#Flake Okiya

[minaa-munch]

To find the maiko kidnapper with our dignities intact - Minato pauses before the words leave his tongue, instead opting for a pensive expression for his students' sake. "The plan is twofold. Our first and primary objective is to find out who the abductor might be" He adds, raising a second finger, "Our second objective is to find where the missing maiko and students went."

He pauses to place an empty cup in the center of the table, before putting his saucer next to it. He then raises the chashaku Rin had been using earlier, pointing at the saucer "You three will join the school as students and gather intel--" He then points to the cup, "--While I will infiltrate the Maiko ranks who are in their last year under the Geisha"

"Remember, this is still a high ranked mission. It is imperative that we find the culprit without raising any suspicions whatsoever." Blue hues flicker between them, pausing on Kakashi a beat longer than the others - which in itself was a first; as squeamish as the Hatake was, he took his missions rather seriously. "Which means we can't manipulate any chakra until that happens since whoever it is could be a sensory type."

That was an assumption, of course - but one they needed to take. The likelihood that they would get a second shot at this was slim to none. The Hokage had taken the liberty of assuring him of that particular fact personally, since the Daimyo's personal wares were at stake.

Kinda like their collective reputations and all. The thought draws a sigh from his lips as tan digits curl around delicate porcelain; warmth seeping into his finger pads while leftover fragments peppered the bottom of the cup. Rin really did make the best tea, it was almost enough to calm his surprisingly anxious nerves.

'Almost' being the keyword. There is a brief pause between his setting the cup down and the telltale creak of wooden stairs. He can hear the slow, yet measured thumps of footsteps ascending from the bottom floor and blue hues exchange a look with his three students.

I'm counting on you.

"Nakamoko Kinmokusei, are the maiko and her apprentices ready?" The Okiya mother's voice is a soft, yet stern timber. It prompts all of them to straighten, hands falling neatly in their laps as they do.

"We're ready."

Obito gulps audibly from the side. The Okiya mother surveys their seated forms for a brief moment, the slightest curve gracing her painted lips before she glances back over her shoulder, "Quit your fidgeting, you two! You have to escort your sisters to their stations. I didn't bring you with me to gawk."

@konohagakurekakashi @strawberry-medic @swirleysarefun

Flake Okiya 🌀

[missmyloko]

A True Fairytale

Mostly people aren’t aware of this story, so I feel that it’s appropriate to tell it today. For clarification: everything in this story did happen as this was a real event. I’ll post some images towards the bottom. Now, to the story! Way back in the year 2012 (you were expecting me to say earlier, weren’t you?), February 8th to be exact, another new maiko was making her debut in Gion Kobu. This girl, like most girls before her, was a bit nervous as she began to make her way out the door and it was quite obvious why: she was a bit petite and her outfit was so heavy that it looked like she may fall over if she didn’t take every step carefully. The weather forecast that day called for clear skies, but when she left her okiya for the first time the otokoshi was instructed to take along her new wagasa that had her geimei printed on it “just in case” by the okasan. For the first 15 minutes everything went on as usual and the new girl shyly did her rounds in the neighborhood. Suddenly, a few flakes of snow fell from the sky. And then a few more, followed by a few more, and suddenly there was snow falling everywhere! It wasn’t a blizzard, but rather the light and fluffy stuff that everyone thinks about when they imagine snow. At the sight of this the otokoshi quickly held up the “just in case” wagasa to protect the girl’s kimono as she was not wearing an ama coat (maybe the okasan was psychic?) and with the woosh of the opening wagasa something happened that would completely change the mood for the entire day: the girl started smiling. Not only that, but as more of the snow came down she began to laugh and even tried to catch a few flakes on her tongue (needless to say, this scared the otokoshi a bit). It was as if the snow finally brought the little girl out of her shell, and her smile was met with much applause. Suddenly she was walking and talking as if she’d been a maiko all of her life and the weight of her outfit seemed to disappear as if it was replaced by feathers.   For the rest of the walk the snow came down gently all around, and just as her visitations ended the snow decided to stop too. But, the smile and laughter that the snow brought didn’t disappear from the girl’s face. In fact, it stayed and she’s become known for her radiant smile ever since. That little girl was Katsuhina (佳つ雛)  “Beauty With Grace” and today she became a geiko. The same smile that the snow brought five years ago was even more present today as I doubt it has left her face since her debut. Most people say that rain is a lucky omen, but what about when that rain freezes and becomes beautiful flakes of snow? Maybe it was a spell cast by the beautiful and graceful snowflakes that brought the little Beauty With Grace out and transformed her into a maiko, or maybe it was just the sheer joy of a young girl playing in the snow that cast off her worries and decided to live in the moment. I’ll let you decide. Images: Katsuhina as the first snowflakes begin to fall The snow brings a smile On her second day, the skies are clear but she’s kept the wagasa Two months later, Katsuhina leads us around Gion Kobu The small girl grows and the smile grows with her At the first sign of her impending adulthood the smile is ever present おめでとう雛ちゃん!

