Welcome to the Bloody Mist.
Oki knew exactly where she was when she woke. She'd slept so little that first night that there wasn't opportunity enough for that moment of waking disorientation. A man in a filthy apron, greasy-haired and a cigarette hanging from one corner of his thin lips, acted as Oki's notice that the rest of Kirigakure had begun to rise. He carried one bulging bin bag which he promptly deposited in the trash can across from where Oki was huddled. He didn't glance at the nine year old once, and Oki believed that said much about how regularly the citizens of the Bloody Mist came across homeless children sleeping in dirty alleyways.
"Hey!" she called as he turned to stroll off.
The man paused for a moment before hunching his shoulders and quickening his pace.
"Hey!" Oki darted in front of him, "do ya know somewhere where I can clean myself up?"
He looked at her for a long tense moment without actually looking at her. The lined edges of his watery eyes cut up and over her shape but never her face, never her eyes. Oki wondered how these people had mastered the art of ignoring something that was happening right in front of them. A thin slither of dread unwound and circled her gut when she then wondered why they'd have to bother master the talent at all.
The man sucked on the butt of his cigarette a moment before replying, "Nope…sorry," then he was off, shaking away her existence with every step he took.
It wasn't the answer she wanted, and so Oki decided that it wasn't one she was willing to accept. She wanted to reach the Academy early and as well turned out as possible to the very best first impression. Although there wasn't an awful lot she could do about the tattered state of her clothing, she could arrive fresh-faced and better smelling than garbage at least.
Once again, she skidded to a halt in front of the man, "then let me clean up at yours, please?"
The man blinked and for the first time actually glanced directly at her face, "you nuts?"
Oki answered that question as she usually answered any question directed to her, bluntly, "well I guess I ain't ever been called sane before."
The man shook his head and tried to push past her, "piss off."
Once again she darted in front of him, "look ya got somewhere to be, right?"
He scowled at his feet, "How did-"
"You're bringing trash out this early. If you ain't going anywhere it could probably have waited, huh?" Oki grinned and shrugged, "if ya want me to stop bothering you just let me wash at yours…please."
"How about I just thump you one?"
She blinked. Her father had only ever laid his hands on her once, and even after that had been profusely regretful about the incident. Besides that, an adult had never threatened her with physical harm before and she was more than taken aback that there were such adults who were willing to. It just didn't fit into the list of behaviour Oki had previously thought applied to her elders. Adults talked about money and drank and laughed at jokes Oki did not understand; they did not hit you. But nevertheless that was the situation she had been in, so she had to react to that only; prior experience aside.
"You could do that, I guess, but…" Oki pulled herself straighter, "I'm a student of the Shinobi Academy, so I wouldn't recommend it."
The man's reluctant agreement was instantaneous. Oki decided to keep in mind that tactic for later use. As promised she only made use of the man's bathroom, scrubbing her skin raw with a pebbled bar of soap that was rapidly waning thinning each time Oki produced lather. The soap didn't smell much better than her clothes did; something mossy and outdated to its scent that reminded her of the rug in the main room back home.
Home.
Oki shook her head, reached for the bucket of cold water and promptly upended it over her head. She felt better for it, the rush of cold water and cold air passing over her skin in a bloom of sharp, clear-headed relief. She couldn't think about home. This was a new day. Oki had promised herself that from now on she would only live for new dawns instead lingering over old ones. Towelling off her body, Oki frowned at her reflection in the puddle of water about where she sat.
She didn't look much different and for some reason unnamed to her Oki was bitterly disappointed by that fact.
Her eyes looked darker but only because the purple bruises form lack of sleep only made the black irises that much bolder. There was a cut across one cheekbone and a bruise underneath her jaw (likely from her tumbling descent down the stairs of….that place) but even these were already scabbing over or fading. She'd never had long hair but it was now even shorter, great chunks of it removed to leave the light blue tresses hanging unevenly about her cheeks. Oki pushed both palms in the water and slicked it back, the front perfectly smooth while the rear flicked up obstinately.
"Kid!" a banging on the door jolted her, "Hurry up and finish! I want you out ASAP!"
Oki scrambled, throwing one dirty look at the door, before yanking her clothing over her shivering body. The black trousers only reached midway on her calves. The sleeves of the grey shirt had to have been shorn off months ago after they began impending movement. The wooden bottoms of her sandals were sturdy at least and although the sleeves of her shirt had strangled her arms at least it was baggy elsewhere. With her sever hair and run-down clothing; Oki could fully understand why the man had been nonplussed by her appearance. She looked just like one of Kirigakure's street-thugs, down to the hawk-eyed stare and persistent, challenging set of her jaw.
"New start," Oki muttered to her reflection, psyching herself up, "gotta show 'em what we're made of. New start. C'mon Oki, you're tough, you can do this. You can do this."
"Kid! I'm not going to-" the man paused as he eventually worked the bathroom door open only to find the room was empty.
…
Oki Tachibana was not the type of person to concern herself with the impression she gave others.
And it showed. It showed in the way she surveyed the newly forming crowd of similarly aged children, it showed in the clinical interest she passed over each excited conversation and nervous glance, and it showed in the way she stood, ram-rod straight and confident in her own sphere among the milling bodies surrounding her. She'd been the first to arrive and she took a small amount of pride in that. The Academy was no less robust in the morning light; powerful and dominating like a general inspecting its potential recruits.
There'd been more than a few curious glances her way, but at that moment no one had deigned her presence approachable enough to introduce themselves. She was also somewhat surprised to notice how many among her prospective classmates' number had the same sharp teeth as her. The Tachibana's carnivorous appearance had been something of a novelty in Nishihama. In the courtyard of the Kirigakure Shinobi Academy, Oki was by far not the most unusual looking of the children (she'd seen a boy earlier with gill's beneath his eyes and another with thick, greyish webbing stretching between each finger). She was, however, one of the (if not the) tallest of the children there. Because the age groups had been so scattered among the children of Nishihama, Oki had never realised how much she towered over children the same age as her, some even only managing to scuttle up just below her shoulders. Her height combined with her skinny portions and larger head only gave Oki a distinct resemblance to a lollipop; long, stick-thin body and big, bobbly head on top.
Of course Oki was somewhat blind to that comparison, considering that only thing she was counting was how many heads she could directly see over and how long she'd been waiting for those double doors to open.
"I don't like the way he looks," a voice to her left interrupted her tally, "I dunno, it just kinda seems…cocky, y'know?"
Oki glanced in the direction of the voice and observed a stout boy, maybe a year older than herself with cropped hair and a generous smattering of freckles decorating a button nose. His eyes were rather small as they in turn watched her watching him, small and red rimmed like two little beads sewn into his face. She had no idea who he was discussing with the three boys huddled around his back, but she was hardly concerned. Oki was there for the Academy, not them.
