The morning was a good one. Clear skies let the warmth of the sun beat down upon the landscape without remorse, contrasted by the crisp, chilly air of the steady breeze. Merchants and customers alike haggled wares in the square, while shop-keeps were seen flipping signs on their doors, inns and coffee shops leaving the doors themselves open. The Fountain, once the prime attraction of the square itself was less important now. A landmark left from simpler days, when the village was more martial, the villagers mostly families of those in service. Now, those families had grown, and what had once been a town supporting the military industry that protected the Country, was now more a city than a Village, that title quaint and nostalgic to those who remember when it was true. The streets were slightly dirty, mostly due trash and refuse building up near rainwater drainage pits building up before being collected by people who were now actually hired to do such work. Because, as a city got larger, so too did the ambivalent attitude of it's citizens. No one cleaned up after themselves as a habit when they knew someone else would do it for them.
Steadily, the atmosphere shifted just so amongst the crowd. The sounds dimmed as people collectively paused, or lowered their voices without even knowing why, tendrils feeling of unease tickling from the tail of their spine to the flesh of their neck. Where the sounds dulled, rhythmic footsteps clicked audibly against the cobblestone street accompanied by taps of what could only be wood, the tops of a white, wide rimmed fedora punctuated by the tan band about the base was visible over the heads of the crowd. Flashes of the characteristically messy black hair pushed down by the hat visible in patches. The unease passed steadily as that hinted-at figure moved, conversations, transactions and such resuming as if that momentary warning of instincts passed. No need yet for that Fight or Flight mode. There was no danger here in the open, amongst all these people. Crowds were safe. Secure. Protected. The only evil most of these people had to worry about came from the person they were trying to buy from, and even then it was the evil of greed, shop-keeps and merchants wanting the most money for something they probably didn't even pay for.
As that figure broke through the last of the crowd, physical contact as the man gently put a tan-gloved hand upon the shoulders of some in his way, caused people to outright stop talking. Although, they faced the direction they had been in before he touched them as if some primal fear were tickling their nerves. A desire of wanting to turn around battling with their senses screaming don't, a few even looking a tad bit ill as their intestines twisted in horror to contrast the warmth they felt brush against their skin. He wore a white, two-button three piece pure white suit, light wood-brown vest and off-white dress shirt beneath matching the hat, black satin tie matching aforesaid fingerless gloves. The ensemble completed when one noticed the winged tip crocodile and snakeskin print shoes. Taking a slow, deep breath, he walked up for the cared for and time-worn fountain he had known so well when the landscape had been so much more.. humble around it. Less building, less people. As he looked upon the worn stonework of the figures and symbols that decorated what he considered a monument, his eyes glazed. From around the been, a ghost-image of a wooden children's boat-toy sailed around the bend of the water, upon it a suave, pirate-esque Squirrel, Foamy, wobbled mock-drunkenly with an empty thimble in his hand. A prop cannon upon the tiny deck fired out a rolled up note to Genin he doubted were still in service. And, now, as in his memory, his squirrel Foamy did not return around the bend as the image faded from his mind, nor were there a small troupe of grotesque yet comical midgets coming to guide the Genin on their way to the next stage in their short mission. All of that was gone, echoes in his mind along so many others.
His focus returned, only to slide to the spot where a Ramen shop, in fact The ramen shop of the Village used to stand, where he had met up with his old ANBU Captain alongside Bunkei and a few other hopefuls had met for the first time. The flirtatious glances and aggravatingly shy looks she had given him, messages mixed because back then. Hell, they were just kids pretending to be adults. Well...
Forced to be adults.
He let his breath out at a slow, even rate, the sixty-five year old ex-Sennin returned to what had been his home and his charge, reinstated and active once more. Though, to guess his age would be damn near impossible, skin still the healthy-colored hue of a man ten to fifteen years his junior, crows feet forming at the edges of his eyes the only thing that spoke of his experiences. Slowly, he turned, and walked his way towards a nearby bench to sit, face shaded well by the sun, hair just hinting at touches of silver as if stylishly and intentionally applied pushed by the breeze against his neck. Between his knees, he set the cobra-headed mahogany cane, both hands resting lightly atop said figurine, fingers clasped loosely while his black nails, looking almost polished, caught the light. Any who knew him would remember they grew that way. He left a note to his sister, short and sweet, that simply detailed the time and place of this meeting. It was possible that some may recognize him, for there were people still alive that might. A reunion of sorts might even be nice, to be told true.
