Just Another Average Day In An Average Village [Private]

Age : 31 Posts : 1836

With a soft thud, the form of a teenage boy clad in a long, navy blue, hooded cloak landed on the ground in a pose reminiscent to a down-on-one-knee-bow, uplifting a small cloud of dust as he made contact with earth. The boy straightened up slowly, the ghostly, purple insect wings on his back shimmering and disappearing as he did so. Masquerade glanced around from behind his mask at his location, the cloak that covered his entire body ruffling softly from the movement. He stood in an alley of sorts, behind what appeared to be a large grocery store. A large dumpster overflowing with trash was placed against the tall wooden fence that boxed him in with the back of the store. The unpleasant aroma spreading from the dumpster caused Masquerade to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Trying to ignore the foul stench of decaying meat and produce along with other consumables, he shifted his head from left to right, searching for a way out of this alley. Locating the narrow path leading to the front of the store, Masquerade’s booted feet began moving and led his body out from behind the grocery store to one of the wide, wooden streets of the village he was currently in.

As it was the high noon and the Sun was at the height of its trajectory, the village close to the border between Kusa no Kuni and Hi no Kuni was bathed in the magnificent glow of the celestial body’s rays. Every now and then the continuous band of light would be broken by the shadow of a cloud passing in front of the Sun; though this did not occur often enough for Masquerade’s taste. Despite not being one of the hottest days he had experienced, the Jinchuuriki still felt a little uncomfortable under his thickly-layered cloak, even from his position under the shadow of the grocery store. He didn’t really understand why people craved sunny days so much. The clearer the day, the more likely it was that one would suffer the ill effects of exposure to sunlight. Not to mention it was even hotter in said situation, and he did not like being hot.

Masquerade once more glanced around himself. The bright rays from the Sun illuminated the village and its inhabitants for him to view clearly. The villagers were out and about either enjoying themselves or completing the day’s tasks. Excited, agitated, worried, ecstatic, one could fill a bathtub with the multitude of assorted emotions these villagers were displaying as they trudged from one building to another. Clothing stores, food stores, blacksmith shops, restaurants, post offices, pet stores, it was all here, nothing missing. Fragmented portions of speech came floating to Masquerade’s ears over the hustle and bustle of village. Various voices speaking all at once, saying things like “My next door neighbor’s sister’s best friend once said -”, “I’ll pay you fifty rabbits for a -”, “- and then he pulled off his -”, or “This cheese tastes like chicken!”; all ordinary, trivial banter that one involuntarily took in while listening to the background jangle of the town. In other words, this village was just like every other place in the world.

The boy frowned as he took in the sight. He was beginning to wonder if there was even any originality left in this world. Every inhabited location he went to, he saw the same scene: people scurrying around like insects or trudging from one place to another like rusted androids. Even if it wasn’t a village or town or any other well-populated area, there always seemed to be someone there already. Whether it was a ninja, a tradesman, a thug, there was always someone you ran into. And because of that, there was always a reason to be wary of your surroundings, to keep your guard up.

“Excuse me, sir, might I perhaps interest you in a fine set of bracelets?” a voice inquired from Masquerade’s left.

The boy turned his hooded head in the direction of the sound. A balding man stood before him, a metal cart full of sparkling bracelets, necklaces, rings, and various other forms of jewelry situated between them. The portly man’s mouth may have been stretched into a friendly grin but his eyes radiated with a conniving intellect. Masquerade’s eyes narrowed behind his mask’s visor in annoyance. Just when he was musing about the need of being wary, who should he run into but a salesman? Life was just full of humorous coincidences.

“Bracelet, sir? These are genuine solid gold, they are. Straight from the furnaces of some of the finest blacksmith’s in Kusa no Kuni! Or perhaps you’d like to buy a necklace? Or maybe a ring would be more suitable?” The man gestured to each item as he spoke, a sly twinkle in his eyes as he gave a toothy grin to Masquerade. “That would make an excellent gift for your girl.” A wink and a laugh succeeded this comment.

