First of the year, a chapter written for my own sanity.
She began her morning the same way she always did – showering, then staring into a full-size mirror wearing nothing but the bundle of cloth around her privates, as well as the recent addition of another strip, to be wrapped around her slowly budding chest.
It wasn't a habit borne of vanity. The spirits themselves knew that vanity is something the Tachibana were never lacking in, and her sisters were prime examples of the fact, but tomboyish little Aya never could walk quite as proper, hold herself quite as controlled…
Even now, standing near-naked in the sanctuary of her room, bathed in the sickly morning light that peered over the immaculately arranged forest cover of the Waterfall Village, Tachibana Aya looked tense and aggressive rather than relaxed and feminine.
No, it definitely wasn't a habit of vanity.
So far, her body was unblemished, devoid of the telltale signs of a shinobi, the many well-hidden cuts, bumps, scrapes and deformities that each and every one of them would accumulate over the years of service that were expected of them.
Skin as pale as the morning light, just another thing that made her the clan's outlier- a trait that provided a touch of the exotic, one that her mother tried to cultivate for that purpose, only to be defeated time and time again by the girl's complete lack of high-society tact. It wasn't common for a 14 year old girl from the waterfall to be mistaken for one from Kiri, but she kept pulling it off anyways, always bluntly correcting people instead of taking it with a smile and nod.
And the hair… her messy, would-be-curly-but-not, decidedly orange hair. She kept it shoulder-length, kept it combed as much as she could, but usually opted to just tie it into a braid.
What would be the first thing that mars her skin?
Was it going to be the blade of an enemy, or the violent touch of a mission target? For kunoichi, it was always a tossup, and it was a somewhat distressing thought she'd oft return to for no particular reason.
She ran her fingers across her skin, musing on how strange it was, yet how it was the part of her physical self she admired most, even more than her deep teal eyes, what others most admired.
The touch of something across her unprotected skin, even if it's her own touch, was always exhilarating, bringing sensations to her mind that she knew she was far too young to indulge, hastening the beat of her heart and heating up her skin... Yet she did so anyway, for what was a teenager if not a little bit rebellious?
But sometimes, always when she was alone, she wondered… fantasized, about the touch of another, and that other, funnily enough, began wearing the faces of her obnoxious, completely unattractive teammates more and more often as time went on…
Her hand reached out towards the mirror, feeling the familiar sensation of the chilly glass against her fingertips. It was something of a meditation to her, reaching out to herself… never could get past the glass, though, to touch that other that hid behind the name of a reflection.
Giving a small sigh, Aya draped herself in the fancy silken robe emblazoned with the symbol of her clan, a stylized tree branch entwined with itself. She turned away from the mirror and left the room, stepping out of her sanctuary and into the wide world, where the proprieties of clan life and mamma's disapproving looks lied in wait.
She slipped through the hallways without making a sound, making it to the table before anyone else. The day's breakfast was already set up by the house staff, simple but nutritious foods whose general lack of flavor was made up for by the speed with which they could be consumed.
Sitting down, she quickly went to work on a bowl of what appeared to be lintel mixed with… something. She wasn't that much of a picker when it came to food, so it was all pretty much the same.
"Aya… you're up earlier than usual," came a deep voice from the side of the room, it's owner walking in with an elegant stride honed by years of practice. Her mother.
A civilian, albeit one with the blood of since disgraced nobility coursing through her veins, Aya's mother was never distant, but her continual insistence that the youngest of her three daughters should try to emulate her siblings never allowed a particularly warm relationship to develop.
Aya loved her with all her heart, but she'd much rather spend her time with someone else, be it her cousins, the neighboring clan kids, or even random civilians.
It was strange, how for the majority of her life, she never could find a proper friend. Most kids though she was weird because of the hue of her skin, but it couldn't have been just that, those kids were the children of Takigakure shinobi, ninja who knew better than to raise their kids to discriminate.
The Waterfall was xenophobic, and with good reason; over the village's decades of history, embracing the outside world only ever brought pain and loss to the villagers – the only ones to whom the village would reach out to were the county's rulers, and it went to great lengths to ensure that those rulers stayed in power for the majority of their lives.
So even when Hashirama Senju, a living legend of his time, and the man who singlehandedly rounded up the tailed beasts, thought it prudent to assign one of the more powerful tailed beasts to the village, they almost refused... It was the man's almost childish naiveté and faith in his fellow shinobi that endeared him to the village's leader at the time, shifting his decision.
So, while the village may be hostile and discriminating to outsiders, the level of cooperation within was staggering – clans cooperated because they genuinely believed they were stronger together, even though they might not like one another. Everyone was given at least enough to cover their base needs, for everyone was expected to be ready to lay down their life for the village. And Aya was ready.
