Wow, I'm seriously surprising myself with how fast I type... =3=
That, and tell me if anything doesn't make sense...likes, dislikes, comments?
Note: I believe that updates will be far slower now, because my sport season is starting and since I'm the varsity no. 1 blah blah other things I must do, it'll be intense. Unless I have miraculous Naruto-troll-worthy time management skill improvements, then these will come out via probably study hall period, or something of the like.
I won't disappear, though, I promise!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, but mop!Hashi has appeared! That chapter was both epic and adorable. Hashi, what are you wearing, I love it. XD
Chapter 9: Wolf
.x.X.x.
The lights dim and she prepares herself. Mariko can see the girl on stage, lean and beautiful her arms outstretched. The music begins, and Sumiko dances.
.x.X.x.
Grand entrances, the kind where the door swings open with an epic clashing against the walls, and the room stills. All eyes focused on her.
Sumiko was bold, she was striking. Her blue hair swept back from her face and cascaded in straight tresses down her back. Her ears were lined with gold and sparkling jewels, twinkling emerald and sapphire lying along her neck and adorning her wrists. Her traditional dresses were sometimes sliced apart and sewn again how she liked them. She layered the skirts and made them shorter —how daringly she showed her ankles and maybe her knees, as well — and mostly ending in disputes with her parents.
"Fly, my bird!" she exclaimed, as a bright yellow canary fluttered from her hand and carried confetti across the room. Streamers attached to the bird's legs brushed the heads of the guests, and the expression on the king's face was dark. "Welcome to Hurricane, people!"
She struck a pose, then strutted to her seat, stalking in five-inch heels that were absurdly difficult to walk in. Where she got the shoes, no one really knew. Rumor had it that a sneaky royal from the Sea Country had sent them to her in secret, but no one could confirm such an idea.
The bird flew back to her hand. She sat, beside her amused seventeen-year-old brother who was trying to enjoy one of his last few dinners before some poor navy entourage retrieved him to ship him off to the Frost. The youngest sibling, however, watched Sumiko with appalled eyes and a bewildered gape. Especially when the streamers attached to the bird nearly blinded a man holding a gigantic bowl of soup, and nearly threatened to spill the entire thing.
"Sumiko." The queen's voice was soft yet serious. "See me after dinner."
None of the siblings knew what happened after that, but from the look on Sumiko's face, she'd been scolded. Five-inch heels were not suitable for a girl of fifteen years, and neither was the crazy contraption of fabrics she called a dress.
But Sumiko was not fazed.
"I'm a daughter of the revolution," she claimed, to which Katsurou snorted. "Of the fashion revolution," she clarified, rolling her eyes.
"What next, painting your face completely red with black and orange polka dots?" suggested Ryouichi, lifting his face from a novel.
"I don't destroy, Ryo, I create." She swirled her innovative dress. "I wouldn't change the pastels, but I altered the dress, see?"
The paneled layers of a traditional dress cut and sewn so that they flattered each other in flower-like layers. One could definitely see that Sumiko had an eye for fashion and talent for creativity.
"You gave that Wave Country guy a heart attack," Katsurou chortled, running a hand through his messy blue hair. "That bird nearly took out his eye."
"Did not," replied Sumiko.
"What did Mother have to say to you?" asked Ryouichi, closing his book quietly, marking the page with a red ribbon.
"She said something about presenting myself properly." Sumiko waved it off, obviously not caring much for the "proper presentation of a young lady". By her standards, what she did was perfectly fine, of course. If she wanted to be eccentric, then so be it.
"Let's just hope Mari here doesn't turn out like you," laughed Katsurou, ruffling the youngest sister's head. Mariko made a face, and Katsurou laughed. "See, this one's smart, right here."
"And what if I take Mari and turn her into a mini-me?" suggested Sumiko. "I could easily start her now. The path to women's independence in the fashion of Hurricane! A statement by the Second Princess Aokami!"
Sumiko swept her arm emphatically away from her, pouring emotion into her odd little sweep of the younger girl across the room.
"I'd rather eat a salt block," Mariko replied flatly. At this, even Ryouichi had to smile, and Katsurou burst out laughing.
"Denied!" he exclaimed, mocking his first sister. Sumiko glared.
"You'll see. Wait till Mari's my age — we'll be in a world of trouble then." She was joking, of course, but the look that crossed Katsurou's face was suddenly dark, and Ryouichi simply appeared sad. Sad because he was destined to a life in training to be king, and he knew very well that by the time Mariko was fifteen, their middle siblings would have long since been married off.
And she'd be alone, no one to braid her hair or take her riding, with only the ghost of an older brother working in the higher offices of the palace.
.x.X.x.
"I hate this fanfare."
"I like it."
"That's because you're little. You get tired of these things, you know."
"I like it because it means Katsurou's coming home."
"I guess there's that, too."
.x.X.x.
"My Lady!" cried the squire, horribly confused and bewildered. "I have brought to you—"
The poor man was always being interrupted, or at least, beaten to the point, because both blue-haired girls had thrown themselves off their horses to run at one another and embrace. Just as she had with Katsurou, Mariko dissolved into homesick tears, even though Sumiko came from a place completely different from Hurricane.
"Silly sis, I wore the pastels just for you, and here you are without them!" Sumiko's pastels had been partially rubbed off, due to their clash of a hug.
"I haven't painted my face in a while," admitted Mariko, still clinging to her older sister.
"Stop crying, you stirrup foot," Sumiko tried to scold, but she too had tears in her eyes. The fact that she'd called her "stirrup foot", something she hadn't even said for years, made Mariko hug her harder.
Somehow, they made it back into the Hokage Tower without giving the poor squire a panic attack or causing too much more commotion, though the lieutenant from Hurricane and two of his soldiers watched on, quite amused.
"Welcome to Konoha," at least three people said at once.
Greetings and introductions were thrown rapidly across the room, for besides Hashirama, there must've been ten other of Konoha's top shinobi in the room, including Sarutobi Sasuke. Mariko felt like she recognized people from around town, but couldn't place a name to anyone.
"I'm sorry, I must've interrupted," said Sumiko.
"No, not at all, Lady Princess," said Mito courteously. "We were finishing up here."
"Lady Hyuuga, if you would please?" Hashirama beckoned a woman forward. This woman had the strangest eyes Mariko had ever seen — pale, a slight tinge of lavender, large, and without pupils. Her hair was long and black, a straight curtain that fell down nearly to her waist. She wore a bandanna-like hitai-ate and white robes that cinched with armored belts. Mariko remembered now. She must be a part of the prestigious Hyuuga, as Hashirama had called her, a clan she vaguely associated with prestige. Mariko made a mental note that though she may be adept at Hurricane history along with most social issues, she was not familiar with Konoha's internals.
"Of course, Hokage-sama. I'll get the report back as soon as possible." She, and most of the shinobi left, but Sasuke remained to talk to Toka.
"He has been quite enthusiastic lately," Toka was saying.
"I'm relieved, the poor boy," replied Sasuke. It was implied that they were talking about Danzo again. "I'm glad. I can't check on him all the time, so thank you for letting me know."
"Of course," replied Toka. Sarutobi Sasuke took his leave, and then there were only five people in the room: Hashirama, Mito, Toka, Mariko, and the recently arrived Sumiko.
"I apologize for the earlier crowdedness," said Hashirama.
"That's perfectly fine," chirped Sumiko, smiling. "I made a big scene outside, so I apologize for the ruckus I made in your village."
Hashirama laughed at this, sparkling eyes a bit relieved at the way Sumiko was so casual. He must've been tired of formalities, lately.
"May I see the note?" requested the First Princess. Hashirama pulled it from a safe, and handed it to her. The envelope was slightly crinkled, but otherwise, the code was still readable, and the lock of hair firmly tucked inside. Mariko watched — she could see the wheels turning in Sumiko's head — as her sister rotated through several ciphers.
"It just says to see me," she murmured. "And what is this? Mari, did you see this?"
"I did, but I don't get it. Maybe Ryo would." Mariko shrugged. She suddenly found herself wondering where here white-haired tagalong had gone. Perhaps he'd gotten lost in the crowd, or maybe just disinterested. Mariko decided that the latter wasn't very plausible.
"Did you send anything to Ryo?"
"We have sent letters to both Hurricane and the Frost Country," Mito informed her. "We haven't any word from Prince Ryouichi, however."
