Two Thousand Days

[Punslinger]

In the crisp clear air of the mountain morning, the sun had still managed to begin burning away the worst of the chill in the air even if it still froze on one's breath. In the old Sekitan compound, only the sounds of breathing and short, quick strikes could be heard. Normally there was much more fumbling to the sound of chopping wood, more hesitation and time between each. This was... mechanic.

In the far corner of the courtyard that now only served its purpose as a training area rather than reception hall, the hunched over bulk of a figure could be seen, a woodsman's nata looking tiny in one of his paws as it rose and fell. It seemed like a local spruce, already brown and bereft of most of its limbs, had given up the remainder of its life for the cause. The cause in this case, being a small cooking fire and impromptu oven nearby, with a brown clay teapot at the boil next to a pair of oversized roasts that would clearly need more time to finish cooking and a generous portion of the slowly growing pile of kindling.

The tattered remains of what used to be cloth were wrapped around the man, all of it underneath a huge, wooly fur and leather cloak that had clearly been hacked into shape rather than showing any real form of craftsmanship beyond the initial tanning. And around him, the walls and tiled walkways of the old home looked as though they'd fared no better over the years, cracked and misshapen by the frost and snowmelt. Even on an early spring day such as this the wet puddles here and there were a testament to how badly the natural flow of snowmelt through the gutter system had deviated, leaving deposits of gravel and scree all over what little functional tiling remained. Still, for all the perceived dreariness of the scene, the happy smell of cooking meat was apparently enough to carry a low, lilting hum on the air originating from the furred squatter. Someone was in high spirits.

[Cheese]

Someone else was grumpy.

Eijiro had seen smoke rising up over the old Sekitan place, that had sat empty for years since Oushi had gone off to wherever the hell he'd gone. It was decently large, of course, and sufficiently abandoned enough for someone to take advantage if they happened to pass by, so Eijiro had taken it upon himself to check in every so often to run off squatters. After all, one day Oushi would turn back up unless he was rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere - the place had to be empty and waiting for him.

Not... housing what looked like a hobo from the deep woods, in leather and fur, chopping word on Sekitan land and cooking something that smelled damn good.

"You're going to have to clear out," he said, one hand ready by the wrapped handle of his katana. "This is private property... no one is supposed to be out here."

[Punslinger]

"Hm?" the wild hair shifted as the squatter tilted their head slightly, the nata paused in midair. Turning, he stood up. And up. And up. That was a whole lot of human. His head still cocked, he looked first from Eijiro to his meal, then back to the man before whirling the stumpy blade carelessly around one finger with a flourish before stowing it away in his belt. Flashy, and practiced, but maybe not trained? That couldn't be his primary weapon. There were clearly fuuin all up and down one arm, and part of his exposed chest and neck. Perhaps something hidden there? Either way the ink certified the individual as a shinobi, if not much more.

"I'm not, huh? Somebody bought the place?" he put his hands on his hips, looking around the place. In the background, a bit of shifting snowpack fell, taking one of the shingles from the building with it to the ground. He snorted gently. He didn't seem perturbed by the news, merely mildly disappointed. Glancing back at the swordsman, his eyes narrowed for a moment as if in hard thought before rummaging around in his sleeve and producing a long brass pipe with a little silk bag attached. Watching both the swordsman's hands and his grill while he pinched out a few grains into the bowl, he reached down into the flames and plucked a white hot coal from the center of the pile between two fingers, putting it to the tip and gently puffing until he was rewarded by a small cloud. He inhaled deeply before sighing out a plume of whispy vapor, scratching his jawline through his thick stubble.

"Something about the morning air makes it taste different... Shame, I'd really looked forward to fixing the place up a little. Don't suppose you like chai, do you?" he gestured to the little pot, flicking the ember from his hand nonchalantly. If it had burned him, he either hadn't noticed or was a champion bluffer. It went well with his clear lack of urgency about the situation, although it didn't seem as though he planned to disobey. He simply also wasn't in a hurry to be on his way immediately, intent on finishing his meal.

[Cheese]

'Bought the place'. That was curious... as far as Eijiro knew, nobody had bought the place since it had been built - but, to be completely honest, he'd never asked about how the family had come to own this property in the first place. It had just always been here, and it had always been Oushi and his grandfather.

At least, until it hadn't been.

One dark eyebrow arched upward as this stranger picked up a coal between two fingers as though it were a cool rock. It could be an intimidation tactic - he had seen better ones, but he'd also seen worse ones. "I don't make a habit of accepting food or drink from strangers," Eijiro said instead. "Not saying you've done anything to it, but I also don't know you, so you could have. What I do accept from strangers is explanations as to why they're doing a thing they shouldn't be doing."

[Punslinger]

The big shinobi puffed out a chuckle of smoke, either unfazed by bravado or bluffing himself.

