, you lived next to one.
Looking back, you should have known the price of the apartment was too good to be true. It was a decent size, had a little kitchen, okay view, and heck the utilities were included in your rent—but the apartment manager always looked like they were a few kunai short of a dozen.
It all made sense why everything was so cheap when your roof started leaking, seeing as you lived on the bottom floor of a three story apartment. That you brushed off though. When your bedroom wall had been taken out by an explosion, that's when you realized how insane ninja were. Thankfully you had been in the kitchen with the bomb had gone off. You knew you should have actually read the contract before signing a year lease. In fine print it stated that the owners were only responsible for damage done to the apartment itself and not the long lasting effects of mental trauma done by psychotic, over-dramatic, paranoid ninja. You couldn't even look at an explosion tag in the shop without flinching for several weeks after.
"— knockout gas spread through the entire ventilation system! It was two hours before anyone woke up!" Your attention was briefly brought back to the two gossiping women as they complained about their local ninja.
Her friend tisked and shook her head. "You think that's bad, half of the east wall of my building is missing from some misfired ninjutsu last week."
But sitting at the hot springs, childishly blowing bubbles while eavesdropping, always seem to put your mind at ease. At least you weren't the only civilian dealing with their antics. Oh no. The whole village suffered as a collective.
As was the average ninja village civilian way.