"Strange. He should be on top of things." Sumiko paused. "Then again, letters take forever to get to his office nowadays."
There was a knock at the door, and the Hyuuga woman was back. She had, beside her, a large man who was accompanied by a humongous dog. Two bright red triangles, long like fangs, were tattooed to either side of the man's face, and his dog was big and white and intimidating. The man's hair was a dull brown, but his eyes were sharp and his teeth sharper. The dog had floppy ears underlined with brown, making him look more friendly than his owner, but he was big enough to tackle a grown man with ease.
"Inuzuka," greeted Hashirama.
"Hokage-sama, the secondary tracking team is ready."
Sumiko curiously peered at the dog, which obediently sat at the Hokage's desk, and lolled its tongue in and out. Mito petted its head.
"Here it is." Hashirama offered the dog the slip of hair.
"Will they be able to track it? Hasn't it been weeks?" asked Sumiko. Mariko was also confused as to why they were starting this now. Katsurou's sent would have been much fresher the day she'd received the envelope.
"Excuse me, Lady, but this is the secondary team," corrected the big Inuzuka. The name rang a bell, and Mariko realized that she'd heard it more than once back in Hurricane. The Hozuki nobleman had included the Inuzuka as one of his guesses to Mito's marriage, and Mariko herself had yelled at Ryouichi, demanding why she couldn't just marry a simple dog-lover.
Now, she found herself staring at this burly man and his frighteningly large dog that was probably bigger than her. The dog, however, was quite friendly, nuzzling his wet nose into her palm. She petted him also.
"A first team was sent out immediately," continued the man.
"I'm sorry, I'm quite impatient," admitted Sumiko. Her little sister wasn't sure what good this apology did, but kept listening anyway. "I came as soon as I got the letter, and I sent another one, but I guess it didn't reach."
"You sent another one?" asked Hashirama, eyes suddenly sharp.
"Yes, I did. Why?"
"That's strange, all mail is supposed to get through."
"A mistake, perhaps?" The doubt in Sumiko's voice was evident enough to let them all know she didn't believe this point.
"Lady Hyuuga, if you would contact the shinobi at the nearest Mail and Trade station, please. Also, please dispatch a team with one Hyuuga, one Aburame, and one Inuzuka for me. You know the drill."
"Yes, Hokage-sama." The Hyuuga disappeared out the door, a flash of shiny ebony hair. Mariko, confused, asked Hashirama what this was about the mail stations.
"All mail going in and out passes some of our small shinobi-stationed forts and holdings, so I'm having a team investigate the closest one to look for clues," Hashirama explained.
"This is becoming complicated," sighed Sumiko. "What is with Katsurou and getting into trouble?"
Katsurou had always had a penchant for messy situations. One time, he'd disguised himself as a commoner, dying his hair a dark brown and painting natural-looking freckles onto his face, just to see what a normal man's nightlife was like. He hung out in a bar and then in a social club for the entire night, lingering till the next daylight, until someone knocked his hat off — a silly, flimsy excuse for a disguise — and his blue hair was exposed.
"He always gets back out," Mariko reminded her sister.
"Him and his stupid ninjutsu," Sumiko spat under her breath. Then she glanced up, warily. No one had taken offense at this statement, so she just sighed again.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Mito offered.
"I can't stay long — I promised to return quickly. But thank you, I will."
"I'll escort you to our clan's home," Mito said, striding up to clasp Sumiko's arm. She gestured to Toka and mouthed something. The slim, pale-faced woman had been writing the whole time, but now she slipped her notebook into one of Hashirama's drawers and followed.
The door slammed open.
The moment the doorknob clashed harshly against the wall, Mariko watched Hashirama's eyes widen. In a split second, he'd leapt onto his desk and crossed it, knocking over all the contents on top in his haste. His arms were around Mito and Toka as he slammed them to the ground, face first.
At the same time, the figure who'd burst through the door had tackled the two blunettes, and Mariko felt a warm arm around her neck and a familiar flash of white hair. A loud, universal thump as every single person hit the floor.
Right before they hit the ground, there was an earsplitting crash, an explosion through the glass. Mariko squeezed her eyes shut at the light; some kind of bomb. She hardly saw the sea of arrows that came flying through the window, before everything turned dark.
.x.X.x.
"This is a kunai."
"Looks dangerous."
"Of course it is, it's a shinobi weapon! I'm improving my aim."
"Be careful, Katsurou!"
"Chill, Sumi, I'm just showing Mari my awesome aim."
"What if you flung it the wrong way?!"
"Well, at least it doesn't have a paper bomb attached to it."
"That makes no difference! Let's go, Mari. It's time for our lessons, anyway."
.x.X.x.
Mariko thought that she'd passed out, but her vision was black simply because it was very dark in the room. She reached a hand out and found her fingers roaming along a wooden wall, one that couldn't possibly have been there before. There was tense breathing, and there was still an arm around her waist. She recognized his smell, because he always smelled like he'd just showered, mixed in with a forest's pinecones and the crispness of the air before and after a storm, with both the tension before and the soothing smoothness afterwards. His hand were cold and gripping one of hers, hard.
"Ow," she said quietly.
"Mari? You okay?" asked Sumiko. "Who the hell are you?!" she spat.
"Your future brother-in-law," replied Tobirama, somehow dodging a slap in the dark. Sumiko clicked her tongue, and Mariko could almost feel her glaring. Tobirama loosened his grip on her hand, but didn't let go, and she heard his back thump against the wooden wall.
"Hash. No one can see in here."
"Wait, Tobi. They're still outside."
"I took one out with the river."
"I can tell. I got two more." The oddest conversation ensued, in which the two men sat quietly inside the wooden enclosure and continued detailing which men they'd defeated, and where, without moving a muscle.
"Shush, brother, you won't outdo anyone here," Tobirama said flatly. Hashirama, who would usually either sigh or retort something ridiculous, ignored his younger brother.
"Toka, make a circle by the old shoemaker's shop, please," he beckoned. Toka silently complied, and Mariko wondered what in the world she was doing. "A medium level genjutsu will do."
Genjutsu. Mariko sorted through her mind, because most of the things she knew were of the Wave Country's famous chocolate or of a man rising the ranks of Sea Country military. Random things that had nothing to do with ninjutsu, until she realized the type of shinobi practice was being employed. One of ninjutsu, two was taijutsu, and the third would be genjutsu. Physical chakra manipulation and hand-to-hand combat aside, genjutsu was what she imagined to be the "magic of illusions". The illusionist fairies from the ghost boy story.
Toka, Mariko deduced, was a genjutsu user.
"I've got one of them," Toka announced. "I thought there were only four."
"Well, now there's seven more," said Tobirama. "Three are scattered."
"Tobirama, check the main gate."
"I found four more," Tobirama answered.
"So we have eleven total, including the four that we've caught." Hashirama stood, and the tent of wood began to open at the middle, panels pulling back like movable screens. Mariko saw now that they were in a makeshift dome, one made at an impossible speed, for it had manifested itself between them and the arrows in less than a second.
"Bomb seal," Toka announced, picking up a kunai that had been thrown to the far side of the room. Mito, still crouched at Hashirama's feet, exchanged shocked glances with the two blue-haired princesses. "Twenty-seven arrows total."
"They must've been terrible shots," muttered Tobirama, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Mariko up alongside himself. As Mariko dusted off her shirt and riding trousers, Tobirama offered polite hand to Sumiko and helped her stand up.
Ongoing shouts and panicked yelling were heard from the outside.
"Hokage-sama!" someone hollered. "Fire!"
Just as Sumiko accepted Tobirama's hand and stood, a masked man dove into the doorway, a flaming torch in his hand and a kunai bomb seal for an igniter in the other. He was almost successful in blowing up Sumiko's face, but his plan had one gigantic fault: the king of Suiton was right in front of him.
At point-blank range, a torrent of water materialized out of thin air and quite nearly drowned the man, soaking his flaming stick and pushing the kunai to the floor. The water was alive, a creature that engulfed the man's hands and shoulders and head mercilessly, a misshapen sea creature with a liquid maw.
"Tobirama—"
"Silence, he hasn't passed out yet."
Hashirama silently brooded, for he believed this to be an unnecessary cruelty. The man collapsed at their feet, Sumiko trying her hardest not to leap backwards, though her face was pale even under her pastels.
