Please tell me how I'm doing guys, I want to know if this was too rushed.
Also, the morning scene is fully written in Allegro by Azure Raindrops. This here is all Mariko's point of view and reflection. Also, pleaseeee tell me if this was too sudden of a change, is it weird, is anyone OOC? Lemme know, I'll eat up all your comments to improve!
Disclaimer: Naruto's not mine, because Neji and Tenten are never, ever, ever...getting back together ~ Like, ever.
Note: Guys want to see Mariko? art/Morning-Tobirama-and-Mariko-337277669
This link! Paste it in after equestrian - equine. deviantart
without spaces, of course (fanfiction doesn't allow link posting)
Chapter 4: Puzzles
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
Is it pitiful that I've begun counting days again, even though I told myself not to? It's not like I'm counting down or counting up to anything. Unless you count my wedding. But then again, letters from both Sumi and Katsurou arrived, requesting extension till the wedding date, because they can't make it in time. I'm quite relieved for that. Ryo has said nothing, but a package did come in the mail from him. Technically, from Aunt Tari. It makes me unbelievably happy to receive something from her. It's beautiful – a hair clip in the shape of hibiscus petals, pink, orange, red, and purple like a sunset. I think I'll start wearing it, because I don't put much color on my pastels anyway.
I mentioned counting days. I'm on week three. By the way, this so-called husband of mine has been awful, in my opinion, so far. It seems he and the Hokage have had a nasty argument, but it's been weeks, and they've softened. Just a little. At least he talked to me more than once this week. That has to count, right?
.x.X.x.
Tobirama did, in fact, become a bit mollified. His stubborn refusal to meet Hashirama's gaze and his sorely meager attempts to continue conversation were small improvements, to say the least. He still gave the impression that he'd rather be alone, and that Mariko should just go back to Hurricane. He never said it outright, of course.
On the other hand, Mariko had a grand time in the stables, where she went nearly every day. She would've been delighted to marry Arata, something she quietly confided to him one evening while he saddled one of his chestnuts. Bashfully, he admitted that he was nothing but a foot soldier for the Senju in reality; not as strong as Toka, but only good at strategic planning.
"That makes you a general, doesn't it?" Mariko suggested. "Not a pawn to be played by a clan."
He looked up. "Thank you, Princess," he replied softly. "It warms my heart to know there's someone who appreciates people for who they are, and not for their power."
This made Mariko wonder. Was Konoha a village based on power? She wouldn't like to think so, but it seemed Arata had enough to worry about.
"Well, to put it more cleanly, I'm more of a regular working class man, a simple shinobi who does jobs for a living," he explained. "I'm not a nobleman."
"Then what about Toka? Isn't she your cousin?"
"Ah, but her father was a nobleman. And she herself is a top-notch kunoichi, far above my rank."
This made little sense to Mariko, for a family was a family, was it not? And if the Senju clan was all one gigantic family, then they should treat one another as mostly equals. Sure, there were the high-class branches and the ruling house, but it should be a peaceful place. Arata should have no need to feel inferior in a negative way.
"My Lady, would you like to ride with me today?" Arata asked suddenly. Mariko agreed, of course, a bright smile lighting up her face. "We can take a stroll through the village. Let me introduce you to a fine gelding, right here."
Mariko took the brushing and saddling into her own hands, for she felt this was important. Horsemanship included everything on the horse, and off the horse as well. The dark bay gelding, not very tall but sturdy in build, amiably bumped her shoulder with his muzzle. She petted him and got down to preparing for a ride.
Trotting down a less crowded street of Konoha, Arata pointed out some interesting things that Mito hadn't gone into.
"That right there, that flower shop," he called over his shoulder, pointing down a the way. "That is the finest one in the village, by my opinion. The storekeeper knows what flowers mean what, even if you don't."
"And that means?"
"If your wife is angry, she has just the thing." Arata flashed a grin, and Mariko returned it. Arata seemed to naturally pick up on her moods, without the help of facial expressions, since they were obscured by her now everyday pastels. If anything, the pastels were making her skin softer and cleaner, for they were made of natural elements.
"If my horse is hungry, does she have something for him as well?" she joked lightly. Arata laughed, patting his young colt on the neck.
"This one might just take off an entire bouquet," he returned. The young colt was learning to deal with many sights and sounds, his ears twirling constantly to pick up all the interesting noises. Once or twice he spooked, but they were little jumps, just miniature surprises that weren't too startling.
However, upon a merchant's cart crashing over and vegetables spilling disastrously across the road, the colt reared. This was the lighter chestnut colt, not the reddish one that liked to play. He was much more skittish, and quick to flight.
Taken by surprise, the abruptness of the event too quick to process, Arata was thrown from the saddle. Mariko exclaimed something, she couldn't really remember what, and caught up to his side. Knocked breathless, Arata lay on his back, momentarily stunned. Then, he chuckled, pushed himself upright, and rubbed his midnight head of hair.
"That was embarrassing," he said, brushing himself off. He looked down the road, where the chestnut was wreaking havoc, tossing his head and galloping down the avenue. Several shopkeepers tried calming the animal, making little tut-tut noises and cooing and clicking in hopes of settling the horse. Their efforts in vain, the colt kicked out and thundered back up the street. He shied at the sight of the fallen cart again, seemingly perplexed by his situation. Why am I back here again?! The colt seemed to be contemplating a route of escape, away from his dangers and fears.
"Silly thing," Arata chuckled. He approached the horse, but the colt leapt backwards and shot away with a mighty kick. "At least I know he can jump now," said Arata as the colt vaulted over another market vendor's wheeled cart.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Mariko demanded, still in shock, pretty much rooted to the spot. "You had me worried sick!"
"My apologies, Mariko-hime," replied Arata sheepishly. "I'm quite used to it."
"It's still dangerous."
"I know. Let's catch this ridiculously hyper colt, shall we?" he suggested, pushing past fallen melons and cucumbers. The shop vendor apologized numerous times, but Arata simply told him everything was fine, as well as assisting in the gathering of vegetables.
The colt, meanwhile, put everyone on edge down the street.
"I'll see if I can corner him," Mariko said, beginning to trot her gelding over.
"Wait, hime," called Arata, but he was already out of earshot. At the moment, the princess was his responsibility, and he was not about to let her get thrown from a horse, should the bay gelding pick up on the colt's spooked frenzy. The sturdy mount was not known to bolt, but there was always a risk with equines.
As feared, the colt lunged at the gelding, ears flattened to his neck. He nipped Mariko's horse on the rump, sending him into an angry kicking spar. Mariko attempted to rein her horse away, but the colt pursued, as if trying to convince the older horse to bolt away with him. She couldn't dismount, nor could she ride away.
