Chapter 9 Meeting A Psycho
I do not own Naruto
____________________________________________________
The Shinobi Academy of Kirigakure is a sad conglomeration of broken concrete buildings mashed together, like an unfortunate pile of particularly bland tortoise shells. Vines are creeping over almost every foot of it, clinging on by invading the spiderweb of cracks. It looks incredibly structurally unsound—not that Ryuishi is knowledgeable in architecture in any possible way. That was not one of the college electives she took, thank you very much. She can tell you a lot about rocks, though. Geology is cool as fuck. It will probably never help her become a ninja in any possible way though, which sucks. What is she gonna do, identify the metamorphic composition of a doton jutsu as a wall of the earth comes flying at her? Probably not. Though, the biology classes are sure to come in handy. Maybe.
Taking a deep breath, she grits her teeth and steps through the dilapidated doorway. She hums the lavender town theme song under her breath, just to set that horrible, creepy mood that accompanies this learning facility. Nothing quite like the crushed remains of a one-time building to guide you on your path to higher learning. Well, not really higher learning, more like mercenary for hire, uncontrollable sociopath learning. Still, if the song fits…
Each one of her steps echoes quietly through the halls, each in time with the humming. With the mist and the ruins and the darkness, it's mood setting. She feels like a creepy ghost, and to be honest, it's sorta empowering. An empowered ghost could be a descriptor for her, what with the whole being dead thing. Could she make that into a ninja moniker? The Ghost of the Mist sounds tight as hell. She loves it already. Now, how to get people to call her that…
She muses for a bit more before she finds herself outside the door to the classroom. It is probably the only solid thing in this place and is cast in soft shadows. The overhead lighting flickers momentarily, and the number 103 has never looked so ominous.
God, this whole place is a fucking wreck.
She stops humming and pushes the door open with a sigh. The inside of the classroom is a scene straight from a gangster movie. It is poorly lit, and gloomy as hell. There isn't a desk or a chair or a table to be seen. Instead, there is a large, barren, gymnasium type room with a domed ceiling. Children are split into groups with no apparent semblance of order at all. There is no grouping of age here either. (Though she does seem to be the youngest, and oh god that does not bode well at all.) There are large swathes of space between groups. Some of them seem to be just talking, while others seem to be playing a dice game, and she can see marbles and Ryo being placed as bets. There are no windows, only a few bald light bulbs hanging far above them in places.
All in all, it looks more like a prison yard than a school.
Children are dressed in cobbled together outfits, betraying their less than wealthy backgrounds, and there are only two things that seem to be newly bought or well made. One of them is the weapons, the special kunai that are unique to Kiri, and ninjato and tanto and other assorted blades. It seems that the Mist's shinobi's preferences start young. The other thing is the clan kids' robes, and yes, she can spot the difference already. They are an isolated group, standing in the corner of the room, already running through kata forms. Their robes are tidy, and though their bodies are lean, they are unblemished and clean. The difference is obvious.
The door shuts behind her and all eyes turn to her. Ryuishi suddenly regrets arriving early.
Get a grip. These are all brats. You can do this, she thinks, firmly stepping forward. She meets the inquiring eyes, careful not to betray her nervousness. Her new, loose black cargo pants sweep silently across the floor and her skintight sleeveless grey turtleneck seems almost too warm. (She learned her lesson about fighting in kimono from her scuffle with Kisame.)
Ryuishi walks determinedly ahead, her eyes on nothing particular. Around her, there are whispers about her age, her gender, and her station. Everybody wants information on the new kid, it would seem.
She walks calmly, listening intently to the whispers. If she knows what rumours there are about her, she can twist them to her advantage. She can use them. So intent on her musing, she never notices one of the children separate from the crowd and stalk her steps. Therefore, she is surprised by the strong hand tangling in her high ponytail, causing her to halt her steps, her head jerking back into a hard body. She looks up and comes face to face with a manically grinning boy with short, scruffy hair and dark eyes. She readies herself, believing it to be the start of a fight. She can elbow him and then—
"I know you," he says cryptically, interrupting her train of thought.
"Well, I don't fuckin know you," she spits instinctively, trying to ignore the tugging on her scalp and come up with a workable plan of escape. She fails. It hurts. She should weave barbed wire in her hair tomorrow, so this won't happen again. She mentally jots that down on her 'do list. He leans down, and Woah, did this boy take lessons in a creepy invasion of personal space or what? Her head is tilted back and she can feel his torso directly behind her, giving off heat like a furnace.
