Watanabe Ryuishi felt that of all the things she worried about, perhaps she should have worried about the fanaticism inside the Mumei ranks just a little bit more.
As soft, petite hands clasps hers and adoring eyes stare at her, she thought that maybe this could have been planned out a little better. This time with a background check, or a substance abuse test, or fucking something.
The plan had been simple, make contact with the Mumei inside Konoha. Usually it didn't take much, and her identity was easily proven. No one else in this planet had a tattoo quite like hers, because body art hadn't come quite that far in this world. Also, the bone and bead hair stick Hanako gifted was intricately carved in such a way that it was impossible to duplicate. Not to mention her peculiar chakra or weapon. These were all unique features that belonged to her idolized persona, the Lucky Dragon.
The problem wasn't proving her identity, or even finding the Mumei reported to be in the city. She had checked with Kagami last time they had met to get the name and appearance. The problem wasn't even getting inside the city, because she had just used a different river under the cover of night. No, the trouble had come once the Okiya girl had dragged her inside and seen the tattoo and the hair pin. It had come once she was certain that the 'Rakki Ryuu' was actually standing in front of her.
Shimmery blue eyes the color of aquamarines drink in her features with an intensity that is completely insane, while pale-skinned fingers ran gently down her arms, her hands, and her fingers.
"You! You, it's you! You—" a charming, birdlike voice chants quietly as the owner continues to invade her personal space.
"Uhhhhh," Ryuishi lets out, squinting at the woman in front of her. She is clearly an adult, albeit a cute, petite adult, but she was at least twenty. Probably. Maybe? She had glossy, sleek blue-black hair and creamy skin, not to mention a bust that was at least a C-cup. The woman had a petite frame which was wrapped delicately in light blue silk, and was truly beautiful to look at. If not for the insane, sycophantic muttering under her breath, the missing nin might have even tried to make a pass, but the awe and devotion in her eyes is unsettling. It's fervent, and kinda crazy.
"Misaki?" Ryuishi asks, hoping that this was the contact and not some tweaker. It looks like her, sounds like her, and this was the brothel listed. It's just that Kagami never mentioned intense and complete fangirling.
Pale blue eyes light up at the name, and small hands clasp around hers as the woman goes to her knees, staring at her as if she hung the stars.
"You said my name," she whispers.
Ryuishi honestly feels really, truly uncomfortable. For the first time in a while she can feel heat begin to travel up her neck and settle on her cheeks, a blush ruining her perfectly stoic face. Hot damn, she is embarrassed. Like, really bad.
Honestly, she isn't that great. Truly, she is a shit person. A part of her wants to blurt that out to the woman and confess the load of weird and terrible things she has done. Just the other day she had shoved an old man out of her way in a mad dash for the last barbecued squid at a kebab joint, and sometimes she made fun of birds. Okay, she made fun of birds a lot, but in her defense they were stupid and loud and she hated them.
Ryuishi stand uncomfortably stiff, frozen in place in the wooden room. Since she didn't cause the weird atmosphere, she had no idea what to do. She carefully observes the tatami mats behind Misaki's head. They are clean and tightly woven, showing only the wear of frequent use and time. They are kept pretty well and are probably cleaned every week. That's nice, at least the brothel is clean.
"You… you chose me to assist you," the woman continues, "I am so very honored. To have you in my home is a blessing."
"Uhhh," she states again. Honestly, how is she supposed to reply to that?
"To think, the Lucky Dragon, she who guided us, is here before me."
The flush blooms higher on her face and she can feel her ears burning. Seriously, what the fuck? Just how many titles did she have? This is goddamn ridiculous.
"And to be so young! The rumors were true! With blushing cheeks and such strong, capable hands—"
"Misaki," Ryuishi cuts in, and woah, did her voice just crack? "I am honored and pleased to meet you, but really, I'm just a person."
The woman flashes her a smile that can send soldiers to war and runs her hand down the length of Ryuishi's arm, which makes her heated face burn even more. Sweet mother Mary on a Harley, this woman was something else.
"So humble and sweet," she coos, and oh, how the tables have turned. Is this what Naruto and Gaara feel like when she fawns over them? Well, not likely, because they usually soak it up like no one's business, but still.
Ryuishi just isn't good with compliments. She doesn't like them aimed at her when they're actually serious, because they make her feel awful and dirty and gross. She's certainly vain enough that if someone compliments her hair or tells her she has a rockin' body she can accept it, but otherwise, they disquiet her.