The chestnut began rearing, frightening the older gelding, who responded by bucking a few times. Mariko clung to the horse like a burr, the gripping muscles in her legs automatically responding from years and years of riding. Sharp hooves came dangerously near her face, and the colt was now snorting angrily, a demon come over him. Arata's voice echoed from a distance, but she didn't hear a word.
All she saw was a calm, white-headed figure, slipping through the crowd like a ghost, and all of a sudden, the colt was calm, breathing heavily into the man's chest. Her own gelding pricked his ears at the albino, who took hold of her reins gently.
"Quiet," he told the horse. Almost like magic, the gelding took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood still. The colt trailed behind the man, quiet and sheepish. "Arata," called Tobirama. "Your colt."
"I should name him after you, shouldn't I?" Arata said, striding up to them. "He likes you."
"He likes carrots," Tobirama answered simply, pulling a handful of baby carrots from his chest pocket and letting the young horse snuffle them up. When Mariko's gelding whickered, he snatched up an apple that had rolled away from a cart, shined it on his shirt front, and then let him crunch into it.
"True," Arata agreed. "Not as much as his friend, though."
"The red one you have? That's also true," replied Tobirama, stroking the gelding's dark ears. "By the way, Toka was looking for you," he added simply. "She wants to know when you'll be back."
"We should be going now," Arata answered. "I'll go back to the complex and meet up with her. What does she want?"
"She's not at the complex, she's at the Hokage Tower. I'll tell her you're going back," Tobirama told his cousin. He lifted a hand, signaling his departure.
"T-Tobirama!" Mariko suddenly called, suddenly bold, and suddenly terrified. Why had she done that? No honorifics, no nothing, just an out-of-the-blue exclamation to the man that was supposed to be her fiancé.
He turned.
"Thank you," she said, softer now. The nod he gave her was subtle, but it meant that he saw her. It was enough.
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
There is not a day where my supposed husband doesn't ignore me. But there is also not a day where he at least attempts to make a comment or reply to me. Week four starts today. Isn't that impressive? Did you talk at all to Father your first month in Esmeralda? I would think so. I think I've said a total of maybe five or six things to this man, who is as ghostly as his hair. I've said something about hoping to resolve an argument, I've thanked him for calming my horse, and I've said little things, stupid things like "How is the weather?" when I can clearly stick my head outside. He probably thinks I'm bizarre.
I think I'm bizarre, too.
.x.X.x.
The weather in Konoha was not quite the same as Hurricane, yet occurred in similar patterns. The early summer clouds didn't bring much rain, but there was a small drizzle the weekend before. Mariko found herself staring outside her bedroom window, because there were little rabbits in the garden, nibbling on something too small for her to see. They were quite amusing, these rabbits, dull, brown, and small. The ones in Hurricane were mostly white, some of them gray, but never brown or black. They were also much larger and fatter, probably because the kids liked feeding them.
Mariko brought them up at lunch.
"Those things are such nuisances," Mito complained immediately. "They eat my vegetables, but they're too adorable to get rid of."
"You're soft," Tobirama commented plainly. Mito glared.
"Would you kill one of those sweet bunnies, Tobirama?" Hashirama retorted. Tobirama glared. Mariko allowed herself a small smile.
"O-ho, got you there," exclaimed a fifth party quite jovially. Everyone looked up to find themselves staring at man Mariko would come to know as Sarutobi Sasuke, father of that mischievous boy dallying around their table that first day.
Almost comically, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe briskly.
"Sorry Mito, forgot to knock, didn't I? Old habit." A sharp grin made him look uncannily like his son. "Who do we have here? A blunette! We don't see lots of bright blunettes around here, do we? We've got them crazy Kiri nin, but they look like something a turtle puked up, to be honest."
"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Mito laughed. "Sasuke, what brings you here today?"
The funky, optimistic man propped himself up against the doorway.
"Have your monkey cousins called?" deadpanned Tobirama. His eyes and face revealed nothing, stony as ever, but the slight lilt to his voice indicated it was a joke. Mariko found this incredibly hard to read; she nearly took him seriously.
"Ah, Sir Tobirama, of course you'd ask," Sasuke snorted in a snobbish accent. The glint in his eyes was evident. "My father, the monkey king, gives his best regards, while my mother, the woman who swings from branches, wants to know how her grandson Hiruzen is doing under the care of a boorish Senju like you."
"Let her know he's doing smashingly fine," drawled Tobirama, swirling his coffee in its mug.
"Splendid. Any-who, I'm here to ask why Danzo has been hanging around our clan complex. Ideas, ideas, anyone with ideas?" Sarutobi Sasuke waved his hand nonchalantly in the air, as if fishing for the very answers he sought. Hashirama's eyebrows rose in slight surprise, then lowered again, befuddled.
"I can't imagine why," he told the Sarutobi. "Is he depressed? Toka didn't say anything, so I assumed he was fine."
Worry stemmed from the brunet's slightly hunched shoulders. Mariko wondered now; was this intentional? Was it her own power, instead? Why couldn't she sense the feelings of Mito, or Tobirama, then?
"I don't know. If he was a cheerful lad, I'd say he and Hiruzen were plotting something dastardly in my own backyard," mused Sasuke, rubbing his stubbly chin. "Maybe a jutsu that transforms you into a monkey." A wink at Tobirama, who shook his head and amusedly sipped his coffee.
"I thought we got over his dark ages…well, ages ago," answered Hashirama. He glanced at his younger brother, who shook his head, equally perplexed (though he didn't show anything that proved it).
"See if he comes again this week," Mito suggested. "I'll ask Toka about it."
"Thank you, m'darling," said Sasuke, lifting a hand in salutation. He slipped away, and Mariko caught a glimpse of him leaping to the trees bordering the complex and swinging away, nimble as a chimp.
"He really is a monkey, that one," sighed Tobirama, sitting up and screeching his chair back horribly.
"My floor, Tobi, my floor," complained Mito against the grating noise.
"Honey, that's literally my heart he's scraping away right there," Hashirama joked. He turned to Mariko, and explained: "Tobirama used to chip away at our wood floors just to annoy me, and then I had to grow the wood back or he'd tattle that I was destroying property to our parents."
"You were weak," Tobirama sneered, a slight grin pulling at his mouth. It was a cold feeling, though, a slick, almost disapproving scorn.
"I was the nice kid," Hashirama replied straightforwardly. It was easily a conversation they'd had before. Tobirama chuckled slightly, a new expression for Mariko to see, and left quietly.
"Mariko," Hashirama called, voice suddenly somber. His eyes were lowered, and he looked uncomfortable. No, no quite uncomfortable, but sad.
"Yes?"
"I apologize for my brother," he told her quietly. "He hasn't been quite social, has he?"
Mariko was silent. Hashirama took this as a yes.
