Theatrics (invasion of Amegakure)

Solitude was a peace that was sought by many. A rare form that took the pain out of loneliness. Was that the feeling right now? Of being alone, not just by human presence but of other wordly noises. It was silent and peaceful. At least to the perspective of some. The rains pitter pattered all around, a thick curtain of water hiding the actors in play. The stage was all set, taking place in an urban industrial area. Tall skyscrapers towering and providing small pockets of dry shelter. The play would be both tragic and beautiful. Cliche and childish as it may sound the name for today's theatric would be called, the tears of the reaped. The play had been planned for ages now, careful little details being combed and combed again. There was no room for error. As both a director and an actor or actress in the play it was important to lose oneself to the flavour of the script. One had to truly full yourself that the events were real, that you belonged to such a time and era. For days and days or even weeks the director had been absorbed into this play. The script may had been slightly adjusted for the occasion but the theatre life? It had been practised for the director's entire life. It was practically forced upon, hammered and engraved into the very blood vessels. Such was the life of the artist. Always absorbed in the works but right now? There was peace, room to enjoy and solitude to marvel at the art that was about to unfold. A live street art if you will, the director was ready. Dry, masked and cloaked. Flags down and colors blank. Yes the time was right, the audience suspected nothing soon the curtains would rise, the director felt it. Ever so often it had to stop, the curtains would let lose and fall into a pile of silken white and blue.

Memories. Getting to know the actors and the town. It was a hard process, but the industry had a high demand for skilled workers. Slowly and surely, accepted into the community living in and out of the town. It had taken months, the auditions were what was the greatest difficulties. Selecting the correct actors to take part in this play, the recalls and the cut offs. Some just weren't cut out for the business or disagreed with the genre, these aspiring actors had to be put down if any crude of a meaning. See, in this business there was no cieling, you could become the greatest with no limits. One could constantly climb the ladder and become more and more famous but it also had no floor, you would sink you were not picked up for a part and down you would go, drowning become nothing but a part of the "another fish in the sea". A deep dark place that no one could pick you up again, hell even famous people were lost in here. Mediocrity was not an option, not all toads can swim forever even they grow tired and sink to the bottom. A tragic play that was, known to many if not all. This was a fitting place to start yes yes. Finally a big deal a big gig. It was no Wall Street but it was half way.

[For this specific cause the director needed to learn a set of new skills. Wood Carving, it might have sounded like a strange skill but theatres were built on this stuff and the director had taken time learning this skill. If one had done this years ago then it would have been difficult. Now? it was only a matter of touch. The magically conjur Wood out no where was easy. To get that them into shape was not so difficult either, to be honest the new skill pick up was a joke but was something that was needed and wanted. Kunai and Shuriken were getting more and more expensive. The peace over the lands had brough the decline of such goods causing each to be more and more expensive. A make shift kunai, produced from the finest and strongest of woods, now there was a weapon. A projectile need not be as strong as steel. It only needed to be able to pierce the skin. Carving and moudling into desired shapes, producing an edge instead of the usual smooth roundness. In a matter of moments the Director could carve and shape a variet of tools. From small and big projectiles to hand held weapons, small lock picks and even complicated looking keys. The real trick was getting the hang of these weapons, at first the grips had been too smooth, proving that slashes and stabs to be ineffective. The handles had to come with grooves or twists, providing an adaquete grip to the director's needs. Projectiles however prooved to be more effective than their steel counterparts. Smooth, easy to make, cheap to produce, it was a perfect balance between heavy and light giving excellent speed and stopping power. In the hands of the master and one said to have the eyes of a hawk, the wooden kunai and shuriken was as deadly as one made of steel if not even more dangerous. she produced 20 of these Kunai, slightly longer in blade length than your standard. 10 would go to one of the main actors and 10 would be kept for the director alone. The director believed the purchase of the steel kunai would be thing of the past, not that one had purchased kunai's before. Status the director held allowed for free Kunai but alas, these new wooden ones would become a pet favourite. They were easier to conduct chakra through as well. They glided well in the air, keeping true to their points, a little mastery and they could probably be controlled mid flight, it was a beautiful creation and skill the director had come about.The handles were only grooved to help with the wind, some having a spiral twist so that throwing would cause it to rotate like a bullet further increasing their deadly prowress. The director would add these props to the play overly keen to test them out, to see how real they would be. But so far the props had been prooved to be even better than the real deal. Yes, soon they would roll out and replaced the expensive steel props, their jangling and the tinkling. These? They were silent, providing a more earth or natural sound when they clinked with one another.]