Masquerade remained silent, not bothering to inform the man that there was no such person in his life. The boy simply appeared to be considering whether or not he ought to buy an item from this man. The man certainly thought he was, for the cart was pushed closer to Masquerade to grant the boy a better look. Masquerade leaned forward over the glass covering as if he were examining the merchandise on sale.

“Yes, jewelry would make a fine gift for my girlfriend,” remarked Masquerade, playing along to the man’s earlier comment. “There’s nothing women seem to love more than jewelry. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed, sir, indeed!” came the oily reply.

The salesman’s expression was one of delight and anticipation as he eagerly watched the customer with his beady black eyes. That expression soon turned to one of shock and terror when Masquerade’s hands suddenly shot out from underneath his cloak and stopped directly above the man’s wrists. The salesman glanced down and gulped at the sight of the two kunai Masquerade was holding to each of the salesman’s wrists, both of the weapons a hair’s width away from piercing his skin.

Masquerade smirked visibly under his hood, tilting his head to one side as he looked at the salesman. “However, she would appreciate the gift more if it came with the hands of the very person who sold them to me.” His tone, which had previously been warm and friendly, was now cold and malicious.

The man pulled his hands away from Masquerade’s and backed away instinctively, staring at the cloaked boy with wide eyes as beads of sweat began forming on his forehead. Masquerade sniggered in amusement at the sight, replacing the kunai back in his ninja pouch and spreading his arms questioningly at the salesman. “What’s wrong? Do I frighten you?” A malevolent grin spread across the boy’s prominently obscured face. “Would you like to see something really scary?” he inquired slowly, raising his hand to his face and slowly lowering his mask, enough to provide the salesman a clear look at his eyes. As the man’s own eyes met Masquerade’s, his face quickly contorted into a look of supreme horror and disgust. Grabbing hold of his cart, the salesman spun around and hurried off in the opposite direction, away from the boy with the insect’s eyes.

Smirking with satisfaction, Masquerade returned his mask to its rightful position of his face. Tsk, tsk. Merchants don’t seem to have any good bargaining skills these days. Observing other people’s reaction whenever they caught a glimpse of his eyes was an occurrence which Masquerade greatly enjoyed. Who didn’t enjoy people gaping in surprise or fear, thus looking like complete idiots as they did so? The appearance of his eyes no longer bothered Masquerade, but he remembered distinctly the first time he had noticed the change in their appearance. Even he had been grossed out by it, so he was not offended when he received the same reaction from others. It was something you got used to after sometime.

Pulling the hood of his cloak lower over his masked face and stepped out from the shade onto the street, the boy immediately mingled into the mass of moving bodies. Like a phantom, Masquerade weaved through the moving forms while glancing around his person, taking in the sight of the village he was passing through. He wondered if some of the larger and well-protected villages (such as the Shinobi Villages) were just like this. He had been to a great many inhabited regions during his life, but a Shinobi Village was turf he had yet to cross. I wonder what it must be like, living in a place where everyone is a ninja? his mind wondered. I would expect there to be an abundance of violence, or at least enough to make the locals wary and uneasy… Then again, the contrary might be valid as well. With powerful ninja around, one would feel safe and comforted by the thought that there is someone to safeguard them should trouble ever arise. Yes, both seem highly plausible.

Lost in his thoughts about Shinobi Villages, Masquerade continued to stride through the seething mass of bodies in silence, still instinctively weaving around the incoming obstacles with the grace of a tiger.

Age : 31 Posts : 1836

Just Another Average Day In An Average Village [Private] 1-ghost-town-kevin-heaney

“Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop”. That was what the wooden sign suspended above Masquerade read. Peering at the building, Masquerade noted how different it looked in comparison to the rest of the structures around it. While the majority of the buildings he had come across had been constructed out of wood, concrete, and portions of metal, this one’s walls seemed to be composed more of molded earth and mud. The few pieces of wood attached to the building were present as a form of support no doubt. A small chimney was located on its roof, a trail of smoke rising slowly from the top. This tea shop was relatively smaller than its fellow consumer stores; its compact, muffin-like appearance made it stand out clearly amongst the others.

