"Documenting daily life,
tell me I'll be alright,
open eyed and tangled in absentees,
stories of a child's past,
autopsied broken glass,"
-Solaria, GHOST
Hidan was silent when he finally stalked out of the house, a hand tangled aggressively in his hair, stewing in rage, but Touko's great grandpa was still alive.
It would be unsatisfying to him, I knew, to kill him under any rules but Jashinism.
He was a heathen and a blasphemer and, most importantly, openly worshipped another god.
The balcony was empty.
Touko was kneeling in the dirt, back to him, tongue sticking out as she stacked pebbles in a precarious pile.
And, maybe, one of us should think about how killing him would affect her, even if it had to be me.
I felt his amber eyes on me. He never even realized it, that he'd mimicked the exact color of Konan's eyes.
I didn't look at him as I peeled myself off the wall and wordlessly walked back down the stairs.
"Oh, um, bye!" Touko called out to me.
I lifted a hand without looking, just high enough to be seen over my shoulder, and heard Hidan wordlessly follow me.
He didn't break the silence until we were halfway back to the alley.
"So," he began, forcing himself to slouch, to pretend at being relaxed."You figure your shit out yet?"
I only hummed, because I hadn't.
He quirked an eyebrow at me, but I couldn't keep looking at his eyes, so I stared ahead instead.
Why had it bothered me so much?
I didn't know.
Why that, a sacrifice and the idea of it, when I'd seen and heard and done worse?
I deliberately thought of watching Ibuse swallow screaming ninja whole. I thought of that rain-nin I killed by ripping him apart, and how after I couldn't tell if I was covered in my own blood or his.
A woman being drowned by someone she loved and trusted should've meant nothing.
Why did I break into that house because of a suspicion? For a justification?
Why did I think he owed me one?
Why, a little voice at the back of my mind spoke, tired-sounding, did everything always need sacrifice?
I tried to imagine how the son might've felt, born to worship and jealousy, knowing what his grandpa did. Caring about someone so much and at the same time feeling betrayed by them.
If he ever found out at all.
Like with Mamoru-sensei. A little. Barely. Because he was Illusive Mamoru. Not Earth Shaker Mamoru, or EarthHands Mamoru.
Earth-style wasn't special, so it made sense that when Konan died he'd fold into himself. The lack of will to keep teaching hadn't surprised Naga or Yahiko, because it made sense.
Mamoru-sensei had lost to Hanzo again. And he'd lost his friend again.
It made sense that it would've slipped by that he was the only one who could teach me earth-style.
Stop it, that voice interrupted, sounding more and more like me. You felt abandoned.
Like finding out your grandpa drowned your mom and having no one left. Standing next to them and talking to them and still feeling alone.
Thinking that you only wrapped your heart in steel to protect it from people you didn't know, when it was really everyone.
Thinking that unwrapping it would be so easy when all I could tell Naga was that I wanted to be relied on.
I blinked, and I was suddenly at half the height I normally was, on my knees in the dirt.
When did I stop walking?
I caught myself as I swayed forward, my hands pressed to the ground, feeling pebbles dig under my nails as my fingers involuntarily curled.
My hair fell around me like spilled ink.
It was only the day before, or the day before that, that I'd snapped at Yahiko for snapping at Naga, because it wasn't fair that he could, that he didn't automatically tuck any anger he felt for him away.
I fell onto my side and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling heavy, like I was an earth clone.
And after taking out my own issues on him, I'd told him that story, that stupid story about the rabbit on the moon.
I started laughing at myself, a quiet, choked kind of laugh, because I was in a foreign village, surrounded by people I didn't want to be angry at, and I couldn't move.
Sometimes I don't feel fifteen either.
What a joke. What a lie.
What a hilarious thing to say.
I squeezed the front of my cloak over my heart and laughed and laughed.
Because I only ever fully understood what I felt while sparring or fighting to the death. Because I could tell what was hurt the moment I got hurt, because I could feel exactly how much chakra I had, because I didn't need to justify and reason out why I should or shouldn't feel something.