The floating bubble of water recoiled in on itself, and the air sucked back into nothing. Mariko's one maid and the soldier she fancied had been right: there was a shinobi in Konoha that could produce water from absolutely nothing.
It turned out that the one who'd yelled from outside was Sarutobi Sasuke, who was in the midst of clutching Hiruzen and Danzo to his chest to prevent the two from brashly running inside.
"Sasuke, there's four archers to your direct south," Toka called down. "And one to the northeast of the Hokage Tower," she instructed. "Gather a few jounin and take care of them for us."
"Right away," called the Sarutobi, herding the two children away. A frantic woman, face creased in worry, wrapped her arms around Danzo's shoulders and led him away. Hiruzen followed his father's lead, glancing warily back at the Hokage Tower.
"We've five in our custody," Mito said, counting calmly off her fingers. "And six rogues."
"And three in our cells," added Toka.
"Fourteen total archers," concluded Hashirama. "Lady Sumiko, are you all right?" he asked, face creased into worry. "That was frightening…"
"I'm…okay," said Sumiko, rattled. She was a tough girl, and solidified her temporarily jumbled mind for the moment. "Shinobi live, well, thrilling lives, to say the least."
"We sure do," agreed Hashirama, offering a sympathetic smile. "Let's get cleaned up, here."
Magnificent arms of wood wrapped around the larger pieces of debris and glass, reaching carefully out the gaping hole in the wall to set them carefully on the ground. Sumiko and Mariko watched in awe. Tobirama, with a few pools of mobile water, somehow absorbed the smaller portions and shards too small to pick up, the miniscule shattered pieces that could prove to be dangerous if left alone.
Sumiko was entranced; she grabbed Mariko's sleeve.
"It's the ghost boy story, Mari, remember? The ghost boy and the tree boy. Mother told us a real story," she whispered in awe. Tobirama seemed to hear this, but he didn't say a word, only subtly glanced at Mariko.
"Did you know," Mariko told her sister, "that the Momma didn't name the ghost boy? He was already a ghost boy to begin with."
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
I wish you were here to tell us stories again.
.x.X.x.
"You're doomed!" cackled the light-haired Kiri nin. "He's got both of you here! You're definitely screwed now!"
Tobirama cracked the man across the face, earning a loud exclamation from both the man and from Hashirama.
"I'll remove you from this interrogation if you keep—"
"Silence, Hashirama. I won't let this man be rude. To anyone."
"Tobirama—"
Tobirama held up a hand, obviously not listening. The blonde cackled something about the Hokage being powerless over his little brother, to which Tobirama slapped him across the face the other way. The man angrily spat out some phlegm and a trickle of blood that had run down his nose and the back of his throat.
"Senju's out to break my nose," he rasped, laughing throatily. He then leered rather inappropriately at Mito, who then stepped up and hit him so hard that his nose was most likely broken after that.
"Rocks, you two!" Hashirama exclaimed exasperatedly.
"Konoha's violent, ain't it?" hooted the man.
Sumiko, who had been observing the exchange for some time, suddenly spoke.
"You're Hozuki, aren't you?" she demanded.
Incredulously, Mito said: "How are you two coming up with this? I've spoken to Hozuki clan members plenty of times, yet I never thought that this man might be Hozuki!"
"It's his facial structure, something like that," Mariko attempted to explain.
"Both of you princesses, I hope he doesn't show you any mercy," hissed the blonde man. Mariko grimaced, cringing at the thought of her dream.
It was true, the man's face resembled that of a Hozuki. The prominent ridge of his brows, which were so light they disappeared with the pigment of his skin, and the flat grin that pressed his cheeks out unpleasantly. The small nose and the almost-white hair made him all the more characteristic of a particular branch of the clan. The Hozuki nobleman resembled him in that they frowned and leered the same way, but their hair color was completely different. There were Hozuki people with blue eyes, but then there were also Hozuki members with odd, purple eyes. The members with white-gray hair most commonly had purple eyes, so this man was an interesting mix.
To this, Mito could relate. She had green eyes and red hair, while there were others of the Uzumaki with the same red hair, but a greater number with gray eyes.
"Moving on," Tobirama said flatly. He was getting impatient with this Kiri nin, and was ready to leave. Mariko decided it would be a good time to leave as well. Most of the people in the room followed, leaving Toka and Hashirama to grill more information for probably the twentieth time out of the Hozuki.
Exiting the room, Mariko, Sumiko, and Tobirama happened to meander towards the barn. Mariko wasn't surprised they didn't have guards surrounding them, or something of that nature.
"Tell me, Tobirama, how did you know those arrows were coming?" asked Sumiko. She caught sight of Yodel, and murmured, "Mari, isn't that the horse you rode? He's very handsome."
"Lady Princess, I'm a shinobi," he answered simply. Sumiko made a face at him, and linked arms with Mariko.
"Ryo married you to a snarky one," she whispered, deliberately loud.
"My brother married me to a cheeky one," he returned easily.
As Sumiko opened her mouth to say something sharp, Arata came jogging from the barn, worriedly requesting information on what had happened.
"I caught one of the archers by the river," he said. "But I hardly saw a thing."
Tobirama explained to him the gist of the most recent attack, sometimes using a few shinobi terms that were lost on Mariko and her sister. Arata nodded, silently taking it all in. The two men began a debate over one thing or the other, something about the type of arrow, or maybe it was the kunai. Mariko silently led her sister into the stables, and introduced her to most of the horses.
Sumiko admired the white mare, very appreciative of the animal's dished face, as if it was delicately carved and sculpted.
"She's got a lovely, strong neck," Sumiko commented, stroking the crest of the horse's mane. The horse lowered her head and nuzzled the woman.
"There's two young chestnuts, and one adorable palomino I think you'd like. He's got blue eyes." Mariko took her sister on a tour of the stables. Sumiko, who had had her own beautiful palomino in Hurricane, was fond of the one that Mariko showed her. The First Princess also marveled over a gorgeous little dun paint that swished his tail and flattened his ears at her.
"This barn is so colorful," she said cheerily. Mariko agreed. They watched a mare and foal bump noses, before flicking their ears at the humans curiously.
"I'm glad I still have horses wherever I go," said Mariko.
"Tell me of this man of yours," Sumiko prompted, changing the topic. "He's not too hard on the eyes, hmm?"
Those words made her cringe, but Mariko did her best not to show Sumiko a single shred of emotion. The satisfaction of being able to make her little sister squirm would be too much for Sumiko.
"He's all right," she answered nonchalantly. Sumiko made eyes at this.
"Oh really?" the older blunette prompted, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Mariko lightly shoved her older sister, who laughed at her.
"Someone's talking about me," Tobirama announced, sauntering over with thumbs hooked casually in his belt. Sumiko shot him a mocking glare.
"Mr. Suave is back," she said, pretending to be condescending. A hand whisked around Mariko's shoulders, and Sumiko curled her sister to her chest. "I'm going to steal your princess, Mr. Suave."
Tobirama arched his brows, acknowledging that he was being somewhat insulted.
"It's all right, she'll come back to me eventually." Tobirama unhooked his thumbs and crossed his arms, still that defiantly flat expression on his features. Sumiko paused then, and seemed to have the same idea as Mariko – he looked achingly similar to Katsurou, despite being a tad shorter and slightly better built. Broad shoulders and an amused smirk, arms folded haughtily.
If I could only say the same for Katsurou, was what Mariko read in her sister's eyes. Nonetheless, she kept up the pointless banter.
"You've met Katsurou, so you should've acquainted yourself with his attitude," Sumiko said. "I'll have you know that I'm ten times sassier than he is."
"I can tell," Tobirama deadpanned.
"Tell me, boy, what you think of my sister."
If Sumiko had dubbed Tobirama a knight, he would've been rather self-satisfied. At the calling of him as a "boy", his face broke slightly with a small, incredulous gape. Sumiko planted her hands on her hips and stared him down.
"Shorty, you mean?"
Mariko glared.
"Shorty's not the brightest, but not the dullest either."
"Hey!" Mariko pouted, now. Sumiko caught her arm before she could stomp over to Tobirama and glare at him a little closer (despite knowing that it would do little good for her). The older Aokami considered the Senju, analyzing his smug stance and the small quirk to his lips upon seeing Mariko's reaction.