"Good morning, mom," she greeted, bowing her head deeply, so deeply it almost touched the ground, "I'll be out of the house again soon, don't worry."
Mrs. Tachibana shook her head, sitting down, "I never did."
His eyes snapped open, and he recalled that he was in the 'teamhouse', a battered old thing Manabu-sensei had hooked them up with once they finished their first mission together.
It was beyond unusual, having their teacher give them a set of keys each, saying that by passing his test they've earned a safe place away from their homes, a place where they can be shinobi only, not friends, children, brothers or sisters; a place where they can be a ninja team and nothing else.
He got up, lazily, and threw the thick linen covers to the side, rolling his head as he did so, loosening some of the minor stiffness sleeping in the cheap bed induced. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling for him, seeing as how most of his childhood… heck, his entire life actually, was spent waking up in similar beds.
Taking a deep breath, he knelt down on the ground, then propped himself up to begin doing push-ups. His muscles tensed in protest, but there was a reason why he strained them every morning and every day, and that reason alone trumped any discomfort.
Unlike his teammates, he didn't have a massive family to complain about… he had no blood ties to anyone or anything, really, but the children of the village's only orphanage were his own brothers and sisters, cheery little tykes that always looked up to 'big bro'; they were the first to realize that Daisuke Oshiro would become an extraordinary shinobi.
"10, 11, 12…"
He valued the system – it wasn't perfect, but it provided for him when he himself could not, it was a sanctuary for those unfortunate to have lost their homes and families right as they passed the doorstep of life, for people like him.
Ever since he first learned of what a shinobi was, he was dedicated to becoming one, adamantly refusing craftsman training in favor of a shinobi academy, where he was one of the generation's top students, oft compared to the prodigies of the Ishibate clan.
"…28, 29, 30!"
Content with his routine, the boy all but leapt to his feet, deciding that he could go for a quick shower before leaving for the training grounds, where he was to meet with the Tachibana and the oaf…
As he stepped into the independently-warmed shower room, Daisuke couldn't help but wonder – was this the day they finally get their B-Rank? Manabu's been hyping them up for it for some time now, so it was only a matter of days…
His shower was quick, and it was within minutes that he slipped into his typical gear; long sleeves, a dark navy blue, combined with shinobi cargos of a dark grey hue. They were hand-me-downs from older orphanage kids, hand-picked by the caretakers for him, their first shinobi in years.
However, as with all things, his outfit had to evolve – and Team 13's influence was obvious enough, leather jackets emblazoned with the village symbol and their own team number, though in a subtle, covert way. He felt comfortable wearing it, it was representative of his relationship with the team, so he could only assume that it would get better as time went on… a material attachment he could professionally do without, but he was still human, and could afford some small luxuries.
Before he heads out, though, there's the small matter of his blade.
The cedar wood box was hidden underneath the Teamhouse's bed he used most often, and he quickly undid the false wall that concealed it, laying it flat on the floor and popping it open. Within lied his weapon, the blade forged for him by his own family, the one that raised him, not the one that was lost to him…
He had a family, once, but the lifestyle of shinobi claimed them both, even though only his mother partook in the profession. A mere chunin, she lost her life to one of the numerous border patrol disputes with Iwagakure's ninja… and her husband followed suit not long after, leaving Daisuke alone.
Ever since he was aware of himself, Daisuke was raised in the orphanage, one of the oldest buildings in the village, surrounded by children who shared in his tragedy. So he'd done the only thing he deemed sensible at the time – decided to become the village's prime shinobi, no matter what it took.
The blade was extraordinary, an engineering marvel forged from materials that, while not rare, were terribly difficult to work, and as such were out of the price range of any civilian… but they all pitched in, scrounging up ryo in one way or another.
In time, that same cedar box was given to Daisuke, on the day that he first put on that headband. The weapon itself was chosen with care, though it wasn't a difficult choice to make; seeing him practice with that stick for seven years made the choice clear.
He slid the katana into the holster on his back, and took its' companion, the mundane wakizashi, and placed it on his hip. He had promised himself that only a worthy swordsman would get him to draw the katana, and he hadn't come across one such as that so far.
But, as he's already knew, it was only a matter of days…
If there was something Kichirou Fukui handled better than anyone else he knew, it was noise.
Being the sixth child of twelve, and with all of them alive and well, it tended to get crowded in the Fukui household… actually, crowded was all it ever was, really.
"Oy, Kichi, Sho, Ryuu, get up!" came the eldest sister's voice.
She wasn't exactly the eldest sister, but she was the eldest still living in the family home, so the label stood. She rolled her eyes upon realizing that Kichirou, of them all, was the only one to stir, then shrugged and went on her merry way down the stairs.
Said boy, having been shaken from what he assumed was a pleasant dream (for he couldn't remember it), grunted in annoyance before launching himself out of bed, over his brother and sister, landing with silence someone with his size and frame shouldn't be able to muster.
