Home Was Where the Heart Is [Open]

[Enatsu]

Home is where the heart is, or so they say. I could believe it, every time I get back to the village there's this sense of unburdening. Like a huge pile of weights being lifted off your shoulders. However this feeling can sometimes be temporary. When you do the kind of jobs we shinobi do, the kind of jobs I do, the line between man and monster becomes blurred. So I drink to the memories, and I drink to those whose memories I've forever taken and for those whose futures I've forever foreclosed.

The white haired man tilted his head back gulping down the harsh liquid. A mixture of gin and rum, it was bitter and it burned. However this was what he enjoyed the sensation of pain to remind him that he was still a man. Do not mistake, he was no masochist in fact Yoshimitsu detested unnecessary harm. However it was the little things that could make a difference in perception. While he internalized the meaning of this feeling, the shinobi would tilt his head and look around the room. The open restaurant was a bit empty but the great thing was being able to see people walk by without the restraints of windows or doors. No a simply curtain over a walk away to give you some form of privacy but even then you could still see their torsos and lower half. There was a certain allure to not knowing who was walking by, a strange social comfort not worrying about who was outside but still being relieved to have other people near by. Sometimes you could catch what they were saying and guess what kind of people they were.

"Did you see that play? It was pretty cool right? The puppets were amazing! a high pitch excited voice said.

Another moment passed by...

"She was so hot man, I mean the rack on her!" A pig, clearly swine made up some percentage of the population.

Few minutes...

"She wouldn't dare make a move on me. She knows far better." A strong feminine voice spoke, mystery covering her meaning.

This could be repeated over and over again, a hidden social contract. Another small thing to pass the time and make you appreciate or judge human thoughts.

Yoshimitsu raised his hand, he was signaling for the owner to come by.

"What'll be sir?"

"Another glass, make it a double this time."

"What's this your sixth one son? What are you trying to forget?" A smile spread across the old man's lips.

A smirk crept across Yoshimitsu's and with his eyes half closed and his finger pointed at his head, he said "I'm not trying to forget, I'm trying to hold the memories here."

It was odd, it seemed like while most people tried to forget by drinking he had the opposite effect. No matter what you couldn't forget the pain you caused. As a shinobi you had to erase the feeling during action, if you did not you were inept, unsuited for your job and regarded as worthless. However after the monster mask is removed and you have to put back on your human face, what do you do? The alcohol reminded him that he was human . Then colliding thoughts about what he has done makes their way to the forefront. He could not change the past, nor would he, but it was important to recognize your path. If you didn't take the time to do such, you were just going to end up being a mindless killer.

"Another one to those I've left behind, or those put down. May your soul rest easy."

Just another son of Raiden trying to get by.

[MFT]
Physical:
-Black Robes
-White/Silver Hair
-Gray/Teal Eyes (Byakugan)

 

[Ketsueki Satou]

*Shamisen and Koto music begins playing through the restaurant*

Memories, such a word played through many shinobi lips. Memories of war, killing and al sorts of violence. Some of sad tales of lost love or twisted friendships. Life was cruel for our kind. Be it that our own choices brought us here. We all spit upon the pain that burns us from time to time, to wash it away with booze and some even find opium houses. Here, an establishment of food being given and drinks served. People speaking bout their days and endeavors, their trails and tribulations.

The demon in mans flesh sat amongst them, in a corner, with Shamisen in arms, a Koto sitting lightly upon his crossed legs. He was the music for the evening, repeating a single song on both instruments simultaneously. Though to untrained eyes it would appear the Koto was not being touched yet the strings were being plucked with perfect execution to the Shamisen. Of course, he would not simply give the secret of his dual playing of instruments.
As he sat and played, moments of pause to drink from one of several hard liquor bottles that sat by his side. Several of these bottles had been emptied.

Satou's eyes wouldn't allow him to see very well through the drunken haze. Just the sound of his Shamisen and Koto soothed him. but the song, the constant noise in his mind was repeating the same memory for him. He soon decided after downing his seventh bottle of booze. The glass clanked on the ground as he set it aside, as well as his Koto. He just wanted the Shamisen in his hands for now.