"You're not bad, ghost boy," she deemed. "I've decided that I like you."
"An honor," Tobirama rolled back sarcastically.
"Of course it is." Sumiko let go of Mariko, who was still now – though still glaring at the Senju – and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, ghost boy, promise me something."
"Sure thing, ghost lady."
Sumiko glared, but continued: "Take care of my sister, or…"
She stalked up to Tobirama, and being taller than Mariko, she had some good height on him. Perhaps it was simply the height of her ridiculous heels that she'd changed into, unpractical but loved, that gave her the boost she needed to stare meaningfully into Tobirama's eyes and tell him something privately.
Sumiko mouthed something, a whisper to Tobirama, inaudible to Mariko. His expression never moved, but his hand twitched, and later, a smirk played itself along his lips.
"If you order it, I shall, Lady Ghost." He swept himself into a graceful bow, a mocking feint of subservience. Sumiko, in a flash of humor, smacked the back of his head. He rubbed his hair, which was a white nest anyway.
"Of course you will, Mr. Suave. Now shoo." She waved him away, and the Senju threw an amused glance over his shoulder before sauntering away.
.x.X.x.
Dear Hiruzen,
Your chocolate was sculpted very beautifully, but its taste was disastrous. Maybe you can ask Sumi to help you. She's supposed to be good at that type of thing.
.x.X.x.
"I've got nothing to say to you," hissed one of the men. He was the one that had valiantly plunged into the room with a burning torch and an explosive tag, but had been brutally overpowered by Tobirama and simple pool of water.
"I know you don't," replied Hashirama tiredly. "Toka, do you mind switching places with me?"
"Of course, cousin." Toka took a seat across from the man, in a tiny room adjacent to Konoha's prison, and the same place they'd been doing all their questioning – the Torture and Interrogation Force. "Go get yourself a cup of hot chocolate, or something. Or go skip some stones."
"Toka, please don't ever tell me to skip stones," Hashirama answered. "You know that if I do, I'll run into someone that I'd rather not deal with right now."
"I meant it literally, Hashirama." Toka rolled her eyes. "As in, go sit by the lake, talk to your wife, and relax by throwing some pebbles in the water."
"Tobirama will spit them back out at me."
Toka, exasperated, shoved her cousin out the door.
"I've got nothing to say to you, either," the man spat. Instantly, Toka had shoved a piece of failed chocolate in his mouth, and it was as he was choking on it that Mariko realized – from the side, unobtrusively – that there was a gigantic paper seal on it. It read: explosive.
Horrified, she jabbed her elbow into Tobirama's side. He scowled and snapped something about her poking him again. Instead, she tugged his arm and asked why there was a paper bomb, of all things, on the chocolate.
"Because Saru's chocolate deserves to die," Tobirama offered. She elbowed him harder, but didn't receive even the smallest of grunts. Stupid hard abs.
"You're terrible."
"Thanks, Shorty. I take that as a compliment. Hey, you want to see an embarrassing photo of Hash?"
Mariko ignored him, simply because she was intrigued by what Toka was doing. At the same time, she was horrified, and feared for the man's life, but then again, she supposed this was the way of shinobi.
"The name of this place is terrible," she said in a low voice.
"That's how it goes, though." Tobirama lazily put himself in a chair to the other side of her, twirling a loose piece of thread that Tenzou had been pulling on earlier. If he wasn't careful, the cat would gnaw his armor to pieces one day.
"Uchiha," called Toka.
The door to the room opened, and a man startlingly similar to Toka's sharp-eyed student strode in quickly. He brusquely slapped a folder onto the table and his eyes swirled into an unnaturally red color, three tomoe floating in each of his irises.
"That's an Uchiha," Tobirama stated to her needlessly.
"Is he related to Toka's student?"
"I think they're cousins." That hardly explained a thing, because every time they saw an Uchiha, Tobirama claimed that they were some cousin of Izuna or maybe an aunt. Then, he waved a small photo in her face. It was a folded piece of paper, creased so that the side he held up to her revealed a single figure. Short and grinning as widely as he could, eyes bright and hair chopped to a peculiar, squared length, a familiar face. Mariko could almost feel the happiness radiating from the old photo.
"Is this Hashirama?" she asked, taking the picture in her hands. Tobirama reluctantly let go, for it seemed like he'd merely wanted to show her Hashirama, and not the other side. But it was clear that Hashirama's arm was wrapped around somebody, and who else could it be besides Tobirama? "And you."
Small and as pale as his grown self, a child Tobirama.
Ghost boy, small and quick, darting through the waves, skirting the edge of sand.
Hashirama was buoyant and cheery, as he usually was, while Tobirama had only offered mild smile, one guarded from the world, and perhaps of the camera.
"Do you have more pictures?"
"Only if you show me yours."
Mariko did, actually, bring a few thin, old photo albums from home, which she occasionally flipped through to calm the nauseous waves of homesickness that still leapt upon her at random times.
She gestured for them to leave. The Uchiha was now grilling the man, eyes menacing, and the archer was struggling with avoiding those glowing red eyes.
"Senju," the Uchiha said. "Throw the lights."
Mariko and Tobirama slipped out the door, but Toka didn't hit the lights, and neither did Tobirama. Confused, Mariko glanced back into the room. The man's eyes clouded over as soon as Toka touched his forehead.
"Genjutsu," Tobirama explained simply. "One to make the mind go black and throw him into a dark void."
That sounded both complicated and terrifying, so Mariko left Toka to her work.
.x.X.x.
"What if I could read minds?"
"That would be awful."
"Aww, Sumi, you always ruin the fun."
"No, because if you could read minds, then you'd ruin the fun."
"At least I didn't spill soup on that An no Kuni man."
"Really? You bring up the Red Bean Jam Country of all places?"
"Well, it was funny."
"See, Katsurou? Even Mariko's not amused."
"Lies, Sumi. She's trying not to laugh, is all."
.x.X.x.
Tobirama seemed dead set on leading Mariko to some sketchy, obscure corner of the village a ways behind the Hokage Tower. At first, his stubborn refusal to let go of her hand — more like he was clamped onto her wrist with a vengeance — was the primary factor in her inability to ditch and go the other way, but soon, she had two more reason why she couldn't just skip home. The second reason was that she was now in a sketchy, obscure corner of Konoha from which she had no clue how to return to the Senju complex, and the third was that she was curious.
The gradually skirted the big mountain, tinged orange as the sun began to lower. The white-haired Senju disappeared behind a slab of rock, and Mariko found herself rooted to the spot, wondering if he'd disappeared into the mountain, impossibly.
He poked his head back around and motioned for her to follow. What she saw, rounding the corner, was a small, arched passageway into the mountain. Its trail began with a smooth slope, before it progressively became darker and narrower. It came to the point where Tobirama, with his arms at his sides, fit almost perfectly. If he moved around too much, the walls would snug in on him. Mariko, being much more petite, found herself marveling at the tunnel, which had a light source she couldn't identify.
"There's stairs starting here," he called over his shoulder. The path flagged out just a little bit, and a rocky staircase began its ascent. Mariko climbed. And climbed, and climbed. Tobirama easily skipped steps, then paused to wait for her. She jogged up the next few, then rested a hand on the wall, somewhat out of breath. Tobirama waited patiently, but she didn't want to keep him waiting. Mariko mentally noted that she was nowhere near physically fit — horseback riding and playing the piano didn't quite promote cardiovascular endurance — and that perhaps she should start doing something. In a shinobi world, there was no telling what would happen, and she would be sorely upset when she needed physical strength and stamina but lacked it completely.
Panting quietly when they reached the top, and thoroughly glad there were no more stairs to climb, Mariko glanced around.
"How is this…?" Mariko gestured around her. It was a small plateau, a flat outcrop of rock along the side of the Hokage Mountain, overlooking the village. It was large enough to run a ways across and for Tobirama to lie down with his head to the rock face with his feet coming about three feet within the edge. Tobirama didn't lie down, but he simply sat a couple feet from the cliff drop and patted the seat beside him.
"I found this old outcrop when I was younger," he explained. "Hashi and I did, actually, when we were imagining our dream village."
He almost sounded wistful, but at the same time, content.