Now hidden away in a private box, the Director began to watch as the play unfolded. The private box was placed high, giving a clear view of the audience and actors. Windowed in the front and a small barred door behind for an easy escape.

1141 words

An actor is many things, that is - in essence- the entire point of their role. However they are not only a person who adopts a fake identity on the stage of make-believe for the purposes of income and wealth, but also in part for the beauty they hopefully saw in the full and utter devotion to a role that this required within a individual. Noa, or as he was known amongst the troupes, 'the man with no face' held this principle perhaps most highly out of the ones he had originally been assigned to his mission for. A travelling troupe as he had spent most of his life in would roam most of the country in which it was based, occasionally moving over greater stretches of lands as the tourists whimsical choices drew them to the locations where they would be able to draw the most profit. This was the part of the deal that had most annoyed Noa, with his distaste to have his directions dictated by someone else in this fashion he tolerated the haphazard travel patterns for as long as he had been required. A period of time that was shortly coming to a close if the signs were to be read properly and if nothing else, Noa was an adept reader of the subtle hints that many would be want to see but ultimately miss. There were still some more gifted then him, but they were few and far between. A new director was in town and she was beginning the process of organising a play. Noa glanced at his hands, the scars he had purposefully left on his left covered with a glove he wore over the damaged limb. He would remove the imperfect tissue at his convenience once it had served its purpose - for now he maintained the guise of a man who hid a hideous injury from the idle inquisitive gaze. This was his role as an actor, for the other definition of this curious word was a participant in inside an action or process. And some actors had long, slumbering roles behind the scenes before emerging to the limelight - basking in the glory of their hideous inventions before the hero swooped in and resolved the complication and the world became a better place then it had been before. The curtains would close, the audience would clap and whistle politely and leave.

However. This time.


Noa paced nervously, running the scene through his mind. Having applied for the predetermined position as he mission had stated, Noa voiced the thoughts going through his mind as they came to him - resolving each of them as it came up. Talking to himself, closing the part of his mind that called itself Minori Noa to sleep. Instead he slowly replaced the questions and statements he had provided himself with from another mental script. The man he was supposed to represent as he stood on those boards. A most curious Merchant, one who dealt in the fineries of life. The faux beard tickled his skin, the make-up was ever so slightly irritating. But he was accustomed himself to it now. He was a Thespian. The Thespian. He was not without distinguish, he came with the suitable reputation for the notice of the Director. His role in the play was a subtle one, not entirely suited to his normal nature for it was malicious. But what was that but a matter of perspective? These idle thoughts ran as a seeming backdrop as Noa bargained and swindled his way through the play. Acting both the fool and wolf within sheeps clothing.

"Must you brute your way so, Merchant? Your haggling drives even the most tolerant a soul to the dark deep pits." Noa, found a certain amount of amusement in this line as it was a number of things. This particular line was where he ran off-script, and improvised his own response as the marker to the contact from Otogakure no Sato. Spinning the wooden kunai on his fingers that had been handed out to all the participating actors, Noa replied in a careful tone. Measured with all the elegance and distaste a wealthy, successful man had for a not so endowed individual. "Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d sun," replied Noa silkily. " for all that glitters is not gold young 'un." He tipped his hat to the blustering actor, who was momentarily lost in his train of thought as he attempted to regain his mental bookmark. Attempting to exit stage left, Noa kept a careful watch out, all of his senses stretched to their limit as he made his ordained exit from stage. The last appearance he would make would be his last and final act.

