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snippets-n-excerpts · 6 years

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Part 2

I’m... surprised she would say something like this, to an outsider. It is not the first time I’ve been objectified nor told to go die. I’m a mutt, an abomination to either clan. Not enough of one, too much of the other, and thus reviled because I am not-what-they-want. All unions will now be gone over with a fine-toothed comb to objectively get the kind of breeding they desire.

I’m half tempted to wish my mother had... well, no matter.

Sakumo, who I’ve been waxing poetic about in my mind and calling ‘old man’ for the giggles since I met him, stills very, very carefully. The people watching the spectacle shift uncomfortably, some even turning away. That’s a first. I blink slowly, not drawing attention as I lean against the very solid chest behind me, face towards the ground. Dammit, I am four, I should not be getting a “daddy crush” on a man I often drooled over once upon a time just because he cares. Just because he makes me feel safe. Possibly the only reason I’ve survived to this point is due to my mental age which has helped so much, but it has me making some seriously questionable decisions in relation to my relationships.

“By your leave, then,” he murmurs with the kind of quiet fury I often indulge in myself. Nice to know.

He about faces, snags my basket which is lighter than it should be, and not-stalks right out the gates. “Where do you live, Hime?”

I squirm, looking up from my place against his chest. He sighs, letting me down slowly. Grabbing his hand, I stare very hard at the path as I lead him to the residential area of where the Three Clans often let outlier family members live peacefully. Mother had to give up her house in the compound—was rewarded for doing such a selfless thing—and now I live in an extensive mausoleum of a Traditional Japanese house. By myself. Since she was out there being terrifying (and didn’t seem to care about being here even when in village). Being from a military oriented family in the past, I didn’t have nearly as many hangups as my past friends about being kept in the dark or about killing. Or being left alone. The less you knew, the less valuable you were, and the less likely someone would snatch you up for information. And, unfortunately, sometimes people died or had to die. Because jackasses exist the world over.

“Come in, old man,” I sigh, dropping my sandals in the entryway with the kind of weariness that only comes when you just can’t anymore. Cannot care or make a fuss or feel anything properly. I head straight to the kitchen, exhausted to the core but in need of food. If I skip a meal, if I stop eating, I die. Slowly. So, even not hungry, even physically distressed, I have to eat and eat and eat and eat. It does not help that my terrible eating habits have crossed lives with me.

I have my very tall shadow leave the basket on the counter and start partitioning it out. The thirty pounds of star fruit are now maybe a quarter of that—which is fine. (I get so much to share with the clan kids, like I can eat that meany in three days, give me a break.) I climb on the counter, knees pressing into the heavy stone top as I shuffle through the cabinets. I wanted mochi, which I could make, and a stir fry like nothing anyone here has ever made before. That tomato stall didn’t bring green tomatoes for anyone but me, after all. I even had to grind dry corn for the meal and if I wanted tortillas? Well, at least Auntie B from a lifetime ago taught me despite being some weird little white girl at a mostly Mexican family reunion.

Damn, now I’m craving chimichangas.

“I’m sorry.”

I still, looking over my shoulder at the dark blue and black clad man, his pale skin and silvery-white hair dry enough now to spike up almost comically in a stark contrast. He seems to be trying to will the floor to eat him. As he technically has the ability to make the ground literally reach up and swallow him, I hope there is no chakra in that silent wish. He’s just good enough I would believe he could do that without hand signs.

“Please don’t damage the floors.” Well, that slipped out. He looks perplexed and I elaborate. “I know for a fact there is a technique that lets the ground gobble you up. Please do not make that happen indoors. You could ruin the floor.”

He stares and stares and stares before doubling over in a hysterical crow of amusement. Then he straightens up as if it never happened, face calm and nearly serene.

Fucking ninjas.

