Naruto awoke to that special gurgle in his stomach that says, "You ate too much Super Shrimp Seafood Special ramen last night, fool, and now you're going to SUFFER!" But even the prospect of being late to class and yelled at by Iruka-sensei due to taking an extended time on the can had no sting compared to waking up in his futon instead of a sleeping bag beside it, to the lack of an orange battle guitar leaning against a double-necked one beside his wardrobe cabinet, the empty spot by the apartment door that had never looked empty until he realized a noisy yellow 'vespa' machine could fit in it... The total lack of any sign that a person called Uzumaki Haruko had ever set foot in his apartment. His stomach let out another threatening gurgle, and ... his eyes stared to water... from the belly-ache. That was certainly the only possible reason, it couldn't be anything to do with some stupid dream about an annoying woman who barged into his life and... stopped him from... being alone...
...
Naruto crashed awake with a choked gasp, almost tipping over as he tried to sit up in his zipped sleeping bag. His eyes were full of junk and it took minutes of serious rubbing before he could even make out the bright white and pink fish-cake pattern on his guitar, or the cheery orange base color that went so well with the candy-apple red of the twin necked Gibson sharing the same stand. He fumbled his way out of the bedroll and scrubbed his eyes one more time before wandering toward the bathroom, giving a half-wave and incoherent mumble to Haruko who was... doing something on the floor as he walked past. He paused and studied the sound of the kettle and the gas burner heating it wafting from the kitchen area, but only paused for a moment before continuing, as his finely-trained ear told him that the water was still twelve minutes from the optimum moment to add it to the ramen.
Poorly coordinated hands slid the bathroom door shut, then he took a deep breath and danced in place silently for a few seconds, only just holding in shouts of relief and joy. "It wasn't a dream!" he mouthed to himself in the mirror, before taking another deep breath and getting down to business.
Precisely eleven and a half minutes later he was beside the stove with his favorite morning mix of flavors open, ready to pour the water in the very instant it started to boil. Then came the eternal three minutes that were the bane of his existence, the wall clock glacially measuring off one hundred eighty ageless, endless year-seconds before the supposedly 'instant' ramen would actually be ready.
A couple ticks later, he tossed the empty Styrofoam cups in the trash (tossed reverently and with a prayer of thanks for the delicious noodles and salty broth that willingly gave up their existence to vanquish his hunger, but tossed all the same and landing in the trash) and he was scratching the itch he always got from the tag on the elastic of his boxers while trying to figure out exactly what his recently revealed relative (An actual family member! His!) was doing. She was drawing some kind of complicated circular pattern with dark red stuff, and his voice trembled slightly as he asked, "Hey, Haruko-mom, that stuff... It's not... Actually blood, right?" He tried to hide the involuntary gulp as she sat back and grinned up at him, (what the, where did those fangs come from!?) licking a small spill off her finger before turning the bottle so the label was visible.
"Nope, just spicy barbecue sauce," she sang happily, the dripping fangs he'd swear he saw not an instant before totally gone.
Rather than that, he concentrated on just how big and involved the design was, and as he realized exactly where the sticky yet slippery design had been painted he pointed and shouted, "WHY THE HELL!? The only way to get to the door and open it is to walk through!"
"Maa, you're such an excitable kid, Naruto-bozu," Haruko drawled. "The barbecue sauce is because it doesn't matter what you use, and I like it. As for the rest... Since there's no school today, I thought we'd do some /Secret/ /Family/ /Training."/
Outrage instantly forgotten, Naruto bounced with excitement as he demanded more details. "Oi, oi, what kind of training? Is it a super-cool move that shoots flaming kunai with your eyes? Or huge lightning bolts? Or, or, you fly up in the air and spin around and do a bunch of seals like aAH-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA!" here he hopped higher then waved his hands in front of his chest while wiggling his fingers as if forming mudra too fast to see, "an' then you poke your enemy and he turns into a catgirl plushie!? But, but, what does any of that have to do with doodling all over the floor?"
The elder Uzumaki chuckled, then returned to her work. "Hmm, I wonder what it is," she teased, waving off his indignant protests. "Well, get your clothes and your ninja stuff on, we'll start as soon as I'm done. Which is now, tadaaa~"
Ignoring the boy hopping on one leg to get his pants on, Haruko retrieved their battle guitars from the stand, slinging hers by the strap and carrying his back to the main room. She gave it a speculative look for a few seconds before shaking her head, grabbing one of the Academy scrolls out of the pile of homework stuff on one end of the couch, and setting it in the center of the design she'd drawn.
"This pattern, it's kind of like the special mental connections for the N. O. Hijutsu," she explained, "but it uses that demon power instead of chakra. See, that's the basic problem with how jinchuuriki like you are trained... Using demon power like human power works, but it destroys the body over time. It's not the same thing, and trying to pretend it is won't change that. The trouble is, no one in the Elemental Countries knows how to use power that way..."
Passing the new kunai holster and tool pouch they'd bought the evening before from the hook where they hung by the door (even with her longer reach, Haruko could just barely grab them without stepping in the circle - something to remember for next time) she handed them off and then mussed up the blond's spiky hair. Unlike most kids, he leaned into it like a friendly dog, and she forced herself not to scowl at how starved he was for positive physical contact. This 'being responsible' stuff sucked, in her opinion, but the kid didn't have anyone else. Oh well, she'd manage. Picking up the conversation again, she added, "Luckily, I've been all over, so I do! Got all your gear Naruto-bozu?"
He'd been getting into his usual outfit while she explained, though with the jacket still missing his black tee and leather arm guards were exposed. After fastening the last buckle and sling his own battle guitar by the strap as she passed it to him, he gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Haruko pulled the goggles down over her eyes and gave a toothy grin, then the sigil he saw that first time in the Hokage's office glowed blood-red on her brow. She stomped her foot and the sauce-doodle flared with a matching ominous radiance, washing out the morning light from the apartment's dusty windows and casting creepy shadows on her face as she laughed and shouted, "TIME TO GO!"
A sudden swirling wind filled the apartment, sucking up a few empty ramen cups that had found their way under the couch or into corners, a few items of dirty laundry likewise, and even a couple of old, half completed homework scrolls. Flying grit made Naruto hurry to pull his own goggles on and the force of the sudden wind sent him staggering, so when it suddenly switched direction and started sucking even harder toward the center he was swept off his feet entirely and drawn into the mouth-like glowing portal that had formed over the Bunshin no Jutsu technique scroll.
Haruko, who'd braced herself in anticipation, let the wind take her at last, flipping around and pinching her nose like a diver before vanishing into it as well.
The door to the apartment crashed open, its much abused latch failing under the pressure differential, and Hyuuga Hinata, who'd been standing just outside for the last ten minutes dithering, was sucked in as well with (as always) a surprised squeak. The professionally cleaned, pressed, and slightly mended orange jacket and cooking sample bento she'd been carrying were sucked in too, but slipped out of her hands as she fell.
With the time limit reached, the suction effect stopped, and the portal eased closed to leave only a faintly luminous line and a heat mirage. As the fabric of reality readjusted with the stress released, it produced a low guttural sound that could almost be mistaken for a belch.
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(Posted Thu, 27 May 2010 23:57)
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