1994/20 000 words

Noa sat at his table, the other thespians of his troupe, and a few newcomers from the play all situated around him. When Noa 'said' his table, it referred specifically to a space around him that no one else dared to be positioned. It was a lonely table, with only a solitary cup, spoon, knife, fork, plate and napkin to occupy his fickle attention. But there was a dark mistress, waiting in the wings that kept on drawing his gaze back to her as she sat at the far corner of his court - shrouded in mystery. But it was a mist of purpose. Of decision. And she smelled of the faint tinge of copper. A scent that hadn't tasted the olfactory senses of Noa in the longest time. Three years nearly, and he still felt the sharp pangs of combat almost as clearly as he did today. Remaining detached was always the hardest part of these missions. Always difficult. Looking upon the blade, he had no real use for her. She was merely a symbol for him. He regarded her presence on his table, observing him breaking bread, to be akin to the original objective he had been assigned upon the acceptance of his mission.

Standing up, Noa decided that it was time to break the ice. "Hoy," he called out to the gathered folk - the hail gathering all of their attention. Some smiled nervously, others regarded him with a particular brand of distaste. Ah, yes. His argument with the Manager. After his impromptu reading off the script during the auditions for the play, he had been approached (read; "angrily cornered") by the manager of performance his great belly shaking with indignation. Or effort for having to have covered more ground in a single minute then he normally would over the course of a day. It was a saddening thought, but it did provoke Noa to wonder if the man was truly angry with him for breaking protocol, angry with him for making him cross the stage to reach him, or angry at himself because duty commanded him to go reprimand the rebellious stage-player. As in most things, it was likely to be a mixture of the two simply because humans were so pointlessly complicated creatures. Even the male of the species -despite the assurances from the prettier of the sexes- had emotional depths. Although he did not find himself anywhere near as drawn to explore the past history of this overweight man who had the broken veins of a heavy drinker. There was nothing in this tightly bound book of barbed wire but pain and suffering. And to read it, you would need to remove the barbs that hurt the male, surely as they hurt anyone who tried to converse with him. Perhaps this is what Noa despised when he saw religion. He saw weak people. He saw books slowly being written with the same lines as all others within the flock. Perhaps.

The Manager of Performance -or mop as many affectionately(?) named the holders of the positions- attempted a tried but true tactic of asking the rhetorical question as to whether or not Noa had really been thinking at all when he had done that. He then chose the correct path of praising his previous performances, attempting to raise him up higher so that when he pulled the lever and the floor fell away from under him, the noose drew taunt that much harder. Noa did his best to simulate the emotions that Mop wanted from him. Chagrined to begin with, a slow smile on his face as the praises started before looking crestfallen and saddened as the Mop stated emphatically that he had ruined any chance of being selected for the position he had been auditioning for. Noa had the feeling that Mop had been looking for someone to vent on for a while now, this had all the vibes of a good rant which had been brewing inside Mop for some time now. Oh well, it was only right that his argumentative friend had the opportunity to vent his emotions now. It would be even better if Mop went and got drunk now, which was probably going to happen one way or the other and didn't need that much encouragement. Still, it would certainly make his job easier if he tried to rile up his opponent that much more. So he did the best thing he figured would irritate the already irate Mop. He turned his back on him, weighing disinterest and made some vaguely posh talking sound about 'ignorant peasants' and 'lack of artistic taste'.

The blow caught him squarely in the back of the head, neatly lifting him off the ground and into the air dropping him unconscious in the dirt.

