The market was in full swing by midday and Kieko had her hands full in her shop stall juggling the sale of the oranges from her tree, the small silverberry candies she made, and the small wooden toys her father carved. It was no small wonder why children flocked to the tiny stall even though it was small and shabby next to the brightly painted shop front filled with toys further down the street.
The reason was not, however, purely what an outside observer would think. While the children did love Kieko and her candies and her father's wooden toys where favorites, a large part of the reason her stall was because she was a native to the small fishing village where everyone knew everyone and outsiders were coldly regarded with suspicion. It hadn't always been such. Once it had been a warm, welcoming place happy with any visitors or travelers passing through the isolated bay the village was perched on. That is until their lord was murdered and a company from one of the big cities began edging their way into the village, bringing their business with whom the small local shops couldn't compete with.
It had occurred much more subtly than that, of course, but the villagers were simple, not stupid. There lord had had no reason to commit suicide like it had been said, and they weren't blind to the interest in their abundance of fish that were a tantalizing lure for the fishing companies in hard times. It didn't help that the lord sent to replace the dead one, booting out the beloved lord's family, was a weak willed one with no interest in the people of the village, not care for the land, only an interest in his models he built in the castle on the hill, letting the invading company wreak havoc on the village below.
Thus, the animosity with which Kieko eyed a few passersby as they headed to the company shops, ignoring the local stalls, was well merited while the smiles, laughs, and waves given to others were doubly important as a sign of support and camaraderie. It was easy to tell who belonged and who didn't in the bustling market; all the native men were gone, up in the early morning hours and back at sunset with the days catch, leaving the town empty of men save for young children and a few old geezers who spent much of their day at the beach shore staring entranced by the water. Thus any men left in the village in the day were regarded coolly with hard stares and clipped voices from the fishing wives who harbored deep hatred from them, even on the occasion when they left their slick suits at home in favor of simple native dress. The women were also easy to spot, with their new fashions and fancy clothes, markedly different from the simple kimonos donned by the fishing wives. After a while, the face became familiar even in their strange foreignness and the matter of differencing became automatic.
As the sun began to set, the local shops began to close, leaving the few company stores sticking out painfully as the fishing wives began working their way down to the dock to await the returning men and aid with bring in the day's catch. Kieko had to shoo off little kids lingering around before she could close up her shop, which took a while today with the persistence of a little girl determined to wheedle her out of a little bird on a string that flapped its wings. Thus street was empty by the time she hoisted a pannier filled with her few small purchases for the day and some oranges for dinner and began head towards the beach.
In was in the quiet of the street that she noticed someone else was there with her, hidden in the shadows. It was behavior so out of place in the village, it made Kieko hand unconsciously inch towards her fish knife hanging at her side. It was hard to see him clearly in the growing shadows of sunset, but he was obviously an outsider. Dressed in local garb, he might have passed for a native in a larger village where every face wasn't known, but it was impossible here. That fact that he was trying to blend in at all sent off a million warning bells in Kieko mind, but before she could register a single one, he was gone.
It was as simple as being there one second and then not the next. She hadn't blinked, hadn't looked away, but then he just wasn't there. Swallowing, Kieko tried to breath regularly, then continued on her way. Finding her brother amongst the crowd pulling in the fish, she greeted him and began to help, carrying pannier of fish from the boats up to the wooden walkway. As she went, she discretely signaled a few women the secret sign. It would spread like wildfire through the women, and after the fish had been brought in, everyone had been fed, and the men put to bed with the children, they would gather in an old warehouse to hear what Kieko had to say.
Her father and brother sound asleep, preparing in their dreams for the next day, Kieko slipped out onto the dark streets to head to that meeting. She went quickly, yet kept her demeanor calm as she walked the empty streets, silent save for the sound of crickets and the occasional dog. As she came to the market square, she stopped dead. There he was again, standing out in the open, looking at her. Fear rose in her throat, and again she unconsciously felt for her ever-present knife.
