Dark optics slid across their frames, a pale foot grinding mindlessly across the stone as an unseen pair of hands wrung out a few patches of chill dampness from the torn sullied hakamas they were attached to. Takayama held his breath, the blue haired leaf refugee trying not to make a sound as slipped a peak over the wall he had pressed himself up against. There were towers, rising just high enough beneath the great stone ceiling that he could call them that. The towers bore watchmen with odd faces, all white. None particularly human at first glance. Takayama grit his teeth and waited for a chakra fueled spotlight to pass by before he slunk along the other side of the wall and slipped into one of the buildings.
He needed anything at this point.
The monks would be searching the school and training grounds. They probably already had boats out over the sea in Arcadia looking for his corpse. The distance he had fallen should have been more than enough to kill him had the kind foreign shinobi not acted so quickly to save him. They had to have seen something. They had to have been watching, hadn't they? Maybe, if he was lucky, they would declare him dead and let it be.
Until he knew for sure, he would have to act as though they were still on his heels which meant going the last place they would look. The torn portions of his hakamas scraped along the floor as his bare calves twitched reflexively, inching him down the shallow corridor he had wandered into. A short burst of footsteps and voices round the corner ahead of him, his instinct to freeze failing him as he darted up the wall and onto a ceiling panel where he would sit and listen more tense than he had ever been.
"... Yeah, it's no big deal really... If you need me to come by tomorrow we can work somethin' out with Mishiba. Hold on, I forgot my watch..."
If Takayama had become good at anything in the months he had spent in that room, it was listening. 43 steps forward. Door on the left. His partner wasn't moving, probably just waiting for him to get back from the behind the door Takayama had heard open and close. Somewhere deeper he heard a locker open followed by the shift of metal.
Bingo
The door reopened and the voice returned, though Takayama payed little attention to what they were saying. He focused instead on counting their steps and guessing at their size based on the time between footfalls. Of course, unlike the temple, size didn't really matter in this place. These men were shinobi. Hunters no less and there would be little if any competition the instant his cover was blown. Still, more than anything, he needed a means to defend himself. Something he could not risk exposing himself to procure, as the church would quickly quiet any attempt he made to explain himself. Where were they right now? The voices and foot steps passed, the boy giving himself a moment of silence for certainty before dropping down and making his way down the hall to the door he had guessed at a few moments prior. He would turn the handle and wait, any shift in sound on the other side a potential mark of someone he hadn't heard yet. Nothing came and with that Takayama entered.
It was a locker room, plainly enough so that he had little difficulty telling what was what and where it had likely come from. Opening the few without padlocks would reveal minor trinkets at best. Kunai, ninja wire, a few explosive notes. He didn't know how to use them, but he had snuck peaks at various demonstrations whose classrooms were lucky enough to have a window view. In the worst case scenario, he could always feign like he did now how to use them. With some small feeling of security provided to him by his findings so far he was finally allowed to entertain a more vital concern.
His thumb was still broken, his ribs still partially fractured. His ear had stopped bleeding, but had left him relying on his remaining good ear for his calculations.
He needed medical supplies.
He needed anything at this point.
The monks would be searching the school and training grounds. They probably already had boats out over the sea in Arcadia looking for his corpse. The distance he had fallen should have been more than enough to kill him had the kind foreign shinobi not acted so quickly to save him. They had to have seen something. They had to have been watching, hadn't they? Maybe, if he was lucky, they would declare him dead and let it be.
Until he knew for sure, he would have to act as though they were still on his heels which meant going the last place they would look. The torn portions of his hakamas scraped along the floor as his bare calves twitched reflexively, inching him down the shallow corridor he had wandered into. A short burst of footsteps and voices round the corner ahead of him, his instinct to freeze failing him as he darted up the wall and onto a ceiling panel where he would sit and listen more tense than he had ever been.
"... Yeah, it's no big deal really... If you need me to come by tomorrow we can work somethin' out with Mishiba. Hold on, I forgot my watch..."
If Takayama had become good at anything in the months he had spent in that room, it was listening. 43 steps forward. Door on the left. His partner wasn't moving, probably just waiting for him to get back from the behind the door Takayama had heard open and close. Somewhere deeper he heard a locker open followed by the shift of metal.
Bingo
The door reopened and the voice returned, though Takayama payed little attention to what they were saying. He focused instead on counting their steps and guessing at their size based on the time between footfalls. Of course, unlike the temple, size didn't really matter in this place. These men were shinobi. Hunters no less and there would be little if any competition the instant his cover was blown. Still, more than anything, he needed a means to defend himself. Something he could not risk exposing himself to procure, as the church would quickly quiet any attempt he made to explain himself. Where were they right now? The voices and foot steps passed, the boy giving himself a moment of silence for certainty before dropping down and making his way down the hall to the door he had guessed at a few moments prior. He would turn the handle and wait, any shift in sound on the other side a potential mark of someone he hadn't heard yet. Nothing came and with that Takayama entered.
It was a locker room, plainly enough so that he had little difficulty telling what was what and where it had likely come from. Opening the few without padlocks would reveal minor trinkets at best. Kunai, ninja wire, a few explosive notes. He didn't know how to use them, but he had snuck peaks at various demonstrations whose classrooms were lucky enough to have a window view. In the worst case scenario, he could always feign like he did now how to use them. With some small feeling of security provided to him by his findings so far he was finally allowed to entertain a more vital concern.
His thumb was still broken, his ribs still partially fractured. His ear had stopped bleeding, but had left him relying on his remaining good ear for his calculations.
He needed medical supplies.
