Warmongers (Part 1 of 3)

Sounds flickered and spread out, over and around the edge of the canyon of Asaguri. They made camp there with little fuss, quickly, not a cooking fire to be seen.

Ijou found himself eyeing the badlands around them often, nonetheless. It was much too quiet even for a ninja encampment.

"Natural terrain don't ever keep its natural rhythms when there's humans around, boyo," Umebogyo let him know, a faint curl of smoke escaping his nostrils as he spoke. Umebogyo was the oldest man in the Eastern division of Oto, and according to rumour, had stabbed his Cloud captain in the eye with a smile when he'd judged the man's performance sub-par, then walked out and sold his services to Orochimaru. By default, this made him the leader. Umebogyo also smoked profusely by way of a long-stemmed pipe, but Ijou had seen smoke curling out of the corners of the man's mouth and from his nose even when he hadn't touched the pipe in hours.

The other Sound ninjas did not feel particularly safe in Umebogyo's presence, but he had been around long enough that the security of the commonplace emanated from him like his tobacco smell.

Ijou didn't even trust the security of the commonplace. He was technically assigned to the Southern division, but as a field medic he was a floating agent, and he'd been everywhere with everyone and knew the wild rumours were all true. He'd had to run for his life from a screaming, mobile-tattooed fiend who'd pounded his escorts into bloody pulps of bone and flesh, and that wasn't even the worst of what was in the dark corners of the Sound's hidden bases.

So he made himself tea from a packet and sat and listened intently as Umebogyo outlined the maneuver for his immediate subordinates; he was in on it in case some tit stabbed themselves in the eye, because this mission was relatively straightforward.

"...'s going to be a bit peculiar, see, being as how we're expecting 'em to come up on the left side of the cliffs. Think you can handle it, Houki?"

"Piece of cake." Houki was absently picking his teeth with a kunai; the gesture was pure bravado, picked up from his time as a missing-nin on the edges of Wind country, and Ijou had to suppress a medical lecture every time he saw the man putting usedsteel near his sensitive gums. It was not only disgusting but unsanitary, and probably wasn't helping Houki's halitosis any. "I never liked the Kazekage much, so it'll be a real pleasure to put one in the gut of his daimyo's best retainer, never mind some of his upper-level jounin."

"Oh dear me, Houki, you never mentioned it was personal," purred one of the two women in the corner of the tent. Unlike the rest of the party, who wore the utilitarian Sound tunic and leggings, she was garbed in an elaborate cream kimono and ceremonial geta. She had also taken pains, with her dyed-black hair and flawless makeup, to hide what Ijou and the others knew anyway: Utagatta Mimiko, former geisha and mistress of sonic-based genjutsu and ninjutsu, was farolder than Umebogyo and possibly even more dangerous. "Are you quite certain you can trust him with his party's leadership?"

"Not that it's any of your business, wench," Umebogyo said coolly, "but I been through this with Houki already. If that eagerness turns out to be a liability, I'll cut him open and throttle him with his own entrails." He turned a snaggle-toothed grin on the man in question. "Innat right?"

"What he said."

"Charming," Mimiko murmured. "And now for my other concern; this is quitea lot of shinobi for just one ambush mission. Isn't my lord Orochimaru overdoing it a tad?"

"Insurance," snapped the other woman in the tent, Hirune, a thin blonde with a sour mouth. "Wants to make sure, in case there's surprises, you know? Don't question the giant snake. He knows what he's doing."

Ijou cocked his head slightly and darted a glance at Umebogyo, who remained impassive.

"Of course, of course," Mimiko said demurely, "I was merely curious. Of course I would never question my lord Orochimaru's judgment."

Not in front of a political, you wouldn't, Ijou said to himself. That informal slip was a little warning; Hirune's not just some newbie from the western base, she's part of the inner circle, here to make sure nothing and nobody gets out of hand.

