Setsubun

R. Winters

I wrote this more or less as a companion piece to "Paper Fan." You don't have to have read that story, as this one takes place before it chronologically, but you may be interested in checking it out, as well. I've also tried to explore the character of Sakumo as a young man, his strengths and, possibly more fitting in line with this story, his weaknesses. Anyway, it was fun to write. Even great shinobi make mistakes once in a while.

I have been pretty much completely absent from this site for... a very long time. I haven't abandoned any of the stories posted here, if you're one of the people that are worried, but I have been crazy busy, and looking down the road, it's still going to be a while before I can really sit down and work on something like etb. Hopefully after this summer the stress will ease up just a little. One can always hope.

Speaking of hope, I hope you enjoy this story!

At twenty-two he was already hailed as a hero. People he didn't know would murmur his name in respect. His targets rarely saw him coming, but when they did, they too knew what to call him.

Konoha's White Fang.

Sakumo snorted a laugh into his drink because if those people knew what he knew, they'd laugh, too. Laugh or cry. Because Hatake Sakumo was only twenty-one and sometimes he was an idiot. Like when he let his partner talk him into a detour on the way home to revel in the festivities of a local village.

"What's so funny?" Hatsuki asked at his elbow.

Sakumo made a vague gesture with his hand. The liquid sloshed inside his plastic cup. "Just this," he said, "That we're here. I don't know why I let you talk me into this."

The other man grinned, the light of dozens of multicolored lanterns making a lively reflection in his eyes. "Ah, come on, it's not every day you're in Katsukone for Setsubun. Stop thinking and enjoy yourself!"

"I'm not thinking," Sakumo retorted, "I'm drunk."

Hatsuki laughed again, "If you can still say that, you aren't drunk enough!" He grabbed his teammate's cup and stood up. "Leave it to me, taichou—another round of drinks coming up!" The man swayed a little as he walked away and Sakumo rolled his eyes.

There was something wrong with a generation of shinobi who could lose themselves in drink so thoroughly that they could throw aside common sense and lose the grace they'd honed for years. Leaning back on his rickety, wooden chair, Sakumo tilted his head up to look at the stars.

It was a beautiful night for a festival, he had to admit. The weather was mild, even for Fire Country, with the warmth hanging in the atmosphere offset by a gentle northerly breeze that brought with it the bite of cold some of their neighbors were experiencing.

"You here alone?" One voice permeated the dozens of others around him and Sakumo's eyes flicked down, his head turning to the other side to find a pair of warm, smiling eyes greeting him over the fringes of a delicately decorated paper fan.

Her hair was done up in some ornate design, black strands pinned in place with a pair of striking red sticks that matched the color of her lips when she slid the fan closed to reveal her face. The kimono she wore was shorter than usual, and made of a lighter material, decorated in pastels that were perfect for the holiday.

"I was with a friend," he answered, smirking under his mask. She was certainly beautiful, and had gone to great lengths to make herself appear local, wearing the same style of dress as so many of the other girls. Even her lipstick was the same shade, and must have been purchased at one of the festival stands.

But the cheap perfume she wore couldn't cover up the smell of exotic spices and clay that clung to her skin. The smell of Earth Country.

"Well, I don't see your friend now," the woman said, and her lips quirked into an attractive, teasing smile, "Would you like some company?"

Sakumo motioned to the seat next to him with an inviting turn of his eyes. "You from around here?"

"My family works in construction here in Katsukone," she confirmed, settling elegantly in the proffered chair.

"You probably travel a bit with that," Sakumo suggested.

The woman laughed, a bell-like sound that bubbled from her perky lips. "Not as much as you might think." She laughed a few more times and shook her head, "I'm sorry, ninja-san, but compared to your life, mine would probably seem extremely dull."

There was always something exciting in outwitting a liar and Sakumo smiled, up for the challenge in his drunken stupor. "I don't know about that. I dabble a little in construction, myself—rebuilt the dojo at my family's house a few years ago. We ninja are a little like jacks of all trades."

The woman laughed again, "You must have such interesting stories."

"I suppose," Sakumo agreed casually.

There was a clink as Hatsuki reappeared, holding two glasses in one hand and a woman on his arm. He grinned widely at Sakumo.

"That's what I'm talking about, taichou!" He said enthusiastically, "Who's your friend?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sakumo said, rolling his eyes as he took the man's drinks, offering one to the woman and keeping the other for himself—Hatsuki frowned a bit at that. Turning to the woman, Sakumo explained, "This is my teammate, Miss..."

"Namaki—Torou Namaki," the woman supplied, and smiled sweetly, "I don't think you mentioned your name, ninja-san."

"Hatake Sakumo," Sakumo said proudly, "You might know me better as Konoha's White Fang." He had no problem telling her exactly who he was—he had no doubt that she already knew.

"Oh!" The woman gasped, "You're him? I had no idea I was speaking with such a celebrity!"

Hatsuki's laugh was loudly abrasive at Sakumo's left. "See, taichou, I told you! Even the civilians know who you are!"

