Every song that you sing [Flashback/Solo]

Inaba, seventeen years old, head stooped into the lens of a spyglass. Unmarred hands raised the tube, following the sashay of a redressed woman. Head cocked back, fist rubbing the circular impression around his socket. He looked through the window with his eye and saw her still. From one end of the block to the other. All-day everyday she did this. Lips sucked at a cigarette that was half ash, that loosely hung, then that fell away as he jerked his wrist upward.

“She’s beautiful eh, Lightninglander?” Ensha said.

“Yeah, she really is. I wonder who she is waiting for.”

“You don’t see her? She’s waiting for any man of course.”

“For who?”

“You know boy, don’t be stupid.”

Inaba turned to Ensha, he was one of those bitter middle-aged men that seemed to need to ruminate on everything too deeply and darkly. While still handsome for fifty, his once red hair had gone silver with age, and deep lines decorated his cheeks. He had been a shinobi once, or so he had told Inaba. From the Country of Lakes or some little pisspot of a place. He loved to annoy Inaba with stupid questions or little truisms. But mostly he’d sit back and watch Inaba do the work, as elders tended to do with an inexperienced youth. That’s how it was, the youth did the work, while the elders profited. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’ve seen her walk away a few times, if the man’s purse was big enough.” Ensha said with a stupid smile.

“Tch. I’m sick of hearing you talk, old bastard.”

Ensha flung his head back, mouth snapping open and closed, showing gaps where teeth should have been. Ensha directed his grey eyes to him as if trying to find some flaw in his logic, before giving up the game with a sigh.

“We’re getting paid to look for Shindeki not to eye every street girl you want to lay onto of, stupid boy.”

Inaba rose, hands drawn into fists. His mouth twisted into a snarl. The arc of his stroke glided over silver hair and was replied with a jab to his mouth. Inaba flopped back against his chair, gasping from the pain, stifling the sob with a wretch. Lilac eyes blazed, spiderwebbed with red lines.

“Fool. This is why I didn’t want you to come, but he insisted. Said you were smart. But, you’re just a punk kid whose Dad has a few brass medals on his chest, and you think that makes you something. You’ll learn. I’ll teach you.”

Thick fingers snatched Inaba’s collar, pressing his face against the glass. Contorted his head to face the doorway of the Golden Goat Inn.

“Shindeki. No whores. You get paid first: First the fighting, the money, then the fucking. Have you learned the order? Or do you want another lesson in etiquette?”

‘Nwo,” Inaba said through a bloody mouth.

“Good, oh hey, look what we have here: Brown coat, blue hair. Only one eye.” Ensha pulled his face away from the spyglass. 

“Dwo you want me to gwo?”

“We’ll do it together.”

One hand over his mouth, blood dripping between fingers, as the other clasped his coat. Inaba followed Ensha down the stairs, past maids who coughed from the cigarette smoke they left behind. Out into the foray, past red vested boys, past rich puffed up old men in chairs. Ensha flung the front door open, his feet glowing blue with expulsions of chakra. Inaba’s feet pounded concrete behind him, water dripping down glass windows, water glittering on the ground in puddles that looked like quicksilver under neon light.

Shindeki looked back, blue hair plastered to his face. He quickened his pace, hands forming seals on the go.

“I’ll cut him off, keep going, boy” Ensha said.

Inaba gasped for air through a mouth that dripped with blood, slipped on wet concrete, twisted in the air. Hit the concrete with a ffwapt. Lay sprawled on the ground, nearly cut himself on his own kunai, watched as his chest worked under the labor of the chase, watched Shindeki turn around a corner with a gleeful smile. Inaba pushed himself to his feet,  and stumbled down the rain-slicked streets. He turned the corner and saw Shindeki pressed against a brick wall, Ensha’s voice gravelly against rain.

“Where are they, Shindeki? Our best men are all over looking for you. We’re watching your mom’s house, your girlfriend's house. Where are you gonna go? To the Rain ninja? Haha, ‘think they’re going to bail you out? The stone and the grass paid us good to find you. You’ve not been a good boy, eh Shindeki? Everything that happens in the dark eventually comes to light.”

