Off and Running

[Kakashi Hatake]

Following the scuffle with the platoon of grimy invaders, peace had settled uneasily over the forest village. The inhabitants had settled back into their loose routines, some taking initiative in repairing the damage caused by the interruption. Most simply bowed their heads, seemingly used to the idea that they might die at any moment. What puzzled Kakashi was not this recognition of the constant strife, but their apparent ambivalence toward it. Any rational person would, he assumed, show some sort of fear or anxiety. This seemed not to be the case in Mokugakure.

“They’re not numb to fear,” Asuma muttered, chewing on a wad of dumpling. “They’ve just become used to it. They know that they have things to get done and the threat of war can’t keep them tied up forever. We were too young to deal with this during the Third War, but I think this is what constant strife does to people.”

Kakashi nodded thoughtfully at the words of his masticating companion, his own food remaining untouched. The shinobi duo sat across from one another at a rustic dining table outside one of the town’s few restaurants. The food was reminiscent of the cuisine common in Konoha, though not quite as well-crafted.

“That and we have the wrecking ball that is Lady Tsunade,” the olive-skinned Jonin chortled. He paused for a moment, gazing across the table at the silver-haired shinobi. “You know, if you want to replenish your chakra, you ought to eat that,” he finished, gesturing to Kakashi’s meal.

“You’re probably right,” the copy ninja responded, taking a bite of his dumpling. He glanced over at their cook as he chewed, the shinobi’s calm gaze meeting one of anxiety and suspicion. That look again.

“Look, Kakashi,” Sarutobi muttered, turning away from the cook’s visual accusation. “I know you haven’t had the best go of things, but look on the bright side: a lot of us have taken this Omniverse as a second chance. Maybe you ought to forgive yourself already?”

The scarecrow’s keen eyes snapped forward, locking on Asuma’s. “It’s not something I can just forgive,” he replied harshly. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her face, pulled tight as her mouth gaped in a silent scream. Her fair skin seemed to darken to an ashy gray as the blood drained and life left her beautiful eyes. When the nightmares awoke him in the wee-hours, he would swear he still saw the blood, staining his hand as if his skin had drank in the ichor. No, the murderer did not deserve forgiveness. He had broken his promise to Obito, slaying the woman they both loved.

The bearded ninja eyed the Anbu for a moment, a heavy silence blanketing the duo. “Yeah,” he finally said, dropping his now unladen kebab.

The two shinobi sat in silence as the captain finished his cuisine, doing his best to avoid the stares of passers-by and the accusative cook. He glanced up at Asuma finally, dropping his skewer. “So, what’s to do here?”

“Well,” his companion responded, lighting up a cigarette. “We’re not as well established as Konoha is. We more or less do mercenary work for whoever pays. Hell, we’ve even met some of our own in the field that were contracted by the opposite side. It’s never pretty, but we have to go where the money goes. And since we get paid either way, it can get messy in the field.”

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” Kakashi replied nodding solemnly.

“Yeah, I’d like to think there’s a peace in knowing you’re dying at the hands of brethren so that the village may survive. Still, though,” Sarutobi muttered, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Never sits well with me. I always pray it’s orcs that need killing. But-”

Asuma stopped short as an unfamiliar head popped up over his comrade’s shoulder. A boy, likely no older than sixteen, stood over the seated duo, anxiety etched in his face. He wore thick glasses, shaggy brown hair nearly obscuring his obviously already poor vision. “Mister Sarutobi,” he began, smiling meekly. “Forgive the interruption, but Lady Morikage would like to see you and Mister Hatake.” He rattled off the sentence in a hurry, ending with a tremendous sigh as if it had taken him a great deal of effort to remember those few words.

The chain-smoking shinobi smiled, nodding at the boy. “Well,” he began, turning his gaze back to Kakashi, “Seems like snack time is over.”