Electra Rose
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WAP 45
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 16:00:04 +0000 UTCIt took an irritatingly long time to coordinate travel plans with the Senju. Hawks flew back and forth and at least one messenger came to the compound by foot, sending everyone in a tizzy. Aiko kept out of it, lounging around the Uchiha main house and reading through their collection of literature. The appeal of the Uchiha’s literature was failing, but she wasn’t bored enough to get up yet. She ate a dainty slice of fresh pair with one hand. Some Uchiha nearby had immaculate knife skills. Whoever they were, they were wasted on murdering people when they ought to have been working in a fine dining establishment.
Izuna seemed to be busy doing something during the day, far away. But Madara and Hikaku were frequently entering the house, having meetings, and speed-walking angrily around the compound with scrolls. Madara had a bit of ink on his face that no one was telling him about.
“Delicious,” Aiko said, watching them manage large-scale tasks and coordinate for a trip and the management of usual operations while the leaders would be gone for an unknown length of time. “I love watching someone else experience leadership.” She piled every cushion the Uchiha seemed to own for maximum comfort in lounging, and radiated such smugness from her cotton tower that Hikaku stopped by to scowl at her. He was trying not to scowl, but she sensed it in his soul. Wow, did he blame her? Just because she was the one who had gotten an invitation to her own assassination? Rude.
“Good afternoon, Aiko-sama,” Hikaku said blandly. His eyes said, ‘die, witch.’ “I trust you are enjoying our accommodations? Your kind patience is treasured.”
Aiko held out her empty dish and gave him a beatific smile. She extended her foot into a more elegant point, just to really drive home how leisurely her life was in comparison to his toil. “Is there more fruit?”
His teeth ground together when he stepped up to take it from her. “Of course. Anything for an honored guest.”
“Apple, please,” she called after him, and considered poking the bear a job well done. He was such a tense man. She laid there for a long moment, feeling enormously pleased with herself. Then self awareness threatened to spill over and she grimaced. “I need to do something,” Aiko muttered. She threw her head back to face the ceiling, neck arched gracefully. “If I don’t get moving, thinking, drunk, or something else, I am going to have to think about my actual life situation. I can’t afford self-reflection right now.” She squirmed around on her cushion stack.
That was why she was gone when Hikaku came back. Aiko slid on her sandals and went for a walk around the Uchiha complex, hunting for a distraction from the pain of existence.
…Oh. Being around the Uchiha was bringing up homesickness. Aiko heaved an aggrieved sigh. That was irritating. What, she was emotionally compromised just because this was the closest thing to Konoha she had experienced in years? That wasn’t very impressive.
Distraction. She scanned the area for one and ducked into the first building that didn’t seem to be a private residence. Aiko had the manners to announce her presence with a polite flick of chakra, almost like a knock. She stepped into a wall of heat and cinders, kept from buffeting the compound at large by a timber wall that would never survive if the fire jumped. Smoke drifted around the area, steam hissing as water met hot steel. Or was it iron? She didn’t really know when the average craftsman had changed materials.
“Uh- Good afternoon.” The blacksmith shucked a glove and twisted to peer at her, looking concerned. He was probably wondering why she was in his workstation.
“Good afternoon, I hope I’m not in your way.” Aiko stopped where she thought was a safe distance, more for the sake of her pretty clothes than anything else. “Can I watch you work?”
He scowled, but more out of confusion and distaste for novelty than negativity, she was pretty sure. “I suppose,” the man settled. “I’m Kojima. I’m only making nails and posts now. Boring work.”
“Work I’ve never seen,” Aiko said. “Thank you.” She found herself a perch on a steady pile of supplies and half-watched the process. Achieving the ideal heat was clearly a precise science. Kojima-san put all his concentration to the task and appeared to forget she was there. At one point someone else wandered in, gave Aiko a double-take, and then looked to Kojima-san for some kind of reassurance.
Aiko nodded in greeting.
Kojima-san grunted without looking away from his task.
There was a pause. Then the other blacksmith nodded silently to Aiko, their spiky hair bobbing a bit where some bangs escaped out of a headwrap. They followed Kojima-san in ignoring her after that and set to some kind of work hauling coal, then organizing things.
“I’m better,” Izuna-san whispered in her ear.
Aiko didn’t give him the dignity of a reaction. He had wanted to surprise her, creeping up from the side. “Is that so,” she said vaguely. “Kojima-san, would you say that-”
She leaned her neck back and used a hand to remove the hand that Izuna had slapped over her mouth to keep her from continuing that statement. His eyes darted between her and the blacksmith, who was definitely older than Izuna and deserved some kind of filial respect.
His boast was probably true. That didn’t mean he should have ever said it. She gave him a cool look with no small amount of malice in it. He had exposed his weak underbelly to her and he deserved a claw or two. Her grin crept a little wider as he sweated. His eyes turned begging. Fuck, he was pretty.
“Would I say what?” Kojima-san asked, after a long delay, when her words had reached him in the midst of his concentration. His companion blinked and looked up from their work as well.
Izuna was squirming. Aiko took a moment to enjoy it before saying, “Oh, never mind. Thank you for allowing me to watch.” She gave him a deep bow, deeper than she’d ever given an Uchiha lord, and enjoyed the flicker of affront it garnered from Izuna. Ha. One thing she truly appreciated about him was how quickly he moved on from gratitude. He had a very mercenary viewpoint.
