The afternoon sun glancing haphazardly off a pair of bobbing black shades would refract every now and again through what remained of a shattered window pane at the end of the road. No one sane would notice, though probably not for lack of attention.
The road was deserted, broken in so many places that the average horse and cart couldn't expect to get further than twenty feet without losing a spoke or two. This meant of course that anything that needed to be shipped to any of the houses on this street needed to be done by foot, a fact that the blue haired courier was slowly coming to terms with.
He wobbled almost gracefully over an odd assortment of piled stones and lengthy crags, his feet drifting haphazardly from safe spot to safe spot as his gaze turned to the scene developing beside him.
It was a sprawling house, lined with determined statues of fu dogs and ancient plaques bearing symbols of authority too old to remember. There was a courtyard in the center somewhere containing an innocent koi pond and two priceless bonsai trees that had been in planted nearly a century ago.
Was...
The building was currently missing a roof and its northwesternmost walls. The bonsai trees had burned away following some unexpected impact during a struggle no one was alive to recount. In the distance Takayama could make out the rubble of a few familiar stone shrines that he had visited as a child, his cold gray optics sliding across their frames until they finally found the location his feet were driving him to.
It was a stone walkway, modestly repaired by hands inexperienced with craftsmanship, adorned only by a single signpost bearing a name no one alive could give credence to. His name actually, as well as his father's.
*Kakihara Clan House*
The wooden sign had been hammered into the post it sat on in a way only a shinobi would understand, slight hints of fingerprints and chakra damage warping the wood at multiple angles. In fact it would take a moment for Takayama to realize their were no nails used whatsoever in its construction. A fact that only confirmed the mild fear that had been building up in the pit of the blue haired shinobi's stomach.
There was only one member of the Kakihara clan who was too stubborn to bother buying a hammer...
The two weighty boxes in his possession clinked as he leaned carefully into his turn up the walkway, his vision already absorbing the figure he had been hoping to avoid. He was a brown haired man, at least on his face. Otherwise he was bald to a polished sheen with rigid and cruel hints to his facial structure. He was sitting with his eyes closed at a table he had clearly fashioned himself from old debris, surrounded by fallen walls and a couple small birds that had found their way onto his shoulders during his repose. He was covered in tightly wound muscle and fewer scars than one would expect for a shinobi.
Takayama thought for a moment about walking up to him, but instead hesitated for a moment before approaching the only thing in sight that was still standing. He set the boxes down casually once he reached it and knocked, the hard oak frame of the lone door resonating through the otherwise destroyed structure.
The man did not move.
He was about to knock again when the stalwart figure cleared his throat, scaring off the minuscule birds that had up to that point been happily chirping in his ear. Takayama looked from the grim figure sitting no more than twenty feet away back to the unnecessary obstacle caught in his path and frowned. This was a test, but to what end was hard to say. Eventually the young man's eyes settled on the only other option set out before him and he lifted his finger to try again.
The doorbell rang, much to his surprise, and with it the brown haired warrior opened his eyes. His solemn expression didn't falter for even an instant as he slowly stood and approached the other side of the door that impeded Takayama. Then he unlocked it.
Takayama recaptured his delivery and let himself in through the now open passage, the older man's attention set on the field just behind his visitor despite the fact that nothing of real consequence was present in any direction whatsoever. Taka would be the first to speak.
"I brought shingles... You said in your letter that the roof needed a little work..."
"It does."
The man's voice was deep, like the hum of a mountain, and with it the door was closed and latched back into place.
The road was deserted, broken in so many places that the average horse and cart couldn't expect to get further than twenty feet without losing a spoke or two. This meant of course that anything that needed to be shipped to any of the houses on this street needed to be done by foot, a fact that the blue haired courier was slowly coming to terms with.
He wobbled almost gracefully over an odd assortment of piled stones and lengthy crags, his feet drifting haphazardly from safe spot to safe spot as his gaze turned to the scene developing beside him.
It was a sprawling house, lined with determined statues of fu dogs and ancient plaques bearing symbols of authority too old to remember. There was a courtyard in the center somewhere containing an innocent koi pond and two priceless bonsai trees that had been in planted nearly a century ago.
Was...
The building was currently missing a roof and its northwesternmost walls. The bonsai trees had burned away following some unexpected impact during a struggle no one was alive to recount. In the distance Takayama could make out the rubble of a few familiar stone shrines that he had visited as a child, his cold gray optics sliding across their frames until they finally found the location his feet were driving him to.
It was a stone walkway, modestly repaired by hands inexperienced with craftsmanship, adorned only by a single signpost bearing a name no one alive could give credence to. His name actually, as well as his father's.
*Kakihara Clan House*
The wooden sign had been hammered into the post it sat on in a way only a shinobi would understand, slight hints of fingerprints and chakra damage warping the wood at multiple angles. In fact it would take a moment for Takayama to realize their were no nails used whatsoever in its construction. A fact that only confirmed the mild fear that had been building up in the pit of the blue haired shinobi's stomach.
There was only one member of the Kakihara clan who was too stubborn to bother buying a hammer...
The two weighty boxes in his possession clinked as he leaned carefully into his turn up the walkway, his vision already absorbing the figure he had been hoping to avoid. He was a brown haired man, at least on his face. Otherwise he was bald to a polished sheen with rigid and cruel hints to his facial structure. He was sitting with his eyes closed at a table he had clearly fashioned himself from old debris, surrounded by fallen walls and a couple small birds that had found their way onto his shoulders during his repose. He was covered in tightly wound muscle and fewer scars than one would expect for a shinobi.
Takayama thought for a moment about walking up to him, but instead hesitated for a moment before approaching the only thing in sight that was still standing. He set the boxes down casually once he reached it and knocked, the hard oak frame of the lone door resonating through the otherwise destroyed structure.
The man did not move.
He was about to knock again when the stalwart figure cleared his throat, scaring off the minuscule birds that had up to that point been happily chirping in his ear. Takayama looked from the grim figure sitting no more than twenty feet away back to the unnecessary obstacle caught in his path and frowned. This was a test, but to what end was hard to say. Eventually the young man's eyes settled on the only other option set out before him and he lifted his finger to try again.
The doorbell rang, much to his surprise, and with it the brown haired warrior opened his eyes. His solemn expression didn't falter for even an instant as he slowly stood and approached the other side of the door that impeded Takayama. Then he unlocked it.
Takayama recaptured his delivery and let himself in through the now open passage, the older man's attention set on the field just behind his visitor despite the fact that nothing of real consequence was present in any direction whatsoever. Taka would be the first to speak.
"I brought shingles... You said in your letter that the roof needed a little work..."
"It does."
The man's voice was deep, like the hum of a mountain, and with it the door was closed and latched back into place.