"Yeah, yeah, I get what you're saying Akira," another boy at the first's (Akira apparently) shoulder with large glasses and gaunt cheeks squinted at her, "kinda like he thinks he's better than us or something…erm," he clicked his fingers and grinned, "ain't got the time for us, that's the term."
Akira snorted, "Probably 'nother fucking Clan kid. Snobby bastards."
Oki was completely unfamiliar with most the curses Akira was spitting out, but then again she wasn't interested in whomever Akira and his friends had seemingly taken a disliking to. That was business between them, and at that moment did not interfere with Oki's own goals.
"LINE UP!"
The sudden intrusion of that single booming voice lacing through the previous chatter, had most of the collected children seizing up like rabbits. It took a moment before those few among the number who were more accustomed to such orders or more capable of reacting quickly began to file into a single row. The others soon fell into place until the courtyard was neatly regimented with row upon row of eight to ten year olds. Oki had quickly snagged a place near the end of the very first row, between a girl who kept trying to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on her pant legs and a boy who kept sniffing.
There were three men standing at the very centre of the entrance, and Oki instantly recognised them as the three men from the previous day. The younger one took a wide-legged stance in middle this time, arms crossed over his massive chest and glaring out at them. If the man hadn't been scowling so hard and hadn't supported such a brutal haircut, he'd actually be quite 'pretty', long eyelashes, blonde-haired and feminine-featured as he was. But that was if he hadn't been scowling so hard. The man glowered at each child as if they had personally offended him, and Oki couldn't work out whether his angle was intimidation tactics or if he just genuinely despised them all simply for existing.
Someone groaned then whispered in the row behind her, "oh crap, it's melon head."
Oki grinned. The man's head did carry look very melon-esque. A very pissed off melon, Oki amended, with long eyelashes.
"Man," the boy behind her continued, "he hated my guts during that entire evaluation."
"What for?" Oki whispered back, deeming it safe now 'melon head' was stalking along the rows and curiosity getting the better of her.
The boy didn't answer for a while, clearly debating whether or not to associate himself (even loosely) with someone he didn't know nor knew the popularity of in the group.
"I, er, may have got a little nervous," the boy whispered back.
"Of them?" Oki subconsciously glanced over to where the two other judges were standing before shrugging, "why…an' how nervous are we talkin' here?"
The boy covered a laugh with a cough, "a whole lotta nervous," was the ambiguous reply.
Oki frowned, unsatisfied with anything that wasn't a straight answer, "like crap yer pants nervous? Or-"
At the squeak of strangled laughter told Oki everything she needed to know.
"Ya crapped yourself during the evaluation!" Oki whispered furiously; half-way between shock and laughing out loud, "how the hell did they let ya in?"
"No," the boy whispered back, trying to stop himself from laughing too, "I just farted but oh man, it was rotten like real rotten. I mean for a second I thought I'd had a heart attack or something."
Oki's shoulders were shaking with laughter now and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth (she was nine and to a nine year old, farts were hilarious).
"Oh, man, god you should have smelt it!" the boy continued between his own laughter, "and it went on for like ten minutes, I swear, but the entire time I was just making like awkward eye contact with melon hea-"
"Something funny, Mr Oda?"
Oki felt the presence at her back rather than seeing him. The very air around the youngest of the assessors seemed to be vibrating with barely contained irritation. His tone when addressing the boy (a-someone-Oda) was slow and caustic; daring him to try, just try, answering that with some amusing comment. Oki didn't know which reply the assessor was hoping for more, something submissive and polite or some remark he would have complete validation for punishing the boy for.
"No, of course not Sir, sorry Sir," clearly the boy behind her wasn't dim.
"Good," the reply was clipped and completely unsatisfied, "since you're so talkative Mr Oda, why don't you put that mouth to good use?"
"Is that such a good idea? Y'know what the kid does when he's nervous."
Crap.
Oki's eyes widened the second it finally registered. Why did she say that? She wasn't exactly shy and retiring, but she'd never been suicidal either. What had happened to all those determined promises to make a good first impression? Discussing farts with what was clearly the most short-tempered of the grown men overseeing them was not an intelligent way to make a good first impression.
"Names?" the man bit out.
"Hajime Oda," the boy beyond her blurted, the very end of his sentence rising to an embarrassingly high pitch.
"Oki Tachibana," Oki was rather proud of the way her voice remained comparatively even when compared to the boy's reply.
"Oda and Tachibana," the man murmured and Oki strained towards the sound of papers flipping against a clipboard. Eventually they ceased, but by now Oki could feel the eyes of every child in that courtyard stuck on her and Hajime's faces like intruding fingers trapped in honey.
"Good news!" but the man's voice was too malicious for the news to be anything but good, "you two are in my class!" here he raised his voice to address the rows of children as a whole, "that of course means that you're both illiterate orphans or just plain stupid!"
Oki gritted her teeth, the weight of those stares on her back growing. At the front row there was nowhere to look but dead ahead, she made an effort to glare regardless.
'Orphan' was not a term Oki could associate with herself. It had only been weeks since she was even valid to be coined as one, and although technically she was an orphan Oki didn't like it. She loathed the pitying conations connected to the word, like she was a charity case or someone who needed to be handled with care. She couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand that people would feel sorry for her when she was trying her best to meet every grand announcement she'd made and secure each achievement under her belt.
"Now!" the man turned, taking a spot at the front, "I'm going to call out names, if one of them is yours step forward!"
Suffice to say Oki's good first impression went the same way Hajime Oda's, did in a mortifying puff of hot air.
…..
Each 'class' at the Kirigakure Shinobi Academy was separated into three groups of roughly 30 to 40 students. These groups focused on aspects that needed improvement and those that were at or above a suitable level. Mr Anzai (as she soon discovered was the impatient man's name) was not broadcasting the social and intelligential level of the vast majority of his class purely to embarrass Oki and the boy (though that was the bulk of the reason); everyone in Group C was either an orphan or unsuited to scholastic pursuits.
Group C also happened to be the recurring largest of the three sections of the class. Group A mainly consisted of 'Clan Kids' ('Arrogant Dickheads' as most of her classmates tended to refer to them) or children from typically Shinobi families. The Clan Kids tended to have had a better home education and more advanced use of Ninjutsu, but had less understanding of situational conflicts and combat that wasn't initiated in a Dojo. Group B mainly consisted of those from civilian backgrounds with a single Shinobi parent or relative; those whose parents could afford schooling but were lacking in areas of Ninjutsu or Taijutsu. Then there was the predominately largest group, Group C who was often street orphans or the younger children of poorer families and therefore didn't receive or couldn't pay for an education. But nearly everyone in Group C possessed the physical capabilities or a sharpness of mind that wasn't measured by how many math problems you could solve.