Lumpy green spittle shot from Shindeki’s mouth into Ensha’s left eye. The old man pulled back, raising fingers to wipe it away. Shindeki’s back slid along the wall, feet gliding through puddles, so as not to raise an audible suspicion. He sagged, doubled over from Inaba’s jab to his solar plexus. He leaned on Inaba’s shoulder and inhaled in a squeak of ragged breath. The old man’s thick fingers were in his hair, pulling him away.  

“Not half as clever as you think, eh Shindeki? You’re gonna take us to them or the Lightninglander is gonna make your life hell, get me? We went and saw your sweet mother, know what she said: ‘Oh, no, not my little Shin. He can't be in any trouble. Such a good boy, used to help me at the Orphanage, and used to knit blankets with me.’, You like to knit, Shindeki? Well, Inaba here is pretty good at sewing himself, you should see him. A master of his craft. When he puts the hot needle to your mom, you’ll give up the info. If not, you're next. Your choice.”

“Alright, alright, enough. I’ll take you. The package is in Ryouzan district. My boss keeps it in his safe.”

“How many people, little Shin?”

“I don’t know.”

“That isn't gwood enough.” Inaba said.

“He keeps a personal guard, usually two to three hired fighters.”

“Shinobi?” Ensha asked.

“One is, the other are just Samurai. I think one is from the Land of Iron.”

“That doesn’t matter, can you get us in, and to the safe?”

"Yes."

“What’s his name?”

"Who?"

"Your boss."

“Renga”

[WC: 1055]

Hands formed seals, Inaba placed a palm on Shindeki’s forehead. Chakra laced fingers hid his face. Eyes rolled back, glazed with the fog of Inaba’s chakra as rain patterned his face in harsh lines. Inaba closed his eyes, flipped through the man’s memories as if they were a catalog. Saw Renga’s face in the dark recollections, veiled in shadow throughout the man’s mind.

“His boss put a seal on him, I can see a little of this Renga guy, but I can’t make out much of what has transpired between them.”

“He’s thorough, could be a pro.”

“Should we report back to HQ before proceeding?”

“No, we’ll handle it.”

“What should we do with him?”

His hand came away, Shindeki’s head slumped down, body fell forward from his knees to prostrate in a splash. Ensha curled the crook of his arm around the criminal’s, and leaned him up against the brick wall.

“We’ll stow him somewhere.”

“Take him back to his moms?”


Ryouzan District. Skyscraper windows glistened from beams of sun that peeked through clouded sky. Umbrellas passed by them on the street. Wayns creaked under the pull of teams. Rain rushed down culverts, swirled downward into grated manholes. The soft muffled voice of rain. Two old women sat in front of the Kyouden building, an executive bank that worked primarily in real estate or so they had gathered from Shindeki’s mind. It was a front of course, for whatever games Renga was playing at. The job was simple: Retrieve the case with the. . . inside.

“Fifteenth floor.” 

“When are we going to move?”

“I notified HQ, we’re moving now.”

“We should wait, I expended too much chakra probing Shindeki.”

“We have to move now, can’t risk word of us getting back to this Renga fellow..”

“We can’t risk a drawn-out fight either.” The old woman Inaba said.

Ensha stood, turned his attention to transparent glass doors. Walked between two children trading rain-slicked marbles. His palm pushed, flat against an opening door. Ensha, as the old woman turned, mouthed: “Fifteenth floor.” to the old woman that Inaba was, and receded into the crowd inside.

Inaba sat a moment longer, chewing at his toothless gums. So strange to not have any teeth, even if it was from the Transformation technique. What a strange thing to take for granted, how did they even eat? The old woman that was Inaba stood, and walked past the boys, shouldering the door open. Walked past rows of suited men with attaches, turned side-ways past an obese man waiting in line for a clerk. He stood in a row for the elevator, then slouched inside, cramped next to others as dull music played. He rubbed his tongue over empty gums as he excited at floor fifteen.

He walked out of a shroud of smoke that had been the transformation technique, and again he was just Inaba. Ensha was waiting, his back resting against a plastered wall. Eyed him with squinted eyes, then flung his coak to the ground.

“No one saw me,” Ensha said, “You?”

“Nah, not a thing.”

“Room 142.”.

“Going in blind? Not wise.” 

“What other choice do we have? We’re too short on time. If what you found in Shindeki’s head is true.”

“You're the senior man here. That’s your call to make.” Inaba said.