"He…was always a stoic boy, and he has past issues of his own. Sometimes he fooled around in the wrong places, the dark corners of Konoha and the vices that an older brother never wants to see his younger fall to. So I got angry at him, one day, and attempted to pull him out. He was fooling around with women, with money — I'll have you know, I'm the big sucker when it comes to gambling, right honey? —" Hashirama threw a wan smile at Mito, who patted his hand reassuringly. "—but he was also starting to become isolated. He used to spar with Uchiha Izuna, but ever since Izuna lost his eyes, he turned away from that clan entirely. Disgust, mostly, is what I feel coming off him."
Hashirama paused. Mariko found herself with questions, far too many to put into words. Who, exactly, was Izuna, and why did he lose his eyes? Tobirama, fooling around? Almost seemed unlikely in her eyes. And what past issues did he have? Some sort of dark past?
Hashirama continued before she could sort her thoughts.
"So the day I got angry, I also received three letters: all alliance proposals, with the possibility of marriage." Hashirama had some difficulty now, the guilt in his voice laden with sorrow. "And I decided, far too hastily, and…"
"Honey," Mito cut in. Hashirama shook his head. His usually sparkling eyes, full of wonder and cheer, were heavy. When he rose them to meet Mariko's stunned gaze, she knew — the emotions poured across her like a broiling sea, riled by the wind and the storm. Overwhelming.
"The Wave Country offered the daimyo's daughter, but she was hardly twelve. Tobirama nears twenty-six. The Tea Country had a male second heir, whom you know to be Kell. Finally, your nation, Hurricane, offered…you." He looked almost helpless. No, Mariko corrected herself again. Horribly ridden with guilt and regret. "You were closer in age to Tobirama, and by the looks of it, I nearly assumed that you were probably miserable as fourth child, stuck on the island. I guessed wrong, didn't I? So much for my people skills."
Now the uncharacteristic hurt of this powerful, optimistic man was scaring her. She was seeing a shell of the great Hashirama, not the legendary god of shinobi. Some subconscious specter of him was speaking to her. This was not the Hokage, not at all.
But Mariko was frozen as well, caught halfway in between a dream-world and her own body. The words were pulling her away, but his voice was grounding her.
"I was not going to marry a poor twelve-year-old to a man more than twice her age, but I never really thought about…" Hashirama let the sentence dwindle, for her to understand. The blunette understood completely. She also sensed that the darkness that he implied was reaching farther than just money and women. He feared true loss, something so dangerous that the wrong path would lead to an irreversible future. Somewhere within her, Mariko had this feeling. Someone she knew had gone down this path, or was currently going down it. If she were in the Hokage's place, she would've done all in her power to protect Tobirama. She knew the importance of family.
"Kell is engaged to Etsuko, as you know," Hashirama continued. "You, my dear, are sentenced here to a stay. I hope it's not too bad, though Tobirama—"
"We are sorry, Mariko." Mito grasped her husband's hand firmly, and put into simple words what he was trying to overcome. "We are sorry for bringing you here, for it was not your intention, nor was it Tobirama's."
"I, truly, am sorry," murmured the brunet Senju. He looked into her eyes, stronger now. "What I have done is not undoable, and I ask your forgiveness. Tearing you away from your home was my doings fully. Let me take responsibi—"
"It may be undoable," Mariko suddenly interrupted, "but it is amendable. Hokage-sama, I will not allow you to take any blame. If I had wanted to abandon this alliance, I would have long since run away. And I'm here now — your village is beautiful. Even if Tobirama never accepts me, I will not be unhappy."
The expression that claimed Hashirama's handsome features was overpowering, so relieved and tearful he was. Mariko tried to send a mental message: It was not his fault. Nothing was his fault. Maybe it didn't go through, but she'd made her point.
"I will do everything in my power," he said. Then, corrected himself as Mito glanced over: "Our power, to make you love this village. It is your new home, Princess. It will never replace your old one, but I hope you will accept us as well."
Please accept us — we want to be your family as well.
This concept, a new one that entered freshly into Mariko's mind, was a pleasant one. Family. She liked this, and was willing to open her arms to the Senju. Or, to put it the other way, they were willing to embrace her into their village.
She was happy, but at the same time, shatteringly sad.
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
What is embarrassment? What is a mistake? Was it a mistake to get up before sunrise and find a piano — a piano of all things — smack dab in the middle of a house you thought you'd explored already? Rocks, Momma, it was a piano! I'm wondering why I didn't see it before. But the worst part was, I was caught, and after that, I ran. I ran, and now I have no idea what I'm doing. No idea at all.
Zip.
Is this the feeling of being one-upped, or is this just pure humiliation?
.x.X.x.
The moment the door clicked open behind her, her fingers flew off the keys and froze in midair.
The following exchange happened like a dream; she wished it was a dream.
He'd never even talked to her, and when he did, it was short and curt and of no importance at all. Even so, every time she attempted to make conversation, she babbled and stuttered, as if eighteen years of speech and etiquette classes had just been thrown out the window, a twenty-story high window, and squashed on the ground like a pitifully dropped egg.
This time was no better.
First, he knew her name. That was a given. He stated it like he would say "That is a chicken over there, in its coop."
He'd scrutinized her, like the head guard of Emerald palace would scrutinize a new soldier. Mariko thought that Arr, the eighty-year-old head of palace security, was quite the intimidating man when it came to battle. However, he was like a grandfather to Mariko, having watched her (and all her siblings) grow up in the palace. He was nothing like this cold, calculating Senju, who folded his arms and stood in a stance so much like Katsurou that Mariko wanted to slap him and tell him to stop impersonating her brother.
The next part was horrendous. If she had the guts and the willpower, and was not so restrained by those eighteen years of princess protocol, she would've done more than just try to kick him. But then again, she'd kicked him (almost). That, in itself, made her want to bury herself under a mountain of pillows and punch herself in the head. Idiot, idiot, idiot, she berated herself, shuddering.
"Yes, yes I've got a face," she muttered, huddling on her bed, arms wrapped around herself. Had he insinuated that she hadn't a face under her…he'd called her pastels makeup. Was that supposed to be offensive, or ignorant, or what?
Then, she'd tried to kick him. Of all the possible things, she tried to kick him. After her retort, he promptly returned by flat out calling her "weird", and she'd lashed out like a tetchy mare. But with far less animal grace. He was a shinobi, of all things, a shinobi! Why did she try to attack a shinobi? Why did she attack anyone at all?
Questions, incessant, annoying, panicky, running all through her head at once.
Her thoughts went into a rambling frenzy.
She'd snapped, in the most unladylike fashion the world had ever seen, that he was the bizarre one here. Self-defense, verbally, but idiotic, action-wise. Mariko moaned and crashed backwards onto her bed. It was what, almost six o'clock now? Would it be all right to get up again, or should she refrain from showing her face?