It is another one of those things, she supposes. One of those conflicting parts of her that knows she isn't a crap person, and yet is. A part of her that loves attention and praise, but also hates it. The same part of her that loves to flirt, but runs and hides when seriously being hit on. So meeting this type of follower really threw her. She had expected to walk in here, confident and in control. That graceful and powerful person she was always aiming to be. Instead she feels every one of her body's fifteen (nearly sixteen) years of life. All that embarrassment and awkwardness bound in growing skin.
An errant instinct pops up inside of her, a piece of her given life through multiple psychotic breaks and living life as a soldier-for-hire. It whispers quietly, an insidious hiss in the back of her head. If she scares Misaki, maybe hurts her a bit, then things would be better. She can choke the breath out of her pretty pale neck until she learns to stop this, or give her a scar to match the one on Ryuishi's own neck. Curiously enough, it sounds a bit like Orochimaru.
How about we not do that, she thinks flippantly, pushing the idea into nonexistence.
Ryuishi goes to kneel in front of the starstruck woman. Outside the doors she can hear the quiet, stifled breaths of the working girls pressed close to the paper screens, desperately listening in to this newest drama. She wants to roll her eyes, she had forgotten how gossip spread inside the Okiya. Tentatively, she turns her calloused hands inside the woman's, gripping her fingers in hers. She digs up some courage from the depths of her being and meets those piercing eyes head on.
"Misaki-san, do you agree to what I am asking?"
"I would do anything for you, anything at all," she whispers.
"So you agree to house me, hide me, and lend me your things when I am in need? To care for those I ask you to?"
"Yes, of course—"
"You agree to this, knowing that no harm will come to you if you do not. Knowing that if we are caught, they will take everything from you? That Konoha will silence your voice and most likely take your life?"
"Anything for you," she says, and when Ryuishi measures her words, she finds nothing but truth. The devotion inside of this stranger is terrifying, and she feels it down to her bones. It is dangerous and wholehearted, the kind of mindless faith that set her old world on fire. The feeling of responsibility clutches at her and she wants to panic, but she forces a smile on her face anyway.
"Thank you, Misaki. I will make sure your services are well compensated."
Hands grip tight and suddenly the ex-Mist ninja is engulfed inside an embrace, pulled face first into a shuddering chest, and oh sweet lord of the heavens, help her. She is too hormonal for this. Are fear boners even a thing? She fucking hates being a teenager again. Oh well, at least she can count on Misaki keeping her secrets. There is little room for betrayal with this absurd level of loyalty.
The next morning, Ryuishi wakes up to the harsh glint of sunlight and entire Okiya's worth of people peeping on her from around the corner of her doorway. Sleeping on a fuuton had been nostalgic, even if this entire district was five hundred times cleaner and better kept than Kiri's red light. She even got her own room out of the deal, but she isn't sure if Misaki did it because she had room to spare, or it was because she was who she was.
Blinking past her sleepy haze, her improved hearing catches a shushed round of giggles and whispers while silky hair flashes around the corner of a closed sliding door. It says something about her that her first instinct is to demolish the whole room and kill the gigglers, but she doesn't really care what. Instead, she leans forward into a sitting position while somebody outside coos.
"H'llo?" she calls out groggily, "Can I help you?" She cringes because her husky voice is laced with tiredness and curiosity.
More giggling answers her a moment before a quiet 'shush' settles them down. As if on cue, the screen door slides open to reveal Misaki, bright-eyed and beautiful, surrounded by an assortment of men and women in all shapes, sizes and colors. All of whom are smiling and happy, tittering among themselves as they cast glances her way. She has no idea what they have been told about their new guest, but they look very glad to see her.
It is way too early for this shit.
Misaki leans forward to greet her in a sweeping bow from her position in seiza, and Ryuishi grumpily rubs at her eyes, trying to smear the sleep right out of them. She almost misses the ways she would wake up to Kisame's reflective eyes staring down at her, judging her from her place curled into Zabuza's side. It seems much more preferable to this… good cheer, or whatever the hell this is.
"Good morning, Ryuu-hime. This one hopes you have rested well."
"Mornin', Misaki-san," she answers.