She needn't have bothered for just as quickly as before he was gone, solidifying the thought that had been slowly forming in Kieko mind since earlier that afternoon. She hurried onto the warehouse. As the door to the warehouse slide open to admit the last of the women of the village and then shut again behind them, Kieko stood and walked to the head of the small congregation, all eyes trained on her. Nodding to the old women seat at the head in her acknowledgement as the present elder, she turned to her audience and jumped right in, no nonsense.
"There's a ninja in the village." In any lesser village, that statement might have illicit a shocked gasp, but here they'd accepted ninjas, merciless paid kills they were, as a cruel fact of life. After all, one had killed their lord. Here, it just intensified the sense that all were listening only to her. "He disappears in an instant, but I have seen him twice. Once in the market, and then on the way here." Concern rippled across the crowd. "He purposefully showed himself to me the second time. He likely knows that we know he's here. I can't fathom why he'd be here, unless its to kill the simpering idiot," referring to the lord they were stuck with who was probably soundly asleep with one of his carved figurines grasped in his pudgy palm, "but still…" Kieko trailed off as the elder laid a comforting, understanding hand on her shoulder. No one wanted to take chances if the company had decided it was time for an tragic accident to hit the village and make it impossible for them to survive without the aid of an outside company.
Standing, the elder addressed the women as a whole. "Be careful and be wary." She finished with a nod, and the group began to disperse. Kieko smiled at the old women, who smiled back and then linked arms with a much younger woman, her granddaughter-in-law, and started home.
Kieko was the last to leave, making sure all else had some to walk home with. She knew they'd travel in groups, and doors and windows would be secured for the night, and butcher knives would be kept within arms reach by pallets for the night. The men would awake in the morning and understand something was up, and be equally wary, though they wouldn't worry about their women. Fishwives were tough and sturdy and could handle themselves in anything short of the end of the world. They'd do best without the hindrance of man folk around, and if they did survive the day, they'd need the food the men would bring back.
So it was with considerably fewer worries that Kieko began home with her group, knowing the women had been warned and thus all were safer than before. As her group dispersed, she was able to give them cheerful whispered farewells, even though they were followed by careful warnings of caution. It was only small distance from the split in the path where she left her group to the door to her home, yet it was obviously far enough for trouble to slip in, for there he was again, plain as day.
She could see more of him this time, for he didn't disappear in an instant. She saw dark hair, and broad shoulders that bore casually carried power and confidence. She saw the sword hanging at his side. And it scared her. Not the sword alone but the look in his eyes that spoke for centuries of a calculated cool indifference and what it meant in conjunction with that sword.
Kieko felt her arm twitch towards the knife at her side, and then she knew that he was behind her, holding her arms tightly, one curled under her chest and the other flung out to the side, far from being able to reach the knife as he held her tightly, faint breath on her neck. Her heart was pounding at her ribcage, trying to break free and run for safety while her lungs had frozen as if by stop moving, she'd go invisible and he wouldn't be able to hurt her.
He gave a short, gruff chuckle. "So much for be wary," he breathed. It shocked her lungs into movement and Kieko took a huge gasping breath as fear washed over her brain. To her surprise, the fear wasn't cloudy, but made things seem sharper and all the more clear. Yet she was still having a hard time registering what had happened. "Tell me," he said, "Do you really think that killing that 'simpering idiot' would help at all?" He must have been there all along, listening to them and their concerns. Had he found it amusing, their small fears?
Quiet overtook them for a while, as the adrenaline that was paralyzing Kieko as she was trapped in his arms faded. He seemed patient, holding her hands still, cheek pressed against her head. Finally she found her voice again and Kieko replied. "What else can we hope for? Beside praying that he dies and a better lord replaces him, one that won't allow our village to be taken over by those who don't care at all, what do we have?" Anger bubbled in her chest. "When they play with dirty tricks and underhand moves, what can we do? When they call on shinobi to kill the only one who speaks for us in the middle of the night and frame it as a suicide? What do we have against that? We're simple people; we carry knives for fish, not for people. All we have is our hope and each other." The anger died and turned into sorrow as a tear slipped away from her, followed by another.
"He would only be replaced with another like him. There are strong voices against you in the ears of power." He murmured it.