Oki hadn't expected the system to work. There were 105 students in her class overall, and the notion that they could just be slotted into three neat groups, although appealing to her more orderly tendencies, still seemed laughable. 30 in Group A, 35 in Group B and 40 in Group C. All tied up nicely in whatever quarter of those large circular rooms they had been designated.
She was disappointed at how easy it was, how you couldn't rightly argue that anyone in her group or any of the students in Group B or Group A differentiated from anyone else in their section. There weren't any Clan Kids who were incapable of spelling their name, or children of merchants who could beat down a street kid in a fist fight or even an orphan who could outclass a Clan Kid in a Ninjutsu display. To Oki, who wholly believed that anything was capable with time and effort, she felt foiled that the three mentors could sum up her and every single one of her fellow students with practiced predictability.
The classrooms reflected the same segregated pattern. The huge, circular rooms Oki had trailed the edges of before had been divided into four unequal quarters, a room for each group and a communal restroom. The actual rooms themselves were huge, the teacher's desk at the end head of the triangle, with tatami mats at the wider back of the room for Taijutsu practices and metal desks bolted into the floor in the middle. These rooms unlike the corridors were not entirely devoid of personality. A large blackboard was stretched across the left hand side while racks of weapons, scrolls and various other Shinobi tools were jealously guarded by wire mesh or locked trunks along the right. However, while the room made up for its uninspired colour scheme with its interesting decorations, the lack of light and windows did began to suffocate after a few hours.
Mr Anzai was nonplussed with their reactions, and quite demonstrative with relaying that to them all.
"Listen up!" he yelled, a volume level that Oki was beginning to suspect was quite natural to him, "I am not here to 'take care' of you! I am here to train you!"
"Any whiners, any know-it-alls and any fucking jokers," at this he sent a sharp look towards Hajime Oda, "will get out of my classroom or suffer the consequences! You are no longer children!"
A shocked silence fell over the classroom as Mr Anzai lifted himself from his seat, planted two scared and hard-lined hands on each corner of his desk and stared at each and every one of them with such a powerful contempt that Oki felt momentarily stunned. She'd never heard an adult use such words or such violent tones and body language with a child her age before. Mr Anzai intimidated her, but in another almost twisted way he had just earned an admiration that Oki had never felt for an adult before.
All of the adults in Nishihama were content to stay there, and no matter how much Oki may have liked them as people she couldn't respect them for that decision. Teacher had seemed fantastical to her but it was what he was capable of, not himself that garnered Oki's awe. Mr Anzai may have had been talking to a group of eight to ten year olds but he had just barked every last one into complete obedience within seconds. She could and did still think him malicious and somewhat petty, and she still didn't like the red-faced man but that didn't remove the respect she had for the unapologetic way he held himself. He didn't like them and he didn't care how they felt about that, they would do what he said regardless.
"Not one person in this room has the right to be considered a child anymore!" Mr Anzai continued, "You are all training to become Shinobi and I will treat you like Shinobi regardless of age! Like any Shinobi you do what your superiors say and you keep your goddamn complaints to yourselves! Am I clear?"
"Yes Sir," came the wavering reply.
He seated himself and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes still maintaining that unflinching criticism. Oki swore she could hear twenty sighs of relief at her back.
"Now," his tone was quieter than the shout it had been but no less forceful, instead of barks this was more like hot gravel being crushed underfoot, "my name is Nozomu Anzai. You will address me as Mr Anzai or Sir. For anyone who thinks its good idea to call me by my first name…" he levelled another glare at the audience as a whole, this one sharper and just as biting, "…it's not. I have the permission to, so I can and will break your legs if any of you little shits ever treat me with such familiarity."
"By the end of today you will be capable of writing my name and the name of every single one of your classmates," Mr Anzai leaned back in his chair, arms still locked over his chest and eyes still measuring them all up, "in the afternoon you will be capable of copying the appearance of every single one of your classmates using Transformation Jutsu. We will stay here until every single little snot-nosed bastard in this class has done so…correctly," he added with another scathing glare, "by tomorrow you will know every single person in this room and anyone who can't is going to get their legs broken, do I make myself clear?"
"Understood, Mr Anzai!" the response was louder more through fear than any enthusiasm for what was planned.
"Alright," he nodded, "Hajime Oda, you're up first."
Oki perked up at the name, instantly recognising it as the one the boy from before had given. She'd had yet to place a face to the voice. As she leaned forward in her chair to eye the boy reluctantly dragging himself out of one of the desks at the very back, Oki found face and voice were perfect for one another. Hajime Oda possessed a thin face and fox-like features, his nose a wiry strip with tiny nostrils, his mouth-perpetually moving in accordance with whatever emotion he was feeling at that point- was thin and just a little too long for his face, and his eyes were sweeping. Individually, these were not very desirable features but all together they seemed to somehow fit on Hajime Oda. He looked how his voice sounded, sly and brash but loveable for it.
"Right then, Hajime, why don't you start by writing your name on the board," it wasn't a question since it was obvious that Hajime had no choice in the matter and that both already knew the answer.
"I can't, Mr Anzai," Hajime replied, "never learnt."
"Did I ask you that?" he barked back, "I told you to right down your name."
The boy's jaw ticked and Oki could see the brief spark of retaliation twitch through the entire length of Hajime Oda's body. Mr Anzai saw it too, almost revelled in it, his eyes locked onto Hajime's and just begging him to try it. It took Oki a moment to fully comprehend what Mr Anzai was doing. Hajime and Oki alone so far had been the only two members of his class to show any form of disregard for his authority (indirectly or not). Everyone may be terrified of him now, but Mr Anzai was still expected to keep a class of 40 children under tight, military control. He couldn't allow things to slide or small incidents such as the one earlier would only snowball, and as a result he needed to reassert who was dominant between him and those who disobeyed. Apparently this was done by sacrificing Hajime Oda's self-confidence in front of an entire room full of his peers.
Oki didn't involve herself with the problems of other people. Barring Kenki, she'd always expected people to resolve their own issues unless of course they specifically asked her for help and she deemed it a worthy enough challenge. But the snickers that rippled through the glass when a red-faced Hajime started chalking out nonsense shapes on the blackboard were a matter of pride. To Oki, Hajime Oda was trying and did not deserve to be ridiculed for that. If he'd just thrown the chalk down and started crying, she wouldn't have been able to sympathise in the least, but the very fact that the boy was trying as hard as he could was not lost on her. She respected effort, and to an extent that brand of determination that bordered on stupidity. He shouldn't be laughed at for that. Wasn't 'complete the mission, no matter what' one of the key Shinobi ideals. Oki's blood boiled the more she sat there thinking about it. And the louder the jeering whispers grew, the more she felt certain that Hajime's social torture could not be allowed to stand.
"Hey!"
Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, Oki Tachibana was on her feet and announcing her distaste to a class of 39 students and one teacher with obvious anger issues. The word screeching through her head as everyone turned to face her was a prolonged, frantic 'crap'. Her arms started shaking when Mr Anzai's eyes narrowed into hers but she clenched her fists tight, drawing in any outward anxiety.
