Been a while, and I've had a momentary urge to sidetrack away from Gankutsuou!Lelouch and back to the other Evil!Bastard!Protagonist.
Bit of a change in plans, as Foxtrot looks to be turning into something a little longer than initially anticipated, so the whole is being broken up into three chapters. This is the first of that trio. Foreshadowing en masse, but fairly little actual action here. Mostly setup. Enjoy.
---
"Battle?"
The water rushes down in a torrent.
"This is what you call doing battle? Pfeh."
Scalding hot steam rises as boiling liquid meets chilly lake surface.
"Is this the limit of your ability?! Don't fight like a ninja or you'll lose, idiot! Fight like what you are!"
Blood drips from a bone-deep gash, and flash-burns itself into ash while still in the air.
"Heal yourself!"
The severed hand bursts into flame, burning up in a matter of instants, thick red smoke swirling towards him as the stump erupts with a gout of crimson fire.
The conflagration passes, and the arm is good as new. Not much can be done for the rust-colored vest, though, or rather its remains.
"Summon your beasts!"
They step onto the water without hesitation, their furs a mix of rust and ivory, their fangs glistening in the fiery light.
"Get up and fight me until one of us can't anymore, then gets back up to fight again!"
A hand reaches upwards, hauling a battered and bloody body back into the vertical.
"Hurry!"
Blood drips, then stops in mid-air, the crimson drops shuddering and revolving before flowing backwards, against gravity, and returning to a closing wound.
"Hurry!"
Entropic flame rises through the air, up the cliff face, winding around the rock. The stone shifts, changes, and spits them out instantly, and they twist through the air to come down with a feral grace, fur bleak as ash and black as night.
"Hurry!"
She moves, and her erstwhile companions take a step back out of reflex. Because in this state ...
"Better, Ne-ko-chan."
... it isn't just Yugito Nii, Kumogakure Jounin, anymore.
Under the morning sun, on a brisk early-spring day, two demons charge one-another.
---
Foxtrot
first tale of the Second Scroll
a story of the Kyuubi Chronicles
by Griever
Disclaimer: yet more anti-canon Wrongness here.
---
one: With their heads up in the clouds.
For once, she isn't sleeping.
This is important.
So the paperwork is examined, some of it actually being completed in the process, much to her assistant's amazement and her first student's apprehension.
This sort of behavior, she knows, only occurs when her teacher and friend needs to get her mind off something. Usually something serious.
So Shizune watches, occasionally yelling at someone outside of the office, and letting Sakura run around like a chicken with its head cut off while Tsunade-sama, Godaime Hokage of Konohagakure no Sato, proceeds to do her job.
Woe.
"Shishou, a report from Iruka-san," Haruno rushes in yet again.
She does that a lot these days.
Trying to repress?
Trying busywork?
Still, Tsunade's attention is drawn. Last she knew, the Chuunin along with three others was assigned to sweep patrol through former Oto territory.
In this world, if you can hold something, it becomes yours. Cruel, crude, and yet universally acknowledged. The problem being, with recent events Konoha has enough on its hands without having to worry with fielding an occupation force for the area, and there are few places there to interest the Fire Daimyo from an economic point of view.
And others are always to be watched for. Water may be trying to expand, Stone always sharpens their teeth, and Cloud lurks in the sidelines, poised to strike in the confusion. Even Sand is potentially volatile at the moment.
She looks through the report, though, almost resigned ...
... before a spark seems to be stuck.
Yes ...
... it could work.
It seems insane, but on the other hand, maybe that's just the sort of madness that's required.
Besides, it takes care of another problem quite neatly.
"Shizune, would you go and get Naruto-kun for me?"
That a bored kitsune is a thing to fear is the understatement of the blood millenium if you ask her.
Shizune nods and makes tracks.
***
It's the sort of hurt that comes from injured pride more than anything else.
Of course, that doesn't mean her muscles _aren't_ seemingly burning up with pain.
Graduated early.