"You're the girl from the alley."
Ryuichi's heart stops. It has been two years, but she knows exactly what he is talking about. She remembers every heart-stopping second of it. Did someone say that? Was that a thing people knew? It was just one murder, in self-defence no less! It's not like there aren't buttloads of corpses lining the back streets of the akasen. She feels nauseous. Someone saw someone knows, she's going to get in trouble—
"I knew you'd end up here," he laughs out, pulling her closer by her hair. Her scalp screams out in protest, but she throws an elbow back into his gut anyway. It connects and he grunts, but does not let go.
He turns to the room around them, meeting every other child's eyes challengingly, simply taking the back kick to the shin she gives him.
"THIS ONE," he bellows, giving her head a shake, his hand full of her hair, "IS MINE." The children stare for a moment, only to look away, cowed by the young boy.
(It is an impressive display of intimidation for an eight-year-old, she thinks.)
She lets out a breath between her teeth, hissing as she struggles against the kid, reaching up to the hand in her hair and digging her nails in. She can feel the flesh give and nearly cries out in joy when the boy tosses her forward. Ryuishi stumbles but plants her feet and turns to face the one who claimed her, angry black eyes glaring furiously up at him.
"I don't belong to anybody, yah piece of shit," she growls out, hands caressing her sore scalp.
The boy laughs, his eyes are wide and menacing. He gives her a grin full of sharp teeth (and why does every fucking person she meets in Kiri have those? Do they file them down? Is it genetic? She needs to know because they leave an impression, and she's super jealous.) and looks down at her from his towering height of three inches taller than her.
"Well now you belong to Zabuza Momochi," he declares.
She suddenly thinks that maybe she should have just been a hooker.
____________________________
Their chunin instructor arrives and the groups are divided into three large ones. She is, unsurprisingly, placed in the younger children's class, alongside Zabuza. She believes it is because fate will get a good giggle when she is brutally murdered by the boy, just like everybody else in the class. She elects to pretend she knows nothing about it and tries to ignore him. The kid will not stop grinning at her threateningly, and it's sorta creeping her out. The day begins with stamina drills, which are run much more like boot camp rucksack marches than any sort of P.E class. This, she is abysmal at. She pants and huffs behind the pack.
Then, they begin to show them the cool down in the form of actual stretches and Academy Basic Katas. Here, she excels, displaying astounding flexibility. Mentally, she is very grateful she started doing her old gymnastic stretches again, alongside all the other training after the whole alley murder thing. One of the chunin instructors snorts when he sees her holding her foot by her head while standing, legs straight, and asks which brothel she came from. She tells him, because advertising is good for business, but makes a note to never go anywhere with him ever.
Then, they do target practice. Here, she is terrible again. (Her astigmatism bit her in the ass. Not that Kiri would ever let her live if she needed glasses, god forbid. Human euthanasia is a thing here, and it is awful.) They show her an example of form only once, then leave. She's atrocious at throwing things. She sinks about maybe three out of sheer aggressiveness, but none of them is near the centre, and the others are not even close to the target. Zabuza laughs at her. She proceeds to kick him in the stones. The chunin has to break them up, and she earns a bruise on her collarbone.
After that, they are in a classroom and the teacher is showing the children characters, arithmetic, ninja theory, and history. The first two she completes with ease, and she is baffled by the last. History sounds like something out of North Korea. It's all 'Honorable Mizukage' and ' righteousness of Kirigakure'. It's complete tripe, obvious and shameless propaganda. Ninja Theory is fun, and it covers survival, chakra theory, jutsu, strategy, etc. She thinks it might change week to week. Not to mention, the whole time Zabuza puts his grubby fuckin' mitts in her hair. It's pissing her off. Her hair did look nice this morning, but with his insistent tugging, it looks awful. She can't stand looking bad, and her vanity is weeping.
They break for lunch, and Ryuishi quickly attempts to scramble away, eagerly hopping over the desks to do so. She has to go and brood about how she's going to die, again, and how unfair life is while she eats. It's very important, something that absolutely must be done, you see. Yet, life is a cold bitch, and right as she tucks herself into a shadowed corner and pulls her delicious char sui bao out, it is snatched from her hand. She shrieks. Loudly.
