[Week 28 || Day 5 || Dream] Who I Am Hates Who I've Been....
(Mid-morning)
“...And I’ll be here every morning to cook your meals for the day and to let in your tutor. He does require you to dine with him for evening meals every Sunday. Hattori-sama feels it best you study from home for now, Shimizu-sama. While I’m here, I’ll cook your meals for lunch and dinner as well, so you need only follow the instructions on the container for your afternoon meals. Laundry day is every Wednesday, and please don’t forget that you have a meeting with Hattori-sama tomorrow directly following the end of your lessons...”
The servant’s droning voice continued on in a dreadfully monotonous tone, not that Raikou particularly minded. He simply stood there, in the center of the sitting room that made up the central area of his newly assigned suite, and let his eyes scan the room with a dull sense of detachment - until he caught sight of the blood still staining his hands.
All he did then was stand there, staring down at his hand, his back to the young woman, until her voice stilled. Only then did he turn to face her, offer her a polite bow. “Thank you, Ito-san. Please take good care of me.”
She nodded and blushed, he held that perfectly serene smile... and some part of him laughed at how easily it was to hide the emptiness behind it from even a seasoned shinobi.
He turned away, then glanced around him with a frown. The bathroom was neat and pristine, the countertops a warm bamboo. He stood there for a long moment, only dimly aware that his school uniform was covered in the blood of his clan - friends, mentors, tutors, friends, mother. There were streaks of it, giving warm honey-blond locks a pink tinge, paths of blood dried on his face, staining the usually pearlescent white of his saya.
He set his gamon on the countertop, stepped calmly over to the side, then fell to his knees in front of the toilet a moment before getting loudly, violently sick. Loud hacking, gagging sounds interspersed with pathetic, gut wrenching sobs the memory of the flames burning down his home ghosted over his skin and face after face, body after body, flashed before his eyes until there was nothing left inside.
And then he fell over, scooted back in the small space between the toilet and tub, pulled his knees in tight, arms crossed over them and forehead pressed against bloodied wrists and finally, finally let himself just react to everything that had happened. He cried deep, body-wracking sobs, bit down on his wrist as he screamed out his pain for the loss of everything he’d known and everyone he’d cared about, condemned himself with the vilest curses under his breath for the hate he’d planted in his beloved sister’s heart.
He was fifteen and he was scared. He was petrified and alone and in the end he could only claim fault for falling prey to his uncles words that rang with a false wisdom.
He was fifteen and for the first time in his life, he felt as if he were a child.
He cried until the tears dried up and the shaking subsided, until he felt little more than a hollowed out husk parading itself in the form of a human being and then he sighed and pushed himself up, dusted himself off as if that would somehow make him clean again.
Only then did that blessedly numb, disconnected feeling settled in and he began to calmly unbutton his uniform top to reveal the plain white tee beneath, also soaked through with blood. The jacket was tossed carelessly into a corner as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed it onto the counter as well. The other hand pulled out a small package from his other pocket and he stared at it in disbelief as the red ribbon slithered out.
He’d bought it on impulse, as a gift for Raimei, only he’d forgotten to give it to her. He’d been detoured by his uncle.
Now, he simply wound the ribbon into his hair, pulled long locks back from his face, then leaned over the sink to begin scrubbing the blood from his hands, face, and neck before moving on to mechanically clean the blood from the hilt and saya of his gamon, idly wondering if he’d always feel so hollow.
~*~
When Raikou turned around again, he glanced around the overcrowded streets filled with large screens and bright lights and sighed. Hattori’s driver had dropped him off somewhere in Shibuya, handed him a considerable amount of yen, and the order to meet him back at the same spot in three hours. He glanced around, more than a little lost, and realized that in all his fifteen years... he’d never gone clothes-shopping for himself.
So he shrugged to himself, slipped his hands into his pockets, and slipped in to lose himself in the crowd. He wandered from store to store, grabbed things off racks and shelves as they caught his eye - because if he liked this or that, he didn’t see why he couldn’t wear them at the same time, humming to himself all the while.
~*~
“Shimizu, this is Yukimi. He’ll be your squad-leader and partner once you start going out into the field. For now he’s going to train with you and prepare you for duties as a shinobi. Though I must say, I’m surprised your mother...”
The older man behind the desk trailed off with the tilt of Raikou’s head, before continuing smoothly, “has had the time to teach you such a thorough manner with which to deflect our attacks and fight them.”
He nodded to the blond man before Raikou turned to give him a rather unimpressed once over, then a smile that hinted at arrogant as he bowed shallowly. “I look forward to learning from you, Yukimi-senpai. Please take good care of me.”
~*~
There’s a smile on Raikou’s face - perfectly serene and utterly calm as the katana in his hand flickers in the afternoon light, his eyes are sharp beneath the fall of blond hair, the top held back with the same red ribbon.
“Oh look... it’s Hattori-sama’s new pet.”
“Cute little dogs need to be housebroken, don’t they?”
“Samurai aren’t what they used to be if a brat like this can take them all out. Never thought the Shimizu were all that anyway.”
“Should we break him in... show the Leader’s new dog his place?”