[syang2124-blog]

Blog 10

Blog 10

3/8/17

1)      Back in the modern era, Geisha sat on their knees to show formality. Compared to today, Geisha’s were very artful, entertaining, and attractive in the eyes of men. Geisha’s maintain their peace through these practices of art to gain the men’s biddings. This was how they lived day by day.

2)      In my life back in middle school, I think the moment I experience aware was when I picked up a piece of neon green paper off the street because I didn’t like litters laying around. As I was about to throw it away, I looked at it carefully and saw George Washington covered by the dirt. I think this is related to aware because I found something nice until I discovered its value.

3)      I think the movie lost ma because they now speak more direct off their mind compared to the film Blue. There was some silent moments but not much. Speaking English didn’t nearly change the way Japanese people normally communicate, but since it was directed by an American I’d say it did because some part of an American culture have been mixed into the film.

4)      The events I appreciate in the US considering Kisetsu would be the Hmong annual sports tournaments. This event is where Hmong people sponsor a sports tournament for everybody, majority of Hmong people, to watch or participate. This tournament also includes a small shopping district for people who are interested in buying product made by the Hmong culture. If I was Japanese, I would enjoy more of the sports tournament and forget about the shopping district because Hmong people sell garden utensils, traditional Hmong clothes, and Hmong music. The food they sell is an exception.

5)      I can sort of feel pity for the characters in the film because Chiyo was sold off to be a slave, bullied by her senior, betrayed by Pumpkin, and was sexually harassed. At the end of the film, I can see sparks of beauty because she was reunited with the man she loved, or so I think. I’d say the film was beautifully tragic because Sayuri worked hard to have a life for herself, but instead she never could because being a geisha trapped her from her options, such as falling in love.

6)      Wabi-sabi is the sense of being perfectly beautiful and clean in silence through their mind and body. In the American culture, beauty is looked mostly upon the outer image of people. Both Japanese and American culture are a bit similar because the outer image of beauty is taken to consideration. In contrast, the Japanese culture aesthetic seems to go into much deeper depth.

7)      In the scene where Sayuri was performing, the white flakes and beauty she’d shown to the crowd mesmerized the men with elegance because from a man’s point-of view, I would have been awake the whole performance looking at her.

8)      Hatsumomo was kicked out of Okiya permanently and was rumored to be a prostitute. At the end, the relationship between the chairman and Sayuri wasn’t good or worst because she mentioned that she was a half-wife to day and night. Which could mean she’s a wife to the chairman during the day and to the other men at night. Sayuri wasn’t happy because she wasn’t able to get a life of her own which was her prime goal. By having a life of her own, she’ll be able to love the chairman without any chains holding her back.

9)      Okaasan adopted a girl she taken in. As for Pumpkin, her life is in a shamble because her mother viewed her as a failure which resulted Pumpkin unable to come back to her household.

10)  In the film, there was couple moments of Chinmoku where Pumpkin asked Sayuri about loving the chairman. She didn’t answer back and gave a body language telling her to not talk about the chairman. Other concepts we learned in the film were Wabi-Sabi, Kisetsu, and Bigaku. The key concept to the film that relates to these concepts were beauty. The beauty of Kisetsu was seen in the scene of Sayuri’s performance, and Wabi-Sabi and Bigaku was seen where Mameha was training Chiyo.

11)  This film was overall okay. The life of a Japanese women facing hardship since childhood was hard to see and can make you think about the society treating women back then. The beauty in it lies within the characters feelings. Hatsumomo wanted to become the heiress to Okiya, Pumpkin wanted to become adopted, and Sayuri wanted be with the chairman. To reach their goals, they must become top Geisha in the district. This led too many conflicts in the film and I think that’s tragic because in reality, not everyone get what they want so we can all relate to their situation.

[konohagakurekakashi]

Flake Okiya 🌀

Closed Starter for @minaa-munch, @swirleysarefun, @strawberry-medic

Brows pinched together as fingers raised to feebly tug and twiddle with sleek, brown strands, grey hues (a shade lighter than his own) narrowing at the itch at his neck and shoulders, whilst his mouth (free from the familiar cloth of his mask) parted to sneer at his reflection. He looked ridiculous. Like a child in fact (a bright-eyed civilian that would not know how to hold a kunai or fashion a Rāiton clone) and Kakashi hated it, despised it. Calloused digits lowered from the wig strands to prod and poke at his cheeks, a wounded grunt seeping from his throat at the stubborn baby-fat endless hours of training had yet to burn and firm out, afore he turned around, back to the mirror to glower at the door instead.