The woman on Hatsuki's arm clung a bit more tightly to him, "I've heard the White Fang is as vicious as a wolf."

Eyeing the girl thoughtfully, Sakumo took in the delicate way she angled her feet and the soft padded hands nuzzled against Hatsuki's muscle. She was undoubtedly a civilian, and the undertone in her accent strongly suggested she was local.

"Tell us a story," Namaki pleaded on his right, "You must have done so many exciting things!"

"So close to the border, you've probably been feeling the tension with Earth," Sakumo offered, sipping at his drink casually as he noted the differences between her fabricated accent and the natural tones of the local girl. "They've been pestering us here and there for a while now, since the conclusion of the last war; like flies around a dung heap."

Namaki's expression was a perfectly schooled mask of curiosity and interest, without even a hint of offense taken at his choice of words. She was a good actor, he mused, and probably very dangerous.

"We'll leave you two alone," Hatsuki offered, "Need more drinks since you took mine, anyway."

Sakumo didn't even look back at his teammate as he slipped off into the crowd again. Alone it would be that much easier to get the girl someplace quiet—then he could find out what she was doing here.

Namaki laughed in all the right places, a giggling, girlish laugh that sounded careless and unrestrained. She gasped and displayed the appropriate horror when he briefly described the cruelties he claimed to have witnessed among the Rock-nin. She clapped and bounced in her seat a little when he described his own valiant victory, his words slurring just a little.

Then she steadied herself with a hand on his arm and Sakumo felt something like a shock of electricity.

He jerked back in surprise, eyes wide as he reassessed the threat she posed. Whatever she'd done to him, it didn't hurt, but he'd felt it distinctly. His heart was beating more quickly than usual and his breath just a little more ragged. Her clear eyes displayed only confusion and worry at his sudden movement.

"Is something wrong?" She asked demurely.

With a force of effort, Sakumo managed to slow his breathing again. He brushed his fingers casually over the skin that she'd touched, but felt nothing—no trace of an injection site or anything. And now that he thought about it, it had been more like static electricity than anything else.

He smiled and his eyes curved above his mask. "Nothing," he assured her, tense muscles relaxing systematically. "Now it's your turn."

She blinked, confusion washing over her face a second time. "My turn?"

He grinned, "Tell me a story."

Namaki laughed that giggling, girlish laugh again. "Oh, no! I would bore you, ninja-san!"

"A clever woman like you? I don't think so," he countered. "Come on; one story! What's the most interesting job you've worked on?"

It took another round of drinks and a vaguely inappropriate brush of fingers to the flushed skin at the nape of her neck to get her started talking.

As the evening wore on the two of them downed several more drinks and Sakumo was feeling considerably light-headed when Namaki's head tilted down towards his. They both froze and stared into each other's eyes for a moment. He considered calling her out and putting a stop to the whole thing when she shifted just a hair closer and their cheeks touched.

He didn't move. His breath caught in his throat and an irritating voice somewhere in his head was calling him names. She tilted a little closer and her lips were on his, only his skin-tight mask in between them.

It was a sensual experience and he leaned into the kiss without thinking, the alcohol lowering his defenses and the touch warming his skin. It was wrong—but it felt good. Until she reached for his mask.

Her fingers were just ghosting up to the edge when he caught them and they broke their kiss. He looked at her, his dark eyes half-lidded and hers deep and imploring.

"Not here," he said softly.

Her lips turned up in a coy smile, "Then let's go."

Sakumo stared hard at the woman for a moment before sliding off his stool. His legs only wobbled a little and he steadied himself quickly, his hand sliding around on hers so that he was holding it gently as he helped her from her stool.

The woman was less graceful than him, or she pretended to be. She stumbled unsteadily and fell clutching at his arm. Sakumo was quick to catch her and wrapped his arms around her to offer support. He smirked down at her.

"You okay?"

She giggled again, her head bobbing in a nod that should have disoriented her if she was really as drunk as she was pretending. "You're so strong… ninja-san."

"Call me Sakumo," he replied.

The inn Sakumo and his team was staying in was nearby, and they stumbled across to it after several failed suggestions that she take him to her home—"Oh, no, my little brother is home sick and I wouldn't want to disturb him, Sakumo-san!" she had exclaimed when he first asked, and extrapolated further on the story when he pressed.

The streets were decorated with bright ribbons and lanterns and tapestries. Booths selling everything from alcohol and baked goods to trinkets and toys lined the roads—and, of course, small bags of special, "purified" beans—with their keepers shouting out good wishes and helpful suggestions for what to buy. People were packed in every free square, children running through the crowds in groups of twos and threes, couples hanging on each other's arms, and families and groups of young people milling through at leisurely paces or sprawled together in little groups along the side of the road, snacking and chatting.

Sakumo navigated through it all as quickly as his sluggish blood would allow him to move, then he pulled Namaki behind him, up the outdoor staircase leading to the second floor, and fumbled for a moment with the lock before slipping into his room.

