WINDOWS

Writers block was an odd thing.

It caused him to do "odd" things.

Catalysed "odd" reactions from those around him.

Oddly enough, it spurred him on to do even more "odd" things.

After getting kicked out of the bathhouse for the fifth time this week, the owner finally sensed the urgency to restrain him from ever setting foot inside again, and forbade him quickly to do so; the relief on his paying customers face was evident when the summons was issued, and he trudged away, head held in dismay, a bruise forming on his cheek from where a livid husband had thumped him, and geta sandals clonking tragically with his frogmarch. Should have learnt the first time really, he thinks to himself, scratching his head with a grimace, but stalking off in the direction of the inn he was staying at none the less.

Now he was muse-less, and if he returned back to Konohagakure without another instalment of his Icha-Icha series or something of that effect to appease the Hatake boy, his head would roll.

It was nice to have fans and all, but sometimes, the Jōnin with gravity defying hair scared him a little with his overly enthusiastic longing for his next installment.

He couldn't just sit in his inn room all night. That would be counter-productive.

There is one other place I could try…

He was getting short of ideas now. Once again, procrastination would pursue him to the path of the "odd" again. He sighed in defeat.

Desperation was definitely calling, as was a strong urge to down some alcoholic beverages as he made his way to a district of cheap thrills and inebriated forests some men used as their second homes, drinking supple nectars and dancing with nymphs, as the moon lay brazen in a cloak that camouflaged a void of disparity below fake smiles and rouged lips.

Yes, the red light district would certainly set his writing senses in motion.

Maybe I should just… people watch?

Usually he had no trouble finding a muse, but Kami this place had some ugly looking 'ladies' of the night.

Maybe I never noticed before because I was legless…? Observing a rather forward beauty (ha!) leading a stumbling victim up the stairs to the chambers above. A few minutes later, she returns, sans the drunken fool, slipping a plentiful wad of Ryo into her corset.

He winces, counting back the numerous times he'd been sautéed whilst in a "lady's" presence. No wonder my wallet was always lighter than it should have been! Damn, they got me there…

He slugs back another shot of sake, feeling the faint burn trickling down his throat and euphoria kicking in. He reaches for the bottle, shaking it in his grasp and realising there's no faint tinkle of spirits kicking the containers ribs. Licking his lips he roots through his pockets, scrambling enough for one last bottle, before interlacing through tonight's entertainers and customers to the bar.

The gruff male behind the counter raises an eyebrow, "Same again?"

"Arigato"

The bartender grunts, placing down the glass he was polishing and slinging a towel over his shoulder, roving away to fetch his order.

"Do they know you on first name terms here too?" a voice keens to his left.

"Ah, I don't know, the staff never invited me to the Christmas do…" this earns him a laugh.

From the corner of his eye, he spies a youngster: features obscured from opium smoke (Yes, he was visiting a shady place…) but raven hair. It couldn't be…

On closer inspection, a pair of glacial eyes were revealed through the intoxicating fog twinkling at him in humor.

… Definitely not an Uchiha…

"What about you? Are you an integrated member?"

"I'm new, so they're still sceptical."

"You're…new-" He was cut off, as the bartender had resurfaced, sake in one hand, the other demanding payment. Jiraiya hands over a crisp note, "Oh, and while I'm at it, one for the lovely lady on my left?" He sends a wink her way, smirking as she blushes slightly.

"I'd better not, ne? Shota?" She question the man behind the bar, who seems intent on checking one of his shot glasses for imaginary stains, scrubbing away at the slightest of smears with the towel like a man possessed. Shota grunts in return, right shoulder hopping dismissively in a shrug, but sliding a drink her way anyways. Heh, the silver haired sweet-talker was paying, what difference did it make?

"So…" the Sannin questions, watching as the girl pushes the drink away with a slight nose crinkle, but keeping it at arms length, tracing the rim of the glass with her index finger coyly."You're 'new'?"

"Ah…"

"…"

"I… was… I didn't have much of an option."

Jiraiya holds his tongue, waiting for a continuation that wouldn't arrive if he interrupted. His years of- ah-hem, social interaction had refined his art of conversation to a 't', plus a gentleman would never disrupt such a delightful young lady's trail of thought.

"I… Family… There was no one… and I got desperate, so…" So you got coerced into joining a brothel, he finishes solemnly in his head, head dipping in grief.

Now that the smoke had shifted and he could view her clearly, she couldn't have been much older than fifteen, maybe even younger, the elder "sisters" of the house had attempted to make her seem more mature, broadening her eyes with black liner, tracing her lips in scarlet and orchestrating her dark locks into a coronation of braids and long tumbling ringlets. Below the skimping kimono that slipped off of her pale shoulders rested a young woman, her spirit and pride bruised.

She'd be wasted in here… he muses, a calloused hand stroking his chin as he concocts a plan. No one, not even the – and he used the term loosely- so-called beauties the brothel had to offer deserved to be in this situation. Many embraced it, like they embraced the night-callers and bewitchment; but the young woman in front of him was certainly different. Her face was rounded, still in possession of child-like naivety; her eyes were bright, untainted. From those swirling depths he could fathom no intent, only resignation. She was ready to give in and let corruption eat her soul. She had no say in the matter, and prostituting herself would only deepen the rift between her and innocence.