On the other side he could hear the tell-tale shuffling of the Uchiha, followed by the lighter, surer steps of their Sensei, the two of them locked in a conversation regarding their mission specifics. Kakashi would have perked his ears for any additional information under normal circumstances, but as it stands, Kakashi merrily took a few steps forward to make sure for the utmost time that the bathroom lock was still in place, before he started to sift through the garments his sensei and the Okiya Mother picked out for him. The garments were just as horrible (if not more so) the Hatake having to steel himself against further whimpers at the soft, silky feel of the Kimono against his palms.

The Furisode was lilac in colour, with pink and silver lotus flowers embroiled along the sleeves and Kakashi was sure that if the garment was to be worn by someone like Rin or Kurenai, it would have been pretty to look at. Now however, it took everything in the Shinobi not to stomp on the silk brocade and push it out of the window. ‘How do you even tie the Obi? Into a knot, a bow? Did you tie it at the back or at the front? Kami this wig tickled his ears’ Another frustrated grunt flittered from the boy’s slumped form as he picked out the warm timbre of the team Iryō-nin as she joined the other two in their borrowed living quarters, the rich, toasty scent of Hōjicha denoting that she brought a brew of tea with her. Kakashi loved Rin’s tea, she never made it too sweet or over boiled the leaves, but at that moment it only served to remind him of the missing Ochaya girls and the nature of their mission. In the end Kakashi merely flung the broad, silver obi around his neck, before he barked at the door, nails digging welts into his palms. 

“This is stupid! We’re shinobi, I-I’m using a Henge.”

[konohagakurekakashi]

A ‘hn’ was the Genin’s response, grey hues very nearly rolling at his Mentor’s chosen adjective—unable (and unwilling) to consider what he knew an important heirloom to be and that hissing, clawing lump—as quite the same thing. Piranha-bait maybe, a hairy foot-matt; most definitely. Rocking forward within his seat, Kakashi reached for one of the paper towels that lay discarded between them, finally unable to ignore his sticky palms any longer.

He rubbed at each of his fingers diligently, still considering the Jōnin’s words, whilst dragging his gaze over the Izakaya patrons without lingering on just one table for too long. Though there was one table decked out in pickled foods that he had yet to see and/or come across in Konoha, the scent of Shōchū permeating from the colourful, opened jars.

“That can’t be right, Sensei….”

Kakashi eventually dragged his curious gaze from the glass cruses, paper towel crinkled within his old. “If Daiymo-sama really had Tora-chan since they conquered the continent, he would be over a hundred years old…”

A pause before his tone took on a haughty quality. “Cats don’t really have nine lives, you know. That’s just a myth.”

@minaa-munch

@konohagakurekakashi​

Kakashi’s sticky finger pads twitched from their place wedged underneath his folded legs, his lips thinning, but most of the ire leaving his gaze at what he has come to know as the blonde’s ‘Teacher voice’. It was a low, easy timbre the Jōnin always tapped into when he explained the trickier aspects of a Mission, pointed out how they could improve their Katō stances or when he needed to reclaim the attentions of his bickering subordinates. Kakashi often lamented how the different variables in his sensei’s pitch could classify as an S-ranked Jutsu on their own, but never cared to voice these thoughts aloud, even though he thought the other members of Team Minato would readily agree.

The Hatake shifted within his seat, eyebrows smoothing back into what he hoped to be something akin to his regular po-faced expression.

“Hai sensei….It’s Shinobi Rule number twenty nine.”

Even though it was one of the most known rubrics and Kakashi prided himself in adhering to all prescribed rules religiously, he really hoped that the Jōnin would reconsider and forgo all thoughts on more D-ranks. He nodded his head at the offer of sweet potatoes however, seeing as it was the one sweet snack that he found he didn’t mind, afore he ventured forward cautiously, like he was still wrapping his mind around the idea that chasing after over-fed cats was important.

“So…then…finding Tora-chan, improves relations with the Daimyō and his family?”

Cue a noncommittal hum in acknowledgment just as a dull voice echoed from somewhere on the left. It didn’t take long for the Namikaze to list off their order to a disgruntled waiter; a tired looking teenager with hues dull enough to rival Kakashi’s. 

Yare ne. kids these days. 

“It does. Tora chan is an important heirloom for the Daimyo’s family, ne.” He replied seriously, blue hues momentarily flickering to dark counterparts before shifting to a suspicious looking stain on the dull wood. The table was still as filthy as ever, despite the waiter’s valiant [read: pitiful] attempts at cleaning it earlier, its sole saving grace encapsulated by the lone tea tray of paper towels that had been left in the middle. 

“Tora chan has been a part of the ruling elite since they conquered the continent.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, seeing as how the cat in question happened to be practically immortal. Honestly though, if the little Hatake prodigy believed that…well. The thought coaxed a mischievous grin from his usual, sunny disposition; the blond angling his head to the side so his naive little kouhai couldn’t see it.  

Oh the fun he could have. 

