The cliffside of Konoha ever remained a lonely place, there were birds grass and flowers always sitting upon it. Before everything he'd thought of it as a good training ground for those who had no desire to be found. Now upon him it bore as a escape from a recollection which he had no want to relive, pleasant though it may be. So, as he sat with no peace within himself over the cliffedge: He wondered why shinobi- why individuals had to fight when peace was obtainable, the cause, the meaning behind bloodshed, but he could find no answer, and no rational explanation. The day was warm, full skies, a gentle calming breeze fresh with the scent of sakura blossoms, and beneath him as he could see the village was budding itself with new buildings and a sense of community incorporating itself into a valley grown of blood and gore.
The slight of gentle footsteps echoed in his ears, a warm chakra embedding itself into his senses. Emotions within him were already chaotic, seeing an array of soothing brown felt placating, at least marginally. For a moment, he wished for the tones of the sky to greet him when he turnt to look; those of bright calming yellow, aqua navy and indigo blues amongst a tannin none could replace. Unfortunately, the momentary hope was faded by the vision of his Godmother staring upon him in sadness he wished not for. "Jiraiya-chan, you should not be upon the cliffedge, you could fall."
The boy sitting in his lonesome smiled grinned as he might, then stood, looking over the village as he had been. Daring gravity to take him down as he made to pose, sticking his hand out. "I won't fall Oba-san! I am the great Jiraiya, the son of Uchiha Madara and- after all!.." Something held his voice down as he stuttered, forcing him to sound as a man struck with no emotion. Then his foot slipped easily off the edge, and he fell. Caught only by the wooden beams reaching around him from the rock surface. A position uncomfortable, and yet expected, Jiraiya held confident that his Godmother could protect him and no mere accident would take him while the Hokage lived; and that brought the young Uchiha a great comfort.
He was pulled back to a shake of a brown hair and an expression of disappointment upon the visage of the only motherly figure he had left. "Honestly… Jiraiya-chan you were not this clumsy before your moth-" A stare took them both then, one fierce, hardened. The other surprised, soft and carrying sympathy. It was broken by the latter, who stood smiling and reaching forth a comforting hand. "Why don't we go find your father?" Jiraiya said nothing, only a pout graced his features as a blank sensation continued to fill him inside. Yet, instead of speaking clear his feelings burning deeply, he merely took Hashirama's hand and walked forward along with his 'aunt,' to his house.
Small, black eyes looked over the district he called family, many persons who knew those lost wore much blackened tones their heads turnt firmly to the ground. Upon himself too was such an apparel, he donned a black robe matching those of his clan, clashing with his mutating hair. His hand tightened with that of his only Omega family, but though warm Hashirama's chakra was, Jiraiya found hardly a comfort from it, unto him and to any whom had felt it, his mother's chakra was hot. Before him, just ahead, the figure imposing above all the others stood directing and listening, his father, standing as a pillar over all other the warriors around him. Jiraiya watched, simply gazing as his father remained continuous, not a hesitance in his movements, giving directions, listening to suggestions in a firm disposition, maintaining a stirn and stoic visage.
"Madara! I thought you would be at home, perhaps resting?" A hinting irritation was made within the question.
With a wave of dismissal the other Uchiha's gave a brief bow to the patriarch and went on their separate ways. Frustration made itself clear upon the Uchiha leader for the sight of a friend only disturbing him. Though in view of his son a simper made its way to his face, and he beckoned the saddened boy closer, where they met to hug happily.
"Did you have a good day Jiraiya-chan?" No harsh tone filled his voice as was so commonly affiliated with the man, while Jiraiya clung to his father with nary a word spoken. Content enough to have his wild hair petted by his father's worn hand, and to be lifted unto a stern hip despite his age.
"Madara, you should spend time unto yourself, I know that-"
Madara tensed in an anger not well hidden."Your brother runs the Senju clan now does he not Hashirama? I do not have such luxury of peaceful reprieve, my clan is in need of me as a leader with their Matriarch fallen, and I do intend to see myself fully upon such a duty." He clung heavily upon his son at that moment, while the young Uchiha turned to his Godmother with a smile and blanketed eyes, no words as his head rested on his father's shoulder. However, before anything could be spoken by the concerned Hokage, his adviser matched his timing and diverted the entire conversation. "Should you not be resting? You are near due." Therein, Madara kissed his son's forehead and turnt himself away from his friend. "Once again, Hashirama, I highly suggest you do not title that child as your daughter. It will only bring her harm." And nothing further was said.
