The jaundiced ghoul who knocked his panderer’s staff against the ancient stone-metal gates that had borne witness to thousands of years of warfare on the sands and rock below was not the most pressing concern for Takaki Masao, Sennin of the Main Branch and Right Hand of Hayata Shin. Nor was the sharp-featured, sullen woman who stood by him, or the grizzled-looking ebony-skinned man sporting an obscene shock of blonde hair.
Nor for that matter was the fact that among these strange foreign malcontents was the Spymaster of Kumogakure himself, the pastry-obsessed man who read everything there was to read and then asked for more. Surely Do Natsu had to have a good reason for showing these potential invaders to the gates, a move that to any tactician versed in the art of shinobi warfare was the equivalent of leading the Tyrannid Swarm right to the stratosphere of Holy Terra.
Nor for that matter was the presence of Mochizuki Tama, the Hand, whose way with words and need for spectacle would surely inflame whatever tensions were already present when she would no-doubt publically name the leader of the foreign pack something like “Hepatitis-chan” or “Liver-kun.” Or the presence of Shima Haruka, whose presence reminded Masao of another, whose passing was still locked in the deepest prison of denial deep within a heart burdened with regret so thick that it would bury the Torre Celeste in darkness were it to be released.
No, the true concern for Takaki Masao was the unprecedented presence of one Ketsueki Satou in the mix. A being who was so unpredictable that he represented an independent danger to Kumogakure on the level of an S-rank missing nin – save for the fact that he was already, uncomfortably, inside the walls. This one was a true mad dog of the branch – a shinobi that without the constant vigilance of the Takao Institute and the cruelty of Isaki Kushin would have long ago been put down by his own comrades.
And yet, for all of Satou’s insanity, for all of the uncontrollable bloodlust that forced him to walk the razor’s edge between control and anarchy, he was still a shinobi of the Main Branch – Masao’s Branch. A Jounin; one of the few who the Sennin could truly think of as a Brother in Arms.
From this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered – we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother… So without fear, and also without reproach, Takaki Masao clapped his hand on the shoulder of the troubled creature named Ketsueki Satou to gain the man’s attention.
“Ketsueki-san. Got a light?” he asked, proffering a cigarette as he waited for Ishikawa Zaku to arrive.
[Topic Entered. Chilling with Satou for the moment and waiting for everyone else to arrive.]