[strawberry-medic]

Kakashi may think he was quick enough with closing the door but the Iryō-nin was quicker in ensuring she caught a glimpse of him despite her sensei’s rather ungraceful flailing arms before the scene was hidden from her. Kami-sama this day just somehow kept getting better. Another of her evil-er smirks made an appearance - this mission was giving her enough blackmail material to have her teammates do exactly as she wished for the rest of their lives really. Of course Obito saw the smirk - where his whimpering was an indication of anything and she turned her attention to him instead, forcing her face to offer a friendly smile instead. The Uchiha clearly did not buy it though. So unfair. 

Once more her attention turned to what was happening behind the closed doors now. Rin couldn't help but stifle a laugh behind her hand as she listened to the muffled protests emanating from the bathroom. The sound of Kakashi's disgruntled voice, coupled with Minato sensei’s valiant attempt at tying the intricate obi, painted a picture so absurd that it bordered on the surreal. “Ne Obito-kun, you wanna bet on how long it takes sensei to figure out he can indeed not tie an darari obi and asks for my help?” The pitiful glare (for once the Uchiha was seemingly choosing to stand in solidarity with his male team mates) directed her way as a result only made her giggling have a comeback. The result was her carefully dabbing away at the corner of her eyes to ensure the resulting tears from the hilarity of the situation did not ruin her makeup. She had no intention of being prodded by the Okaa-san’s nasty stick like cattle. Her teammates' reaction to it had taught her that it would not at all be a pleasant experience. Heck, Kakashi had not reacted when being stabbed with a kunai by an enemy nin yet a prod from that innocent looking stick had him flinching. 

Her attention momentarily moved away from the hilarious situation Team Minato had found themselves in and back to the brew before her as the fragrant aroma of the Hōjicha thickened, filling the room, letting her know it was near done. The calming scent, mingling with the soft strains of a shamisen playing somewhere in the Okiya allowed her a moment to take a deep breath and center herself again. The traditional setting seemed worlds away from the battlefield they had become all too familiar with in recent years. Her team mates had decided to assume she was enjoying being here. How typical of them. What they failed to understand was she was relishing having a mission where the only thing at stake was their reputation, as Kakashi dramatically put it, rather than their lives. It was a refreshing change, albeit a hilariously awkward one.

Taking a moment to appreciate the aesthetics of the Okiya, Rin's eyes wandered over the delicate silk kimonos hanging in the room, their vibrant colors and intricate patterns a testament to the craftsmanship of the artisans. The gentle glow of paper lanterns cast a warm ambiance, while the soft rustle of silk and the faint scent of incense added to the serene atmosphere. Not ideal in anyway but war had perhaps made her appreciate this aesthetic far more than she would have a few years prior.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Kakashi’s embarrassed protests, prompting a mischievous twinkle in Rin's eyes. Flake sensei’s grumbling soon joined in and under her breath she started the countdown “Five…four…three…two…” and she hadn’t even gotten to one when the door opened and her sensei’s (it was hard to call him that currently even in her thoughts) decorated blonde head poked out. 

Oh how the mighty had fallen. Shoulders shook with mirth, as she sent a gloating glance in Obito’s direction before schooling her expression into one of absolute calm. Amusement aside - she was a professional konoichi after all. One that hopefully had a lot of time in the future to tease her team mates. Once the mission was complete - through her endless guidance and patience of course. “Coming sensei!” 

Obliging and chirpy as always.

With more grace than all three men on her team combined currently, Rin approached the door, forcing down the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Kakashi was sure to run away if she let her composure crumble but their current mortified and helpless expression were really testing her control. So as she moved closer, nothing but eagerness to help reflected on her face. If only her words had been just as helpful. Or were they? "Come on, Kakashi-kun. We can't keep the Okaa-san waiting. She might start poking you with her stick if you take any longer!"

She spoke softly, taking the obi from her sensei’s twitching fingers, needing a moment to smooth the almost crumbled fabric. Okaa-san was not going to be happy about that. Flake sensei was definitely going to get one more poke of the stick if she found out who the culprit was. 

The next few moments were spent fixing the Obi (if it was tighter than it was meant to be, who would blame her?) and patting her teammate on the shoulder, and offering to be as supportive as she could be. “You look as pretty as Minato sensei. I’d call this a job well done.” She even managed to keep her face straight when sensei squaked. Squaked. 

Oh this mission was definitely bringing out the worst in her. 

@konohagakurekakashi, @minaa-munch, @swirleysarefun.

Flake Okiya 🌀

[konohagakurekakashi]

Kakashi ‘s teeth gnawed and gnashed on the fleshy insides of his cheek, his own digits twitching when his sensei’s efforts resulted in nothing but a deep wrinkle in the silk of his obi. So much for being the genius of his generation, Kakashi glowered, the fact that /he/ himself also carried such a label, clearly immaterial in this instance. Minato-sensei had years of…practical experience…on him. He should be able to best a sash. Alas, Konohagakure’s Yellow Flash only gave a few more feeble tugs, before sighing in the direction of the door. The Hatake’s gaze turned to feral slits, willing the elder Jōnin’s lips shut with the heat of his glance alone, but as always, Namikaze Minato proved immune when faced with the promise of death; Rin’s name wafting from his treacherous mouth and essentially turning Kakashi’s sanctuary into a showcase.