"You aren't even in on this, Iron Koto," Houki growled absently at her, mercifully putting his teeth-picking kunai away as he spoke. "You're on rendezvous with Orochimaru himself and his newest little pet, the one from Mist that doesn't want to come along quietly. What do you care about this mission?"

"Oh dear, to be honest, all of you could die horribly and it wouldn't matter to me in the slightest," Mimiko said with a disturbingly sweet smile. "I simply don't want to have to be the bearer of bad news to my lord Orochimaru if it all goes wrong."

"Don't you be worrying your pretty head about us, Granny," Umebogyo said with a chuckle, and for the first time Mimiko's sculpted smile vanished and a look of pure hate flashed across her painted features, nostrils flaring ever so slightly, mouth twitching downwards. It was gone in a second, of course, but there it was: lacey words and simpering were all just there to hide the fact that the kunoichi was still a killer for hire. "You can tell Orochimaru there's nothing of this group we can't handle: two big names into the party, the rest hardened but nothin' on our hard ladies an' gents. Well, everyone's had their piece so far...Ijou, got anything to say?"

"I'd prefer to keep the casualties to a minimum. On our side, anyway."

"Listen to the medical specialist, boys an' girls, an' don't get yourselves killed. Now that we're all sorted, let's—"

Someone knocked the tent flap back, sending wind eddies and sand scurrying into the makeshift war room. Spitting and blinking, everyone looked up at the new arrival. And up.

"It is fuckshit cold out there, why don't you bastards have a fire going?"

Houki dashed sand from his eyes, face crinkled in annoyance. "What the—Mizumomo? What're you doing showing up here? You're not wanted!"

He caught dirty looks from both Hirune and Umebogyo for that, but Tokage Mizumomo had already seated herself on the packed tent floor crosslegged and was dumping copious amounts of sand out of the detachable parts of her armour. Mimiko's face had gone suspiciously blank. Ijou, having taken note of the reactions, sized the woman up: she was one of the few higher-rankers he'd heard of but never encountered, and there weren't a lot of those, given he'd worked with Kabuto and Orochimaru himself. Big, he'd heard, build like a brick house, armoured herself like a tank. Mask-wearer: ugly, some said, too beautiful to allow her face to be seen, said others. They all agreed that she was trouble if you crossed her, a good hand to have on your side if you didn't. One of the lower high-rankers, and insubordinate, but she'd been places and seen things, and Orochimaru tolerated her because she was skilled and devoted. After that, things got fuzzy, rumour mixing up with half-truths, talk thrown up like she'd killed her entire bloodline limited clan and eaten the bodies.

Ijou reminded himself that the wild rumours were usually true, watching as the last living member of the Tokage clan shook sand out of her shoes and cursed creatively under her breath. In this case, though, the woman looked up at him with dour, narrow eyes, and the overwhelming impression Ijou got was one of practicality; it struck him that Mizumomo was the kind of person who would judge cannibalistic mass parricide a waste of her good time.

"Hey, corpsefucker, what're you staring at?"

Ijou blinked. "Ah. Sorry. I was thinking about something else." He bit the inside of his lip as soon as those dour eyes were off him. Corpsefucker? He wasn't even part of the undertaker squad, for heaven's sake!

"Keep your mind on what's in front of you, then, corpsefucker, or you won't live."

"You tell 'im, hag," chortled Umebogyo, who'd clearly gotten over his surprise. "Nice surprise seein' your ugly face hereabout."

"Hn, good to see you too, old bastard. Rank and wrinkled as ever."

Hirune was tapping her chin with faint impatience; she stopped when Mizumomo's eyes flicked over to her. "Mm, so there y'are. Brought 'em?"

Mizumomo seemed to consider Hirune for a few seconds, then shifted her attention entirely to Umebogyo as though the blonde political wasn't even there. "Should've radioed ahead with the news, old bastard, but I'm here with intel and some raw brats."

"Really? Intel first, then."

"There's a jinchuuriki with the caravan."