When she whirls around, it comes as no surprise that the shitty boy is right there, stuffing his mouth with one of her pork buns. Something inside her breaks. She stands tall, coming up to the boy's neck and is stopped with one, almost lazy, yank to her hair.
"You sack of slimy, offensive, raggedy-ass shit! I hope you die! I hope eagles swoop down from the heavens, defecate directly in your mouth, peck out your eyes and then rip off your nipples! Give me my bun, you complete and utter degenerate dick sneeze!" she wails, her nails uselessly scratching down his arm. They leave scrapes and draw pinpricks of blood but the bastard does nothing. The insufferable eight year old just looks her directly in the eyes, smiles his crazy smile, and takes a bite out of his bun. Feeling over-dramatic, she goes limp and starts sniffing. Ryuishi knows it is a little over the top, but the pint-sized douchebag has been harassing her all day. She thinks it might also be because this is Zabuza motherfucking Momochi, the guy who kills his entire class.
(But she's ignoring that. Ignore ignore ignore.)
"I...I made those myself. S-so I could eat them today you f-fucking butt m-munch," she sobs out, looking up at him with big fat crocodile tears in her dark eyes. "They're m-mine..."
"Anything you own is mine," the bigger boy sneers, finishing his stolen food. He burps like a neanderthal, and no, it wasn't kinda impressive, not at all. "Plus you have another one in your bottom pocket, so hurry up and eat."
She manages to let out another fake stream of tears and a sniffle, going for the aforementioned bun. "I took two because one isn't enough to fill me up." Pulling it out and unwrapping it with an unhappy face, she relishes in her lie. She took three, and the last is in the pouch on her hip. She will eat it later, in the shoddy restroom stall, where Zabuza can't get her. The two do nothing but stand there and look imposing as other children try to edge in on their corner. Young they might be, but even Ryuishi understands turf warfare. Their odds of defending the spot increase substantially if there are two of them. To give it up is a sign of weakness, and being the youngest pair in here, the others will tear them apart.
Ryuishi loves children, but she knows that sometimes they can be the cruellest creatures of all.
The day ends with striking practice, which is a clever cover for pairing kids up and letting them beat the shit out of each other. They don't care too much about style or form, and unless it's Academy Basic, they don't correct you too much. If it is good enough to take out your opponent, who cares? She finally gets away from the shitty future-swordsman, and after a bathroom break, she proceeds to take out her frustration on an eight-year-old. The satisfaction she feels when her switchfoot Thai kick breaks through his guard and slams into his skull after they had traded jabs for five minutes makes her smile. She feels less terrible about her tiny body and losing both her previous fights. Then she remembers she just beat up a nine-year-old.
Then she remembers that her body is six, so hah! Take that, morals!
The boy limps away and some turn to examine her more closely, adjusting to the new information. She can see the moment she is moved from the 'ignorable victim' category to the 'competition' slot. It shows in the hunger in their eyes, through the desire to prove themselves. The Academy fosters this vicious competition, sparing the strongest a few kind words, and the class squabbles among themselves for this position.
She can appreciate the tactic, but still thinks it's wrong.
When the instructor calls an end to the day, Ryuishi is racing out. She is running even though her body is tired and sore. She is running through the classroom, through the hallways, and the streets. Away from the awful tedium that is school, away from the impending second death, away from Zabuza Momochi.
The streets are covered in snow, dirty and brownish, soaking up the filth from the ground below. Winters in Kiri are cold, cold enough to freeze the stink from the air and turn the fog into ice. There is frost on the walls and the winding green vines, a shimmering latticework of crystals over the terrain. Icicles hang from the awnings and overhangs of the vendors and stores, whose yellow lights shine out like beacons in the gloom.
She hates the cold. Just like she hates this godforsaken village.
Slowing down, she rubs her hands together and pants in them, hoping her warm breath will take the numbness and ache away. She wasn't bred for this type of weather. Her mom was full-blooded Indonesian and her dad came from California for—
Reality strikes hard. Her mom is a whore and her dad probably doesn't know about her. He's also probably a fuckwad. She drops her slightly warmer hands into the depths of her pockets and keeps walking.
Fuckin' reality, always having to be a dick about things.
Her footsteps crunch quietly in the snow, and the feeling of grinding something down is nice. She pauses and takes a moment to appreciate it, really stomping down on the stuff. She imagines Kisame's teacher's smug face under her foot. Fuckin' bastard, fuckin' traitor, grind grind grind. Yeah, that's the stuff…
Then she feels a prickle on the back of her neck like somebody is plucking the hairs right out of her skin. Instinctively, she pivots to the side and spots the person she wants to see least right now.