"There was a tunnel — we usually just climbed up or jumped down from the top of the mountain — that we noticed, so we used Doton to drill through it. Hashirama made the stairs." He watched the sun drop for a few seconds, shadows shifting slowly. Mariko thought of the ease with which he spoke of their shinobi ability to walk vertical straights. Then, watching him turn to her and continue, she admired the outline of his strong ninja shoulders, and thought it was definitely possible. She had seen many magical things, now. He said, "It's our secret place."
"That's amazing. It's beautiful," murmured Mariko, following his gaze and watching as the sun turned the sky brilliant hues of orange, pink, and red. Lasting streaks of yellow danced across the sky, shimmering until they blended into strokes of red-violet. The two stayed still until the last bit of burning sun slipped below the horizon, leaving only a pinkish afterglow. The dark blues of night and a blanket of stars began to roll itself over the sky, the onset of night. "Do you come here often?" Mariko asked. "The sunset is gorgeous."
"No, I don't. Haven't had the time, really." He smiled, seeming to reminisce.
"That makes it special," replied Mariko.
Tobirama insisted that she come sit next to him again, and Mariko obliged. However, as soon as she took a few steps out from the threshold of the tunnel, her body involuntarily froze. He glanced at her curiously.
"Shorty, c'mere."
"I am."
"No, no you're not." He arched a brow, his usual amused expression. Mariko began to walk again, but a flutter of panic shot her straight in the gut, and her nerves went taut. All she could see was jagged rocks of the wrong color, ones that didn't match the faded yellow of the Hokage Mountain. A memory opened itself to her: sharp boulders, slate gray, and the rush of angry water thundering away below her. Sumiko diving for the trees, Katsurou disappearing behind the bushes, a blur that was Ryouichi as she slipped through the gap.
"I'm good," she suddenly declared, almost inaudibly. Her left shoulder felt a strange twinge, and her heart beat too quickly. A small gap, really, it was. She could make it over, couldn't she? But she hadn't.
"Shorty," he repeated, standing.
I won't fall.
Hide and seek.
He'll never find me here.
"Shorty, you afraid of heights?" Tobirama asked, striding over to her. He walked so carelessly, hardly giving the edge a second glance; it made her nauseous.
"No."
"Yes, you are."
Mariko shook her head vehemently, and he caught her wrist, his grasp firm as it always was. He gently tugged her towards him, another arm securely wrapping itself around her shoulders, sidling out onto the outcrop.
"Stop it," she whispered hoarsely.
"You're fine, I promise," he whispered back, a low, comforting rumble.
But Mariko wasn't comforted. She was slipping through the gap again, fast. She hit the ledge below her hard, a jarring thud that echoed through her bones and her skull and resounded painfully. She was only there for a split second, because the next thing she knew, her body was rolling off that ledge, too. The ledge had tricked her into thinking she was safe — she'd hit something solid, after all — but it was slick and wet, and her little hands scraped into nothing. She was not an animal with claws to dig into the earth, she was not a creature that had the ability to cling to the rock face. Her hands slapped the rock, dark, soaked gray, each time feeling the coarse surface scrape her palms. Then her hand slapped nothing but air, and she was falling again, tipped over the edge.
Something stabbed her shoulder, and the wind flew from her lungs. It was sharp and it was red, everything was still. She slowly began to feel pain.
"Shorty!"
Mariko's eyes snapped open, and she found that her hands were fisted far too tightly around Tobirama's shirt, and she was shaking. She refused to look up, look down, or look anywhere, for that matter. She certainly didn't dare look behind her, where the drop imminently gaped at her.
"Don't," she pled softly.
"It's okay, we don't have to go too far out," he replied to her. "Get it together, Mariko."
Arms around her protectively, he ambled back to the tunnel's entrance, Mariko all the while hunched closely to his chest.
"You're afraid of heights," he stated simply.
"No, I'm not," she defended. She wasn't afraid of heights, and she knew it for a fact. She could stand on Emerald Palace's top floor and be perfectly fine, and she'd been on top of the Hokage Tower, and plenty of other high places — both figuratively and physically — but simply the sight of a rock edge sent her stomach plummeting over it. "I'm not afraid of heights, I'm afraid of cliffs."
"Is there a difference?" he asked.
"Yes, there is!" she shouted, unnecessarily agitated. She fiddled nervously with her fingers, which had remained around the cloth of his shirt, pulling it loose and wrinkling it. Mariko's eyes dropped to her feet. "Sorry."
"No, don't be. My bad." Tobirama led her down the narrow corridor of steps, then finally down out where they'd started. He wove through a copse of trees and past a small park. Suddenly, they were on the south end of the Hokage Tower, making their way up to the Senju complex. He held her hand silently the entire way home.
.x.X.x.
Dear Momma,
Tell me the story of the Emerald Eagle. The one that saves children. What happened in the end?
.x.X.x.
It was dark and getting late — reasonable cause for Sumiko and the others to be worrying. The moment Hashirama casually noted that his brother and Sumiko's sister were outside, Sumiko raised a tornado exit almost as grand as her entrance. She stormed outside, with fury in her wake.
"Where have you been?! I thought someone had shot you!" she hissed, unreasonably angry. Mariko cringed; Tobirama must think that she and her sister were nuts for yelling without reason.
"If my brother hasn't said anything, then surely we must be fine," answered Tobirama calmly. He squeezed Mariko's hand lightly. It was a gesture that let her know he was smiling on the inside, amused by the older blunette's mother hen instincts.
Sumiko seemed to catch this, because her eyes flew down to where her little sister's hand met the Senju's. A flash of appreciative warmth crossed her eyes, before they kicked out any form of endearment and went up in flames.
"Mr. Suave, don't be taking my sister out late now," Sumiko accused. Mariko was usually quite adept at telling whether or not her sister was trying to be sarcastic, but at the moment, she couldn't quite discern if Sumiko was about to start joking around, or if she was about to pull a Toka and run after Tobirama with a knife.
"Yes ma'am," came the reply, dryly. When Tobirama took his leave and didn't let go of Mariko's hand, both blunettes' eyes widened in surprise. Apparently, he had no intention of leaving without her at the moment, and his plans did not include joining Sumiko and his Senju brother and brother's wife at the table.
"You're coming to dinner," she stated flatly.
"Maybe later." Tobirama waved it off.
Mariko glanced back at her older sister and shrugged, equally confused.
"You'd better remember what I told you, ghost boy!" hollered Sumiko before they disappeared around a neighbor's house.
"So tell me, Shorty, what happened up there?" It turned out that he was simply wondering why she'd frozen up on a cliff, randomly, and without explanation.
"I fear cliffs," she answered as simply as possible. He made a face.
"You fear cliffs, why?" he added. She sat cross-legged across from him, holding her ankles and rocking back and forth as she formulated an answer that wouldn't sound bluntly ridiculous, like she'd made it up. He lounged with his back to the headboard of the bead, feet extending past her.
"I fell off of one."
"There, that wasn't so hard."
"Yes, yes it was." It was Mariko's turn to make a face, because just trying to think of that simple answer ran her through the memories of medics in green, and then random people in a variety of other colors, running over to her and making a fuss. Not a fuss, but an enormous commotion, because Ryouichi was clinging to her and refusing to let go, and Katsurou's eyes were the size of saucers, and Sumiko was crying, screaming, and maybe both.
I let her fall — a pained, congested sob from beside her.
But he hadn't; she'd fallen on her own.
"I fell on my back and was stabbed by a jagged rock," the blunette offered. "I still have a scar on my left shoulder."
Tobirama watched her carefully, and didn't really reply. Instead, he nodded quietly and sat up, crossing his legs just as she was.
Then, he poked her.
The smallest of smiles flickered across his face, and she was relieved. She poked him back, because he'd prompted her to.
"Shorty, guess what I found out about you?"
Apprehensively, she shook her head, jabbing him hard in the abdomen. A failed attempt at producing any sort of good reaction, because he tensed and his stomach was firm and impenetrable. Grinning, he leaned forward. Mariko realized how nervous she'd become, palms clammy and heart racing again. She also realized how long it had been since that morning before Hiruzen's training, the last time he'd kissed her.
She wondered what it meant.
"I found out," he said, leaning ever closer, "that…"
Mariko stopped wondering what in the world she had been wondering about, for now he was nearly upon her, and she was focusing on the proximity of his lips to hers and not even what he was about to say.