A genius, on par with Hyuuga Neji. No, superior.
Her Jyuuken flawless in its form and application. Her Byakugan able to pick out the slightest variations in chakra coils and muscle tension.
All ...
... meaningless.
She expects that when it all does hit home, she'll be a nervous wreck ... not that it's likely to be all too different from the way she is now.
"Get up."
That doesn't mean there isn't also a physical hurt, though.
"I said get up! Were't you supposed to be some sort of prodigy, kid?"
Infuriating.
The words seem to strike at her, digging into and inflaming her anger and humiliation.
Slowly, carefully, one arm moves against the pain of strained muscle and abused nerve, palm coming down flat on the hard, unyielding ground.
A breath.
A beat.
A moment of strain.
Slightly, ever so slightly, she moves upwards.
Defiant lavender meets cool, mocking hazel. She holds her gaze as steady as she can, gathering herself despite, or maybe because of the pain ...
"Well?"
... and lunges, uncoiling like a striking snake.
Whereupon she is met with pain.
Because, if nothing else, Mitarashi Anko knows snakes.
"Pride, dignity, precious nobility," Hyuuga Hanabi shudders at the sibilant hiss coming from the woman who would call her 'Apprentice'. "Like a pretty little blade that's so very nice to look at ... but doesn't cut worth crap! You're no good to me blunt."
A breath.
A beat.
A moment of strain.
A whimper.
She hears as footsteps approach.
"If you're gonna waste my time with this shit, we're done for the day."
Burning.
She's burning alive, again and again with every single beat of her heart, pounding in her ears, reverberating through her chest.
It's eternity.
It's a moment.
It's forever and a day, and less than the blink of an eye.
Cool.
The air whispers.
The air caresses.
The air sings between splayed fingers, twists through the tangled mess of her hair.
'So ... blue.'
She's standing, somehow, head lolling backwards and slumped, almost boneless.
But she's standing, with the hurt and with the humiliation, with dirt-caked face and dirtied cloths, and silent tears.
Back, unbalanced, almost flailing before she's leaning, half fallen, against a tree-trunk.
Lavender and hazel meet.
"Saa ... maybe not entirely worthless, then," Mitarashi-sensei says slowly. "Maybe. Next time, bring actual equipment. Kunai, shuriken, whatever the hell you think you can use, and leave the attitude behind, Ne-zu-mi-chan. Or, if you prefer to keep making yourself useless, I'll oblige your little fantasy and make sure you have no _choice_ in the matter."
The Special Jounin turns her back to the still struggling girl ...
"I have no need for useless things."
... and disappears in a swirl of leaves.
All it still.
Hanabi pulls herself fully upright, doing her best to overcome her protesting body.
"You forget your weapons, kid?"
"I have no need for useless things, Mitarashi-san."
It starts with a choked, weak noise, somewhere around the lungs.
Barely there, really.
Shoulders shaking slightly.
A weak, hesitant, uncertain ... laugh.
Fading as soon as it emerges.
Lesson learned.
***
Nervous?
That doesn't quite cover the full extent of her emotional response.
But it's better than accepting she's almost scared out of her wits when she, politely, knocks.
Nothing.
The door-chime.
Nothing.
Pause.
Tries knocking a little harder.
Still nothing.
She debates trying to use a window to get in, then considers the possible ramifications and decides that, no, she'll just try looking elsewhere. Maybe somewhere where there's not too much of a chance of actually finding ...
"Well."
She nearly jumps out of her skin, not to mention her sandals, when the voice sounds right ...
"Well."
Behind.
"Well."
Her.
Shizune? Breathe.
"... and what can you do for me today, ningenko-chan?"
She turns around, slowly.
Cerulean eyes and golden hair. Whisker marks and a too-toothy smirk. How can a smirk be toothy? Apparently, it's somehow possible. Rust colored pants, taped down around the shins. Metal mesh under a rust vest/half jacket. Metal bracers, and a Konoha hitai-ite around the right bicep.
Simple.