More laughter as Raikou moves smoothly and steadily through kata after kata, not once acknowledging the snide taunts and thinly veiled threats - that is, until words lead to action is and so, he fights.
It didn’t matter to him whether they attacked alone or in groups of two and three, he cut through them and cut them down without batting a lash, always careful to simply maim Hattori’s would be soldiers, until he heard a sharp whistle.
“Oy! Raikou! What the hell are ya doin’?”
A flick of the blade slung the blood still dripping from the edge down onto a few of the fallen shinobi before he offered his quasi-partner a darkly pleasant smile. “Nothing, senpai. I thought I’d try for a morning workout, but this wasn’t even a warm up. Are shinobi always so delicate?”
~*~
“Kid. Oy Kid! Pay attention - we’re here.”
The car rolled to a stop and Raikou sat up straight, dropped his elbow from the car door, and turned to flash a placating smile at Yukimi as he opened the door. “I’ve been paying attention the whole time, Yukimi-senpai. Even when you nearly hit that other car because you were looking at that prostitute two light back~”
He jumped out of the car amidst loud protests, laughter on his lips and his gamon clenched lightly in one hand, followed the older man around the block and up a fire escape, utterly ignoring the continued protests muttered beneath the other’s breath
“The target, senpai?”
“Should be in his office, so if we do this right, we should be able to avoid the civilians in the basement club.”
“Ah - but isn’t this really more of a Wakachi job? Cleaning up rogue shinobi-turned-drug-dealer really sounds like something the enforcement squads should be doing.”
“Already questioning orders, kid?”
“...I’m sorry, did you say something, senpai?”
“Damn, why’d I get stuck with a brat like you?”
The entry into the building went smoothly - the two were completely undetected as they cut down the halls, deeper into the heart of the building, until they entered the office.
The empty office.
They shared a quick glance before the sound of raised voices reached their ears. Raikou’s eyes widened, anticipation and adrenaline shivering beneath the skin, as he edged towards another door. A careful glance through the small glass window revealed several men sitting around a conference table, their respective guards lined around the room behind their respective bosses.
His own eyes narrowed, hardened at the sight of several familiar faces standing against the walls. Tutors, mentors, friends, would-be subordinates of the Shimizu now turned hired thugs.
He stepped back and frowned at Yukimi. “Seems we came at an inopportune time...”
[He drew a sharp breath, dark eyes snapping open to glance around. He'd been reading underneath a tree at the Temple while Gau took care of some priest-type things (he hadn't paid attention to the what of it) and now glanced down at the Hitomi with a veiled look of disapproval.]
Well... that's new. Seems the gods are toying with us again, aren't they.
“...And I’ll be here every morning to cook your meals for the day and to let in your tutor. He does require you to dine with him for evening meals every Sunday. Hattori-sama feels it best you study from home for now, Shimizu-sama. While I’m here, I’ll cook your meals for lunch and dinner as well, so you need only follow the instructions on the container for your afternoon meals. Laundry day is every Wednesday, and please don’t forget that you have a meeting with Hattori-sama tomorrow directly following the end of your lessons...”
The servant’s droning voice continued on in a dreadfully monotonous tone, not that Raikou particularly minded. He simply stood there, in the center of the sitting room that made up the central area of his newly assigned suite, and let his eyes scan the room with a dull sense of detachment - until he caught sight of the blood still staining his hands.
All he did then was stand there, staring down at his hand, his back to the young woman, until her voice stilled. Only then did he turn to face her, offer her a polite bow. “Thank you, Ito-san. Please take good care of me.”
She nodded and blushed, he held that perfectly serene smile... and some part of him laughed at how easily it was to hide the emptiness behind it from even a seasoned shinobi.
He turned away, then glanced around him with a frown. The bathroom was neat and pristine, the countertops a warm bamboo. He stood there for a long moment, only dimly aware that his school uniform was covered in the blood of his clan - friends, mentors, tutors, friends, mother. There were streaks of it, giving warm honey-blond locks a pink tinge, paths of blood dried on his face, staining the usually pearlescent white of his saya.
He set his gamon on the countertop, stepped calmly over to the side, then fell to his knees in front of the toilet a moment before getting loudly, violently sick. Loud hacking, gagging sounds interspersed with pathetic, gut wrenching sobs the memory of the flames burning down his home ghosted over his skin and face after face, body after body, flashed before his eyes until there was nothing left inside.
And then he fell over, scooted back in the small space between the toilet and tub, pulled his knees in tight, arms crossed over them and forehead pressed against bloodied wrists and finally, finally let himself just react to everything that had happened. He cried deep, body-wracking sobs, bit down on his wrist as he screamed out his pain for the loss of everything he’d known and everyone he’d cared about, condemned himself with the vilest curses under his breath for the hate he’d planted in his beloved sister’s heart.
He was fifteen and he was scared. He was petrified and alone and in the end he could only claim fault for falling prey to his uncles words that rang with a false wisdom.
He was fifteen and for the first time in his life, he felt as if he were a child.
He cried until the tears dried up and the shaking subsided, until he felt little more than a hollowed out husk parading itself in the form of a human being and then he sighed and pushed himself up, dusted himself off as if that would somehow make him clean again.
