Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.
Part 1: Nara Shikari
"I'm going to Hell in a basket
Weaved in from my sins
Like wicker
With little Wiccan ties
As if I'm a witch
Accused"
Matthew Little, Hell in a Basket
Shikamaru stared blankly at the dark wooden floor, mindlessly sweeping it as he was ordered to.
On his left stood a fair-skinned woman with a dark-green kimono. Her long black hair was looped in the back and slicked back in the front with wax, a comb was inserted into the top as a finishing touch. Her dark smoldering eyes were focused on him, openly glaring but supervising his work at the same time.
He would praise her beauty and grace if she was not so nasty.
"Are you blind, girl? That spot is still dirty!" The woman spat with a tone so vicious that one would think that he was cannibalizing newborn's flesh in his spare time.
That was nothing.
Sometimes the woman would make him do chores, a lot of them, twice, before he would be allowed to leave the house. Usually he would just do it, because defying the order was not worth the headache he would receive once the woman started to lament her grievous fate for having such a rude, lazy and disobedient wench of a daughter. Shikamaru had lost count on how many times he had heard that particular tirade already.
Another time the woman would force him to sit in front of a mirror, combing his hair for hours and whispered how he was going to grow to be a beautiful woman. How someday he was going to marry a respectable man and bring honor to their family.
He wanted to gag.
Shikamaru was not sure which one was worse; the thought of being married off to some random men or the fact that the woman kept crushing his sense of self by constantly emphasizing that as of now he was a girl and that fact would never ever change.
He remembered the first few months of his arrival, when he was so wrapped up in self-loathing and denial after realizing when and where he had ended up at, trapped in someone else's body on top of that. At that rate the woman was bound to see some of his occasional bouts of insanity.
He was not sure of this era's opinion about gender dysphoria, however, the woman could at least pretend to be sympathetic to his situation and stop reminding himself about how wrong his body was by making him stare into those stupid mirrors, or making him attend stupid 'womanly' lessons.
He especially hated those lessons.
Sometimes Shikamaru wondered where the real Shikari was. Did she die? Or did she just... disappear so that he could exist? Did she become a part of him? Was she hiding somewhere, somewhere in the dark corner inside his – their – mind? If she were, could they switch places for a bit – just long enough for him to close his eyes and pretend that none of this was real, just long enough for him to pretend that everything was alright?
Shikamaru felt the shift in the air, but he made no move to evade the strike despite being very capable to, as the woman whipped her hand across his face, causing a sharp pain to travel into his cheek.
That was nothing, he had worse.
"Focus girl! The floor is not going to clean itself on its own!" the woman snapped.
"Yes ma'am."
He was not sure why he accepted the slap. He knew that he was not a masochist, but some part of him – the miserable and pathetic part of him – took the punishment as some sort of atonement for his inability to save his comrades and ensure Konoha's future. The other part of him, the part of him who felt its identity was being robbed by the circumstance, took the pain as some sort of rebellion to the woman who dedicated her life to make a 'proper' woman out of him.
After all, as the woman always said, women had to be graceful and beautiful. Although beautiful was a subjective term, he was sure that the woman meant no bruises in the face.
If his skin was filled with bruises, he would be less of a woman and more of a man, right?
"Again."
The strict voice echoed through the room, the voice was soft and barely above a whisper, but its clipped tone was heard by every occupant of the room.
Immediately, after the command was given, sounds of instruments being played filled the room. The harmonious combination of shamisen, koto, shakuhachi and tsuzumi created an ethereal wistful melody etched by melancholy, juxtaposing with the seemingly carefree spirit of their players.
At the middle of the room, the mistress' eyes surveyed the players, her lips twitched in pride as she noted the graceful posture her pupils had as they played the instruments like an experienced geisha. Not only that, the musical arrangement was also perfect, as expected of her students.