Or at least, Noa expected that had been the outcome his verbal punching machine had been envisioning as he made the motions. It was a little bit harder to land such a hit when it was so badly choreographed and had been manipulated into existence by the other party. And so it was that Noa and Mop exchanged fistcuffs for a while. However, they were quickly drawn apart as soon as the surrounding actors and such had gotten over their individual Bystander Bias where they all expected someone else to do something first. It had taken them longer then he had expected honestly, he had already given and taken a few good hits. The anger he felt welling up inside of him would be useful later on and he stashed it mentally inside the little tightly bound black box in his mind. It wasn't a pretty thing, it most certainly wasn't even a nice thing to do. But he knew that allowing these feelings to fester and grow. It would just make his eventual task all that much easier. He had just gotten around to drawing blood on his opponent when the first set of hands wrapped themselves around his offending limbs and started to attempt to drag him away from Mop who was now in a similar position to Noa. "LET ME AT HIM BOYS!" Bellowed the restrained Mop, but Noa expected this was more show on the part of Mop rather then actual intention. It was spur of the moment stuff. Noa had already gotten a steady stream of blood to fall from the large nose of Mop and it was in the process of flying across the ground along with a stream of spittle as he shouted obscenities at Noa. Who, speaking of which had relaxed in his captors arms, fluttering his eyes enchantingly at one of the light girls who was looking down disapprovingly at the scene from her perch. Snorting in amusement, she turned away from the stupid scene. Bloody actors she thought, all reckon they're gods gift to women. The reverse was certainly opposite, actresses could fake it like the best of them. And every man liked to thing he was accomplished 'neath the sheets. If a women could fool him in that regard and he was satisfactory in other senses, well then, it wasn't the worst arrangement in the world. There were certainly worse places to be. She tu
rned back to her task and continued to pack away her things. It had been a long day and she was looking forwards to getting home to her girlfriend.

Ordering a mug of something hot and alcoholic, Noa gave the pretence of a stupid speech as he apologised for the scene he had made earlier. He idly tossed around the knife he had happened to find on his table, during this period he managed to spy a few other implements amongst the crowd as he came to a finish he met the eyes of every person in the room. Attempting, as best he could, to memorise their presence. And then the knife flicked up into the air, rotated, once. Twice. "I'm sorry," he said finally as he counted the rotations mentally. "but I was never here."

He caught the blade as it swooped down idly between his fingers and threw it backwards into the head of the bartender behind him. "And neither were any of you." He finished more to himself then anything else as he moved amongst them. The screams echoing from the room the first of many that started to ring out across the city. For it was time for the revolution to begin. Long live Pesogakure no Sato. Noa emerged from the room one minute later, the sharp clinking of the blades he had retrieved enumerating from his fingers as he strolled without fanfair into the next few rooms. It was almost too easy.

1447 Words.

4552/20000

It was possibly the bloodiest, most cruel use of deadly efficiency Noa had seen within his admittedly brief experiences of the world. He normally considered himself a reasonably seasoned member of a Black Ops ANBU Unit, with scenes of violence, torture committed purely for the reason of pursuing their own objects, slaughter to clear away the anecdotal evidence that could be used against them. Noa digested these thoughts smoothly as he set nestled within a corner of the battlefield - removed from the combat a number of people like him as they swooped over their respective regions of surveillance. This particular duty was typically referred to as 'doggy guarding' by the people who it was practised on. Their current role however was a little different from normal. They were holed up inside one of the most run-down and least fortified buildings they could have possibly chosen. However it didn't matter terribly much when there was a contingent of Sensoy Shinobi operating on a near 24 hour basis. It made sneaking up on an operating Cell like this one remarkably difficult. However in this particular instance, his Cell had infiltrated a contingent of Amegakure that was supposed to be housing a number of Shinobi. This was not expected to be an easy objective to take, and they were simply attempting to scout out the land at the present time and understand what difficulties were likely to present themselves. This, for whatever reason never really seemed to concern Noa. Suicide missions and the like, they were just another assignment. It was an odd mentality to have as he was informed by some of the members of the Cells he had operated within. Perhaps it was his prodigious Mastery of the Medical Arts? Was he so confident in his own abilities that he deemed any threat so insignificant he would be able to repair whatever damage might be dished out by the enemy?