Masquerade frowned thoughtfully as he examined the exquisite tea shop before him, stroking his chin with his hand as he did so. It wasn’t so much the fact that this tea shop differed in appearance from the all the other tea shops that intrigued him, but the fact that it looked completely neglected. And by neglected, he did not mean that it seemed just about ready to collapse before him or that it was covered with overgrown vegetation. On the contrary, whoever ran this tea shop was doing a splendid job at its maintenance.

The Tea Shop gave off an impression of warmth and friendliness. The windows were thrown wide open as a show of appreciation towards the fine weather the village was having; the smell of tea and biscuits was wafting out of these openings for the day’s light breeze to carry. Lights could be seen illuminated inside the shop, indicating that they were open for business. Decorations in the form of animal statues and flowers were on display at the Tea Shop’s exterior.

Despite all of this and more, not a single person entered the building or even approached it. In fact, everyone seemed to be going out of their way to avoid it, keeping themselves on the opposite side of the street as they walked past it; some even refrained from coming down the path entirely, instead taking what Masquerade assumed to be the longer route around it. It was thus that Masquerade stood in the middle of the street, peering up at the lone building, on either side of which was a plain expanse of grass stretching for as far as he could see: the village’s border.

Masquerade glanced around himself, noting that he was currently the only person on this street. He wondered why this Tea Shop was so excluded. The only logical answer he could come up with was that the villagers held superstitious thoughts towards it; complete baloney in Masquerade’s opinion, but what were you going to do? He glanced back in the direction he had just come from. Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop was not even built in the “well-developed” part of town; this area appeared to be a forgotten zone, left to its devices years ago. The buildings around Masquerade were deserted and near-ruin. Deep stone wells lay empty and dry. The streets had moss and various other vegetation blooming over; in some areas it was like there had never been a street there in the first place. The entire location was silent and deserted, the only life being the small rodents using the area as their home. It was like standing in a ghost town.

The boy gave one of his amused smirks. Having grown tired of all the semblances between the buildings in the villages after ten minutes, Masquerade had been craving a disparate sight. And nowadays, something from an older time was just the ticket. Thus, Masquerade had followed the path that the wooden, arrow-shaped sign had been pointing down; his jounrey had led him to a stone arch on which was a metal plaque identifying the area beyond as “The Old Part of Town”. Suffice to say, it was not what he had expected to come across. Truth be told, he had been anticipating an Amish type of locale, or at the very least a slum. A ghost town was not a part of his predictions. This place was almost as bad as the town where he had lived as a child for ten years.

The thought of his hometown, the place where he had been abandoned by his mother, stirred old memories in his mind. Growing up in that God-forsaken orphanage and town, and then having to fend for himself when his hometown was ransacked by a gang of thugs. Then joining paths with Sakamoto, the old retired ninja who had taught Masquerade everything he knew about being a shinobi. And finally, meeting the man who claimed to be his father: the very man who was responsible for turning Masquerade into a Jinchuuriki.

Masquerade clenched his fists in anger and closed his eyes as the memory of the “Night of Sealing” rose in his mind. The dark cavern, the cloaked men, the barrel with the Bijuu inside, the faint sensation of pain and discomfort that he had experienced during the ritual; despite having forgotten them once, those recollections were now burnt into his mind. He could never forget the horror he had felt upon learning the truth about what he was, the anger he had felt when he had learned who was responsible for it. The boy opened his eyes and glanced down at his right hand, recalling the memorable feeling of his hand plunging into his father’s chest as easily as a hot knife through butter; the feel of a warm, soft heart beating against the palm of his hand as he closed it around the ever-vital organ and tore it out from its abode within his father’s body. In his rage, he had unknowingly killed his own father using the power of the Bijuu. Unknowingly, he had discarded his best chance at learning more about his past. He had not even learnt his father’s name…

Grabbing hold of his head with both hands, the Jinchuuriki shook his head in an attempt to pull himself out of his gloomy reminiscences. Control yourself! This is no time to be getting so emotional, he scolded himself. You’re not a child anymore. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm his mind, Masquerade released his grip on his own head and straightened up. There was no point in crying over the past. What was done was done. Brooding over all the “what ifs” was pointless. The present and the future was what mattered. And at present, Masquerade had another problem to deal with.