I'd broken into that house because I was spiraling, leaving bits of myself all over like blood stains, until I left streaks of it on everything around me.
I closed my eyes tightly as my vision blurred, as I heard the wet plop of water hitting the ground, but I couldn't stop laughing.
How could someone like me lead a village? Someone who could only acknowledge how they felt when they got too heavy to keep going?
When I finally managed to stop laughing, I saw the blood under my nails, the bleeding crescents dug into my palms.
My entire face, from my eyes downward, was wet.
A scrape next to me had my eyes darting to the side, my eyes latching onto Hidan, sitting and idly sharpening his scythe with a rock. The storage scroll for it was half-unrolled on the ground.
I stared at him, fingers digging into my palms again, because I'd forgotten him, and the only one who'd ever seen me like this was Naga.
It wasn't fair, and it didn't make any sense, but it felt like a violation.
"I wish you could die," I said instantly, twisting upright.
He paused, looking up, "I figured you were talking to her again—"
Blood spurted as I dragged a kunai across his neck, coating my arm and the ground with it. His head jerked to the side, but he only looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
Because it was Hidan, he only blinked at me.
Belatedly, he held his neck to stem the bleeding, an attempt to save his shirt and himself from having to wash it again, but it was already soaked through.
His hair was gray and his eyes were purple.
And I thought that I should've used chakra to take off his head. But that wouldn't have even stopped him from talking.
Blood poured from his mouth as he tried to talk, failed, and raised his eyebrows at me.
Because it was Hidan, he only looked curious, completely unbothered as he examined me.
It made me feel worse.
He barely caught my wrist as I threw myself at him, and my eyes widened more as I stared at him, because even now he wasn't faster than me.
"Annoying," I spat, wide-eyed, and the pressure around us increased suddenly, the ground violently, loudly cracking.
Hidan was forced down under it, pinned on his back, but he didn't let go, yanking me down half on top of him. I kept staring into his eyes.
But because it was Hidan, he was staring at the sky above me, only looking faintly irritated as he coughed blood.
His lack of a reaction didn't matter, really, because I stared into his amber eyes, and I hated him.
Because I hated Konan, because she went and died. But she wasn't the only one. I hated Kota a little, for leaving me alone in all the ways that mattered. I hated hated Joji because he'd been too weak and Etsudo for being too cowardly.
None of it made any sense.
And yet I hated Osamu for what his death did to Mamoru-sensei, and Naga for pulling away, and Yahiko for falling apart.
But more than anything, and maybe even the Uchiha, I hated the eyes in my head. The Uchiha had only used Hanzo to kill us because of them, after all.
Because the Rinnegan was everything I hated about myself. Powerful and distinct, but useless.
Hidan paused, focusing back on me, and too late I saw the drop of water that landed on his cheek, just under his eye.
I swiped my eyes dry, glaring down at him, daring him to say a word about it. Half-wanting him to, so I would feel anger instead of despair.
But he wouldn't, because he was himself, and he rarely did anything the way anyone wanted him to.
He squinted back at me, trying to talk again, but his neck was still healing. He let go of my wrist to struggle signing under the weight of my chakra.
"It—was—cash—cow."
"What?"
"You—were—wrong."
I stopped. Everything stopped as I made sense of what he was talking about.
"Maho taught you to sign?" I asked, just baffled enough to temporarily override the feeling of embarrassment. The pressure faded.
Hidan immediately sat up, grabbing at his shirt. "Fuck," he croaked. "My fucking shirt. I have to waste chakra on this shit—"
I watched him, not hearing anything else.
I wondered if it was better—easier to pretend like nothing happened, or maybe it was worse.
I didn't know.
I silently wiped my face clean with my cloak as he complained.
"Cash cow gave me shit about it," Hidan continued, wiping my tears off his face with the back of his hand and smearing blood there instead. "But that one-armed sensei didn't want to do it and made him. You should've seen his face."