Understated.
Functional.
Not a weapon in sight.
And suddenly, the sun seems just a tad too dark, the street just a little too empty, and the intent swirling around has her sensibilities screaming at her, in the back of her mind, and insisting that she run.
Only for a moment, though.
Then it's gone.
A perfectly normal midmorning.
A perfectly normal opener, save for the form of address maybe.
A perfectly normal ...
... the sight is, for the briefest of instants, enough to make her go 'what the hell' and ignore the realization and implication of just who it is standing there before her.
Teeth crunch down.
He chews.
Swallows.
"Yes, I like tofu. No, I'm not sharing. Now, is there a reason you're wasting my time or should I just start off with random suggestions while you think about one. You don't really need that arm, do you?"
***
So it's petty.
Does it matter? He doesn't think so, which is about the only important factor in play at almost any time.
He's stuck with this, he'll damn sure make an effort to have at least some fun with it.
Still afraid?
Well, she has a right to be. Truly, though, he could care less.
He munches on his aburaage while taking some small bit of enjoyment from seeing the normally confident woman tongue-tied and proceeding with the sort of attitude you'd get from someone mapping a minefield.
Not entirely inaccurate an analogy that, either.
It's base, yes, but he does enjoy playing with minds, human or otherwise.
So he listens as she relays that the Hokage would like for him to come in, and throws in the occasional word or two that have her heart-rate at a constant high while wondering if he could make her have a heart attack from just that. Or at least a stroke.
He doesn't try too hard, though.
The brat ... liked ... this one, so he holds at least some obligation to not hurt her. Well, maybe not _too_ much.
Hurt comes in all shapes, sizes and manners, after all, and most of it isn't anywhere close to being physical.
He can work with that.
He can work with that quite well, in fact.
For the moment, though, he refrains.
Curiosity maybe.
And it wouldn't do to kill the messenger, after all.
***
It's a high pitched sound, barely on the edge of perception.
Subtle.
Overshadowed by breath, by motion, by blood running through peoples' veins.
Like some song you can't unlearn and the image reflected in the retina of the mind's eye.
It takes a moment for her to realize she's hearing it, and a moment longer to recognize ...
... laughter?
It's gone.
The kunai stops spinning in her left hand.
A useless piece, more for show than utility. Just a bit too long, just a bit too sleek, just a bit too light. The blade having an actual razor's edge, rather than one that is simply sharp, and polished to a mirror sheen.
Reflections dance on its surface, and light flashed from it and through the sun-mottled waiting room.
A pretty little thing.
Spun once.
And the reflected mote of light flashes vertically.
Spun twice.
And the reflected mote of light flashes horizontally.
Spun thrice.
And the blade embeds itself in the far wall, sparkling like finely cut gems, catching the light at just the right angle to look like it's pinning a struggling, wounded mote of light there.
Tenten allows herself a wry grin.
The far door opens.
The first person in, she recognizes.
"Shizune-san ..."
The second, she takes a while to.
"Uzumaki."
The medic-nin, and Godaime Hokage Tsunade-sama's first Apprentice, current assistant.
The ...
... she stops herself. There's something out of place. Something not quite right. Something about that grin.
Cerulean eyes meet struggling mote of light.
A look of ... what? She can't quite place it, even when it's directed her way.
"Hokage-sama will see you now, Naruto-kun," Shizune says.
And again, there's something out of place. About her expression, about _her_ ... but Tenten can't quite place it.
The Genin and Jounin walk past her, and for a moment, Uzumaki not-quite-stops beside her and not-quite-turns his head.
"... such an interesting laugh you have."
It's a low pitched sound, of the sort that goes right to the bone, no matter the actual volume.
The words aren't heard as much as they are felt.
And they're gone, the doors to the Hokage's office closing behind their backs.
A step.
Another.
Hand to the hilt, and moving back, and dancing sunlight emerging from old wood.
Spun once.
Spun twice.
Laughing.
***
Maybe ... just maybe, the little healer will be useful yet.
