Reply The Lost...what?! {Oct Oso}

[The Dude]

Sunagakure was in a state and there was no point in the shinobi of the country to lie to themselves on the matter. It was a time of depression as well as oppression, but there was some heart to be taken in the aggressive tendencies of the land itself. While shinobi occupying the country were abroad in number as well as force at night, they would find it difficult to travel in the harsh heat of the day. With the sun beating down and the blazing sands shifting with relative ease in the wind, only the natives could navigate the land accurately.

Coyotes could be heard howling though as the sun began to set and birds began to circle overhead the foreign shinobi easily marking their locations to be avoided by the natives. Night would soon fall and shinobi from the homeland would do well to gather together for both shelter and protection during what was likely to be a frigid night.

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[Deleted]

Thirty years, and she was still anything but a native to the country of the wind.

The widow covered her face against the sand with a black, burlap cloak - the gardener who had secreted her into the countryside had left her with it. She left the loyal servant with the remainder of her ration tokens for water and fruit allotted by the occupying government -- useless to her now.

She was going home. Back north. She would find a ship if she kept straight. There was nothing for her in this barren country, not with her husband dead, her house invaded by the Iwagakure forces, orders for hospitality. Their filthy boots on handwoven carpets! Sleeping in their beds, drinking their precious wine! Disgusting cretins. Even kissing her hand, and their eyes, no, she couldn't stay, no - not as their slave, not as their hotel mistress. She was not their wife - HAH!

She stood in the desert, watching the gardener follow their footprints back as she twisted off her ring - mildly stuck. She thought for a moment about letting it go, dropping it here into the shifting sands, an old life for a new.... A wry smile settled on her lips. (A man wasn't a ring but a ring was made of gold.) She put it away into her purse, and this into her satchel, and hobbled off into some direction hidden by the gusts.

---

"Water," she said roughly, pressing the gold band into another woman's hand. She was already lost - terribly lost - sand on her lashes, in her slippers, and under her nails. But this tiny outpost saved her - how fortunate she had been to discover this small gathering of civilization.

The cruel woman shivered beneath her cloak, the hood pulled over her head as she stood in the glow of a lantern hung over a well. A canteen was promptly pressed into her hands, and after she took a small drink, she held it like a treasure beneath the fabric. "Come back before you depart. I will give you more," said the kind girl, shutting the well's lid and turning the padlock over it. Her eyes flicked warily. "And don't tell."

Zinaida wandered away from the water-sellers, pulling the itchy cloak more thoroughly around her. There were a group of people that had gathered by a fire, a flame obscured by the shadows of their bodies. She could not tell if they were foreign ANBU on patrol, or the natives of Suna. She approached the fire, hiding her face beneath the hood, and asked one that had turned to her in a low voice, "May I sit with you?" She knew she was begging, a reluctant bitterness hung in her tone.

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[symple—]

The eerie uncertainty of the desert was quickly creeping into the hearts of those not use to life outside the walls of Sunagakure. He did his best to comfort those he found wandering near the outskirts of the village after the attack, in need of food and shelter. He would lead them through the winding path of the dunes to small refugee camp. The gathering comprised of rebels and the homeless alike, a safe haven for those escaping the grasp of Iwagakure. As he entered the camp he would direct those he found to the major locations within the camp, the food tent, supply tent, etc. As they rushed off for sustenance Yanagi would drift towards a nearby campfire, the dancing flame drawing a small group of the residents in like moths.

"Sit wherever you like." his words directed at the woman seeking a spot to rest her body, Yanagi lucky enough to hear her request as he neared the flame.

He would take a sip from the canteen that adorned his side over his travels through the dunes, replenishing himself as he took a seat, gesturing for the woman to sit down just in case there was still any hesitation. "Do not feel threatened, no one here will hurt you if that is your concern." His eyes following the dancing fire as he spoke, his focus following the eb and flow of the element, its dance was erratic, chaotic, more so than normal, something was amiss tonight.