Ensha strode down the empty hallway, head jerking to left then right, counting door numbers. Inaba followed him with a downturned head. Hands in his pockets, fingers around the cloth handle of a kunai. Lifted his head to find Ensha with a forefinger splitting his lips. Ensha nodded towards a door on their right. Inaba’s head bobbed. They took their positions, one on the left, the other on the right. Ensha gave the signal, legs arced out in tandem, door heaving under the force. Splinters burst inwards as shards of wood splayed into the air.

He pulled the kunai from his pocket, held it upside down, with his thumb hooked through its metallic loop. Shindeki wasn’t lying at least. Two jerked up from a couch, drawing katana against the racket. They rushed them, blades raised above their heads. Inaba blocked with his kunai, repelled from him with a leftward stride. Kunai flew, his arm an arcing blur from the speed. Watched the Samurai deflect the projectile with a backhand stroke.

“Move!” Ensha shouted.

Inaba watched the old man kick away his opponent, fingers dancing in the weave of handseals. Ensha’s chest grew thick as a barrel and sprayed fire in a cone before them. Plastered walls dripped white tears from the heat. Fire. Everything was on fire. The couch blackened under the cataract of flame, ceiling tiles curled before the blaze, exposing steel girders that glowed orange. Inaba raised a forearm as a shield against it, but even still he could feel hot fingers on his cheeks. 

Head turned to the shrill scream of a charred man, who writhed on the ground in grotesque spasms. The other–Inaba’s opponent–had been clever enough to wrap himself in an orb of chakra-infused water. The samurai watched the duo, bubbles of air rising to the sphere’s surface from exhalations of breath. Ensha brought up the blackened blade before him, looking down on the charred man. He silenced him with a downward thrust. Ensha spoke a chakra-laced word, and the bonds that held the water together slackened, sloshing ankle-deep water around the room.

“Where’s Renga?” Inaba asked

The samurai’s chest was rising and falling in rapid succession, the gesture somehow reminded Inaba of a rabbit under pressure from a pack of hounds. The samurai pushed himself to his feet, using his katana as a crutch. Glanced at the windowpane, then back to them.

“Don’t try anything,” Ensha said, “it wouldn’t be worth it.”

The samurai darted forward, dashing through a pane of glass, his head tucked into his chest. The duo went to the window and watched him run down along the building, his feet lit up with chakra. They looked at each other.

“I’ll go,” Ensha said.

[WC: 1005, TWC: 2062]

“Search the room,” Ensha said.

He jumped through the smoking glass mouth, and ran down the side of the building after the samurai.

Inaba raised a hand to bat at the billows of smoke the wind sucked from the room. He knelt, turned over a piece of glass on the damp carpet. Shindeki had seen the safe just through that door there, behind a painting. Eyes turned to the door, blackened and bubble-warped from the  heat. His eyes widened as it opened with a groan. A woman. No, the woman from the street earlier. Amegakure's headband hung around her thin neck, lips pursed into a wry smile.

“You–you’re the woman in red.” Inaba said.

“You CDT agents are quite troublesome fellows, huh? CDT in Amegakure. Now that’s just bad goddamn luck.” Another voice called from shadows behind her, a man’s voice. Renga came into the light behind her, wrist handcuffed to a metallic suitcase.

“If you would have moved on Shindeki sooner, you may have had those things.” She said,

“But, it’s far too late for that now,” Rengai said, “she’ll have you hamstrung before your partner returns.”

His arm jerked back, released the shard of glass, as one might skip a stone across water. The shard split the skin of the Kunochi’s face from cheek to ear. Her Lips parted from perfect white teeth. She snarled and hissed against the pain, drew a kunai, her outline warped and glimmering with chakra. She materialized in front of Inaba, the stroke of her blade missing his face by a hair's breadth.

Inaba’s fingers formed seals. The skin of his arms darkened below the elbow. Feet left impressions on the spongy carpet as he ran. Fingers parted the steel plate of her flack-jacket, dipped into her flesh, pulling out of her chest cords of red that glistened under the firelight.

[WC: 308, TWC: 2371]

Knees buckled, hitting the spongy carpet, and drawing pools of water on impact. Her fingers prodded the gaping hole he had made. The ragged breath of dying on her lips. She tried to speak, Inaba noticed, but the words were a squeak in her throat. His fingers unwound around her heart, the muscle falling in the gloom. The corpse slumped forward. Blood dripped down his forearm, tickled as it ran the length of his fingers. He wiped a smear of gore on his britches. Saw Renga pale faced against black billows of smoke.