No, that was silly. He could distinctly remember the icour of one of his team-mates slipping away from him, the lifeblood pouring like a fountain from his chest, half of the pulmonary artery exposed leading to a mass haemorrhaging expiration. Not the nicest way to go by any means. He ruffled his non-submissive hair ruefully as if to wipe away the sanguine liquid that had coated his limbs as the final throes of vitality left him a cold and empty husk. Without life. Without love. And without anything at all really. That was the nature of death, and it characterised life in the manner that it was the antithesis of it. But by the same token, life without death would be...almost unthinkable. From nearly any perspective. The most immediate one available to him was a medical one. When a cell refused to die after its allotted span was over - the activation of its loyosoms refused to activate, or whatever malfunction did not cause apoptosis to manifest - that was the start of a previously benevolent cell onto the carcinogenic pathway. It was a sad transformation to see, and an even worse way to suffer. Some studies of cancerous cells found a multimedia of artefacts contained within them. Kertatin was one example, normally a compound found within the dermis of the body, seeing it developed internally was an odd occurrence. For that reason some of the medical staffers he had worked with on that particular brand of research believed that the body was literally trying to create another one inside them. A sad facsimile of pregnancy. To Noa that seemed a little extreme but it certainly wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen within the human body. Mentally he righted himself, frowning at how easily he'd let himself get distracted. Signalling to the others still -hopefully- concentrating on finding the scant flickers of chakra inside their respective radars that he'd be taking a quick pitstop. Stepping out of the small room they'd allocated for themselves, he stretched a little lamenting the lack of coffee. Hell, he'd even take instant at this rate, an instant was akin to the piss of a Yokai. Which, he mused idly as he leaned fractionally over the side of the building they were housed inside and answered the call of nature that had been growling within his loins. Speaking of piss, Noa had developed an amusing theory that was rather related to his present activity. Because Amegakure was so industriously based, he wondered a little if part of the reason the higher a building you were on had something to do with status inside the village. Namely, the lower you were, the more piss you got mixed with your rain. As you got higher the less parts of urine you would get mixed with your rainwater until you reached the top where the Daimyo and/or Village Leader was supposed to reside which was the highest tower within the Village. Allowing himself a small sigh of satisfaction he almost missed the cry of outrage that emanated some ten or so meters from below his position. Peering curiously over the balcony, he spied a black clad individual sticking mysteriously to the wall that correlating with the same dimensional plane his balcony jetted out from. Rye amusement welled up inside him as he spied a number of other figures below the one he had encountered. Apparently their position had been compromised, but if there was one thing Noa enjoyed it was counter-initiation. And he was nothing if not a very willing bait. He whistled out twice, mimicking a bird call from Otogakure that his compatriots would pick up on, alerting them to the fact they had hostile company. Sadly that was the limitation of this form of communication, but he hoped they would pick up on the gist of his idea in short order. If they didn't, well - his name would be added to the relatively long list of KIA Names that stood on the black granite stone that stood to acknowledge the sacrifice made by the daring members of the Village. Except his name wouldn't be placed on it because he would have died during an ANBU Op. They better not fuck up then, he mentally registered as he leaned back over the edge - feigning a shocked expression as his urine stained target glanced skywards again after having dealt with the offending material. Seeing a chance to rectify the mission before all was ruined, he body flickered upwards to silence the sentry before he could raise the alarm. As he materalised on the balcony, however, the newcomer left his present career pathway and embarked on the new and exciting death of being a metallic porcupine. From the expression on his face as he past over the river in front of Noa and his recently arrived compatriots it wasn't a terribly pleasant pathway to have chosen.
Inspecting the appearance, items and general paraphernalia on his body, Noa quickly transformed into a passable duplicate of his target - covering only the surface details, but it would most certainly afford him some measure of decent utility which he immediately put into practise. Leaning once again over the balcony, Noa signalled the other members of the squad to ascend quickly, looking around to simulate some measure of urgency. And so the enemy scouting, espionage and infiltration unit fell to the power of taking a tinkle in the rain. Who would have thought?

Later on that day, Noa managed to track down the location of Kiranade who apparently had been keeping a fairly quiet profile. For some, this might have meant something of a more shrewd strategic viewpoint. From the perspective from someone who could possibly lay claim to knowing them the best out of the entirety of the ANBU group save her filial affiliation within the organisation it looked more like she was playing with her food. Prolonging the torture of Amegakure no Sato. Seeing that she had already began to gear up, Noa decided to play the cards he normally did as he encountered her preparing. "Is that a sword in your hands or are you just happy to see me?" Queried Noa idly as he took a second to inspect the blade from the side. It was a fairly weak joke, but he felt it was that had to be made given the situation. Maybe she'd forgive him a couple of years for that particular crack. "That said," he murmured curiously, "did you bring the stuff I asked you to?" On this front he was referring to his ANBU Mask, which he had left in her care when he started the present mission. Hopefully it wasn't maimed or anything, he couldn't imagine the embarrassment of having to go out into the field that had suffered from Kira or her brother from deciding to experiment with some new designs on. Oh well, one could hope.

