To his credit, once Itachi got moving in the morning he got ready relatively quickly. He was out, packed, and ready to load into the truck within fifteen minutes of Kisame's waking him. The Hoshigaki himself had spent those minutes attempting to straighten the room. It was a calming exercise, to make a space look neat. The room looked like any number of inns or decent hostels scattered through this part of the country these days. Quaint and rustic, the light green painted wood panelling and pale yellow sheets made the space feel warm despite the chill of an early Kirigakure morning misting outside the window. It was almost as if the space was perfectly intended to make guests feel at ease.
That's stupid, he thought, of course it is, this is the guest house.
The rooms were most likely maintained for family visitors. Kisame was trusting of the Shimizu clan but that trust had been carefully and unwillingly built over several years of having to realize that they truly did not suspect him or Itachi of being anything other than what they claimed. Before that trust came, he'd done what research he could, given that he had no access to quality databases of clan information. The Shimizu clan was different than many others he'd encountered, either in his own home village or abroad. Several branch clan colonies had stemmed from a larger, original settlement somewhere in the far south of River country, and the clan establishments had made permanent homes near a few hidden villages. He figured it must have had something to do with the general chaos that ensued during the Third War. Land of Rivers had become crucial to transport able bodies and weapons into the center of the continent, and so River country became a tumultuous game board upon which multiple players fought for the best path. He guessed the clan had relocated with their prized animals to safer areas in the conflict's wake.
Still, the concept that a clan could split and relocate without massive upheaval was jarring to Kisame. He so clearly remembered the difficult, treacherous, and often pedantic clan politics of his youth, with branch clans arguing for power and allegiance, struggling and scrapping for every inch they gained. The Shimizu clan was, in this sense, an outlier. However foreign it was to see a family getting along, Kisame was at least grateful that the matriarch, Nameko, was fond of him and Itachi. They would most likely have someone to vouch for them if they ever got into trouble with folks in Kiri. Not that he foresaw them ever sticking around in town long enough the have trouble, but it never hurt to plan for a bad scenario.
From what Kisame had observed, the Shimizus were the sort of family that children without the luxury of kin would have dreamt about. The people here lived together-- really lived together. Communally and with what seemed to be at least marginal respect for one another. That may have been a low bar to meet, but this was a country in which cousins and siblings would run one another through to eliminate a threat. The Shimizu actually seemed to get along reasonably well, at least briefly during the mealtimes in which he'd seen them interact. He did understand the temporary improved mood that could come to a family with the addition of a good meal. If that was the case, then Nameko was bent on ensuring her family was blissfully joyful.
"You ready to eat?" Itachi took his bag from the floor by the bathroom and slung it over one shoulder. Kisame stood as well, just a bit too quickly in his eagerness, and sent the chair he sat in toppling over.
"Um." Itachi raised one eyebrow from behind his thick glasses, which made his dark eyes appear roughly three times their natural size.
Kisame huffed out a laugh, "I'm hungry, so stab me."
The two made their way from the guest houses near the private homes of the Shimizu compound, to where their truck was parked near the massive greenhouse enclosure in which the clan kept the behemoth lizards. Monstrous creatures, which had become the Shimizu symbol of prowess and power, were similar to the small crocodiles in the Land of Grass, but bigger and far more unsettling. Kisame had once seen one as large as himself look him in the eye with all the understanding and awareness of a sentient summons animal. Since then he had tried to keep out their direct line of sight.
The truck was old, but since motor vehicles were still a rarity in much of the the continent, it classified as somewhat cutting edge. The cab was white, with a stenciled image of a large crow in mid-flight with Corvid Couriers in written chunky lettering underneath on both driver and passenger doors The bench seat that ran across the cab was only just big enough for the both of them to sit comfortably side by side, so they stashed their bags in the cargo trailer welded to the truck bed. Itachi pulled a set of keys from his back pocket, unlocked the trailer's clunky metal door, and slid it upwards with a heave. The the abrasive sound of metal on metal rang out as poorly-oiled wheels slid on tracks, exposing the empty interior.
"Here, hand me your bag, I'll stick 'em in the loose cargo bins."
Kisame tossed the bag up to him and extended a hand when Itachi returned from the depths of the trailer to help him jump down.
When Itachi landed on the ground, he looked up to see that his friend's nostrils had flared.
"You good, pal?"
Kisame nodded and tilted his head, sniffing, "You smell that?"
Itachi inhaled deeply, but got nothing, "Well, I'm kinda clouded by the general dirt-and-lizard smell back here, plus you can smell things like a literal shark, so no. What is it?"