Casually, as if he'd been having conversations with her every single day of her month's stay so far, he inquired about her playing skills.
"I can play everything you can't," Mariko hissed into her pillow, flipping so that she was facing down. "I can play things that are far more elegant and powerful than any of your stupid shinobi jutsus."
Now she was just bashing ninjas. What happened to the soft, glowing admiration she had for shinobi ninjutsu? She recalled Katsurou, one glittering evening, standing knee-deep in the calmer area of the pond that pooled from the waterfall. Around his arms, rising to circle high above his head, a dragon made purely of water, rising from the depths of the falls behind him. She thought she'd imagined it — a simple stride put Katsurou on top of the water — but she'd refused to believe her eyes. Now, she wondered if ninjas really walked on water. It seemed probable; after all, Hashirama could grow trees from nothing.
What then?
He offered her a seat.
Perfectly gentleman, unlike anything she'd ever seen out of him before. Embarrassed, bewildered, and completely lost — something she refused to show — she angrily brushed him off, stalking out of the room. Stalked? Mariko didn't stalk. Princesses don't stalk. She repeated angry comments that burnt her own skin, over and over, scolding herself. They might as well send her back to Hurricane now. She wouldn't have been disappointed.
As she left, he dropped her a dry comment about letting them know of a 4 AM concert should she fail to fall back asleep next time. She stopped short of banging the door shut loudly.
…not such a sore sight…
Mariko slammed the thought out of her head. Vehemently, she curled up tighter and pressed her face into the soft cotton of her pillow.
What did he think he was doing?
Who did he think he was?
Why was he being nice to her?
Was that even counted as being nice?
Had he just called her pretty? No. Impossible. Every single time his words, echoing insistently in her head, knocking for entrance to her brain, she shoved them out with as much mental strength as she could summon. No.
No rang through her head repeatedly. She hadn't heard those words, she tried to tell herself. He hadn't said, You're not such a sore sight beneath all the make-up. That was the opposite of anything Tobirama would ever say.
After process of elimination — it wasn't Tobirama, it wasn't a ghost, and it wasn't a crazy Hozuki come to get her — Mariko decided that it was her imagination. Solely imagination. Unless a Hozuki had possessed Tobirama, then there was no way from here to Hurricane and back that he'd said kind words to her. After all, simply moments before, he'd insulted her.
No, she'd insulted him.
He said what about her? No, that couldn't be right, she called him weird! Why was he weird, again?
"Rocks", she muttered to herself miserably. "Princess my foot."
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
It is currently 6:30 AM in this lovely Village Hidden in the Leaves. The village is lovely, but I am not. I'd like to rewind, oh, maybe six years, to when you were alive. Maybe then I would feel better about all this. And maybe you'd be able to help me, and I'd never marry this complex, puzzle of a man.
Was he trying to be nice, or not?
.x.X.x.
Breakfast, seven o'clock on the dot. So exact, a befuddled old rooster, perched atop a small coop, began calling, and the clock on the wall in the kitchen struck the hour.
Worst of all, the only one at this unusually early breakfast was Tobirama, to Mariko's horror.
"Morning."
More friendly greetings. Was he trying to confuse her? The blunette took on a wary defensive, a little more than startled. Again, she wanted to kick herself as she'd tried to kick him. Why was she so skittish all of a sudden? Speak like a child that's been brought up correctly, you silly thing. Seriously, of all things to do, you spook?
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I have," Mariko deadpanned.
"Ah, you have a sense of humor, ghost-face."
Another jab at her pastels, which she'd slathered on quickly. She hadn't bothered with much else, only a slab of dark around her eyes — effectively turning her into a raccoon — and an uneven jab of red over her nose. The hasty job did, in fact, make her look like a phantom, but despite this, how was he to tell her expression solely from a mysterious, expressionless mask of white?
"So do you, ghost-hair." That was the weakest, lamest comeback ever. Katsurou would have laughed, and loudly, too.
"Weak," he drawled, in a similar manner he had when talking to Hashirama. He stirred his coffee, and slid a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. His eyes traveled to the clock on the wall, as if he was contemplating something awfully deep. Then: "You cold? Early mornings get chilly."
Her inner self was aggravated at his kindness. Just the day before, he'd hardly looked at her. Well, she would have to correct this statement. The first day, the first week, he'd been cold and closed. The second week, he'd glared at her, as if she was the cause of all his troubles; which she probably was. After that, he'd accepted a blundering thanks with a nod, wordless. Throughout that week, he held simple conversations, short, but substantially longer than the usual.
And now he spoke to her like she was a human being, although grudgingly.
"No. Hurricane gets colder," she answered lightly.
"Hurricane seems interesting," he said. His tone was flat. She couldn't tell if he was joking, making a jab at her home, or stating a simple opinion. She watched his eyes.
"So is Konoha," she decided to throw back, just to see his reaction. His reaction through her off completely.
"Oatmeal?" Tobirama raised his bowl in a gesture. Mariko kept herself grounded to the spot, just so she wouldn't bolt for the hills.
She asked, plainly: "Why are you suddenly talking to me?"
The expression she received was one of mild surprise, accompanied by a slight clink and thud as he set down the bowl. It was cleaned. Saying nothing, he stood up, brushed past her, and went to the sink to begin rinsing his dishware.
"Maybe I felt like being nice."
"You don't talk to me."
"Now I do."
"You don't want to."
The glare she received startled her more than his strange behavior. She had hit the mark, and now his temper had clicked. Something about his greetings had made her feel like Hashirama was behind them, and she was right. The jokes and dry humor were all his, but the talking was the Hokage's doing.
"And if it's true that I don't want to talk to you? What would you do?"
"What I've been doing for a month," she answered simply. Not so hungry anymore, she stepped outside. There was nothing she could really do for herself in the kitchen, anyway.
"Miss, Miss, Miss."
"Miss."
"Misssssss."
"She's not listening to you, you idiot."
"Miss Blue-haired Lady!"
"I told you, Hiruzen, she's—"
Mariko turned, not realizing that they were calling her. Three children, sitting at the edges of the Senju complex, looking rather bored. They were trying to entertain themselves with a simple guessing game, but they tired of it easily. There were two boys and one girl, all around ten or eleven. Mariko recognized the one boy, the brown-haired child who had taken a seat with them for a few moments during the Hokage's party. He was the spitting image of his father, the boisterous Sarutobi Sasuke of the week before.
"I'm sorry, were you calling me?" When she turned, the other two had facial expressions of wonder, eyes widening at her pale, painted face.
"Miss, you have pretty eyes," the boy blurted. This was a pleasant surprise, and Mariko smiled warmly at him. He smiled back. She now wondered how much her poor paint job was concealing her face. What if she'd missed a step and it was peeling off her face like some horrible mask?
