Parochialism [Private]

Spoiler:

A strange sensation of deja vu game over the tall genin as he moved lithely through the village, a small scroll held within the grip of his left hand. Those around him stared, as they always did, at his odd visage, but his many eyes scanned through the document in question to ascertain his mission. It seemed rather obvious and straightforward and he, in all honesty, could not figure out how this sustained the human civilization. Still rather new to the whole thing, some of the more frivolous actions of the village confounded him; he still lived in a minimally furnished apartment, having purchased a set of kneeling mats for no other reason that it was apparently a customary aspect of human life.

He made it to the house in question and immediately found a peculiarlysweet sound assaulting his nose. Intrigued, he entered without knocking, startling the extremely elderly woman who stood in the tiny house, reaching up in her kitchen but failing to grasp a white sack. Kurasegame swiftly crossed the gap and, much talk than this bent and twisted eldre, grabbed the bag of white dust and handed to her. A short hour or so longer, spent in silence on his part, and he and the woman were sharing some cookies, something which he had never done before.

Exit

Spoiler:

This was something simple, but also fundamentally basic and not at all intimidating. Pulling weeds would not prove too much of a challenge, in fact, pulling up weeds was much like training to wield a sword, staff, or bow: all of this fell to repetition. Before swing a blade, you draw it, then sheath it, then draw it again. Once a master of the draw, you hold the blade, fully extended, for as long as possible, in each hand, until you no longer can. Then you change hands. It is not something you “learn” but reading a book or coming to understand a concept, instead you etch it into the very fabric of your body.

The sun was hot today, but a stylish bamboo hat shielded Kuragesame from a burn as he bent down to puck weed after weed. Hand grips the very of the plant, jiggle slightly, twist and pluck, tearing up the entire long root, hairy and sodden with dirt, then toss it into the basket on the back and move on to the next one. Over and over, row after row, garden bed after garden bed. Looking up some time later, Kura realized that the day had drawn long and that his basket was full. Surely his hands would be calloused, but perhaps his grip would have improved?

Exit

Spoiler:

His missions kept coming, and really these were not so bad. They were rather short, sometimes silly, not overly demanding, and never scary. They provided him with plenty in the way of time that he could devote to technique and further swordsmanship practice, so he could not complain too much. It did seems odd, though, that the village had such a high demand for menial labor. These sorts of missions were not only everywhere, they were posted in perpetuity. A single mission like this could have genin picking up trash ten at a time, every day, forever as far as he could tell. Where did the money to pay for this come from and was this really the best use of a standing military? Regardless, no complaints from six-eyes.

And so there he found himself in the gleaming business center, surrounded by a bunch of trash that bankers and merchants apparently couldn’t be bothered to throw out themselves, armed with a long pole with a little spear on the end and a hoop-ended garbage bag to fill with trash. Simple, and full of hand eye coordination; he made a game of it by spearing trash is particular areas or rapidly jabbing them as quickly as he could. Again, more in the way of endless repitition.

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Another day brought in another proverbial dollar, in a sense, and yet he could not help but find that his funds were not increasing at a rate which all too thrilled him. Human matters on the whole did not mean a great deal to him, at least in any sort of abstract sense: at all moments he could return to the wild he supposed. No, rather he loved their inventions and trickets and the like, and it was for that that he completed rather silly missions, so as to have enough cash to afford all of the weaponry and gadgets that he so desired.

And thus he found himself along a rather abandoned shore line with a host of other genin all armed with various polled or long handled instruments to aid them in raking or picking up the debris that had washed ashore. It appeared the nation had suffered quite the ship wreck and hands were needed in the relief. Unlike some of his other missions, this felt a little bit more appropriate, even though it was equally as trivial and menial. As was his style, he went about completing it as if it were just another part of some endless series of bodily training and hoped that he improved his reflexes and strength at least a little as a result.

Exit

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More days, more missions, more strangeness. At the very least this one had a relevant source of payment, that being that the merchant in question needed or thought he needed help stocking his shelves and, being that he believed this, he was willing to pay someone to help him. Odd that the village needed to both play middle man - taking a cut of the payment - and also rent out professional military personnel to local food vendors, but Kurage could not much bring himself to care how the finances of the village worked, so long as he made some money and could buy some fancy weapons.

So, by rote memory alone, he moved cans and parcels of foodstuffs and vitals from sacks and pallets on to shelves and end caps, over and over again in a mindless repetition. The works, as with many of his missions, was tedious and boring, but also safe and simple and permitted him to allow his mind to wander, considering all of the new techniques he could learn, the sword forms unmade and undiscovered, the spears, lances, bows, and scythes he would soon have the ability to purchase and practice with. And so, while not stimulating, it did not rend his soul as it may have for so many others.