Maho, who'd made at least a little effort to try and tell me that I should have a dream beyond violence. Maybe that was why I couldn't bring myself to hate him, even though he'd ran.
"Do you think I could do it?" I asked Hidan suddenly. "Rally Minakami? Pretend to lead them? Make Kirigakure our ally?"
Hidan looked uncomfortable. "What's with the lack of confidence?"
I didn't answer.
After a few seconds, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "You said pretending to lead them," he repeated, not understanding. "You're shitting me, right? What about anything you did with that fish was pretending?"
"Kisame?" I asked confusedly. "What does he have to do with—"
"Because he follows you. A leader gets followed. What do you think a leader is?" he asked back, just as confused, absently scratching flakes of blood off his neck. "If you get only one person in a crowd to believe in the shit you say, you're leading them."
I paused, then looked up at the sky. "What if," I began. "I knew what to say to get him to follow me before I met him? That's not leading. That's cheating."
Three seconds of silence.
"Did that other—did she tell you to go fight him too?" he asked skeptically.
My eyes flicked down to him. "No."
He ran his finger along the edge of the shortest blade of his scythe to test the sharpness, leaving blood behind. "Then she did shit all," he said bluntly. "That fish wasn't going to stay if you thought what you told him earned you anything. He would've taken his shit sword, left the second you went to sleep, and you never would've seen him again. Even I could see that."
I stared silently at him.
"I can't believe you're making me talk up that sea urchin bastard," he added, heavily disgruntled, licking his bleeding finger dry. "What happened to she's not me?"
His voice rose at the end, high-pitched and mocking.
I blinked, and then I laughed a little, raising my collar to half hide my face. "Her name was Marie," was all I said.
"Uh, okay?" he said, barely hiding his disinterest.
"She told me," I continued, eyes on a red cloud on my cloak. "That I... that all I was good for was killing people."
Hidan tilted his head.
It didn't make any sense at all, why that mattered to me now when it didn't before.
"Then let's leave this shithole," he said.
I looked at him.
"What's the look for? If you think she's right you would've left when you came back with that crab. We both know that he'll fight if you tell him to, like a big, shitty puppy—"
And there was Mangetsu too. No matter his motives, how much more killing could I be good for?
"—if you just want to kill people, then let's fucking kill some people," he said. He stood, grinning, and held his hand out to me. "Let's go back and start with all those tree huggers hiding in the village."
I looked his palm. I thought about agreeing, because it would be easier. Mindless. Weeding out Root, no matter the collateral damage.
And Naga and Yahiko wouldn't hold it over me if I left. At least, not for long. Naga would worry about me, I knew, but it wouldn't distract him.
It hadn't for a long time.
And Yahiko—he'd complain, and his eyes would look me over with a sharpness that his words wouldn't have, but with the opportunity put back into his hands, he could and would bend Kirigakure to his will eventually.
They didn't need me, not really.
But it would be a breach of trust. They're trusting you, and you leave?
But it wasn't about them, why I didn't take his hand.
"But that's too messy," I mused to him.
After all, roots always grew back. The only way to kill them permanently was to make it so nothing could grow, and maybe that was what that advisor wanted, to see us poison the ground we stood on until there was nothing but a wasteland left.
"Huh?" he asked, cupping a hand around his ear. "I thought I heard a good-for-nothing killer say something that sounded like caring—"
I lightly smacked his hand away. "You made your point."
His eyes lingered just slightly on the bloody tips of my fingers. He plopped back down, running his pinky along the sharpened middle blade as a test.
I didn't feel better, exactly, but less heavy.
"You could help," I suggested. "Get involved—"
"In all this political shit?" he interrupted me in deep disgust. "Just say you fucking hate me."
I paused, because I had, in a way. "I did," I responded.
He rolled his eyes hard. "Repeat that shit to my face right now, if you meant it," he challenged without looking up.
I blinked at him.
"Well?" he asked, licking his finger again.
I paused, and then I started laughing again despite myself, though nothing was funny. I tipped backwards and covered my face with my cloak. "You're the worst."