[minakami shū]

Across the fire however, sat a man most memorable to her. A head stark white, skin light as well. He glowed against the flame of the fire, his aura magnetic as his companions stayed close by. He joked and laughed with those nearby, spotting Yanagi speaking with a cloaked person - someone whom seemed to wish to rest with them. His entourage wasn't large, but it was sizable enough. The encampment was of Suna shinobi and Hashshashi people, en route towards Sunagakure in an effort to build a camp nearby; or to possibly scout the location. No doubt she would make a recognition of her... beloved husband. Her husband who had been gone for such a considerable amount of time - was it two years? Three? He wasn't certain how long it'd had been, just that everyone thought that he was dead. Sadly, it seemed they were all incorrect.

[johnny.]

Amber orbs floated in the contents of a shadow cast by the hood of a cloak. The eyes reflected the hungry tendrils of a thriving fire, clawing at the open night sky, falling miserably short of anything that might be considered progress. The enigma hovered on the edge of the fire, a tattoo'd body hidden by a heavy jet mantle. He couldn't tell anymore... if he was attracting more attention bare-chested, or when he decided to cloth himself in near-melodramatic attire. Some wandering eyes found their ways towards him, but it appeared at most of the natives were used to the odd clothing choice - or maybe it was familiar with their sense of fashion in the dead of the night.

A women met Kojiro's side, immediately offering a request to take the spot next to him. However, before his covered head could make a complete rotation towards her, a friendly voice - decorated with proper tone and vocabulary, replied. An almost sinister smile pierced through the shadows of his disguise, and a inked hand would reach up and withdraw the cowl of his cloak, letting a short and shaggy mess flutter as the fabric pulled his hair back momentarily. "I believe that was my personal space to offer." Koji spat in an almost playful voice, not really minding where the woman sat.

As Yanagi continued to gesture her to sit, the shinobi found it in his heart to at least warn the woman to ignore most of the unnecessary words that escaped his impish mind, "You'd do well to remember that nothing I say is really serious... or important. Pretty much useless, but it does make telling the truth easier when you lie so much. His comment wasn't expected to receive a reply from the woman, but on a dull night like this, conversation would always be welcome.

[Deleted]

She nodded to the generous man - where does such kindness come from in such a violent, possessive world? She breathed, for the way he spoke was of the native way. As the good man became lost in the ballet of the fire, Zinaida turned to investigate the rest of the immediate party.

Her yellow eyes, so like a black cat's, shifted along the chopped palm trunk as someone lowered his hood for her, grinning. She sniffed at his testy comment, frowning, and she hesitated before turning to sit. When she did, she was careful that the katana tied loosely to her hips did not slip out of the hem of her costume. She clutched the bulky fabric like a Victorian gown.

As he continued to speak, her hood lifted for a moment as she studied his bizarrely tattooed face. The mysterious design drew her in, but she backed away and let it go after a blink. He was a mouthful, wasn't he.

"By all means then, blather away," she sighed. "Do not be deterred by my presence. I promise I won't give much thought to it," she muttered, and then, she pulled out her canteen to take a drink--only to lose herself and spit it feebly back into the vessel.

She wanted to grab her hood and pull it down more, her face pale, and she managed to cough a little, pieces of her hair falling out of their containment. What had she seen? Her eyes flicked back up again, and then, shot to the ground. Uncontrolled, a vile giggle slithered from the deepness of her throat as she wiped her mouth of water.

His funeral, she remembered, her son's face, and how she stared into it. They had no body, no evidence, his being perhaps mummified in the heat and salt of the wastelands, perhaps his blood rusting the dirt of some road until his corpse was kicked into a ditch to rot. She would awaken sweating, panting, some nights, from visions of how he succumbed--

Her heart wrenched to see him smiling, laughing, as if life were that simple, but how how could she trust it was really him. How, how when she knew the ways illusions worked, when she wove them with her own mind, this thin gossamer that pulls on our deepest trusts. And here he was before her, illuminated by a nomad's bonfire--her husband had a name. A name that men like the two beside her would follow. Her chuckle faded into her hand.

She turned to the one hypnotized by the fire, aware of the vision of her husband and holding her hood against it. "It is like... there is a shiver in the air," she said to him. "Do you feel it? Like there is a power being projected over us all." The absurdity of seeing her husband here, in the middle-of-nowhere, with an army of strange shinobi--no, she did not trust it, and her doubt was cold, sad, and certain.

