So, I kept going and going, then decided to cut this one at a certain point because it seemed like an adequate chapter ending.
Note: Plot returns! Sort of. I'm also evil, apparently, because I cockblock everything. EVERYTHING. (evil laugh here)
Disclaimer: You know that Naruto's not mine, right? I mean, where have you ever heard of Hurricane?
Note 2: Thanks for all the follows and faves and lovely reviews - you guys make my day ~
Chapter 7: Magic
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
I have learned how to walk on water.
Actually, I have not learned. I just fall straight through. Though, I think being able to stand for a total of ten seconds isn't all that bad for a person who has never learned chakra control before.
It doesn't help that he laughs at me.
Let me correct myself, because he doesn't laugh. He just smirks, and it's aggravating. My only friend today in "training" was Yodel, who ate the grass next to the river, nice and warm in the sun while I nearly froze to death. He let me hug him, though. Yes, I hugged the horse instead of Tobirama, because could you imagine how silly I'd look?
.x.X.x.
"Direct your chakra to your feet, Shorty, not your hands." He was stoic and stern, the passionate man from just an hour before gone. Mariko found this amusing – when she'd asked to tag along, he'd been so overly eager and unwilling to let her detach herself from him. That was well and all, but now he was having a cruel sort of fun watching her fail at basic shinobi skill training.
"I don't even know if I'm using chakra at all," she muttered, folding her arms and mirroring the grim set of his mouth.
"How can you not know?" piped Hiruzen.
"Think about when you didn't know how to use jutsu," Koharu told him. "Oh wait, you still don't."
Hiruzen sulked at his female teammate's insult, though he seemed well-adjusted to her temperamental and harsh ways. Meanwhile, Homura stroked the horse's nose and let himself wonder at the lovely sheen of chocolate brown that the animal was, produced from hours and hours of good brushing and care.
Mariko stared at the river.
"How do you know my chakra's in my hands?"
"Lucky guess." Tobirama stepped up to her, and addressed her sternly. "Step on the creek."
It wasn't a wide river in this area, trickling steadily but not fast, and went up just a bit past her knees. Well, it would have been around knee-deep, exactly, but she wasn't the tallest person out there.
"No."
"I'll push you."
"That defeats the purpose of this," she emphasized.
"No, the purpose is for us to laugh at you."
Her face turned from one of horror to one of confusion to a Mito-worthy glower. He grabbed her hand and led her towards the water, but she planted her feet stubbornly and refused to budge. Tobirama threatened to pick her up and dump her in the water, and Mariko couldn't discern whether or not he was serious. When he made to grab her, she yelped and ducked out of his reach so that she was on his other side, away from the creek.
"Sensei, are we playing tag now?" called Hiruzen sarcastically.
"Sure, Saru, help me catch the wild Shorty," replied Tobirama, eyes narrowing at Mariko. His one eyebrow arched, amused, and she flushed. She tried to look dignified, tried to organize herself, but he scoffed, and her "princess-like" posture went out the door. Lunging at him, she shoved him backwards – into the water.
She expected a splash, but she didn't get one.
"It's easy," he said, recovering with no trouble. There was a slight disturbance to the creek when he hit its surface, but the stream itself ran easily around him, and he stood on top of it. No, more like he sat on it, causing her to think of why he wasn't getting wet.
Then, Koharu walked over briskly.
"If she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to," she stated flatly, surprising the blunette. The girl had come to her aid. Mariko had assumed from the cold shoulder that the young kunoichi wasn't all that fond of her; and maybe she wasn't, and there was some ulterior motive to this.
"Koharu, chill your beans," drawled Hiruzen, sauntering over and stepping onto the creek as well. "See? Not so bad."
"That's because you know how already," Mariko said a bit helplessly. She wasn't about to humiliate herself so openly.
Before she knew it, Tobirama, as he always did, launched from his position and grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward.
Plunking her into the river.
"Tobirama!" she yelled, choking on water, for she'd tripped and was now kneeling in the cold current.
"What was that, Shorty?"
"Pulling me in doesn't give me any chance to learn!" she exclaimed, dismaying at her current state. Shivering and wet, ends of her long blue hair soaked and her clothes heavy with water, Mariko glared.
"You would think that one would enjoy a cold dip on a hot summer day," Tobirama mused out loud. Hiruzen snorted, and Mariko crawled out of the river, shamefaced. Discouraged and mortified by what had just happened, she huffily trekked her way over to Yodel. The gelding stopped his content munching on grass to greet her, nosing her wet shirt.
Tobirama's small smirk dropped then, and he made a move to retrieve her.
"Mariko."
The fact that he didn't call her "Shorty" turned her around, and she poured as much hurt as she could into her expressions for him to see. She didn't want to learn ninjutsu. It had been fun at first, watching Tobirama spar with his team, and then him asking her to try something with her chakra. But she wasn't a shinobi, she couldn't walk on water, climb up trees, or even produce either of the two.
