Ginjiro's Character Compendium

Kazu

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Oct 22, 2012
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Character Information: Oda Yatamaru [PC]

➤ Rank: ANBU (CounterIntelligence Division)
➤ Age: 24
➤ Gender: Male
➤ Eye Color: Light Green
➤ Hair Color: Snow White
➤ Height: 6'3"
➤ Alignment: Chaotic Good

➤ Physical Description: Shabby, unkempt, and haphazard. Yatamaru's outfit depends on what he's doing, the only consistently used one being his ANBU gear. He has pale white hair, similarly pale skin, and lush green eyes — all of this is accompanied by a tall, lanky build. Usually can be found with a cigarette in his mouth, and a bottle of alcohol in his hand. At first glance, one might not even realize he was a shinobi.

➤ Mental Description: To the world, he's nothing but a cynical, sarcastic, cheating lowlife that will do whatever it takes to get his next drink. Get to know him a little, and it quickly becomes obvious there's more to him than that. Incredibly kind and compassionate, Yatamaru will go out of his way to do the right thing for people that deserve it. Deeply loyal to his village, he has dedicated his life to serving his people; however, it is not clear whether he has done so out of altruism or shame. He seems to carry with him a dark past, and will often redirect conversations around these subjects.

➤ Character Synopsis: Ever since he was born, Yatamaru showed promise as a puppeteer. Naturally skilled, his future as a shinobi was obvious. He graduated the Academy by age 8, and at age 10 he lied, saying he was older, in order to compete in the Chuunin Exams. He was ambitious, and with the skill to back it up — during his examination, he defeated a Jounin in a test designed to push him to his absolute limit. He quickly became known as a prodigy.

Around this time he was secretly approached by the ANBU Sennin. Mikaboshi wanted a test subject for a future project, and Yatamaru seemed a tempting prospect. Mikaboshi asked what the boy planned to do with his life? Yatamaru confided that he had always wanted to be an ANBU, ever since he'd been saved by one as a young boy. Soon after, Yatamaru was inducted as a trainee. For a few years, Yatamaru trained in the ANBU, learning to how to be an effective operative. He served dutifully, making many enemies and succeeding in many missions. It was then that he had been the happiest. Felt the most free.

The time was finally right for Mikaboshi's project. He called on his subject for a 'favor'.

Yatamaru was turned into a Human Puppet, and became a part of a special task force under Mikaboshi's command. He, and many other ANBU, were made to do the dirtiest of work in the name of their country. They were assassins, hunters, and the most loyal underlings. It wasn't until Mikaboshi left the ANBU, and enough time had passed to come to grips with the things they'd done, that Yatamaru realized how wrong he'd been. Thrown into despair, Yatamaru now struggles to cope with the reality of what his life has become: a shell of its former self.

➤ Extended History + Kinjutsu App:
The first thing Yatamaru did was take a long pull from his flask, light up a smoke, and take a deep drag; every morning, without fail, started like this.

He wasn't happy. He counted how many bills he had left in his wallet — only that much left?! He made up his mind, that was the last time he was going gambling again. Previous promises to quit hadn't quite worked out, but this time he really meant it. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Another long pull from his flask. Thank god he wasn't giving up smoking, or drinking for that matter.

One shower, three cigarettes, and two pulls from his flask later, Yatamaru was out walking the streets. His first stop was a liquor store; the bars and clubs wouldn't be open for another few hours, and he needed to top off his flask. After all, how else was he going to make it through the day? The door opened with a creak and a jingle, announcing the arrival of a new customer. The shopkeeper was short, unclean, balding, and mean. Silently reading today's paper, he didn't even look up.

”About time you showed up. Thought you were gonna no-show me again! I had to shoo off some weirdo trying to buy the last bottle of Firewater, you ungrateful little shit!” Yatamaru's grin couldn't have been more genuine.

”Don't drive away your customers on my account, Ikuo. If you go out of business, where will I get my fix?” A soft chuckle, and the rustling of newspaper as Ikuo the shopkeeper turned the page. Yatamaru thumbed through a few magazines, eventually landing on a porno featuring curves in all the right places. He’d take that, two packs of smokes — oh, and also a pack of gum.

”You brat! Always thinking about yourself, huh? Well, don't go expecting any favors around these parts, you here?” Ikuo rang Yatamaru up, though the total was less than usual. Yatamaru's eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly so, but the old man had seen that look a hundred times. ”Consider it a finder's fee, for sending all those new customers over here.” Ikuo seemed determined about this.

Yatamaru’s eyes narrowed in playful annoyance before he pulled out a single bill.

The old man looked at it blankly for a moment before commenting, ”You must've had one too many pulls already. The price went down, not up.”

“You calling me a lightweight? How insulting!”</B><i></i> Yatamaru dropped the bill onto the counter. "You're a good friend, but a terrible businessman. Don't drive out other customers just for me, you old fool.” With that, he took off before Ikuo could argue. Sighing in defeat, the shopkeeper put away the bill with a smile.
.:: later that afternoon ::.​
He was piss-fuckin'-drunk.