Sadly, there weren't that many who knew him even left.
Steadily, the atmosphere shifted just so amongst the crowd. The sounds dimmed as people collectively paused, or lowered their voices without even knowing why, tendrils feeling of unease tickling from the tail of their spine to the flesh of their neck. Where the sounds dulled, rhythmic footsteps clicked audibly against the cobblestone street accompanied by taps of what could only be wood, the tops of a white, wide rimmed fedora punctuated by the tan band about the base was visible over the heads of the crowd. Flashes of the characteristically messy black hair pushed down by the hat visible in patches. The unease passed steadily as that hinted-at figure moved, conversations, transactions and such resuming as if that momentary warning of instincts passed. No need yet for that Fight or Flight mode. There was no danger here in the open, amongst all these people. Crowds were safe. Secure. Protected. The only evil most of these people had to worry about came from the person they were trying to buy from, and even then it was the evil of greed, shop-keeps and merchants wanting the most money for something they probably didn't even pay for.
As that figure broke through the last of the crowd, physical contact as the man gently put a tan-gloved hand upon the shoulders of some in his way, caused people to outright stop talking. Although, they faced the direction they had been in before he touched them as if some primal fear were tickling their nerves. A desire of wanting to turn around battling with their senses screaming don't, a few even looking a tad bit ill as their intestines twisted in horror to contrast the warmth they felt brush against their skin. He wore a white, two-button three piece pure white suit, light wood-brown vest and off-white dress shirt beneath matching the hat, black satin tie matching aforesaid fingerless gloves. The ensemble completed when one noticed the winged tip crocodile and snakeskin print shoes. Taking a slow, deep breath, he walked up for the cared for and time-worn fountain he had known so well when the landscape had been so much more.. humble around it. Less building, less people. As he looked upon the worn stonework of the figures and symbols that decorated what he considered a monument, his eyes glazed. From around the been, a ghost-image of a wooden children's boat-toy sailed around the bend of the water, upon it a suave, pirate-esque Squirrel, Foamy, wobbled mock-drunkenly with an empty thimble in his hand. A prop cannon upon the tiny deck fired out a rolled up note to Genin he doubted were still in service. And, now, as in his memory, his squirrel Foamy did not return around the bend as the image faded from his mind, nor were there a small troupe of grotesque yet comical midgets coming to guide the Genin on their way to the next stage in their short mission. All of that was gone, echoes in his mind along so many others.
His focus returned, only to slide to the spot where a Ramen shop, in fact The ramen shop of the Village used to stand, where he had met up with his old ANBU Captain alongside Bunkei and a few other hopefuls had met for the first time. The flirtatious glances and aggravatingly shy looks she had given him, messages mixed because back then. Hell, they were just kids pretending to be adults. Well...
Forced to be adults.
He let his breath out at a slow, even rate, the sixty-five year old ex-Sennin returned to what had been his home and his charge, reinstated and active once more. Though, to guess his age would be damn near impossible, skin still the healthy-colored hue of a man ten to fifteen years his junior, crows feet forming at the edges of his eyes the only thing that spoke of his experiences. Slowly, he turned, and walked his way towards a nearby bench to sit, face shaded well by the sun, hair just hinting at touches of silver as if stylishly and intentionally applied pushed by the breeze against his neck. Between his knees, he set the cobra-headed mahogany cane, both hands resting lightly atop said figurine, fingers clasped loosely while his black nails, looking almost polished, caught the light. Any who knew him would remember they grew that way. He left a note to his sister, short and sweet, that simply detailed the time and place of this meeting. It was possible that some may recognize him, for there were people still alive that might. A reunion of sorts might even be nice, to be told true.
Sadly, there weren't that many who knew him even left.