“ I know you can use chakra. Your taint was on Shindeki’s mind when I peered inside.” Inaba spoke with the confidence of a man who held all the cards.

Renga dropped the suitcase, handcuff chain grew taunt with the clank of metal. Inaba watched as he manipulated his hands into seals. Chakra bloomed like flowers around Renga. Spirals of blue energy shot through the air. Inaba placed hands to the ground, channeled chakra into the floor with bent fingers. The floor shivered, a wall of earth ripped through the damp carpet. High pitched whirring of drills sung in the air, Inaba’s wall heaved under chakra, cracks like spiderwebs grew along its length.

“This could end smoothly. If I gave you the case would you let me walk?”

Inaba saw him through a hole in the chakra wrought construction. Renga’s face was stern, the lines on his forehead deepening. He knows Ensha will be returning soon, he knows I'll stall him out or worse.

“The CDT wants them, and the perpetrator.”

“You’ve killed an Amegakure shinobi. You’ll be on lists. People will come for you, but I can make that go away.”

“She could be a rogue ninja for all I know, but if she isn’t. . .” Inaba craned his head so Renga could see him in return, “If I end up in a bingo book, it’ll only be in Amegakure. And I can live with that.” 

[WC: 326, TWC: 2697]

“You must think me naive, but I’ve seen this sort of thing before. I’ve seen your type, make no mistake. When it comes to the end, and it’s time to pay up, you criminals more or less say the same thing: You try fighting at first, then try bargaining, even give me the ‘we’re not so different spiel,’ or beg. You stole things, precious things, and I was tasked to get them back. The stone and grass want your head. They would have settled for Shindeki’s, but the top man is who they really want. Not some boy who you’re puppeting.”

A spike in chakra imminated from Renga, his outline hazy with the distortion of energy. Inaba slid his tongue over dry lips, he shivered under the pressure. Heavy. Weak breath caught in his throat, little gasps of air. He could hear–singing? A song so fierce and undeniable. Renga was singing. Balled fists rubbed at his eye sockets, the way a tired child might. Opened his eyes wide in response. Still the hazy ripple of chakra surrounded Renga. Inaba slumped against a charred wall, slid down its length to the floor. The notes kept coming through the crackle of ruinous fire around him. Something collapsed from the ceiling above them, plummeted to the ground at their feet.

Genjtusu. He yawned. I know it’s genjutsu. There could be no other. . . Renga loomed over him, a kunai knife raised to strike. Heavy lidded eyes closed. Maybe, maybe. . . He awoke with a jerk, like the false start of a sprinter. Ensha stood in the smoke, hands holding a single charka’d sign. Black lettering looped around his feet, slithered out along the floor, wound around Renga’s legs. 

“You’re late.” Inaba yawned.

“You didn’t die, you little bastard.”

“Fuinjutsu? You–” Renga cried, stuck in his killing pose.

Inaba stood, shaking off sleep with awkward stretches that popped bones.

[WC: 313, TWC: 3010]

Inaba wretched the Kunai free from Renga’s seal bound fingers. Threaded a fore-finger through its metal loop, and spun it on the finger like a fan’s blade. He peered into the rage filled eyes of his foe, watched as Renga fought against the seal with slight spastic shivers. You almost had me, eh? Looks like I got lucky. He glanced at Ensha, the old man smiling his gap-toothed grin.

“You saved me,” Inaba said, “Thank you.”

“Check the case,” Ensha barked, “You can kiss my ass later.”


They walked side-by-side, reeking of smoke, and their clothes sagging with chakra laden moisture. Ensha's liver-spotted hand swung the case like a pendulum. Hung over Inaba’s shoulder was a burlap sack with two head-sized bulges. The overripe fruit of their victory dripped its juice out of threadbare patches.

“‘Think there’ll be much trouble for us when we make our crossing?”

“We have many leagues to cross yet, it’s best we catch up on some rest before making our exit. But, to answer your question: Naw. We have our identification. I’ve been checking in with local officials on our movements.”

“‘Think he’ll be satisfied with our prize?”

“Without a doubt. Says he is sending a rider to pick them up. Says he wants to present them to the Stone himself.”

“What of the Grass?”