Looking up at Tea Shop once more, Masquerade once more considered it. An abandoned part of town, decaying and ancient, and yet here was a well-maintained tea shop. Why? Shrugging, he stepped towards it, deciding that this would be the best way to quell his curiosity (and though he did not admit it, it was also the best way to keep his mind off his past). It may have been wiser to simply question someone from the village about the shop, but Masquerade wanted to see with his own eyes just what made this Tea Shop worth evading. He was in no mood to hear imaginative tales and half-baked rumors of ghosts and phantoms and curses and bunny invasions; he did not believe in such nonsense (except maybe the last one). Approaching the solid oak door of the Tea Shop, Masquerade gently pushed it open with his right hand while his left hand lowered the hood of his cloak. Cautiously, Masquerade took a step into Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop.

Age : 31 Posts : 1836

Just Another Average Day In An Average Village [Private] 09061210

“Hello! Welcome to Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop! May I offer you a seat, sir?”

Masquerade blinked slowly behind his mask, gazing at the young waitress before him in silence. No older than Masquerade and perhaps a head shorter than the boy, the female attendant possessed medium-length hair of a vibrant pink shade as she flashed a welcoming smile to the boy. With the grace of a ballerina the girl directed her customer to a round, highly-polished wooden table, depositing a menu in front of Masquerade as the latter seated himself on one of the chairs. Pulling off his cloak, the boy hung it on the backrest of his chair and turned his attention back to the girl.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need!” she informed him with a cheerful grin. With a nod, the waitress twirled away (or at least it seemed that way to the boy) towards the counter with the same graceful movement as before. Wondering if he had accidently stepped into a professional dance class, Masquerade glanced around the small café, trying to find out what the big deal was about this place.

The first thing he noticed was that, despite the fact that it had appeared to be made of mud and earth on the outside, practically everything inside the shop was made of wood. The tables, chairs, doors, walls, counters, everything he laid his eyes on had been crafted from the by-product of trees. Even the light bulbs seemed to be made of wood (how was that even possible?!)! And it was not just cheap timber, but high-quality wood such as oak and mahogany. Masquerade ran a finger across the table’s smooth, polished surface. Whoever owned this place clearly did not have any financial problems. Which, to be honest, came as a surprise considering just how empty the café currently was.

Masquerade peered around the interior of Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop. It was snug and cozy on the inside with its comfortable armchairs and sofas, along with numerous decorations such as vases of exotic flowers and vibrant paintings positioned throughout the shop for your viewing pleasure. Coupled with the soft, dull lighting it gave the café a soothing atmosphere, making one feel relaxed and at ease.

Masquerade was therefore completely baffled as to why there was no one else in here. Considering what he had seen of people's reactions to this place, this was not what he had expected to find. Something more along the lines of a gloomy, sinister room with shrunken heads, gory pictures, and demonic statues hanging from the walls and ceiling had come to mind. Although he did not care much for a serene environment in which to enjoy his morning tea (truth be told he was not really a fan of drinking tea or coffee), he understood that most people did appreciate such things. Then why was this place so neglected? He was beginning to get frustrated now, both at how he did not know the answer for that question, and that he even cared enough to desire an answer.

The waitress was watching Masquerade with interest as he scrutinized the place. Realizing this, the boy ceased this endeavor and leaned back in his chair as he contemplated this issue. He could simply question the waitress, but he thought it might be a little rude for him to ask her why the café was so shunned. After all, no one likes to be reminded how badly they’re doing at something, do they?

Perhaps it’s the menu? he wondered, glancing down at the plastic sheet before him. He pulled it closer and lifted it up to his eyes to examine the list of eatables. Or “drinkables”, he supposed they were called.