The only thing that dampened the mistress' mood was the latest addition to her class, a delinquent child who was sitting behind a taller girl with her head rested on top of her knees, openly sleeping and blatantly disrespecting her and her lesson.
The mistress despised her.
That girl had no appreciation for any kind of arts, not poetry, not singing, not dancing, nor playing music. The girl had neither manner nor sophistication, no respect for her elders and did not know how to act like a proper woman. The girl was the epitome of things that the mistress did not want to be: a tasteless, passionless and useless woman.
The mistress held her forefinger up, and the sounds of the music ceased abruptly.
The mistress walked closer to the delinquent with her rattan cane in tow. Her pupils obediently shuffled aside and let the mistress walk through. They knew what would happen next and they did not want to be on the receiving end of the mistress' wrath.
The mistress stopped two feet away from the girl. She briefly eyed the girl with a frown before she swung the rattan cane into the girl's head.
However, before the rattan could hit its intended target, a pale arm rose and halted its descent.
"You miss again shishou," Shikamaru stated. His eyes were half-lidded with his trademark bored look plastered on his face.
The mistress smiled sweetly. The girl might have the nerve to mock her now, but soon she would not have it any longer.
"It was my intention, dear."
They both knew that it was a lie. Loath as she might to admit it, the girl did have a very good reflex. She caught the rattan in such a way that her hand would bear a minimum amount of damage from the force of the blow.
"The usual I presume?" the girl asked plainly, as if she was not bothered by the punishment that would befall upon her.
It irked the mistress, but still, she smiled politely.
"You know the drill."
Shikamaru sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. He did not want to hear the troublesome woman bitching even more about his attitude, not when he had had enough of that headache inducing speech from the previous lessons.
He walked into the corner of the room and lazily dragged the wooden 'punishment chair' with him into the middle of the room before he climbed and stood on top of it.
"Come now, lift your skirt," the mistress said expectantly to the girl.
Shikamaru mindlessly lifted the ugly piece of clothing that he had been forced to wear.
The mistress stared at the back of the girl's calves. There were some fading bruises and lines from the previous punishments. However, considering the amount of frequency in which the girl get punished, they looked relatively fine.
Perhaps she should punish the girl harsher this time. Perhaps then she would finally get it through her thick skull how to behave like a proper woman.
The mistress liked the idea.
The mistress turned around and faced the rest of her students. "Our lesson today finish early. Your music performance today is acceptable enough that I do not feel embarrassed to be your teacher."
Her pupils looked visibly brightened by the compliment. Those fools.
"Nevertheless, I still expect every single one of you to practice your poetry at home. Do not disappoint me."
"Yes shishou," the students chorused.
They gave the mistress a bow before they ushered themselves out of the room, leaving the mistress alone with the girl.
The mistress turned to the delinquent and let a menacing smile appear on her face. "Now that we are alone, let's deal with your bad behavior."
The mistress moved the rattan cane into the girl's back.
"Strip," the mistress ordered.
Shikamaru's eyes widened.
"Well..." the mistress drawled, "get on with it."
Shikamaru stared incredulously at the wall in front of him.
Is this woman for real?
"Come now girl, strip. Or are you too much of a dunderhead to understand my simple command?" she taunted.
Shikamaru was no stranger to corporal punishment; he was a ninja after all. If the woman wanted to strike him, he would not cause too much of a ruckus. He had to build his new body's pain tolerance from somewhere. Even Konoha - who was alleged as the 'friendliest' of the Five Great Shinobi Countries - still applied corporal punishment, even to civilians, if they chose to avoid incarceration and be punished by it instead.
What he was not fine with, was the fact that the woman did not even think twice before deciding on corporal punishment for children.
Shikamaru was not a child; he could take the pain and heal himself. However, what about other children, real children? He was aware that the protection of children in this era was abysmal at best - considering the fact that they trained children how to kill before they could even read - but caning and whipping? That was not acceptable in his book.