"Come back," he said, but it was not a statement to have her return. Unused to having to plead, a man steady with the idea that he would always get his ways, Tobirama paused, befuddled with himself. It was an odd expression on him, for he had a slim face and sharply defined features that belonged with the cold, callous attitude he usually produced. It was only at home or with his students, in a moment of comfort, that he wore a slim smile. Mariko realized she'd never seen him on a mission, or at a council meeting.
"I'm going to go," she excused lamely, grabbing a handful of Yodel's ebony mane.
"You're not," he corrected her. He didn't grab her this time, but blocked her from grabbing Yodel's bridle and slipping it onto his head.
Then, it seemed like he was going to lean in and beg for her to stay with a kiss – in front of his students – but he only whispered in her ear: "Forgive me, I'll teach you properly."
His hand brushed hers, and she relented with a sigh. She turned to find the three children peering at them curiously, Hiruzen baffled, Koharu brooding darkly, and Homura in real surprise. Each of their expressions denoted a different thought: Hiruzen was baffled, which was to be expected if Tobirama was the judge. Meanwhile, Mariko had a brewing suspicion as to why Koharu was so austere and stiff when she was around. Finally, Homura seemed to have had a revelation, marveling at the little things he noticed; namely, Tobirama leaning close to her and their hands touching briefly. From there, he deduced the rest of the situation easily.
Mariko stood at the edge of the riverbank, her shivering ceasing within a few moments. Growing more comfortable, she channeled that same, smooth feeling that she felt course through her when she tried making blades of ice or floating pools of water. It was a strange feeling, an unused one, and the chakra seemed to be picking its way slowly through her nerve system.
"To your feet," Tobirama said. "Imagine a snowshoe, flat and steady to balance you atop the snow."
She could see the logic; rather than walking across a snow-heavy land, she was walking on the surface of water.
"Now shrink that snowshoe and have it fit your foot. Imagine it is an upward lift, your are buoying and bobbing, you are equally balanced between the water's surface tension holding you up, and gravity pulling you down. Don't float – stand."
This somewhat made sense, so Mariko pictured a water spider, gliding effortlessly across the water, its teeny feet delicately atop the water, never breaking the surface tension.
She looked up, eyes opening slowly. Her feet were on water, and she held it precariously. She slowly breathed in an out, and marveled at the way the water was circling round her toes, how she stood upon it like it was as moving piece of glass floor.
"Lady Princess, you did it!" exclaimed Hiruzen.
Concentration broken, Mariko's chakra balance jarred unevenly and she fell right through the creek's gurgling surface. She would have soaked herself completely again, had Tobirama not stepped up quickly beside her to catch her elbow and then haul her back up again.
"Saru, shut up," hissed Koharu.
"Guys." Homura waved.
"Koharu, why are you so mean to me?" pouted Hiruzen, shoulders slumping. During his moment's conversation with his teammate, Tobirama had held Mariko by the arms till she regained somewhat of a stance on the water. She fell through after about seven seconds, however.
"Guys."
"I'm not mean, I just state the truth."
"You're moody, you know that?" Hiruzen folded his arms and squinted his eyes comically, as if he should lighten the mood this way.
"You're dull, you know that?" countered Koharu, glaring. She was not happy, and it probably had nothing really to do with Hiruzen himself, but with something that bothered her. Hiruzen, unaware of the fact that Koharu's irritability was all from her head, he kept going.
"At least I don't gawk at Tobirama-sensei when—"
Before he could say another word, Koharu smacked him across the face. The impact of the slap was loud, a resounding clap that made the clearing go ominously quiet. Tobirama set Mariko down on land and then stared at his students.
Hiruzen rubbed his cheek, which smarted badly. An unexpected tear that formed in the corner of his eye slid onto his face, from the shock of the hit.
"Guys," insisted Homura a third time, ignoring what just happened. Tobirama caught on fast, and turned to where Homura was trying to gesture towards. His eyes widened at what he saw.
A blue-haired man, tall with broad shoulders, his arms folded nonchalantly, smiling at Mariko.
Shrieking, Mariko leapt away from the group, cold feet and soaked clothes and all. She leapt into her older brother's opened arms and began to sob pathetic, fat tears of joy. He held her tight and tucked his head to her shoulder, and from a distance, they looked like an odd being with a ruffled blue mane.
Mariko must've said his name a thousand times, but he just laughed, a comfortable, familiar rumble in his chest.
"Welcome to Konoha, Lord Prince." The voice was flat, but Mariko read it in his stance. He wasn't sure if he was happy or not to see the Second Prince of Hurricane, and he certainly wasn't expressing any obvious joy, as she was.
The dubious smirk that Katsurou gave Tobirama was so unexpectedly amusing, Tobirama had to return it.
"You must be Tobirama, then," he said, offering a hand. The Senju shook it firmly, and the two men exchanged a solemn glance. It was the sort of mutual male communication that never failed to baffle Mariko, so she kept her nose out of it.