•-•-•

I sit two plates on the low table, rice between them, and then turn to gather the dishes only to blink and (fucking ninjas) see the rest gathered on insulated boards set in a semicircle around the rice. The look I give the silvery white haired man is probably too cute to be a glare like I mean it to be. He kneels on his cushion like nothing happened and I notice how all the raw cubed, steamed, and lightly sauced foods are in front of him. That sneak! I mean, I made more dishes like that with him in mind, but really!

I dish up my rice and then it’s off, my hunger furious and voracious. I’m so hungry - but this food will not be capable of filling me up. I’ll still be hungry. I’ll be full. I’ll be hurting with it. But I will be starving all the same. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m missing something.

“This isn’t working for you, is it.”

I stop stuffing my face long enough to look up and sigh. What else could I do. “No.” I gnaw on a piece of star fruit, savoring the flavor. “I’m missing something.”

The stare of those eyes is intense. “You get your food from civilians who know you well enough to give discounts. You are literally eating everything and are seemingly starving anyway. Your... Head’s wife is...”

“A massively ornery bitch?”

He snorts, covering his lower face with a broad hand. “We’ll go with that,” he mutters before composing himself. He becomes so very serious. “Hime-chan, you’re not to be treated like that, not even by your Head’s wife.”

I shrug. “Our Head hasn’t been in village in six months. What’s he going to do about it when he’s back? Atsuko-san doesn’t do anything when he’s here—she’s the perfect wife. He has no reason to complain, okay? And my word? Means nothing. I’m four, not stupid.”

#katlou303

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snippets-n-excerpts · 6 years

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Almost a Chapter One: Narutoverse, SI, I-do-what-I-want

“What,” is stated blandly right over me as I lay flat on my back, the sky a brilliant hue this time of the day, fading from a purpled midnight to true morning blue. I take a deep breath, gather the air that was knocked out, and cough once. Much better. At least the grass is thick and soft, if wet.

“Sorry, gramps,” I rasp. “I thought you would move.”

“And I,” comes the amused baritone, “thought you would stop.” I’m suddenly airborne, large hands pulling me up until I can look the white-silver haired man in the eye properly. With my (long, long, long) braid swinging like a pendulum behind me, I know I look like some spoiled princess. “Hime-“ there it is, the assumption, “-what are you doing out so early?”

Since this is a ninja, it only makes sense to not lie. “I’m going to the Market,” which, true. “Because mama asked me to,” and not true.

Let me rephrase: I try not to lie badly.

Still, he seems to be... okay with that answer. “Why don’t I accompany the little Hime?”

I look him over. Smell the sweat, the blood, the foul stench of a stomach and intestine having been cut open—it was only a deer one time when my baby brother had been trying to learn and the smell never left my memory. Remarkably? Deer and men smell just alike when eviscerated. So, I raise a brow. He cannot have forgotten he smelled like a cheap butcher. “How about you go wash up, then come to Market? I’ll be here for some time.”

He snorts after a moment of contemplation, sitting me on my feet and wiping my back off efficiently. “Alright, Hime. I’ll go get cleaned up and meet you at Market.”

I can’t stop my smile. He’s adorable. “Use soap!”

He actually laughs and I feel my little four year old heart flutter. Dammit. I hate how... unaltered and genuinely I like people at this age. It’s confusing. And manic. No wonder most children are little skitzo maniacs who would follow a stranger home. Turning away with a red face, I carefully do not stomp to the center of the village to the massive trades good center called simply Market.

I browse for a moment, frowning at the bits of rotten food that hasn’t been taken out of the haul on the outer stalls. Such terrible manners, these sellers. Still, these ones tend to have better prices for spices.

“Ah, Hime!” The old man two stalls down leans over, waving for me to come closer. “It has been a few days! Are you well?” The old guy with false teeth and enough wrinkles to make a Pug envious is Honda-san. He keeps me in sweets and citrus, having his own grove and living his life doing this more for the human interaction than need of money. His son is getting ready to inherit, his daughter married to a well off merchant in Tea, and from what he says, a small army of great-grandchildren. He’s a sweet guy, really. And literally.

