author's notes: Shūhei is a mixture of himself in Bleach and Kazeshini while in the shinobi-verse.
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
innocence
.
simplicity; absence of guile or cunning; naïveté
lack of knowledge or understanding
He never had thought of himself as innocent.
...
So when he saw her, he sneered. He sneered and scoffed.
Surely this little girl could not be a shinobi. Flawless skin, glossy pink hair, wide bright green eyes, walked - no, all but danced into his crime-infested village, her dainty footsteps delicate and full of grace.
Yet she was with the other shinobi who looked like shinobi, a thick cloak over her petite frame and a flash of engraved metal on her forehead.
"Sakura" one of the actual shinobi had called her. He inwardly contemned her.
They must have lowered their standards considerably if she got to carry the title of shinobi. She probably did not even know how to figure her way out of a fight.
... And she had the audacity to look upon this cesspool of a community with pity. His scowl deepened.
"We're looking for someone," a real shinobi began to the bartender.
The old man just glanced up at the group before returning to his wiping of his grimy counter with an equally grimy rag.
"We have money," supplied another real shinobi, withdrawing a hefty sac from within the folds of his cloak and setting it down. The room went silent; the melodious clinking caught everyone's attention. It was the promise of several meals or a night filled with purchased pleasure. Debts could be paid, lives could be extended.
"Who?" finally came the grunt.
"A man by the name of Seijitsuna Jin."
The grizzly bartender swallowed loudly, beady eyes on the bulging bag of money, on the shinobi, on the entrance.
"Him," he eventually said, paired with an indicating gesture with his chin.
The man who had just entered the establishment froze. Suddenly the man was surrounded by the shinobi and the pink-haired female.
"Seijitsuna Jin, you are to be brought to justice for your crimes against the Land of Fire."
Damn, even her voice was so un-shinobi-like, soft and sweet-sounding.
"No!" roared the male with a slightly insane - but still fearful - glint in his eyes. With a bang, dark, thick smoke erupted into the atmosphere.
He heard several curses, and joined with some of his choice words as the smoke stung his eyes. He, along with many other patrons, stumbled out of the bar to the main road where the shinobi were confronting their target.
Save for a few intermittent coughs, the showdown was silent.
His eyes still smarted, faintly obscuring his vision. So when a hand reached out to him, he was unprepared.
"I have a hostage!" declared the man, arm around his neck.
He wriggled, only to stop when he felt the cold touch of metal bite at the highly sensitive skin on his neck.
The shinobi froze; green eyes softened.
"Please," she spoke, her slender hand raising in a non-threatening gesture, "Let him go. It's not necessary to involve innocents."
He wanted to snort at her obviously ironic statement. No one in this town was innocent.
"Stay back!" shouted the man.
She had been fluidly approaching them, her steps slow and gestures placating.
He struggled again at an increase of pressure fueled by desperation, but stopped again when he felt a line of blood well at his neck.
He saw the concern in her eyes - saw it, and wanted nothing to do with. He wanted to turn away from those haunting green orbs ... but feared his demise by decapitation.
"Enough," uttered one shinobi, his face excessively scarred. "Killing a kid will just add to your crimes, Seijitsuna."
He felt the blade at his throat tremble, then saw the eyebrows of another shinobi raise above his sunglasses. "He's - "
Why could he not look away?
Those green eyes narrowed, astounding him by the new look in the gaze. Sharpened like twin pieces of green flint, they held a deadly ruthlessness coupled with the flutter of their owner's cloak and twitch of the hand.
Behind him, he felt the suddenly weighty tug of the man against his neck, but the arm had gone slack and he violently wrenched himself away, twisting and landing heavily on his butt.
A second body fell.
"Nice aim, Sakura-san," commented a shinobi around a senbon needle.
She shrugged, as though taking a life was objective. Her gaze was now jaded as she - not even glancing at him - walked over to the fallen man and crouched, sticking a gloved hand in the man's mouth.
"Our quarry was going to commit suicide with a toxin encased in his tooth," she explained as she withdrew her hand and presented said object. "Thank you, Yamashiro-senpai, for reading his intentions and cementing my suspicions."
"I bet Morino-san's gonna be disappointed," the senbon-user said jokingly.
"At least we have the body," replied the heavily scared shinobi.
Attention was drawn to the pink-haired female as she crushed the tooth between her thumb and index finger, and then lit up her hand with a faint blue glow. It would have been a pretty trick if not for the serious frown upon her young face.
"Namiashi-senpai has a point. Though this particular poison would have destroyed any evidence within the remains given the chance." She stood easily and brushed her hands as if perfunctorily removing what she had committed.
So that human being had become "remains" so soon. Though he had been used as a shield at one point by that man and held no love, he was still shaken by the impersonal deportment.
"Guess it was a good thing then... Though, I think you scarred the boy."
As if suddenly remembering he was there, she looked over at him, worry clouding her gaze.
Was she bipolar? How could she go from preaching about saving lives to taking them to being concerned about his?
She offered him her hand, stripped of its leather glove. He studied it: slim fingers, porcelain-like skin, but deceptively calloused and dotted and raised with many scars.
"Are you okay?"
His mouth twisted bitterly in a sneer that hid his fear. He batted aside that hand - that murderous hand - and stood on his own, albeit a little weakly.
"Hey, kid, she just saved your life - "
"No, it's fine," she interrupted, her face closing off. "Let's seal up the corpse and go home."
For a moment, the shinobi stared at him and he wanted to look away but that would mean he would glimpse that dead man.
"Very well, let's go," ordered the gnarled male and they turned away.
He was silent as he watched them operate. In one soul-rattling moment, cold, unlit eyes met his, and he arduously pushed his stomach back down.
She was the last to leave. Her back was already facing him when she studied him over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," was all she said.
He never had thought of himself as innocent - never until someone with pink hair showed him just how wrong he was.
author's notes: prompts, anyone?