"What brings you here at this time, Lord Prince?"
"Call me Katsurou," the blue-haired man replied. "And I've come on my way to find my Aunt Tari and the two healers. They were scheduled to return a message by carrier pigeon, but it never came."
"Whatever the circumstances, welcome," Tobirama said. He was suddenly distracted by the look of distress that crossed Mariko's face.
"What happened to Aunt Tari?" she asked frantically, tugging at Katsurou's shirt. He didn't push her away or even look at her, just sighed.
"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm here."
"I didn't hear the bugles," she said.
"That's because I disguised myself in Frost Country garb," he drawled, grinning. He gestured to the puffy parka and hood, lined with coyote fur, and then the navy trousers lined with an immense number of pockets. A kunai pack was strapped to his leg, and he wore shinobi-issue sandals, though from which shinobi nation, she had no idea. Judging from the unique wrapping around his legs, it was probably Cloud style.
"You look like a shinobi," she accused.
"I am a shinobi," he answered. Then, "Well, sort of. I saw you fall in the water, Mari."
"You didn't," she told him, eyes narrowed. It was a thing she often did when embarrassed; simply insist that nothing had happened, like her words could convince him otherwise. "That was him."
Jerking a thumb at a bored Tobirama, Mariko batted her eyelashes and appeared as innocent as humanly possible. It didn't quite work, but it pulled a laugh out of her older brother. Knowing well what she liked and disliked, Katsurou ruffled her blue hair fiercely, grinning as she squealed angrily.
"Lord Prince," Tobirama repeated, causing the taller man to glance at him. "If you seek information on the Tea Country healers, I suggest you return with us. The second heir to the daimyo is currently residing with us."
"Ah, Kell," deduced Katsurou, seeming to recognize the name. Mariko watched carefully; the ease with which her brother seemed to know the name irked Tobirama. It almost became a competition of knowledge — who knows more than the other. "Fine young man, though I only met him once. He's never been much of a traveler," he added. "I'm quite surprised."
"He's engaged to a Senju as well," Tobirama informed Katsurou dryly.
"You have blue hair," came the wondrous gasp. All three turned to find Hiruzen staring blatantly at Katsurou, then at Mariko, then back at Katsurou. "Are you all blue-haired, like the people from Mito-sama's land?"
"No, you idiot, they're not." A verbal slap by Koharu, and Hiruzen sulked again. He pouted, but the only receiver was Homura, who tried shoving him away. Poor Homura, who had realized that Katsurou had been there the whole time.
"You never know," Katsurou said lightly, and then chuckled at Koharu's defiant expression. "Actually, we're just mutants of these blue horses that live on our island. We even have blue hamsters and blue dogs."
"Seriously?!" exclaimed Hiruzen, sucked back into his enthused state.
"You idiot," Koharu growled.
"Koharu," Tobirama said firmly. The girl looked surprise, then embarrassed, her face softening into somewhat of a flushed frown rather than one of her glowers. "Well, Lord Prince—"
"Katsurou," Katsurou insisted.
"—if you'll follow me, we're just about done here."
Dismayed, the kids made sounds of disappointment in unison. Mariko, befuddled, stared at Tobirama. They hadn't been done, and even Katsurou knew it. But it seemed that the arrival of the Second Prince had put Tobirama in a sour mood, so she wasn't about to question it. She still poked fun at him, though.
"Lord Katsurou!" came the surprised exclamation of Kell, who nearly tripped mid-step. He would have made a devastating face plant, had Etsuko failed to grab his elbow and yank him back upright.
"If it isn't Kell," laughed Katsurou. "Last time I saw you, you were teeny!"
Kell, who was about a year or so older than Mariko, grinned at the sight of the blue-haired prince. Mariko tried to remember ever meeting Kell before her arrival in Konoha, but couldn't come up with a time when Hurricane interacted with the Tea Country at all.
Then there was Katsurou, who was forever loose with honorifics and titles. He called his own siblings by name, of course, but he'd bantered easily with the Hozuki lord without a title, and he hadn't attached any form of honorific to Tobirama's name. He didn't bother calling Kell by any title, though he was still officially second in line to the Tea's daimyo position, and he was generous with his own title (something Tobirama seemed to have ignored).
"Lord Prince, what are you doing here?" asked the bespectacled young man.
"Ah, you're all calling me that again." Katsurou waved his arms and made a face. It was rather comical, but Mariko found it increasingly comforting. The familiarity with which he'd stroked Yodel's nose, despite Yodel being a complete stranger of a horse, reminded her greatly of the times when they'd trot out into the fields together. She wondered if Katsurou missed his big black stallion in Hurricane.
"Ah, but what should I call you, Lor—"
"Katsurou," insisted the blue-haired prince. Then he turned to Mariko. "Gems, baby sister, did you grow taller?"