“Yes, Honda-san?” I enquire with a small smile. Tugging my nearly ankle length braid over my shoulder, I look over his counter. I am... large for a four year old. Exceptionally tall, actually, but not as tall as I could be considering who my parents are. Still, I can pass for a tall six or short seven year old. It is disconcerting looking in a mirror. And not because of my size.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he states, avoiding all gender specific pronouns. He knows a lot, even my gender, but he is also kind of crazy and likes to mess with people’s heads. Winking like the mad man he is, he heaves to drag up a massive basket of fruit is haven’t seen since becoming aware of this life. Star fruit. “I know you said something about fruit the shape of a star once! I found an old man-“ ah ha, that’s hilarious coming from him, “-who grows it. He is willing to part with a few cuttings and Hime gets something Hime wants!”

I legitimately squeal, seizing the basket and staggering back when the full weight settles in my arms. I start to trip and fall when strong arms pluck me up. The hand is large, hot, and really familiar. “It’s not even been twenty minutes!” I yelp, kicking my feet. “Put me down, please!”

I’m set gently to my feet and that same large hand comes down on my head like I’m his kid. I look up and snort. His hair is still wet and dripping into his face, the profile achingly familiar and yet different. He’s legitimately beautiful, the kind that grabs at your lungs and holds tight for the first moment every time you look at them. This is also the first time I’ve even seen him properly in this life and I already miss his son who hasn’t even been born yet.

Why hasn’t he had a kid yet? He’s obviously old enough. “Are you married?”

There’s another startled laughed, the man looking down at me even as he takes the heavy basket from my hands. He doesn’t even shift with what has to be nearly thirty pounds of exotic fruit. That asshole. “Maa maa, Hime. That is a personal question.”

Okay, yes. And, honestly? I get it. We live in an almost modernized war-state, the threat of assassination to spouses and family and friends a high stakes game that nobody wanted to trust or loose to. So, no personal questions. After all, the villages were just formed and, hey, why not celebrate with a massive war?

Frowning mullishly at my thoughts, I grab the left hand of the tall man. Shinobi. “Come on, old man, I have a lot of shopping to do before breakfast.”

“Well,” begins the man as I lead him from stall to stall, watching me sweet talk and haggle prices. I am not good at it. At all. But I’m a baby-faced child and the shopkeeps are fond of me with my often return business so the prices are usually fair and even a few take pity to give me better prices or more produce. “I would say your mother should be doing this...” I glance at him as I finish at the tomato cart, daintily tucking green tomatoes into the star fruit basket along with all my other purchases. He seems to mull something over before waiting until I tug him into a small alley, looking up expectantly. As the short alley is a nice spot to rest out of the crowd, we garner no attention. “But she isn’t in the village is she?”

Drat and damnation. Of course he could parse that. I sigh, his eyes taking their time to look me over. He might be seeing a resemblance which, okay, I can handle, but why is he so suddenly invested in me? Hello? Kid who ran into you this morning? For the first time?

“And you don’t... seem to live with a father...?”

I snort. “If the man even knows I exist, I will make you breakfast for a month,” I bargain recklessly. “I’m a battlefield baby. I was conceived and born in bloodshed, old man. And, once mother was well enough to go back, she went.”

He shifts back, something like surprise flickering over his face. “Then. Who are you living with? Your father’s family? Your mother’s?”

I could say “personal”, but this is one of the mainstay people of my every wish (and nightmare) brought to life before me. I am fond of the idiot. Which, an idiot, really. Who talks about shopping with an unknown child covered in stale viscera?

“Both,” I not-lie because I do. Technically.

The look he gives me is pretty intense. I’m not lying, but I’m not saying the whole truth. How can he tell?! Does he smell it on me? Hand on my hip, I pout at him. “What?”

He crouches, settling the basket on the ground and setting his hands on my shoulders. “Hime-chan, please,” he says firmly, softly, as if I’m one of his teammates, someone important to him as he slips a familiar honorific in there, “tell me the truth.”