"I," her voice faltered slightly so she coughed and tried again with a harder expression, "I wanna write my name first."
Hajime Oda was staring at her with his mouth agape. Oki only knew this because she was resolutely scowling at the nonsense characters sloppily drawn onto the blackboard. Her gut dropped, her fists tightened twice and her lips were twitching with the need to apologise and seat herself again. But she couldn't back down now, whatever the consequences may be Oki had set herself on this course and was forced to ride it out till the end.
She startled minutely when Mr Anzai broke the silence, "Is that right, Tachibana?"
"Yeah…" she managed before remembering a belated, "…sir."
"I see," she heard the creaking of his chair and desk as he turned to address the still shell-shocked boy, "and how do you feel about that, Mr Oda?"
For a moment Oki's dark eyes met the thin green eyes of Hajime. She pushed out a breath, making her gaze as steady and forceful as possible while she attempted to decipher the complex mix of plea and shame in his. A single moment then Hajime's eyes skittered elsewhere, anywhere but Oki or Mr Anzai before finally locking onto one corner of the room.
"I'm…er, I'm okay with it, I mean if he really wants to write his name then I guess who am I to judge...and stuff," Hajime finished lamely, one hand coming up to rub the elbow of the other self-consciously.
"You," Mr Anzai boomed in reprimand, "Hajime Oda are the one being asked to write on the board!" he jerked one scarred finger in her direction, "They, Oki Tachibana, is the person attempting to take that task away from you! If Tachibana here wants to write first so much that they'll challenge you for the right, what do you do?"
Hajime struggled, eyes dancing from one face to another for an answer. Stalling noises bubbled up in his throat again and again, while the arm at his elbow was rubbing at the skin as if it were trying to sand it down to the bone. Oki already knew what answer Mr Anzai wanted, it could potentially be equally as humiliating as his previous task but at least that way Hajime Oda would be dealing with something he must have had prior knowledge of.
"I'll fight him for it," Oki addressed Mr Anzai, feeling somewhat smug when the man smirked.
"You hear, Mr Oda? Tachibana here's willing to fight you for it. Do you accept?"
Once again Oki attempted to pin down Hajime's eyes, willing him to accept, to not make a bigger fool out of them both. The sheer amount of effort Oki invested in compelling the boy felt as if Oki was expending actual physical energy. Oki' world narrowed; the whispers of her classmates behind her faded into the grey walls of the room while the naked doubts in Hajime's eyes were stark and vibrant.
"Okay," Hajime nodded.
At that Oki did grin.
At Mr Anzai's direction Oki and Hajime took their places, opposite and three steps apart from one another on the thin mats at the forefront of the classroom. Oki and Hajime removed their sandals at the edge before taking their positions. The cold seeping into her bare feet from the material underneath made Oki's toes curl and a shiver wormed through her body. The room was silent now, the other children watching the exchange with muffled excitement. Or bloodlust. She wasn't entirely sure which or whether the two were just tethered to one another.
"You two ready?" Mr Anzai yelled across the room.
Oki spread her legs and bent her knees, bringing her arms up as she stabilised her centre of gravity. Hajime pulled his arms back and toed a single foot forwards, watching her face with an uncanny focus that, bar herself, Oki had not seen in a child of that age. It was the first time she'd been tasked with squaring off against someone her own age (beforehand her Teacher or more accurately his clone was always her opponent) and yet…Oki couldn't find it within herself to be intimidated by Hajime Oda.
He looked intelligent; intelligent enough to agree to this match only when he had some probability of winning. And if his stance and the assessing way the boy was weighing the distance between the two of them was anything to go by; she was going to get one of the boy's feet across the back of her head as soon as Mr Anzai gave them the go. But it wasn't Oki's physical abilities that made her feel separated from the boy across form her, it was her mental ones.
Oki Tachibana had killed another human being. Oki Tachibana had nowhere else to go and no other direction to move in. It felt as though she were in a different world or at least on another different layer of this world's skin, to the boy across from her. As she stared Hajime Oda down she felt removed from her peers, separated by that single experience and all the subsequent consequences it implied.
Oki drew a breath-
"GO!"
-and brought her arm sailing up to guard the foot flying at the left side of her face. Hajime's kick made contact with the skin of forearm with a dry 'smack' and a sharp, stinging sensation. Oki's eyes twitched as she felt the blood vessels burst under the blow, bruises already flowering and pins-and-needles sweeping right down to her fingertips. The second blow came, hitting exactly the same place with exactly the same force. She bit down on the gasp, forcing herself to remain stationary and guarded as she kept her eyes zeroed in on the way Hajime was moving.
He kept his body (especially his head) tilted away from her, swaying with a practiced evading motion after every kick. This was a boy clearly accustomed to hit-and-run tactics, and considering his speed and accuracy Oki was willing to bet he hadn't been caught on the receiving end of a retaliation so far. The third impact came and with it Oki's arm tremored with the effort of keeping itself in position. The next one, when that came she'd strike. Subtly Oki shifted her other arm backwards, curling the wiry muscles in anticipation and repeating the smooth motions of her upcoming attack on rerun in her head.
When Hajime's foot struck her next Oki whipped the arm he'd pounded against down and immediately up again. The suddenness of her movement had Hajime's foot sliding into the crease of her elbow as the rest of her arm curled, coiling itself around Hajime's powerful leg while her hand clenched at the meat of his calf. Hajime blinked and pulled once but Oki was already moving, yanking his body off balance with his captured leg as she shifted her weight towards her other hand. A hand that was fisted and whipping right under Hajime's chin in one smooth, perfected motion. Blood filled the boy's mouth as his teeth were violently clanked against each other, his tongue trapped between them and tearing on the incisors. His head snapped back, white blooming painfully bright in the space between his eyes.
Oki shifted again; viciously yanking his captured leg farther as her other hand came to support her injured arm. She swung Hajime's body in a loose semi-circle before releasing her grip and sending the spluttering boy sliding across the mats.
Hajime did not get up.
Oki panted back her breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment against the numbness in her left arm. It tingled and twitched sporadically and she was not eagerly anticipating the moment the pins-and-needles left and the ache swept in. Slowly she pulled herself upright and found herself confronted with 38 pairs of wide eyes.
A few of her classmates were grinning, more were frowning but all of them were curious about her in some respect. Oki found herself grinning, bathing in the sudden attention and regard for her talents. The children of Nishihama hadn't understood, wouldn't have recognised or respected the sheer amount of pride and effort Oki had radiated in that single bout. Whatever these children's opinions of her at least they could not ignore the things she was capable of. Oki felt her chest swell, felt her grin reach face-splitting proportions as the admiring whispers rippled and multiplied. She looked to Mr Anzai next and could easily delude herself that there was some small amount of pleasant surprise in the set of his furrowed brows.