Immediately getting lost in a world of complicating and meaningless names and phrases regarding coffee beans and tea leaves and God-knew what other kind of ingredients, Masquerade pulled his eyes away from the incomprehensible sight and surveyed his surroundings once more. It was then that his gaze fell on a certain picture beside the counter. More accurately, it was a portrait of a man, quite artistic and life-like in his opinion. But what had caught Masquerade’s attention was not the fine attention to detail in the painting, but the face of the man in the painting. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked over to it, his gaze locked on the face of his deceased father.

“Is there something wrong, mister?” the girl at the counter asked, having looked up from the counter as the boy moved from his seat to the portrait. Masquerade did not answer, simply staring at the painting in silence.

There was no mistaking that visage. The muddy-brown hair and eyes, the handsome, jovial smile; the face was definitely many years younger than the one Masquerade had seen, but it was definitely his father’s. Masquerade frowned as he stared at the portrait with narrowed eyes. Why was there a picture of his father framed in the shop, as if he was regarded with respect here? Desiring an answer, Masquerade turned his masked face towards the pink-haired female at the counter and spoke:

“This man in the painting - who exactly is he?”

The girl walked over to Masquerade and peered up at the painting, as if trying to remember. She smiled and looked up at the blonde boy. “Oh, that’s some guy named Senju Yashin. He’s an old pal of Obaa-san’s, my grandmother who owns this joint. She’s always spoken highly of him, says he’s a great man who once helped her when she was in a pinch. Says she’s really grateful to him for that.” Her formal tone had vanished, replaced with a more friendly and casual style befitting a teenager such as she. Turning back to the portrait, the girl scratched her head in a thoughtful manner. “There’s some kinda story behind it or somethin’. Obaa-san can tell you all about it. I’ll get her, hang on a sec.”

The girl returned a few minutes later reeling in an old woman sitting in a wheelchair, most likely in her late seventies or early eighties. This, then, was “Grandma Otae”, owner of this tea shop which had intrigued Masquerade so much. The wizened old lady smiled up at Masquerade. “My, you’re an oddly dressed one. Do all you kids dress like this today, Kagura-chan?” The question was directed to the girl standing behind her, whose name was apparently Kagura.

Before the girl named Kagura could answer, Masquerade posed his question from earlier to the old woman. Otae gave a soft, wheezy laugh and looked at the boy with interest. It was that same look which every “old person” seemed to give to the “young people”; the look that made one feel like they were a piece of steak being examined by a food critic.

“I’ll be happy to tell you, my dear. I’m sure Kagura-chan has already told you that that man’s name is Senju Yashin. I met him over twenty years ago, in this very village. He was a ninja, I believe, from Konohagakure no Sato. I haven’t really heard from him or met him since that time two decades ago when he offered to help me with my tea shop. Would you like to hear the story?”

Without so much as waiting for Masquerade to open his mouth to reply, Otae began her tale:

“I’ve been running this Tea Shop for decades now, almost fifty years to be honest. Business was slow at first, but I hung on and never gave up. Within the first year, business began to bloom, and from then on it just got better and better. I’m sure you don’t really want to hear about my career, so I’ll just skip to the important part. Several years ago, the town was attacked by a group of bandits who came looking for someone or something in the village. I think they called themselves “The Shantakai”, or something. Anyway, they ransacked the village and massacred the inhabitants, and even after all that, they didn’t find what they were searching for. They then vanished without a trace, leaving the village in near-ruins.

Those of us that managed to survive began to rebuild the village, though we elected to leave the destroyed portion as a memorial to those who were killed that night. I, however, wanted to rebuild my Tea Shop in the same place where it had been before. Maybe it was because I wanted to show my love for my destroyed village, or maybe it was because I was just selfish and stubborn. Whatever the reason, that was my desire and wish, and I planned to make it come true.

Unfortunately for me, the rest of my village did not come to a consensus about my wish. They thought I was being greedy and insensitive, and try as I might I just couldn’t explain my reason for doing so to them. Since I did not have enough money by myself to rebuild my Tea Shop and the rest of the villagers refused to lend me any, I was worried I may have to close down my Tea Shop.”

