The Denizens of New Kirigakure

It was with no little amusement that the kami shown the light of evening down upon the scion of the proud Yuki Clan, embroiled most dutifully in one of the hallowed rituals that had given rise to the new Kirigakure. "I'm getting too old for this," the dark-haired surgeon muttered, scrubbing at a particularly obstinate bit of avian excrement that plagued the esteemed Mizukage's nose. Advancement was what Issei thought he desired... but advancement also meant E-Rank missions. To be fair, such missions were often vital to the continued success of the village, but they were often degrading to undertake.

It was for the sake of one such task that the not-so-young man had scaled the stony visage of arguably the most despised Mizukage in the history of New Kirigakure. Of course, the newly-rebuilt settlement was only a handful of years old... but who was counting? "Marched us in a kami-blasted storm," Issei groused in a reasonably goodnatured fashion. It was generally wise to find the humor in unpleasant tasks. Given that they needed to be accomplished regardless, finding a way to enjoy oneself often took some of the sting from... say... wiping seagull feces out of the Mizukage's eye.

Former Mizukage's eye.

Thank the kami, above and below.

"Marched us in a kami-blasted storm," the physician repeated with a low chuckle. "And he gets a bloody statue. Where's the monument for the ashigaru that slogged through the mud so he could look all intimidating in front of the Leaves, hm?" The man carefully reined in his mind as it sought to drag him back to the operating table which featured so prominently in his memories of that time. He'd been little more than an academy student at the time, but the powers-that-be drafted him on account of his medical expertise aboard the Tsubame.

With great care, the Yuki scion clambered down the statue. Gyojin had been brutal in life; there was no need to beget yet more ill karma from acting carelessly where he was commemorated. The flagstones that comprised the square below promised a painful lesson to one who tumbled off the statue's pedestal. With a grimace, the surgeon swirled his rag in the bucket he'd borrowed off one of the fishermen's wives. Kyoko was a good woman, if a bit too prone to gossip. Her husband, Akihiro, was one of the conscripts who'd taken ship to assault the mainland with Xyxer's forces.

Issei had bonded with the pair after the seventy-third was ambushed, just outside of Korohigashi no Sato. He had been on-duty in the surgery when the casualties came in, Akihiro among them. The physician had simply been doing his job, but the islander native had taken his efforts as a personal favor - and had done his best to repay that favor ever since. All the same, probably best that Kyoko never found out that her bucket had been loaned to clean seagull leavings off the face of the shinobi who'd marched her husband off to Konohagakure - and seized their ship, too.

The dark-eyed Genin wrung out his rag and set about his task once more. Daydreaming was all well and good, but he shuddered to think what Aiko or someone would say if they saw him spending his time in such a fashion. 'You are a surgeon,' they said... 'what do you need jutsu for,' they said. Well, there were some wounds that mortal hands just weren't meant to fix. That was what chakra was made for. If he were able to utilize some of the power that flowed through the vaunted Yuki line, then perhaps more would've survived Gyojin's kami-blasted wars.

The physician eyed the former Mizukage's furrowed brow critically, then spat between his eyes and scrubbed at the spot with his rag. That seagull must've overloaded on fish oil or something - clearly, its digestive tract had left something to be desired. A quick once-over on the face and hair, then it was on to the shoulders - a favorite perch of the assorted avian denizens that called the Island Country 'home.' It occurred to him that this task could've been much simpler with more advanced jutsu. In fact, a water specialist could've just hosed off the statue and called it a day.

A solid five minutes later, Issei went to work on roughing the statue's torso. Blessedly, that was best facilitated by having both feet firmly on the stone pedestal on which the Mizukage stood. This whole 'climbing a former general' affair could be left to the birds. It was lucky that time and the ever-present mist had worn away some of the detailing from the monument. The physician would've hated to have been one of the genin responsible for taking on this task back when it was first built. Judging from Xyxer's reputation, this task was a holdover from the previous administration.

In short order, the former Mizukage no longer suffered the indignities inflicted upon his chest and back. Thankfully, the waist and groin were largely untouched by the island's assorted avian assailants. Issei shuddered to think what Aiko would've had to say about him scrubbing the Mizukage's least seemly areas. The Chūnin had a tendency toward ribald jokes that she flatly refused to rein in. Ten minutes later, all that remained was the pedestal. The pitted base had clearly seen better days. Perhaps it had held a statue of some general or politician of Shimagakure, back before Shimagakure and Tanogakure had merged?

Issei dimly recalled a statue of a woman adorning this island when he first arrived in Shimagakure... but his memory of such minor details was not the best. With the pedestal scrubbed and toweled dry - or as dry as it would reasonably get with the persistent fog bank that enveloped the village - that concluded the genin's task for the day. The man swished his rag vigorously in the bucket before wringing it out, ridding the cloth of the accumulated excrement that'd built up over the course of the task, then slung it over his shoulder after the fashion of an innkeeper.

Spoiler:

It didn't take Issei long to make his way from the statue's square to the fishing piers that lined the island's outer edge. Fishwives gathered in small groups next to simple, wooden houses - mending nets and chattering away like the land-bound counterparts to the seagulls who'd defecated all over the former Mizukage. Though, it must be said, there was many a husband 'round these parts that would gladly have suffered a few gull droppings for a break from their wives' wagging tongues. It was said that there were no secrets on Shimagakure's docks... and the new settlement carried on the tradition.

"Yuki, me lad, is that my bucket I see under your arm - all soapy from use?" The words came unbidden, from the lips of one of the older women who sat nearest the pier. The physician turned his gaze toward the speaker, a smile flickering across his features as he recognized Kyoko Akiyama - the very person he'd been seeking. "Aye, ma'am. It's your bucket, but I won't be returning it to you in this state. A few dunks in the harbor and it'll be good as new." Kyoko snorted, then shook her head and waved as if to shoo the Genin.

"Bah, be off with you! Always with the 'sir' and 'ma'am'," she grumbled to the portly fishwife beside her. "Polite young man, but not so good with the social graces. I can't tell you how many times I told him to call me 'Kyoko'..." Her voice faded as Issei made his way further down the street, eventually stepping out onto one of the piers closer to her place of residence and dumping out the contents of his soap bucket. As he'd said, a few dunks later, the bucket was as clean as it was going to get. Kyoko'd accept it.