"Alright Tachibana, show us your name," Mr Anzai muttered, his expression bored and resigned.
"Thank ya, sir," Oki beamed, grasping the chalk and feeling herself grow taller with each set of eyes stapled to her back.
…..
"Are you nuts?"
Hajime Oda was not having the best day of his life. Then again being humiliated in front of his new class, beaten up by the resident beanstalk in front of his class and then having said beanstalk announce that the two of them were going to be best friends when he had tried to slip away for some grub, was (surprisingly) not the worst day he has ever experienced either.
Another shoulder pushed at his back, the sharp indents of elbows digging into the undersized raincoat he'd donned for so long he'd forgotten when and where he'd swiped it. It must have been years ago, the cuffs and collar were tight enough to turn his skin yellow whenever he strained the material. The shorts were newer at least, though he'd 'borrowed' them from someone's washing line the moment he'd been admitted into the Academy.
The starchy scent of riceballs filled the bottom level dining room and Hajime inhaled deeply as the smell wafted through the throngs of chattering students. Food was perhaps the main reason he'd even bothered to try out for the Academy. Despite the apparent dangers that came with a Shinobi Career, a spot in the Academy guaranteed lunches and a bed in a local Orphanage. With the number of misplaced children increasing during the war, these meagre offerings were more than enough to reel them in by the droves. While the students of Class A and B may have enlisted due to desires such as bring family honour or simply finding some sense of identity, Hajime and plenty of his fellow classmates had much more pressing concerns. Such as empty bellies and somewhere to rest your head at night that wasn't near the local drunk's pissing wall.
"No," Tachibana replied, eyes latched onto the woman handing out riceballs to the kid three spaces up the line from them.
"Yeah," Hajime smirked, "that's what a crazy person would say."
Tachibana's gaze shifted to evaluate him from the corner of his eye, "yeah? And a sane person wouldn't?"
Hajime found himself squirming despite himself, before Tachibana's eyes slid back towards the food again. The kid was weird, Hajime decided, blunt and forceful and more than a little intimidating when faced with his towering height and hawk-eyed stare. Hajime was more than a little concerned that Tachibana was a few kunai short of a holster too, what with the way the boy just came up to him in the line and announced that they were going to friends from that moment onwards. Kids didn't do that. Well, none of the kids Hajime had known anyway.
"Why're you so interested, huh?" Hajime muttered, ambling forward with the rest of the line as he did so, "if you haven't forgotten, we just spent the first five minutes of class knocking seven hells outta each other."
Tachibana grinned, a flash of sharp white teeth, "Yeah, I remember."
Hajime blinked, waiting for his taller classmate to continue that thought before giving up and drawling, "So…?"
"So, you're strong," Tachibana shrugged, "I think if I'm gonna have allies, they better be strong ones."
Hajime flicked his eyes across to where Tachibana was still watching the cook like a shark who'd scented blood. 'Allies' not friends. He mulled on that, not on what exactly that said about Tachibana's regard for his classmates, no, he thought about the potential positives and negatives of counting Tachibana as such a thing. Hajime was quick and wiry but as earlier today had proven, not the best in a square fight. Being affiliated with Tachibana could keep some of the more...aggressive residents of Class C off his back. Not to mention…Hajime glanced across at the group of girls giggling and whispering about Tachibana further down the line…there wasthat too. The second reason Hajime had signed up for the Academy, a very close second to the pressing concerns of hot food and a warm bed.
And then again, the boy had saved Hajime's hide back there (wounded tongue and ego aside). Hajime still had no idea what to chalk that up to, obviously Tachibana wasn't a bleeding heart or the kid wouldn't have punched him so damn hard but his intervention meant he didn't get the same satisfaction the rest of the class apparently had when Hajime was forced into embarrassing himself. Tachibana seemed too straight forward to have some hidden endgame but nowhere near compassionate enough to stick his neck out for Hajime just because of the basic goodness of the act. So what had that been all about? Had he written the taller boy off one way or another, or was this simply one of those little illogical things in life that wasn't worth pursuing for a definite answer? Whichever Hajime felt grateful, the pros outweighed the cons and some sense of honour among street kids had him weighing in the affirmative anyway.
"Alright," Hajime sighed, "I guess I see where you're coming from."
"Good," Tachibana nodded as if everything had been very neatly resolved and he wouldn't have to worry about any future concerns on the subject. In fact his entire approach to the 'friendship' situation had been like the boy was attempting to mark off something on a checklist.
1) Arrive taller than everyone else.
2) Beat kid up in a roundabout helpful way.
3) Make friends ('strong' kids need only apply).
4) Get your riceballs.
Well, Hajime had to give Tachibana an A+ if that was the boy's mental checklist; although he was still apprehensive about associating with someone who would devise a mental checklist such as that.
"But," Hajime edged, "I wanna know what this entails, I'm not going to have to do anything…creepy right?"
"Creepy," Tachibana turned to grin down at him with a single brow raised.
"Yeah," Hajime drawled, keeping careful focus on the rather daunting expression on Tachibana's face, "Creepy."
"Like-"Tachibana paused to accept the riceball and thank the cook. Then he waited for Hajime to palm his own before continuing the conversation, "-what, huh?"
Half the riceball was disappeared into Tachibana's mouth with one carnivorous gulp. He polished off the last in another; licking at his fingers and keeping his back to the wall as he hungrily watched the children at the forefront of the line collect their own meals. Hajime tucked himself into Tachibana's shadow, eyes darting about the congregation. Some were seated on the floor, some drifted about in groups (or in the case of the Clan Kids formed exclusive clusters), and some of the more perceptive students had secured themselves corners or walls that prevented any unwanted thieves sneaking at their backs. The room was devoid of greenery, the mist outside seeping in through the high windows and transforming the occupants into veiled spirits. Still, crap hole as it was to Hajime, he couldn't deny that there was a tragic, vicious sort of beauty to Kirigakure's bare-faced architecture and blue-tinted light. Even here, with a bunch of scrawny kids scarfing down likely the first hot meal they'd had in awhile.
"Like I dunno," Hajime shrugged, "Attacking the elderly, eating babies, that sort of thing?"
Tachibana snorted in amusement, "the hell would I wanna eat a baby for?"
Then with that same half-amused and half-confused expression turned to Hajime, "You sure you ain't crazy?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Tachibana smirked, "That's what a crazy person would say."
Hajime wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. Despite earlier joking, Tachibana still made the hairs at the back of his neck tingle with warning and Hajime was not about to push what little esteem the taller boy did or did not have for him any farther. He and Tachibana could prove useful to one another, but Hajime Oda was not in habit of trusting those around him. Especially when the 'those' in question referred to a sharp toothed boy who'd managed to lay him out in one punch.