Not like, 'I've had just a few too many drinks', but more along the lines of, "You lil' shit! Come an' figh' meh like a man!” He was, of course, yelling at a squirrel that had strayed too close to the tree he was leaned against. The creature ignored him. "Ya got somefin ta say?! You 'n' er'rbo'ee else…” He was exhausted — perhaps he'd catch his breath, just for a moment? His hand clutched onto the bottle; only a few mouthfuls left.

The sun was setting. A cold breeze rushed though him, though he didn't feel it. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything. Numb and hollow, that was him. Only a few drops left now. His mind wandered back to that day — had it already been almost 15 years? — and imagined what he'd say to his former self, if given the chance. Something along the lines of, 'That's a stupid dream, kid. Best to do something else with your life.' Yeah, that sounded about right. "Save yu'rself, kid. Take it fro' me…” No one heard him.

Drip, drop. It sure was a beautiful sunset; not a cloud in the sky. Drip, drop. Drip, drop. When did he run out of Firewater?

Yatamaru felt their presence before they made themselves known. He couldn't help it. There were three of them, and he was one of them. "Shit! On mah' fookin' day off too…” He tried to wipe away the evidence in time. If only they were a little slower. If only he had a drink right now...

“Mother Suna, you look like shit."

"When tha' — *hic* — 'ell don't I?” Yatamaru was avoiding his gaze. He didn't want this to be a bigger deal than it was. He also couldn't help but notice the other two fidgeting like leaves in the wind. Were they nervous? New recruits or something?

"Give us a minute, would you?" Two quick bows, and they disappeared. Yatamaru heard him taking off his mask, then felt the tree slouch from his weight. "It's the anniversary, isn't it?" Silence. The man grunted in affirmation. "I know you're still upset about back then. I get it, more than anyone else." It was true. The two had gone through ANBU training together. They were practically brothers. "But this," he snatched the empty bottle for emphasis, "this just isn't right."<i></i>

<B>"Who sai' any'fing 'bout 'dat? 'Dis is all 'dat damn Mikaboshi's fault! I'm fine, fer fuk's sake." He wasn't. "Besi'es, i's my body, an' I'm doin' wha'e'er' I damn well please wit' it! I've had enuf'uh' peepl' messin' wit' wha's mine. I'll do wha' I wan'na, even if it kills meh." The other man was silent for a long while. He knew this was as far as he was going to get; Yatamaru had to get there on his own. Click. Fwoosh. Yatamaru's lips spread into a thin smile as he accepted the sweet gift of nicotine. The familiar taste was comforting, especially since he'd ran out an hour ago. He blew out a thick cloud of smoke, relishing it.

"We both know this won't kill you. That's not what I'm worried about. I'd just hate to see you waste the life you've been given back." Yatamaru had no words for that. Instead he took another deep pull, wondering whether he ought to say anything. No, not now. Not yet.

"Yur a gud frien', Tenzo. I dunno why you keep puttin' up wif me." A melancholy chuckle was all he got.

"Sometimes I wonder that myself. Now come on and pull yourself together, we’ve got a mission.” He knew it. Somebody was going to owe him, big time. "The target's an S-Rank Missing: 'Matako of the Poison Shroud.' One of our own. Dossier says they want him alive — guess that explains why they put you on the squad." It certainly did. What a shame, he was just starting to enjoy his buzz.

"Guess it can't be helped. If it's an order from higher up, I don't have much of a choice." Sobering up was easy for a shinobi, especially Yatamaru. All he needed was to circulate some chakra, and the rest would handle itself; like a well oiled machine.

"You've always got a choice." Yatamaru said nothing. The two stood up, their masks already summoned. Tenzo radioed the other two. The next moment they were gone, silent as a summer's breeze.
.:: later that evening ::.​
It's hard to put the feeling behind that mask into words. Primordial savagery, mixed with an inescapable sense of boredom and routine. No one but another ANBU could possibly understand.

When you first join, you think you're untouchable. Then you mess up, or your teammate messes up, reality sets in, and you realize they were never cut out for the job. No one is. Some quit; the rest learn to cope. The real dream killer, though, is the routine. Every day, deployed to this area or that. Follow orders. Don't ask questions. Efficiently eliminate the target. Serve your country. Protect. Subdue. Fight. Kill. Survive. Do it again the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Focus.

He'd let his mind wander again, hadn't he? The veterans always had this problem: too much field work makes you sloppy. Danger becomes a routine, mistakes get made, and comrades die. Be in the present. Be focused.

Phase one was in motion. Fuu — Yatamaru’s codename while on missions — was disguised behind the sleek visage of an owl. He was closing in on Matako's camp. The dossier had outlined the target's coordinates quite clearly, making this little more than a dispatch mission. Fuu was alone. The moon was bright, clearly illuminating the rocky outcroppings jutting up from the desert. There was only one way into the clearing Matako had holed up in, and Fuu planned to take it. He was walking right into a trap, and he knew it.

Fuu walked calmly through the limestone passageway, the echo of his footsteps announcing his arrival. He approached the entranceway, hands held high above his head. He could see a fire roaring, and the silhouette of a man. It was hunched over, ready to fight. It was almost bestial. Fuu could feel the tension in the air. He acted first.

"I surrender." Neither one of them moved. "I've come to join you — rather, I've come to ask you to join me." Silence.