The people behind her burst into noise again, cooing over the politeness and respect she has shown through her choice of suffix, but it goes over her head this early in the morning. What the fuck is so special about common decency? She just thinks—wait, did that fucker just call her princess? Oh, come on!
"Breakfast is ready and the baths are drawn. Whichever you choose, we are here to assist."
"No, really, it's fuckin' fine. I can do those by myself—"
"I insist, Ryuu-hime. After the the amount you donated last night, we have time to spare!"
Internally, Ryuishi curses herself. If she had fucking known that the woman was going to try this shit, she might not have done it. Then again, looking at the delighted faces of the workers, she might have. Misaki must have spread the wealth, and then let it known who had handed it over, because the crowd is practically ready to jump her. She doesn't know who most of them are, but she can see from dangling fish-bone jewelry and feather braids that a few probably have an inkling to who she is, while the others simply know her as the girl who gave them money and time off.
She is genuinely unsettled. They all look like they want to consume her. Or molest her. Or something else unpleasant. Has she… has she gotten some sort of fan-club? This is scary.
Yet, she has been traveling, and she would face worse for the privilege of being clean. It's not that she has ever particularly modest anyway. So what if they see what if they see her naked? She flashed her tits at ANBU for Christ's sake, and it's not like these people haven't seen the goods on a hundred different bodies before her.
"Bath," she decides out loud, stretching out her arms above her head with a yawn. It's only when three dispatch from the flock like murderous, beautiful birds does she begin to doubt.
Ryuishi is herded through the multiple story building in a whirl of colorful silks and groping hands that tear at her clothes. She isn't shy, but she is bewildered as hell. She is a fucking A-ranked missing nin, but they are treating her like a doll as they help her strip and push items at her.
"Try this cream, it makes for such smooth legs!" one says, shoving a pot at her as she rinses.
"Such long, beautiful hair! I can't wait to see it down," another purrs.
"Look at how muscled you are! You must be so strong!" a different person tells her as someone else coats her hair in a pungent soap.
"What a beautiful mark. It's true, it really does go all the way to her cute little—"
"Misaki, shit!" Ryuishi yelps, batting the wandering hand away from her ass.
She doesn't feel ashamed or anything. It's just, well, she's used to spending most of her time alone or focused on another person. No one is with her when she travels, or when she is at home. With Naruto and Gaara, she is completely in control of the situation. She is used to isolation and quiet. Now she is drowning in positive attention, desperately trying to stay afloat as wave after wave crashes over her. She is a murderer and a sarcastic asshole and an all-around degenerate thug. This kind of stuff is out of her comfort zone.
The whirlwind continues, and she is cleaned and pampered till she shines, and then they continue. Someone new is fitting a sultry looking kimono around her, all flowing black fabric and grey smoke patterns. Misaki is exclaiming something as she combs through her hair, and somebody else is contouring her face and coloring her eyes.
Ryuishi is fairly certain she has gone into shock. She hasn't worn a proper robe since she left the Okiya and enrolled in the Academy. It brings back memories of her old home, the smell of incense and stale sex in the brothel. The stench of rot and decay outside the windows and the endless sea of fog through the dirty streets. For a moment Keiko's delicate, rounded face smiles at her through her memories, before it is replaced with the smashed mess she had come home to find. Staring at herself in the mirror as the sex workers flutter around her, she wonders what her birth giver would have had to say about the unrecognizable woman in her reflection.
She sucks in a breath as the image registers.
They have contoured her face in such a way that her coal eyes look wider, lined with a lighter color underneath. They look half lidded and sultry as they gaze back from the silvery surface, the bridge of her nose narrower and cuter instead of rounded. She has cheekbones that have appeared from nowhere and a jawline like woah. Her plump lips are colored softly, and there is a ribbon tied around her neck like a choker, hiding the scar underneath. Her ridiculously long hair is silky and straightened out, a curtain of midnight parted in the middle and fluttering loose down around her hips.
Ryuishi is confident in her body, and knows that when she feels the need, her skill with makeup can make her pretty to others as well. It's just that, it's nowhere near this level of skill. She looks like herself, but the emphasis is on other features than what she would choose. She is just so subtly off that she is almost unrecognizable. It isn't the rough, yanki look she usually rocks. It's elegant and natural, only it's totally not. She look like… well, not really herself, but still herself?
"Did you guys do fucking magic?" she blurts, and she hears titters around her.