"That your feet are ticklish," he exclaimed, before pulling an ankle out from beneath her. She squealed, a high-pitched yelp, and then was squirming frantically because he was, indeed, tickling her feet. Amidst her tears of laughter, she kicked out at him, a feeble attempt to get his hands off her. It didn't work, of course. She grabbed the closest thing she could, which happened to be one of those accursedly fluffy pillows, and whacked him across the nose.
"Stop it, no!" she wailed, succumbing to laughter and ending up wriggling in his lap like a fish out of water.
"Shorty, you look ridiculous," he deadpanned, face straight as he held onto her. He tickled her feet and kept a good grasp on her ankles until she was laughing too hard to produce a comprehensible sentence, and was begging for mercy.
And then she was sprawled on him, her back to his chest, lying exhausted because he'd pulled her up after she admitted defeat. Defeat from what, she wasn't quite sure, but she was somewhat relieved.
Flipping so that they were face to face, she stared him down.
"Don't. Tickle. Me." Seriously, she glared at him. But the expression he returned made her giggle, and then she burst into laughter, enjoying the slight rumble of a chuckle that emanated from his chest.
When she least expected it, during the one moment she wasn't nervously calculating the distance between their faces, he slipped a hand under her chin and gave her a chaste peck on the lips. Surprised, Mariko stilled in his arms. He sat up, so that she was in his lap, and kissed her again. He seemed about to push her down on her back when her stomach growled. Loudly.
They burst into laughter again, and decided that it would be a good idea to go to dinner, lest Sumiko kick down the walls and throw something pointy at Tobirama's head.
.x.X.x.
The story of the Emerald Eagle.
There once was a creature, a fearsome creature, and it was everything but a graceful, high-flying eagle. It was a wolf, a man-wolf, a creature of darkness that stole jewels from the earth and sucked life from the people. It had a tradition, an atrocious hunger for children, to flay them alive for his evening meal or just to throw them off the southeastern cliffs until his desperate hunger was satiated with the screams of human children.
But there was also a hero to this island, an eagle with feathers burnt by the sun. He was completely black, this eagle, for he had flown too high one day and the sun had angrily charred him permanently. However, his eyes were green, born from the earth of the island itself — emeralds. And so, the eagle became the Emerald Eagle, the island bird.
It was not the eagle's eyes, however, that gave him his own story. He would, when the wolf's brainwashed allies could not restrain him, catch the falling children and sweep them up onto his back, for he was a giant eagle, larger than a man. With one on his back and one clutched gently in his talons, he would fly and deliver them home, like a baby-carrying crane. The eagle circled back and forth, saving children.
That is, until an arrow flew up from the island and pierced him through.
This was quite a feat, for the Emerald Eagle was quick and alert.
The arrow had been coated with his own feathers, collected for the precious meaning behind them. The Emerald Eagle's coal feathers were prized as good luck charms, bringing safety to family and health.
A boy had collected these feathers ever since he was little. A blue-haired boy he was, and talented at archery. He was the island's prince, a beloved young boy who had grown into a handsome young man. He had not realized, in the glare of sunlight, what he had just shot. He thought it was a small bird, one he hunted regularly, but in reality it was the Emerald Eagle, appearing small because of his height.
The Emerald Eagle's own feathers had carried the arrow up so, so far as to kill him. And so, he fell, so, so far, until his body shook the entire island, quivering before the boy's feet.
Horrified, the boy began to cry and yell, for he believed himself cursed.
To his surprise, the eagle turned to him, emerald eyes staring into his own brown ones, wise and calming. Where the arrow pierced him, his blood turned to gold.
It is not your fault, I feel no pain.
"Emerald Eagle, holy Emerald Eagle, what have I done?" wailed the boy, sobbing as he tried to gather the limp bird in his arms. The Emerald Eagle was large, warm and strong. He flapped his left wing feebly, body quivering as death encroached his feathered limbs, numbing his talons.
Be calm, boy, for you have only made a mistake.
"Tell me what to do, Emerald Eagle," pled the boy.
All things have a remedy, until death parts you from this world. The island goes on.
"Emerald Eagle, I—"
Be calm, boy, and promise me one thing.
A black wing brushed the boy's shoulder.
Become my knight and my human embodiment, child, for you are strong.
The boy did not believe he was strong. He was a weak prince, one that never lived up to expectations.
"Emerald Eagle, what shall I do? I am only twelve years old."
Then I shall become your wisdom. Promise me you will never fall to the evils of the Wolf, child.
"I promise."
Now, my eyes become yours, child. Your arrow has my heart, and thus binds me to you. But do not worry, for I will care for you well.
Confused, for the eagle had died so quickly and had offered little explanation, the boy stared. He could not tell, for one cannot see his own face, but his eyes had turned an ocean green, glimmering with the hues of a polished emerald. Slowly, in his hands, the eagle disintegrated until it was an empty shell of burnt feathers, nothing but a charred memory.
Standing, the boy grew.
He grew, and grew, and grew until he was a man, strong and fierce.
He battled the Wolf day after day, the hero of the island. He fell in love, married a beautiful maiden, and had his first child.
But his first child was marred by a horrid red mark, the baby's face blotchy and red and scarred with evil. The blue-haired boy, now a man, knew that this was the Wolf's doing. The Wolf had cursed his wife during her pregnancy, and now their baby was marred. By the looks of it, the baby was suffering, as the skin blistered and burned and made her cry. The wife cradled the baby close, each day smoothing salve over the impossibly burnt skin in hopes that the child would heal. But she did not.
The Wolf waited for the man, and just as he expected, the blue-haired man came and demanded that the demonic burn that plagued his daughter be removed.
"So long as you make a contract with me, I will take away her pain."
"I will not," boomed the man.
"Then the deal is nothing," replied the Wolf.
"Hurricane Wolf, I will force you to heal my child."
"And all those other children, too?" The Wolf leered, jaws snapping and creasing into a horrible grin. But he was right; how could the island's king experience such a privilege without trying to help his own people as well? There must've been a myriad of children who suffered similarly. He couldn't stop all of the Wolf's attacks, after all. "I'll heal your child if you sacrifice your wife or yourself. Or, perhaps, if you would look at a contract once more…"
The man refused both.
"Well," snarled the Wolf. "Eventually, both will happen. I will wait for you, son."
But the man bumbled back to his home, desperate and in tears.
"Please help our child," pled his crying wife. The man promised, and he recalled that when he promised something, he would never take back his words. So, trudging back to the Wolf, he declared:
"Evil Wolf, I will contract with you if you heal all the children on this island, and promise never to plague them again."
The Wolf came up to him, a massive, hulking creature with slate-gray fur the color of the island's rock formations and jaws that could snap a man in half.
"Contract," he echoed, almost in delight. In that moment, he struck out with a sharp claw and gouged out the man's eyes. "Thank you, Lord King, for the delicious meal."
The Wolf had always been a straightforward one: A plot to throw children off the cliff most literally meant that he would throw children off the cliff. However, having no idea what a contract meant, the man came into the deal believing he would give up certain terms, such as ceasing to bother the wolf and allowing him something.
Instead, the Wolf craved his blood and the ancient legends that ran through it, and the Emerald Eagle's eyes.
As soon as the eyes were torn, and the man staggered back, the Emerald Eagle appeared.
I am disappointed, child.
But the man could hardly speak, how fiercely he was clutching at his face.
"He's succumbed to my magic," the Wolf cackled.
What you have is not magic, fiend.
"What I have is power, Eagle," replied the Wolf. Scooping up the green eyes, the Wolf marveled at them. Then, in a single bound, he was across the city and heading for the capital's palace, where he intended to rip every single royal to shreds and claim the blood of the princess child for his meal.
"No, don't take them!" screamed the man, scrambling to his feet, eyeless and unable to sob in his pain. "Don't take them, take me!"
He will not take you. You have sacrificed already. By falling to his evils, you have endangered those you love.
"Emerald Eagle, please, save them."
I cannot.
The man, sobbing, felt a tremor and imagined a shriek — the Wolf slicing his claws through his wife, and his wife falling to the ground.
His child.
He must save his child.
"Emerald Eagle, lend me your eyes, I will save them!"
Child, I have never left you. I am still your eyes.
The man ran, with renewed effort, and arrived with a mighty knight's sword in his hands. The Wolf glanced back, amused. Even as the man hacked him to pieces, saving his daughter and wife from the Wolf's clutches, the Wolf laughed.