"It's Lady Princess, Hiruzen," said the third child flatly. He had darker brown hair that Hiruzen, and wore large, rectangular glasses, which were constantly slipping down his nose. The motion he used to tip the bridge of his spectacles back up his nose was familiar, endearing almost. Like Ryouichi at his desk, absently pushing his glasses back up without realizing it when they fell again.
"Lady Princess," inquired Hiruzen. "Would you know where to find Tobirama-sensei?"
The girl threw the talkative boy one last glare, before examining Mariko from head to toe. She was a child, but the way she assessed Mariko was unsettling. The blunette supposed that the eyes of a kunoichi, even a young one, were already used to calculating threat, no matter what form it came in.
"He should be in the kitchen," Mariko replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She'd thrown on an old jacket, a riding sweater that she'd borrowed from Arata. Time and time again, it was like she was engaged to Arata and not the white-haired Senju that the children sought. "I'm not sure if he's still there, though," she added quickly. "You want me to check?"
"That would be—"
"Unnecessary, Lady Princess," the girl put in before Hiruzen could give his two cents. "We're used to finding him on our own."
Mariko wasn't sure whether or not to take offense at the girl's brusqueness, her slight arrogance, and her haughty eyes. She shrugged to herself and continued on her way, glancing down at herself. Realizing how sloppy she looked, she sighed. An old jacket smelling of horse, with patched pockets and dirtied sleeves over an orange shirt that used to be Katsurou's, plus dark, stretchy leggings that she'd found in her bag? Not quite pleasing to the eye, she supposed. Yet, the boy had complimented her eyes, looking to her face and not to her clothes. Intriguing.
In Hurricane, she recalled sniggering at the Hozuki nobleman's awful Kirigakure pinstripe attire, and then later mentioning his peculiarly shaped facial hair. They'd studied Mito's hair and her elegant swirl-patterned dress, designs fluent in the ways of Uzu. They considered their own clothing, because Sumiko liked to preach good fashion. Then again, Sumiko was particular to a fault on these subjects.
"He's not here!" came the wail. Mariko looked back. The children were sulking outside the kitchen's door to the courtyard, contemplating on where to look next.
All of a sudden, Tobirama was on the other side of her, slipping through the door to her wing of the house. She was about to turn and call out to the children — she was a good child, a helpful girl — but a hand whipped out from behind that same door and pulled her inside.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, alarmed. Then it was Tobirama, and in closer quarters, he towered over her, an immense structure of hard muscle and man.
"Quiet," he shushed her. Her face twisted into an unladylike, unrefined little scowl. It was the face she made in the mirror, and then was told not to make. "I don't want them finding me," he said, peering out the window. "Those brats."
"Well, there's a reason they're looking for you," Mariko justified.
"I know, they want me to teach them how to summon things," he muttered, watching the kids tramp over to a gate, where they entered another part of the Senju clan complex.
"Teach?"
"Yeah, they're my kids."
"Kids?"
Tobirama looked down at Mariko dubiously, a terribly amused smirk surfacing on his lips. "Yeah," he scoffed. "My students."
"Oh." That explained their dubbing him "sensei". Mariko felt awfully dull now, and wished she was sharper in the head at this time. Mornings were not her time of day, and thinking too early — it was what, still only around seven? — was not her cup of tea. Her lessons in Hurricane always began after eight, and even then, she'd probably had a good amount of sleep to fuel her.
"Since you have no interest in speaking to me, nor I to you, I will be leaving," she quipped lightly, breaking from his grip. She hadn't realized that his hand was still wrapped around her wrist from pulling her inside the door.
"Snarky little princess, aren't you?" he sneered. He folded his arms, and again, she wanted to slap the Katsurou like tilt to his torso right out of his bones. He arched a brow, daring her to fight back.
"Snarky as a ghost can get," she remarked. "As a fellow ghost, you should understand."
"Oh? What other nicknames have you made for me, do tell." A glance out the window, and once he was sure the kids were gone, he repositioned himself so that he blocked her way to her room. Perfect. And, judging from his carefully relaxed posture, he was doing it on purpose. What was this, really? Mariko wondered if this was some sort of game: Ignore the blue-haired girl for a month, suddenly talk to her, and then play with her to see how amusing she was? Two could play at this game.
"I have made hardly any nicknames for you," she answered. "Toka calls you a…hold on, what was it? Oh yes, a bumbling nugget head."
"Typical," he snorted, shaking his head. His tall frame was blocking the hall, but maybe, if she was fast enough she could dart around the side…
But that was his plan. He was waiting to see if she was foolish enough to try. Mariko, with all her princess brain, thought hard. All she could think of was how to walk straight and smile straight, the epic history of ancient naval battles against Kirigakure, and the current inflation and labor strikes in the Wave Country. Nothing came to her in the form of a strategy; that was more Katsurou's thing.
She took a step back, and to her amusement, he followed. He wasn't about to let her run backwards, either, and even if he tried, two strides would catch him up to her. Then what? Should she try?
She tried.
Indeed, a few seconds had her caught, and he spun her around easily. Mariko huffed, and he refolded his arms. It was a dance between lion and lion tamer, but Mariko wasn't quite sure who was who in this scenario. Was she the lion, and he the tamer? She wasn't about to be tamed, rest assured. Perhaps he was the lion, and this was her strategic experimentation, as the lion mistress?
"You do realize that your room is behind me?" he asked, quite flippantly. The corner of his lips twitched in a brash smirk.
"I do," she answered carefully. "And if I want to go this way?"
"You'll end up in the laundry room." He waved nonchalantly. "Maybe, if you throw in some fabric softener and a colored shirt, you might not be so pale."
She glared.
"Ooh, glaring at me now?"
She felt it, then, the opening of a slip of emotion. He was amused, purely entertained by the fact that this foreigner girl was having a silent duel with him. One that involved throwing pointless jokes back and forth, and her trying to get back to her room. How long was he going to keep this up?
"Oh? I see now," she said glibly. "As a fellow ghost, you see through my mask, don't you?"
"Ghost?" He laughed. "Shorty, anyone can see your eyes."
The new nickname was not taken to well, for the burning in her eyes and the hunch in her crossed arms were lit fiercely with fire. His eyebrows arched higher at this, entertained by "Shorty" and her irritation. Mariko cursed her inability to come up with quick, sharp witticisms. Or nicknames.
"Well then, Sir Nugget Head, if you'd like, we can do this all day. But I'd like to go to my room," she said flatly. To her immense surprise, he unexpectedly stepped aside and opened an arm in the direction of her room, as if showing her the way. At a loss, her confusion obviously showed, because he shook his head and made a slight roll of his eyes. Besides that, he actually escorted her to her room, silently.
"No more chasing?" she inquired.