I take a slow breath, looking at this man that I know and do not and sigh it out. Patting his arm, I grab my basket and start to drag it out with me. His hands don’t leave me—in fact, he hauls me close to him and stalls me in a hold even experienced shinobi would have trouble getting out of. I groan, stomping me foot. “Dammit, old man!”

He sighs in return, pressing his face to my neck even as I stiffen for a moment. When he breathes deep, his chest expands like a barrel against my shoulders. “Okay,” he begins, voice a little rough. “Okay. I have a proposition for you, Hime-chan.”

I wiggle a little, biting at the hand in reach. “No,” I hiss like an angry cat. “I don’t want to! Because you will find out and they will have expectations I cannot live up to!”

“Is that any damned reason to be damn near malnourished?!” he growled back, my frame too thin for bones underneath. I kick back futilely before sagging. Fine. Whatever.

“What do you want from me, old man?” I huff, sagging like a sack of angled sticks in his arms. He has picked me up twice already, so of course he would notice.

He sighs, plopping down on the ground and probably in something disgusting because, hello, people are filthy animals, then tugs me into his lap. “I want you to stop lying and tell me why you are severely underweight for an Akimichi.”

I let my head thunk on his shoulder. Fuck. Fine. “I’m not a full Akimichi, old man. And, honestly, they don’t seem to want a halfbreed.” Which, ahem, about eighty percent true. The hand close to my face releases its hold to tap my nose. He legitimately growls when I stay quiet for several beats. I roll my eyes. “No. I told you well enough, now let go so I can buy a shit tone of food that won’t feed me properly.”

He stands, tucks me under his arm, and then the basket under the other. Shit. He’s going to take me to the Akimichi clan head. Fuck. No, no, no, no! That will end well for exactly no one. So I struggle. Hard and sharp, and finally sigh with the knowledge that I’m going to have to do something stupid. Maybe bite the hand that carries me. Or slide out of my clothes or, ah, bribe.

What the hell does a four year old have to bribe an adult?

“Put me down, put me down, putmedown!” I snarl quietly, not wanting to bring the whole of the street down on us. Yet. “Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’tdoit!”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Hell.

I flop over his arm, resigned because I can’t even wiggle enough to twist, much less loosen my layers. I can’t reach anything to bite. I don’t want the word getting back about me at all. So.

“I’ll bribe you. Let me bribe you,” I beg, voice low.

The man stops for a moment, turning his head down to look at me. That is real mirth in his eyes and I like it, but not nearly enough to put up with a clan head that does not want me. “What does a brat like you have to offer me, Hime?”

Ah. Back to that. Suffix removed. “Well, I can cook. Or bake. Or steam. Or fry. I make dog friendly treats? I would like to see the other side of ten?”

He seems mildly uncomfortable with my dispirited tone, as if he’s squirming on the inside. It does not, in any way, stop him from strutting his way to the Akimichi clan holdings and right up to the clan head’s house. The Head himself is out killing people for his military dictatorship, so it is his wife that is in charge. I try very hard to avoid her.

She does not, in any way, like me.

“Maa, Akimichi-sama,” Sakumo murmurs, putting my purchases down on the porch before stepping closer to the round faced woman. “I found one of yours.”

He presents me like a puppy, swinging me up and around, hands under my arms and held out. The woman sneers as if something gross has been presented. Yeah well, I think, you’re a different kind of bitch, lady. I curl a little into myself, eyes firmly on the tatami mats and wood grain. I do not try and make eye contact with my (distant) cousins because I know I will be ignored. I am not wanted here.

I eventually lowered, tucked into his chest with one arm as his disarming smile becomes a bit more forced. “Maaa, Akimichi-hime, the little one here seems to not be getting the right food. I know the kid shops by-“

He didn’t get further as the wife of the clan head started. “That thing is not an Akimichi. Not really.” This is stated calmly, voice soft and firm and irrefutable. “What do I care? Keep it. Feed it if you must. Drown it, maybe, to save us all the extra work.”

#katlou303 #what do you think?

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