1475 Words.

7138 // 20 000

The Phantom of the Theater.

The brutal sequential thuds from fallen bodies could be heard, by those who were close to the scene. The masked man garbed in full black clothing, with long flowing back hair had finally arrived on the scene. His introduction was one of great subtlety, almost separate from the gang. His sibling was most likely bored out of her mind by now, but the man was finally where he needed to be. He was where he said he would be, so no one should be surprised. Kirashima had recently landed on the group, behind a group of Amegakure Shinobi. They were quickly dealt with, for they were rebels, and would not enter into the new era. Kirashima was truly a smooth criminal, swiftly dealing with those who would oppose him. The man was efficient and quite merciful in his approach, taking no real pleasure in killing. There he was standing in and among the buildings, those that towered high above him. The skies began to pour tears, but these tears didn't turn out to be salty at all. The rain came pouring down, as a symbol of sorts. Maybe it was to wash away the old, so that everything can begin anew once more. The Shinobi stood motionless for a moment as the rain poured down. His black cloak being worn at the moment shielded him. That and the hood was raised in order to provide shelter for his hair.

The bland white mask being worn appeared menacing, despite its lack of notable features. Maybe it was that very reason why it would appear something or someone sinister was lurking behind the mask. Kirashima's senses remained sharp since the time of his arrival in the lands of rain. Meaning, his ability to sense Chakra was in full effect since that time. The Anbu Captain, and maybe the director of this theatrical event was now on the move. The audience had gone quiet for what seemed like the longest time now. This was now surreal, to think with such careful planning, it would all go this smooth. Nothing was ever perfect in these situations, and as such, Kirashima was waiting for that moment. The moment when the rebellious ones would appear from around the corner and challenge him. That was to be expected, since even though Kiranade might have taken control of certain areas. The village was still quite vast, and so there may be others waiting in the shadows. Invasions had to be tactical, and it would be foolish to think there wasn't any countermeasures put in place to prevent it. The Phantom was careful enough to plant his informants on the inside. Not only that, but he also converted quite a few Amegakure Shinobi to his cause.

Taking such things into consideration, it is also quite possible that there was a double agent among them. A shinobi who couldn't resist playing the role of the fabled Judas horse. Except Kirashima would not accept a kiss on the cheek, for such a thing was never written in the script. As far as the phantom was concerned, he was following the script line for line, while incorporating and executing every planned detail along the way. For you see, Kirashima gained passage into the village via a secret path. One revealed to him by some of Amegakure's finest and the men he plotted with. The hazel colored eyes of the Shinobi took in the visuals of the outside world from behind the mask. He was taking slow and careful strides, not in any rush, because he had his scouts in the area. He was closing in on Kiranade and pet. But he was still some distance away. But before they could even meet, Kirashima made his way up a building, before taking shelter inside. He could view the streets of Amegakure from his vantage point. He was prepared to wait a little while before making a nuisance of himself. He was planning a few unorthodox events to participate in with his lovely sibling, Kiranade. There was definitely a connection between them. Did it go beyond mere love for ones sibling? This could  be like the Lannister twins of that show, a most interesting dynamic. At times like these, Kirashima's lower Chakra centers got all stirred up for a bit of consensual adulterated fun. This was all part of the plan, so stay tuned and find out how it all unfolds.

742 words.