"Shrimp."
Itachi raised an eyebrow and cast a glance in the vague direction of the Gator Pit Restaurant, "Like… shrimp cooking? Or..?"
Kisame was already headed towards the Shimizu eatery. That damn guy and his inability to resist shellfish. Or whatever shrimp were. Shrimp were okay, he guessed, but he had really grown disdainful of most dirt-filled musselly things. Maybe it was because a certain overgrown shark with arms insisted on eating them raw when he caught them himself. Anyways.
Itachi huffed, and fumbled with the keys as he struggled for a moment to pull the door down from high above his head, and hastily twisted the key in the lock. He realized that he had lied this morning. He was hungry.
As they rounded the end of the greenhouse, the Gator Pit came into view. It was a large building for the space it was built on, and it seemed to have crammed itself in between the greenhouse and the Shimizu council house as though in had elbowed its way in and squatted there. Faded wood, greyed by years of Cold Kiri winter, and dark green metal roofing. The porch was lit by several hanging lanterns that hung at unequal heights in a row that stretched towards the large banquet porch on the left side of the building. The interior glowed through wide screen windows, whose shutters were held aloft by ropes and pulleys. The two men climbed the few stairs to the front door and Kisame pushed it open with a creak.
"Oh my god, MOM." Wakame's voice hit Itachi's ears upon entering the room.
The mother in question-- he couldn't remember the name, threw her head back in exuberant laughter, "What? I'm your mother, kiddo, not like you can avoid it!" She was pretty. Sandy brown hair and freckled skin, strong boned and, from what Itachi understood an accomplished stealth specialist. Part of him didn't understand how a woman with a laugh of that volume and a massive reptile that she rode into battle on could possibly manage stealth, but he guessed that the proof was in her jounin rank.
The man seated across from her-- presumably Wakame's father-- looked up to address the newcomers, "Hey strangers!" he called, "I'm guessing Ma didn't let you have a choice in whether you were eating or not either this morning?"
"Never do!" The matriarch-- Nameko was her name-- shouted over her shoulder in the kitchen.
"We wouldn't miss it anyways, " Replied Kisame, "I could be wrong, Nameko-san, but is that some sort of shellfish I smell cooking?"
"You'd be close, we got chicken and shrimp fried rice, eggs, and some greens this mornin'."
Kisame, looking extremely satisfied with himself, made his way to the kitchen counter to hover over the cooking breakfast under the guise of "Helping out". Itachi's eyes slid back to the table where Wakame and his parents sat. The father looked up at him expectantly. Oh right.
"I'm Nezumi," he smiled, "Corvid Couriers Driver. I do not think we've met."
That was what the man had been waiting for. He jumped up with a massive grin and gestured to the open space a the table, "Well it's just great to meet ya! Youta Shimizu," he slapped a hand to his own chest, indicating himself, "Won't you join us?"
Itach smiled thoughtfully, "Sure, thank you." It had been years since anyone had seriously doubted his identity, to his knowledge, but interacting with shinobi old enough to recognize his birth name still made him cautious. True, when you technically died twice, very few people, even shinobi, expected you to still be kicking around, but Itachi wasn't into taking large risks when it came to that. He really didn't want to be roped into a conversation with military agents from one of the Great Nations before breakfast, but then again, Itachi was the one feeling iffy about it. Nezumi, the middle-aged trucker, wouldn't have had a problem.
"So Nezumi, Youta eyed him, leaning forward slightly in his seat, "tell us about yourself."
_________________________________________________________
Youta's tone was not wary, nor that of a shinobi trying the extract information from a suspect. Itachi gazed calmly at the smiling man, who he was finding concerningly energetic for this hour of the morning. Not that it was an early hour, per say, but he'd personally never been a fan of doing anything much before ten o'clock. Itachi wasn't taken aback by his question as he was that manor of both Youta and his wife. He was entirely certain that his own parents would have never been so relaxed-- so informal-- with an unknown guest. They'd had different stresses, though. Different concerns and-- The moon. A solitary witness to slaughter, numbed and angry, not him-- obligations.
Itachi wrenched himself from a train of thought which held no kindness for him. It was well-traveled, but he had no business being there now. He planted his mind firmly within Nezumi, and smiled, "Well, I've been with the Couriers for the past long while, most of my adult years. I'm from Waterfall Country originally, though, near the Earth border. Really little village called Reisui, if you know it?"
Youta seemed to consider it for a moment, "I'm less familiar with that part of the continent, but Sungai, don't you have some cousins in in Earth?"