"What the hell are you talking about? Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.“

"You're Matako, right? Of the Poison Shroud? Your reputation precedes you." The silhouette had yet to attack. "I brought you something you'll like — consider it a gift. I'm going to slowly reach into my pocket to get it, so please don't get jumpy." True to his word, Fuu procured a plain looking scroll. The silhouette wordlessly plucked the scroll from Fuu's hand, taking a moment to read. Fuu waited, patiently, for him to finish.

“This is classified intel. Every single Sunan ANBU is listed here…”

“Indeed.”

”How do I know this is real? You could've easily put fake information in here."

”That's true. However, once you hear my story, I'm confident you'll believe me."

"A story? I'm not listening to some damn story!"

"The alternative is that I could radio in a nearby ANBU squadron. I made sure there was a patrol unit positioned only a couple clicks from here, just for our meeting tonight. Might be difficult to defeat and kill all of us, I would imagine." The threat hung in the air, absurdly out of place. For a man trying to win favors, he chose an odd tactic. "However, I'd prefer if it didn't come to that. I think everything would work out much more beneficially — for the both of us — if you give me a chance to explain myself." Still was the silhouette, contemplating its next actions.

"You're an interesting one." The silhouette stepped back, morphing and revealing itself for the man it was. He was in his mid-thirties, but he didn't look it. His face was far too worn and weary. He sat down by the fire, drinking in its life and warmth. "Very well, I'll hear you out." The man motioned for Fuu to join him by the fire, which he graciously accepted. He sat opposite Matako, cross legged, and made himself comfortable — he had a long yarn to spin, after all.

"You left the village shortly after Mikaboshi came to power. Not a fan of his methods, I see." Matako's hands clasped tightly together, and his shoulders tensed. This did not go unnoticed. "I did some digging. Seems you were quite vocal about your disapproval in the leadership. Some say there were even whispers of a coup?"

"You said you were telling a story." The man's tension was rising.

"I was just getting to that." Cheeky. Long-winded. And yet, charming and enthralling. "One might say my story begins, and ends, with Mikaboshi. We're kindred spirits, you and I, though you may not realize it yet. We've walked different paths, yet we've managed to reach the same conclusion." Fuu leaned forward, ever so slightly. "Mikaboshi must die, and I want your help to do it." His voice, up until now, had been relatively aloof and lighthearted. Suddenly, his tone became tired, pained, and cold. The shift was radical, and Matako's body language showed that he felt it. A burning log cracked and split, sending a massive amount of sparks flying into the air. Nature itself was corroborating Fuu's sentiments. Matako said nothing.

"Fourteen years ago, a young prodigy stunned everyone when, in the final round of his Chuunin Exams, he defeated an Elite Jounin meant to push him to his absolute limits; later, it was revealed he'd forged documents to appear older than he was."

Matako folded his arms. He wasn't devoid of sense — he knew where this was all going.

“One day, he was approached by a shadow man who made tempting offers. He offered gold, boundless honor, and even Ninjutsu so powerful he could slay all who opposed him. However, the boy refused them all. 'I don't need those things!' cried the boy. And so, the shadow man asked him what it was he wanted the most, more than anything else in the world." Fuu paused, and the silence seemed to be making Matako anxious.

"Well? What did the boy say?" Matako held a steady voice, but looked concerned. He empathized. Not much longer now.

“The boy proudly declared that all he wanted was to help people, so he asked the man to make him into a hero. The shadow man laughed, pulled his shadowy strings, and fashioned the boy into an ANBU — the sort of hero he'd always wanted to be! And then, the shadow man held out his hand." Fuu held his arm out, symbolically acting out his words in order to really make the man understand: this had been a true deal with the devil. The wind howled. The desert felt uneasy. Dread filled with the cracks between the splintered firelight, and a deep sense of sadness washed over the two.

"And what did he steal from you as payment?" Fuu winced, and swiftly brought his hand back to his side. He sighed, tensely bracing himself as if he were a patient before getting a tooth pulled.

"What else? He took my dreams, my hopes, my aspirations. My autonomy. I became another tool in his arsenal, to be used how and when he saw fit. He fed me lies, used my wish against me, and turned me into something convenient. I became his puppet, and I was too blind to see it until it was too late."

Matako's knuckles had grown white. His hands were clenched together in a writhing mass of bad memories and anger. His brow looked uncomfortably twisted. The fire reflecting in his eyes matched the one burning in his heart.

“If I’d been successful back then, I might have been able to spare you from all this pain. For that, I’m truly sorry.” Fuu held up a hand, stopping him.

“You can’t blame yourself like that. I made my choices, and you made yours. But now, we have the chance to make a new choice, together. You’ve heard my story, so what do you think?“ Matako sighed. Somehow, he looked even more tired than before. The fire in his eyes was gone.

"I think you're a dangerous man. I think power and pain don't mix well, and you're full of both." Matako stood up. "I think you should leave. Take your scroll back, and leave me out of this. I've had enough of revenge." He held the scroll out towards Fuu, a regrettable re-gifting. Fuu remained sitting, though the compassion that once filled his voice had taken this opportunity to depart.