The playing was no more slow, he was drunk, he wanted some stronger noises to fill this room. His mind. The whispers of the monster inside were growing louder, as did the dry soreness in his throat. His burning red eyes glowing through his long raven hair as he laid back. His hand holding the Shamisen and began playing like a demon should a fast intense noise that brought up the ears of all.

A demon plays the shamisen.

His black aura began to creep up from behind him, all who looked upon him would see a beggar man playing with the fury of any masterful artist of the Shamisen and Koto. Dressed in a roughened torn up gray kimono with nothing covering his feet but his long dirtied black pants that looked to be once fine material, now but tatters. The playing continued as some of the people enjoying food would walk over and throw a yen or two by the mans feet or place a small drink by him as thanks. Of course the demon would accept these things, the drinks more then the money.

He just wanted to play, to be in his drunken stupor and block out the voice in the back of his skull, begging to bed fed.

Physical:
-Hobo cloths
-Dirty messed up black hair
-Burning red iris's that glow through hair thickness as well in the dark
-Smells heavily of alcohol

 

[Enatsu]

Yoshimitsu tilted back his head letting the burning liquid roll down his mouth scorching the inside of his throats. Shortly after taking this bitter drink, he exhaled air in order to calm the sensation. His hand shot up again the owner shaking his head and chuckling at Yoshimitsu before he went to the back to get another bottle. During this time of waiting for the next round of drinks, his stomach began to turn. The liquor was beginning to have its effect, making him feel more lucid. He laid his head down on the table in order to weather the incoming mental-physical storm. However a sound breached his ears grabbing his attention.

The sound of two instruments being played in harmony caught his ears almost immediately. There was a man who sat silently alone playing a shamisen and a hoto. Each strum was played masterfully, but the song itself had an odd structure. It seemed to be peaceful at first, but upon further inspection the song became more sad or intense, a combination of the two. This song fit the mood surprisingly well, it was possible this man was playing with intent but for all they knew he was just trying to share something beautiful.

When the owner came back Yoshimitsu pulled out his wallet, and removed some money.

“Here’s my bill, can I have a second cup?” The owner would nod his head giving Yoshimitsu another cup with a small bucket of ice with his bottle in it.

“Be careful now you’ve drunk a lot today. If you need help home just let me know I’ll send someone with you.”

Places like these were great; they cared about their patrons and treated Kumogakurians like citizens. Being a part of this village meant you inherently had a bigger family whether you wanted it or not. That was the point of being a part of a community. The Dakimatsu Shack was no exception to this philosophy and that’s what made them an attractive venue.

The silver haired shinobi would approach the musician and set down a cup with some nicer alcohol titled “Forest Sky”. The liquid was a vibrant green color and the smell of kiwi came from it. The alcohol was still very strong but the taste was heavily altered with fruit. Kiwi, green apples, grapes, and a hint of lime made up the flavor.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He’d take the seat near the musician regardless of the response, call it boldness. “Would you like a drink? It’s a fruit like vodka, still very strong but the taste is easier.” If accepted he’d pour the drink into two cups rather than one.

“My name is Masaru Yoshimitsu, and your song was beautiful. While there were some moments of sadness or a deep heaviness, regardless I enjoyed the song a lot. What made you play that piece friend?” He’d lightly sip some of his drink while allowing the musician to respond.

[MFT]

 

[Tsuyoshi Junko]

Laying on the floor of the restaurant, Junko was dressed in an old cloak. Looking at him, it would seem as if he was a simple beggar, or a wanderer amongst the village. The medical shinobi had been there for quite sometime after getting several plates of chocolate chip cookies with huge glasses of fresh chilling milk.

It was odd to most as they starred in confusion, but it was the usual for the prodigy brother. Junko had given up the bottle and poisonous cigarettes. Instead, cookies with milk and smoking healthful medical herbs was the answer. He was improving his body, aside from all the cookies.