In another group there might have been consternation. As it was, the upper level Sound shinobi were so wary of one another and of appearing weak that they merely digested this in silence. Ijou himself, not being fairly high up, felt his stomach lurch anyway.

"What?"

"I just said, a jinchuuriki. Not one of the stronger ones, and it's immature. 'S why I'm here. That said, even with the numbers we have we'll be stretched thin."

Umebogyo threaded his bony fingers together under his chin and looked at nothing. Houki fidgeted.

"We could kill it…"

"Don't make stupid talk," Umebogyo said absently, "we'll be lucky if we get away with no dead men on this one. I tells you what: leave the jinchuuriki to me, I'll distract him. The rest of you, and the senior jounin and chuunin, will have to handle that Taruru woman and Baki of the wind blades yerselves."

Mimiko had been developing a slow, nasty smile over the last few minutes, ever since Mizumomo had brought up the jinchuuriki. "My, my...a shame I can't stay and watch these goings-on. One of you is bound to die during this, rather impressively I'm sure."

"If you haven't got something useful to add, go fuck yourself," Mizumomo spat at the older woman, whose smile merely widened. It was, Ijou realized, clear enough who Mimiko was hoping would get taken out. "And as for the raw brats, you lot know about lord Orochimaru's Four?"

Clearly, Houki, Umebogyo, and Hirune did, given the dubious expressions they all assumed. Mimiko simply gave a high, scornful titter. Ijou attempted to dredge his memory; he'd heard the squad name before, but...

"Might well bring 'em in here," Umebogyo said at last. "Where are they?"

In answer, Mizumomo rose and yanked open the tent flap, poking her head out into the chill air and barking incomprehensible and possible obscenity-laced orders sotto voce. Apparently this was good enough for her "brats", because they came filing into the tent one by one.

Ijou had not, he realized, been with Sound long enough, because he choked down a cry of protest. Except for the rotund orange-haired boy ending the group, who was a little large perhaps for his age, they were tiny. Tiny, grubby, thin, and wary-looking as a line of ragged rabbits. Everything about them hinted that the universe at large had been using them as a kicking ball, in at least two cases since the day they were born.

He cast a worried glance at the second-smallest of the bunch, a pale-haired child of indeterminate gender who apparently had a second head sticking out from between its skinny shoulder-blades. The child caught him looking, scowled, and made an obscene gesture at him.

Mizumomo cuffed the child in question so hard it nearly fell over. "I warned you, you evil little shit, mind your manners, or so help me I'll rip that finger off and make you eat it. Much good would it do us both. Now apologize to the corpsefucker."

"Sorry, corpsefucker," the child muttered through chapped lips, although rebellion still gleamed in its one un-bang-covered eye. Mizumomo cuffed it again, lightly, and turned to the assembly.

"Ladies, gentlemen, none of the above: Orochimaru's Four. Some of you've met. Violent little fuckers to a man..." The tiny redhead in an oversized hat pulled up the brim and hissed dissent. Mizumomo cuffed the hat back down over its eyes and idly added "...and a woman, but they haven't got the experience they'll need. So I brought them along for this one, so's they can watch the senior ops cut some throats. The jinchuuriki might be a bit much but they'll run into that shit eventually, so why not?"

"And supposing we don't want your stinking brats running around underfoot, Tokage?" Houki snapped.

"You can suck it up, is what you can do," Mizumomo said mildly. "If they're to be proper Sound ninja, much less the old serpent's bodyguard, they'll need field experience before they can move on to squad and solo missions." Houki opened his mouth to protest again, then shut it quickly when Mizumomo turned on him, the corners of her eyes curving up ominously. It was worse, Ijou reflected from the sidelines, when you couldn't tell if she was smiling or baring her teeth behind that mask. "And don't think that if I hear from your mouth again, Houki, the throat they watch getting cut won't be yours. You've been on my nerves for a while, and you're not so valuable a jounin as you can't be replaced."