"I'm surprised. I'd heard you two were inseparable." Matako faltered. His arm fell to his sides, the scroll in danger of being crushed at any moment between his tightening fist. "Does a lifetime of love really add up to so little? No wonder you didn't do anything when he tossed her aside like trash.” Ah, that lustrous fire was back. How terrifyingly beautiful.

”Don't you dare bring her into this like you knew her! She's not some card for you to play when I don't feel like cooperating!" He was still in love with her, huh? Fuu could use that to buy them a few more minutes.

"Who's playing? This isn't some game, Matako. I can assure you, this is all very real. And I really do need your help." Matako was livid, and enthralled. He could focus on nothing else. Fuu had him right where he wanted him. "Mikaboshi needs to be held accountable for the lives he's ruined. You almost beat him once, imagine what the two of us could do together?! For Fumiko's sake, let's bring him down." Matako froze. "You and me. Together, we can avenge the memory of-" Matako cut him off.

"You knew her name..." Fuu was still. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

"She was a Kage Guard. They burn their records when they're done — it keeps the identities of the operatives secured. The only way you would have known that...” Neither one of them moved; paralyzed, both men wondered if the other realized it yet. Fuu was the first to recover, his hand shooting up to the side of his mask.

"Ka, engage now. We've been discovered." Matako acted next. Before Fuu could move, a stream of poisonous gas began to leak out of the man's mouth. In moments, the entire clearing had become heavy with a deadly smog. So, this was the infamous Poison Shroud?

"You'll die here, ANBU. It's what you deserve for this treachery."

'Matako's body naturally produces it's own form of toxic venom, which he utilizes to great effect as a close to mid-range cloud of deadly gas. It’s unique, insofar as there is no known antidote or treatment. It's fast acting, painful, and rapidly deteriorates the victim’s ability to move. Even an Elite Jounin would succumb within a minute if not rushed out of the site where the shroud had been donned — it was a true death sentence.'

Or at least, that's what the dossier had to say on the matter.

Fuu was nonplussed. The ANBU didn't move, and merely cocked his head upwards at the man. He sighed, then slowly picked himself up.

"You know what your problem is, Matako?" Matako looked confused. His poison was ineffective? ‘He must have an air filter in that mask,’ Matako thought to himself. "You think you've got it all figured out. You think you're the biggest fish in the pond, don't you?" If Matako could just rip off that mask, this fight would be over. His eyes darted around for a solution. Focus. "I want your honest opinion on something. If a fish spends its whole life in water, would it even recognize how deadly an eagle is? Does it even know there's a world outside of its pond?" His heart was racing. Bewildered, he spat out his last words.

“What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Oh? It seems you can't see it. Very well, I will do you a favor. Let me show you just how small your pond really is.“ Fuu removed his mask, revealing his fair skinned features. His eyes were ablaze, his soul on fire. His lips were curled into a subtle smile. He took a deep breath, drinking in the poisoned air. Matako was speechless. He felt numb, and dizzy. His poisonous cloud was dissipating. "So? Do you understand yet?" Matako was stammering, trying to understand how the hell this kid had managed to over come his toxins. No one could do that. No one. No...

Matako collapsed. His limp body crashed into the cold sand, revealing an unseen factor. A small swarm of mosquitoes had collected around what looked like his jugular artery, and had promptly sucked him dry — the resulting blood loss had caused him to faint. The writhing collection of insects was a truly monstrous sight to behold, even after seeing it as many times as Fuu had. He sighed, then radioed in to his squad.

"All clear. The target has been neutralized, and the poison has completely dissipated.“ If you'd blinked just then, you probably missed their entrance. They were ghosts, elite ANBU members, all of them. This squad, in particular, was focused on counter-intelligence. Espionage, subterfuge, informational warfare — they dealt with it all. Ka was the first to speak.

"What the hell happened back there? I told you not to get distracted." Ka wasn't happy, referring to Fuu's slip up. Fuu had said too much, and had tipped Matako off to their ambush. If this had been a different mission, Fuu's lack of focus could have gotten them all killed.

"It's fine, we got the target." ANBU don’t normally talk back to their squad leader.

"On top of that, you showed him your face?! What the hell were you thinking?!" Fuu wasn't listening. He'd already put his mask back on, and was beginning to tie up Matako. "Look, I know you've got your ace in the hole, but think about the rest of us. You could've killed us with that."

"But I didn't, so it's fine. He's going to rot in jail forever, so who cares if he saw my face? I can change it if he gets out, so what does it matter?“ Fuu wasn't focused. He hadn't been for a long time. "Someone get that gas mask on him already, and restrain him! If he wakes up and kills you all, it won't be my fault." The two rookies complied, not wanting to get in the middle of a fight between two senior operatives. Ka sighed, turning his attention to the small swarm of mosquitoes that were still hovering around the unconscious body. He held out his arms, and the swarm flew straight into his sleeves — an Aburame, no doubt about it.

“I hope you realize I have to include this in my report, even though we succeeded in our mission.” Fuu didn't react. Ka was afraid of this — he feared that Fuu was going to get himself killed because of this attitude problem. He wished he could help, but if Fuu wasn't going to let him in there was nothing to be done. Ka shook the thoughts off; he needed to focus. "Let's get this body back to the village. They'll be very pleased to hear the mission went well."

