Peak Maintenance

The day would be spent at the Kumogakure’s Thunderpeak Campus, he was told. The young man had just woken up, and had walked towards the kitchen to meet with his sister who was already up and about, biting into toast with a scroll in front of her, next to the mug of coffee. Unlike his, her hair was soft and clearly been brushed extensively, possessing a shine to it that screamed health. Why she would brush her hair before even getting off her pijama confused him, but her vanity had always been a grounding aspect of her existence. Akemi’s hair, on the other hand, screamed pillow affection, and brushing it would do him little good; his hair did whatever it wanted with no regards for the coaxing of brushes. He crossed the kitchen still fighting the torpor that held his body’s hostage, while his sister’s dark eyes traced his movement with a hint of disdain, until he got to the fruits and started peeling the skin off an orange, tearing sections off and stuffing them into his mouth, chewing with gusto, breaking his fast and quenching his thirst all at once. While he did this over the counter to avoid making a mess, the orange sprayed droplets everywhere, and sometimes a drip would escape his lips and splatter on the counter. Putting the mug and plate with crumbs on the sink, his sister berated him for the mess and demanded he clean it up before they left. He mumbled a curse under his breath as she left to go get ready.

Taking a quick shower to try and tame his hair, he did his best to dry it out before venturing out into the frosty chill that permeated the Kumogakure at this time of the year. Up high in the mountains, sheets of ice would form on the street if the drizzling snows were not cleared and the streets not salted, and given the geography, even a slip could mean a tumble to one’s death. Most ninja had no issue with this as long as they surface walked, but even surface walking on a loose plate of ice could mean trouble. Hayami shouted from the living room, claiming they would be late if he took any longer. He clicked his tongue against his teeth in frustration; for a monster, she always acted like a fucking princess.

The two made their way out of the door, clad in fur lined jackets, scarfs, and a hood over their heads and headbands. In spite of the cold, his sister felt comfortable in her skirt and leggings; as some would say in Demon Country, those who have vanity feel no cold. The trek towards the Thunderpeaks attracted some looks, mostly towards Hayami, whose luscious hair swayed with her step as the two walked. Akemi had decided against leaving his hair out of the jacket, preferring to keep the still somewhat damp mane inside the fabrics to shield himself from the elements. Yet his sister’s hair seemed to be the target of attention due to the similarity with the Raikage’s own hair; he felt bad for any Uzumakis in the village.

Leaning forward so as to balance her weight appropriately for a snowy trek, Hayami’s dark eyes looked around the still unfamiliar setting. A few places gave her a sense of familiarity, to be sure; houses and structures she saw once or twice in her walks around, while visiting her father or going to the academy to be assimilated into the Kumogakuure ninja forces. Citizenship had been an easy achievement, having one parent as a ninja of the Lightning Country, and both her and her brother were competent enough to pass for genin of the village, and as such the visits and walks were limited. She was still getting used to her new home.

Home. The thought washed her in relief. She glanced sideways at her brother, whose frown betrayed the jewel of a person he actually was on the inside. She stepped closer and linked her arm with his while they walked. He took a quick glance at her and the frown persisted, but she knew that inside he would feel better than the front he put up for the world.

Once they reached the Thunderpeaks still under the cover of darkness, she drew the scroll from her pocket and presented it to the front desk receptionist, who gave the duo instructions. They removed their winter gear and placed it neatly into the coat room, before setting out to perform their tasks. The first, during the morning, would be to keep the order in the library. The two Kaitos divided the library equally and each took off in their directions, Hayami equipped with a clipboard and pen to take notes, Akemi with his disbelief that this was an actual mission. She started going through sections, reaching for the mesh boxes were students would dump books they were done with for cleaning, or which sometimes were just put here after some extravagant ninja was done with them and decided to leave them on the table where they had sat. Carefully, she would pick the books and scrolls one at a time, review their title, check for damage, before organizing it by where they would go so she could push the card around and reshelve everything. There was some buzzing and giggling around; likely a group of genin visiting the library, but before she could make her way towards them, Akemi sprang from a row, strutting towards the group of three genin, before leaning in and saying something that turned the merriment of the children into nervousness and discipline. When he walked away, Hayami gave him a stern look, to which he replied by shrugging his arms out with his palms up, unbothered by essentially bullying kids into silence.

After the sorting of books during the morning, they were scuttled to another room where the two would have to sort through mission reports to take in as much information about possibly unknown techniques used by ninjas in encounters. This required some basic knowledge of techniques, and given their long lived life on the run and across the world, they could tell some techniques and clans were ‘standard’, as it were. Yet, when in doubt, they would list techniques and bloodlines that they didn’t recognize; it would be up to someone much higher in knowledge to sift through their notes for the grains of gold. Hayami had a system in place; she kept the one pile of reports neatly stacked, and once read, a new pile was neatly kept next to it. A third pile was created for reports which presented discrepancies, so someone higher up than herself could re-review them. On her clipboard, she would list either techniques or bloodlines that escaped convention, by dividing the page she was writing on and listing each on either side of the two columns. One glance at Akemi was enough to make her head spin though; the read reports pile was messy, the pages piled on top of each other without much consideration, and he took notes on a single piece of paper in what she assumed was his doctor handwriting.

With the reports read and new possible techniques and bloodlines catalogued, the duo retrieve their gear from the cloak room and make their way back home, for a nice and cozy evening. Akemi would cook, and the two would stand side by side handling the dishes.