He spun as she entered behind him, and he meant to do it then, to pull out a kunai and push it into the woman's soft skin until she either admitted what she was doing or passed out from the blood loss. But the soft yellow light was streaming through the doorway behind her, framing her figure with gold, and her eyelids were drooped seductively over dark, glossy orbs, and all he could do was stare.

The woman smiled and averted her eyes from him, raising her fan before her face again. "Don't stare, Sakumo-san, you're making me blush," she whispered, embarrassed, her free hand reaching behind her to shut the door.

Sakumo cleared his throat self-consciously, and pulled what mental resources he could back together. "Now, listen, Namaki-san—if that's really your name—I don't know—"

Namaki was suddenly pressed against him again, her fan closed at her side and one hand pulling down his mask. Sakumo had a kunai out and at her neck, but she ignored it, leaning in to capture his naked lips with her own.

It was amazing—electricity jolted through him at the mere contact and his entire body began to buzz with life. The war hadn't exactly left much time for the White Fang to experiment with intimate pleasures, but for the first time, he considered that Jiraiya might be onto something with this whole opposite-sex theory he was always talking about. He stumbled backwards several steps—either the alcohol that was already in his system or the kiss itself making him dizzy and light headed. The pair of them collapsed onto the bed and broke apart.

She was on top of him, a predatory gleam in her eyes, and a small, bloody scratch on her neck from where his blade had nicked her. She definitely wasn't a civilian, and Sakumo was almost positive she was from Earth. He entertained the possibility that she might be a missing-nin, a shinobi who had abandoned all ties to her village.

"Namaki is my real name," she insisted, throatily, and grinned down at him, her face flushed and vibrant, "Although I think we've moved past formalities, don't you, Sakumo-chan?"

Sakumo felt himself flushing hot despite his best intentions, and with inhibitions relaxed as they were, he didn't see any real harm in enjoying the situation that had presented itself. He would just have to be careful; if she did end up to be trouble, he would be ready for it.

When Namaki leaned in to kiss him again, Sakumo rose to meet the embrace of her lips.

Drunk, exhausted, and still tingling just a little, Sakumo nevertheless pushed himself up on his elbow to regard the young woman next to him sleepily.

"I'm immune, you know," he drawled lethargically.

Namaki raised an eyebrow, looking just as spent and content as he felt.

"To Rikken venom. I was bit when I was a kid, and was pumped so full of the antidote over the following years that poison derived from the venom has hardly any effect on me," he explained graciously.

The woman's eyes widened, but in that same instant her hand was swinging around with a startling contrast to her lethargic lounging of a moment before that he almost didn't catch it in time, stopping the fan bare centimeters from connecting with his neck.

Glancing down at it, he recognized the sharp, blade buried into its side and identified what had earlier been a simple fashion accessory as a weapon. With a sudden burst of speed on his own part, Sakumo grabbed her other wrist as well, before it could come to the aid of the first, and he spun himself over her, so he was hovering on top of her pinned form, with a whole new flavor of tension hanging between them.

"You're a Stone-nin," he accused, giving her one final chance to make up some believable story that might avert his wrath. He knew he should have put an end to this hours ago—he shouldn't have even responded to her urges at the bar—but he was curious, and he was human, and a little bit drunk to boot. Besides, it was all working out fine now, the White Fang reasoned. It wasn't as though she had gotten anything out of him.

"If you knew, why the charade?" The woman demanded angrily, her pretty features twisted with hatred.

"I couldn't risk a fight breaking out where there would be civilian casualties," he retorted mildly, "Besides, you were so… persistent."

"Bastard!" The woman spat, struggling underneath him.

Sakumo held her easily, his strength superior even in his current state, although he suspected she hadn't had nearly as much to drink as he had.

"Is killing me all you were sent here to do?" Sakumo asked casually.

She spat at him, and Sakumo only barely managed to flinch out of the way. He was under the opinion that they had already shared more than enough bodily fluid for one night. Taking advantage of the distraction, Namaki formed a seal with her trapped left hand, and her wrists began to crumble to dirt in Sakumo's hands.

The White Fang jumped from the bed quickly, fumbling for half a second to retrieve his tantō from the bed next to him. He raised it defensively, dark eyes scanning the still room. Nothing.

Sakumo scowled, this wasn't exactly how he had planned for the night to end, but still, no real harm had been done, he supposed. The door rattled and Sakumo tensed again, raising his sword once more.

Light and noise flooded through the doorway as the door slammed inward, and Hatsuki froze, staring with aghast that was only matched by the girl on his arm, whose face was a bright red and pretty pink lips wide open with shock.

Hatsuki was the first to break out of his shock, and immediately broke out into loud, raucous laughter. The girl looked positively mortified, and fled back down the stairs, and Sakumo considered killing himself right then and there, because he was never going to live this down.

"That girl must've been into some real kinky stuff, huh, taichou?" Hatsuki managed to squeeze out between laughs.

"Shut up," Sakumo shot back, abandoning his tantō and any thoughts of suicide in favor of finding his pants and restoring at least a little of his dignity.