"I'll scout ahead." And like that, Fuu was off. Ka didn't even have time to interject. As soon as Fuu was out of earshot, the two rookies seemed to lighten up.

“I can see why you weren't thrilled about this mission, Ka-sensei. He seems like a real handful."

“You've gotta admit, though, it was impressive. He knew just what to say to get that monster distracted — no wonder he’s an elite. That story even mesmerized me for a bit..."

If only they knew. These days, there was a generational split among ANBU operatives — those who came from the old era, and those who came from the new one. There weren't many left to remember the old ways, and the new operatives were only told whispers and rumor. Of course, they discounted it as legends spread by the older members to scare the new guys. Most of it was.

"Yes, it was a good story." Ka's gaze followed Fuu. How must he be feeling? If it was anything like the dread and worry Ka felt on his friend's behalf, it wouldn't be long until Fuu snapped. "Come on, let's get the target back to the village." Ka wondered if there was anything he could do. Perhaps it was too late? No, stop that thinking. He couldn't give up on his friend. He'd find a way.
.:: midnight ::.​
The mission had been a complete success, so why did Yatamaru feel so empty? He'd barely gotten home and was already three smokes deep.

That mission left a bad taste in his mouth. Regret. Consternation, maybe? He needed something to do; he needed something to distract himself. These damn smokes weren't doing it anymore. Maintenance! Yes. that was it. He'd do some maintenance. He rubbed his forehead as he mindlessly wandered through his apartment, trying to figure out how his brow had gotten so twisted and tangled. He didn't remember scrunching his face, it just kind of happened. Somehow, his hands had found themselves a half-finished bottle of whiskey somewhere along the way.

His workstation was immaculate. Every tool had a place, and not a single one was out of theirs — how he envied them. Absentmindedly, Yatamaru sat on a lone wooden stool and set to work. Poking and prodding here, testing and tinkering there. He really shouldn’t be doing this himself, in case anything went wrong. But rules be damned, he was the best there was in the village. Besides, not a single thing needed fixing. It never did, which only served to make him angrier and more frustrated.

"Fucking hell, Mikaboshi, couldn't you have made me a little less perfectly?" He put down his tools. Actually, it was more like he dropped them onto the table out of anger. His fingers drummed violently. Click, clack. Click, clack. His eyes couldn't stop darting around the room, looking for something — anything — to distract his mind from the dark thoughts.

You don't deserve happiness. You caused all of this.

No, stop. He picked up the tools again, and set back to work. He threw all of his brain power into it, searching desperately for something to improve. Something to fix. Something to distract him.

You took the easy way. You should have known better.

The dark thoughts were getting louder. Three more puffs of smoke, and two more mouthfuls. His sight was going hazy. He saw a hand, wreathed in shadows, extended out towards him.

You saw it well in advance, but chose to ignore it. You must not have cared who had to suffer, so long as you got to be the hero!

He didn't know why, but that hand scared him. He didn't like it. Make it go away! When did he finish his cigarettes? Who drank his whiskey?

You traded your life for power, and look where it's gotten you. For all your strength, you're nothing but a fool.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. He saw an operating table, now nothing but a distant memory. Yatamaru didn't like this. He felt something being taken from him, but he didn't know what. He wanted it to stop. He tried to cry out to stop it, but no words came. Please, make it stop. He was trapped.

You're a disgrace to the village. You deserve this. You wanted this.

The shadow man was laughing. He pulled his shadowy strings, and Yatamaru obeyed. It hurt. No more, please! He saw a young boy with white hair, dreams, ambition, and talent. He tried to reach out, to cry out at the boy to run, but the strings wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. All he could do was watch the scene unfold before him, regretting everything. He watched the shadow man extend his hand out to the young boy, an ANBU mask held firmly in his grip. The boy looked overjoyed. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, then and now.

Yatamaru shot up, panicked and startled from the night terrors that plagued him. He was on the floor. He hadn't felt himself fall, but that would have been true with or without the whiskey. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything. He tried to cradle his head in his hands, but not even that could comfort him. His hands provided no warmth. They weren't soft, nor were they his. Not his real ones, anyways. Those had been disposed of, tossed aside, and forgotten years ago. Just like the rest of him. He could feel the dark thoughts approaching again.

This wasn't the first time. As the years went by, these episodes had become more frequent. They were as close to dreams as he was going to get. He didn't like them, but he was at least starting to get used to them. It was better than sleepless nights, he supposed. He checked the time, only an hour had passed. He still had a few hours until sunrise.

"I wonder if the casinos are still open…”

He was out the door within five minutes. He needed something to do. He needed something to fill the void that had been left behind. He was a hollow man, both figuratively and literally, looking for something to finally make him whole.

Just like every other night, he hoped that this would be his last one spent as a broken man.
 