Mattakū. Mattakū. Mattakū.

He really did not want to face his teammates…at least…not yet. He would have continued to glare large, gaping, holes into his mentor’s opulent hairdo (because how dare he give up so easily by asking the sole Kunoichi on the team for help) but instead, Kakashi’s gaze turned leaden, lowering to lock with the intricate weave of the tatami the moment their medic traipsed over the threshold.

 His wordless scrutiny continued whilst Rin’s voice (as light and airy as bonshō bells) chided his actions with the simple reminder of the Okiya mother and her love of her ‘Jigoku’ stick. Not like he needed the recap, honestly. The woman’s wrinkled core radiated something worse than killer-intent, her crab-pinchers entrenched in the deepest corners and crevices of his mindscape.  Not unlike the younger, pale, digits smoothing out the grooves in his obi currently, Kakashi couldn’t help but lament, all while he rigidly lifted his arms to accommodate the girl attempting to wound a belt about his middle. The movement made him feel every bit his namesake (minus the pole and the straw stuffing), so the Hatake tried to retreat into his thoughts again, hopeful that it would make the embarrassment pass by faster.

As this 's- ranked mission' seemed to be utterly and all encompassing, his thoughts immediately turned towards the actual Geisha in the building and where they could have stashed his tantō and travel pack. It was the first things the women took away from them, the heavy perfumes drifting off their forms, enough to stop Kakashi from creating much of a fuss, since it caused his sensitive nose to itch and his eyes to squint. The ladies avowed that even the ‘poofiest’, grandiose, furisode would not be able to conceal the holdster effectively, especially since the teahouse guests preferred to get close to their artisans. Instead, the shinobi would have to get creative with the weapons available to them, the senbon weighing down their wigs, and the hand-fans discarded on the chabudai, a testament to such.

The shinobi was jerked from his thoughts as his ribs suddenly constricted and his chest heaved, a surprised grunt leaching from his lips at the tightening of his Darari. The action, coupled with Minato-sensei’s squawk at being called ‘pretty’, enough to finally wrench the Jōnin’s gaze from Rin’s socked feet to her face.

Did…did she just try to force his breakfast back up his gullet?

Kakashi’s arms, snapped back down to his sides as if magnetized, grey hues locking with her brown counterparts, before narrowing at the subtle twist of her mouth.

Yes, yes…she was!

In fact, now that he was looking at her /really/ looking at her, Rin seemed thoroughly amused with their current impasse. The look could easily be mistaken for her usual, exasperated empathy-she was after all a talented shinobi in her own right, but this close, coupled with a seemingly supportive tap to his shoulder, there was no doubting the pleased glint in her expression, the gesture emulating the very spirit of Kushina-sama. Just…when…did that happen? Did Obito know? Either way this change in dynamic had him swallowing his usual, irate comebacks, teeth latching onto the insides of his cheek once again.

Honestly things would have been easier if he had his mask, the stretch of fabric an immediate barrier between him and the rest of his cohorts. Without it the Hatake was the first to break eye-contact his brows furrowing once more, before his stare flickered over Rin’s shoulder to the still hovering form of the Yellow Flash. The man’s made-up visage and the glint of his tortoise comb, pulled a wry sigh from the younger, because he supposed if anyone had anything to lose here, it was their sensei, Hokage candidate. Their reputations could still take a few blows, but his.....another sigh.

“Let’s just….get this over with….I’m already tired of smelling like a fruitcake.”

Weary of any further attacks on his mid-section and shoulder blades, Kakashi side-stepped his teammates before he finally emerged from the confines of the bathroom. The fabric encasing his frame was heavy and warm, the sleeves draping over his knuckles like it wanted to swallow him whole. He refused to adjust them, refused to acknowledge the swaying petals of wisteria in his periphery, not wanting to show any more emotion than he already had. He eventually made it towards the seating area, fingers clamping around a cup of tea as soon as it was within reach, inhaling the steam from Rin’s special brew before taking a tentative sip. It was good. Very good, a familiar lifeline in fact, and his shoulders slowly slumped out of his tense posture.

To his right, he could feel Obito shift, the boy sniffling a bit before he too reached for a cup of tea. The Uchiha probably looked like a young Mikoto-san, or perhaps he resembled a young Fugaku-san caked in Oshiroi powder and without the perpetual scowl. It was tempting to peek, but Kakashi didn’t dare crane his neck. The Jōnin didn’t want to risk making eye contact with him, not when the boy was obviously still in the grips of war flashbacks where the ‘mother’ was concerned. He did have some tact, despite what Asuma and his ‘not-girl-friend’ believed. So, instead Kakashi just focused on the lovely scent if Hōchija, finger tapping against the brim of his cup.