"I'm still waiting."
"Why did you stay?" I asked instead, looking at the thin, slow-moving clouds of mist.
I heard him seal his scythe away. "Seems like an Akatsuki thing not to respect privacy," he answered vaguely.
I laughed into my cloak again, quietly. "An Akatsuki thing?"
"Yeah," he answered, just as vague. "And you've been weird all day."
"Weird?" I repeated in faint disbelief. "That's your only reason?"
"What? You want me to write a book about every thought I had?" he asked, disgruntled again. "Just didn't feel right to pretend like I didn't see anything. How the hell would I have known when you were done?"
"But watching me cry felt right?" I asked.
"Yes," he deadpanned. "Yeah, that's it. I really get off on that shit. Do you hear yourself when you ask me stupid questions?"
I only laughed in response.
And then I felt him pick up my hand. I stopped, eyes flicking to him, and I watched him pull a roll of bandages from his pouch in surprise.
"Don't make it complicated," he said immediately. "I just know you're not going to take care of this shit."
I hummed. "You carry bandage rolls?" was all I asked.
He eyed the offending object. "Barely counts as me carrying them," he answered. "That red-head puts things in there and he frowns like I've shit all over his sandals if I toss them. Less annoying to let him do what he wants."
I looked at it, and then I laughed again, softly.
He went silent. And then, eventually, "You've got dirt and shit in the wound. What's the half-sign for water?"
I paused, peeking at him. "The half-sign?" I repeated.
"Just show me," he said impatiently.
I hummed again, but made the half-dog sign with my other hand. Even that hurt.
He mimicked the motion, his eyebrows pulling tightly together, but nothing happened.
"It's supposed to be rare that people can do it," I thought to mention.
"All three of you and your sensei can," he said back incredulously. "Rare my ass."
I could've reminded him that Yahiko and Naga were both prodigies, and maybe I'd known, on some level deep in my subconscious, what chakra already was, but instead I pulled my chakra into the shape of the sign and water started to form out of nothing, shapeless.
"And it takes more chakra than you think to do it," I said instead. "It's not a full jutsu, but the sign still pulls the chakra for one, and you have to keep pulling chakra to maintain it. Only Yahiko knows how to do half-jutsu without the extra drain, but... he's the only one who needs to."
"Fucking genetics."
"But," I continued, musing. "Mastering two-handed half-jutsu makes one-handed signs easier to use in general. It helps in understanding how chakra works more—"
"Fuck it," Hidan interrupted. He abandoned the half-sign and shoved my hand into the water bubble.
I blinked, and then I tugged my cloak completely over my face and laughed.
.
.
.
The alley was empty, which meant that they were all still out fishing.
I felt relief.
Relief that I didn't have to explain the bandages that had been cut and wrapped around my fingers, why Hidan's shirt was stained a deeper pink than before, or, if Naga had re-expanded his range again, why we'd taken so long with Touko.
Or endure him looking at me with dark, questioning eyes, because he would've sensed the concentrated explosion of chakra.
But I didn't want to sit around with my thoughts either.
"Have you ever seen a TV before?" I asked, half-turning to him.
Hidan, leaning an arm on the corner of the wall in boredom, blinked at me. "I don't fucking know. Describe it."
I didn't, if only because that itself was a 'no'. It was too distinctive to need describing.
"What about a radio?"
He didn't immediately answer, tilting his head. "Sounds familiar," he finally answered. "Probably something the Academy talked about. If they didn't beat it into my head, it wouldn't have stuck. What is it?"
I hummed, because I didn't know, exactly. Kisame hadn't explained it, and it hadn't been working.
"Something that pulls a signal from far away, probably."
"Probably?"
"Maybe."
"Think Fire country has something like that, but they call them receivers," he told me, looking at me under his arm. He pointed at his ear with his other hand. You put one end in here, someone else puts the other end on, and they can talk to each other over a distance. Think it was two-hundred feet?"