"When we have no voice and no power, what can we do but hope someone will pity us and speak for us?" She felt as if she was pleading with the devil, begin for amnesty, for help, for the end. "But who would speak for a tiny village, isolated from everything, that only wants to be left alone to simply live." It was part lament, part, question, part begging, part offering.
It seemed to ignore it as he said, "Why are you here? You're smart, and quick, and you notice details. So why are you still here, selling oranges and toys when you could be someone great in a place like the capital?"
"Where else would I be?" It seemed so ridiculous to her. "This is my home, all I've ever known, and all I've ever wanted to know. Everything I love is here."
"And you've never wanted to leave." Part question, part statement, partly surprise, partly…something.
"No. My world is all here."
"And now it is being threatened."
"And now it's being destroyed," she corrected him. "And I would do anything to stop that," she added softly, reminding him.
Quiet took over again, crickets singing on oblivious to the dangerous dealing that was going on as she begged for the survival of her village to a complete stranger. She didn't know why he was here, or who he was, but she really didn't have any choice but beg him, for there was no one else around who would listen. She was still surprised that he was indeed listening, but she didn't have time to think about it for her mind had to focus on making sure he understood her desperation, her determination, her deep need. She'd let go of her cold animosity and thrown everything down and stood stripped to the core. Caution had been thrown to the wind, and she was offering everything she had and everything she was for one thing that she wasn't even sure this man could give her. She just hoped it was enough.
Slowly, he pulled her hand back in, still keeping a tight grip on it as the muscles in her arms twitched from the movement after such a long period of not moving at all. Pulling it in, he placed on top of the other hand, at the center of her chest, under her bust, till now his arms, laid over hers, were wrapped around her and he pressed into her back. His breath fell in beat with hers till there was only one breath in the night. As then she knew it, that he'd seen things dear and close to him destroyed, and destroyed things dear and near. And she felt the remorse, buried deep, deep under years and years, under bodies, under excuses, under sorrow and apologies.
At long last, he murmured in her ear, "It will cost you."
"Anything," she breathed back, holding onto his hands wrapped around hers.
"Alright then," and then she was free. She spun around and caught him there still, smiling a thin, tight-lipped smile that still seemed sincere. She saw that face which insulted the word handsome as it defied describing. And she caught the look in his eyes, a gentle, promising look. His eyes as they changes from a swirling red to dark, smooth and calm ebony.
Those eyes haunted her over the following weeks, as the new lord was kicked out and the old lord's family returned with the news that his eldest daughter would be taking over as the lady of the tiny fief the village resided in. The daughter, who like her father, genuinely cared for the village; the lady who would walk through the market square and talk with her people and play with the children. Those eyes haunted her as she watched the shops of the company shut down and the foreign, unfamiliar faces dwindle. Slowly, one by one, all traces of the company faded as the people moved away, the shops were bought by again by the village people and repainted. Finally, all one could ever find were familiar faces as the lady announced that their land was securely theirs and would always be so. Those eyes that greeted her as she shut up her stall one night nearly two months after that night.
The sight of them made her breath catch in her chest. As they stood regarding each other across the empty market square, she slowly brought her hands up to her chest, pressing them there just under her bust, where they'd been held two months before, and she smiled at him. And then he was behind her, arms wrapped around her, cheek pressed against her head. "Thank you," she murmured, mildly surprised at herself. At how comfortable she was.
He let out the same sort of clipped, gruff chuckle. "You never even asked my name," he pointed out. She leaned into him.
"I didn't need it at the time," she said, almost ashamed. "But," she started cheekily, "I'd like to know it now."
She felt him smirk into her skin as he smelled her hair; citrus and soap. "Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke."
"Kieko," she told him.
"Hmm," he hummed. "Kieko, you owe me something. Do you know what it is?"
She smile. "No, Sasuke-san, I don't think I do." And he smiled and whispered in her ear,
"Everything. You owe me everything."
And as he turned her around and he kissed her slowly, taking possession over everything he owned in her, Kieko knew that the village would have to get used to this outsider; her outsider.