It hadn't ever quite dawned on the man just how old the woman had gotten since they'd first met. It had only been a few years, but already there were streaks of grey among her dark locks and crows' feet at the corners of her eyes that refused to fade. She and Akihiro hadn't exactly been young when Xyxer had marched on the Country of Fire - nor when he'd sought to invade Sunagakure - but the realization was sobering. The Yuki scion worried for his friends. In the absence of their children... who would take care of them, as the couple aged?

Issei returned to where Kyoko and her neighbors had taken up temporary residence, bucket in-hand. No sooner had he arrived than did the elderly fishwife flash him a quick smile and waved him over. "Let's make some use of that polite habit of yours, laddie. Akihiro'll be back before long and he'll expect dinner on the table." The physician knew what he was about, offering his friend an elbow in a faux-courtly fashion. With the dignity of a daimyo's wife, Kyoko accepted the gesture and began to walk. Pardon, promenade across the street. She leaned heavily, but Issei held his peace.

"You've my thanks for the bucket, ma'am," the dark-eyed Genin said with a smile, holding the door as the fishwife made her way inside. "Oh, posh! You brought my husband back. No matter what they say, Yuki, you're one of the good people." The physician just chuckled and shook his head. "Doing a little bit better every day, at least," he allowed softly. "Anything I can help with? It's been quite awhile since I've spoken with Akihiro. I'm of half a mind to stick around and see if he'll want a hand with today's haul. When's he due in tonight, again?"

Kyoko pursed her lips, turning as she wiped her bony hands on a dish rag. "An hour, perhaps - two at the outside." She eyed her guest-turned-assistant speculatively for a heartbeat or two. "Tell you what. We put in a request with the district administrator to hire a street sweeper, but there haven't been any takers for the past week or so. The walk's covered in sand, all the way down to the end of the quay. If you're in earnest, then getting that sorted would be a kami-sent blessing. Last sweeper wore a hitai-ate, so you may even get shinobi pay."

The physician perked an eyebrow. "Shinobi pay for street-sweeping?" The man briefly shook his head, a current gentle laughter running beneath his words. "Seems that I've gotten into the wrong profession. Aye, I'll see what I can do. You have a broom handy?" Kyoko flapped a hand toward one corner of the hut, already puttering over to the kitchen table with a large bowl of fresh oysters. "Go save the world with your cleaning skills, laddy. I can tell you it'd make my world, at least, the better for not having sand blowing through my windows in the wee morning hours."

The broom was, in fact, leaning against the corner of the hut. Forty-five minutes later, the quay had been swept clean from one end of the docks to the other. It occurred to Issei roughly twenty minutes into the task that the whole affair could've been made simpler with a wind jutsu, but - upon further reflection - he didn't know what technique'd be suitable. As the physician made his way back toward the Akiyama residence, he caught sight of a small dot of black in the distance. He kept a wary eye on it as he assisted Kyoko with shucking the obstinate oysters.

Issei squinted toward the speck, barely able to make out a sail as the craft turned to avoid one of the myriad whirlpools that plagued local seafarers. Most of the fishing families returned around this time, so there was no guarantee that it was Akihiro's boat... but where there was one, there would soon be more. He carried on with his task, helping the woman finish dinner and setting in for what he hoped would be a lovely chat with a friend. Fishwives bustled about as one fisherman's craft turned into three, then five - each riding low in the water.

Spoiler:

"It'll take them awhile yet," Kyoko observed softly, working her belt knife between the hinge of an unshucked oyster. She eyed the offending mollusk critically. "Long enough for a nice soup, if forty-five years of marriage is any indication." The physician perked an eyebrow, turning his gaze from the window to let it settle upon his friend. "Soup, you say?" Issei glanced toward the kitchenette. "You seem to have shucking oysters well in-hand. Want me to get started on the broth or grab anything from the markets before they close? We're cutting it a bit close, if I'm being honest."

The Akiyama matron snorted with mild amusement. "You might know your starboard from your larboard there, laddie, but I doubt you've 'ship's cook' as a line-item on your Academy file." Rather than rising to the bait, the Yuki scion merely shook his head and picked up another oyster - nestling the shell in his rag before slipping the blade of his borrowed knife between the lips and giving it a twist. "Now, that said, I imagine you've a bit of gardening experience, judging by how well you know your tea leaves. There's a bit of a herb set-up I tend out back."

Issei bobbed his head a couple of times, content to let the fishwife slowly work her way around to the point. There was no sense in rushing folk from old Shimagakure - they just didn't have the same sense of urgency that the Kirigakuran refugees boasted, or the work ethic of the immigrants from the Land of Copper. "Got a bit of spinach out there that'd go nicely with the oysters, methinks," Kyoko continued. "But I'm getting too old to be bending over for Akihiro and the herbs." The physician blushed, keeping his mouth firmly shut. "Weeds run roughshod in the garden."

"If you say you know your spinach from your callaloo," the woman said finally, heedless of the embarrassment of her heretofor silent guest. "Then I'm prepared to believe you. And if you could get rid of some of those kami-blasted weeds while you're at it, you'd be a blessing. A bunch of us talked the district administrator into issuing a request for a gardener, but it's gone unfilled even longer than the street sweeper position." The Yuki scion couldn't help but press his lips together in thought. This administrator fellow didn't sound like they knew what they were about, regarding administration.

Or, if they did, there was some kind of communicative disconnect between the mission assignment office and the district administration. He knew - for a fact - that the other districts had genin regularly attend to matters such as these. For some reason, it was only the docks that had not enjoyed shinobi assistance. The physician assented and made his way out into the back garden. Like his friend had said, it was near-overrun - and not just with weeds. Finding and harvesting the spinach took little effort, but weeding the rest of the plot took a solid half-hour. Thankfully, the soup smelled heavenly.

Perhaps twenty minutes after the last of the weeds had been pulled, Issei sat at the Akiyama's dining table - sandals off, a warm mug of tea in his hands. His own blend, of course, that he'd gifted the couple for Kyoko's name-day a few months back. Laughter emanated mutely from beyond the front door, closely followed by the tramp of heavy bootfalls. It swung open to reveal Akihiro Akiyama, in all his fish-scented glory - a tall, husky man in his late sixties with bright eyes and dark hair that had started to grey at the temples. "Kyoko, my love, I'm home!"