This was a joke, because she obviously hadn't (as far a she knew), and this was a recognizable form of mockery from Katsurou. She wasn't tall, and would probably never be as tall as Sumiko, even, so all she did was pout in her little body, puffing off steam with miniature tantrums.
"I believe I have," quipped Mariko. "You seem shorter nowadays."
"Impossible," scoffed Katsurou, rolling his eyes humorously.
"Lord Prince." Tobirama gestured towards the gate, where Hashirama was walking through, in the midst of a serious conversation with his wife. When the brunet looked up, his eyes widened at the sight of yet another colorful head in his home, and then he smiled warmly.
"Prince Katsurou, I'm going to guess?"
"It's an honor to meet you," Katsurou replied, shaking hands with the Hokage. "I've always wanted to meet the god of shinobi."
Hashirama laughed, and Tobirama folded his arms. His cold glare was growing more and more icy, and Mariko wondered if someone should dump a bucket of hot water on him. Luckily, Mito fit the bill, as she came over and slapped her brother-in-law hard on the back, and then sauntered over to Hashirama's side. Katsurou recognized the red-haired woman and greeted her happily.
Tobirama said something to Hiruzen, and the kids scuttled off.
"Where'd you send them?" asked Mariko quietly.
"To get something to eat," he replied.
"Lord— err, Katsurou, what brings you here?" stuttered Kell. Etsuko poked him in the ribs, and he straightened his spine. It seemed like the Tea boy needed some support when it came to formal dealings; though this was far from a formal meeting. He seemed uncomfortable, but Mariko couldn't fathom why.
"My Aunt Tari has yet to send a message home," Katsurou said, "so I'm just checking up on her. I understand it takes a while for messages to reach Hurricane, and even longer for me to receive them as well, but the current shinobi and messenger bird system should have brought it within days."
"But I just saw her," insisted Mariko. What was it, only three days ago, maybe? "It's impossible for mail to travel that fast, Katsurou."
"She was supposed to send it the day she was here, and mail travels far faster than a regular traveler," Katsurou replied.
"It would've taken a day and a half," agree Hashirama. The ninja summons were now highly-trained, high-speed birds — partially a courtesy by the Uchiha, a clan whose leader had a particular fondness for falconry — ranging from shinobi ostriches to messenger swallows. That, added with a new messenger system, where shinobi setting off on missions conveniently carried some mail, the rate and number of mail delivered increased.
"Is that even possible?" asked Mariko dubiously. Her own trip had taken a good portion of her month.
"It is," Mito said. "Some places use reverse summoning to take mail from one area to another. You just have to have the same seals and patterns."
Mariko made a face at this. Ninjutsu was far too complicated for her, and she felt horribly left out whenever dinner conversation slipped into debates on the intricacies of the Hyuuga's Gentle First attack on the tenketsu and how effective hitting a certain spot on the enemy's wrist was.
"Stay as long as you like," Hashirama was saying. "Or you may take Konoha shinobi with you if you wish to journey farther south."
"Perhaps a day or two," concluded Katsurou. "Thank you for your hospitality, I appreciate it greatly."
"Kell." Hashirama motioned to the young man. "I need to talk to you later."
A strange resolve came over Kell's face as he nodded. Mariko, increasingly confused, only noticed that Tobirama's layer of ice had returned, and with a vengeance.
What she didn't notice, however, was the apprehensive glance that Katsurou gave the white-haired Senju.
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
Is Sumi going to show up on the Senju doorstep next? Or what? What is going on? Tonight we had the most awkward dinner ever. I think I'll go brush Yodel, because the awkwardness lingers.
.x.X.x.
Katsurou, in the morning, spoke of a lovely Konoha sleep last night, which made little sense to Mariko because he slept like a hibernating bear on any day. Then, at lunch, he praised Mito's cooking as if it was the most glorious thing upon earth; another ironic statement, because Mariko knew very well that Aunt Tari's pie was forever Katsurou's favorite food, and here he was insinuating that there was something far better. Not that Mito's cooking was bad — it was glorious — but Katsurou was trying far too hard to please, and it was so unlike him that his little sister had trouble comprehending it.
At dinner, things got, bluntly stated, awkward.
"Kell, do tell what you think of life here," said Katsurou in a conversational manner. Basically, he meant: Do you like your Senju fiancée? This was subtly aimed at Mariko, with amused undertones.
"It is lovely," replied Kell, before spooning some "extravagantly delightful" dish onto his plate. "I enjoy it here very much."
"And you, baby sister?"
"I have to agree with Kell," Mariko offered, for she wasn't quite sure there was anything else to say. She couldn't blurt out how lonely she felt sometimes and how confusing Tobirama was, how she longed for Katrina and how poor Yodel tried his hardest to make up for it all.
These were things she would have divulged to the still-spunky older brother across the table had they been a few years back and still living in Hurricane. But it had been about seven years, more or less, since Katsurou moved to the Frost. Though he visited often, it just wasn't the same.
