((Been a long time since I RPed! Open to anyone who wants to join, maybe some intrigue will pop up 
))
When Utano was growing up she would often chew on her hair when she felt anxious; When her parents would argue, her first day at the academy, her mother’s disappearance and subsequent death pronouncement. She remembered standing in front of her mother’s headstone at the ceremony, a small event with a meager turn out. Her hair had tasted of soap and rain that day, but not the salty remnants of tears; Utano had not cried for her mother’s death, even then she must have felt it to be untrue. The death of her mother had spurred her toward the nature of a shinobi who was fit for the ANBU corps. Once within, she was trained to rid herself of unnecessary habits such as her nervous comfort. But now, after all this time she had been reassigned to the main branch at her own request, and approval of the Raikage.
Utano had left her masks behind as was protocol, to be destroyed or repurposed for other agents. She found that she missed having one with her, it brought a certain sense of familiar comfort to have. Before she had even made it ten steps out of headquarters, she was surprised to find her hair had wandered into her mouth seemingly of its own volition, though she was certain she herself had placed it there. It was as if her life had been in stasis since she had joined the ANBU, and now that she was emerging from her black ops’ lifestyle, it was like she had woken from a coma and her old habits had never died at all.
She spit her hair out with a sputter “Yuck” she had not washed in several days. Maybe I should do something about that she thought standing up straight. She strode off heading into the Susukino District in search of a bathhouse. She had not yet located her own living space yet since leaving the ANBU HQ and her family home was not somewhere she felt like lingering; her father was hopelessly drunk most of the time and she found that unbearable to stomach.
Utano located a suitable looking bath house and paid for her entrance. She found cubby to place her things and stripped down, covering herself with a small towel as a formality; she was not bashful about nudity.
She walked into the large outdoor bath, huge decorative stones soaked in the steaming water, sturdy mountain pines formed a protective barrier on one side, and a cedar fence was erected on the other dividing the different baths.
Utano had picked the open unisex bath, there were more people who would frequent it, typically families so that husbands and wives could mingle with their children. There were a few people in the baths now, and that gave Utano comfort. The solitary life of an ANBU agent had served her well, but she found that she craved nearness and normalcy that had been absent all these years. She soaked happily listening to children chatter and the conversation of two portly old men who were also sharing a bottle of some spirit.
Others wandered into the baths as she sighed happily, and let herself sink into the bath up to her nose, her black and blonde hair floating on the surface.
She could not help but feel as though she was being watched, not in the same casual sense she observed the other bath-goers, but a stark but subtle stare of a tail. She remained relaxed, if they were going to do something, they would have sprung already in her vulnerable naked state, but she kept her mind open as her Yamanaka training had instilled. She placed a strand of hair in her mouth.
Old habits die hard.
))When Utano was growing up she would often chew on her hair when she felt anxious; When her parents would argue, her first day at the academy, her mother’s disappearance and subsequent death pronouncement. She remembered standing in front of her mother’s headstone at the ceremony, a small event with a meager turn out. Her hair had tasted of soap and rain that day, but not the salty remnants of tears; Utano had not cried for her mother’s death, even then she must have felt it to be untrue. The death of her mother had spurred her toward the nature of a shinobi who was fit for the ANBU corps. Once within, she was trained to rid herself of unnecessary habits such as her nervous comfort. But now, after all this time she had been reassigned to the main branch at her own request, and approval of the Raikage.
Utano had left her masks behind as was protocol, to be destroyed or repurposed for other agents. She found that she missed having one with her, it brought a certain sense of familiar comfort to have. Before she had even made it ten steps out of headquarters, she was surprised to find her hair had wandered into her mouth seemingly of its own volition, though she was certain she herself had placed it there. It was as if her life had been in stasis since she had joined the ANBU, and now that she was emerging from her black ops’ lifestyle, it was like she had woken from a coma and her old habits had never died at all.
She spit her hair out with a sputter “Yuck” she had not washed in several days. Maybe I should do something about that she thought standing up straight. She strode off heading into the Susukino District in search of a bathhouse. She had not yet located her own living space yet since leaving the ANBU HQ and her family home was not somewhere she felt like lingering; her father was hopelessly drunk most of the time and she found that unbearable to stomach.
Utano located a suitable looking bath house and paid for her entrance. She found cubby to place her things and stripped down, covering herself with a small towel as a formality; she was not bashful about nudity.
She walked into the large outdoor bath, huge decorative stones soaked in the steaming water, sturdy mountain pines formed a protective barrier on one side, and a cedar fence was erected on the other dividing the different baths.
Utano had picked the open unisex bath, there were more people who would frequent it, typically families so that husbands and wives could mingle with their children. There were a few people in the baths now, and that gave Utano comfort. The solitary life of an ANBU agent had served her well, but she found that she craved nearness and normalcy that had been absent all these years. She soaked happily listening to children chatter and the conversation of two portly old men who were also sharing a bottle of some spirit.
Others wandered into the baths as she sighed happily, and let herself sink into the bath up to her nose, her black and blonde hair floating on the surface.
She could not help but feel as though she was being watched, not in the same casual sense she observed the other bath-goers, but a stark but subtle stare of a tail. She remained relaxed, if they were going to do something, they would have sprung already in her vulnerable naked state, but she kept her mind open as her Yamanaka training had instilled. She placed a strand of hair in her mouth.
Old habits die hard.