"In Iwa, yeah." Wakame's mother replied, "You ever make it up to that area, Nezumi-san? It's stunning with all those mountains."
Itachi nodded. There was no doubt that he should have at least been there before to back his claims, but truth told he had never been west of Waterfall. "Sometimes, yes. Work keeps me away from home a lot, though, but my family writes."
Sungai grinned in response, "That's so nice! Youta and I try to keep the boys updated when we're away too, but it can be hard sometimes! Goodness knows how slow the Water Country post is, and once you get across international borders? Forget it." She waved her hand dismissively, as though the Hidden Mist Postal Distributary Service were the primary cause of her day-to-day strife.
Itachi chuckled shallowly, rolling his eyes, "Don't I know it? My girls try to write when they can if I get them a usable address from where I am, but it takes forever for letters to get back home to them."
Wakame's eyes snapped up to look at him, "You have kids? But Nezumi-sama you're so old." The boy's mother deposited a light smack on the back of his head.
Itachi laughed, "I'm not that old, and I was younger when I had them, they're older than your brother by now."
"Kids grow up son," Youta cast a doubtful look at the boy.
"They sure do!" Itachi helped himself the pot of tea sitting in the middle of the table, "You enjoy your parents taking care of you, Wakame, you'll be grown up before you know it."
The genin puffed out his chest a bit, "I am grown up, Nezumi-sama, and I'm going to be the world's best gator-nin, and be more famous than any other, and Geta's going to grown and grow to be twenty feet long--" the boy seemed to be almost levitating off his seat, half standing over the cup of tea he'd been drinking, "--and I'm gonna see all the hidden villages and see a big shark in real life--"
"Son, I need you to get off the table." Youta tugged gently at Wakame's t-shirt, and the kid looked down as though he was surprised to find himself, fists clenched at his sides, ready to fight, presumably his own destiny, and with one foot planted upon the tabletop. His face shone with the dangerous light of a young shinobi ready to prove themself. It reminded Itachi of too many children he'd known. He raised his palms in defeat.
"You are absolutely right, my many apologies. You are an official shinobi now, yes?" Wakame nodded vigorously in response as he launched himself from the top of the table and made a show of landing only somewhat silently on the creaking floor.
Nameko shouted, "It's a restaurant, not the training grounds!" around Kisame, who had been handed a massive bowl of rice to stir to cool down.
The boy offered a hasty apology, but immediately launched into a simple training kata, dodging the tables like the were adversaries on the offensive. His form was not bad, but tense, as if he were wound too tightly. Itachi knew how dangerous that tension could be in battle, but he also knew the boy was barely a genin, and had time to train a grow as a fighter. It must be incredible to come of age, he thought, without the threat of death weighing on your small shoulders. Without the entrenched hatred and bitterness of your family spurring your potential. Of course he did not know the Shimizu clan above a cursory level, but there was so much gentleness-- familiarity-- in the way they interacted. Wakame was naive in all the ways of a child who was burdened by only his own aspirations. It made Itachi feel grateful that some good was present in the world, after everything, and at the same time sad in a part of himself that was difficult to place.
Youta looked at his son bounce from table to table, thwarting invisible jutsu and commanding a nin-gator that was not actually present. His eyes brimmed with loving exasperation. "So Nezumi-san, you have daughters?"
Itachi nodded and blew on his tea, "Four, actually."
Sungai whistled low, "That's a lotta kids. Your wife is a brave lady."
"Well she'd fight me for saying this, but I'll tell you, the woman is a force of nature. I still don't know how she did it when the kids were little. They're old enough to help with the farm now of course, but when I had gigs that took me away in the early years-- I know I wouldn't have managed."
Youta nodded understandingly, "Oh yeah, working and raising the boys was a feat, and well," he glanced to his youngest, squatting and lunging rapidly in place, "we're still trying."
"Your mom's incredible with the kids though," Sungai interjected, "I swear only reason the whole clan hasn't gone up in flames is cause of her."
Youta clinked his cup gently against his wife, "Yeah I'd place money on that one."
The screen door of the restaurant clashed open and Wakame's older brother, Hijiki, shuffled in, hands in his pockets. Had he just… smashed the door open with the front of his body? Sungai had hardly let the teenager register that his entire immediate family was in the room before she threw her hands up and exclaimed, "Ah, the original fruit of the womb!"
"Mom." Hijiki groaned, "Stop." Sungai, to her credit, laughed as though she had absolutely no intention to stop embarrassing her sons anytime soon.