The reason was not, however, purely what an outside observer would think. While the children did love Kieko and her candies and her father's wooden toys where favorites, a large part of the reason her stall was because she was a native to the small fishing village where everyone knew everyone and outsiders were coldly regarded with suspicion. It hadn't always been such. Once it had been a warm, welcoming place happy with any visitors or travelers passing through the isolated bay the village was perched on. That is until their lord was murdered and a company from one of the big cities began edging their way into the village, bringing their business with whom the small local shops couldn't compete with.
It had occurred much more subtly than that, of course, but the villagers were simple, not stupid. There lord had had no reason to commit suicide like it had been said, and they weren't blind to the interest in their abundance of fish that were a tantalizing lure for the fishing companies in hard times. It didn't help that the lord sent to replace the dead one, booting out the beloved lord's family, was a weak willed one with no interest in the people of the village, not care for the land, only an interest in his models he built in the castle on the hill, letting the invading company wreak havoc on the village below.
Thus, the animosity with which Kieko eyed a few passersby as they headed to the company shops, ignoring the local stalls, was well merited while the smiles, laughs, and waves given to others were doubly important as a sign of support and camaraderie. It was easy to tell who belonged and who didn't in the bustling market; all the native men were gone, up in the early morning hours and back at sunset with the days catch, leaving the town empty of men save for young children and a few old geezers who spent much of their day at the beach shore staring entranced by the water. Thus any men left in the village in the day were regarded coolly with hard stares and clipped voices from the fishing wives who harbored deep hatred from them, even on the occasion when they left their slick suits at home in favor of simple native dress. The women were also easy to spot, with their new fashions and fancy clothes, markedly different from the simple kimonos donned by the fishing wives. After a while, the face became familiar even in their strange foreignness and the matter of differencing became automatic.
As the sun began to set, the local shops began to close, leaving the few company stores sticking out painfully as the fishing wives began working their way down to the dock to await the returning men and aid with bring in the day's catch. Kieko had to shoo off little kids lingering around before she could close up her shop, which took a while today with the persistence of a little girl determined to wheedle her out of a little bird on a string that flapped its wings. Thus street was empty by the time she hoisted a pannier filled with her few small purchases for the day and some oranges for dinner and began head towards the beach.
In was in the quiet of the street that she noticed someone else was there with her, hidden in the shadows. It was behavior so out of place in the village, it made Kieko hand unconsciously inch towards her fish knife hanging at her side. It was hard to see him clearly in the growing shadows of sunset, but he was obviously an outsider. Dressed in local garb, he might have passed for a native in a larger village where every face wasn't known, but it was impossible here. That fact that he was trying to blend in at all sent off a million warning bells in Kieko mind, but before she could register a single one, he was gone.
It was as simple as being there one second and then not the next. She hadn't blinked, hadn't looked away, but then he just wasn't there. Swallowing, Kieko tried to breath regularly, then continued on her way. Finding her brother amongst the crowd pulling in the fish, she greeted him and began to help, carrying pannier of fish from the boats up to the wooden walkway. As she went, she discretely signaled a few women the secret sign. It would spread like wildfire through the women, and after the fish had been brought in, everyone had been fed, and the men put to bed with the children, they would gather in an old warehouse to hear what Kieko had to say.
Her father and brother sound asleep, preparing in their dreams for the next day, Kieko slipped out onto the dark streets to head to that meeting. She went quickly, yet kept her demeanor calm as she walked the empty streets, silent save for the sound of crickets and the occasional dog. As she came to the market square, she stopped dead. There he was again, standing out in the open, looking at her. Fear rose in her throat, and again she unconsciously felt for her ever-present knife.
She needn't have bothered for just as quickly as before he was gone, solidifying the thought that had been slowly forming in Kieko mind since earlier that afternoon. She hurried onto the warehouse. As the door to the warehouse slide open to admit the last of the women of the village and then shut again behind them, Kieko stood and walked to the head of the small congregation, all eyes trained on her. Nodding to the old women seat at the head in her acknowledgement as the present elder, she turned to her audience and jumped right in, no nonsense.