Once both Rin and Minato sank into their seats, their grips tightening around their own respective cups, an uncomfortable air settled about the group, emphasized by the still wailing strings of a shamisen from somewhere within the house and the occasional, exaggerated slurp accredited to the Uchiha. Did they not currently resemble a set of stuffed oyama dolls, sleeves weighing Kakashi down into the crust of the earth, he would have pinched the other boy for adding to his budding headache (war flashbacks be damned). Eventually the slurps did cease, Obito shifting to place his now empty cup on the chabudai, before tentatively posing the question that was likely on all their minds. “Sensei….what exactly is the plan here.”

@minaa-munch @strawberry-medic @swirleysarefun

Flake Okiya 🌀

[minaa-munch]

@konohagakurekakashi @strawberry-medic

A S-ranked Mission? Kakashi snorted at this, pale finger-pads still thumbing the soft material of the Darari. This was a funeral procession is what it was, for his honour and skill as a shinobi, as well as that of his sensei and teammates. The thought of what would happen should anyone of  their Konohagakure comrades find out about their current cover lay heavy within the pit of his stomach and caused a headache to bloom and pulse at the back of his head. Though in all honesty, it could just as well have been the weight of his wig at this point. The damn Wareshinobu bun was heftier than Bull on a good day and Kakashi already managed to yank two of the dainty ornaments from the contraption; seeing as the dangling wisteria blossoms kept poking at the corner of his eye. Sure a S-ranked mission ascertained a high level of confidentiality and with the Fire Daimyō and members of his court cited as their main clients for this ‘mission’ (cue disbelieving cough) the privacy clause would contain even morered-tape than normal—demo, weren’t there always a squad or two of Konohagakure’s finest stationed within the Capital and near the Daimyō’s guard platoon? What if they, they being Team Minato, were recognised? His sensei and the cry-baby weren’t exactly inconspicuous and just one person knowingwas enough to add to the many night-terrors already plaguing his subconscious.

The Hatake took a step away from the door, wholly conflicted about the whole situation as his bottom-lip were caught between his teeth to be gnawed on without mercy. Curse the Yondaime contender for attempting to play on his sense of duty and curse Rin for even daring to steep Hōjicha leaves at a time like this, the delicious scents still wafting their way through the gaps in the wood, acting like a Siren’s song. As soon as the tart, greasy taste of Abura and Beni-red pigment rushed across his taste buds, the Shinobi realised his mistake and quickly floundered back to the mirror to peer worriedly at his pale (paler?)complexion. The Okaa-san wasn’t kidding when she said that the traditional make-up could only be removed with the Okiya’s own, special oil amalgam, the red paint still fixed firmly on the boy’s lip despite its earlier abuse. Without really meaning to Kakashi’s mouth parted to make sure that no red stains coated his pearly whites, before his shoulder’s sagged in an exhale once his teeth were found to be in the clear. “Mattakū…this is so embarrassing…”

His voice quivered loudly, weary, in the small bathroom and obviously drew the attention of his mentor; as the rustle of many layers of silk could be heard on the other side of the ingress, followed by the twist and turn of the copper knob as the man tried (and failed) to best the lock again, afore his own sigh ensued. All of a sudden Kakashi’s annoyance was replaced by the tell-tale weight of guilt, his rogue brows furrowing at the (gross) seep of emotion from his gut and into his chest. Kakashi supposed that he was being unnecessarily difficult, that none of his teammates (with the sole exception of their Iryō-nin) wanted to be there, entrapped in scented powders and heavy, feminine layers. He managed to slip away from both the aggressive Okiya Mother and her Geisha the moment they were bathed (should be read as: drowned like sewer rats) burritoed in a simpler, cotton Kimono and their faces and necks plastered in the traditional, Oshiroi paste (coupled with supplementary pink shades for the younger Maiko) under the guise that he needed a glass of water—only he failed to emerge from the bathroom since. It helped that the Okaa-san and her daughters were wholly fixated on his sensei and Uchiha teammate, the latter’s tortured howls fully discernible through the paper-thin walls.

There was no sugar-coating it however, he was being unprofessional. Something he always accused Obito of being, but ‘uttoooooshi!’ The moment his mask was yanked from his person it somehow took his composure along with it. He should have done better, kept a better grasp on his fizzled emotions or else he could hardly fancy himself befitting of his rank of Jōnin. Plus they were a young team, the war now over if (only barely) more excruciating, no,/humiliating/ missions were sure to follow in this one’s wake—he should just learn to think of this as practice for the worse things to come. Taking another gulp of air, the taste of colour pigments still heavy on his tongue, Kakashi resolved to become a better tool. He wasn’t a kid, he should stop acting like one as he would never forgive himself if his pride caused his team a successful report back to their Hokage (also as a side-note: he really wanted/needed some of Rin’s tea. Kami such weakness (T-T)) . If only he could finish getting dressed, maybe help wouldn’t be such a bad idea…A thought that was only underscored by Minato’s threat of calling the Old Crone.