[The Dude]

The sands picked up with a start suddenly and without warning twisting and turning in every direction at the same time defying all physics. Even the locals and natives of the country would find this beyond their reason and experience. While it is beyond understanding those who have lived here in this desolate land will find themselves able to discern something stranger than anything, assuming they manage to keep their heads about them. That being: While the sands rage shrouding vision and buffeting anyone who dare open open their mouths with a dry tongue of grainy earth, the air itself is still. Not a whisper of wind in any direction.

The sandstorm persists for all of three minutes forcing all nearby to lay flat along the dunes while it persists. Though it is only a short while the time seems to take forever as uncertainty plagues everyone's minds but all things come to an end. The sands calm and settle, leaving at last perfectly flat desert where rolling hills once were. Several of the most of the refugees have been buried alive at this point, their dying screams of tear never to be heard beneath the crushing sands. The few that remain (you fucks) will find only the flat sandy desert awaiting you vacant and frigid. No movements, no sound, silent as a tomb

Take care my weary vagabonds, these are no longer the familiar sands you call home.

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[symple—]

Before he could even grace the woman with a response of agreement the feeling that once seemed nothing more than a mixture of paranoia and stress was now forming into something much greater. Without wasting time Yanagi would push those around him down to the grainy sand that previously rested beneath their feet. He was accustomed to dealing with sandstorms before but this, this was different, it was unclean. Nothing would be spoken, and even less could be heard aside from the pelting pellets of sand that viciously slammed against their bodies as the storm ravaged their small outpost.

Though short, the storm would seem to grip the group in an endless torrent of sand, seeming to go on for eternity until finally the dancing sand slowly began its descent back down to ground level. As vision cleared and silence began to return Yanagi would remove himself from his grounded position, his vision would reveal nothing sort of the unexplained. The souls that once occupied the camp, figuring it to be a place of safety and comfort now gone, done away with by the vicious storm. Stranger still was the four souls left standing.

Was this some weird calling from the spirits of the sand? Why was Yanagi lucky enough to survive such an ordeal, and why were those he matched words with spared as well? The flattened sands only adding to the unknown as the once beautiful dunes were now nothing more than flat lands. He would stretch his hand out to the woman he previously spoke to, the only courtesy thing he could do after abruptly tossing her to the ground. "It unfortunately seems that I spoke too soon earlier. Saladin, Kojiro, are you well?" his tone would do its best to remain calm, though it was obviously that Yanagi was trapped in the grasp of whatever it was that was happening around them.

[minakami shū]

As if forsaken, the song of sand twisting together beneath the fabric of motionless wind played at their ears, and as some huddled together for comfort, others shaded themselves from the storm. Saladin quickly sprawled across the sand and the fire exhausted itself, grasping Kojiro and Nijad, the woman close by. He was very much alive, and they were young - their life would not be forfeit to the sandstorm. "Stay down. Kojiro, grab the other and keep your heads down. Nijad, use a wind technique to keep the sand from burying us--" he directed, took charge of the situation quick. Through it, they all did as they were told - and it was for this reason they survived, albeit some were lost in the torrent.

As it passed, Saladin stood and ruffled his hair - letting the sand fall from his practically white hair, dusting himself off from the collected amount of sand blown on him from the storm. They were all pretty dusty now, and it was fortunate the stranger of the group had thought ahead and wore something more covering. "I'm fine... I guess it's just us four?" luckily, he hadn't brought many people with him with the advance guard... but it was still somewhat agitating to know he had lost a couple shinobi. He peered around in the darkness, looking for a sign of life somewhere nearby. "Stay together. We should probably move soon - it isn't safe here."

[johnny.]

The girl responded well to his nonsense - or was it unwell? Would it have been better for her to ignore him like most do? Or was responding an act of rebellion against his own warnings. Of course, he was thinking too hard into the matter - and decided to rest with the satiation of an acquaintance that he actually enjoyed the company of. First impressions were very important. "Excellent! Now that that's out of the way, introductions are in order!" Koji finished, mocking the very voice and tone of his younger friend that was accustomed to order and manners. "The name's Kojiro, call me what you will. And yours?"