"There's a ninja in the village." In any lesser village, that statement might have illicit a shocked gasp, but here they'd accepted ninjas, merciless paid kills they were, as a cruel fact of life. After all, one had killed their lord. Here, it just intensified the sense that all were listening only to her. "He disappears in an instant, but I have seen him twice. Once in the market, and then on the way here." Concern rippled across the crowd. "He purposefully showed himself to me the second time. He likely knows that we know he's here. I can't fathom why he'd be here, unless its to kill the simpering idiot," referring to the lord they were stuck with who was probably soundly asleep with one of his carved figurines grasped in his pudgy palm, "but still…" Kieko trailed off as the elder laid a comforting, understanding hand on her shoulder. No one wanted to take chances if the company had decided it was time for an tragic accident to hit the village and make it impossible for them to survive without the aid of an outside company.
Standing, the elder addressed the women as a whole. "Be careful and be wary." She finished with a nod, and the group began to disperse. Kieko smiled at the old women, who smiled back and then linked arms with a much younger woman, her granddaughter-in-law, and started home.
Kieko was the last to leave, making sure all else had some to walk home with. She knew they'd travel in groups, and doors and windows would be secured for the night, and butcher knives would be kept within arms reach by pallets for the night. The men would awake in the morning and understand something was up, and be equally wary, though they wouldn't worry about their women. Fishwives were tough and sturdy and could handle themselves in anything short of the end of the world. They'd do best without the hindrance of man folk around, and if they did survive the day, they'd need the food the men would bring back.
So it was with considerably fewer worries that Kieko began home with her group, knowing the women had been warned and thus all were safer than before. As her group dispersed, she was able to give them cheerful whispered farewells, even though they were followed by careful warnings of caution. It was only small distance from the split in the path where she left her group to the door to her home, yet it was obviously far enough for trouble to slip in, for there he was again, plain as day.
She could see more of him this time, for he didn't disappear in an instant. She saw dark hair, and broad shoulders that bore casually carried power and confidence. She saw the sword hanging at his side. And it scared her. Not the sword alone but the look in his eyes that spoke for centuries of a calculated cool indifference and what it meant in conjunction with that sword.
Kieko felt her arm twitch towards the knife at her side, and then she knew that he was behind her, holding her arms tightly, one curled under her chest and the other flung out to the side, far from being able to reach the knife as he held her tightly, faint breath on her neck. Her heart was pounding at her ribcage, trying to break free and run for safety while her lungs had frozen as if by stop moving, she'd go invisible and he wouldn't be able to hurt her.
He gave a short, gruff chuckle. "So much for be wary," he breathed. It shocked her lungs into movement and Kieko took a huge gasping breath as fear washed over her brain. To her surprise, the fear wasn't cloudy, but made things seem sharper and all the more clear. Yet she was still having a hard time registering what had happened. "Tell me," he said, "Do you really think that killing that 'simpering idiot' would help at all?" He must have been there all along, listening to them and their concerns. Had he found it amusing, their small fears?
Quiet overtook them for a while, as the adrenaline that was paralyzing Kieko as she was trapped in his arms faded. He seemed patient, holding her hands still, cheek pressed against her head. Finally she found her voice again and Kieko replied. "What else can we hope for? Beside praying that he dies and a better lord replaces him, one that won't allow our village to be taken over by those who don't care at all, what do we have?" Anger bubbled in her chest. "When they play with dirty tricks and underhand moves, what can we do? When they call on shinobi to kill the only one who speaks for us in the middle of the night and frame it as a suicide? What do we have against that? We're simple people; we carry knives for fish, not for people. All we have is our hope and each other." The anger died and turned into sorrow as a tear slipped away from her, followed by another.
"He would only be replaced with another like him. There are strong voices against you in the ears of power." He murmured it.
"When we have no voice and no power, what can we do but hope someone will pity us and speak for us?" She felt as if she was pleading with the devil, begin for amnesty, for help, for the end. "But who would speak for a tiny village, isolated from everything, that only wants to be left alone to simply live." It was part lament, part, question, part begging, part offering.
