A/N: To avoid spamming a certain someone's inbox, I shall state it here. I still prefer the term 'uneasy allies'. Hmm, maybe that's why I have terrible friends.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Quote belongs to the all-amazing Sound Horizon.
10.30 am to 11.00 am: Lesson 5 – Tutoring
What burns this heart is the fire of revenge and hatred
~Song of Dusk
/
You are annoying, I thought, and willed you to hear it as a shout.
You cocked your head at me slightly. "Not working."
I suppressed a sigh, but it escaped anyway. This was my fifth attempt at trying to surprise you. You had challenged me to shock you, and if I succeeded you would answer my questions satisfactorily. This naturally involved being able to block my thoughts off from you, most of the time. Again, I suspected it was more to keep me occupied with the least possible effort, but since there was nothing better to do, I took it up.
I was coming up with my sixth attempt when the now-familiar tug told me that I had another assignment. I followed it, knowing that you would follow. Traversing the border became easier each time I tried. At least I was sure now that I was moving and not walking on the spot.
This time, there was no harsh light, not that it ever hurt. In fact, there was very little light to begin with, such that for a moment I wondered if I failed to exit the border and was stuck at its edge. But the blurry shapes moving in the dim light and the ever-present compulsion to go back told me that yes, I had successfully left the border behind.
Slowly, muffled screams came to my attention. I was in some sort of alleyway, one with poor lighting facilities, since most of the illumination seemed to come from the half-moon in the sky. I concentrated, but the sounds became no clearer. Slightly concerned, I focused all my attention on hearing, but they remained muffled. I turned to you querulously, but you merely shrugged and pointed.
In the dim light, it was hard to tell what was happening, so I moved closer. The sound of my footfalls were nonexistent anyway, but the screams became louder, though no clearer. I was only an arm's length away from the nearest dark shape when the glint of silver caught my eye. A knife blade reflecting the moonlight, held in a hand. Then that hand swiftly drew the knife across something, and the muffled screams ceased.
The owner of the knife ran with his burden, and I was left looking at a pale, pretty face, with a blood-red smile drawn across the neck. For a moment I wished I wasn't dead, if only so that I could have interfered somehow. But I wasn't, so it was with some regret that I bent down to take the dying girl's hand.
Panic flashed through me. I let it run its course, and gradually, traces of joy and anxiety followed. A boy's face drifted through my mind, along with the image of vast hallways with marble flooring. From this, I concluded that she must have been the daughter of a rich merchant, or a noble, and she must have been about sixteen or thereabout. Old enough to be allowed out on her own at night.
Then pure hate coursed through me, and I nearly let go. It was reminiscent of the time when I was thirteen and had to make a choice between Konoha and my clan. Back then, the hatred was directed at myself. This hate wasn't internally directed, it was for someone else. And it was obvious who that someone else was.
Before I knew it, I was back at the border, almost instinctively. I must be getting used to the whole process. Unlike you, I never quite saw the point of assuming the form of someone familiar to the dead to make them feel better, so I remained as I was. I began guiding the poor victim across the border, but unlike with the other dead, she resisted.
Where am I? Her thoughts invaded my awareness, and I contemplated answering. Would she freak out if I suddenly responded to her thoughts?
In the end, I answered anyway. "At the border between life and death."
"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" She became more insistent and resisted moving, so I released her. Was this how I seemed to you when we first met?
"I am one of the dead, and I'm taking you across the border," I explained, carefully considering what I wanted her to know. It would be good for her to cross, to find some final peace, but she seemed to stiffen at the idea of dying.
"I am not dead!" she insisted. "I can't be! It's not fair! It's all his fault!" She shook her head vigorously and clenched her fists. "I'm going back!" And he will pay.
I had no doubt as to who she meant. This was a situation that I hadn't expected to encounter. Help me out? I tried directing that to you. Not that you would be happy about it, but you must have had some experience of this.
In response, you appeared in her path. For a moment, I thought I saw a slightly annoyed expression on your face before it was wiped clean and replaced with a kind look. "I'm sorry, miss, but you're dead. You can't go back."
No! she almost screamed. "No! It's not fair! I hate him! Why can't he die instead? It's not fair!" She broke down sobbing, and I had no idea how to proceed from here. It was distinctly uncomfortable to be in this situation, even though it all shouldn't have mattered.
You waited patiently for her to regain control of herself. I followed your lead. I could hear an array of jumbled thoughts that revolved around her resentment and wanting to cling on to life, any kind of life, so she could punish her murderer. I didn't know why, but I felt disapproval at those sentiments. If you felt the same, you didn't show it.
Eventually she stopped her awful keening and asked, "What can I do?"
Clearly she was asking how to return to life or exact vengeance. I expected you to reply, but your silence told me that this was my assignment to see through. Reluctantly, I told her, "You can choose not to cross the border now, and stay here. However, there is a trade-off. You will have to help others across if you stay, and there's also the deterioration of your sense of self to contend with."
I wanted to add that it wasn't worth it, to resent death as such, but the hate etched across her face told me that I would meet with little success. She would stay. That much was certain.
/
I waited somewhere in the border. I had somehow managed to convince you that I was completely unsuited to teach anyone how to work the border, and you had, in a bout of kindness, taken the task off my hands. Now I waited for you to return with her.
I expected both of you, so I was surprised when you alone returned and resumed your bored, half-sitting position. I didn't have to ask; you preempted my question entirely.
"She decided to go off on her own. Said she didn't like the idea of other people listening in on her thoughts."
"Is that usually a problem?" It occurred to me that I must not have been the first of your assignments to choose not to cross the border. And yet you were alone when I came.
"Usually. Though the fact that she could feel your disapproval helped."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not a problem, kid. I didn't like her either. She won't last long, anyway. Revenge-seekers never do."
Seeking revenge on the people who killed them, to the point that they compromised their own peace. It did sound like a sad existence. Out of nowhere I recalled something that you said once. "You're not waiting for the person who killed you, are you?"
"No. I'm no hypocrite, kid."