Hashirama left with a downturned head and eyes brimming with tears not shed.
On the hip which he rested, Jiraiya held tighter to his father. "Otou-sama?" In his tone came a brightness which beforehand had only resided in Madara's bride. "When will Okaa-sama come back?" All walking ceased suddenly as a shaking breath came from the strongest man of the Uchiha. Within himself, Madara heard a mocking, taunting, growl from the malicious beast he now housed. A silence befell them both, the child sitting patient upon his father's hip made curious by his own fear of speaking of his mother. Meanwhile his father remained in battle between an emotional violence he had been struggling against for many-a-day and the want to protect his son from the revelation he had faced himself many times. Still, the fearful Alpha looked over to his son beseeching him with wide black eyes confused, but even so, in his glance the simple sight of tears falling answered the question Madara hadn't known to have existed within himself.
It was not that the boy did not understand the meaning of death, in looking, in holding his son, Madara could recognize the truth so easily forged among warriors. The self-made delusion. "Jiraiya, you know your mother is dead. He was killed, taken from us." The tears fell harshly then, as rain pouring down rather then trickling.
"NO! Kaa-san is not dead! He fine! He home!..." A silence came then as the boy regained his tears. "Mummy was kill'd. I hate them…"
"Jiraiya…My son, 'When people get hurt, they learn to hate… when people hurt others, they become hated and racked with an unshakable guilt. But knowing that pain allows people to be kind. Pain allows people to grow… and how you grow is up to you.' A person who feels nothing at the death of those close to him is no different then the butcher.' Hatred is poisonous. You're too young to hold it to your breast, remember, you live in a village of peace."
In closing the door of his son's room, a restless sleep begun to a poorly sung song of war. Madara sighed at the life he now knew, cleaning up the plates still on the table after a meal made by his own hand. When a knock sounded and a subtle chakra signature irated his own.
"What do you want Uzumaki-san?" He made no effort to open the door, merely allowed her presence to enter. So she did, welcoming herself inside with not a hesitance, sandals still upon her feet hidden by her white robe. "I do not recall myself inviting you to my home." Paying no attention to the woman he hardly took notice of her unusual positioning behind him, as her arms spread themselves around his waist. "Mito-san-" Gentle fingers reached over his pectorals, nails painted in red, a burning sensation following over his skin wherever she traced.
Her words burnt his ears in quiet whispers, wrongfully said in seduction. "Oh come now. Your bride was an Uzumaki was he not? How am I any different?" Grabbing him in a manner to which he nearly threw her away, instead he grasped at her delicate hands. Violence and anger melding within him causing him to clutch tightly, and experience told him well that should he grasp tighter her bones would break. Which was a temptation he almost made reality, that was when she began a cry in pain, subtle and hardly meant to be heard.
"Do you wish me to snap your neck this time Uzumaki?" She had begun to collapse to the ground, yet still his hold remained. "You would dare come to my home, where my son sleeps, where my bride loved me, and form yourself in seduction. Understand this Uzumaki: were you not the wife of a dear friend of mine, I would have cut away your head from your throat without any hesitance, and buried your body where the river rises to be found by the Senju as a warning." He turned himself around to face the omega now cowering upon his kitchen floor, teeth clenched in pain as her glare reached upwards to his reddened irises. "The next time you insult my bride by relating him to yourself. I will not restrain myself." By their own accord, the blackened moons within the red sky shifted into connectivity. Mito remained caught as her world fell away, and a grave torture began.
Madara dropped her hands, two places were in disorder, the bone had moved out of its proper position in her left hand, another cracked bone in her right. She fell to the wood with her hair spreading red over brown, and her eyes widely opened, a scream tore through her throat, accompanied by compulsions upon the ground.
Madara bid himself to ignore her, and walked over her small convulsing figure, entering his son's room to give comfort from the rippling screams in his home.
Note: The quote which Madara says is actually from Jiraiya to Nagato and Orochimaru.