"You know about that, but not what a radio is?"
"It's not the same," he said, rolling his eyes. "Warm water only makes you memorize shit that matters to being a ninja. Maps, what plants will kill you, or just make you shit, and what tools other countries have that they don't. And some history. At least enough not to fuck up an alliance or make anyone with a stick up their ass feel like they can ask for favors to make up for hurt feelings. Well, it did. Shitty tourist stop."
I hummed. It explained why his knowledge seemed so random. Why he knew the Karatachi had pink eyes and the history of River country, but was blank on who Madara Uchiha was.
If he was dead and had been for a long time, what did a corpse in another country have to do with being a ninja?
"Are the Karatachi important? More than just being ninja?" I asked.
"The pink eyes? Maybe? We—they were called to help them out a lot. Mist-nin had them doing border duty, and the ones who brought us past the checkpoints were always the pink eyes," he answered, squinting at nothing, remembering.
Important enough to be in charge of meeting with foreign villages, at least.
"Yugakure was allied with Kirigakure?"
"Nah, it wasn't like that. They used to play both sides," he answered, looking at me under his arm again.
"Both sides," I repeated curiously.
He grinned. "You pretend to be everyone's friend, and once you're found out, nobody lifts a finger when half your village is slaughtered."
I hummed again. "They made it sound like it was a lot more than half."
"Not like I counted."
"I think," I began, tilting my head towards him. "That they blamed becoming a tourist trap on you."
"Haa. If that's the shit they want to feed themselves, then they can. But the choice to abandon their roots was all them. Wasn't me who didn't pick a side and made their own ninja get burned when it got a little too hot," he said harshly, a distant look in his eyes. "But greed is a cardinal sin. And greed on that scale only ever gets washed clean one way."
I looked at him, and I wondered if anyone in Yugakure ever really understood why he did what he did, or if all they thought was that he was just living up to who they'd named him after.
Failed by this accursed world, the Uchiha would say.
"The Uchiha will probably try to recruit you," I said immediately, because we were similar.
Hidan looked deeply offended.
"He won't understand you. He can't," I explained, looking at the alley wall. "He'll ask himself what's tying you to Amegakure and won't be able to come up with an answer. So, he'll try."
Maybe that was the game he'd play.
"Oh, yeah? And what's tying me to that shithole?" he asked, knowingly, probably expecting me to mention his headband, or me, both ties to people, but not the place.
The wrong answer was also, you have nothing else, even if it was still true.
"You," I finally answered, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "Because you like it there."
His eyes widened slightly as he stared at me, but I only stared back.
Half a minute passed before his eyebrows pulled tightly together and he asked, "What the fuck were you talking about when you said you were pretending at anything?"
I blinked, and then I faced away from him and let out a long breath, saying nothing.
He eyed me, and then I heard him push off the wall. "We're not going there, are we?" he asked at a mutter to himself.
I followed his gaze to the path that led to the beach. "We?" I asked, feigning ignorance, feigning cheerfulness. "You can do whatever you want."
Hidan ignored me, sniffing his shirt. "Could use a bath," he said, also to himself, rubbing at the pink stains with his thumb.
"Could do it yourself," I suggested.
His eyebrow twitched. He wordlessly started to make signs, but not for a water jutsu.
Dog, boar—
"You should pick a different color for your eyes," I quickly interrupted him, and he stopped, looking sideways at me.
"Why?"
My smile was thin. "Because."
We stared at each other.
But he broke the stare first. He finished with the ram sign. A small puff of smoke, and he was similar, but different than before. His hair was still brown and the pinkish tint to his shirt was gone, but his eyes were different.
They were a familiar neon green.
"You never make features completely up?" I asked curiously.
"You're not supposed to," Hidan answered, scrubbing at his hair in irritation, messing it up. "It's not supposed to be for fun. It's to pretend to be someone else. Someone who exists."
"You find this fun?" I asked in disbelief. "Hiding because your bounty makes you a cash cow?"
He stopped with his hand still tangled in his hair. "Don't call me that."