Kazu

Well-Known Member
Oct 22, 2012
3,251
Yen
153,950
ASP
125
OOC Rank
C-Rank
"One day, the world will turn on you. When that day comes, think really hard about who your friends and enemies are."
يوم واحد، فإن العالم سوف يتحول عليك. عندما يأتي ذلك اليوم، والتفكير بجد حول من الأصدقاء والأعداء هم


Character Information: Mitsuyo Takeyashi [NPC]

The Demon of the Sands, Takeyashi is known to be a particularly aggressive and vindictive shinobi. He only takes the most dangerous of jobs, and has never yet failed a mission. He accomplishes his goals with a harsh will, and a brutal desire for battle. Malicious and sadistic in his work, he'll often toy with his targets in the most inhumane ways possible. He enjoys watching the suffering of those he feels deserves it, and has no limits on what he won't do. However, the young boy is still a loyal shinobi of Sunagakure. His wrath has thus far never been seen against a fellow Sunagakurian ninja, nor has he ever shown so much as a snide comment to an official. Those who have seen him both on and off of a mission might even think he had two different personalities. Rest assured, he's perfectly sane — just a tad vengeful. He is one of the most loyal friends you'll ever have, and the most savagely brutal enemy you'll ever encounter.

Nicknames: The Desert Spider, Demon of the Sands
Current Age: 15-16
Birthday: November 7th
Ninja Rank: Genin
Missions Completed: 0
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Height: 170.5 cm (5'7")
Weight: 56.7 kg (125 lbs.)
Dominant Hand: Left-Handed
Languages Known: Common

&description
Physique: Dark skinned and skinny, Takeyashi is a byproduct of the harsh conditions of the desert. His short hair is a blueish-black color, an odd trait that he's never been able to find a good explanation for. His eyes are a deep brown and his brow has many crease marks from frowning often—these, too, are good indicators that he was raised in the blistering heat of Sunagakure. His thin frame betrays his lean strength and often makes him look scrappier than he really is. All of this aside, there's still the matter of his six arms: as a Hachiashi, Takeyashi developed his extra arms around the time he hit adolescence. A rather noticeable trait, the young boy doesn't try to hide them or make himself less conspicuous unless he's on a mission that requires anonymity.

Clothing: He tries not to wear too much in the desert heat. A simple dark brown shirt, specially designed to accommodate his extra limbs by cutting off around his shoulder joint, fits his frame tightly. On each of his six arms, a golden band is worn that fits loosely enough to move but tight enough to not come undone. Around his neck he wears a loose fitting, tan-colored, cloth that billows around his neck and drapes down his torso and back, covering his skin from the sun's harsh rays. This cloth, adorned with the emblem of Sunagakure on its front, can also double as a face mask by pulling the cloth up and over his nose, thus obscuring his face from any onlookers—a particularly useful asset if he is out on an assassination mission. Several belt pouches can be seen on his waist, carrying all the various supplies that he might need on a given mission. A pair of tan baggy pants cover his legs, being loose enough to allow the fabric to be quite breathable. Over these pants he wears a dark brown covering — the same color as his shirt— with golden trim around the edges. This covering parts at his right leg, allowing for full range of motion while preventing more sunlight from hitting him. His calves are bare, and only a pair of sturdy, yet minimal, sandals protect his feet — wearing heavy boots in the desert terrain would be rather uncomfortable and difficult to work with given the terrain.

Traits: Takeyashi's personality is best described as thorny and vicious around the edges, with a soft side buried deep within the recesses of his mind. He is blunt to a fault, and is often times too stubborn to admit when he's crossed the line. Cynical and mistrusting, he tends to be the first to point out flaws in anything and usually hates to work in a team — he'd rather endure torture than admit when he's wrong or needs help. He often performs his duties as a shinobi with a malevolent and often sadistic enjoyment, seemingly getting pleasure out of watching people in pain or otherwise suffering. Oddly, Takeyashi has a great deal of loyalty and respect for other shinobi within Sunagakure, though he tends not to outwardly show it. While he can be rather nasty towards other people, shinobi of Sunagakure typically find that they are spared from his wrathful and demonic nature. While around other Sunagakure shinobi, Takeyashi can be described as reserved and quiet. His usual cynicism and pugilistic nature seems to melt away in favor of a calm and rational persona.

Motivations: Typically, he finds entertainment for himself by tormenting his clients, civilians, or even his targets. Money doesn't do much for him, but a fine battle will really start to get his blood boiling. Takeyashi gains an immense amount of pleasure from successfully breaking down his opponent, both mentally and physically. Always aiming to be stronger, he revels in his training and honing his skills. His real motivation, however, is much simpler: he truly just wants to be accepted for who he is. He has a long history of being ridiculed and mocked by civilians, and as such despises and desperately seeks the acceptance of other people. He wants nothing more than to find a place where he can just be himself. To that end, he has found a home among the shinobi of Sunagakure — in this village, it matters little what sort of body he possesses so long as he is able to aid the village. Because of this, Takeyashi considers Sunagakure to be his one true home. As such, he'd do anything to defend or aid the village.