"How do I know if you're serious or not? I can't see your face, after all." A smirk. Mariko couldn't read his face again, even though he obviously showed a smug, lopsided little grin for her to see. It didn't match his eyes, not quite. What was his real goal? Her eyes narrowed and her wariness was noticed, and he dropped the smile.
"What?" Mariko folded her arms, mimicking Katsurou. It almost seemed as if she was mimicking Tobirama, which she didn't really like. He sourly reciprocated the action, mirroring her.
"Take the makeup off. Then come to lunch."
"It's eight in the morning, and for the last time, it isn't—"
The door closed in her face. She gaped at it in disbelief, unable to comprehend that Tobirama of the Senju had just slammed the door in her face.
Did that just happen?
.x.X.x.
I'm going to stop writing letters. It seems pointless, when all I do is ask questions to Momma, when in reality, I'm asking myself questions. I'm sure she's watching, my mother, but for now, I'm on my own. At least I've got this hair clip Ryo sent me. That counts, right? I'm wearing it now, though do you know how naked this feels without all the paint on? In the end, I went to lunch without the paint, and he wasn't even there. It's after dinner now, and I haven't seen him. Oh well.
I still can't believe he just slammed the door in my face. Unbelievable. If I told Katsurou, he would've flipped a house. I'm not sure what Ryo would do — he's more mild, you know — but Sumiko would march an army over from Hot Springs and…well, no man has ever left one of her tantrums standing.
I really wonder what it would be like if they met this man. Actually, I'm not quite sure what I think of him myself. He almost seems bipolar, or he's picking the petals off a daisy day by day. To speak to her, to not speak to her, to speak to her, to not. He should just throw the flower in the river and figure out what he wants to say.
No doubt another ghost comment.
.x.X.x.
A few more days passed, and the end of June reached them. Along with the end of June, a wandering group of mischievous little boys somehow meandered their way into the Senju complex, one fine Tuesday afternoon.
"Man, I'm surprised there was no seal keeping me out," said a dark-haired boy with particularly sharp eyes. It wasn't his eye shape, really, for they were round and large, but the way his focus darted here and there acutely. Mariko recognized him from Toka's team. She also recognized the chubby one that tagged along, as well as Hiruzen, who was laughing loudly at the first boy.
"What do you mean by that?" asked a fourth one, who held a puppy to his chest. The puppy was plain adorable, a black thing with floppy ears and a big wet nose, a white splotch on his forehead. The boy himself had crisply cut light brown hair and two tattoos, downward triangles, lining his cheeks.
"This is the Senju complex, Shiro, get with the program," said the sharp-eyed boy. "I wouldn't be surprised if they had Uchiha flytraps around here…" He feigned horror, looking behind a fence for a trap that would suck his face in.
The dog barked, and its owner giggled.
"Kuro says you reek, that's why the flies come for you guys."
"Not funny, dog," replied the dark-haired boy. The chubby one with the funny cat-ear hat offered them all potato chips, which they kindly declined. Happily enough, the larger child devoured them all contentedly.
"Boys," called a stern voice. Mito, hands on hips, coming out from the garden. "How many times do we need to tell you that you can't just wander around the Senju's place?"
"Lots of times, Lady Mito, we just never listen," Hiruzen piped enthusiastically. Everyone shot him exasperated glances, while he sniggered confidently.
"Obviously," replied Mito, rolling her eyes. "Now shoo, before you trample my gardens."
Laughing, the group of boys galumphed back the way they came, and bumped into Mariko, who had turned to corner on her way to the stables. Actually, she literally ran straight into the dark-haired boy with the piercing gaze, who had a good height on her.
"Oh," he said, rather surprised. He offered a polite hand. "Sorry, lady, I didn't see you around the corner."
Before she could take his offered hand, a larger one slapped it away. Incredulously, Mariko looked up and behind her to see Tobirama, face stoic and unreadable as ever. Her hand was still awkwardly outstretched, so he grasped it and pulled her to her feet effortlessly.
"Don't go touching any Uchiha hands, now," he said darkly. Then, he smirked and ruffled the boy's hair. The boy returned with a wide grin. Mariko shook her head. First off, she would never understand this male exchange, and secondly, Tobirama was quick to change as Frost Country weather. And according to Katsurou, it could be chilly in the morning, warm and beautiful at noon, and storming hail by dinner.
Tobirama was exactly that.
"Lady Princess, you're not wearing your white mask!" exclaimed Hiruzen, rather frankly. He was an overly obvious person, and Mariko wondered if his exotic father ever tired of it. Certainly a unique child.
And indeed, she was not wearing her pastels. She hadn't been wearing them for a day or two — after the door-in-face situation, she'd taken them off for the day, then reverted the next. Upon prompting by Mito, who was immensely glad that she'd melded into life comfortably enough to go without them, Mariko stopped using the paints again. Face bare, hair down, with only Ryouichi's pretty hair clip adorning her, Mariko felt lighter. Not more comfortable, but a little lighter.
"Thank you, Saru, for stating the obvious," deadpanned Tobirama.
"Sensei, you're mean," complained the child.
"Toka's mean too," Tobirama reasoned.
"That's true," said the chubby one, almost guiltily.
"Torifu, you and Kagami are the troublemakers, that's why," snickered Shiro, the boy with the dog. "Besides that, how do you know her? And lady, you've got the craziest blue hair I've ever seen."
Again, Mariko's perception of these young shinobi was perplexing. Was she supposed to take that as a compliment? At least his facial expressions were clearer than that girl from before, with the clean buns wrapped up on her head and scrutinizing eyes.
"She's a princess," blurted the chubby one, supposedly Torifu.
"From where?" The dog boy grinned curiously, and his dog barked cheerily.
"Her name is Princess Bunny, and she hails from the Rabbit Country," Tobirama said flatly. At this, Mariko turned and shot him an annoyed look. Then, unexpectedly, a hand on the nape of her neck. His fingers were cold, and she shivered.
"Seriously, Tobirama-sensei, you expect us to believe that?" Hiruzen took on a skeptical look, appearing, for once, serious.
"My name is not Princess Bunny," Mariko said, brushing his hand away, partially because it was cold, and more because the gesture made her uncomfortable, and he knew it. "I am Second Princess Mariko of Hurricane."
"Whoa, does that mean you have a sister named Mariko, too?" Hiruzen and the group grinned eagerly. Tobirama snorted with laughter.
.x.X.x.
I didn't expect it to get so hot in Konoha. Not as hot as Hurricane, though.
.x.X.x.
"Fuuton jutsu, fuuton jutsu," chanted Hashirama, staring at the window.
"Shut up, shut up," responded Tobirama, fanning himself with a newspaper.
"Idiots disappear no jutsu," moaned Mito, dropping an ice cube down the back of Tobirama's shirt. Her brother-in-law jumped, leaping out of his seat, hissing a few nasty oaths that he immediately tried to recall. Meanwhile, Hashirama was sulking, but slightly amused by his brother and wife.
