The Needle Drop [Open, Requesting one of the Chief Mednins]

[Omoi Tetsu]

Tetsu walked up the steps of the Aesculapium, kneeling down to trace the small cracks in the building's foundation, "So what's your story?" The boy asked in a raspy voice. They were down in the trenches now, about to go through hell, and the boy thought it would be quite unjust to go through the whole war without even knowing his comrade's name. He felt like he needed a big cigar to fit the tone of their passage through this grim battleground. He wanted to place the bomb right away and get it over with, but he knew that if the two soldiers began there, that that would be the last mission they could accomplish for the day. That would be fine, except the rat soldier was correct in assessing that the two of them needed to pursue one reconnaissance mission into enemy territory before the big event began. The vagabond Hashigaki would once more put his ninjutsu to the test, picking up a nearby rock, laying it on his shoulder to free up his hands, and stringing the handseals together he'd need to transform the item into a pair of scissors. He should've just brought the pair he had thrown down at the foot of the Torre Celeste, but, well, it was full of spit, after all. He needed a wig, and ushered the boy to hide very obviously in a nearby bush.

Most people, most, noticed Tetsu immediately, but they weren't the ones that mattered. "Watch this, and learn..." A pair of doctors had emerged from the building, and one of them was eyeing Tetsu with great suspicion, but the other was, as yet, unawares. The boy, with lightning precision, sailed through the air, in a perfect acrobatic backflip, blotting out the sun above the pairing as one of the girls grabbed her dear friend and pulled her in tightly to protect her. It was too late. *Snip* A locke of the girl's golden red hair fell to the earth as Tetsu finally realized his alter-ego. He now understood the forces that had put him in this place. He had come full circle, all the way to carrying the mantle of the man he had thought was his enemy, and had become... The demon barber of Kumo. "Your turn,"

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[Topic continued from here]

 

[Kuru Watashi]

As the young blind lad walked with the old baldy towards the hospital, Watashi began thinking about his life decisions. Was it the right decision to start hanging around with Naohiro? Was it a good idea to drink from questionable bottles? Was it the proper action to take by following the raving bald man on an adventure? Either way, the path that he had taken was one that had led him to bombing a public hospital for the country, so Watashi decided that it was fate's strings had pulled him in the best direction once again. Watashi kept moving, hoping that the other kid had brought the explosives - he had yet to follow up on that lead about bomb notes - and generally having a great time imagining the fallout from the whole situation.

"My story, eh?" Watashi said, having somehow managed to interest the other guy. "Well, you see. My dad was a blind lad too like me! I guess the guy was an assassin or something. My ma was a cobbler! That's why I've got the shoes of an adventurer!" Taking great care not to put his feet anyplace dirty, Watashi promptly stumbled over his own shoes and stopped to take stock of his surroundings.

Hearing the other lad toss out a "Watch this, and learn", Watashi started glancing around to see what he was supposed to be watching before remembering that he was blind. "Almost as bad as Naohiro," He muttered, looking through his pockets for something to throw at the other guy before hearing something fat sailing through the air and ending with a snip. Making weird grumbling noises, Watashi stopped digging around in his for a hurling weapon and started grabbing at the ground, feeling around for and doing his best to pry up a cobblestone from the ground. "What do you mean it's my turn, you asshole!? We're bombing a hospital, not playing chess! Are we already here!?"

 

[Omoi Tetsu]

"Shh, shh, shHHhh. What do you want to-"</I><I> The boy slurred out as he stumbled over and tried to sloppily place his hands over the boy's mouth, long after the words had already been uttered and finished by the fully blind boy. "You want to *hic* Let all th-them know to leave?.?" Wait, did Tetsu want to make sure that there were people inside when they blew the place up? He didn't actually know, it just felt like the right thing to do. It would otherwise be like toasting a piece of bread without buttering it right away; there was no rule saying that you couldn't, per se, but something would vaguely feel like it was missing from the equation if he hadn't. So, was that to say that it was enjoyment then? No, no, no, Tetsu was no sadist, obviously, but, you know, you don't want to do something half the way to completion. Besides, they were shinobi, right? Something wasn't quite sitting right with the drunken boy as he let these thoughts slosh around in his skull, and then, slowly but surely, the problematic way he was thinking would be revealed to the boy, if only in a similarly broken and slippery manner, but a single thought would shine through the darkness.

He had forgotten about his bald head, and about the hair that he had clumped together in his hand, now sticking to it, for some reason. He tried to scan his own memory for some kind of glue no jutsu, but he could not, for the life of him, recall anything relevant. There was just no way that there weren't rudimentary paste techniques; how else would Anbu keep their masks on? And if such techniques existed, he would have heard of them, and ultimately would have done his very best to master these skills, but for the life of him, nothing was coming to mind. Then, a new brilliant idea had occurred to him, and he realized that he could draw certain functional conclusions based on what little information he had on hand in order to arrive at a practical sort of conclusion. Whatever it was that was causing the hair to stick to his hands, well, logic would dictate that that same sticky substance would ensure that the blonde hair in his hands would adhere to the skin on his scalp. He started patting it on the empty space, only, though, to find the vast majority of it blown away in the wind, most of the remainder remaining blowing lightly in his hand, and perhaps about 2% of the total bulk, which was scant to begin with, actually hovering on his head, interlaced ever so delicately with the black hairs that were already rooted there.

He listened to the strands blown away forever. So much for a social life, so much for love, and for being accepted into polite society. He was a monster now, and would act the part. The boy hobbled backwards as he did his very best to collect his thoughts into a well-packaged assertion. "Wind..." He lifted one of his fingers up in the air in front of the blind boy's face, and would extend one more for each of the following items on his list, "Earth, Air, Water... Electricity. How d'y-you mAke an ekkksPLOsion again? That's- iss aLl I got." He hated to look incompetent in front of colleagues. Was he supposed to bring something explosive with him? Was that his job? And in which case, what good was his partner here? He tried to come up with some kind of explanation that would defer responsibility a little, but sadly, that lingering feeling of irresponsibility would remain.