Ijou tried not to be amused when the first thing Houki did was look at Hirune and Umebogyo for support. None was forthcoming. Eventually he just assumed a sneering I-don't-give-a-shit expression and and ducked out of the tent without another word.

Mimiko hadn't stopped smiling the entire time. "Is that all? Then I'll be off. For my lord Orochimaru's sake, I sincerely hope your darling little children don't fall off a cliff, or something equally incompetent."

"Bite me, you old bitch," growled the hat-wearing child ferociously, before ducking down in apparently anticipation of a blow. But Mizumomo made no move, instead locking gazes—or at least, intent, because Mimiko had no gaze to spare—with the older woman, and speaking surprisingly quietly.

"You hope? Hope my pock-riddled ass. Get yourself out of here before I tear your painted head off."

Mimiko tittered again, very softly and quite poisonously. "My, so defensive. Umebogyo-san, Ijou-kun, Hirune-san." And she left the tent with a faint flutter of silk.

Ijou became aware that the smallest of the children, a boy with dark skin and his hair up in a haphazard ponytail, had reached over and was tugging on the biggest boy's arm, whispering to him.

"...pushher off a cliff? I mean, Zaku-nii'd be pissed but he'd get over it..."

"Absolutely not," hissed the bigger boy, sounding strained. Something about his tone rang of being, unfortunately, the thankless Responsible One. "She may be a nasty old crone but she's a very valuable shinobi, and she did teach Tayuya and Sakon some techniques..."

Mizumomo reached out absently and cuffed the smaller boy, giving the bigger one a warning prod with her foot as she did. And then she turned on Ijou. "Oi, corpsefucker, which division are you with?"

"My name is not 'corpsefucker', it is Sataki Ijou, and I am considered a floating agent."

"You mean you're too much of a pain for one division to take command of." She pinned him with a bleak gaze, which curved oddly. That smile-or-snarl thing again. "Good. I was worried you didn't have any nuts. Hey, Umebogyo, unless you want this one up 'til the fighting starts, I'll have him along with me and the brats."

"Excuse me, but I never--!"

"Done," Umebogyo said absently, lighting his pipe. "And don't argue, boyo, you might find this enlightenin'."

"But--!"

"Which part of 'don't argue' didn't ye hear?"

Ijou gnawed his lip in twitching disapproval. As pitiful as they looked, traipsing around with a pack of potentially violent small children and a tower of foul manners in female form had not been in his itinerary, and that itinerary had been handed down by Orochimaru himself...

And then he became aware of small voices holding a whispered conversation behind Mizumomo's back.

"...thought he looked kinda nice, you know? Um, I mean, for a medic."

"Don't kid yourself," muttered the presumably-girl in the large hat, her mouth twisted in a bitter line."None of the adults ever wants us. Freak show, remember?"

"...oh. Yeah." The biggest boy fell silent again.

Ijou kicked himself mentally for a few seconds, then raised a hand and employed something like a salute towards Mizumomo, who eyed him. "Ah...give me fifteen minutes to get my things. I'll come with you as long as we can circle back and rejoin the main body prior to the ambush."

"That's the plan, Sataki. Get your gear."

Mizumomo sent the Four outside, so she and Umebogyo were left alone in the tent, Hirune having simply walked out unnoticed.

"Sataki Ijou, huh? Not bad, for a corpsefucker."

"Not necessarily a corpsefucker, neither."

"Just a medic? I could have sworn, the way he was watching things go on...he looked like he had the Yakushi's taint on him."

"Not hardly. He just...watches things. No idea what he did before, but he's surprisin' inoffensive. Good support, but some in the divisions don't like people who just watch things."

"Good. I need a watcher. In point of fact, need three or four extra bodies on hand to keep an eye on those brats, truth be told, especially now they've had the Seal on them. And there's only so long I can manage that."

"If he does that stupid clicking thing with his puppet again, Baki-sensei, may I throw him out of the carriage?"