8748 / 20 000

Sometimes jokes went a little bit over someone elses head, and a phrase that had originally seemed humorous and riot with potential was revealed to be shallow, self-serving and -most importantly- reliant on your own personal frame of experience to be considered amusing. This was why long standing friends -who were invariably also good friends- happened to find an inordinate amount of what the other(s) orated to be amusing. Everything was laden with playful double-meaning and subtle nudges and chips. That was the nature of being so close to others. It was much the same as having a secret handshake or dap for a gangster group. Noa and his team-mates had possibly uniquely managed to never attain these inbuilt habits in social interaction. It was possible that this was to blame on several factors, of which most were could -in Noa's opinion anyway- be blamed on the other members of the team. Of course, it did not really make sense that if he was perfectly normal in his own right that the other three would be so imperfect. So he supposed he was partly to blame as well in some reflective part of himself, but mainly he felt that the characteristic aloofness that was a part of so many of the teams constituents could be attributed part way for the blame. The de-facto-leader of the group was first, going by the simple name of Kirashima Senju. He was possibly the embodiment of this particular emotional aspect. He was frequently disappearing to do things that quirked his own interest or his sisters. The only thing that really signalled him out at the leader was the fact that the three others didn't step into the role of giving out orders in his absence and he was more comfortable doing it during the brief periods when he was with them. By all rights, this team should not have made it as far up the hierarchy of the Shinobi ladder as it had. Communication? None of it was outstanding. Wombo-combos within their skillsets? Again, fairly negligible. They had an elemental overlap as both of the Senju siblings had a command over the power of Wood. Whilst this did provide for a flexible line-up and familiarising oneself with one portion of the two's line-up it restricted possibilities a little as well. A number of them had cross-over specialities, such as Sensory and Ninjutsu. Only the Senju twins really showed any tendency to favour close-combat. It was in many ways a spare-parts team. You could pull one of the members from this team into another and they would be able to supplement and operate at nominal efficiency without needing that emotional bond to their team. Both as a group and individuals. It was an odd arrangement, but it had worked so far. How else did they manage to avoid the societal norms that you would find in any other group?

Disparate and similar personalities. Perhaps if a few factors in their respective childhoods had been different, they would have all been lovey-dovey friends. Their personas were all too similar in the wrong places and dissimilar in the right places. Aloofness, temperance, where their interests lay, amongst other things. For example, Kirashima, as a compotent a combatant as he was, showed remarkably little interest in interacting with either Noa or Shima. His only real point of interest in the group being Kiranade. He obviously either trusted them enough to keep her safe now, or felt confident in her abilities to leave as often as he did. Noa automatically felt that on this front he tried to share as many interests with the others as he could, but it had proved difficult for him to try and insert himself into the lives of the others in any other role other then the one assigned to him by the state. He considered them all friends, they ate together, accomplished goals. What more did they really need in life? He should be grateful for what he had gotten in the assignment. Still, it was somewhat interesting to compare their groups dynamics to anothers. Which was a sobering thought indeed, how many of the other groups their age were even alive? Disbanded perhaps in some cases, but after awhile the funerals all blurred together and it was easier not to think about it. He stroked his chin contemplatively as Kiranade replied to him, his eyes not really looking at her - as he inspected the room in fractionally more detail.
"Ghosts indeed, hmm," parroted Noa idly as he moved further into the room. That was...interesting. If they did not want to involve Otogakure yet then the Leadership had decided on a minor change of plan since he had been last updated on his assignment. Which was admittedly, quite some time ago. He nodded briefly in recognition of this fact. Physical actions were occasionally more meaningful and easily noticed by Kiranade then words themselves.

Noa considered the girls question for a moment. It was not...impossible. "One of the first things we did was cut the power in several sectors of the city and encourage that it be done in others as well." He said idly, wondered why there was the sudden interest in yoghurt. Normally tomatoes bore the brunt of Kiranade's wrath. Or her stomach's wrath to be more precise. He never really considered the waif-like girl to be the wrathful type. "But because this place is nearly always bloody raining, I doubt there has been much chance for any diary products to denature and spoil." Noa fingered his sideburns briefly as he thought about how long he'd been in the field for. "You should be able to find some unspoiled ones in the lower levels of the city where the hot air hasn't risen to." When someone said 'the army rolls on its stomach' Noa generally was inclined to think of Kirande due to the amount of sustenance she consumed. As she was generally more commonly found then her brother, she was in many ways, the go to source of offensive potential for the team. Without her, Noa doubted that he or Shima would have been able to accomplish much. As she pointed him to the desk which held the sack she had mentioned, Noa continued to ferret through until he found the aforementioned horsehair sack with the materials within it that he had been promised. Having no real sense of personal privacy, Noa wasn't really concerned about stripping off in the same room as Kiranade. She'd seen it all before after all. Something about being a medic tended to make him a little more cool with nudity and related issues then most people. He assumed it was all the biopsies and such he had done on such a large range of patients. Over time it had killed away his sense of conservation. There was perhaps, a reason why female Medical students were considered good dating material. Bloody double standards.