"Well, another day thus begins…" he drawled, throwing a thin cloth vest over his bare torso, then proceeded towards the washroom, only to find the twins and Hotaka waiting in line already…
Pond it was, then! And with gusto did he clamber out of the window and up onto the wall of the old public bath, which had long since fallen into disarray. The Pond, of course, was the building's nickname. While it wasn't quite up to high-society standards, the drains worked well enough, and someone hooked up a bootleg water pump to the urban ruin, so that worked as well.
"Which was it, again..?" he mused aloud, finding that the morning's haziness hadn't left him quite yet, "oh, right… up!"
The building was old stone, covered in dust and moss and dark blotches of shadow. It stood two stories high, and the upper level was rather treacherous in regard to where it was safe to walk… but his favorite spot was there, and whenever his actual shower was unavailable, as it was right now, he'd go there instead.
Only problem was… the stairs were missing.
"What the..?" Last time he came around, he was almost positive that the stairs were there…
Closer inspection revealed that the wooden frame of the staircase was still there, but that pretty much everything else was completely gone. Like someone just casually strolled in and stole the entire fucking staircase.
"Hard way it is, then!"
Sure, he could burn chakra and just walk up the wall, but muscling up the wall using cracks in the wall and the remnants of the staircase was more fun, so he'd just go and do that.
"One, two, and… whoa!"
Ten point landing, and the crowd goes wild… were there a crowd there to begin with, but whatever. He made the leap, and that's all that really counted.
Dusting himself off, he made his way to one of the 'stalls', finding the familiar crack in the wall that signaled that he had once more found his own sanctuary.
He spun the valve, feeling the ice-cold blast of water rush over him, jerking him out of whatever remained of the morning's haze. It was one of the worst ways to start the morning, but there wasn't much else that gave him that kind of kick, and a kick did wonders when you needed to get into gear and deal with cooler-than-thou Daisuke and the ever-aloof Aya.
It was ridiculously weird how they had so much dislike for one another when not together, only for it all to melt down when there was actual work to be done, leaving a rather amicable relationship in its wake.
Eh, he'll figure it out eventually… right now, he didn't want to be late.
Jonin instructor Hashigawa Manabu, ID number TK-11232, hung upside-down from a random tree, as he was wont to do when he was waiting for his team. A medic-nin in the top percentage of his village, he puzzled out the handy trick of keeping his bloodflow normal in any situation when he was only six years old; considering it's a trick ANBU all over the continents swore by, it wasn't that bad a way to kick off his future career.
Of course, it had a tendency to unnerve some clients.
"Excuse me, Hashigawa-san… could you please come down from there?"
The client wore well-made robes, but he hadn't bothered to tie them properly, revealing proper traveler's gear underneath. He tolerated the jonin's eccentricity long enough, but the behavior that was acceptable among ninja oft unnerved the civilian populace, and it unnerved his fiancé, which prompted his request.
Manabu sighed, then flipped down to the ground, landing with a surprising lack of sound. It was bad form to unsettle the clients, but honestly speaking, he's been busy enough trying to make Team 13 work that he might have fallen out of practice a bit.
"Apologies, it's been a while since I was part of a job that included proper nobility," he shrugged, then straightened himself up a bit.
The client responded with a smile and a nod, not buying the man's explanation for a moment. Before he could chide the man who was paid for his protection, his attention was sidetracked by the arrival of a trio of genin, the very team responsible for the safety of him and the woman he loved.
"We're here!" came the girl's voice, carrying very well over the slowly shrinking distance between the two groups. It had taken them a bit longer than expected to get out of the village, hence the latency.
"So you did, but since you're late, I figure lowering your pay by 15% is an appropriate punishment," the jonin concluded, looking smug.
"You can't legally do that…" Daisuke observed, though his voice was suspiciously silent.
"20 it is! Let's be off, the Land of Iron is a ways' off."
"Dude," Kichirou looked over to his teammate, obviously annoyed, "did you have to?"
"Shut up. You need the cash as badly as I do…"
Aya, the only one without significant monetary issues, kept her silence, trying to slink into the background. Her effort, however, was futile.
"Tachibana, you agree with me, don't you?"
If it was just Daisuke, or just Kichirou, she'd give a mediating answer easily enough, but seeing as they both asked the exact same question…
"I hate you both," she deadpanned.
oOoOoOo
"Wait a minute," Daisuke interrupted.
They'd been talking for a long while now, with long days having passed since they've passed the border of the Land of Waterfalls, heading towards the Land of Iron.
The country best known for its' samurai held one of the politically strongest Daimyo, a man whose extraordinary talent for diplomacy and good political instinct kept several wars, both mundane and shinobi from erupting. With many children, both sons and daughters, he had no issue allowing one of his youngest to pursue her true love, a minor nobleman from the Land of Waterfalls.