Likes and Dislikes: Takeyashi is, surprisingly, a rather big fan of poetry. A hobby he picked up at a young age from his Auntie, Takeyashi will sometimes scribble down verses he thinks of. He also is a bit of a stickler when it comes to cooking — when he's at home, after a long day of training or when out on a mission, he likes to cook rather eclectic and sometimes extravagant meals. He's often able to turn even a simple rabbit into a delicious stew out in the field. He also enjoys astronomy and will sometimes pair his late-night stargazing with his poetry, producing some of the most beautiful poems about the vastness of the universe. One thing he can't stand, however, are children. He's very easily irritated by small kids, and is known among the schoolchildren to be very scary. It also bothers him when he's bossed around by someone whom he considers to be under him. It isn't unheard of for him to injure his employers if they speak down to him. What he absolutely hates the most, though, is being sick. He gets very upset and temperamental when he's bed-ridden, and will often times sneak out if he's left in a hospital bed for too long.

&history
Takayashi did not have parents growing up — he was raised by his Auntie, who was his mother's sister, and his Uncle. They lived happily together, commoners in the subterranean city of Sunagakure. His Auntie told him about how his parents used to be shinobi for the village, but had been killed in combat during a mission. Takeyashi had always been proud of them, knowing that they had been brave and honorable shinobi. But his Auntie saw it a different way— she just wished they were still alive. Still, Takeyashi couldn't help but be proud of his parents and the sacrifice that they made. He wanted to be just like them, wishing for nothing more than to be able to join the Academy. After all, he was already 11, and a lot of his friends had joined already! He would be a proud warrior too, and honor his parent's memory by being just as great as they were! But his Auntie would never allow it. She forbade him from joining the Academy, and became very cross whenever he brought the subject up. Not while she was alive, she would always say.

But Takeyashi was stubborn, even as a kid. He was determined to be a fine shinobi, even if he couldn't attend the Academy. He'd find another way. So, in his spare time, he would go to the library and read about the shinobi arts. He taught himself in private, knowing not to tell his Auntie that's what he was doing. After all, she'd have been very cross with him if she ever found out. After a while, he began to practice jutsu on his own. Spending whole afternoons out in the training grounds, he would tirelessly hone his skills. Even without the guidance of the Academy, he would still grow to be a fine shinobi. Eventually, he became confident enough in his abilities to challenge some of the other kids that attended the Academy. He told them he wanted to try out his skills, and they agreed. He fought a few of them, using every ounce of his strength that he could. He pushed himself to his limit, using every bit of chakra at his disposal. But then, in the middle of one of his fights, a surge of pain overcame him. He fell to his knees, feeling his body getting weaker. His head started to hurt, and his vision became blurry. Darkness faded over his vision, and he felt the pull of gravity as he slouched onto the ground. He remembered hearing one of the Academy students calling for a teacher before he blacked out.

When he awoke, he was groggy at first. His vision was pure white, blinding in its brightness. It took him a few moments to realize he was in a hospital room, and it took him a few moments more to realize his Auntie and Uncle were there too. His body still hurt, but he felt like he'd be okay. His Auntie and Uncle had worried looks on their faces, so the young Takeyashi gave them a cheerful grin to let him know that he'd be okay. But when they're looks of worry didn't go away, he became confused. Slowly, feeling in his body came back to him; however, something didn't quite feel right. He felt heavy, and his arms felt weird. He looked down to see what was bothering him so much, and was greeted with a confusingly strange sight: he had grown an extra two pairs of arms. At first, the shock of seeing it didn't hit him. He heard his Auntie and Uncle say something, but it was drowned out in his head. Then it all came crashing over him. He began to throw a fit, his brain not able to accept what was going on. It took his Auntie and Uncle at least twenty minutes to calm him down.

When he had finally settled down, his Auntie began to talk. She told him that she'd been lying to him for a while, to protect him. She explained that she wasn't his mother's sister, but had been a close friend of hers. She told Takeyashi about how his parents had not been shinobi. They were clansmen of a hidden family, known as the Hachiashi. They possessed a unique kekkei genkai, giving them an unusual connection to spiders. They hid from the world because of their abnormal bodies: with six arms each, and the odd abilities to produce webbing out of a special mucus they produced, civilians and other commoners were fearful of them. Dreaded as monsters and demons, the clan was forced into hiding for fear of persecution. Takeyashi's mother and father had both been members of this hidden clan, and his Auntie had become friends with his mother when she accidentally stumbled upon their village. Treated as a member of their own family, Takeyashi's Auntie was the greatest friend his mother had ever had. That was why, when his mother came to her, Takeyashi's Auntie was glad to help. It had turned out that when Takeyashi was conceived, his mother and father grew afraid of the life their child would have. They knew that if they raised him and taught him the arts of their clan, he would never be able to live a life free from persecution. He would be hated, and hunted, just as they were. They wanted a better life for Takeyashi, and asked his Auntie to raise him instead. If he lived his life as a civilian, spared from the shinobi arts that would be his curse, he would grow into a healthy and normal adult. The clan's abilities would only manifest through the training of the chakra coils, and only during the adolescent years of development. After that time had passed, his abilities would remain dormant and inert — he would never have to endure the things they had to.