"You finished with that?"
Hajime blinked out of his thoughts, mentally berating himself for spacing out in front of Tachibana. The light blue haired boy nodded his head towards the riceball still hanging limply in his cupped hands, a question in his dark eyes as they flicked from Hajime's face to the food.
'No,' Hajime thought defensively.
"Yeah," he said instead.
"Thanks," Tachibana grinned and downed the half-eaten riceball in one gulp, licking at his lips with a satisfied smile.
Hajime Oda watched his taller classmate and pondered whether or not he had just made the best decision of his life or biggest mistake of his life.
….
True to his word by the end of the day, Oki could and did recite every single name listed in Class C's registry both vocally and with ink and then finally Transformation Jutsu. The two latter tasks proved more difficult due to her already sore and bruising left arm, but she was loathe to even acknowledge the searing ache, certain that when the quietest hiss of discomfort would alert a knowing malicious smirk from Mr Anzai.
Oki had been somewhat excited about seeing Class A file out, fervently interested in measuring these so-called superior students. Unfortunately a girl named Nami had kept the class waiting another hour as she struggled to correctly recall Genjiro Noba's first name. The majority of the children in Oki's class did not possess second names; a trait which made the task all the more simple. But then again Oki allowed that with Mr Anzai screaming down at you, you'd likely forget your own name never mind Genjiro Noba's.
As payment for Nami's failure (and following panic attack) Mr Anzai ordered them all behind for laps in the courtyard where simple mathematical problems were called out and expected to be answered; five more laps for every incorrect answer. If the morning hadn't made it clear enough then by the time dark was already beginning to seep into the courtyard and Mr Anzai finally relented to allow them to go, the whole class was in unanimous agreement that their teacher was a demon sent from hell to personally make their life miserable.
Oki Tachibana, however sore and sweaty she felt by the end of the school day was feeling accomplished despite it all. Working had kept her mind distracted from other darker musings, and she managed to achieve every goal she'd been given. Not only had she proven her strength to her fellow classmates but she'd also earned herself hopefully the first ally of many. She wasn't accustomed to having people on her side but Kenki, and although she wasn't entirely approving of the cunning gleam in Hajime Oda's eye at least here at the Academy she'd never have to limit herself around her peers. It felt like a whole month of Nishihama time had passed in the space of a day here in Kirigakure. She stepped out into the noise and sodden claustrophobia of the Kirigakure streets with the blood singing in her veins.
The sensation of her empty stomach cramping painfully tight, distracted Oki from her moment of euphoria and pride. It would be dinner time now in the musty, little house in Nishihama. The thought brought a fierce, longing pang that Oki only just managed to dislodge with another wave of hunger. She looked up at the blinking lights of corner shops and seedy restaurants, seeming more surreal when viewed through the sudden curtain of rain. It slid from roofs in great, grey sluices and trickled from the lips of overhangs in thin fingers of grey. Moisture catching on her lashes and tapping its fingers against her skin in little icy bullets, Oki ducked under the arms of one gesticulating man and onto the canopy of storefront porches. She was used to these sudden bursts of vicious rain. It had been overhanging all day, and more than likely the same the next; perpetual rainclouds hanging over the head of Kirigakure.
She didn't mind the cold or the rain in the least; heat-like a full belly-made her feel uncomfortable and idle. Still, the porch she'd darted onto was filling fast and Oki was struggling to wheeze through the breathing mass of damp coats and towards the door of the General Store. Eventually an alteration between two men fighting over an umbrella gave her the space she needed to slip into the store, and Oki stood there on in the entrance for a while squishing in her wet sandals and shedding raindrops like autumn leaves.
There was a counter jammed up in the corner closest to the door and against a window. A little, hunched old man was smoking on something that smelt woody and old, one wrinkled little arm lying against the window sill as his bespectacled eyes passively watched the on-going spat just outside. The store looked smaller inside than out, the three rows of shelves stuffed to bursting with little jars and boxes and papers, all disorganised and cluttered. Oki frowned at the mess, darted one cautious look towards the root-like head of the old man and journeyed on through the smog of his cigarette fermenting the cramped space.
She had no money. And she was as unwilling to beg for charity as she was likely to receive any. If she wanted to eat, she'd have to steal something. After a moment of further dripping onto the linoleum tiles, Oki finally decided on the row of shelves furthest from the elder's post. It was the most conspicuous choice, but Oki calculated that from there it'd take the old man longer to climb down from his stool than it would for her to make it to the door.
She eyed the tins of sardines and packets of dried rice. A second of hesitation, a moment of moral wavering before another hunger pang spurred her hand forward. Oki grabbed both the tin and the packet before stuffing them into her pants. They were followed by three packets of crisps in one pocket while another packet of rice and a jar of preservative occupied the other. Finally Oki eyed the hard loafs of bread, cast one last glance at the old man, then slung two loaves over her shoulder and pivoted to make a dash for the door.
A low rumbling noise halted her.
Oki froze, her mind taking a good few seconds to attach the threatening, throaty noise with that of a dog growling. There, tensed and snarling at her was a pig-faced canine with tattered ears and small, stocky legs. The mongrel's flaxen coat was patchy, areas around its stubbed tail and behind the drooping ears tufty with moulting hair dislodged by regular petting.
"You ain't getting past Taro there, without paying," Oki slowly glanced up from the dog to find the old man still seated and frowning deeply at her, "So, kid, what's it gonna be? You paying for those sardines tucked down yer pants or am I gonna have to sic Taro on you?"
Oki didn't even think, wasn't even aware she was moving until the jar of preservative had smashed into the floor at the dog's paws. But then again, in her efforts to see the next day she'd avoided actually thinking about what she was doing as often as possible. Its howls and whines followed her as she sprinted for the door, skidding momentarily on the smear of jam before bolting outside. The fight was still continuing when she flung herself into the noise and rain of the world outside the dingy store, spectators growing in numbers as they called out encouragements to one side or the other.
She squeezed through the cheering crowd, all sound overlaid with the relentless drive of rain and damp, breathing bodies. Oki shouldered one man aside with her sore arm before gasping out into a little circle of space outside the onlookers. Then all hell broke loose. The panicked condemnations of the shop keeper brought the crowd searching around for the thief (and apparent thrower-of-jars-at-dogs) milling between their number, and Oki didn't have the opportunity to catch her breath before hands were grasping toward her. One hand smothered her face, pulling it back in the crowd's direction until Oki bit down hard on his fingers with her sharp teeth, the tugging desisting entirely when she tasted the copper of blood on her tongue. She barrelled forward, batting one startled shopper aside with a loaf of bread. Feet pounded and reverberated along the wooden planks of the walkway, matching the tempo of her heartbeat in her throat as she skidded sharply into an alleyway.
Another right, then a left then a left again but still the calls were echoing along the walls. Oki's heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest, everything in her mind but that cold determination from before, veering wildly about in panic.