Those two young nobles, returning from a tour of the Land of Waterfalls, ended up spending more than expected, failing to make the B-Rank price range; neither was keen on contacting their parents for the remainder of the money, and agreed to settle for a somewhat riskier C-Rank ninja team for their escorts.
"…You're telling me that we might get to fight Ronin, who are essentially the 'bad guy' version of the samurai?"
"I wouldn't say bad guy… modern work heavily romanticizes the 'outlaw' aspect of the Ronin," Aya cleared up, frowning, "they're not exactly legal, but most don't really go out of their way to disobey the law – a lifetime of harsh discipline ingrains some restraint…"
"Anyone want to make a bet?" Kichirou offered, deciding to join the discussion once again.
"That we'll be fighting disgraced samurai before this mission's through?" the girl questioned, rolling her eyes.
"Yep," he nodded shamelessly.
"I'm in," their sensei spoke up, appearing behind them… which was strange, considering that he was the one leading the marching order.
"Yie!" the girl recoiled, though not as loud as one would expect from a startled yound woman.
"Sensei... why are you here, with us, rather than up front, with the client?"
A look of shock came over Manabu's face, and his expression went from gleeful to grim in moments:
"You're right... I really ought to know better."
"You really should."
Before he could reply, however, the jonin was joined by a pair of his own doppelgengers, leaping down from somewhere in the canopy. They looked considerably more alert than what the three genin assumed was the original.
"Trouble incoming," he announced, his voice completely devoid of its' usual humorous undertone, "take up a combat formation, I'm on the clients."
They didn't see the threat, but they fell in line all the same.
Team 13 prepared for battle.
oOoOoOo
The mud wall rose up just in time to intercept the initial volley of arrows. Their tips were clearly visible protruding through the mass, polished steel glistening despite the encompassing mud.
"Nice save!" Kichirou cheered at his fellow genin, feeling his chakra surge as he readied a technique of his own:
"Here we go! Lightning Style: Swift Pulse Wave!"
A pale pulse of energy shot out from the boy's outstretched arms, going off in a muffled bang at the moment it collided with the surrounding foliage.
"We got genin fighters here!" a voice called out, "move in and take them down!"
As ordered, a small group of well-armored men appeared from the woodwork, armed with master-crafted blades and complete indifference to the fact that their foes were shinobi.
"I hate being right, you know," Daisuke spoke, counting a mere half-dozen foes before dashing out from behind the wall, swinging the wakizashi at the nearest one.
It was sloppy, chaotic, and nothing like the near-religious adherence to formation that Manabu worked so hard to impart unto them...
It was also exactly the kind of scenario they thrived in.
"Boys, hold the line!" Aya barked, the only one still hidden behind the chunk of muddy earth summoned by her teammate, "I'm gonna do the thing!"
"The thing!?"Kichirou replied in a roar, "We're actually spontaneously field-testing The Thing!?"
He'd go on to express his concern en length, but the blade swung at his head took priority; swaying to the side just enough not to lose an ear, Kichirou swung out at the (what he assumed to be) the Ronin's leg, bringing the man to his knees, before driving a fist straight at his unprotected face.
The ensuing crunch was immensely gratifying.
"Don't tell me you're worried, Fukui!" his teammate spoke up from the side of the battlefield, fending off his two melee attackers while the trio of archers kept trying to take potshots at him.
His comparatively smaller frame worked to his advantage, allowing for dodges and feints that were impossible for his foes... Still, he was being pushed.
"Heck no!" came the reply, followed by another blast of pale blue electricity, one unfortunately way off-target.
"Then shut up and..."
Before he could finish, however, a familiar feeling of chakra flooding into the air stopped him, a satisfied smirk overtaking his concerned expression.
And just so, with the surge of confidence in the genin, their foes seemed to hesitate for a moment, just enough to take notice of the girl standing at the far side of the road.
She looked... happy. Confidence in one's ability to fight was one thing, relief due to the circumstances changing was another... this, however, was more akin to a mother's pride at seeing her child walk for the first time.
This was Aya Tachibana in her element, fingers stained with ink, hair ragged from dashing around, hiding from the enemy long enough to deploy her miniature masterpieces. She was no Uzumaki, not in blood or talent, but she had the drive of one, and a taste for tumping with ink that which others did with steel.
"Waterfall Pattern Sealing: Darkness Corner Seal!" she exclaimed with no small amount of glee, then pressed her palm into the scroll that lay unbound on the dirt in front of her.
There was a moment of silence... then the world went dark.
It took so damn long to publish this...
Also, I apologize if there are any wonky POV shifts.
And finally, I'm done begging for reviews. They're appreciated, but I'm kicking the addiction.