As the master of the house swept his wife into a tight embrace - much to her embarrassment - he winked at Issei over Kyoko's shoulder. "Shame we have company, or..." The elderly fishwife slapped at his shoulder until her husband put her down, cheeks red from the same discomfort that the physician had felt at her earlier ribaldness. "Oh, stop it. There's oyster soup on. It can go down your gullet or down your shirt, but once it goes down there won't be any more of it." She bustled back to the kitchette and busied herself tending to the pot's divine-smelling contents.

Akihiro slung his coat over the back of one of the dining chairs and set about taking off his boots - careful to clean the mud he'd tracked in so as to avoid truly earning Kyoko's ire. "So, Issei, what brings you 'round these parts? Things getting to hectic for you up at the surgery?" The physician chuckled softly, availing himself of a sip from his mug. "Just putting in my time, my friend. Someone suggested to me that I try and make Chūnin... and sometimes, that requires sweeping streets or pulling weeds." Akihiro grinned. "Or enjoying a meal with old friends?"

The Yuki scion waved him off. "No, I'm off-duty for the moment. Just helping out here and there, where I'm needed. Kyoko tells me that you've been having some trouble with the local administrator?" A thundercloud fell over the fisherman's expression, eliciting a hint of surprise from the physician. "Aye," Akihiro rumbled in confirmation. "He's been... less than cooperative. Not seeing the results we'd like from all those new taxes they've levied. Oh, we pay 'em - don't get me wrong - but there's little gain to be had, as far as we know." Issei nodded soberly. "Something I should check into, perhaps?"

The burly fisherman furrowed his brow in thought, then slowly nodded. "Might be wise," he hazarded carefully. "Can't say too much about it, but there might be some benefit to involving another shinobi in the situation - especially one that we know we can trust." Issei opened his mouth to reply, only to find himself interrupted by the front door slamming open. The physician took swiftly to his feet, eying the newcomer warily as Akihiro turned - the thundercloud over his expression starting to crackle as his temper flared. "Saito! Never learned to knock, man? I swear, you've got less sense in that..."

The wiry man who'd burst in bent double, heaving for breath as he gasped out his message. "It's the Kujira - she's taking on water, fast!" Akihiro's eyes widened and he stepped swiftly over to the chair nearest the entryway, pulling over his boots. "Kyoko, love, we're going to be late for dinner. Issei, we could use a hand. There's a hold full of fish in that boat, and it's all lost if she goes under." The physician nodded briskly, drained his tea, then took to his feet and offered a respectful bow toward the mistress of the Akiyama household. "Kami bless."

The walk to the quay where the Kujira was docked would have usually been a leisurely five minutes. It took the trio perhaps two - and that, only because Saito was half-dead from exertion. Apparently, running was not the man's strong-suit. The Kujira was a traditional sailing vessel designed in the tradition of old Shimagakure - a lateen-rigged dhow, once sleek and well-maintained, whose owner had clearly fallen on hard times. Barnacles peeked at the surface air as the waves of the bay dipped below the waterline, showing the wear and slight rot that plagued the ship's timbers. Kujira listed heavily, clearly endangered.

"Kami above and below," Akihiro breathed, eying the vessel. "Old Man Sayama is going to have kittens when he hears about this..." The dark-haired physician spared his friend a glance before quickening his pace. "Focus, Akiyama. He'll be sacrificing kittens if the haul isn't saved." The fisherman took a deep breath, then nodded and lengthened his stride - swiftly catching up to, and then overtaking, Issei. "What's the situation?" he asked grimly, having arrived at the crowd of fisherfolk who'd gathered along the quay nearest the ship. "Can't send many hands aboard," one of the older men remarked. "It'd send her down."

Issei squinted at the boat, his mind whirling. "The crew fishes using a purse seine, am I right?" A couple of the nearby members of the crowd glanced his way and - recognizing the physician - offered confirmation. "What're you thinking, Yuki?" Akihiro asked quietly. The dark-haired scion pursed his lips, then nodded toward the vessel's rear. "Now, I've never fished these waters... but we used to keep our catch netted in the hold for ease of transport, once we made harbour. Could be that it's as simple as hooking up their nets and hauling them safely ashore. Anyone here work the Kujira?"

The physician had never worked a fishing trawler before, but he'd seen - and boarded - plenty while serving on the privateer Tsubame. They'd used a similar mechanism to transport cargo from their prizes, though he'd never admit a-loud to having worked a privateer before the seafolk gathered along the docks. For a time, there was silence. Then, finally... "Aye, I work the Kujira. The man's right. Long as Old Man Sayama doesn't mind us using the crane, I don't see why it wouldn't work." Akihiro nodded, then took charge. "Right then, lads. Yuki, you willing to do the honors with Garuto?"

The physician winced slightly, but nodded nonetheless. In truth, he'd been hoping that finding a solution that let the fishermen solve the problem on their own would preclude him from engaging in yet more manual labour... but he was here, and clearly it needed doing. "Aye, I'll board her. Garuto?" He looked over the crowd, eyes finally settling on a one-eyed, grizzled netmender that lifted a hand. "Done this before?" Garuto spat over the side of the docks. "Know 'er better than me own wife." Issei nodded briskly, refraining from mentioning that he'd be swimming in that spit if anything happened.

While Akihiro took charge of the folk on the dock, clearing a space for the fish and getting a-hold of some crates from one of the warehouses, Issei nimbly made his way onto the ever-tilting Kujira - closely followed by the inestimably-gentlemanly Garuto. "Listing port... gonna be a problem, getting the haul clear of the deck hatch." His grizzled companion grunted unintelligibly, eying the grate that sat in the middle of the deck. "Grate hooks?" The dark-haired physician prompted patiently. "Aye, I'll get the damn..." Grumbling, the fisherman scuttled over to a deck locker and untangled two pole-hooks from among its contents.

With a bit of effort, the grate squealed free as they levered it out of its housing. It slid down onto the port railing with the scratchy sound of metal on wood. "Just cleaned this deck before we made port," Garuto muttered irritably, glaring down into the darkness of the hold as though it had eaten his mother. "On the bright side," the Yuki scion remarked quietly, peering down as he tried to make out a mass of fish amid the blackness. "Your crew move it?" Garuto just snorted in ill-tempered amusement. "Extra work," he said simply, pointing straight down the shaft.