"Or?"
He tilted his head in thought. "Or I'll cry. And vomit and shit and whine," he told me tonelessly.
I blinked slowly at him.
"And then roll on the ground and cry more."
Even slower, I said, "Don't tell me that's what you think Maho is like."
"I won't then," he responded happily, grinning in the face of the flattest stare I could give him. "But yeah, this is for fun. If a missing-nin was serious about running, they'd do as much real shit as possible. Hair dye and scars and sometimes taking out an eye. I knew a sinner like that once. You must've seen him, back at that inn. He was from here."
I looked at him. His eyes were distant, his grin less real. He rolled his neck.
"And missing-nin don't let tiny sensor-nin look at their chakra long enough to memorize it. You really need to go bounty hunting sometime, at least once. You learn a lot about how desperate heathens can be."
"Maybe I'll start with the one in front of me."
His eyes glittered with amusement, with challenge, but he only shrugged. He started messing with his hair again, his expression souring. He squeezed strands of hair in a tight fist for a second before he forced his hand down.
"I don't think you believed me before, but it doesn't look bad down," I told him.
He scoffed. "Are you allergic to saying an actual compliment?"
"Most times, no. But right now? Definitely."
He squinted at me, unsure if I was joking or not when even I wasn't sure, then looked away.
"You can have it when I cut it off. If I have to do this shit again, I will," he threatened half-heartedly.
.
.
.
"So, you're saying a TV is some big box with pictures moving on it?" Hidan asked, deeply skeptical.
"You'll see," was all I said, listening to the sound of water rushing through the canal.
"And you're sure it wasn't genjutsu?" he asked, with even more skepticism.
I ignored him, idly noting the 'old woman' with the stand of trinkets still kneeling in the same place as before as I passed by.
"Young lady!" she called out to me.
Hidan craned his head to look, but I wasn't interested in buying anything, so I didn't.
"Did that young man like the gift you bought?" she asked pleasantly, insistently. "I have more like it!"
I stopped.
Hidan almost tripped, swiveling around to look at me. "And who do you know who could be called that? Did that fish turn noble?" he asked, laughing.
The trinket seller paused, but I didn't look at her.
"That's something only nobles call each other?" I asked him.
"Civilians definitely don't say it to ninja," he said, humored.
"But she called me a young lady."
He looked even more amused, like it was a joke I didn't get, and only asked, "And you got him a gift?"
"No," I answered, before he could somehow crack himself up about that too. I reached into my pouch and pulled out the necklace. "I got you a gift."
Hidan quirked an eyebrow, his eyes following the movement of my hand as the necklace untangled itself as I held it up, and he went very still.
Shock rippled across his face. His hands darted out to take it, but he stopped himself, slowly cupping his hands beneath it, soft and awed.
I dropped it in his palm.
His eyes looked unnaturally bright. "Where did you get this?" he asked, as quiet as a prayer.
"Here," I answered, hooking a thumb at the trinket seller.
"Here?" he repeated in complete disbelief as his eyes darted to mine, like it was something unthinkable. His too-bright gaze shifted fully onto the trinket seller.
"Would you be interested in...?" she started to ask me, but let the sentence fade when I didn't follow Hidan to the table.
She didn't even try to make a pitch to him.
Her lack of interest in him didn't matter, because Hidan didn't look at her as he scoured every inch of the table, the necklace clenched in his fist.
I hummed and thought about what Kisame had said about her chunin-level transformation.
I wondered if it was Samehada who'd known. It was her who he said had tracked us, not himself.
"You said you had more," Hidan finally accused, more than a little of a threat, and she paled.
"I—is it—is it special?" she stumbled to say, suddenly timid, squeezing her hands together. "It's—these are cheap, mass-produced items that come from the metalworkers in Shirubāshī. They're nothing. I'm not the only one to sell them in the village, though Minakami is a bit different..."
His eyes roved over the table again, but the intense look in them had faded somewhat, along with his interest.
