Three
Samara was sorting through papers on her desk. So many scrolls to gaze through, around 90, and she hadn't even finished reading the 10th one! The majority of the ones she had read through had messages she'd needed help from fellow comrades to decipher. It wasn't like they were marked by some sort of funny ninja trick. They were just riddles she couldn't make sense out of.
Feeling more tire than she looked, Samara pushed her chair back with her hands, and stretched on it until it nearly crashed to the checkered floor beneath her. In a rush she pulled herself back up, and gripped the edge of her low to the ground desk with her fingers.
She sighed. It was sunny and shining outside, but Hachiro's office was darker than the blackest of shadows. The lamp that sat broken on the otherwise empty bookshelf a few steps behind her, was a cracked dysfunctional mess. She could open the windows and draw the milk white curtains, but Samara didn't want to get up, or make it possible for any passing villagers from the outside to see her.
Hachiro waltzed into his office without any sort of warning, such as a knock, or maybe a vocal notice. He raised his eyebrows at Samara, and tilted his head as he looked at her. Hachiro was Samara's brother, and unlike Samara he was not a sight ridiculed, but one adored. He was certainly handsome.
Hachiro had Samara's same greenish skin, but the shade of green cast upon him wasn't nearly as noticeable, and was more of a welcoming mint. His eyes weren't ugly, but nicely shaped and green as emeralds, not some ugly mossy green that Samara had been born with. He wasn't built with awkward, uneven limbs. He was tall, and not lean by any standards. He was a thick, muscled man with an always strong stance. And he was respected.
Her brother looked at her. He actually seemed bored. "Samara, I thought I told you to have someone else do this. Who's going to watch over the one from Yukigakure?"
Samara looked up at Hachiro, her eyes meeting his. He broke eye contact nearly immediately, and began to view the walls surrounding them. Hachiro wasn't exactly a fan of Samara's looks, and didn't particularly enjoy being related to someone who brought shame to their family's name just by entering a room. "What are you talking about, brother? The girl is passed out, unconscious in one of the downstairs cells."
Hachiro's form began to change. He stretched his right arm forwards to a length that exceeded any normal human's reach. His arm continued to grow until his fingers were wrapping lightly around Samara's neck. Little by little he started to squeeze until the colour drained from Samara's face. The harder he pressed the darker his skin became, flushing a heavy forest green. "If I thought some moron on the council could HANDLE watching her, I wouldn't be here demanding you go take care of the girl yourself!"
Samara began to pant the moment she was free from Hachiro's grasp. She looked up at him, hating herself for the vulnerability her face must have shown. Her cheeks were surely buzzing a great red. Despite the warmth of contact she felt cold, slimy and picked apart. "I—I what am I doing? Just watching her right?"
"Just keeping an eye. Just keeping an eye."