An amusing thought, given the situation, and the similarity thereof to another one. More so, given the identities of the players.
Almost as amusing as the reaction the simple act of actually agreeing garnered him.
"What, did you expect me to object? Spew forth fire and brimstone, burn your flesh from your bones and turn them into ash?" He grins the gaki's grin with perfect mimicry, knowing fully well what sort of effect it has on the elder of the two kunoichi. "Would you like me to?"
It takes visible effort for the woman to restrain herself.
Good for her.
"Don't do that."
Quietly. Firmly.
How very ... uncharacteristic of her.
"Saaa ... orders?"
Not even a clenching of her fists, though he can tell her muscles quiver underneath the artificially youthful skin.
"Please ... don't do that."
"I'll consider it," he grins again. This time it's all him though. "It's a sensible approach."
The change of topic doesn't seem to startle her any.
"I'm sensing a 'but' there."
"Sensible can be so ... boring," he responds airily. "Which is beside the point. To project an image of strength is almost as good as having that strength, and Kumo _doubts_ that image. It has _doubted_ ever since your little pet Hyuuga, the so called nobles, ran like the dogs they are, tails under their bellies and pissing themselves in fear."
***
"You've been busy lately."
Steam wafts upwards, winding through the air and spreading the scent of fresh tea through the room.
An open window.
Outside, the sound of bamboo on stone echoes, along with the gentle background of flowing water as the traditional water fountain measures time in its own soothing way.
Tock.
"Hey, what can I say? Everybody wants a piece of me these days. That's no cause for alarm."
A lacquered length of wood rests on the ground beside her, and as much as it should look wrong there, it doesn't.
"Alarm?"
Cool crimson meets equally cool brown.
"Ne, you don't splurge on this quality of dango without some special occasion."
Grin.
Shrug.
"I would think this _was_ a special occasion," she sips the tea, waiting, while her opposite eyes her curiously.
Brown eyes blink briefly, in what she's come to recognize as realization, before they skip towards the lacquered wood. Orochimaru's sword.
"Oh, that."
"Yes _that_," she doesn't quite sigh.
"I sort of ... forgot, really."
Tock.
"Anko," she doesn't finish, stopped by a slight shake of the head, and brown eyes looking and seeing for the first time.
"Kurenai ..."
The sharp, almost omnipresent smirk softens into something else.
"... thanks."
Mitarashi Anko does 'smirk'. She does 'laugh', 'crackle' and even 'snicker'. More often than not, 'snigger'.
She doesn't do 'smile'.
Not often.
Yuuhi Kurenai is one of maybe five people in the village who've seen her do 'smile' ever since the issue of the seal in the crook of her neck came about. She's also the only one who's seen it more than a handful of times.
So she drinks her tea.
She converses.
She banters.
She doesn't ask.
Not that she isn't concerned. Something is ... not wrong, but off, certainly. Not in any way she can put a finger on, but she's a genjutsu specialist. Reading deeper than anyone else into the underneath isn't just a hobby, not just a job description ... it's her most important survival skill.
The stillness isn't oppressive. It would be odd to anyone to encounter the two as they leave, and as the two traverse Konoha streets on silent footsteps.
It's familiar.
Comfortable.
"I'm off then. Mission tomorrow, so I have to get ready."
"You moved."
Not a question but a statement.
"More or less," Anko nods. "Don't know if it's for good."
Kurenai stands watching for a moment as one of her own few friends strides off, lacquered wood of a saya against her back, in the direction of the Uchiha district, her gaze a considering one.
Then she nods to herself, and turns to make her own way home.
'Take care,' she thinks, but knows better than to say.
***
It's the heart of a shattered land.
Figuratively and literally speaking.
And how very accurate a reflection of its state it happens to be.
As Grass Country, Rice Country had once been directly under Fire Country's control, a section of its field of influence sacrificed for one goal or another. Both given autonomy to act as buffers between Konoha and Iwa, and Konoha and Kumo, both really little more than pre-prepared battlefields in their own right.