"But that necklace—yes, it does seem unique. It's possible... that someone slipped it in there by mistake?" she offered, as if to appease him.
Hidan didn't respond, because it wasn't possible to have been something wanted, and accidently lost. Jashinists weren't quiet. Hidan, if he lost his scythe, would have already crossed the ocean to get it back. But it had been two days since I'd bought it, and if someone who couldn't die was anywhere, Mei would've known about it.
And it didn't make much sense to keep it to herself, when she had visibly disliked it when I asked her to chose someone to die.
Why would she have cared at all, then?
No, what was most likely was that whoever found it hadn't thought twice about tossing it in with all the fake, or cheap jewelry.
Not a mistake, but pure apathy.
Losing the last of his interest, Hidan turned without another word and came back, lowering his head as he put it on. He couldn't stop touching it, like he didn't believe it was real.
"I knew you'd want it," I said first.
He paused, looking at me with a crooked smile. "It's not even my birthday," he said, like the punchline to a joke.
"Does it need to be?"
He blinked, and I blinked, and I realized quickly that he'd never been given a gift without loose strings attached while with us.
His cloak was a uniform. His headband was an announcement of who he was loyal to.
It wasn't given with that intent, but it was still there.
"I thought you got that eel some kind of joke gift," Hidan said to fill the silence, his smile still crooked.
"Do you think I'd do that?" I asked.
He stared at me for a second. "No," he finally said, completely serious.
"Young lady," the trinket shopkeeper tried again, and Hidan shot her an annoyed look as if she was interrupting.
She faltered, but pushed on, "I—I'm sure that you might also find something suitable for that other young man you were with. I have fabrics that double as insulation and are chakra resistent, kept safe in a scroll. If you'd come and take a look—"
"Not interested," I dismissed, turning away—
Hidan caught my arm, full of humor again. "You're so oblivious. Come on. She's shit, and all her stuff is junk, but it's obvious she wants to tell you ninja shit."
"You must be mistaken. I'm just a simple merchant..." the trinket seller trailed off, sounding frail, sounding like an old woman unsure of how to take the unwanted attention of a loud, obnoxious ninja off her, or maybe like someone desperately trying not to draw attention.
But Hidan didn't care to be quiet.
I held his gaze as she spoke, still uninterested, but he inclined his head towards her.
"Everything must be real shitty when I'm the one keeping you on task," he said, leaning close, amusement making the neon green look a little brighter.
I sighed, but pulled free and walked to her table, giving only a brief glance over her trinkets. Cheap or fake, they would still make for good gifts.
I didn't know why them being either made a difference.
"Who are you really?" I asked, eyes flicking to her.
She looked at me, at Hidan, and back again. He was still in earshot, but she seemed to get I wouldn't give her the solo audience she was looking for.
She hesitated, but reached into her long sleeves and pulled out an object shaped like a paintbrush, made from layered and rolled strips of fragile-looking paper. If I had agreed to be alone with her the first time we met, she could've slipped it to me without Kisame ever seeing.
I took it. It felt delicate and light, with nothing hidden inside.
"It's paper mâché," she explained.
I nodded as if I knew what that meant.
"Wait—"
She seemed to lose her grip on her old woman voice as I plainly started to unwrap it, but I didn't pause, and she stared at me in strained surprise.
Someone else probably would've waited until they were somewhere more alone to read it.
It unfolded to reveal a message on a small square of red paper at its center.
White eye, white lie, it read, in white ink.
I looked questioningly at her.
"He said that you wouldn't take a message without a code, and to show it to you first before telling you that he couldn't use his summon because of a change in the situation," she said in explanation, in what was probably her real voice, much younger, less aged, a mismatch to her face.
I held the note between two fingers. "Who's he? And who's the code for?"
"Aoi," she answered. "And... you?"
I eyed it again. It didn't mean anything to me, but the message being on red paper didn't seem random.
"Is red paper expensive?" I asked Hidan, half-turning to him.