The kingdom was safe, his wife and child alive.
But the Wolf laughed, even in his final moments.
Thirteen years later, the mother died of an unknown cause, presumably an unexpected heart attack. The kingdom wept, as did the royal family.
Child. Look closely with my eyes.
The man looked, and he saw what he saw. He understood why the Wolf had been smiling his terrible, fanged smile in his final moments — why, as he grasped both the queen and the child in his claws, he did not fear death.
For it seemed that he never died, only reincarnated himself.
Seen only with the Emerald Eagle's eyes, claw marks across the queen's body, invisible to the regular eye. The Wolf had stolen her, gradually, bit by bit. And the king suspecting nothing.
Child, do not be sorrowful.
"I made another mistake," the man wept.
All things have remedies, until death takes you away.
"Will you take my wife away?"
If you so wish it.
And, for the last time, the Emerald Eagle spoke to him. He saw, with his green, emerald eyes that were now his own, a black eagle lifting into the sky. With a shudder, the mighty bird's ebony wings were shed, and underneath, he had a brilliant blue coat of feathers, shining sapphire. He would have been complete, had his eyes retained their emerald hue, but instead, he had the boy's eyes, brown and quiet.
I shall leave, child, for you have lost yourself to the Wolf's evils. From now on, beware of his malice and his greed. He shall never best you again.
The Emerald Eagle turned into a man, one that uncannily resembled the king, and offered his hand.
From the casket, a woman rose; the queen. She took the eagle's human hand and they ascended into the sky, leaving the man and his daughter watching.
"Momma's gone, isn't she? I saw her go."
The man looked down at his daughter sadly, watching her deep, green eyes carefully.
"Yes, she is."
The moon that night was full, and the man felt its light pounding on him, weighing him down. He sat beside his daughter, watching the child learn to play an instrument out on the balcony so the sound could ring. It was a thought that produced a melancholy twinge in his heart — to know that the Emerald Eagle had restored his eyesight with these emerald eyes, and it was because of that he could see his daughter play her violin.
He looked into the sky.
May the stars crown you with emeralds,
and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses.
The man touched one of his eyes absently, wondering if, perhaps, it was made of true emerald. But it was only his imagination; there was not a single shred of real sight, but only what he wished to be true.
May the river and its stars guide you to the heart of your destination.
Follow the path, encrusted with jewels,
A horseshoe of impossible light;
your sight is your creation.
"Emerald Eagle, give me luck. And as when I depart, may the stars return these emeralds to their rightful owner."
The midst of a typhoon, the eye of a storm,
Let the river horses take you to all but the world,
The unreached mountain watches,
As your emerald heart unfurls.
"Protect my daughters and sons, and their children too. I owe my sight to you, Emerald Eagle."
An arctic gust blew over the man, hailing the call of an impending ice storm. The man recalled his daughter inside, taking one last glance at what he hoped was reality.
"Daddy, where has the moon gone?"
Indeed, the storm clouds had obscured the ghostly orb of the sky.
When you reach the end of time,
And the Hurricane Wolf devours your soul,
"The storm is coming," said the man, before addressing her question. "And the moon has closed its eyes. Hurry inside before it sees you."
But of course, the moon had seen all, and it was not focused on the girl. It watched the man, blue-haired and green-eyed, with what seemed like ancient disdain. The man pulled his daughter inside, sliding the door shut and listening to the increase of pattering rain until it resolved to pounding hail and screeching winds. His daughter began to cry, for without the distraction of her instrument, she could only think of her mother. The king cradled his daughter to his chest protectively, and quietly, quietly, cried with her.
Protect your heart and watch your feet,
For the moon sees sins at whole.
.x.X.x.
"Oh, that story?" asked Katsurou. "I hate that story, it's got a terrible ending."
"Not all stories are like fairytales," answered Ryouichi. "A lot of them teach you things."
"I think that the point of that story was to tell us not to shoot gigantic birds in the sky or provoke evil wolves," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes. "It also has the island poem, which is a bunch of poetically phrased prophetic drama."
"That's not very accurate," replied the older brother. "What if you shot him? You're an archer, right? You can see how the island's poem works, here. Remember that it's a story, Katsurou."
"I can see the freaking bird, Ryo," drawled Katsurou, polishing his bow, coincidentally. He oiled it and checked that he had at least ten good arrows in his quiver, and then ran his finger over its fine owl feathers. "Besides that, why does Hurricane have such a creepy poem for its culture? Can't we have something about happy people?"
"I'm sure you can," snorted Sumiko. "After all, you have its eyes."
Feigning shock, Katsurou made a face at her.
"It's just a story of how we have blue hair and green eyes," he returned. "Besides that, why does Hurricane have such a creepy poem for its culture? Can't we have something about happy people? Happy people with green eyes, instead of sad people?"
"Then why do we have blue hair? Why does the eagle turn into a blue eagle? How does it turn into a man? Where did they go? Why is the moon watching them? Ryo, the girl plays the violin like you. Katsurou, you know he couldn't see the bird clearly? What if the sun was glaring in your eyes? What happened to the Wolf? Did he really die? Why didn't the Eagle help him before his eyes were taken? What kinds of things did the king do against the Wolf every day? Why did he even agree to it? I think it's kind of weird, too. I mean, why would you just waltz on up to an evil wolf without any sort of defense? What is the real point of this story?"
"Stirrups, Mariko, enough with the questions!" exclaimed Sumiko. "One at a time, please."
"Why do we have blue hair?"
"I think there's another story for that," Ryouichi said. "An older one that I can't remember. Go ask Mother."
"Mother's not feeling well."
"Go ask Father, then," suggested the First Prince.
Mariko gave him a dry look, before folding her arms, looking like a miniature version of Katsurou, who was in the same pose next to her.
"Ask Katsurou, then," Ryouichi said, "since he seems to know all."
"That's ironic, coming from the smarty-pants of the household," jeered Katsurou, stuffing his hands in his pockets after shouldering his archery pack.
"Just shut up, all of you," growled Sumiko.
"Somebody's having mood swings."
Sumiko attempted to hit Katsurou, who dodged and danced out the door.
.x.X.x.
I don't think I ever found out why we have blue hair.
.x.X.x.
After dinner, which consisted mainly of Sumiko planting well-placed questions that subtly implied that she wanted to know what sort of romantic progress had been developing between her little sister and Mr. Suave, Mariko was sitting on Tobirama's bed again. Dinner had been interspersed with questions as to Katsurou's whereabouts — which were answered with little information, for Hashirama had not yet heard back from either Inuzuka scout groups, or even from the messenger post — and Sumiko's own interrogation led to a mildly uncomfortable Tobirama and a fidgety, nervous Mariko.
Relieved to be away from her prodding and poking sister, Mariko dangled her feet off the end of the bed and pointed to another picture in the old photo album.
"Who's this?"
"Toka."
"Wait, really?!" Mariko bent over the picture, for Toka looked nothing like the Toka now. With no feminine traits, hair covering a majority of her face, Mariko had mistaken her for a young Senju boy.
"And this is Arata, when he was ten."
"No way," Mariko squealed, a delighted teenage giggle. He arched his brows at her, before closing his eyes again as he lounged back on his pillows. "Wait, I want to see a picture of you."
"No."
She placed herself closer to him, staring at him until he was forced to open his eyes.
"Stop staring at me."
"Show me a picture of you, then."
"So that you can stare at it?"
She poked his leg angrily, and he shrunk away, scowling.
"No, I just want to see!"
"Shorty, I don't care if you poke me or annoy me to death, I won't do it."
"Why not?" Mariko needed a good explanation before she would relent. Simply wanting to see a photo shouldn't have been a bad thing, right? Besides that, she was wondering why in the world he was refusing to let her see pictures when she'd already seen one of him before.
"I don't smile," he offered.
"That was a terrible excuse."
"Well, excuse me."
"You make terrible puns," she complained, flopping onto her back. She was small enough to squeeze in beside him, head under his outstretched arms. "And don't tell me it's because you look bad."
He sat up, and walked briskly over to a desk at the far end of his room. He dug through a lower drawer and flopped another photo book into her lap.