Issei held back a sigh as he glanced around for a free rope - a blessedly common sight aboard most vessels - and eased himself down, landing on a squishy and smelly heap of inert piscine flesh. "Found them!" He called up, waiting until Garuto waved a hand impatiently in reply. Kami preserve the poor woman who'd bound herself in marriage to that man. It took some digging for the Yuki scion to find the net cinch, and even longer to ensure that it was secured to the end of the crane's line once Akihiro got things sorted out with Old Man Sayama.

The fishermen knew better than to risk losing the use of their crane to the owner's ire.

"Pull!" As Issei's cry echoed out of the hold, Garuto repeated it over his shoulder, and the dockside crew went to work. Slowly, the fisherfolk heaved it up from the bottom of the hold - pausing only for the physician to keep the net from catching on the side of the open hatch. The dark-haired man stood erect atop the load of fish, one hand clutching the crane's line as he awaited landfall. Surprisingly, the endeavor had met with comparatively few complications. Now, about that boat...

Spoiler:

No sooner had the haul struck the salt-stained planks of the docks than did Issei gracefully take his leave of the crane's tender mercies. He wove his way through the press of fisherfolk that moved in to crate the fish, angling toward where Akihiro stood. The husky Akiyama was conversing heatedly with a thin, wiry woman attired as a scholar - a lower official for the district, if the Yuki scion were to hazard a guess. "If we don't rig something up soon," the fisherman was saying. "We'll lose her. If we lose her, you lose the taxes off her hauls."

The official grimaced, clearly dissatisfied with the whole situation. "Look," she said with an exasperated sigh, rubbing her forehead in the peculiar fashion of one which wished to be somewhere - anywhere - other than the place where they found themselves in the present day. "I sympathize - I do - but there's a curfew in place for a reason. I can't just give the whole neighborhood leave to ignore it. It is quite literally above my paygrade." The woman paused, offering a half-hearted smile. "I can... try to talk the prefect into it, but he'll have been asleep for going on two hours now."

Issei counted himself lucky that Akihiro didn't latch on to the implication that the official knew where the prefect slept. Government work was hard enough without irate citizens implying things about one's sexual habits and their connection to one's position or employment status. "Then drag his incompetent arse out, before I..." The burly fisherman fell silent as Issei put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently in warning. He glanced silently back toward the physician, then let out a sigh. "Bah. I'm sorry, lass. Barely older than my daughter, you are. No call for me to speak like that."

Pale-faced, the official offered a quavering smile. "N-no, it's q-quite alr..." Issei leaned over and murmured something quietly into his friend's ear before taking a single, deliberate step forward. Akihiro groaned, then turned and began to make his way back toward his place of residence - and the long-cooled oyster soup that would undoubtedly be waiting for him upon his return. "I am Yuki, miss - a genin operating in this district. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. What may I call you?" The young woman swallowed - her expression somewhat incongruous, given the formality of her garb. "Suzuki," she eventually replied, voice soft.

Issei offered a formal half-bow in greeting - exhibiting every inch of the courtesy his etiquette tutor had tried so hard to instill, all those years ago. The physician glanced around him, before catching sight of a pair of crates that had remained unused in the shuffle to salt-pack the Kujira's haul. He gestured toward them with an open hand, acting for all the world as though they were standing in his parents' tea parlour rather than a fisherman's pier. "Please, have a seat. No need to stand at this time of night, I think." He eased himself onto one of the crates.

After a few heartbeats of indecision, Suzuki seated herself on the neighboring crate. "So," the physician began gently, watching the woman's face to gauge her emotional state while he spoke. "I'm told that the docks have a fair number of outstanding writs for shinobi assistance, is that correct?" The official nodded mutely, clearly exhausted from her discussion with Akihiro. How long it had lasted before Issei had made landfall, he couldn't tell - but dealing with an irate Akiyama was harrowing even under the best of circumstances. A male Akiyama that looked like he could break you in half, even more so.

"Cleaning the Mizukage's statue?" the physician asked softly. Another nod. "Sweeping the quay... pulling weeds... helping to haul in the catch?" All nods, each in succession. The woman kept her gaze on the toes of her sandals, seeming almost to withdraw further with each question. "Must be a pretty hard job you do, hm? Encounter folks like Akihiro a lot, I'll wager." Another nod, this one accompanied by a slight shuddering of the shoulders - as though the woman was holding back a sob. Poor thing. She couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one - incredibly young to hold a district-level post.

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Suzuki whispered, hiding her face behind strands of ebon hair. "It was easy at first, but... then the taxes just started drying up. The district just didn't have the accounts to pay what we owed. The prefect doesn't even bother putting in for additional genin, now... just keeps the same writs on the books. It's like he knows that no-one is going to handle them for us..." It was telling that she referred to herself as one of the people of the docks. The daughter of one of the fisherfolk? Sayama's progeny, perhaps?

"Breathe, miss," the physician murmured gently, eying her with concern. "Maybe I can help get things back on track. What other writs do you have outstanding?" Suzuki sniffed, then breathed deeply, frowning slightly as she mulled the question over. "Tax collection," she said finally. "We need shipwrights, too, but the prefect didn't actually expect any genin to have that kind of expertise. At this point, we'd take anyone who knew their way around a hammer and nail. We've got nets that need mending, a bridge that needs repair... even a thief that's been working their way around the local fish markets."

"Tell you what," the Yuki scion continued softly. "I'll give you a hand. Not for the money, but because times are hard  - and that's when we need to stick by each other, yes?" The official gave a small nod, accompanied by another sniff. "You live by the docks?" she asked after a moment, glancing up at the dark-haired physician. Issei flashed her a quick smile. "I do," he affirmed simply. "Down by the old teahouse, just off the market square." Suzuki returned his smile, if a bit watery in comparison. "I used to love going there. Shame it closed, awhile back."