“Tch…What do you know about tying Darari Ōbi, Minato-sensei? Did you go to Kunōichi School with Kushina-san?”

Though his tone was flat and just the tiniest bit pretentious, the Hatake still found his finger’s reaching for the lock, unlatching it at the same time that the yellow-haired shinobi thought it a good idea to try the handle again, copper giving way to see the blonde come stumbling into the tight space. Kakashi managed to side-step the flailing, periwinkle sleeves with its gold-trimming to slam the bathroom door back into place (quicker than one could say ‘Kai!’ ) but didn’t bother with the lock this time; as cinereal-coloured orbs were too fixed on his mentor’s altered form. All fears of recognition were wiped from the boy’s mind as he blinked at the intricate Ofukū in which Minato’s hair was pinned, the tortoise shell combs and dainty Ume blooms so expertly placed, Kakashi doubted the existence of a wig at all. ‘Uhn…Was sensei always this…err…womanly?’ He doubted the man would be identifiable at all, lest he use any of his signature Jutsu—which of course was forbidden.

Severely uncomfortable and not wanting to be caught gaping, Kakashi quickly lowered his gaze to the tatami weave, lips parting to say something, before he closed it but a minute later. Somewhere within the Okiya a Shamisen was being stung, causing his pale digits to twitch at his sides, before his wrists rose of their own accord to fiddle with the ornate trinkets still scraping at his skull. No amount of adjusting brought any relief to his pounding temples, so after a beat, Kakashi left them to tug the obi from about his neck instead and held the long swathe of expensive fabric for the ‘not-quite Geiko’ to take. Rin would probably know better (best in fact!) but saying anything at this point proved exceptionally difficult, his usually blunt tongue dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth. The only thing left to do (the only thing he was able to do) was to continue issuing his mental prayers for strength and resilience to any Kami willing to listen and hoped that he didn’t look as far removed from himself as his team leader. Because this, this was a nightmare. Duty or no.

Oi “If you continue being difficult, I’ll have to call her, won’t I?” Cue a stubborn set of clothed shoulders despite Obito’s mumbled protests. The poor Uchiha had suffered the most out of all of them, since he was considerably clumsy in comparison, and still mollified over the fact that his new persona resembled his rather feminine older cousin than he - or anyone, for that matter - would like to admit.  

“Rin, you promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

The Namikaze didn’t blame him, of course [far from it] - a mission was still a mission, regardless of how depreciating it had the potential to be to one’s own self esteem. The higher the rank, the more dubious the nature, or psychologically cumbersome. This mission in particular simply happened to lean more towards the latter than the former. 

Or maybe it was a combination of the two. Kami knew, he was certainly beginning to see it as such. 

Naturally, it didn’t help that the only other Jōnin on the team was acting like an academy student. Cue an all suffering sigh before fingers grasped the door knob, the Namikaze already mentally prepared to lecture the younger like he deserved. 

Whatever sagely advice he had planned on delivering though, never came to be, for the words died on his tongue the moment the door was unceremoniously pulled open, yanking him along with the movement. Intricate sleeves flailed, and for a moment he was afraid he might have accidentally ripped the silk. Said fear was accompanied with the very real possibility of their grumpy Okiya Mother bursting in through one of the loose wooden floorboards, ready to brandish her wooden staff at their obviously horrible postures. 

Thankfully, nothing of the sort happened - who knew Konoha’s best would be bested by the looming threat of clipped tones and wrinkles? [Never again would he ever think ill of a kunoichi] Resisting the urge to grimace, light hues caught the Hatake’s stare and promptly narrowed a fraction, the make-up he had been dunked in effectively concealing the flush creeping up his neck. Both Jōnin stared at each other, one clearly more dumbfounded than the other before Kakashi reached for his wig, giving the elder enough time to will his resurfacing mollification away. Instead, he gingerly took the expanse of fabric from pale fingers, ignoring the soft tinkle of the still-swinging hair ornaments from the wig expertly pinned to Kakashi’s dyed hair. 

How many knots were involved again? He had seen the Maiko tie it for the Geisha they were apprenticing under before they had assaulted him with rolls of decorated silk. His hands shifted the long strip of cloth between them, blond brows furrowed as if trying to unravel a particularly complicated jutsu before he gave up with a barely concealed sigh. 

Blast it all. Ignoring the Hatake’s obvious discomfort, Minato pried the door open a crack, blue hues easily finding the Iryo nin’s still quaking shoulders. 

“Rin, could you come in here, please?”