Even though Shikamaru was more than familiar with pain, he had to admit that the woman had never before held her strength back. He did not want that rattan cane to come anywhere near his spine.
The mistress, on the other hand, watched the girl with no small amount of anger and annoyance. Feeling her patience began to run out with the girl's disobedience, the mistress roughly yanked the girl's collar down, exposing her pale neck and shoulders.
The sight brought her into a stunned silence.
It reminded the mistress of a memory long time ago, a memory of a woman who smelt like Camellia.
The mistress remembered her,
She has mischievous eyes, but she also has the warmest smiles and hugs.
They used to walk through the forest and just talked for hours about everything and nothing. She had always led the way - saying she knew the forest better - bundled beneath her obnoxious deer coat, only giving the mistress a glimpse of her pale, long neck.
Sometimes she's a real pain to deal with, but she's loyal to the core. She never judges her lifestyle, looks or decisions. She always stays beside her during difficult times and handles her well during her mood swings. She has a sharp memory - always there to keep her things (and life) organized.
But now she's gone...
Fate was such a cruel bitch.
The man who took her hands in marriage did not even deserve her. He never loved her, not like she did.
Words could not describe how much she longed to see her best friend, her confidante. But the mistress could not afford to be selfish.
That man was not someone to be trifled with. He might fool everyone else, but not her; never her.
She would preserve. As long as she remained silent, nothing would ever befall her best friend. The mistress was sure of it.
The mistress squeezed her eyes shut. Please be alright, please, plea-
"Shishou... Are you okay?"
What?
The mistress blinked her eyes, and felt droplets of water fall down her cheeks. It was only now that she realized that she had started crying. She had never felt more pathetic.
No, no, no, no, no.
She was the mistress dammit. She was a strong woman, she should not cry.
She should not let others see her weakness, especially not this girl. Not the girl that reminded her of the man that ruined everything in her life. Not the girl whose very existence was the ultimate mockery that fate had decided to grace her with.
The mistress loathed her, more than anything.
"Get out."
"But-"
"I said, GET OUT!"
The woman violently kicked the legs of the chair, making it tumble onto the floor. Shikamaru's quick reflex was the only thing that prevented him from kissing the ground.
"What is wrong with you?!"
The mistress swung her cane at him in response, but he quickly dived out of the way and made a beeline towards the sliding door to escape from the deranged woman. Shikamaru didn't want to know what happened inside, but he could hear the sound of furniture being thrown at the walls.
He continued to run in the direction of his house, straightening his clothes in the process. He did not want other people to reach a wrong conclusion about what had transpired.
Once he was near his house, he slowed his pace and acted nonchalantly. He quietly sneaked into the house, ignoring his body's mother who was tending to her Camellia garden, and headed towards his room. He locked the door and threw himself into the futon, savoring its uncomfortable texture.
It's what you deserve, he remembered the woman had said.
It was still better than nothing.
Shikamaru glanced out of his bedroom's window. According to the sun's position, it was only an hour after noon. He still had a few more hours before dinner. He'd better do something productive until then.
He rolled into his side and used his toes to drag four wooden dolls that were scattered on the floor closer to him. He then picked the broken dolls with his hands and threw them into the corners of the room.
Perfect.
Shikamaru pushed his chakra into his hands, materializing it on the tips of his fingers. He then lengthened the concentrated chakra into threads and attached them to the dolls. One did not befriend a puppeteer without learning a trick or two.
The key of this exercise was balance. If the chakra threads were too thick, the puppets' movements would become too stiff and the enemy would easily spot him. At the same time, if they were too thin, the threads would not be strong enough to properly move the puppets.
It was a good exercise for someone like him, who preferred not to tax himself too much.
The fact that he could break someone's joints once he was adept at using the chakra threads had nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
A/N: Shishou (師匠) = teacher, master. The word itself has a more literal meaning of teacher and is closer to the concept of one's master (the first character shi or sui means commander or governor).
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