"Your baby sister struggled at first without her face paint," Hashirama commented. "But really, it was more like a butterfly shedding its cocoon."
"This one's a big romantic," joked Mito, rolling her eyes. Tobirama made a noise that sounded halfway between a scoff and a laugh, a deriding sneer on his lips.
"Sumiko was the same," mused Katsurou. "She said that her husband tried scrubbing her face with a sponge one day when she reverted to the pastel mask for comfort."
Mariko stared. Sumiko never hid herself.
What was wrong with Katsurou?
"So, Tobirama, what do you think of my dashing baby sister? Is she annoying you, yet?" Katsurou offered a broad smile.
"She's quite the nuisance," deadpanned Tobirama, giving away nothing. Katsurou's brows arched at the sarcastic comment.
"I take it you get along, then?" He gestured between the two of them, and Mariko felt immensely uncomfortable. He was now trying to provoke some answers from them — had they fallen in love, or something ridiculously mushy of the sort?
"Hardly," Tobirama replied in the same, flat voice. Hashirama shot his brother a warning glance, and Mito looked like she was restraining herself. Hashirama's hand was on hers; if it hadn't, she might have slapped Tobirama. Mariko had a funny feeling that she would have enjoyed Mito's sass at the moment.
Tobirama stood. "Excuse me, but I'll be leaving the table early. Enjoy your meal."
At least he was polite about it, Mariko thought with a visible grimace. Katsurou stared at his future brother-in-law. His eyes, in particular, followed the path of the albino's hand, which remained on Mariko's shoulder longer than he felt it should have. Then again, that seemed strange, because weren't they supposed to be close?
"Mariko." He was straight when Tobirama had left. "What do you really think?"
The question, the severity of Katsurou's tone, all surprised the table members. The focus was on the Second Princess.
"I'd tell you," she said nonchalantly, "but I wouldn't."
"Sumiko told me everything, and I helped her."
Was this an argument? It sure felt like it to Mariko, and the irritated itch that crawled in her gut was urging her to escape. They were in front of the head of the Senju household and their Whirlpool friend, among others. Emerald eyes locked on ones of the exact same hue, challenging, questioning, doubtful.
"And?"
"Tell me, Mariko. We haven't a clue how you've been doing."
"I'm fine." Confusion crept through her mind, and billions of questions for herself and for everyone else began surfacing. For one, Tobirama. What was his motive behind this all? She highly doubted he'd suddenly fallen head over heels for her, and that her own desire was a high produced from his drug-like actions. Next — what was Katsurou trying to get out of all of this? He was clearly not himself, something that happened when he was stressed. Perhaps he was stressed. Mariko took that into consideration.
"Lady Mito," Katsurou suddenly said, flipping to another subject entirely. Well, a related topic, along the lines of what he was trying to coax from Mariko. "Would you mind telling how you felt when you first moved here?"
Mito considered the blue prince for a moment. Then: "I was terrified but excited both at once. Apprehensive and hateful, actually. I wanted to see Konoha, but I didn't want to get married."
She patted Hashirama's arm.
"I ended up with this fellow, which I don't think is so bad." She smiled when Hashirama whipped around to stare at her incredulously, brown hair whirling in a curtain and nearly dipping into his food. "Honey, your hair is trying to be pasta again."
Hashirama shook his head and tucked his hair back, still eyeing his wife both fondly and in a somewhat amazed manner. Mariko tried to puzzle out their love, but it came to her as a maze. Everything worked, yet everything had its own problems.
"Do you think Mariko will be happy?"
This question was the one that Mariko wanted to bolt from. It seemed, terribly, as if her own brother was trying to be a fatherly figure. He was speaking like she wasn't even at the table.
"She will—"
"Be happy," cut in Toka, "if I don't cut off—"
"Shush, Toka," snapped Mito, rolling her eyes at cutting off the cutter off (of both words and other important things).
"I'm going to excuse myself early, too," Mariko announced quickly, slipping out of her seat and whirling her plate over to the kitchen door, where she pushed through and hurriedly rinsed it in the sink. She didn't look back to see the curious looks on everyone's faces, nor did she consider how she had looked and sounded at the moment. Surely, it was the most awkward departure one could make, but she didn't really care at the moment.
Running out to the corner of the complex, she found Yodel in his stall and stroked his nose.
The person she least wanted to see was there, and he was stacking bales of hay to pass his time. His toned muscles bulged as he lifted another bale and tossed it up to the loft from a ladder he'd climbed halfway. He ignored the itchiness of the straw scratching his arms, and he hauled them up by their bindings without gloves.
Upon finishing, he turned.
"Bad dinner?"
"I just didn't want to listen."
He didn't answer, but he agreed.