"Happy?" Tobirama plunked back down on the bed, carelessly, and faced away from her. Mariko, a little offended, flipped gingerly through the book. She realized, suddenly, why he hadn't wanted to show her. His youngest days were unmarred, a two-year-old with a clear smile. But as he grew older, she noticed the arrival of the red tattoos, sometimes irritated and almost bloody. Tobirama seemed to get in a lot of fights, because he was sometimes bruised and battered. Hashirama was a constant, always smiling and consoling, but Tobirama hardly ever smiled. He was sad.
"You're sad all the time," she said.
"Hashirama complained that I never smiled."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer.
"I'm sorry." She tapped his back.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, before staring at the wall again. Mariko touched his arm, and found that instead of having warm hands, her fingers were cold. His skin was warm, and she took his larger hand in the two of hers, and held it in her lap. This twisted him awkwardly, for he was lying on his side and she had pulled his hand behind him.
Tobirama didn't move.
Mariko shifted over a bit and grabbed his shoulder, forcefully turning him onto his back. He was much larger and heavier, and was obviously resisting her stubbornly. Frowning, she crawled closer to him, kneeling and pulled him over using her body as leverage. Tobirama, smirking slightly, stopped fighting her and caused her to fall backwards because of her extra momentum.
"You're terrible," she pouted, as she nearly rolled off the bed. Mariko straightened herself and folded her arms.
Tobirama didn't answer, but touched her leg and laid back down. Boldly, she touched his temple, then his cheekbone. Carefully sliding the photo album away, Mariko readjusted herself so that she was lying beside him. Her fingers, strangely cold — she felt they were clammy and stiff, his skin warm under her fingertips — traced the strong line of his jaw, till she reached his chin. He took her hand gently and studied them. His warm palms engulfed her chilled fingers as he turned to face her.
"I'm terrible?" He came forward and pressed his lips to hers more firmly, hands tucked between their chests. Mariko decided she liked it much better than the quick brush of lips he'd given earlier, though she wasn't sure she quite liked the fact that her back was pressing into a hard corner of the photo album, and she was nearly falling off the bed.
"I'm going to fall—ow," she muttered, trying to keep the book from stabbing her.
"My photos are evil, I told you," he said between a kiss, grabbing it from beneath her and tossing it on the floor haphazardly.
"Hey! Those were—"
"They're fine," he said, cutting her off as he planted a hand on either side of her waist, positioning above her.
"I'm going to fall," she repeated.
"That's fine with me." He didn't seem to care that she was about to roll off the edge of his bed, because his one arm was securely placed by her thigh his right hand was gripping her shoulder now. Maybe if Mariko tugged the blankets they would both just tumble into a heap on the ground.
So she tugged, as hard as she could, and the look on Tobirama's face was priceless. It hurt, crashing onto the floor together, but Mariko decided it was worth seeing the incredulous expression that crossed as a surprised gape on his face.
"Shorty," he said. "Are you so in love with that album that you wish to follow it?"
"Maybe I like the pictures. Hey!"
He slid a hand along her waist and pressed her against the floor, fully on top of her now. He carefully kept his own torso from crushing her, forming somewhat of a roof over the blunette. Tobirama was fascinated by her blue hair, which splayed in a wavy cascade all over the floor, over tangled parts of blanket that had followed them down and was trapped between his thigh and her legs. He took a small tress and fingered it, letting the silky strands slip through his thumb and forefinger.
"Have you been using Hashirama's hair conditioner?" He made an overly sarcastic accusatory glare, to which she spluttered overly indignantly.
"No, I have not," she answered, pursing her lips ridiculously at him. Tobirama liked that, because he kissed her again, lightly.
"Lies," he claimed.
"You're terrible," she reiterated. He rolled his eyes, then looked a tad astonished as she reached her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "I'm not made of glass, you know."
He'd been holding himself up, afraid of crushing her. Upon hearing this, he let his body weight partially rest on her, stomachs pressed together and faces close. Mariko flushed slightly, from the heat and proximity. Tobirama dipped his face down to hers again, and nuzzled her neck, thinking. He visibly shivered when she ran a hand through his marvelously white, glowing hair. His hand, gloriously warm, slid along the edge of her waist and outlined her hips. Tobirama lowered his lips to her collarbone, glancing up at her for an instant.
Suddenly he froze, the intense friction of his hand sliding up her shirt freezing instantly. He cast a disgusted glance behind him.
Someone knocked on the door, loudly.
"TOBIRAMA-SENSEI HURRY I BURNT THE KITCHEN!" came the incessant holler of a boy who'd failed at wielding a frying pan successfully.
Tobirama looked like he wanted to scream back something at the boy. The door flew open, a haggard and tired Hiruzen in its threshold. From the ridiculously pink apron slung across his body and the fringed, burnt edges of his hair, Hiruzen was the picture of a mess. He certainly looked like he'd burned something down.
Then, the boy glanced down at his teacher and the girl. A slightly puzzled expression crossed his face, and then he turned beet red.
And then, wisely, he ran for his life.
Growling, Tobirama pushed himself to his feet.
"Wait here."
He stormed out the door and yelled something that sounded like a punishment for Hiruzen and a demand to know what fire was where. Mito screeched something unrepeatable, and the sound of a river flying through the walls was heard. A river, through the walls? Unlikely, but knowing Tobirama and his ability to create water from nothing, he was probably just dousing the flame. Overdoing it, but fixing the problem all the same.
"Tobi, get back here, your brother's in the Hokage Tower working late and all you do is make that face at me?! HEY!"
"Sensei, Tobirama-sensei, I'm sorry!" wailed Hiruzen.
"Silence, Saru."
"What is going on?!" came the incredulous voice of Hashirama. "Who burnt the frying pan?! Hiruzen, why are you wearing my wife's apron? Rocks, child, your hair is burned!"
"Hashirama, please hit your brother in the head for me. You're closer."
Tobirama dodged the slap, because Mariko heard nothing, only his footsteps as he strode quickly back to the room and slammed the door. He sat down heavily on the bed and rubbed his forehead.
"Damn Saru," he hissed under his breath. Glancing over at the blunette, who had reclined against the tangle of bed linens, his face softened. She was tired, suddenly, felt the urge to sleep. The day had been long, and images of Toka's interrogation, the cliff, and Sumiko making suggestive expressions flashed constantly. "Shorty?" called Tobirama. "You sleepy?"
It was about eleven thirty at night, so naturally, she felt her body clock winding down. Vaguely, Mariko wondered where Tenzou the cat was. He wasn't that big of an animal, still young, and still quite scrawny. She hoped he was tucked away cozily, maybe in that favorite tree of his. Her imagination sent her to her own cozy place, mind growing fuzzy, failing to realize that Tobirama had scooped her up and placed her in the bed. A flap, as he straightened the dragged comforters and laid them over her, tucking her in.
"Lights," she mumbled. It was too bright for her to sleep. But other than that, the bed was magnificently soft and lush, soft colors soothing her mind.
"Whatever you say, Shorty." He flipped the switch, darkening the room. Moonlight through the window illuminated a spot of the floor behind him.
"Tobirama," she said, half asleep, speaking into the pillow. "What happened to those bandits you caught?"
The Senju considered this, before he slipped into the covers beside her.
"Nothing happened," he assured her. Unbeknownst to the girl, he soothed her mind with a small circulation of chakra that he pressed to her lips with his own.
"Where'd they go?"
He had to listen closely now, for she was nearly incoherent through that impossibly soft pillow. He answered: "Nowhere. Maybe you and I will defeat them in your dreams."
Sleepy and disoriented, Mariko liked this answer.
Then, solemnly and dead serious:
"Tobirama, I forgot to brush my teeth."
The rumble of his chest, a laugh, lulled her deeper into sleep. With the Senju stroking her sapphire hair, Mariko found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. She thought of the rock people story, and the leader's ability to make things heavy as rocks. Her eyelids were the same, drooping and drooping till her narrow vision of a white-haired man slipped shut.
She thought she heard him say, a voice achingly similar to Katsurou's, "May the stars crown you with emeralds, and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses, Lady Princess."
But that was unlikely. She decided that he actually said:
"Sweet dreams, Shorty."
Yes. That sounded right.
I have what I call "Writer's Moodswing".
I somehow went from Sumiko and stuff, to
cutesy to sappy to serious to the-kind-of-bedtime-stories-you-tell-to-kids-to-warn-them-of-boogie-wolf-monsters-like-obito-or-something.
And then tickling the feet, and the...the whaaat.
Oh Mariko, you so funny. _