Listening to the instruments being played in perfect harmony, Junko couldn't help but wag a finger and vibe to the music as he laid. "two more glasses of that cold white stuff please!" Junko said in a slur. He sounded intoxicated as he raised his wagging finger.

"Umm, look sir. I don't know what this milk is doing to you, but this will be your last cups." the old man said in a nervous manner as he set the two glasses on the table.

"Ohhhh..... And why is that?"

"Because we're out of milk."

Staggering to his feet, Junko used the table for support. "Th...ank you my good sir." Junko said slapping a pouch on the table top.

"Curious, are you drunk?"

Picking up the two glasses, Junko nodded. "Only in spirit." Junko said as he tilted in the direction of the instrumentalist and his legs began to shift. It was an odd answer, but true because He had no consumption of alcohol. Staggering over to the musician, Junko plopped on the opposite side of the individual, making him the monkey in the middle. "Hey, you're quite good!" Junko said holding a glass of milk towards his face before chugging down the other.

"My name is Masaru Yoshimitsu, and your song was beautiful. While there were some moments of sadness or a deep heaviness, regardless I enjoyed the song a lot. What made you play that piece friend?”

Leaning forward, Junko noticed the other individual and tilted his head. "Nice eyes you have." Junko said immediately noticing the bloodline of the hyuuga as he wiped away his milk mustache. Karin had those same eyes.

Topic Entered

 

[Ketsueki Satou]

Music brings all things. For the demon sitting with his instruments, his burning ember eyes look up to see a man approach him. One with snow white hair and a disposition to offer a drink to the demon. Satou's lips curled into a soft smile. Kindness of those was very welcoming, his fingers that gently plucked to Shamisen were soft and lofty. His hands took away from the Shamisen to take the cup with both hand. He bowed his head in thanks. "Thank you." He mumbled underneath the music, his voice was harshly dry, surprising from how much alcohol he'd consumed today.

Sadly, no matter what he drank. He seemed completely of centered mind. All be it his words came out more slowly. "I play for memories, to remember both the good and the bad. I remember these songs, with remembering them I pick up pieces of what I forgot." Drinking the Forest Sky without even a slight hesitation, the glass was empty in one pull. He held the Shamisen with one hand, holding the neck as the strings were being played on their own it seemed. It was on the second glass, another appeared. A man who drank milk and ate cookies, a strange sight in a restaurateur with fine food and alcohol to drink. "After a few centuries, it takes me some practice to get into a nice tune."

Satou almost laughed. The song changed once more. An image of a women popped into mind which caused his fingers to move differently, which produced a new song. A soft strumming, a feeling of warmth. It was a good memory, an evening on summers season. The soft cherry blossoms washing past him as if a wave of bright pink, it revealed her face. Her soft blue eyes, warm pink lips. But what was this women to him? Who was she, another memory to hold onto perhaps. The demon would stop the slow strumming to partake in drink.

His fingers played the soothing sound of the Shamisen.

He continued to play, finding no objection to the music. He was being chatted by two people he barely knew. "I am Ketsueki Satou." He seemed to fade in and out of focus, not drunk as he should be. But he would appear to be looking past them, as if to recollect something before his fingers would strum along the strings, and he would regain himself.

I swear you've been playing that stupid fucking thing for days.
And the noises bother you?
Yes but-
Good, then suffer. This helps me and causes you to suffer. Why stop?
Because you're fingers have opened up again. And you're bleeding on your stuff

Through mental communication Satou did'nt notice his fingers bleeding from the constant playing, the wood lacquer of the shamisen was beginning to stain with his blood, the strings coated in red. He cussed under his breath. Licking the blood from his fingers to stop them from bleeding on his drink or clothing, the warm iron taste on his tongue sent a shiver down his spine.

 

[Tsuyoshi Junko]

[Topic Left: Inactivity/needed slot]
-Can just state Junko as walking out

 

[Ketsueki Satou]

(Topic left due to inactivity)