"Me too," the medic-nin replied gently. "Now, if I'm not mistaken..." He scooted himself off the crate, arching his back in an effort to alleviate the aches and pains of his thirty years. "...there's a fishing boat that needs a bit of repairing, yes?" The man perked an eyebrow at Suzuki in a questioning fashion. The woman straightened, wiped her eyes, then nodded firmly. "I'll start there, then, and come by to work with the netmenders first thing tomorrow morning." It was, after all, getting quite late - and the state of the Kujira suggested it was about to get later.

The young official nodded once more, letting out a sigh as she eyed the vessel currently taking on water just off the pier. "I still can't give you all permission to be out after curfew," she said after a moment. "But... but I could talk to the sergeant-at-arms responsible for the pier and let him know what's going on. I might not be able to give you all permission, but he's the one who'd have the choice of whether to detain you or not. He... he might be willing to turn a blind eye, just this once. Seeing as it's necessary."

Issei offered her another formal half-bow, offering the young woman yet another warm smile. "That would be lovely, Miss Suzuki." He glanced over his shoulder, noting bucket after bucket of brine being thrown over the side of Kujira. They were never going to bail her out that way - not at the rate she was taking on water. "Best I go lend a hand, yes?" The official bobbed her head, offering a sniffly laugh as she pushed herself off the crate. "They look like they could use it," she affirmed, having regained some of her earlier composure - reddened eyes and runny make-up notwithstanding.

Three hours later, the physician was still in the Kujira's hold - handing up buckets of brine to the next man in line, to be passed up and thrown back into the sea. Just beyond the hull, a handful of pearl divers pressed a length of sailcloth against the breach - the cloth sucked up against the hole by the inflowing water. It was a practice known as 'fothering', one that Issei had seen performed a handful of times during his tenure on the Tsubame. It wasn't his suggestion, this time, but the default response of the fisherfolk to hull leakage.

Though he was skeptical of the adhesive properties of sheep dung, a combination of excrement and oakum seemed to do the trick as far as a temporary seal was concerned. How, they just had to finish bailing out the boat and get it over to the nearby drydock. One of the fishermen had offered a screw-based bilge pump, but the dimensions of the Kujira's deck hatches wouldn't accomodate the nautical contraption. Several times, Issei had heard Garuto - the next man on the line - mutter violent imprecations against the shipwright who'd designed and built the craft. Apparently, bilge pumps made matters far, far simpler.

It was well into the small hours of the morning before the gathering disbanded. The Kujira had been put into a brace at the drydock, courtesy of a sleepy and rather irate Chūnin, through some arcane means that was beyond Issei's ken. One day, he would learn the finer points of water manipulation... but that day was not this one. Rather ironic, considering how long he'd spent aboard a privateering vessel. As a surgeon, admittedly, but ironic nonetheless. Given the ubiquitous nature of water in the island country, focusing on that element would be unlikely to leave Issei defenseless in Kirigakure.

The village's specialty was Suiton, after all.

Where better to learn its ways than in the Hidden Mist?

As he walked along the docks, there was a part of the physician that enjoyed the moment of peace. Shadows danced among the moonlit mists, flickering in time with the green-glowing lanterns that lined the village causeways. The scents of fish, brine, and oakum mingled with the seawind - recalling memories of a time when he begged his mother for a chance to go running along the docks back in Degarashi Port. He'd considered bringing his family to this place, truly making a home here.

Yet, something had always stayed his hand. Before, under Xyxer, such an act would have been unthinkable. Bring his loved ones here, to live under the thumb of a cruel and callous master? No, such would have been a betrayal of not only his own values... but those of his parents and grandfather. But now, the former Mizukage had disappeared. Fallen, some said, in a secret battle with some otherworldly foe. Issei had always favored the story that the powers-that-be among the kami had taken exception to some of the man's excesses and acted in what they believed was humanity's best interest.

Yes, there were troubles in this place - the complaints of the Akiyama and the revelations of the young official had proven that much. But those troubles were relatively mundane, easily addressed by those who knew the system and could navigate the halls of power without revealing too much of their own. That was always something Issei's grandfather had excelled at. Yorinobu was a consummate clan leader - strength, wisdom, and cunning wrapped up in a single, ornery package. Chances were, the man would be able to set things straight on this little island among the many of Kirigakure, if it were safe.

Such thoughts still tumbled around in his mind as the Yuki scion reached his flat above the old teahouse and collapsed atop his futon - still fully clothed. He knew that he would regret that later, but hours of manual labor in the Kujira's cramped hull on top of the day's more mundane tasks had strained his back more than he let on. In some spare corner of his mind, Issei reflected that he should really take the time to learn the basics of chakra-based healing - if only to make his mornings more bearable after spending his evenings performing back-breaking manual labor.

Spoiler:

Issei eyed the mist swirling below him with a vague sense of trepidation. Somewhere below the veil of water and air lay the rushing current that swept between the islands of New Kirigakure. Armed with spades and buckets of mortar, the genin's arrival had heralded words of praise from the masons who'd been tasked with bridge maintenance. The physician had worried that those lofty words might have concealed ill intentions; lo and behold, here he was - easing his way down a support pillars on a rope harness. The cause of his descent? A massive crack streaking vertically down the pillar.

He was getting too old for this. The Yuki scion had woken before the sun, despite the protestations of his body following yesterday's exertions. It had been some years since he'd had occasion to bail out the lower decks of a ship - especially on such short notice, in the absence of a bilge pump. Even so, his knees and back might've spared him their complaints if he hadn't seen fit to clamber up and down the former Mizukage's stony visage shortly beforehand - scrubbing seagull droppings of his esteemed brow. Part of him was glad the seagulls saw fit to wreak vengeance.

The physician angled himself toward the pillar as the end of the crack finally came into view. He fancied that he could feel the soft spray of the current striking the pillar, though it could very well have just been his imagination. With a sigh, the man stirred the mortar and began slopping it on the pillar - smoothing it over the crack with the edge of the spade to reuse any excess. The formulation was some manner of scientific breakthrough that actually hardened after prolonged contact with seawater. The Yuki scion hadn't the faintest idea how, but it was certainly useful.

It took the dark-haired man a solid hour-and-a-half to work his way back up to where the pillar met the causeway, only to be lowered once again to chip barnacles off the bottom of one of the other support structures. They were dangerous to ships, they reckoned, so they probably weren't going to do the bridge any good either. Issei held his tongue and - through an exhaustive exertion of self-discipline - didn't point out the relationship between the two was, in fact, the reverse... and the bridgebuilders, in turn, refrained from throwing him off their latest project. A win-win, for all concerned.