"Do you ride?" Mariko asked up to the loft, where he was now sitting with Tenzou the cat, rubbing the tabby's silken ears. It was a question to distract her from the mess she'd made. In fact, looking at the conversation as a whole, nothing had really been wrong with it. Her own mind had twisted it, her stress levels distorting the meanings to everything and making her believe that Katsurou was trying to indicate something. And maybe he was.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," she replied to the contradiction, recalling their brief gallop, seated double on Yodel's back. She stroked the bay's neck slowly and deliberately, as if her next life decisions depended on the way she gingerly followed the swirl of hair under his mane.
"Not really." The cat pushed away from him and clambered away, along rafters and wooden bars, somehow making his way to the ground.
She imagined Katrina, grazing calmly in the paddock.
The smell of grass and baking bread, floating in a pleasant mix from palace kitchen to the open fields.
She thought of Ryouichi, pointing out a particularly bright red cardinal.
Her mother, teaching her the alphabet.
But instead, Mariko's eyes opened to a dark brown gelding, a stark contrast from the tall, brilliantly dappled mare she pictured. And she saw a brown barn, and outside, a pleasantly colored clan complex. The smells were of horses and hay, which was of some comfort to her, but the sights before her hardly matched the ones swirling in her brain.
Instead of Ryouichi, there was a white-haired Senju, watching her thoughtfully.
And where her mother should have been, there was no one.
The second morning after that, Katsurou was gone. Not a word spoken to Mariko, leaving her in a devastated state. He hadn't explained any of his actions.
"He's following a lead," Tobirama informed her. Mariko hadn't a clue what that meant.
"What lead?"
"Well, he's looking for your aunt, right?"
Mariko wrapped an arm around Yodel's head as she bridled him, copying the horse's doleful expression. Yodel seemed to always look sad, that is, until they cantered out into the fields. He took the bit with some resistance, as usual, but eventually opened his mouth and accepted the metal bar. It jingled as he played with it in his mouth.
"You coming to training?"
Lies and more lies. Tobirama was going on a mission today, and he knew that she was well aware of this fact.
"Another D-rank?" she mocked lightly.
He scowled.
"Maybe."
"What is it now, catching the neighbor's cat?"
"It's a C-rank, and we're just dealing with some minor bandits," he claimed, folding his arms. Mariko smirked; she had seen his team's last chase after a D-rank cat, one so wily and swift that they'd somehow ended up in the far north, screeching across the fields that Mariko so often trotted through with Yodel and Arata.
"Ah, so you're dealing with yourself?" It was a bad joke, but she smiled anyway. He continued glowering and shook his head, brushing away, suddenly cold. It baffled her, his ability to switch from hot to cold and back. It made her wonder if anything had happened. His expression was almost yearning, as if to share a certain point with her, but then a fierce scowl would overcome him, and it vanished.
Mariko tightened the girth, and Yodel flickered an ear backwards. After a few final adjustments, she led him to the mounting block — he may have been smaller than Katrina, but Mariko still couldn't quite swing up as easily as she could on her old pony Maki — and put her foot in the stirrup iron. Tobirama watched from beside the gelding's shoulder, ignoring the poor bay when he asked for treats. The Senju pushed the snuffling muzzle away and idly fiddled with one of the straps on the bridle, straightening it unnecessarily.
Puzzled, Mariko gathered her reins and met his gaze. Tobirama wasn't the type to twiddle his thumbs or fumble around.
"Lady Prin—"
The glare that Tobirama shot at his dark-haired cousin was silencing. Arata, hands tightening around the reins, paused. He was atop a lithe white mare today, a fine animal with a pink nose and light hooves. Her face was pleasantly dished and her neck finely arched, a pretty thing to look at. But Tobirama took none of this in, only shot daggers through his eyes at Arata till he led the white mare away.
"What was that for? We're about to leave," snapped Mariko, pulling Yodel away and directing him towards the gate.
"Nothing."
"You're awfully moody," she told him, before pressing her calves to Yodel's sides and encouraging a more lively walk. Tobirama, however, had a fairly long stride, and kept up without much of a problem. "Don't you have a mission?"
"At noon."
"Maybe you should get a head start on those bandits," she suggested, nodding pointedly towards the east entrance to the Senju clan area.
"They're just some weak rogue nin, probably from Kusa or something."
"Weak to you, maybe." She desperately wanted to urge Yodel into a brisk trot, but she had a feeling Tobirama would beat her to the gate anyway.
"My team would be fine," he replied.
"What about me?" she asked tersely, swinging Yodel around. "I can't even walk on water."
"You have a horse."
Quietly, he folded his arms and leveled her gaze. He was being stubborn, and every single word was deliberate. Mariko did her best not to let on that he'd gotten into her head, but she failed miserably. She harshly jabbed her heals into her poor horse, sending him into a jagged trot back to the barn, where Arata was waiting patiently.
She had had enough of Tobirama messing with her. If he had intentions, then he'd better state them clearly.
Perhaps she should have stayed with Tobirama. Had she known that she would be so distracted as to not notice the party following her, then she would have stuck to a strong shinobi's side. Arata was skilled, and he'd picked it up right away; he always had weapons on him as well. But the moment he reached for his pocket, an arrow imbedded itself in his back, and he toppled from the dainty mare.