This… this is perfect. It's like she is hidden in plain sight, only better. She feels like a movie star, only she looks like a next level hooker, the kind of escort you would find in some jumped up noble's house. Even Orochimaru, with his photographic memory, would have trouble picking her out.
She is a pretty whore, hidden among pretty whores.
She smiles and laughs, and the room full of people look delighted. She hugs everybody that helped her in this transformation, and then some. Even if they are a bit overzealous, these people are magicians and professionals. She thanks every one of them repeatedly, and they glow under her praise. Then she hides a truly amazing amount of weapons and tidbits on her person and sweeps out the door, blending in with the streets of people. There is a little of bundle of energy she needs to visit, and now she can do it where everybody can see.
Who would equate Watanabe Ryuishi, the dangerous missing nin, with this soft young harlot?
Ryuishi walks right up to the jinchuuriki's worn apartment building, and the only second glances she receives are to gauge her appearance. She looks like she belongs, like she is Fire Country born and bred in this disguise, and it makes her want to laugh. She is hiding in another skin, right beneath the law's nose. Suck it, Konoha.
The steps to the door creak beneath her weight, and the handrail is covered in peeling paint as she ascends, but it seems like nothing can ruin her good mood right now. When she reaches his door, she raps on it sharply, and a sky blue eye peeks out.
"Whaddya want?" it asks.
She smiles, a crooked snaggletooth smirk with too much joy, and looks down at him. He squints harder, like he thinks he should know who she is but can't quite remember.
"That's no way to fucking greet someone, sunshine."
The door closes, and she can hear crashing on the other side, the clattering of a deadbolt and the clink of a small chain. It only takes a moment for the passageway to open up again, and she sees him in full. A grin is stretching across his face, his gap-toothed smile shining like a lantern in the night. Something she didn't know was there eases in her chest.
The boy is safe, and she can sense no guards. They never discovered why she was here last time.
"Nee-chan!" he shouts, and her robed legs are squished tight as he attempts to bowl her over in his enthusiasm, clutching her to him. She laughs, and the sound is airy to her own ears.
This brat, this beautiful little brat.
Bending at the waist, she fits her hands under his arms and picks him up, embracing him for real as she steps inside the apartment, shutting the door with a sandaled foot.
"Hey there, kiddo," she whispers, feeling him wrap her arms around her neck. The smell of cheap ramen and green leaves rustling in warm wind fills her nose as she hold him close.
"Did you take out the trash? Was it hard? I bet you did a great job, because now you're all pretty and your clothes are nice and—"
The sound of her laughter washes over him, and Naruto looks up from her shoulder, fidgeting in her arms. He didn't know if she would come back, because she was so… so scary last time he saw her. He couldn't see past everybody's legs, but she saw something and then she had to go and he had to play Uno all by himself, and what if she had gotten hurt—?
She did come back though, and now he was safe in her arms. Her cool skin felt nice, and her pretty hair was all over and she smells good.
He missed her.
"What happened, dattebayo?" he demands, detaching from her for a moment.
"I told you, I had to take care of some garbage. That's my job, so sometimes I'll have to leave and do that."
"But you'll come back?"
"I'll try to. Sometimes it might take longer than others, but I will continue to try and get back."
"You better," he tells her seriously. She smiles again.
He nods gravely, slamming his fist into his hand. "It's like Jiji said. Sometimes pets wander off. Garbage fairies and cats."
And just like that, the two of them are picking up right where they left off, like she never left in the first place.
Naruto drags her to the back room to show off his paint collection and she determinedly washes the empty cups and bowls littered around his house, taking his clothes to be washed. He too, seems to be in that question asking phase, and trails behind her in the apartment, yammering away.
"Why are you dressed so nice?" he asks while she separates the colors from the whites.
"Because I feel like it."
"Why is your face funny?" he queries again.
"Well that's fuckin' rude, sunshine."
"Your face is rude."
"Aaand guess who can fold his own clothes now?"
"I LIED!" he shouts, wriggling frantically on top of the dryer, "Your face is normal and polite!"
"Too late. The damage is done," she tells him dramatically, shoving him gently so he collapses into a heap on the metal.
"Nee-san!" he protests.
"Nope, too late. You made your bed, now lie in it."
"But… you made my bed," he says, head cocked to the side, with confusion that is, quite frankly, fucking adorable.
Ryuishi sighs and rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn't drop. It's good to be back.