As he set about his task with a long, flat awl - prying the barnacles off the support pedestal at an infuriatingly slow pace. If Issei didn't know better, he'd say that the masons were just trying to keep him out of their way while they... wait a minute. The physician grunted softly as yet another barnacle released its hold on the pillar and fell into the misty depths below. In truth, he couldn't really blame them. It wasn't as though he'd ever been a construction worker before. On the docks, at least he had some experience to work from when assigned.

Take the netmending, for example. He'd set about his task with practiced ease, absorbed into the group of fishwives and retired sailors as though they'd always had a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties trading stories and knotting half-meshes in their nets. The masons, though... the physician got the impression that they tolerated his presence, but that it was ultimately unwanted. Perhaps not unwarranted, given the state of some of the bridge's support pillars, but certainly unwanted. As he worked, Issei couldn't help but feel somewhat... useless, in his current environment. He was a surgeon, after all. He worked flesh, not stone.

Nonetheless, they pulled him up again a good two hours later - offering him reassurances that his performance had been nothing short of exemplary. They might've meant well, but Issei caught sight of one of the journeyman masons being hauled up from the pillar he'd attempted to maintain not four hours prior. Retirement, thy name was most certainly not stonemasonry. A few of the construction workers offered smiles and nods - and one rather mighty pat on the back that made the genin stumble and elicited chuckles from a handful of the apprentices - as a halt was called for everyone to eat lunch.

For once, the dark-haired genin was quite content to eat by himself. None of the stoneworkers bothered him, nor did any seem inclined to share his meal. And thus it came to be that Issei was alone, when he caught the sound of quick bootfalls making their way toward the gathering from the far side of the bridge. Brow furrowed, the physician carefully set his bento box aside and took to his feet. The cadence of the steps sped up as yet more footfalls came from within earshot - accompanied, this time, by unintelligible shouts. Then, with a resounding half-roar... "STOP, THIEF!"

The physician stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. There was... absolutely no way that he was this lucky. The thief had to be a missing-nin... or the bridge was about to collapse beneath his feet... or something. This was supposed to be one of the easier days this week. He was not prepared for combat - in any way, shape, or form. Yet, Issei had in his possession a hitai-ate that proclaimed his affiliation with the Village of the Hidden Mist. And as a shinobi of the village, he could not in good conscience allow someone suspected of thievery to pass unquestioned.

Calmly and deliberately, the Yuki scion made his way to the center of the causeway - facing the direction from which the footsteps yet echoed. "I am a genin of the Hidden Mist. Slow your pace, approach with caution, and identify yourself..." His voice hardened. "...or you will be treated as hostile." The warning had little effect as the mist swirled before him, concealing the majority of the bridge from view and obscuring his line-of-sight to whatever approached. "He's trained, shinobi!" The voice had the same owner as that which had shouted the accusation of thievery - a sergeant of the guard, perhaps?

Well. That was... simultaneously reassuring and disconcerting. It was unlikely that the physician would be called upon to take a life today, yet he also found himself largely unarmed and unarmored - save for the techniques that all aspiring genin were required to demonstrate upon graduation from the Academy. First order of business was to prevent the suspect from simply passing him by... and Issei's options were very limited. After a heartbeat of thought, the man steepled his fingers. The fore and middle fingers of both hands pointed vertically, whilst the remaining fingers folded into the palm - the seal of the ram.

"Bushin no jutsu."

The physician's voice was soft, scarcely more than a whisper. There was no sense in announcing one's technique for all to hear. That was little more than arrogance, in his experience, and he did not have anything even remotely resembling the amount of power needed to be arrogant in the Hidden Mist. Four projections stepped out from his position, situating themselves in an equidistant fashion across the width of the bridge's causeway. Figuring that the suspect was likely to keep to one side of the bridge, Issei left an open spot near the leftmost side for himself to stand.

As the footsteps grew closer, the Yuki scion could barely make out a consistently-darkening silhouette through the fog. Judging by the placement and direction of the bootfalls, he had been correct in predicting that the suspect would be keeping to one side or the other. It was luck, the man supposed, that had led him to pick the proper side. He glanced toward the edge of the bridge. There wasn't a great deal to work with - just a bucket of mortar that hadn't yet been cleaned, a couple of spades, and one of the rope harnesses that the masons often used.

Swiftly, the physician made an executive decision. He ducked to his left and grabbed a-hold of the harness, keeping a firm grip on the lead line as he anchored the morass of rope to a piton with a swift half-hitch and pulled the line taut. The man jerked his head toward one of the clones, intending for the projection to serve as a distraction as the suspect neared the lead line. The ploy... seemed to work, as a burst of fire consumed the space where the clone stood. It had been mid-handseal when the suspect struck. Clearly, he was no innocent.

Whether the kami of luck had graced him with her presence this day or the masons worshipped the patron of unenviable hijinks, Issei couldn't say... but one way or another, the silhouette's foot caught on the harness' lead line as they passed - sending the suspect face-first into the bridge's newly-mortared paving stones. That had to hurt. No sooner had the silhouette's forehead rebounded from the causeway than did the physician hurl himself on the man's back in a textbook full mount from the rear. Their grappling instructor would've been so proud. Then, Issei reached for what he hoped was the bucket.

The suspect was a small, wiry man with beady eyes and a frustrated expression. His escape had been stymied and he was aggravated. Two handseals into whatever jutsu he'd intended to accompany his bucking in an effort to rid himself of the physician's weight, the dark-haired Yuki scion slammed the bucket's rim into the suspect's wrists once... then once more... before bashing the man over the head with it for good measure. The results were... less than satisfactory. The thief remained alive, angry, and conscious. And, what's worse, he retained the use of both hands. This... was about to get ugly.

As the man lifted his head and shoulders off the pavement, Issei slammed the bucket top-down over the thief's head - hoping the semi-liquid contents might impede his breathing or vision. If nothing else, it meant that he wouldn't have line-of-sight on the physician... though that wouldn't matter much if the suspect completed his handseals and just shoved his hands against Issei's legs. The genin was in full mount, after all, even if he did control his opponent's back from a grappler's perspective. The dark-haired combatant knee-walked forward, planting his body weight squarely on his opponent's upper back - intending to hinder respiration.