A pragmatic attempt to reduce damage done to the lands each Village lies in, years upon years in the past.
Umino Iruka has not been involved in a full scale conflict of the like the Shinobi Wars of years past were ripe with, but he imagines the aftermath ... it must look very much like what he is seeing.
The landscape broken, the ground cracked, the vegetation in a once-lush section of the forest gone.
Rice Country has become a harsh and inhospitable place, despite the favorable conditions ... but that's only if you consider nature.
Despite the damage here, the majority of the land is fruitful ... the name had to have come from somewhere, after all.
In the distance, another ribbon of smoke rises.
Another village burns.
There are only twelve of them, only four teams of shinobi, only Chuunin and special Jounin. They are skilled, and they are experienced enough in their own right, but even they cannot be everywhere at once. Even they have to rest.
And the fallout from Otogakure's fall is vast. Despite the slaughter of the Hidden Village of Sound itself, the outposts remained.
And those posted there suddenly found themselves thrown into chaos, with ambitions ripe and no command chain to speak of present. Cast adrift.
In such conditions, a power grab was inevitable.
"Right, now if only it had been only _one_," Iruka grumbles to himself in disgust.
A melting pot of burning settlements, two-bit shinobi warlords, and the occasional escaped _thing_ of Orochimaru's ...
... not counting the incursions of Kumogakure shinobi.
Incursions ... well, you can call them that. Iruka knows he does it out of habit himself. Rice isn't really Konoha's to govern, no matter how much they want it to be. Or how much the Fire daimyo wants it to be.
Or, for that matter, however much the Village Hidden by Clouds wants it to be _their_ own, and how much the Lightning daimyo desires the same.
The official brief says that the Konohagakure shinobi present are only there to aid in stabilizing the situation.
He imagines it says the same on the Kumogakure shinobi side of the equation.
He then wonders how soon the daimyos' own troops will come in from either side, turning the whole thing into even more of a mess than it is right there and then.
Not long now.
Considering the Kumo-nin no longer pretending to search for the scattered bands of Oto-nin roaming the countryside, not long at all.
"Iruka-tai!" his second comes down from the trees, the nin's breathing somewhat strained by the pace. "Our reinforcements from Konoha are here!"
He hopes that isn't just going to add to the brewing storm.
***
She'd been right, she realizes as the two groups split up.
Days.
It's been days since that afternoon in the Hokage's office. Days since she and her first 'command' started to travel with one Uzumaki Naruto and entourage.
She consciously thinks of it as that, because that is what she sees.
It's funny that way, that the loss of one eye made her figurative perspective broaden so much. She doubts she could have caught it before.
For all that, supposedly, it was Mitarashi-san's mission to lead, which she was in fact doing, yes, it was the blond who called the shots.
There were no _obvious_ clues which she used to come to that conclusion, but the Chuunin has always noticed little things. And a marksman, or markswoman for that matter, of any skill doesn't just notice and watch. They notice and see.
With Uzumaki, she thinks it odd that she didn't see before. There is still a purpose to him, as there has always been - something she'd come to realize after a bout during a Chuunin exam several years ago - but it's somehow sharper. More defined. It shows as he walks, shows as he talks.
She puts it out of her mind for the moment, though. There are other things here that require more immediate attention.
***
"You know, this is either pure idiocy, or pure brilliance."
He doesn't as much as pause, rust-clad body pacing her with ease.
They're leaping through the trees, ahead of the rest of the group by enough that they have some measure of privacy.
Anko doesn't mind crazy. She also doesn't believe in walking into the lion's den while sans anything but several pieces of fresh, still bloody meat.
About the equivalent of marching for Kumogakure with the heiress to the Hyuuga in tow, which is what they're doing.
Five of them - herself, him, her fledgling apprentice-slash-hostage, and two Chuunin.
So, three Chuunin, a special Jounin, and a fresh Genin, walking straight into what can rapidly turn to hostile territory.