Otae closed her eyes and lowered her head, a saddened look encompassing the entirety of her wrinkled face. “This Tea Shop is very important to me. It was handed down to me by my parents, and I swore I’d keep it running successfully till the day I died. But at that time, I felt like I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise.

It was then that I met Yashin-chan.” Her eyes brightened as she spoke, the cheerful expression returning to her face. “Apparently, he had been passing by the village while on a mission of some kind and had seen the destroyed portion of our village. He learnt from the villagers what had happened, and while he had been walking around trying to offer as much help as he could in the construction, he and I crossed paths with each other. We talked a little bit, and after a while I mentioned my Tea Shop. Yashin-chan was sympathetic; I told him all about my Tea Shop and how it meant so much to me. He told me that he could help me, that he could fix my Tea Shop if I wanted.

I was surprised to hear this, and I thought he might mean offering to pay the reconstruction bills. I told him it was alright, that he didn’t have to bother, but he insisted, practically dragged me out of the restaurant we were in to the site of my broken-down shop.

Once we were there, Yashin-chan did something funny with his hands, and then pressed them against the ground. As I watched in shock, pillars of wood rose from the ground around us and twisted into an exact replica of my shop. With my guidance, Yashin-chan rebuilt my entire Tea Shop in a matter of seconds. I was so pleased for what he had done, eternally grateful for his kindness. I made him a cup of tea and we talked some more.

Before he left, Yashin-chan offered me one last gift. He placed some sort of mark on the shop’s foundation – I think he called it a “Fuuinjutsu” – and told me that the mark would allow the wood in the shop to repair itself whenever it was damaged. This way, I could save money on repair charges, and I would be able to keep my shop standing no matter what.”

The old woman stopped and took a deep breath, leaning back in her wheelchair. No doubt the tale had drained her, despite how much vigor and enthusiasm she might have displayed during the narration. Masquerade remained silent as he watched her with his arms folded across his chest. The granddaughter named Kagura had pulled up a chair and sat down beside her grandmother, after offering Masquerade one of course; an offer he had declined with a swift shake of his head.

Otae looked up at Masquerade with her tired, gray eyes. “And that’s the story, my dear. I’m sorry if I may have bored you with it, but I never get tired of telling it.” She glanced from Masquerade to the portrait of Yashin. “I had him pose for a picture so that I could honor him. I’m ever so grateful to him for his kindness.” She turned her gaze back to Masquerade and considered him thoughtfully. “You know, when I look at you, there’s something about you that reminds me of him. Strange, isn’t it?”

Ignoring that comment, Masquerade knelt down in front of the old woman slightly and placed his hand on the her skeletal shoulder, thanking her for her telling him the story. He assured her that he had not been bored by it, before straightening up. Grabbing hold of his cloak and slipping it on, he then headed for the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the sunlight without so much as glancing back.

Otae and Kagura watched the door through which the boy had exited. The old woman chuckled with pleasure. “He seems like a nice boy. Wouldn't you say, dear?” She turned to look at Kagura questioningly, who shrugged.

“Maybe. Though that mask gives me the creeps.” The grandmother smiled at the comment.

Outside the shop, Masquerade stood facing the front of the shop, a kunai in one hand. His line of sight terminated at the wooden door of the building, on which a noticeable X had been carved into it. Masquerade stood in front of the door for a full minute in silence as he watched the X. Closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly, the boy pocketed the weapon in his hand.

Pulling his cloak's hood back over his head, the boy bent down and placed his hands firmly against the ground as if about to push off against it. Turning his head upwards to the sky, the boy did just that; he pushed against the ground and leaped into the air. One somersault proceeded from this action and then a set of ghostly, purple insect wings appeared on the boy’s back. Hovering in the air for a split second, the boy turned his face to the vast stretch of grass behind Grandma Otae’s Tea Shop and flew off in its direction.

Below him, the X on the door still remained.

~ Topic Concluded ~