Baki of the wind blades, a man known for his competence, stamina, ruthless nature, and general unflappability even among Sand shinobi, was reaching the end of his considerable patience. Four more years, he thought grimly as Kankuro yelled a protest and tried to hit Snotface, a.k.a his older sister Temari. Four more years until Gaara is old enough to take the chuunin examination—damn those bleeding-hearts and their new regulations—and until then, Baki was in charge of teaching Suna's wide and dangerous skill set to the Kazekage's offspring.

Two of whom were merely a nuisance at this stage. The third...

Baki shot a glance over his shoulder at the second caravan, the one occupying the trip's double set of loose cannons. This was the very first mission Gaara was being allowed out on after the, hm,incident with Yashamaru, and the Yondaime Kazekage had been adamant there be no irregularities.

Baki was a model shinobi, so he didn't ask if his lord would like him to make it rain pigs in the desert and force the sun to shine at midnight as well.

He turned his attention back to the two little nuisances in his carriage, and was gratified to see that Temari had wrestled her brother into submission with a combination of skill and dirty pool. She was now sitting on him as he whined loudly.

"You cheated, dammit!"

"Ninja," Temari said mildly, buffing her nails on her dress with exaggerated smugness.

"'M gonna get you for this," Kankuro growled at her, trying to squirm out from under his rather smaller sister and failing miserably.

The daimyo's retainer, who'd been studiously engrossed in a newspaper, looked up, chuckled softly, and returned to the business section. Apparently this gave Kankuro impetus to roll Temari off himself and retire to the corner of the carriage to sulk and plot revenge.

Baki decided that there was likely to be peace for the next few moments, so he slipped out of the carriage and onto the roof, jumping easily to the one behind. The two chuunin guarding the second carriage stood aside for him, clearly relieved, as he slipped down into the carriage proper with considerably more caution.

Gaara stared up at him for a few long seconds, the sand poised to strike, before deciding that Baki clearly wasn't worth the effort and stowing it back in his gourd.

The other denizen of the carriage was nowhere to be seen.

Baki looked for signs of blood on the walls or floor, trying to remain composed. "Gaara, did you kill...?"

"That woman? No. She just left."

"...I see." Gaara did not lie. If he didn't wish to tell you something, he simply didn't bother to speak, and pressing him was liable to send him into what the Kazekage euphemistically referred to as a "state". Gaara told you the cold truth, or nothing at all. A peculiar measure, Baku thought as he turned to leave, or perhaps perfectly appropriate for a boy who'd been lied to all his short life.

Behind him, Gaara said softly, "I don't like her."

Baki paused in the doorway. Rui was unstable, of course, but had she actually been insane enough to antagonize…?

"She said she didn't mind me. She said she liked people who brought such glorious death." Gaara's small brow furrowed, contorting the ironic kanji tattooed there. "She wasn't afraid of me."

"She's..." Baki searched for a word that hadn't been applied to Gaara recently, that wouldn't lose him his other eye. "She's disturbed. And not very intelligent."

"If you send her back here, I'll make her afraid of me."

Baki only nodded before leaving. Enough time spent in close quarters with Gaara made him antsy.

One of the jounin from the rear carriage caught him on the way to the lead. "Ah, sir...Taruru Rui has moved to the back carrier with the support chuunin and special jounin, sir."

"Oh?"

"She's making them nervous, sir. And she smells like bleach."

"Would you rather I send Gaara back, then?"

The jounin froze in horror, staring at Baki's face, searching for signs that it was a joke. Baki kept his expression immobile. It was only half a joke. Finally, the jounin murmured "no, sir" and slunk off.

Baki returned just in time to catch Temari poking her head outside, looking at the middle carriage with something half fear and half concern.

"Baki-sensei? You think he—I mean, Gaara gets travel-sick?"

"Don't think about it," he told her tersely, wishing he didn't have to.

TBC