The trinket seller looked frustrated at my blatant disregard, but only for a second before she smoothed her expression into impassiveness.
Hidan came closer, plucked the paper out of my fingers, and held it above him. Checking if it was thin enough to see through, I realized.
"Yeah," he said, squinting at it when it wasn't. "But what's this supposed to mean?"
Was it paper from the daimyo? No, probably not, because it would make him directly involved.
I looked at the paper more, but it wasn't just red. It was lighter, like fresh blood, or a hair color.
"It's not a message for me," I finally guessed, stealing the message back.
I rolled it back up the note in the paper, stuffed the vague cylinder-shape in my pouch, then looked expectantly at her.
She lowered her eyes from mine, folding her hands together delicately in her lap. "They were delayed," she said softly, and I barely heard her. "Aoi's disguise wasn't uncovered, but Lady Mei was kept in interrogation for much longer than predicted. Unexpectedly, Lord Fourth himself paid her a visit. This happened late yesterday. I do not know what was said, but Lady Mei is still being detained. Aoi has requested to extend the mission six days past the meeting time. Ah, four days. He made that request two days ago."
I hummed.
"Would you... do you have something you'd like me to relay back to him?" she asked hesitantly.
I thought to tell her to tell him that he'd probably be disappointed if he expected me to follow a timeline, because I'd already made my own.
It was still important to have Mei claim it was all her, but Aoi hadn't left me with a plan.
Wait.
I crossed my arms.
Joji would've wanted to assasinate Yagura, or subdue him quietly, because it was eight, or nine with Mangetsu, against all of Kirigakure. I wasn't going to ask Kisame anything, which meant that overwhelming Yagura with attacks on all sides and power, quick and quiet, was probably what Mei wanted.
The trinket seller waited, keeping her eyes down.
But, with the Uchiha, that wouldn't happen. In a world where everything went right, maybe.
"Tell him..." I trailed off, thinking of how to make it vague enough that no one else would understand. "He's not alone."
The trinket seller paused, but I didn't elaborate, and she nodded. "I'll see to it, but you should strengthen your transformation," the trinket seller said quickly to Hidan, who had boredly put on a few bracelets with no attempt to match them. "The scent is off. You smell like blood."
Hidan paused. "I don't smell anything. Are you part dog or what?"
"...and anyone who frequently uses the transformation jutsu would be able to tell that you are... layered," she added, glossing over what he'd asked.
I turned an accusing stare onto him.
"This is the second time," he aggravatedly reminded me, slamming his hands onto the table hard enough to make the bracelets rattle. "Give me half your chakra right now and I'll make the most detailed shit you've ever seen."
It wasn't about detail, I didn't think, but he had somewhat of a point.
"Do you still have Kisame's headband?" I asked her the trinket seller instead of responding.
"Yes," she said, almost reluctantly, seeming to already know what I'd ask next.
"Can I have it?"
She hesitated, not lifting her eyes higher than the table. She folded her arms in her sleeves and said, mildly, "He said it was worthless."
"He did," I agreed. "I just think that he might want it again, after we're done."
"I can't. It's value to people that have crossed the village—" she stopped herself, frowning as what I said sunk in, speaking slowly, "I'm not speaking on Aoi or Lady Mei's behalf when I say this, but the chances that we fail—"
She faltered, closing her eyes tightly. "The chance of us not accomplishing our goals isn't low. One misstep, one miscalculation, or if Lord Fourth is killed incorrectly, in a way that releases the three tails—" she stopped again, her breath catching. She opened her eyes slowly, staring down at her lap. "How can you be so certain there will be an after where we'll want our headbands again, and not to deceive?"
"That's easy," I spoke, watching her eyes dart up to mine. "Either I win, or I die. There's no future where we lose and I stay alive. And because I don't plan to die, there is only one future."
Her eyes widened. After half a minute of silence, after Hidan had taken off everything, she carefully pulled a scroll from her sleeve and held it out, bowing her head to me.
A/N: I made a discord server for all of my works, come join! /dYy2zpRwd3