"Here!"
Oki fumbled as a hand shot out of the darkness and yanked her in. She was roughly repositioned into a crouch while another calloused hand clamped over her mouth. There were no questions about whom or why as the adrenaline surged then abated when the crowd passed. Instead Oki felt suspended by the hard drumming of her heartbeat and the rain, caught in this little bubble of darkness and the warmth of another human being at her back. They remained enclosed in that quiet corner long after the shouts had faded, and then and only then did the hand slowly peel away from her mouth.
Oki instantly launched herself away, fingers scrabbling in the dirt for any dropped spoils and eyes intensely scanning the darkness behind her. She could see nothing but the tiny glimmer of light reflecting off the pupils of another's eyes, hear nothing but the steady breaths misting with the cold weather. Still, Oki felt strange, maybe even vulnerable. For a moment she'd felt safe as the danger passed and she could feel another heartbeat pounding in concord with her own. It had reminded her of those warm nights spent huddling with Kenzo and Kenki as the storms raged outside or watching the early morning mist rise about their boat on those Nishihama mornings. Oki had not felt safe since entering Kirigakure, stronger at times and weaker at others. Confused, in awe, determined or vindicated and even threatened, all these emotions had bolted through her system like hot flashes but never…safe.
It was only how suddenly alien that previously familiar emotion felt, which kept Oki scouring the darkness rather than darting away. Something moved in the cranny of the alleyway and Oki immediately tensed then scowled.
"Jeez, calm down would ya?" the voice sounded as another body scrabbled out the darkness, "I wouldn't bother helping if I was gonna just attack ya anyway."
The boy was short but then again everyone around her age seemed short to Oki. His face was anything but inviting, all hard-eyes and hard edges and a thin mouth that seemed far more adjusted to frowning than smiling. His body was wiry and compact, neither out rightly skinny nor strong just an odd blend of the two qualities. Despite the rain the spiky crown of the boy's short hair was still stubbornly sticking up in all directions, it only looked darker when compared against the greyish tone of his skin and the eyes. Although his hair and shoulders were soaked through, the lower half of his black shirt and his shorts were relatively dry; clearly the boy hadsomewhere to go. She glared. He matched Oki's own undaunted stare, completely unfazed by her superior height advantage. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with that, and like most aspects of her life Oki felt more comfortable when people could be neatly organised.
The boy had aided her. And even though she was inexperienced with receiving aid never mind appreciating it, the significance of his intervention wasn't entirely lost on her. On the other hand, everything in the boy's body language was aggressive from the furrowed eyebrows to the visibly coiled muscles in his legs.
"So," Oki crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the battered bread under her elbow as she did so, "whatcha want for it?"
The boy eyed her bounty with an unapologetic considering frown. When he spoke next Oki noticed the sharp points of his teeth jutting from behind those thin lips, "half of what ya got there."
Oki snorted, "get lost. I almost got beaten up gettin' all this, ya think I'm just gonna hand half over when I dunno when I get some more again."
The boy's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I could just beat ya up now and take it."
Oki took a step forward, threat radiating in every inch of her posture as she further illustrated the height difference between them both, "Oh yeah? Think ya could?"
"Yeah," the boy snarled, "I think I could."
They stayed like that for several minutes, silently weighing each other up like two stags debating the charge. Neither was intimidated by the other, although the boy had to crane his neck slightly to match Oki's glare. The bread was going soggy under Oki's arm, crumbling apart from a combination of the still pouring rain and her own arms tightening across her chest. Without warning the ridiculousness of the moment caught Oki unawares. Each corner of her lips began twitching as a laugh bubbled up in her throat. They were both wet, both hungry and in Oki's case winded and sore from a day's excursions. Without a doubt both children made a pitiful sight but nonetheless they were attempting to face one another down as if they were legendary rivals on the cusp of another epic battle.
"The hell ya laughin' at?" the boy raged as Oki finally gave in, "Ya think I'm some kinda joke!"
She didn't reply, having to grasp her belly which only made the tin of sardines in her pants clink and consequently making her laugh harder.
"Hey!" the boy kicked furiously out at her ankles, Oki narrowly dodging the attack, "I'm talkin' to ya, ugly! The hell ya laughin' at?"
"Alright, alright, sheesh," Oki wiped at her eyes, "calm down will ya?"
"I ain't the one laughin' when nothing's funny!" the boy thundered back but relented his attack nonetheless.
Oki nodded her head as she straightened up, assessing the boy with a sideways look and a lingering smile on her lips. It'd been a long day, she was too tired and hungry to bother fighting over some soggy bread and pant-warmed sardines; but she was equally unwilling to hand over the fruits of her labour. From the mulish look in the boy's eyes, he wasn't exactly content to allow her to slip off either.
"I think we can come to a comprise," Oki mused, "ya okay with that?"
"Depends what it is," the boy's tone and expression was cautious but attentive nonetheless.
"We share the food," Oki began, "if ya share wherever you're stayin' tonight. I don't wanna sleep in some alleyway again."
"How do ya know this isn't where I sleep?" the boy crossed his arms and nodded bluntly at the alleyway they were standing in.
"Yer hair's wet but most of ya clothes are dry," Oki smirked, feeling somewhat smug as the boy's eyes widened then narrowed.
"Shit," he muttered to himself before glaring hard at her again. Whatever thought process was going through his head, it was only betrayed by a constant fierce scowl. He eyed her up and down twice, eyed the now dripping bread and the alleyway as a whole, and then finally matched her own impatient stare.
"Alright," he snarled, "follow me."
Immediately the boy began to slink through the winding alleyways with a precision and knowledge Oki found enviable.
He paused to throw her a filthy look, "just don't try anything funny."
Oki had to wonder why everyone in Kirigakure seemed to suspect her of 'trying anything'.
…
The boy's home perfectly matched the mental image Oki had conjured on her journey there. He had scaled a stack of empty crates at the rear of a corrugated warehouse, before kicking at a loose plank of rotting wood and crouching along a narrow vent. Oki followed his silhouette through the dark, the sound of the rain muffled by the cold, grey stone at either side of her outstretched hands. There was a 'whump' ahead of her as the boy dropped from view at the mouth of the vent.
Oki quickly clambered after him, not keen on the boy growing wise to the situation and taking advantage of her cramped position in the vent. What she found on the other side was run-down but not entirely dilapidated. It was enclosed from whatever rooms lay beyond by some hastily done brickwork in what had once been open doorways, and if she strained her ears over the drumming of the rain she swore she could hear a family sitting down to a meal on the other side. The floor of the single room was tatami mats, and a tattered futon jammed up into one corner. A window high up on the curve of the outer wall was vertically sliced off from halfway down by the ceiling above, but provided the bare space with blue-tinted light from outside. There were no toilets, or bedrooms or bathrooms; just this thin strip of clearly forgotten space.
