The world's a stage

[Cylan]

All the world’s a stage, and all the people mere actors.
-William Shakespeare

Times had never been quite this bad for Waterfall Country. The people were in disarray, and the riots that had spread across the region had just been put down by agents of a mysterious organization known as Henkou. An odd quiet settled across the land, but many refugees were left in the wake of the Soul Genma’s attack. Along the roads, people banded together for protection, believing that there was some amount of safety in numbers. One such camp had taken root very close to the border with Grass Country. It was a small ’community’, numbering no more than twenty, all of them mutually scared, mutually effected, by the Genma’s path of destruction. Some had lost their homes, some lost their way, some had their soul stolen from them, in a poetic, nonliteral sense of course. To suggest otherwise would be a bit silly. There were five children, including a set of triplet girls who were around the age of ten, and two small boys. Seven grown women were in the camp, the most noticeable of them being a pair of former tea servers in tattered robes who, at the moment that our story kicked up, were serving a hastily made pot of tea to a hooded passerby in all black, who had exchanged them enough food to feed them all for a day in exchange for tea.

“Thank you. Have not drank tea in two weeks.” of course, an exaggeration could have been made that would have made the statement more…childish. But, the stranger that had found his way to that camp wasn’t the childish sort at all. A bit of stubble lined the boy’s face, as all who were there could notice, if they looked at him while he took a deep gulp of his tea. His eyes were hidden by the deep hood, a permanent shadow seeming to be on them. Bits of hair were barely visible, sticking out of the hood where it met his shoulders. The women seemed a bit shocked when he handed the hot cup back, saying, simply, “Refill, please.” Of course, they hastily gave him what he wanted, the stranger sighing happily as he took a sip of the second cup of the day. Almost everyone in that camp was looking at him, as if expecting him to talk. His cowled face surveyed the crowd, before finally speaking. “Riots in Takigakure have been put down. Would suggest those of you from there go back home. Area like this prone to attacks by highwaymen. Borders also popular location for turf and contract wars between mercenary companies.” once again, the stranger had found himself among other lost sheep who had no idea what they were doing.

“That’s…we can’t do that.” one of the men said, “Most of us lost something too precious to compensate for. We can’t just go back to Takigakure like nothing even happened.” he continued, in the middle of a line between quiet anger and sadness. The stranger nodded, reaching up and lowering the hood. “At least your heart is still beating. Many were not that lucky.” the was something of a poignant tone in his voice. His face was an odd one. Handsome, caught right in the transitional period between boy and man. His most distinctive feature, indisputably, was his eyes. They were a color that almost resembled crimson, with an arcus that matched the shade of his hair. Everyone there was silent, and the boy finished drinking his tea. He would stay for a bit longer, but if nothing happened, he would likely be taking his leave soon. For now, however, the boy in black remained seated on his stump. The collar of an undershirt was visible, colored red.

[less]

Renjiro Yamanaka had existed for nearly two centuries; devastation was just another word for life as far as he was concerned. Famine, flood, plague, outbreak, war- such forces only served to give the masses an excuse to behave just as they would have anyway. They had no ken of their own destinies. Passive creatures to the last, they were incapable of taking advantage of the opportunity presented by what they ineptly termed “tragedy”.

The body thief had little interest in the depth or breadth of suffering across Waterfall. The Soul Genma's swath had displaced, killed, or broken many, but many more yet remained. Like insects, the denizens of the realm that Henkou had designs on would scurry and survive and breed, begetting another generation for the forces of fate to harass.

Why, then, was he touring? It certainly wasn't to bring any relief. He blended in with the unwashed devastatees; the fuuinjutsu that marked his pale flesh was hidden away beneath a simple set of hooded robes, the sort that a pilgrim might wear, threadbare and patchwork. He moved with the gait of someone burdened by life itself, trudging along through the countryside until he came upon a particular encampment.

A glimpse of brilliant red hair against dark cloth brought him toward Kaemon. It had been quite some time since he'd beheld the young Enkouten, save through the memories of the boy's mentor, Licht. The marks of his bloodline were as intriguing and appealing as ever, even half-hidden as they were. Thre was a time, during his more overtly selfish days, that Renji would have stopped at nothing to possess such a form for the sheer novelty, but the present act called for far more subtlety.

There was much to accomplish before the climax came and the curtain fell, and many players yet to be properly introduced.

Rather than approach directly and interrupt the tea party, he simply ensured that the youth would see him. Renji came to a stop a handful of meters away and stooped to make some unnecessary but convincing adjustments to one of his sandals. He made sure, though, to catch those molten eyes with his own glacial pair. A knowing smirk, equal parts inviting and dangerous, tugged at his full lips as he rose.

A cant of his head toward the north was all that passed between them besides that lingering gaze. With his precursory message delivered, he straightened his robes and then resumed his trudging in the direction that he had indicated.

If the boy didn't take him up on the offer, he could always destroy the camp. Privacy could come in many and varied forms, after all. This particular scene needed no audience.