“Seems like they reneged on payment. Stone covered it though. But the big man still wants his Ryo from them. A deal is a deal. Could get a bit hairy for our org there though. Says he’s recalling everyone working there.”

[WC: 252, TWC: 3262]

“Where is the supposed meeting spot with this rider?”

“Should be on the border of Fire Country.”

“The leaf, eh?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to go there as much as you. A troublesome people to deal with.”

“We should quicken our pace, forget the rest.” Inaba said

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine, I’d rather get to the meeting spot first. It wouldn’t hurt to do some recon for our own safety, of course.”

“Of course.”


Inaba plunged through tree branches, their watered leaves rendered a haloed mist into the air. Sandaled feet heavy with the blue aura of chakra pattered on the side of a great oak. He stood horizontal on a slat of bark, eyes focused downward towards the earth. A rider hunched on his knees held the leather rein of his palfrey. Its metal shoes kicking up plumes of brown dust. Inaba lifted a hand to his ear, fingers activating a buttoned earpiece that released a radio static of communication.

“He’s here. Should we approach?”

“I will. Just watch, and if anything goes wrong: take the goods back to our estate.”

“I’ll–”

“You won’t do anything, other than what you’ve been instructed to do.”

The chirp of static silence echoed,

“Understood, Ensha.”

Head turned to the crunch of twigs. Watched as Ensha walked out from a briar of black brambles. The old man shrugged off an arm of black needled thorns, whipping his cloak away from the impediment in a single swish of brown cloth. Inaba could barely make out what they were saying, but he watched as they gestured between themselves, watched as Ensha smiled in the morning sun.

[WC: 274, TWC: 3536]

They were exchanging jokes from what Inaba could tell. The old man’s hands gesticulated into vulgar signs. It was unprofessional, but that’s just how the old man was. Quick with a joke to ease other’s tensions, or quick with violence when he deemed it necessary. The rider threw his head back, cupping hands around his mouth. The shrill cry of a bird echoed past him into the depths of the forest. Inaba watched Ensha take a step back, face lined with shock. Four shadows flickered from under veils of foliage. It was a trap all along. Foolish of us to believe any different. Where had they made their mistake? Had—

The shadows came to full view, encircling Ensha. Inaba saw the pattern on the Kusagakure Jonin’s flak jackets. There was no mistaking it. They had failed to pay us, and now they seek to take the lion’s share for themselves. What a bad fucking joke. He watched Ensha touch his index finger to an ear, head craned downward amongst the four.

“Run boy,”

Inaba’s knees bent, propelled himself forward with the haze of chakra imbued muscles. Tree branches whipped across his face, head jerking aside to avoid the lash of leaves. Inaba could feel them moving in. Could see their faint dance of shadow in the distance behind him. Could hear the groaning bend of tree branches. He turned his head back to see the flash of movement. He heard the zip of projectiles pass his ear, saw them thud into wood. His next leap came in a great bound. His foot slipped on a bough. The forward flung motion sent him spinning end-over-end in the air. Arms flailed against the weight of gravity, attempting to brace himself for impact with the ground.

He landed on his feet and slid through clumps of wet forest litter. One of his black sandals came undone, and was yanked off his foot by the force. He tripped over a fallen tree, rose slowly on sore legs, and turned back to see them darting at him. Chakra rippled through his legs, and he began the chase again with a heaving motion. Through empty spaces between leaves, he could make out the gray rush of water. Could hear the trickle of it in the distance. He could smell it.

Plowing through a bed of pine needles, he left troughs of footprinted earth behind as he ran. Inaba came to a clearing on the edge of a bluff. He limped to the stone wall, and cast a downward glance to the violent surge of flowing waters, then back to the rustle of movement in the forest. They came, two Kusagakure shinobi, shadows receding from cruel smiles on their lips. Inaba clutched his pack, edging closer to the bluff’s drop-off. Pebles at his feet tumbled off the ledge as he pushed closer.

“That’s no way to go, boy.”

“Give it up, and we’ll spare you, promise.”

Inaba took one last look at them. He jumped. The rush of air burned his eyes. Inaba followed the stone wall into the river, arms outstretched to the sun.

[WC: 518, TWC: 4054]

[End]

Claims:

[*]40 stats(from Wc) to be added to Inaba Kurohane's chakra stat.
[*]2000 WC to learn Space-Time Specialty
[*]1000 WC to learn and 1000 WC to Master Summoning Technique