Immediately, the white horse whinnied and reared in fright. She leapt over her rider and thundered back where they'd come, instinctively barreling in the direction of home. Yodel flattened his ears and swung his rump around, balking. Mariko clung to his mane and decided whether or not to swing down. Arata was pushing himself to an upright position, groaning in pain as he yanked the arrow from his back. He soon realized that this just made him bleed more.
A second arrow shot itself directly into his shoulder, and Mariko couldn't help but scream this time. The first shot, she'd been to shocked to respond. Now, she swung from the bay's back and pulled off the saddle so quickly, she was inclined to believe that she'd ripped something. But the girth and all the straps were intact, just hurriedly unbuckled. The blunette desperately pressed the light saddle pad to both of Arata's wounds as best as she could.
"Leave me, Lady, I'm fine," Arata said through gritted teeth.
"You're everything except fine," Mariko replied incredulously.
"I'm used to it." His scars were an angry pink, his face red with the pain, breathing in short, quick gasps. Within moments, his lungs stilled to a quiet, regulated breathing, and he looked a bit pale. Besides that, he was up on his feet — slightly wobbly, but up all the same — and had a short sword drawn. Where he pulled it out from, Mariko couldn't imagine.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, still clinging to his shoulders with the saddle blanket. The poor green cloth embroidered with a Senju clan symbol was soaked through and dark red, creating a rusty sort of stain.
"Lady Princess, if you'll step aside, I must locate the—"
"Senju, watch out!"
A body tackled both of them to the ground, sending them scrabbling along the gravel, just in time. The moment they hit the ground, several arrows slewed past where their heads would have been. One landed relatively close to Mariko, and she could see that the flint was soaked in a purplish-blue liquid: poison. She didn't know if it was a lethal drug or a sleeping one, but all she knew was that Arata was clutching his shoulder, and his back was further scraped up by the rock.
"Uchiha, get the Lady away," Arata choked through a set jaw, knuckles white where they gripped his right shoulder.
Mariko wasn't sure what happened, but she didn't see the eyes of an Uchiha, but rather a man that Yodel crowded around, nervously nickering. As soon as she comprehended who was standing before him, bandages around his face falling loose to reveal eyelids fallen over sunken, eyeless sockets, she had been thrown onto the gelding's back roughly.
"Forgive me, Lady Princess," moaned Arata, struggling to his feet again. From a scroll he produced a deadly scimitar, its curved edge sharp and lethal. "Please go. Uchiha, accompany her."
"You forget that I cannot see, Senju." Izuna grabbed the scarred Senju's arm and steadied him. "I will send her with a summoned falcon, but I cannot guide her. I will stay."
"You are kinder than your brother," Arata said, a hard, small smile on his face. A bit of blood dribbled down his lips, and Mariko wondered how he wasn't dead from such a shot. She recalled an old Hurricane bedtime story her mother always told her, one that detailed the horrors of war. She told of a man shot in the back, and how he faded away on the battlefield. Then she described the cruelty of shooting someone in the stomach, for the death was agonizing and slow.
Arata threw the arrow from his shoulder to the ground, snapping it like a twig.
"Go, Lady Princess!" he yelled, smacking Yodel's rump. The bay kicked out, but then set off at a dead gallop, back to the Senju complex. Mariko folded herself down on the horse's back, holding tight. Bareback, she found that it was warm but also slippery, difficult to grip her legs around for she was connected to the horse's entire, moving being. Desperately, she hoped that by tucking herself to his neck and imagining herself a burr stuck to his mane, she would become a smaller target.
A fantastic bird of prey swept into her peripheral vision, its wingspan nearly her entire height. It followed her, slightly above, at a decent pace.
She hardly cleared the corner away from the trail, where arrows were still flying, when she saw a face. Glasses glinting and a startled expression as he disappeared round the alleyway, Kell.
Kell, with an arrow notched to his bow, dressed in dark, shinobi's clothing.
A blur of red and brown and blue. Red, because Mito pulled her from her horse and demanded to know what had happened. Brown, because that was the color of her hands, musty and stained with a dried blood that she tried assuring Mito was not her own. And blue, because the ocean blue metal and jingle of armor told her that a certain somebody had either returned early from his mission, or had not gone at all. It was about two in the afternoon, if she was still able to read the clock in her state of mind, so she supposed that if the bandits had been as simple of a job as he'd claimed, then perhaps he was finished.
Then, the Hokage was descending from his tower, the large falcon alighting on his arm. It talons clamped around his arm, almost menacingly, but then it bent its beak in semblance of a bow. Hashirama read the tag on the bird's leg with an expression of surprise.
He shouted something, and at least five shinobi set off in the direction Mariko had come from.
She had not noticed, but Mito had long since left her, and in the redhead's place, a solemn Senju with garnet eyes and cold hands.