The boy eyed her with a look that was half uncomfortable and half challenging. Simultaneously insecure and proud of this little bolthole he'd carved out for himself. It smelt of sweat and the outside noises seemed to ricochet around the walls, but it was also clean and open and Oki found it infinitely more welcoming than the cold, hard floors of the alleyway last night.
"Where'd ya get a place like this?" Oki grinned, removing her sandals and wiggling her wet toes on the tatami mats.
"None of ya business," the boy retorted absently, as if it were a custom ingrained rather than a conscious response.
She snorted and it only earned her another glare.
"What crawled up yer ass and died?" she smirked, "we had a deal so there's no point ya gettin' all shirty with me when you agreed to it too."
"Might have done," the boy shrugged, arms crossed and head turned stubbornly away, "But I aint seen none of yer mouldy old bread or whatever was clankin' around in yer pants yet, have I?"
Oki shrugged. He had a fair point there, and she was in an infinitely better mood now that the prospect of a warm bed was secured. With upmost care Oki began removing her plunder and placing it on the floor, while the boy meticulously reattached the plank he'd dislodged earlier. She beamed proudly, preening her proverbial feathers and puffing her chest, as the boy returned to list through her stack with an expression that was grudgingly impressed.
"Alright, dig in," the boy's grubby fingers instantly started tearing at a packet of rice.
Oki slapped his hands away, "the hell are ya doin'? We gotta cook it first!"
He grew in a breath, glaring harder than ever as his bottom lip stuck out obstinately, "I'm hungry!"
"Yeah, and do ya want the rice to blow up in your belly and explode ya!" Oki struggled to free the rice packet from his grasp.
He finally gave away and Oki huffed in victory. She glanced up to see the boy's expression was once again cagey. For someone with such an expressive face and body language, to Oki the boy only ever seemed to cycle between wary and livid.
"Really?" he muttered, "that can really happen?"
"Yeah," Oki rolled her eyes, "so have ya got anything to cook it with?"
"Hang on a sec," the boy grumbled.
He rose from where he'd been kneeling over the packets and tins and cans, crossed to the square edge of the inner wall before running his bitten fingernails over the smooth surface. With a grunt of triumph he hooked his fingers into a crevice Oki had previously missed entirely and removed a square portion of the plaster. Underneath was a treasure trove of knickknacks and essentials. Most of what she could see had practical uses, balls of twine, small knives and camping equipment; others such as wadded pieces of paper and cartoon key rings appeared to have no place among the rest of the pragmatic belongings.
Curiosity had her following him, attempting to lean over his shoulder and peek inside until another vicious glare had her pausing. Now aware of the eyes on him, the boy quickly grabbed a small portable barbeque tray and a box of matches before rushing to replace the cover of the hidey-hole.
Of course Oki wasn't the best had acknowledging hints that hindered her questions, "what's all that stuff in there?"
"None of your business," once again the response was immediate and instinctive.
"Where'd ya get it from?" Oki continued as he came to sit cross-legged from her.
He plonked the grill down between them, roughly shoving the matchbox at her chest as he spoke, "just cook the damn food, would ya?"
Oki took the matches but eyed him speculatively, "why don't you?"
The boy said nothing, only narrowed his eyes at her further.
"Ya don't know how to, do ya?" Oki continued, giving him a stern once-over.
The boy's jaw tightened and just when Oki thought he was going to launch himself at her, he snapped his head to the side and kept his gaze there. The faint tinge of pink across his one visible cheekbone was almost hidden in the semi-darkness of the room.
"Yeah, well...you didn't even know that ya shouldn't try pickin' stuff up at Old Man Hakaru's shop," he muttered savagely, "every dumbass in Kirigakure knows that old codger's a nasty bastard that'll sic that fat, old mutt on anyone who looks at 'im funny."
Oki scowled but kept her mouth shut despite the blow to her pride. She started the fire and collected rainwater in a tin jug the boy shoved into her hands when requested. Four sardines cooking on two skewers and the rice bubbling away, the atmosphere in the room settled to the sound of the rain outside and the fire spitting between them. It was done in under half an hour, Oki distributed the food while the boy watched her suspiciously. It looked as though he was desperate for something to pick at, but once again that grudgingly impressed expression crossed his face and she grinned smugly in response. Oki took the moment of respite for what it was, an opportunity to allow the hectic events of her day to sink into the skin of her bones. She was lost in her own thoughts, shifting between the open disdain of Mr Anzai, to the sound of her fist smacking against Hajime Oda's face and then finally pin wheeling towards another fire that had signalled the end of a home that suddenly felt so very far away and growing fainter. She curled her knees in closer, resting her chin between them and wrapping her bruised arms over them.
"Hey," the boy called and Oki blinked from where she'd been lost in the flames.
"What?" she questioned without either malice or gentleness.
"What's ya name?" he asked, attention just as unrepentant and candid.
"Oki Tachibana," she answered, "What's yours?"
"Zabuza Momochi."
A/N:
Okay so the rating went up in this chapter for obvious language and violence. I don't think I could realistically keep it at a T considering how much later violence will go on, but I hope that hasn't put anyone off it is the Bloody Mist after all. In regards to the swearing in this, I'm just trying to make Kirigakrue a much harsher environment than Konohagakure; in the Leaf they tend to keep their nastiness hidden or at least romanticised (a sweeping statement that of course doesn't apply to everything) while Mist I imagine aren't too fussed about glamorising it for their kiddies. The separation of the learning groups comes into play for that infamous graduation ceremony where the groups will be further divided; otherwise I can't help but just see the entire thing as a massive waste of prospective troops on Kiri's behalf.
Oh, and Hajime refers to Oki as a boy because she looks like a boy and since I'm treating this like they're speaking English (instead of embarrassing myself again with incorrect Japanese terms) most of the class is convinced Oki's a guy. Short hair, strong jaw, androgynous features with her height, and I guess it's an easy mistake to make. Zabuza is deliberately OOC right now because he's a kid, I can't have realistically expected him to have stayed exactly the same from the age of eight to twenty-something; but hopefully there's still enough future Zabuza in there to make him recognisable.
Freddie4153: XD I'm keeping that in mind, in fact the vast majority of the Seven Swordsmen (if not all but I don't think Raiga counts and I'm not sure about Kisame and Mangetsu) have fruit themed surnames. In fact because Oki's last name was derived from the Tachibana oranges I was seriously debating having her hair bright orange for ages until I finally decided light blue was better. Thanks for reading and taking the time to review :]
SadisticAvacado: Yep, Oki got bitch-slapped by life pretty hard last chapter but at least she seems to be outwardly finding her feet a bit here XD On Kenki and Kenzo…er, well they will pop up again but that's all I'm going to say ;)
HUGE thanks to everyone who's reading, favourited and followed this :D