Exit

Spoiler:

Rather than fishing in a boring manner, namely through use of line and tackle, Kuragesame chose instead to fish in a more rewarding fashion, one which would convey unto him some more abilities and powers, some finer skills and greater rewards. As such, he stood out in the water, frigid chill up to his knees, shirtless, and stabbing at fish with a spear. The process initially proved immensely difficult as the fish were so quick to avoid the spear, but eventually a rather supreme calm washed over him and he entered a sort of trance. This inner peace allows the hours to pass in tranquility until finally he speared his first fish, then another, before descending again into the calmness. As so the day passed, he spearing fish after fish as the poor man he aided watched on in anticipation.

And what a queer even to find himself in, to put it frankly. In the wild, you either ate or were eaten, and no one would come to help you catch your next meal. Even pack mates turned on one another, eventually, and the ragged group with which Kuragesame had banded had never been close anyway. So bizarre that money could simply hire someone to save you, even if you were relatively poor. The ninja system had created a strange village indeed, one with odd incentives and a way of life fundamentally foreign to this bestial and fledgling warrior of the sword. He did like the feel of the spear in hand though, he had to say, and he would need to consider acquiring one sooner or later. Hopping out of the water with his catch, he exchanged it with the man for the cheap sword he had already purchased, bowed, and went on his way.

exit

Spoiler:

Now as of late, Kuragesame had found - or been given - a set of missions that seemed to make a bit more in the way of sense. As opposed to some of the early ones in his career, these had not only a straightforward directive, for that was common among all of the missions, but these had a direct path to payment. These missions made a certain sense in that the village was not bizarrely paying him for no reason other than to do menial work, In this, someone who owned a business or needed a service once more payed for someone to help them or to do it for them. Again, money appeared to solve everything. However, he still could not exactly place why on earth the village was required as a sort of middle man, but he also did not much care. He got paid and got to keep screwing around with weapons and such.

So he grabbed the small pallet of supplies that the merchant had wanted him to deliver. He had everything wrapped up and tied up to him along his back, making it a cumbersome and rather oddly shaped back pack, but it worked at least to move it from one side of the village. Then, he readied himself, not moving at all even an inch while he prepared to go, ready to begin sprinting through the village to race against himself to go as fast as he could. He was not the swiftest of his class, but he certainly was rather quick, and he would quicken himself by this form of training. And so after a brief mental countdown, he was off to the races, darting all about the village to make his mark as quickly as he was able. And then, his sweet reward of a few paper bills which, eventually, would allow him to buy more swords.

exit

Spoiler:

In the dead of the night, six burning red and wholly unholy eyes looked out into the darkness from a small stand serving late night sushi and various fried foods. Kuragesame dressed as he normally would, a fanciful but odd haori and otherwise fairly generic and traditional clothing. He did not wear armor, jackets, or carry a ninja pouch whatsoever, and while the night encroached, he stood plainly in the open in the pool of light cast by the vendor's lantern. He wore a single blade upon his left hip, no tanto or partner wakizashi, which marked him, in the view of most, as not a samurai either. So, while horrible to look upon, he seemed just a regular auxiliary civilian with a sword to haphazardly defend himself.

Mostly, this held true, for even though he had received official business, he did not much care to shut down some strange weapons trade or drug deal. However, this required no fighting, so even though it distracted from his training, it also involved very little on his part other than to hover around and listen in. He had no specifically strong sensory abilities nor could he blend in effectively, so he just leaned up against and ally with a plate of dumplings, munching softly by himself and listening as voices drifted up through the ally way. He did not hear every word, but he caught enough to hear that they were moving various weapons - mostly explosives, but also some other light armaments, for some kind of ill-conceived terrorist attack on a local building whose name he recognized but whose function he did not. He shrugged, leaving as they dealers departed in a different direction, and almost hoping to get another mission related to this that he might acquire some of those explosives for his own use.

Exit

Spoiler:

He had grown, at least in the eyes of the village, at a rapid and unprecedented pace. Through a missive sent directly from the office of the kage, replete with the lord of his land's official seal, he was henceforth promoted directly to a special jonin, a rather high rank for someone so - at least according to his clan - young and certainly someone so generally unaccomplished. Outside of the rather easy mission to clear out some wild animals, a mission which he did not enjoy in the slightest, he had never been forcibly sent abroad or even outside of the relative safety of his newfound homeland. Well, no matter to him.

Today he had chosen another simple mission, something which permitted him ample time to wander mentally about forms and stances. He had recently learned both about iado, a classically samurai technique, and some light use of a spear, something which samurai used occasionally but which was generally regarded as esoteric. He had been moving farther and farther away from deliberate forms and more towards a free-flowing set of motions, which displeased his sensei quite a bit. Perhaps it was time to move on. Regardless, he walked a simple patrol route around the harbor district, a place in the village he quite liked to roam, but there was nothing of note going on. A few backhanded deals, for sure, but nothing which seemed dangerous to the interests of the village.

Exit