If anything counts as crazy, then this is surely it. An insult wrapped around a challenge, and the whole thing served with a helping of pure gall.
***
Anxiety is not something she's had a chance to feel all that often before, despite recent events.
Always, she'd been certain of her family's power and influence.
Always, she'd been certain of her place within that hierarchy.
Always, up until she was taken from what would have been her Genin team and placed under her current Sensei's tutelage.
In a few short weeks, there could be no truly drastic changes ... but she began to realize just what she had not been seeing in the course of her admittedly short life.
Infuriated, insulted, belittled and all the while resentful, but she sees, and learns.
Or at least, she tries to.
To take the only real power she can rely on, should all else fail, and hold it in her hand.
Mitarashi Anko is a harsh taskmaster, and unforgiving as well, but Hyuuga Hanabi does not _quite_ break.
Still, as she stands beside her teacher, feeling a multitude of eyes that watch their group but seem mostly focused on herself, she can't help but experience foreboding.
"You Hyuuga are supposed to be good at being ... diplomatic, little mouse. Treat this as another lesson if you want to. There are as many ways to go about the treaty table as there are to go about the battlefield.
Kumogakure no Sato, the Village Hidden by Clouds.
The Village that, years ago, had attempted a kidnapping of her older sister, resulting in their ambasador being killed. Resulting in the Hyuuga sacrificing one of their own as appeasement.
The Village that, due to their famed mastery of projectile weapons and ranged ninjutsu, coveted the Hyuuga famil bloodline - Byakugan - more than any other.
It's a place of mountains, of cloudy peaks and the sky being almost close enough to touch. A place where, were you to stretch your hand outwards whilst standing on one of the great balconies lining the mountainside the Village was literally built _into_, you'd touch the very thing it got its name from.
A Village that looks upon them like wolves upon a lamb.
"Nezumi-chan ... I have no need for useless things."
Hyuuga Hanabi remembers and calms herself, reinforcing her unaffected poise and expression.
She is not, and will never be useless.
Not if she has anything to say about it.
***
She can smell the tension.
The act itself isn't second nature to her. Hell, it's not even first nature. It's instinct, rooted so damn deep that you'd have to tear away pretty much everything else to get as much as a look at it.
Damn cat.
And it _is_ tension. Tension, and anxiety, and anger. And fear.
They can't not have seen this.
Amano-fucking-Yondaime-Raikage can't not have seen this, as he isn't a stupid man. Brash and in-your-face, but not stupid, and not stupidly ambitious either, like the Sandaime used to be.
Though, yeah, she'd have liked to have been the one to tear the old bastard's head off and shit down his neck back in the day.
It's as blatantly obvious to anyone with even a bit of political knowledge in their little ape-rat noggins that this so called delegation isn't about talk.
Just what it's about remains to be seen, but she can smell the tension.
And she can smell where it _isn't_.
Perched above the gates, looking down, her two 'shadows' beside her, she watches. She'll be reporting all this in a while, after all, and first impressions are as important as they can be misleading.
But the nose knows.
And the thrice-damned cat knows too.
Of the five, two are escorts. Of the five, one is bait. Of the five, one is a snake in kunoichi's clothing.
Of the five, one isn't tense. At all.
And the cat wants to hiss at him, scratch at him, and tear him the fuck apart.
The blond, a good twenty meters below and more than twice that away, stops for a moment. Looks around.
Looks.
Straight.
At.
Her.
And grins.
Like a fox in the fucking henhouse.
And then the moment's gone, as if it had never been, and the so called 'delegation' of the Village Hidden by Leaves walks into Hidden Cloud proper.
Yugito Nii, too faintly for her companions to notice, shivers, before the three of them get moving.
***
"What the hell was that about?" Anko casts a covert glance around, and asks.
"Nothing. Just saying hello to someone," he says casually.
***
END with their heads up in the clouds
tbc in Foxtrot ch2 - with their feet down in the crowds
***
---
-Griever