"What is your name, sweetheart?"

She makes a face, "Please, do not call me 'sweetheart', and isn't it customary to introduce yourself first?" gazing up at him with those wide doe eyes, exposing innocence bores into him, his own orbs rough with all he has witnessed through his time. The phrase; 'eyes are the window to the soul' flashes in his consciousness, her kimono slips a little. Jiraiya distracts himself by pouring another shot of sake, downing it with quick motions. The girl was intriguing, her superiors had no doubt given her lessons in flirtation, but seeing as he wasn't interested in cradle snatching...

"My name is Jiraiya" Her eyes widen.

"Y-y-you write those smutty books?!The- One of the three legendary Sannin?!" 'Smutty books'? BAH!

"I prefer 'mature literature'…" he mumbles, cheeks crisping in blush at her abrasive tone.

"Oh… Gomen… My name is Mizu..."

Mizu… Water… A tranquil name. But, he corrects himself; water is much too dangerous sometimes… As was fire. You got burnt if you played with it. So if you played with water, did that mean you would drown? He observes her again, staring at one exposed shoulder. She squeaks when she notices and covers the bare flesh.

"Say, Mizu… What if I said I could get you out of here?" her attention pricks.

Smooth Jiraiya, smooth…

She makes a motion with her hand as if to say 'go on!'…

"Well, as you know, I'm an author. Only recently, I've been having a bit of writers block." Mizu tilts her head, eyes narrowing but listening intently, "I've been thinking, I need a muse, to inspire my drafting…"

Her eyes widen, catching his meaning, "Do you really think…?" She asks breathily.

'Do you really think you can get me away from here?'

He nods.

A face splitting grin slides up her face.

Slowly, he extends a palm, she grasps if fervently, grin never ceasing.

"…" Shota watches the exchange. They had been speaking lowly, so he couldn't be sure what course their topic of conversation had taken, but the needle on the compass soon clicked as she began leading him "upstairs".

Shota frowned; Mizu had only been with them for roughly a fortnight, and had never been one to willingly take customers. Heck, he even doubted she would. She seemed too innocent compared to the others, whose swallowed cheeks and clogging perfume stood as a prominent reminder to their life choices. Now Mizu was allowing some silver haired lecher almost twice her age wriggle between her legs. Shota snorted shaking his head. I'll never understand women…

"Was it really necessary to lead me upstairs?"

"They'll think I've got a customer now, so they won't bother to check in on us."

"Ah…"He rubs his neck awkwardly. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you Mizu-chan?"

"Just Mizu, please, and I'm eighteen."

'Like hell!' the Sannin scoffs in his mind.

"No seriously. I am eighteen. I'm just... small for my age." After saying that, he notices she only just reaches his elbow.

"Of course..." Smiling wide at her insecurity.

The Sannin watched as she gathered a meagre collection of belongings: a decorative hair comb, a fraying picture of what seemed to be her family- sepia crusting the glossy top layer, the corners well thumbed, and she was done.

"What now?" He motions for her to follow him. Sliding open a window, he gathers the small girl in his arms, hopping from the two story height and lading with cat-like fluidity. She gasps; expecting to be jostled from the drop, instead finding herself hugged closer to his chest, his arms twining beneath her knees and round her back lightly.

Then he begins to run.

She mumbles something under her breath, its whipped away by the wind before he can catch it.

"What?!"

"Why me, Jiraiya-San? Why did you pick me?"

"You stuck out like a sore thumb in that brothel, you're easy on my eyes, and I need a muse. Either way, this little deal works out nicely for us, ne?" she cringes when he compliments her.

Perverted ninja... she grumbles in her head.

"You understand!-" She yelps as he picks up the pace, she readjusts herself closer to him for safety purposes. "-There's going to be some ground rules!"

She'd heard the rumors; he was a pervert, and old enough to be her grandfather (If she had had one that she'd known of to compare him to) of course she would initiate a borderline.

"Enlighten me!" he chuckles.

"If you EVER do something inappropriate to me without my consent, I'll relish the day when you regret it!" he winces, knowing she means it... Hell did hath no fury like a scorned woman, after all.

Some dilemma he'd gotten himself into here: A girl in her late teens travelling with a man over twice her age and giving him back-chat, well aware that he was a legendary Sannin and could dispatch of her anytime he pleased. He shakes his head a little; trust him to pick a feisty one…

"Jiraiya-san?"

"Hm?"

"Arigato..." thank you for saving me.

Icha-Icha: Dilemma… he smiles, and she looks up, curiosity pooling in her eyes, I can see it now, Kakashi's going to love it!

It occurred to me in the shower (Why is it people always get ideas at random or inappropriate times?), an idea of the legendary Sannin being that big of a softie he'd break a girl out of a brothel just to use her as a test subject for his new book.

Where do these whacked ideas come from?! By the way, 'tis only a one-shot...

Written to "Casual Affair" - Panic! at the Disco (Ha! How fitting?)

Ooh, I found the cover work on DeviantART:

art/Jiraiya-256748779

(Full credit goes to Sunny-berry!)

EDIT 23/10/13: I've tried to smooth out some of the bits I had... issues with... Still hate the fluffy ending though...

Review please! I wanna know what you think!