It seemed to ignore it as he said, "Why are you here? You're smart, and quick, and you notice details. So why are you still here, selling oranges and toys when you could be someone great in a place like the capital?"
"Where else would I be?" It seemed so ridiculous to her. "This is my home, all I've ever known, and all I've ever wanted to know. Everything I love is here."
"And you've never wanted to leave." Part question, part statement, partly surprise, partly…something.
"No. My world is all here."
"And now it is being threatened."
"And now it's being destroyed," she corrected him. "And I would do anything to stop that," she added softly, reminding him.
Quiet took over again, crickets singing on oblivious to the dangerous dealing that was going on as she begged for the survival of her village to a complete stranger. She didn't know why he was here, or who he was, but she really didn't have any choice but beg him, for there was no one else around who would listen. She was still surprised that he was indeed listening, but she didn't have time to think about it for her mind had to focus on making sure he understood her desperation, her determination, her deep need. She'd let go of her cold animosity and thrown everything down and stood stripped to the core. Caution had been thrown to the wind, and she was offering everything she had and everything she was for one thing that she wasn't even sure this man could give her. She just hoped it was enough.
Slowly, he pulled her hand back in, still keeping a tight grip on it as the muscles in her arms twitched from the movement after such a long period of not moving at all. Pulling it in, he placed on top of the other hand, at the center of her chest, under her bust, till now his arms, laid over hers, were wrapped around her and he pressed into her back. His breath fell in beat with hers till there was only one breath in the night. As then she knew it, that he'd seen things dear and close to him destroyed, and destroyed things dear and near. And she felt the remorse, buried deep, deep under years and years, under bodies, under excuses, under sorrow and apologies.
At long last, he murmured in her ear, "It will cost you."
"Anything," she breathed back, holding onto his hands wrapped around hers.
"Alright then," and then she was free. She spun around and caught him there still, smiling a thin, tight-lipped smile that still seemed sincere. She saw that face which insulted the word handsome as it defied describing. And she caught the look in his eyes, a gentle, promising look. His eyes as they changes from a swirling red to dark, smooth and calm ebony.
Those eyes haunted her over the following weeks, as the new lord was kicked out and the old lord's family returned with the news that his eldest daughter would be taking over as the lady of the tiny fief the village resided in. The daughter, who like her father, genuinely cared for the village; the lady who would walk through the market square and talk with her people and play with the children. Those eyes haunted her as she watched the shops of the company shut down and the foreign, unfamiliar faces dwindle. Slowly, one by one, all traces of the company faded as the people moved away, the shops were bought by again by the village people and repainted. Finally, all one could ever find were familiar faces as the lady announced that their land was securely theirs and would always be so. Those eyes that greeted her as she shut up her stall one night nearly two months after that night.
The sight of them made her breath catch in her chest. As they stood regarding each other across the empty market square, she slowly brought her hands up to her chest, pressing them there just under her bust, where they'd been held two months before, and she smiled at him. And then he was behind her, arms wrapped around her, cheek pressed against her head. "Thank you," she murmured, mildly surprised at herself. At how comfortable she was.
He let out the same sort of clipped, gruff chuckle. "You never even asked my name," he pointed out. She leaned into him.
"I didn't need it at the time," she said, almost ashamed. "But," she started cheekily, "I'd like to know it now."
She felt him smirk into her skin as he smelled her hair; citrus and soap. "Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke."
"Kieko," she told him.
"Hmm," he hummed. "Kieko, you owe me something. Do you know what it is?"
She smile. "No, Sasuke-san, I don't think I do." And he smiled and whispered in her ear,
"Everything. You owe me everything."
And as he turned her around and he kissed her slowly, taking possession over everything he owned in her, Kieko knew that the village would have to get used to this outsider; her outsider.
NOTE: This was written by me a long time ago when I..yes I had a fan girl crush on Naruto Characters. These are called on-shots. They are basically short stories about Naruto Characters. (Sometimes out of characters personality). Let me know what you think?? Once again sorry about the format, come up differently than on my computer. I welcome feedback both positive and negative, If you like It I have one for almost all the Naruto Characters, ^.^
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