Orange
"That's stupid."
Minari cocked an eyebrow at the muttered statement from her brash teammate. "Hn?"
"The orange. That's stupid." Kanna continued, eyes still forward. "We're supposed to be ninjas."
Not disagreeing, Minari also kept her gaze fixed on the five Konoha generals clad in neon orange uniforms standing behind the Kage-startlingly bright swaths of color against the forest green of the lieutenants behind them.
She muttered back from the corner of her mouth. "It looks pretty damn awful."
"Yeah."
They stood in silence as the Tenth Hokage continued his speech to the assembled Konoha military forces.
"But..."
Kanna moved her head minutely. "?"
"...I still want to be up there wearing that one day."
Kanna giggled. "Me too."
And now Minari stood looking out at the crowd, no longer a genin in the assemblage giggling over the orange.
Kanna had died in the war declared that day by the Tenth, but Minari had lived up to the dream she'd expressed as a cheeky whisper to her friend and comrade.
She stood there behind the Hokage, stern-faced, clad in orange.
She'd taken the orange two years back.
And as the Eleventh Hokage solemnly presented her with the orange, he'd told her the orange was important, that it had its roots all the way back to the Third Great Ninja War, to the Seventh Hokage's courageous defense of the ninja that had gathered to follow him. That we wore the orange to honor him.
She'd felt a thrill run up her back as the orange took on new majesty in her eyes.
Since then, she'd fought in the orange, led battalions in the orange.
And after those battles, she felt to her core what it truly meant to take the orange.
The orange said Look at me, and me alone. I am here.
To her subordinates, a rallying cry. Look at me. Follow me. I am here.
To the weak, a warning sign. Look at me. Run from me. I am here.
To the strong, the orange spoke loudest. Look at me. I alone am your opponent. Not my subordinates. Me. I am here.
The orange protects-everyone but yourself.
The orange conceals-everyone but yourself.
Taking the orange was a vow to be the first and final line of defense, alone if need be.
And the audacity of taking the orange, of standing alone and calling forth that attention meant you had to be worthy of that attention.
The Seventh Hokage was said to have been unmatched in power. Perhaps the orange had been a declaration of that strength, once he'd wielded it. Or perhaps the orange made him what he was.
Either way, she felt his will of fire in the orange she wore, the enormous weight of the responsibility he'd worn weighing her down, rooting her in her understanding of her duty.
She did wish she hadn't been born a redhead though.
A/N: you know, cuz it clashes.