"Fair enough, no harm meant." he reached down, palming the little pot as it steamed, still hissing in his hand before producing a cup from his sleeve... but the slightest flash of fuuin made it clear what at least one of the sigils on his arm was for, and how quickly this vagrant had been able to set up proverbial shop. If it was an intimidation tactic, it was certainly well practiced, looking as natural and unconcerned as someone putting on boots. Pouring himself a cup he sat the pot back down and traded his pipe for a momentary sip, looking around at the place. If a jounin was patrolling the neighborhood, at least somebody was likely to fix the place up. Good, it deserved better than he'd done for it.

"Honestly, I dunno. It's not like I knew it was off limits or had anyplace better to go when I came in." he sounded sad, but resigned. An old wound, long closed, "I get it, everyone's very stressed after the late unpleasantness, so don't worry, I'm not trying to cause any trouble. I'm sure you're just doing your job too, I'll be gone soon. I'm sure it puts you in a bit of a tough spot on your patrol since you probably won't want to leave until then, but could you trust me long enough to maybe let me finish eating? Not that I mind tea and snacks but it's also all I've had since I reached the southern boundary last night, I'm famished."

As if to emphasize his point, he leaned down to rotate the two roasts with his hand, at least this time having the manners to do so by grasping the protruding bones rather than the hottest part of the meat... probably for sanitation rather than fear of burning however. The fat and grease sizzled over the well dried wood, crackling and sending up delicious brown and grey plumes to match the white ones from his pipe. He sprinkled a bit of what must have been salt using the same retrieval gesture as the cup, which now sat comfortably next to the pipe in his occupied hand, the pipe comfortably threaded between two fingers and over the back of his thumb like an old man at a mahjong table.

[Cheese]

Despite himself, Eijiro was intrigued. Southern boundary? So this stranger had traveled a long way, hadn't stopped to eat... came from the south. So, due to that, he just gave a short nod and took a seat on a nearby log. He wasn't cruel, after all... if the man needed to eat before he moved on, he could eat. It wasn't like this was an actual patrol, either.

But Eijiro would rather take time out of his training and off days to keep this area clear for Oushi to come back. If he came back... but that was no way to think. The friend Eijiro remembered wouldn't let something like a war keep him from coming home.

"Traveled a while, then?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Whereabouts from?"

[Punslinger]

"Mmm," the beggar mumbled through a mouthful of smoke, letting it escape like a bird from a cat's mouth a moment later, "North around Shirosato, got family up that way. Apparently there's some big boom going on, a massive demand for coal? Mother offered me a job in the mines!"

This was apparently a riotous joke because it was spoken through a thinly restrained chuckle. The smoke floated upward again from his pipe, and again as the meat turned, its chef apparently comfortable with the amicable silence hanging gently on the cold morning air, broken only occasionally by the occasional pop and sizzle of the grease in the fire.

"I'm sure the security is tight around here and all, but have you ever had mastodon?" he talked as he worked, gently sprinkling herbs magicked from his sleeve and occasionally snatching a falling globule of fat from underneath to taste, the feat apparently as casual as his others, the privilege of a superhuman, "If the goal of beef is to be grassy and the goal of mutton is to taste of their oats, then the flavor of a mastodon is lichen, which has no flavor on its own, but blossoms into dozens of others when combined with the right seasonings and preparations. If you're lucky enough to find one that's been eating the spirit herbs in the valleys of the northern wastes, this effect is magnified several times..."

He gave the meat a loving glance before taking a sip from his cup with relish.

"Ah..."

[Cheese]

The way this man talked about the meat, even so casually as it was, gave Eijiro a pang of recognition... of a childhood friend who had often gone on tangents about things that didn't exactly have a bearing on the conversation, but ended up being fairly interesting regardless. He could still remember a few meaningless facts like that, from when he'd been a smaller, younger boy. Facts that made him remember lying on the grass and looking up at the sky, arms folded behind their heads and just existing for a while.

That was before the war. Before Oushi had vanished. Before a lot of things.

"That sounds like something an old friend of mine would have said," Eijiro admitted, thumb tapping against the hilt of his sword. "Not exactly with the words, but... how you said it. He was a pretty big nerd back in the day."

[Punslinger]

"Oh?"

Politely licking his fingers clean of the sauce resulting from the cooking, Oushi now held his hand directly in the open flames, the gag now clearly not any sort of intentional bluff but simply an unconscious habit. He snatched up a handful of snow with a hiss, letting the steam and water dissipate before opening his hand to inspect it, then dusted it off on his furs and took a sip of his drink, again enjoying the long silence before continuing.

"You seem pretty strong, surely you've learned the hard way by now that knowledge is a weapon as much as that sword on your hip. Knowing the how of something is knowing the why, and knowing the why will tell you the when and where." he intoned, taking stock of the younger man with an appraising eye, "Your friend sounds like a standup guy, but I suppose it's also true that no amount of knowledge can do anything without the power and decisiveness to act on it. You should back him up when he's not sure of things, nerds tend to be like that. And they don't tend to survive all this..."

He gestured vaguely, then seemed to perk up, a topic coming to mind.

"Tell me, what do you know about the war? I know it hasn't reached the village proper yet, but have you been on active duty?"