Keeping his center-of-mass on the opponent's upper back, Issei sought to isolate one of the man's arms. Hopefully, given that he relied so heavily on jutsu, the physician would prove stronger. Though it was a bit of a struggle toward the beginning, the thief's left arm was slowly and inexorably forced backward through a superior knowledge of physics and human physiology. A few swift hammer-fists to the side of the elbow joint sorted the last bit of resistance as Issei locked the suspect's shoulder. A bit extreme, perhaps, but the man had blasted one of his clones to kingdom come.

The thief's struggles had largely ceased by the time that the masons gathered 'round - their expressions an amusing combination of horror and awe. A handful of ashigaru arrived shortly thereafter, led by a chubby-cheeked genin roughly a decade Issei's junior. "Well done, sir," she offered after catching her breath. "We can take it from here. Though... why's there a bucket on his head?" The physician's eye twitched. "Can't hit what you can't see," he said simply. A couple of the younger ashigaru grinned, while an older one gave a short laugh. "I... I see," the genin replied, clearly clueless to his reasoning.

"If you'll just turn over the suspect, I'll..." One of the ashigaru cleared his throat, loudly. The chubby-cheeked genin sighed. "Oh, very well. I suppose that you took him down... even if we chased him halfway across the city..." The ashigaru nodded approvingly. Issei suspected that he was the sergeant, and likely the civilian point of contact for the writ of capture issued for this suspect. "Sergeant, if you would?" The sergeant-at-arms shuffled over to where the physician lay, having rolled off the thief's back in deference to the spears held in readiness nearby. "Well-fought, friend," he said, mission scroll in-hand.

Spoiler:

Issei rubbed wearily at his eyes, tracing the tip of his pen down yet another column of numerical characters. Another day, another ryo. The district's ledgers vaguely resembled the account books his father had kept back in the teahouse... but the resemblance was like that of a house cat and a Ninken. Both were furry mammals that bled red (usually)... but they were still radically different animals, one of being almost always exceptionally larger than the other. And so it was with these ledgers. According to the numbers, the district was shy almost one-hundred and twenty thousand ryo this year.

No wonder the district was so run down. Of course, this begged the question of why the administrator had allowed such a thing to continue. Based on prior years, this amount had been steadily growing ever since Gyojin's disappearance. Some small part of the physician's inner voice ranted about a potential plot to siphon money from the village, gaining many benefits with little effort... but Issei quickly dismissed the notion. Surely, there was no chance that Mizukage Terumi would allow his predecessor to get away with something as detrimental to the village as that. Terumi was owed some credit, after all.

In the absence of some grand conspiracy at the highest levels of the shinobi government - as tantalizing as the prospect might be - it probably came down to simple corruption. Blackmail, perhaps? There were a number of nefarious organizations that saw hidden villages as a ripe recruiting ground for their agents. Moreover, unethical or disenfranchised shinobi and kunochi often created their own organizations that operated beneath the surface of polite society. Issei would know. Though he hadn't ever been a missing-nin or had a listing in the bingo-book, he'd spent a great deal of time on a privateering vessel - a legitimate pirate.

Then again, it could also be something as mundane as tax evasion. There was a certain relationship that was expected between citizens and their governing body. Security - in the form of military force and emergency personnel - was provided by the latter while the former funded operations. In this way, a cyclical relationship developed between the two parties. When the previous Mizukage, there were many who held that said relationship had been broken - perhaps irreparably - with the newly-appointed Kirigakure administration. Perhaps one of those naysayers owned a business with enough pull to engage in blatant tax evasion, even under the present circumstances?

Ah, found it. For once, the area of interest wasn't located out by the docks. Past the fish markets stood a series of shops and seafood restaurants that served the more well-off denizens of the nearby districts. Much of the local administration's tax income was derived from the ryo spent by other district's residents in Karasuma Lane, so it would be reasonable to infer that the current prefect wouldn't want to rock the metaphorical boat with the shopowners in that area. Issei resolved to handle the situation with care; he'd gain nothing if he alienated the district's most affluent taxpayers.

Then again... one-hundred and twenty thousand ryo. And that was just this fiscal cycle - the number didn't even account for the lost tax income during previous years. Of course, the number itself was irrelevant if the business owner couldn't be made to pay up. The sum was over twice the worth of one of the two-story shopfronts along the lane; few folk that wanted to remain in business would be able to fork over such an amount simply because the powers-that-be asked for it. He'd need to find a way to get the district it's taxes without losing a clearly-prosperous local business.

The physician turned toward the district by-laws, leafing through the scroll with a practiced - if vaguely bored - expression. Tax law was not his preferred area of expertise... but the skill-set overlapped surprisingly well with that of a physician. If there was something you didn't know, you looked it up. If there was something you thought you knew, you looked it up anyway - just in case you happened to be mistaken. Just composing a financially-viable solution was going to take a day, at the least, and then he'd need to figure out how to sell the plan to the shop owner.



Two days later, the dark-haired genin made his way along the busy storefronts that lined Karasuma Lane. He'd donned a relatively nice cheongsam and combed his hair into something vaguely resembling submission... then took up his personally-penned contract and walked out the door. It was lucky that the shop in question was a joint venture - otherwise, things could have gotten a bit sticky on the legal side of the house. The physician stepped inside the shop and offered a faint, tired smile to the young man behind the counter. "Good morning," the clerk greeted cheerily. "Something I can help you find?"

Issei nodded slowly, then approached the desk. "I don't suppose Amada Karasu is in, perchance?" The clerk, for his part, looked nonplussed. "Mistress Karasu? She... she is, yes. May I ask what this is regarding?" The physician chuckled softly. "I represent a potential investor that is considering an infusion of capital into several storefronts on Karasuma Lane - including the Jugasa Pharmacy and Ulundu Spices down the way. I'm given to understand that you're familiar with the owners?" He knew for an almost-certain fact that those shops were more than familiar to the family that operated Karasu Botanicals, given their relative market share.

