There was an air of subdued tension clashing with the general bustle in the mercantile enclave as the Nameless Assassin hunted through the white-walled city for information upon her foes. As she did so, she was forced to admit, even if only to herself, that her emotions regarding the situation were becoming a liability. Over a decade of training to trust no one--in a bitter, wry irony the very training bestowed upon her by the man behind her assailants--was not easily dismissed. Her every instinct screamed at her that the longer she gave the enemy to prepare, the greater their chances would become to kill her or, worse, to capture her while still alive. She knew she was being unsubtle. Her very appearance on this visit was the proof of that. Not content to simply ask around or attempt bribery for information, she had arrived in her customary armor, the crimson-lacquered plates gleaming in the paltry sunlight the overcast, brooding sky permitted. She had seen no real point to disguising herself. Any such facade which did not depend entirely upon Ninjutsu would be immediately ruined by the appearance of her eyes. She could have worn goggles or glasses with smoked lenses to obscure view of them, certainly. She also could have arrived naked as the day she was born and without a single weapon or ninja tool in her possession. For an Uchiha, preventing others from being so much as capable of seeing her eyes was the equivalent of voluntarily disarming oneself prior to a mission. Of course, after the first two and a half hours of scarcely-veiled anxiety and hostility from those she had tried to question regarding a group of the sort she expected her tormentor would have sent to bring her in, she admitted to herself that the chief reason she had come here was to use herself as bait to draw out the enemy, if doing so was even possible for a second time in as many weeks. It was a bad plan. She knew it was a bad plan. She just didn't have a better one.
As a result, she'd taken the time to return her appearance to, more or less, its original state. Walking the dockside streets she chanced a glimpse of the familiar reflection in the water. It was odd. It didn't feel....like her anymore. None of the bodies did so far. She supposed it was a simple symptom of having a more-or-less vestigial sense of self to begin with. She'd never really had a hard-and-fast identity. Not truly. Then again, growing up under the supervision of one who saw you as a potential military asset and absolutely nothing else had no doubt played its havoc with her mind and self-image. She certainly knew it had left her with an unquenchable core of hate for the man himself. Admittedly her hatred of him was second only to the terror he'd inspired. But the thing about fear was that it wasn't ultimately sustainable; given sufficient time, fear numbed one to itself. Thus far, sheer emotional exhaustion had proven more telling than any anxiety for her. At least it had for the present time.
She knew that she needed to stop simply reacting the way she'd been doing for the last several years. Permit your opponent to dictate your moves, and you have already lost. That had been another of the man's lessons. As much as it sickened her to admit it, they had been valuable. Certainly she would not have been able to defy him for so long had he not taught her as well as he had. She appreciated the irony of that. She would use every foul trick and strategem she could devise if that was what it took. Unfortunately, that meant she needed to focus herself, to regain her equilibrium. She wasn't sure where that resided to find it, and with hunters on her trail, she was unsure she had time to do so. Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she resigned herself to the fact that she would need assistance. That meant informing others of her circumstances. She was fortunate thus far to have been able to relegate conflict between herself and the Specimens to the wastes outside the village or other settlements thus far. She did not believe in relying upon fortune. Depending upon luck was for those who had not adequately prepared. She grimaced with the internal admission that at present she was in just such a position.
Resigning herself to the prospect and the potential perils it entailed, she had just turned along the docks when she realized something was wrong. Something had altered the pattern of local activity, but she could not immediately place it. That realization might well have saved her life.
[MFT, WC: 800; Not completed the mission yet. Will continue after I sleep.]
As a result, she'd taken the time to return her appearance to, more or less, its original state. Walking the dockside streets she chanced a glimpse of the familiar reflection in the water. It was odd. It didn't feel....like her anymore. None of the bodies did so far. She supposed it was a simple symptom of having a more-or-less vestigial sense of self to begin with. She'd never really had a hard-and-fast identity. Not truly. Then again, growing up under the supervision of one who saw you as a potential military asset and absolutely nothing else had no doubt played its havoc with her mind and self-image. She certainly knew it had left her with an unquenchable core of hate for the man himself. Admittedly her hatred of him was second only to the terror he'd inspired. But the thing about fear was that it wasn't ultimately sustainable; given sufficient time, fear numbed one to itself. Thus far, sheer emotional exhaustion had proven more telling than any anxiety for her. At least it had for the present time.
She knew that she needed to stop simply reacting the way she'd been doing for the last several years. Permit your opponent to dictate your moves, and you have already lost. That had been another of the man's lessons. As much as it sickened her to admit it, they had been valuable. Certainly she would not have been able to defy him for so long had he not taught her as well as he had. She appreciated the irony of that. She would use every foul trick and strategem she could devise if that was what it took. Unfortunately, that meant she needed to focus herself, to regain her equilibrium. She wasn't sure where that resided to find it, and with hunters on her trail, she was unsure she had time to do so. Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she resigned herself to the fact that she would need assistance. That meant informing others of her circumstances. She was fortunate thus far to have been able to relegate conflict between herself and the Specimens to the wastes outside the village or other settlements thus far. She did not believe in relying upon fortune. Depending upon luck was for those who had not adequately prepared. She grimaced with the internal admission that at present she was in just such a position.
Resigning herself to the prospect and the potential perils it entailed, she had just turned along the docks when she realized something was wrong. Something had altered the pattern of local activity, but she could not immediately place it. That realization might well have saved her life.
[MFT, WC: 800; Not completed the mission yet. Will continue after I sleep.]