Having painlessly changed out of his blood soaked old clothes and doffed the ones provide to him, Noa once again moved into the field of vision of Kiranade. From her statement he tried to envision her position on a mental map of sorts. It was probably a pointless exercise, but time was not in a urgent humour these days. It was both the cruellest cut and the healer of all wounds. Better then even the finest Medic Otogakure had to offer. Who was -delectably- already present. She made a remark to the screams enumerating far too audibly for one with the appropriate trainings taste, their senses already highly attuned to the world around them. Noa assumed she was thinking about them because she was pondering the deaths they were causing. In another Shinobi, he might have wondered if she was regretting her actions. Looking back in time for that smarter option, the one that involved less bloodshed. But this team stood out, uniformly for being able to specifically handle the morally ambiguous nature of these missions. It was one of the factors that had lended itself to the rise of the two twins in the Village's eye. To them, the Ma-Gen-Bu was but a supporting act. Just the way it had always been planned. He let Kiranade's statement stand, pacing back and forth idly. He dealt with boredom as well as she did, which was to say, awfully, and was not as inventive in dealing with ways to counteract it. Fortunately, Kiranade was still in a speculative mood and continued to talk, giving Noa the opportunity to contribute.

"Yes, I was born on a rice plantation. My induction to the Academy proper was...not a natural transition." He decided that this was a politically correct way to stating it, and left it at that and chuckled good naturedly when she mentioned the river. Properly called River Sibrit by the locals, it was indeed the main fishing spot. "Did you catch many fish?" he quired her after a second. From what he remembered, it wasn't the best place to actually eat from. More of quite contemplation and relaxation.

Word Count: 1515

10 263 // 20 000 (halfway guys!)

A soft smile hidden by the mask being worn by the phantom, showed a slight stir in his current disposition. The Shinobi shrugged ever so slightly, having already sensed the incoming Shinobi, his attackers. Long before they had even gotten close to the man. Kirashima was prepared for the assault by the uninvited but not unexpected assailants. The snake hand seal was formed by the man garbed in black. These actions being performed long before the Kunai started raining down, meanwhile the man would allow his hands to drop back to his sides. Kirashima needed to give the impression that he was indeed being caught off guard. The enemy attacked by leading the assault with a rain of projectile weapons. No doubt these things wasn't designed for friendly fire, this was death from above, but without any indication of retaliation, Kirashima's body darkened in color. This was a sign that the man had taken countermeasures already. His boy was now diamond hard, a la the earth spear jutsu. The Kunai blades bounced off the man, and after this event occurred, not long after did a pair of snakes acted according to their namesake. Biting at Kirashima's ankles but experiencing no joy of course. Unable to pierce his skin much less inject any venom into him. The man shifted his weight in such a way that he'd be able to move just in case he was needed to.

Kirashima was actually waiting to see what would happen next. Would they follow up with another attack or simply talk a little while? Maybe it would even be the latter, but whatever it was, Kirashima was very much prepared for it. With great timing, Kirashima bent his legs, lowering his body, before launching from his position at great speeds. His fist pulled back, before being shot forward with great power. This fist was aimed at the man falling from above, aiming to crash into his stomach, landing a devastating blow. The phantom had timed it so that the enemy falling from above with have little time to react while falling in mid air. As for the serpents, they weren't even a factor, since they would be uprooted and launched along with Kirashima during his counter attack. The man was directed above him, from a height of six feet above Kirashima. His jump was aided by Chakra being concentrated into his legs. And with a swish, he was gone all ninja like. And by gone, it meant he was no longer just standing, but now trying to pick the assailant out of the air with a punch. As for the man swimming in the stream and using the snakes, Kirashima was well aware of him too. Keeping tabs on him, waiting for him to make another move. Maybe even try to interrupt Kirashima in some way, which the man didn't have an issue with. He was counting on it to an extent, a two on one fight was something to savor.