Unfortunately, the shinobi's own conversation would be cut short by the growing torrent that ripped through the blankets of sand. Attentive eyes watched the decaying faces of many that fell victim to the heavy onslaught, and he was suddenly counting his blessings for bringing the heavy wool cloak. Shiro, or rather... Saladin made an effort to protect him and the woman, and while it might have not been necessary, he did appreciate the care. All Koji would do is squint as the grainy image before him grew more course before settling.

What remained of the camp were the four of them, ironic and almost theatrical. The four actors of this play in near-pristine condition - magical at the least. What dangers were these protagonists about to face, as it was too easy and dull to accept the fact of probability and chance saving them. While maybe they were more physically adept than the natives, their training wasn't the reason for their salvation - and Koji found it hard to believe that either. A slim grin pulled back the ebony bars on his cheeks as he rose from the floor, a disheveled cloak draining the pockets of sand that had accumulated over him.

"I'm fine, not sure on the misses, but she looks tough. And we'd best make haste, I don't think nature has any plans to wait after singling us out like this." Koji projected, obviously caught in his own fantasy world - expecting fate to bring them to something interesting. A small sandstorm wouldn't cut it in his eyes.

[Deleted]

After being agreed with, such a pleasant feeling, she turned back to the talkative one. The tedium of introductions were in order, indeed.

"Kojiro," she tested. "I am Zinaida of the Zangalskya, and I am traveling back to my country. To where might you be headed in these dangerous waste--?"

And yes, that was when the spell hit and the world became a static TV in her ears, eyes, and mouth. The sand came upon them like a snap, and if it weren't for the two men beside her, she would have been buried alive, choking on these miniscule particles of rock. It would have been the end of her.

After it all, she pulled herself up ungracefully, and she was unsurprised that the one with her husband's hair and face and skin was alive too. She looked at the man like he had eaten Shiro. She huffed, at last pulling out her nerve, and she spoke around the sand in her mouth.

"No. We will not follow you." Zinaida laughed and took off her hood.

"I find a stranger with my dead husband's face, manipulating boys to follow him around the desert. What is this deceit? What demon are you to steal my husband's face, and use it so frivolously? You are an insult to my son and my family!--My liege does not smell like goat shit and camel piss." She looked him up and down in disgust.

"He doesn't wander around the desert like a senile old man and he most certainly does not travel in a caravan the size of a mouse's penis. No, my husband is too proud to leave his home without a word. He is not a sniveling coward--he is dead! My Shiro has been dead for three years. DEAD!" she screamed, her eyebrows falling in and admitting true grief, but she was too enraged to cry. She spoke quickly, for she would not let him interrupt.

"And seeing some fake, shape-shifting, second-rate ninja with his katana makes me want to vomit! So did you, sand demon, have anything to do with his death?" and a spiteful smile smeared across her face as lipstick might, the remnants of her foreign accent more obvious in her passion.

"Because if so, I swear, I will fucking kill you now and spit on your corpse."

She held her sword ready beneath her cloak, the diamond design on the hilt threatening an eye, her thumb beneath the guard pushed the blade out a centimeter from the sheath. A rattlesnake's tail shook an applause as it slithered out of the sand several meters away.

"HAHAHA! Yes, why would I follow you, indeed? If you can steal faces, whose to say this sand isn't your doing, too? This man beside me," and she motioned to the one called Najid, "has agreed that something is amiss, and I know it to be you. Now, these two men have just saved my life, and I will not let you trick them more."

[The Dude]

"DEAD!"

Hardly noticeable over the woman's outrage, the sands began to tremble as she continued her rant. It would be impossible for anyone to notice for it was far too subtle. Even as she continued to express her pent up emotions, the sands began to move in unison and by the end a twisting sinkhole began to form behind her. It began to slowly continue causing a sicking squelch as an arm burst forth from the sands reaching for the sky and clawing at the sands to drag a pale form from ground.

Once the entire form was out of the ground it curled up face down on the rotating sand sinkhole. The sand beneath it now rose up once again while turning until again the desert was free of any blemishes or indents. The newly birthed form was shaking and trembling, now identifiable now as a small girl with long dark hair. She rose up slowly to her feet, her back turned to the survivors of the incident before she held out her arm clutching a canteen.