"Aren't you melting?" Hashirama suddenly asked Mariko, who was sitting at the table like nothing was wrong.
"Not really."
"That's my island girl," said Mito, patting her shoulder. "We feel nothing."
"Lies," Tobirama claimed. "Mito, you're too used to Konoha, you told me it was sweltering last year, and it wasn't nearly as hot as this."
Mito held up another ice cube threateningly, and Tobirama went silent. Hashirama snatched the paper from his brother's hand and fanned them all, though it was nowhere near sufficient.
Suddenly, shouts from outside brought their attention to the courtyard, and by the looks of it, it was an unwelcome visitor. Mariko just didn't know how unwelcome this visitor was until he literally dropped in through the window, yanking the screen off rather unnecessarily and poking his head in.
The strangest part was, Mito had a frying pan in her hand, Tobirama wielded his newspaper once more, and Hashirama looked like someone had asked him to grow a beard made of miniature trees.
And it was in this order of events that Mariko met the Uchiha clan:
First, a mane so wild, Mariko thought a black lion had popped through the window.
Second, a blindfolded man tugging at the mane.
Third, Kagami somewhat in the distance, sniggering.
"What brings you, er…here?" Hashirama asked, a funny smile on his face. It was as if he was terribly amused, confused, bewildered, and more amused, all at once. Mito stared lividly at the broken window, which had been shoved upward so hard, the frame had cracked. Her face was murder, and the frying pan in her grasp screamed.
"Your—"
"Touch another thing in this house, and your face will look like this frying pan," Mito growled, taking a step forward. The face beneath the wild black hair looked rather surprised, as if he had just taken in the fact that Tobirama was brandishing a leaflet of newspaper at him like a sword, and the Hokage's wife was threatening him with kitchen ware.
"My dear, you will never hit me with that," he chuckled nonchalantly. Behind him, Kagami went pale, and the blindfolded man drew a single finger across his neck — Mariko knew exactly what he meant: Dead meat.
The frying pan flew at the window, and the man ducked. It clattered outside, and he glanced back at it, raising his brows.
"Madara, I'd suggest getting out," Hashirama said warily. "If you have any issues, tell me at the office later."
"Property issues and Hyuugas, Hashirama," Madara said. He avoided a spatula. "Someone's mooching off my forest."
"It's not yours."
"They don't know that."
The blindfolded man tugged Madara's sleeve insistently.
"You're blind, not mute, Izuna," deadpanned Tobirama, roll of news laid on the kitchen table and arms folded now. The one named Izuna sighed dramatically; a gesture that was equivalent to an exasperated roll of the eyes. Mariko would learn later that he didn't have eyes at all. Instead, they'd been transplanted to Madara's body, which was a rather horrifying idea.
"Nii-san, I believe that you will lose your face, someday," Izuna mused, gesturing towards Mito, who harrumphed huffily. "Or if you don't, maybe you'll have a son whose face is in danger of being smashed."
"You're ridiculous." Madara waved his little brother off, but anyone could see that he was still fond of the younger sibling's teasing. "Hashirama. What time?"
"For heaven's sake, Madara, it's eight in the morning. And it's boiling today. Give me till around noon, I'll be there any time after." Hashirama shooed them, and the Uchiha marched out the complex, earning a few interested gazes as they did so. Including one horseman and one illusionist extraordinaire, Arata and Toka, respectively.
"I'm going to assume this cracked window was Madara," Toka commented dismissively. "And I'm going to assume that we are trying to play the ice cube game with Nugget Head over here," she added. Mito made a face, snickered, and childishly attempted to dump ice water on Tobirama's head. To Mariko's amazement, the water flowed in a beautiful arc away from Tobirama's head and onto the table.
"Very funny," Mito said, though she smiled.
"Suiton is magical," is all Tobirama offered. He turned to Arata and Toka, who were waiting patiently beside the table, on either side of the Hokage. Hashirama offered each of them a seat, a declined offer, and then also tried convincing them to have fresh fruit. When he failed, he went back to picking at his apple, because if he didn't, it was bound to get mushy soon.
"I was just wondering of Lady Princess would like to go for a ride?" A hopeful glance in Mariko's direction sent excited shivers down her spine. She hadn't been riding recently, so it would be a nice change. She stood, taking her dish to the sink, and then bounding gleefully out the door after the dark-haired Senju. His face crinkled into a familiar smile, the scars on his face melding to the shape of his grin and dimples. It wasn't a particularly handsome face, but it was nice to look at, and kind.
Mariko failed to see the glower that Tobirama sent after him, tinged with the slightest bit of resentment that both the Hokage and his redheaded wife picked up on subtly. Mito passed Hashirama a smile. He hid his own behind his apple.
Noon came with a sweltering heat blast, dwarfing the morning's temperatures with the increase in humidity and direct sunlight. The moment her round gelding slowed from a canter to a trot to a walk, the breeze that came with speed died down, and all at once, the heat poured into her skin and she started to sweat.
"It's terribly hot," commented Arata. He didn't quite complain about it, but he obviously looked uncomfortable. "Etsuko calls it 'icky like Izzy', though I see nothing repulsive about Uchiha Izuna whatsoever."
This evoked a small smile from Mariko, who wiped a few beads of sweat from her forehead. So far, it was very hot, but nothing compared to Hurricane's summer peaks. She wondered how Ryouichi was faring. Recalling one particularly hot summer, when they'd been sweating like pigs and diving into a calm pool beside the falls, she tenderly touched on the memory of her oldest brother, floating on his back, free of worries for a moment.
"Then again, Etsuko says things like 'Maddy the batty' and 'Hashi the hash brown', so I don't think her sayings are the most accurate," considered Arata. Changing the topic briskly, as if a lively conversation would brush the heat away. "Well, Lady Mariko, are you up for a few jumps or shall we head back?"
"You have jumps?" Mariko asked immediately. She wasn't sure if her stout, dark gelding could carry over jumps. Katrina had been much taller, by about three hands to the withers, and had the build of an athletic horse. She cleared stone walls with ease and would hop out of her paddock if she so wished to. "Are you sure I can jump with him?" Mariko patted the horse. "And are you sure your colt is ready?"
Arata was aboard the reddish chestnut with a mane of fire, and the animal was raring to go.
"This one's a real jumper," Arata confirmed. "As for your gelding, he was a beautiful hunter in his prime. I think he can still hold his own. If it becomes too much, we can always head back via the flat fields."
And so, the two trotted away from the town center, where they'd been clopping quietly down a path parallel to one of the market streets, a pretty little trail between maple trees. Passing a dense copse of those same trees, they entered an open field adjacent to a training area. Lines of medium sized hedges and fallen logs made for exciting cross-country obstacles, and to Mariko's delight, her dark gelding leapt over them with practiced ease. His ears pricked, excited. A young heart within his old horse body beat strongly, and he carried the blunette princess over each obstacle with a steady pace and a surefooted lope.
