Recent Posts

"Well darn, I left my sword collection back home," he mused with sarcastic air. Pressing forward towards the village gates, he stood beside the shinobi, taking his lead as they passed through security. It was apparently tight, and he managed a shit eating grin as they frisked him down. "At least buy me dinner first," he mustered, though their search would yield no weaponry. The only supplies the young journalist had brought were those of a reporter; this place was hard pressed with visitors it seemed. Glancing over to his travel companion after reaching the end of customs, he waiting his guidance into the village. He couldn't help but look up at the towering walls of sand, the complex infrastructure that built this village left him with a feeling of awe. "Its amazing," he responded, his eyes stuck on the village like a child exploring a candy shop for the first time. Exit to Sunagakure.

It seemed that his proposal set well with his new friend, for the slightest grin crossed his face in contemplation of the thought. It was possible that he hadn't noticed his glimpse of approval, but the idea was a win win scenario. Temporarily holding off on a response, he sank to his knees, plunging his hands into the sand. Only moments later did he emerge with a tall wooden stick, to which effect he used as a crutch. "Passed this shelter before, but I upset a rattle snake and decided to take my chances elsewhere," he uttered, before answering the initial query, "And my leg is much better, thank you." Hopping to, so to speak, the young reporter let his shinobi friend take lead. He had no clue as to the direction or length of their journey, choosing to accept it for what it was rather than complaining.

He advanced quickly, mildly subduing his limp for the majority of their travels. Until of course they reached a vessel of transportation upon which they'd hitch a ride. It was hard to tell to where, but soon enough a blindfold would be necessary. That much was obvious. It happened that their transport was an old beat up carriage drawn by four horse. Sitting on the back ledge, Akira let his legs hang, swaying as much as the cart along the course road they traveled. It seemed that the shinobi was pressed for time, and so he thought to investigate further, leaning towards his comrade with a curious gaze. "Something wrong? You seem hurried," he cooed, patiently awaiting reply.

It appeared that, as a result of the medical ninjutsu, the journalist was saved. A green orb of light hovering over his frame seemed to take off the immediate damage of the sandstorm, reducing both the pain and the increasing blood loss. Forcing his eyes open at the muffled sound of a voice, his blurred vision began to clear with each blink he took. When his senses had returned to him, his memory came rushing back and he could finally recall the events leading up to this. To recap: he had been traveling to Kaze no Kuni to interview the residing kazekage for the Tsuchi no Kuni Post; unable to cope with the environment, he'd been devoured alive by the eternal depths of sand. And when it seemed like all hope was lost, a hand reached out to him and plucked him from a disgraceful ending. As life rushed back into his body, he coughed horrendously, nothing more than dry heaves followed. His throat felt as though someone had pushed a rake through it, leaving the walls of his gullet bloodied and scathed.

Hands desperately clutched for the nearly emptied canteen at his side, to which pleasure he drained the remaining contents with satisfaction. Doused with his last supply of water, his through was temporarily relieved of the pain that came with dehydration. This partial hydration granted that he could speak again, answering the query of his savior. "Thank you," he croaked, coughing twice more, "Seems my weak body couldn't handle these climates. Lifting his head from the ground, he placed his right hand back, propping himself up in a partially seated position. His other hand patted along his body, until he found the documents containing a letter from the TK Post's lead editor. Folded between his digits, he extended the documents to the sunagakure shinobi with an embarrassed smile.

"This is a bit embarrassing. You'd think a reporter ought to do more research before coming to a place like this. I nearly died!" he exclaimed mustering a pathetic attempt at a laugh. Shifting his point of balance from his right hand to his left, he offered his right to the shinobi as a means of greeting. Thin rose lips parted in the arrangement before he spoke, uttering out a slightly audible sentence, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Monosuke Akira." If all went well, he'd be accompanied to Sunagakure by this spirited youth.

The climate was different here. The scorching heat was arid as he pressed on through endless dunes. It was absurd to think that anyone could live in such conditions, but then again, being acclimated to this heat made it seem normal. The journalist pressed on, crunching through sand and clinging tightly to a small pack and a notebook. His canteen was half full at best, and with water supplies running low he sipped it slowly to prolong its satisfaction. How much longer would he have to press on before crossing paths with a shinobi of sunagakure? Soon he hoped, his self inflicted harm had developed his dire need for shelter and rations. Taking one glance at him, you could tell that this man was at the end of his rope. No, this rope had plenty of length left to it; his hand coiled it so to speak, a flawless facade. And how far this writer had come, just for a story.

His feet blistered, and flesh turned red. Using the spare cacti in sight, he split one open using a large rock. Hoisting the stone slab above his head, it smashed through plant life with ease, providing him with enough succulents to last him the next few days. It was hard to tell how long he'd be out here, but one thing was for sure, he had no intention of giving up now. A large oasis appeared in the distance, inspiring a pathetic run; the traveled distance only revealed the large body of water to be an illusion. To hell with mirages, they were the epitamy of disappointment in the desert. The wind had begun to pick up at this point, and so Akira sought shelter behind a large rock. Though he was less than happy to share it with the rattle snake occupying the domain, and moved through a slowly picking up sand storm. If he didn't find help soon, he was done for.

一SUNA NIN PLEASE

Pressed for time, the journalist found himself pickled in a situation of transportation. The cargo ship, docked briefly on the shores of Kami no Kuni, was departing and refused to take the young writer as a passenger. Laughing awkwardly, Akira—as he called himself—scratched the back of his head; his relentless begging had begun to crack holes in the firm denial of the ships captain. "Sir. It's essential to my job that I make it to Kaze no Kuni within the next few days. This could be the biggest report of my career!," he cooed, hoping to persuade the captain. The captain, a sturdy man of six feet grumbled, scratching his beard in contemplation. "Fine. I'll take you as far as Earth Country, but I expect you to do your part on our ship in the mean time," he growled. Not another word was spoken by the captain, who spun on his heels and walked up into his quarters. Confused and nervous, Akira followed him up the boarding plank, thanking him for his generosity.

Once settled in the crew's quarters, the journalist made his way to the deck, dressed in grey cargo pants and a white tank top. He tried to fit in to the best of his ability, but with the constant complaints of the crew he was labeled a failure. Weak and uncoordinated, his facade held firmly as he tried like any regular citizen would to complete tasks out of reach. He yielded no skill in knot tying, and he couldn't steer the boat for the life of him. It wasn't until three days in that he began to grasp the terms of boating, such as the mast, the port side, the starboard side, and even the bow. His understanding of the vessels mechanics were flawless, and he could even perform the crew's duties better than anyone; but no one ever saw this side of them, they only knew him as a white collar book worm. In fact, he spent most of his down time nose first in a book by the name of 'Treasure Island'. A regular joe, his short time aboard the vessel went mostly unnoticed. In three weeks time, his existence would be gone from their memories for the rest of their lives.

After five days of sailing, they docked along the shores of Tsuchi no Kuni and the young columnist found himself saying goodbye to the hearty crew. He thanked the captain graciously, and went on his way, never to cross paths again. For the duration of his travels, Akira was on his on.

一MOVE TO TSUCHI NO KUNI