"Oh, fuck you," she snarls out, hunching in smaller on herself, shivering. In front of her, the world's smallest, yet greatest, annoyance grins.
"You run fast," Zabuza says.
"Why are you singling me out you asshat?" she moans, dragging a hand across her face. It's official, the world hates her. She wants to be cremated and then sprinkled in the lunches of every kunoichi and shinobi in the village. Maybe, if she becomes a part of them, she can possess their bodies and rule the world. Or maybe she'll turn into poop. Whatever.
"I saw you in the alley that night," the boy says, once again invading her personal space. Ryuishi doesn't even try to stop him, and she has already begun to stop caring about this nonsense. It has nothing to do with how the child puts out heat like a small volcanic eruption. No wonder he was shirtless in the show.
"Oh? You'd think that wasn't the very first thing you said to me," she snarks back, trying to not be sucked into the sweet siren song of warmth.
"I saw you rip someone apart. I can use that."
"Holy shit, you're fucked up in the head, aren't you?" she complains without too much venom. She isn't in the habit of denying herself things. Lying to herself, maybe, but denying, no. She knows that somewhere inside her, a piece of her wants to do it again. That makes them both fucked up.
"I want to see that again," Zabuza finishes, taking a step toward her. He's got that stupid, manic look on his face again. Ryuishi is coming to the understanding that she might have to get used to it. Who just pushes themselves on people like this?
(Somewhere, Hoshigaki Kisame shivers. If he ever sees that brat again, he thinks he should hit her.)
"You know what, Zabuza-san?" she queries, apathy flooding her. "Stay away from my hair, and I will accept this." Her life has officially spiralled completely out of control. Why not? Why fucking not make a deal with one whose only wish is to completely control her?
"No deal," he grunts out.
"What? Fucking seriously?" she asks, incredulous.
"I will do whatever I want. You cannot stop me. You're too weak," he states with all the pride an eight-year-old can muster.
"I'll kick you in the nuts again if you want to test me."
Zabuza briefly looks like he forgot that happened at all, even though it occurred less than four hours ago. Then he scowls at her and drops a hand down to guard his crotch.
"Don't do that," he growls out, attempting at intimidation.
It's too late. It might have worked earlier, but Ryuishi has scared herself straight into not giving a shit by now.
"Don't pull my hair." she pauses for a moment, thinking it through. It won't be weird until puberty, and the way things are going, she'll be long dead before that, so… "Oh, and if I get cold, I get to use you as a heater."
The boy looks confused but somehow seems to understand that they are haggling on something important here. Ryuishi is just a fully grown adult in a chibi body, arguing about the details of a partnership with a violent eight-year-old with megalomania. Perfect.
"I get some of your lunch every day," he barters back, glaring at her determinedly. "And I will do whatever I want, whenever. When you kill somebody again, you will take me with you."
The girl sighs. His deals sound more like orders. Is she gonna regret doing this?
Probably.
"As long as I can retaliate with force equal to or greater than your attacks, I accept whatever the fuck this is," she says, taking out a frozen hand from her pocket and offering it. So what, she gets to die at the hand of an accomplice. That's not so bad. At least she knows her murderer.
Slowly, as if wary of tricks, he shakes it once and lets us go.
She immediately sticks her frigid hand to his ribs and huddles closer. She can't feel her face, and talking so much has let out a good portion of her heat. Her lungs are cold, and she is dying of exposure, so what if she warms herself by using the devil's skin?
______________________________________________
AN: I know the dialogue here seems stunted, and that is important to note. Let's discuss some things. Zabuza is a socially unaware eight year old. He also fails to recognize people as people. What he sees in Ryuishi is a tool, not a human being. He wants to use her, control her, and take her property. It's not a crush or friendship, it's an open owner and slave mentality. He enforces this by physical displays of dominance, like an animal beating down on an unruly member of the pack. This is important to note.
Ryuishi is so stressed, so not in control of her life that she is slipping into hysterical apathy. She's going 'Haha, I'm going to die again, at least I know how and who this time.'
Also, thank you so much for your reviews. They feed me and my writer's soul. Other thanks to my beta the Hate Child. Love her, thank her.