Only then did that blessedly numb, disconnected feeling settled in and he began to calmly unbutton his uniform top to reveal the plain white tee beneath, also soaked through with blood. The jacket was tossed carelessly into a corner as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed it onto the counter as well. The other hand pulled out a small package from his other pocket and he stared at it in disbelief as the red ribbon slithered out.
He’d bought it on impulse, as a gift for Raimei, only he’d forgotten to give it to her. He’d been detoured by his uncle.
Now, he simply wound the ribbon into his hair, pulled long locks back from his face, then leaned over the sink to begin scrubbing the blood from his hands, face, and neck before moving on to mechanically clean the blood from the hilt and saya of his gamon, idly wondering if he’d always feel so hollow.
~*~
When Raikou turned around again, he glanced around the overcrowded streets filled with large screens and bright lights and sighed. Hattori’s driver had dropped him off somewhere in Shibuya, handed him a considerable amount of yen, and the order to meet him back at the same spot in three hours. He glanced around, more than a little lost, and realized that in all his fifteen years... he’d never gone clothes-shopping for himself.
So he shrugged to himself, slipped his hands into his pockets, and slipped in to lose himself in the crowd. He wandered from store to store, grabbed things off racks and shelves as they caught his eye - because if he liked this or that, he didn’t see why he couldn’t wear them at the same time, humming to himself all the while.
~*~
“Shimizu, this is Yukimi. He’ll be your squad-leader and partner once you start going out into the field. For now he’s going to train with you and prepare you for duties as a shinobi. Though I must say, I’m surprised your mother...”
The older man behind the desk trailed off with the tilt of Raikou’s head, before continuing smoothly, “has had the time to teach you such a thorough manner with which to deflect our attacks and fight them.”
He nodded to the blond man before Raikou turned to give him a rather unimpressed once over, then a smile that hinted at arrogant as he bowed shallowly. “I look forward to learning from you, Yukimi-senpai. Please take good care of me.”
~*~
There’s a smile on Raikou’s face - perfectly serene and utterly calm as the katana in his hand flickers in the afternoon light, his eyes are sharp beneath the fall of blond hair, the top held back with the same red ribbon.
“Oh look... it’s Hattori-sama’s new pet.”
“Cute little dogs need to be housebroken, don’t they?”
“Samurai aren’t what they used to be if a brat like this can take them all out. Never thought the Shimizu were all that anyway.”
“Should we break him in... show the Leader’s new dog his place?”
More laughter as Raikou moves smoothly and steadily through kata after kata, not once acknowledging the snide taunts and thinly veiled threats - that is, until words lead to action is and so, he fights.
It didn’t matter to him whether they attacked alone or in groups of two and three, he cut through them and cut them down without batting a lash, always careful to simply maim Hattori’s would be soldiers, until he heard a sharp whistle.
“Oy! Raikou! What the hell are ya doin’?”
A flick of the blade slung the blood still dripping from the edge down onto a few of the fallen shinobi before he offered his quasi-partner a darkly pleasant smile. “Nothing, senpai. I thought I’d try for a morning workout, but this wasn’t even a warm up. Are shinobi always so delicate?”
~*~
“Kid. Oy Kid! Pay attention - we’re here.”
The car rolled to a stop and Raikou sat up straight, dropped his elbow from the car door, and turned to flash a placating smile at Yukimi as he opened the door. “I’ve been paying attention the whole time, Yukimi-senpai. Even when you nearly hit that other car because you were looking at that prostitute two light back~”
He jumped out of the car amidst loud protests, laughter on his lips and his gamon clenched lightly in one hand, followed the older man around the block and up a fire escape, utterly ignoring the continued protests muttered beneath the other’s breath
“The target, senpai?”
“Should be in his office, so if we do this right, we should be able to avoid the civilians in the basement club.”
“Ah - but isn’t this really more of a Wakachi job? Cleaning up rogue shinobi-turned-drug-dealer really sounds like something the enforcement squads should be doing.”
“Already questioning orders, kid?”
“...I’m sorry, did you say something, senpai?”
“Damn, why’d I get stuck with a brat like you?”
The entry into the building went smoothly - the two were completely undetected as they cut down the halls, deeper into the heart of the building, until they entered the office.
The empty office.
They shared a quick glance before the sound of raised voices reached their ears. Raikou’s eyes widened, anticipation and adrenaline shivering beneath the skin, as he edged towards another door. A careful glance through the small glass window revealed several men sitting around a conference table, their respective guards lined around the room behind their respective bosses.
His own eyes narrowed, hardened at the sight of several familiar faces standing against the walls. Tutors, mentors, friends, would-be subordinates of the Shimizu now turned hired thugs.
He stepped back and frowned at Yukimi. “Seems we came at an inopportune time...”
[He drew a sharp breath, dark eyes snapping open to glance around. He'd been reading underneath a tree at the Temple while Gau took care of some priest-type things (he hadn't paid attention to the what of it) and now glanced down at the Hitomi with a veiled look of disapproval.]
Well... that's new. Seems the gods are toying with us again, aren't they.