"I told you I would give you more..." her voice was dry and gritty but would be unmistakably familiar to Zinaida as she turned slowly to look back at the shinobi. "I'm sorry, but this is the last kindness I can offer you." Her teeth had been filed and cut down into fangs, her eyes open wide as she tossed the canteen to the floor beside Zinaida. "I am the first to arrive, but others will soon be here. Our masters are... concerned with your survival. You managed to survive the storm which has brought about many questions as to your true nature. They heard you... from below. They will test you, prepare yourselves...."

"Why couldn't you just all keep quiet?"

SPOILER: Click to show

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[johnny.]

It wouldn't be long before the worlds of his old friend sent his oblivious wife off the walls. In an instant she snapped, and Koji admittedly backed off a few paces from her position. Nothing shook his sly smile that cut in between both cheeks, however. This was what they all needed. The show required the internal drama of a group, a way for characters to progress and remain dynamic. This is what was needed for the entertainment to exist.

While the raging female didn't pick up on the arm that shot forth from the sand behind her, Kojiro made no effort to rush and warn her about what was happening. "Behiiinnnnd you," he muttered in a voice that would practically be drowned out by the yelling. No one could tell him he didn't try though! He found it rude to interrupt a perfectly executed plea. Though, the figure that rose from the ashes of the campsite didn't look at all kind, and by her relatively disheveled and demonic facial expression, maybe it would be a good time to prepare for combat.

As Zinaida neared the end of her rant, the Sumi shinobi was already seated on the tops of a half-buried box, painting effortlessly on an exposed scroll. He had no immediate intention to call forth what his imagination had created, but it was always nice to be a ready. Each lazy stroke seemed to find itself a perfect piece to the puzzle of what he was painting. And while the image started out abstract, it came together fairly well - and only if the others could see what concoction his maniacal mind dreamed up. Maybe when the inevitable fight broke out - the inevitability deriving from the demon's warning about 'others'.

[symple—]

Well, this escalated quickly. The woman's rant filled in a few gaps of the already menial story that Saladin told him about his past. Though there were a few misconceptions in the words she spoke, she would leave no time for any of them to voice a rebuttal as she continued to fire off with her battery of words, even going as far as to attempt a physical stand, her hand seeming to drift down to her own personal weapon of choice. The timing of her rant, already poor, became much worse as Yanagi looked on with Kojiro, hearing the subtle warning, only barely, as something seemed to stretch from the once shifting sands. The arm would belong to one of the women that moments ago shared the warming fire with the band of Kaze no Kuni residents, what was this evil?

Yanagi would immediate take a position between the angered woman and the revived monster, he knew little of her but considering what just happened she obviously held ties to Saladin. "I doubt that right now is the best time to handle your issues, it would seem as though were not as alone as we thought we were. Prepare for anything." As he spoke his hands would extend in front of his chest, at the ready to act should things grow from strange to dire.

[minakami shū]

Why the hell did he marry such a crazy bitch? His eyes widened, lips parting slightly as his expression shifted from determined to scattered, the remnants of his confidence being destroyed through the verbal assault he was faced by his wife. Agitation was apparent on his face as she continued on, and the subtle rustle of the sand when unnoticed due to her excessive screaming. Before Nijad could take place between them, as he made his way to perform such a task, a single hand rose swiftly from Shu's side - a rough slap across the raving woman's face as indignant eyes glared down.

"We don't have time for this, Zinaida... we will discuss in full why you are out here all alone when you have a family to raise. I'm not dead --" his eyes jumped away from her, settling on the figure that had appeared behind Zinaida. It was a ghastly looking woman, face contorted and hair long as sand rolled from her locks. The sand below her shifted, and Shu became stiff with slight fright. It wasn't shown upon his face, only the hesitation of his own body failing to react being the only thing that dictated that he was indeed startled by the presence of such a being.

"Who... what exactly are you?" he spoke up, stepping forward past Nijad and his wife. Despite his harsh attitude towards her, he still showed concern for her safety. His eyes never once left the creature that appeared before them, his back firm as it remained in front of Zinaida and his companions. "How did you get here?"