Arata whooped as the colt overestimated a line of shrubbery, vaulting high into the air and coming back down with a jolt. His nostrils flared and his ears flickered every which way, hooves pounding into an almost delirious, hypnotic rhythm.
"This way, we'll jump the last wall," Arata called, swerving away to the left.
"Wall?" Mariko replied. He didn't hear her, so she just followed. Coming up next was a large stone wall, the equivalent of one of Katsurou's bigger hunting obstacles. It was something that his black stallion and Katrina would've soared over easily, but from the back of the short gelding, it looked enormous.
As expected, the gelding's ears flattened and he balked. This was too high for him, and he knew it well. Arata, however, became fearless in that one moment, pushing his horse forward, heels pressing to chestnut side and hands ushering the colt forward. The red colt had a heart that matched Arata's, for he took a last stride, collected himself beneath his haunches, and mightily sprang over the wall. His hinds legs nearly clipped the top, but he brushed over safely. The clatter of hooves on the other side let Mariko know that they'd landed safely.
"Lady Princess?" called Arata.
"It's too big, I'll go around," she said. "I know the way."
"I'll meet you at the end, then," he agreed, trotting parallel to the wall in the same direction that she headed in. The wall was long, and stretched over a mile that way. Eventually, the sound of accompanying hooves on the other side ceased, and Mariko reined in her mount to listen. Nothing.
"Arata?"
Silence. It was just her, the horse, and the distant bustling of the village. She couldn't see a gate anywhere, so she decided to head towards the village. From there, she could easily find a main road and trot her way back to the Senju complex.
Mariko slowed her gelding to a walk, and he plodded along, slightly tired and puffing deep breaths. She patted his neck appreciatively, and let him pick his way through the field.
Unexpectedly, she ran into a somewhat familiar man, one she identified by his evident lack of eyes. The blindfolded man, Izuna. Alone in the field, he was gathering a few natural herbs that grew there. She wondered why he was alone, and how he was doing such a task without his sight.
"Lady Princess of the islands," he greeted, without even turning.
"Izuna, was it? From the Uchiha clan."
"That's right." He stooped to pick up a strange, orange flower. "Did you know, that gelding used to be mine?"
Mariko glanced down, and saw that the gelding's ears had pricked and his pace had increased. He paused, however, as if asking permission. She loosened the reins, and he took the slack in his mouth, chomping on the bit and trotting up to the Uchiha merrily. Izuna petted the gelding's soft, velvety nose, before offering a handful of long grasses.
"Really?" inquired Mariko, surprised.
"That's right. I named him Yodel."
That was quite the bizarre name; she asked him about it.
"I'm not sure, it just came to me one day. Yodel the horse." A friendly smile, accompanied by a gentle gesture of rubbing Yodel's ears. "I'm not sure what the Senju have renamed him, though. Haven't seen you in a while, have I?" Izuna laughed dryly. "Couldn't see you if a tried, anyway."
"Why did you give him away?"
"My brother sold him because I can't ride anymore," Izuna explained, self-consciously touching the bandages wrapped around his eyes. Mariko now took in the slightly sunken area of where his eyes should've been, only empty sockets beneath the white wrap.
"That doesn't mean you can't keep him," Mariko reasoned.
"It's all right," Izuna returned, smiling. "At least I know the Senju take good care of their horses. That was enough for me to agree. This guy taught me how to ride, after all. He's an old bud."
Yodel whickered gently, pushing into Izuna's chest. A dark muzzle nibbled at the Uchiha's long, black hair, pulling a deep laugh.
"Careful on the way back, there's a few families of gophers that make holes a ways over there," Izuna said, gesturing to a less grassy area. "Try that path, and you'll make it back to the town center."
He pointed directly behind him, and Mariko offered a grateful thanks. He seemed pleasant, and happy enough to pet his old horse for a few more minutes. Then, returning to his medicine collecting, he sent Mariko off with a content wave.
Uchiha Izuna. Rather normal, not so much the exotic creature that his brother was, and quite kind. Mariko was finding the most interesting people in Konoha, and she mostly enjoyed anyone who liked the company of horses.
"Hey Shorty, that's not a horse trail."
If she hadn't been on horseback, she would've whipped around and struck a defiant pose, one that channeled Sumiko perfectly. But she was astride Yodel, whose head bobbed pleasantly, and she could only rein him in a circle to face the owner of the sardonic comment.
"So what if it isn't?" she asked in a low voice.
"Maybe I'll let someone heckle you about it, then. Come here."
She was sorely tempted to turn tail and spur the gelding down the street in defiance. Her brain thought too slowly, however, because her mount nickered at Tobirama, and the albino Senju strode up to pat his shoulder.
Out of the blue, so quickly that Mariko hardly had time to process what occurred, Tobirama had grabbed the back of the saddle and all at once, his leg was thrown over the gelding's rump and he was seated behind her. His chest to her back, he leaned forward and grasped the reins over Mariko's hands and spurred Yodel into a brisk gallop. When it finally hit Mariko, she yelped and yelled at him.
"What the rocks are you doing?!" she exclaimed.
"Riding," he said, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath tingle the nape of her neck. It was unnerving, his proximity, the warmth of his skin on hers where his arms touched hers, hands gripping the reins. It wasn't the heat of the weather, but the electricity on her skin, so powerful she almost wanted to recoil, because it was confusing her senses.
They pounded down the street, startling street vendors and causing a ruckus among the people. When they came upon an obstruction, a flat vendor's cart that nearly spanned half the avenue, Tobirama clicked his tongue and urged the gelding on.
"Don't!" yelled Mariko, but she felt a reassuring hum emanating from Tobirama's hands, and a surge of energy from the horse, who soared over the cart easily. She realized, then, that it was the flow of chakra, and she stared at his hands in wonderment. The energy, glowing slightly a hazy blue, was vibrating into her hands, where his palms overlapped her knuckles.
The horse slowed, and they pulled up a few blocks from the Senju complex, all three breathless. She could feel the grin on Tobirama's face without turning.
"How was that for a ride?"
"Insane." She was a shell, a thin sheet of girl, pressed into the curve of his chest, her hands firmly enveloped in his. They both dismounted, and when her knees threatened to give way, the Senju caught her elbow as naturally as if it was his duty to catch her from her horse every day. "Why did you do that?" she demanded, bewildered. "I—"
His hand came up to touch her cheek, almost tenderly, an unreadable expression on his face.
"You never told us it was your birthday, today."
OOCness, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
Please tell me how it went...I feel like I just killed everyone's character. Except Madara, because I have fun making up his. He's just wacky, lol.