Of course, his Auntie had agreed. She and her husband took the child in, and raised him with love. However, a few months after Takeyashi's parents had asked his Auntie to take care of him, the hidden village of the Hachiashi Clan was pillaged and looted. Another local village, fearing for their safety, had found the hidden village and attacked them during the night. No one was found alive the next morning, and the bodies of Takeyashi's parents were never found. Grief stricken, Takeyashi's Auntie vowed not to let their baby live through that kind of suffering as well. She would do everything in her power to give him a normal life, free from ridicule and mistrust. By the end of her explanation, she was in tears by her boy's bedside. Takeyashi held her hands, and assured her that he understood why she did everything. He said he would always love her, and that he was glad she had always tried to look after him. He assured her that he didn't mean to upset her by going behind her back, and that he was okay with how things had turned out. He was happy to follow in his parent's legacy, and would do everything he could to make a good name for himself. His Auntie and Uncle were touched by these words, but were still fearful of the way the other villagers would see him. A couple of days later, Takeyashi was allowed to return home.

Life seemed normal enough after that. It took Takeyashi a while to get used to his new appendages, but after he learned how to use them it turned out to be rather useful. He did his best to adapt to life after his abilities manifested, but there was something different about things now. Usually, he didn't stand out much. He was just a normal kid, who went about his business like everyone else. But now that he'd gained his extra arms, he quickly became an outsider to everyone else. He began to notice off stares and sideways scowls, even though no one ever said anything. He began to grow more self-conscious, and started to question why everyone was treating him differently. He was still the same kid, right? Did it really matter what sort of body he had? Over the next couple of months, it only seemed to get worse. By this time he was almost 12 — he was old enough to understand what was going on, but too young to really do anything about it. Maybe his Auntie and Uncle had been right to shield him from this life?

Everything came to a head, though, when he was walking home from the training grounds one night. He was particularly tired, since he'd pushed himself really hard during his training. As he walked along the road, he noticed a group of older kids following him. They looked to be about 17 or 18, but possibly a little younger. It was hard to tell at night, because they looked more threatening this late. Beginning to get worried, Takeyashi started walking faster to get away from them, but they just chased after him. When they finally caught him, they backed him into a corner and started insulting him. They called him a monster and a demon, and told him he didn't belong here. They said he should go back to wherever he came from. When he begged and pleaded with them, telling them he'd lived here his whole life, they merely laughed him off. No one would let a freak live here, they reasoned. There was no way he was one of them. They started to beat him, kicking and punching the boy until his face was black and blue. They didn't stop until he was barely breathing, at which point they left him there and walked off into the night laughing about how scared he'd looked.

That was when the seed of hatred began to grow in him. He tried not to be angry, telling himself that they were the only ones that thought that way. But he kept seeing those looks the other villagers gave him. That worried, fearful look, which spoke to their true feelings. They didn't trust him, just because he looked different than them. Just because he looked like an outsider, he'd suddenly become one. As the months passed, and he continued to get bullied and ridiculed, his heart began to grow darker. He became angrier, and less forgiving of the way people looked at him. He began to fight more, and always came home bloodied and bruised. He never told his Auntie why this was happening to him, because he didn't want her to feel like she'd caused this to him somehow. He knew that she knew, though. He could just never bring himself to talk to her about it. He would shoulder this pain himself, the pain that his parents had tried to shield him from. He now understood why they'd wanted a better life for him: the more he was called a demon and a monster, the more he started to believe it. He felt like an outcast, with no place where he belonged.

It wasn't until a few years ago, when the Diamond Maelstrom ended and the village began to move above ground, that things began to change for the young boy. During that time of turmoil after the Cabal attacks, many shinobi lost their lives. Low on personnel, the Sunagakure shinobi forces began actively recruiting at all levels of their operation. Retired shinobi were brought back into the force temporarily, capable outsiders were given a chance to join if they fought for the state, and even street hoodlums that showed promise were given a chance. That's how Takeyashi was found. After a street brawl, where the young boy had just beaten off some of the older kids who were picking on him, a man approached him. Not wanting to fight, the man introduced himself as a shinobi of Sunagakure. He said they were looking for able-bodied civilians, and wanted to recruit the young boy for training. What caught Takeyashi off guard, though, is the way the man looked at him. He didn't have the face of someone who was afraid of what the boy might do next — it was a look of promise, of genuinely wanting the boy to accept his offer. Without really thinking, Takeyashi accepted the man's offer.

The next couple of months, Takeyashi was given an informal training on the things he'd need to know as a shinobi. They found that his knowledge of techniques and chakra control were of a sufficient level, as well as his physical fitness. What he lacked, however, was a formal training in weaponry. They spent two whole months on weapons practice, preparing him as quickly as possible for the field. Due to the limitations on manpower and resources, he was graduated from the Academy after just those two months and deemed qualified to be a Genin. He worked hard in his new role, even though his Auntie and Uncle disapproved. Takeyashi, however, hadn't felt at peace like this for a long time. He was finally somewhere that valued his abilities and skills regardless, despite his body and his appearance. These were people that respected him for a job well done, and praised him when he excelled in something. Though he'd grown cynical and cold from the years before, and still faced the stares of civilians every time he walked the streets, he felt like he truly had a place he could call home.

He trained hard, doing everything in his power to impress the shinobi of Sunagakure. Takeyashi had grown a deep sense of respect and loyalty to the village, the place that had accepted him after all of this time. He worked hard to prove himself, to show that he truly did belong. But most of all, he worked hard so that he could be useful to the village that had taken him in. He would prove to them, and everyone else, that they hadn't made a mistake by recruiting him.