Three perpetrators, rogue shinobi without any identifying hitai-ate, refusing to speak. All three were clad in the same black as she'd seen Kell in, and all three had accents, all from different areas. One, a fair-haired fellow, was distinctly eastern islander, while the second spoke with the quick clip of a River Country man. The third was the most baffling — his accent mirrored that of Kell's, and he was distinctly Tea Country in both his eyes and the set of his jaw. This, Mariko thought on her own, and no one made the connection. Everyone else noticed the accents and the lack of shinobi headgear.
When the straw-headed man from the east spoke, his amused, grainy laugh reminded Mariko terribly of someone she knew. Before Mito could ask any more scathingly accusatory questions, she blurted: "You're from Kirigakure."
"Well done, little princess," sneered the shinobi, shooting her a glare. His eyes were light blue, and his hair lacked color. It was so blonde, it was white, and an unhealthy hue of blue tinged just about every feature. His eyebrows were thin, just as pale as his hair, and he smirked a lot.
"You're Hozuki," she concluded. How she made this connection, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was the set of his cocky grin that reminded her of the Hozuki nobleman.
At this, his eyes widened in surprise, before he returned to his scowl of a smirk.
"Clever, aren't you? Too bad you've got people trying to kill you." He leaned in. "Let me tell you, it's the Raikage."
This was not believable at all, and from the looks of it, Arata wanted to slap the man across the face. Arata had had his fair share of beating up the three archers who had been caught — four more had gotten away, he replied guiltily — and Izuna had thrown them down with an impressive genjutsu without Sharingan eyes.
Sharingan, Mariko learned recently, was the Uchiha's famed Kekkei Genkai. Ocular jutsu, and probably the more powerful one.
"It was the Tsuchikage," claimed the one from the south, eyes wide in an attempt to display his lack of power in this situation. He played the part of the man coerced into this operation; he claimed not guilty.
This was a silly statement, because Hashirama easily described the Tsuchikage as a friendly older man with a quiet voice and a kind heart.
"It was some businessman from Taki," hissed the third. "He's got a frightful power. He said that if we don't get an Ice Kekkei Genkai, he'd steal our hearts." He tapped his chest. "Straight from our chests, he would rip them out."
Mito was inclined to believe none of them. Her main job, for the most part, was keeping an eye on Tobirama and Arata to gauge their reactions. Arata, angered, was quite the fearsome soldier. Simply recalling the image of the scarred Senju brandishing his gleaming sword was enough to remind Mariko that this was a family of war-ridden shinobi. Before the village, a recent thing, really, these were clans that were constantly at war on the open plains of the Fire Country. Another story popped into her mind.
She was four years old, and her mother had often entertained her with stories of the mainland. Often, she took recent news or happenings from years past and spun them into golden tales for her to listen to. They were so well told that all three of her siblings, even Ryo, would sit down and listen.
At the coast, a ghost boy who made dragons rise from the sea when his family's home had been set on fire.
"When did this happen, Momma?" Mariko had asked, a petite little girl in her mother's arms.
"Around the time before you were born," Queen Manami told her gently. "A couple months before you, actually."
She went on to describe this boy's family, a family capable of the most magical things. Never once did Manami label them as ninjutsu — she simply called it magic, the magic of legends. The ghost boy who danced with the waves had a brother who was one with the earth and could create a forest simply by thinking it. The forest grew arms and legs, the trees faces, and he swept the land with his mighty willow limbs.
And they fought with their magic, against a clan whose powers included hypnotics and fire. They burned the first family's home in rage and jealously, for a reason Manami never included, setting everything to blazes. Finally, when any stragglers came through, their fearsome illusory magic drove the victims insane.
"Are they evil, then?" Katsurou asked. He crossed his legs and rocked back and forth, looking like a ruffled blue puppy.
"You could say that," their mother answered with a smile.
"And the first family uses their magic to fight for the good side?"
"You could say that, too," agreed Manami.
"Mother, why don't you ever tell us if they're good or bad? You only tell us that it's something we could consider," Ryo suddenly put in. The queen smiled more widely then, reaching over to set a gentle hand on her oldest son's shoulder.
"That is because," she explained, "it is a story. It is a story from which you must learn, as are all good stories. There is always a theme to learn from."
"This theme is light and dark, then?" asked Ryouichi. Sumiko snorted something about Ryouichi being the smarty-pants of the household, and Katsurou agreed with a small giggle. Mariko, only engrossed in the story itself, didn't think of the implications behind the two warring families.
"It's whatever you wish to believe," Manami answered.
"Momma," whispered Mariko. "I think it's about magic."
Manami smiled. "That's right, too, Mari. There is no wrong answer."
And at that time, that was all it was — magic.
Dun dun dunnnn.
(I have a tendency to make things increasingly confusing, so tell me if anything looks...confusing. lol)
(Also, if you think I'm going to make something super exciting, then I'm sorry. I'm quite boring. =3= )