Upon hearing the racket from my alarm clock, I shifted my body; stirring myself to a modicum of acuity fitting for being a normal human being. As I lay on my side, covered by an old worn out blanket that you could smell had more years than I had living; I watched the hands on my clock tick in excess repetition. "Huuyh..." Even hearing my own voice, there was something about the dryness that felt even more detached. An exhaustion from expectation, before even dragging myself out of bed. "Hard t' believe I'm g'nna actually do this..." the tone of my voice dragging, like iron through mud. Much like my voice, I felt my limbs shifting and auto-piloting out of bed-- or my couch more specifically. As I watched the blur of my early morning go by, I couldn't help but reflect; both because I stood in-front of a mirror, but too because this whole scenario was a weird; and foreign situation all together for me. Standing there, observing my matted black hair; slopped against my face and strewn down the nape of my neck from being damp and washed. The prominence of the bags that burrowed themselves underneath my eyes became ever so apparent; was this aging? Perhaps, I wagered silently without the quick-wits of Bahamut stirring my mental habitat. Leading my attention to the most disconnecting thing to my whole image was the most recent addition to my persons-- literally. My left arm was mine own, in the same way clothing is mine; I wear it, and it moves at my beckon through the operations of careful chakra control and meticulously crafted joints and materials. However, it's nature of not being the original still didn't sit right with me completely.
At the moment of finishing the brushing of my teeth, I simply left the toothbrush hang from a feathered bite to keep it there and drew out something akin to a groan and a flummoxed sigh."Sh'pose iz' too lay' to back 'eout." I muttered, with the hygienic tool still propped. I pondered the specifics, my colleagues had submitted my attendance on my account; and against my knowledge. And as penitence for their actions, they promised to fulfill any expenses that were to be incurred as a result of this... Scenario-- I guess being a near-thirties instructor with no lineage is somehow not acceptable. Or something.
Nevertheless, the bulk of the morning following was spent dealing with menial activities. Like brushing my hair for the first time in a few months, or purchasing clothing that didn't come off an animals back-- admittedly, mine were in-fact; off an animals back. So I opted for a simple pair of jeans, a button up t-shirt with some pattern I didn't really care for and shoes; figuring wearing geta was probably what a person would classify as inappropriate footwear. To be frank, if it weren't for my colleagues I wouldn't have even bothered with the change of look. So we compromised, even if they didn't like the jeans and choices entirely; I did point out I am a shinobi, not a doctor. We're not exactly celebrated for being classy.
Sometime later, listening to the reminding footsteps of my footwear against cobblestone that each step brought me closer to this... Date-thing. I had to give a location to the television hosts prior to the day; so I chose a quaint little cafe, a bit troublesome to locate but otherwise. It was small, had a gentle smell of age, coffee and lacked the hustling uproarious nature and sound of the more populated districts of Kumogakure. I found it nostalgic, and in a way; peaceful. I'm a fool; but I figure even if I didn't want to be here beyond the free food and coffee, the other person may. Least I could do is accommodate that with something unique.
As I was spotted by the crew, they shimmied over with their slews of equipment and barraged me with questions of my reasoning of being here, what I expected and various other showy questions. With some basic conversational deflection tactics and simple answers, I think they got a majority of my answers with ''Coffee, food and killing time'' appropriate? Probably not, but that was generally pretty low on my list of priorities.
So I entered the cafe, with the reminiscent jingle of the entry-bell. With the seeming endless delight of the owner, an elderly man waved and greeted me entry; too which reminded me daily that people can grow past the age of fourty in this day and age. His wife passed away I discovered sometime ago, while I come here to escape on occasion for silent reprieve; that doesn't excuse me from hearing tales of the past. From times before even I was born, it was an interesting perspective some-days. But it was something I could appreciate, and notably; I made it clear that the television show was not to disclose the location to avoid over-crowding the area with popularity.
Finding a table empty, with a candle listlessly lofting with a gentle flame. It was scented, one I couldn't quite place; but it wasn't bad I suppose. I guess my time now is to wait and see what comes; or who for that matter. While I sat with a form that was both casual, and a dash of laziness. I couldn't help but find my gloved hand tapping the table quietly, not quickly; but something like a beat. The glove masked the material underneath some, but still carried the hollowed sound of it's artificial nature that the hand, and arm consisted of. Filling the silence of my head, bled into the world around me as I quietly recited my name; it was polite I guess, to get that at least correct. "Shieo, Shieo, Shieo-- Botha' why'm I even here..."
It was then I heard the owner speak with a strange longing to his voice. ''Listen to yourself Shieo, relax. Even a barbarian can be loved; even though you're not one. Worst case, just break out the guns that you're a famous warrior of Kumogakure or something... Or don't'' I watched him for a moment, I guess he was right. Lifting my left hand, and running the fingers of the puppetized arm through my hair, the feeling of the glove was still unusual... It was like something dead was operating for me, disconnecting and unfeeling; right-- I eased a breath. Lets hope they don't get alarmed by the damage, a missing arm, scars and a broken personality. Worst case, I get free food and coffee out of this-- Right?
[MFT]
Thought
"Speech."
Sonoko's sandals slapped against the stone pavement as she jogged to her destination. She inwardly chastised herself for taking so long in the shower and fixing her kimono.