The clerk paled slightly, then ushered the physician to a seat. A short while later, a willowy woman in her mid-thirties floated down the stairs from the rooms above with immaculate grace. The way she moved spoke of one of three lives - that of a socialite, that of a dancer... or that of a kunoichi. "I'm given to understand you represent a potential investor, Mister...?" Her words were as graceful as her demeanor, flowing off the tongue like quicksilver. "...Yuki," the genin offered smoothly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Karasu. Might I ask for a moment of your time?"

The woman acquiesced with a nod, before turning and beginning to make her way back upstairs - waving him to follow. There was nothing terribly surprising about this arrangement; few business people of such a level of success made it a habit to sleep where they worked. His own family had been the exception, back in Degarashi Port. The stairs led to a hallway, tastefully decorated, with a number of doors on either side. One of these doors, Issei soon learned, opened into an office comparable to what one might expect in a shipping firm - legal tomes... executive desk... ship-in-a-bottle and all.

Clearly, the woman meant business.

The Yuki scion rather hoped he passed muster, otherwise this would be a painfully and embarrassingly short meeting. Karasu took the chair on the far side of the desk, gesturing for Issei to take one of the seats on the side nearest the door. The physician did so, without complaint. "So," the woman began, her melodic tones almost mesmerizing in their cadence. "You represent an investor. Who?" The physician swallowed, perhaps a trifle harshly. Here it went. "The Eighth District," he replied simply. Karasu chuckled, smiling at the Yuki scion in an indulgent and patronizing fashion.

"And what makes you think that I would accept an offer of investment from the Eighth District?" she asked with faux-kindness, seemingly deriving amusement from the very notion. Issei pressed his lips together, then shook his head. "Perhaps there is a misunderstanding, Miss Karasu. You see, while the Eighth District is a potential investor... I am also here in an official capacity, as a representative of Kirigakure no Sato." The woman sobered and straightened, her eyes narrowing at the admission. "To do what, precisely?" she inquired coolly, her expression a study in calculated detachment. Well... at least he wasn't thrown out.

Yet.

"The Mizukage has tasked each district's administrative office," the physician began carefully. "With performing a tax audit, reaching back to the last day of record under his predecessor." Issei placed a series of scrolls on the table. "These are the associated records for Karasu Botanicals over the past several years. Now, according to the tax code kept on file in the village's main administration building..." He set another scroll upon the table, off to one side - this one of vellum rather than parchment, tied with silk instead of linen cord. "Karasu Botanicals is behind on almost three years' worth of payments."

Scoffing slightly, the shopowner selected the most recent tax record out of the lot and unfurled the scroll. The woman paled. "I... we... this can't possibly be accurate!" She tossed the parchment back onto the table as if it were tainted. "I assure you," the physician said with a faint, apologetic smile. "It is. Now, you and I both know that the sum recorded in that record..." He nodded toward the scroll. "...is far too high to be able to pay off in a single sitting. Or even over several years, presuming that Karasu Botanicals remains current on existing debts."

Mistress Karasu remained silent, eying him warily. "So," the genin carried on, his words quiet and deliberate. "I have been authorized to offer an alternative." The physician placed the final scroll on the table - this one carrying the contract he'd personally penned the previous day. The calligraphy was immaculate, not that Karasu would be in any position to appreciate his penmanship. After a moment's hesitation, the woman snatched the scroll and thumbed the silken cord - unfurling the document with a swift, practiced air. Her eyes narrowed yet further as she took in the neat columns of script inscribed on the soft vellum.

"The Eighth District," the woman said finally, without looking up from the document. "Wants to become a silent investor in Karasu Botanicals. To be granted equity..." She drew her fingertip down one column, tapping a particular phrase twice. "...of equivalent value to the debt incurred to the government of Kirigakure no Sato, as-of the date of finalization." Issei nodded, expression grave. "That is correct, Miss Karasu." The woman frowned. "You offer no capital advantage," she said finally, looking up from the contract. "Other than wiping the existing debt from the record. I don't see the benefit to me or the village."

For the first time in the meeting, the physician cracked a small, genuine smile. "I disagree," he said simply. "We offer you the opportunity to deleverage your operation insofar as the village is a creditor. Given how close you are to defaulting outright as things stand, this allows you to avoid diluting the equity in your venture. Otherwise, you would need to sell shares on the public market..." Issei paused meaningfully. "...and we both know that your competitors would leap at the chance to begin a hostile takeover of your operations through economics means. Your market shares overlap greatly, you see."

Karasu sat silently, watching the dark-haired man who sat across from her. "...who did you say you were again?" she asked finally. "Yuki," the physician supplied simply. "Representative of the Eigth District, operating as a licensed genin on behalf of Kirigakure no Sato." The woman nodded slowly. "And... you can assure me that the terms outlined in this contract are accurate? That they won't be subject to involuntary renegotiation for a period not to exceed..." She glanced at the contract. "...ten years?" Issei inclined his head in silent affirmation. "And," the shopowner continued. "The district is asking for regular dividend payments?"

The physician inclined his head once more. "Yes," he affirmed quietly. "However, rather than flat tax payments, the amount paid would be graduated based on brackets tied to the performance of your business. You would need to allow district auditors access to your transactional records and internal assessments, but would be paying less - net - than you would be otherwise. It would also remove a fair portion of your existing debt, allowing you to leverage your assets again if need be." The owner of Karasu Botanicals absently bit her lip, gazing down at the contract in silence for several heartbeats. She sighed.

"I agree."

Spoiler:

C - Death and Taxes (( +2000 WC, +20 AP, +2100 Ryo ))
D - Hunt the Thief (( +1000 WC, +10 AP, +1100 Ryo ))
D - Repair the Bridge (( +1000 WC, +10 AP, +1100 Ryo ))
D - Jesus Was A Carpenter (( +2000 WC, +10 AP, +1100 Ryo ))
D - Help the Fishermen (( +1000 WC, +10 AP, +1100 Ryo ))
E - Pulling Weeds (( +1000 WC, +5 AP, +600 Ryo ))
E - Assisting the Elderly (( +500 WC, +5 AP, +600 Ryo ))
E - Clean Up That Damn Sand (( +500 WC, +5 AP, +600 Ryo ))
E - The Mizukage Monument (( +1000 WC, +5 AP, +600 Ryo ))

Approved