Let it be known that Konoha’s Kiiroi Senkō didn’t always squeak, but when he did, it was at the expense of an exceptionally resilient Darari obi and the knowledge that Team Minato might not come out of the ordeal with their individual dignities intact [Obito’s continuous whimpering was proof enough].

Oh, and abused vocal cords. Though on the plus side, at least that had kept him from singing like one of the Geisha had insisted he ought to, earlier. Apparently, Maiko with the ‘softest voices’ and ‘the most exquisite grace’ garnered the most attention. Attention which would, undoubtedly, lead to their unknown Geiko-napper. The notion had been discarded when the shinobi turned Maiko had mentioned something along the lines of sounding like a dying tree frog on the best of days. To his credit - or lack of, he couldn't really tell - the Okiya Mother had agreed, but not before painted nails had grasped his jaw to inspect the make up on his face. Only after scrutinizing her handiwork for an entire minute, did the old crone deem him as one who wouldn't require any of the other, more artistic tricks of the trade.

Forget this mission being a S ranked secret; he would personally burn the Kami forsaken report the moment he became Hokage. 

Er...if. If he became Hokage. Given the current state of his floundering dignity, the Sandaime might as well hand the position over to Orochimaru in a grand ceremony at the Daimyo’s court while he played the shimasen. 

Mattaku. 

Flake Okiya 🌀

[minaa-munch]

The Hatake’s grumbling was clearly audible through the thin wood - and had been for a while now. The three occupants in the room had simply chosen to ignore it in favor of the enticing scent of Hōjicha that Rin had been gracious enough to supply; the crisp, earthy aroma a welcome distraction from their current predicament. 

Obito’s face had yet to lose the cherry tinge that somehow managed to dust his features despite the amount of makeup the Maiko had used earlier (amidst many giggles and half hearted assurances that it could be removed just as easily). The black wig on his head complimented his actual hair nicely, and it had been artfully arranged enough to make it seem natural.  

The Uchiha for his part, looked oddly pretty, if one could look past his distraught expression; long lashes accentuated dark, teary hues with lips painted a stark crimson against otherwise pale skin. Next to him, the sole Iryo nin on their team was sitting in perfect posture; dainty digits curled around her steaming cup of tea and a surprisingly smug grin on her face while brown orbs occasionally darted towards Obito (along with barely suppressed giggles). Her kimono was a light shade of peach as opposed to Obito's red; with soft hues of colour peppered around her face, her eyes accentuated by gentle strokes of a paint brush.

The Nohara had done her makeup herself; apparently it was something all kunoichi could do blindfolded - needless to say, she presented the perfect picture of an apprentice Maiko, much more so than himself.

And...well, Minato didn’t even want to know what he looked like. The satisfied nod he had gotten from the Geisha he was supposed to be apprenticing under had been mortifying enough. He could already feel the moniker of the Yellow Flash suffocating in the darari obi tied around his waist -- though then again, that could be just him as it were. 

The Namikaze had long accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be able to draw a full breath in the layers of cloth currently wrapped around his person during his first fifteen minutes of wheezing. The Okiya Mother had been nice enough to remind him that he was supposed to be Konoha’s best; along with the additional jibe of how first years in Geisha school were more graceful with their obi than the famed Yellow Flash. 

What she didn’t know was that said Yellow Flash would have preferred another round with Iwa shinobi over the makeup and the elaborate silk. A part of him - the one still brooding over the fact that the Okiya Mother had called him petite - was also rather sympathetic over his poor students’ plight - sure, he could have spared them the trauma of going undercover the old fashioned way, but...

He refused to suffer alone. This was good practice. One couldn’t always rely on chakra; a skilled shinobi had to rely on all available resources (and deal with stubborn old Okiya Mothers who insisted on the purity of their artistic trade). 

Even if said resources happened to be brocade, tortoise shell hair ornaments and enough makeup to make him wonder whether he would ever see his natural tan again. Besides, the younger members of Team Minato were needed for this particular mission to infiltrate the Geisha school and follow the Okiya members from the shadows whereas he was to infiltrate the Daimyo’s court for potential suspects under the guise of an apprentice Maiko. 

Why him? Well, as much as he would have preferred the role of a court record keeper (or of the like), the Kami of fate had preferred to give him the middle finger.

The mission - this mission was seemingly more important than the war they had just fought. Some moron out there had decided to mess around with the Fire Daimyo's Geiko and the Okiya she hailed from (and this was entirely besides the fact that the Daimyo was married). Maiko and students from the fine establishment had been reported missing on a periodic note.

For this, clearly credible reason, their esteemed Daimyo had insisted on the Sandaime’s absolute best since his precious Geiko was involved. It didn’t matter that they had just won a war, with shinobi stationed all over Hi no Kuni; or that the Sandaime’s best happened to be a man who had recently gotten married to the love of his life, or that his team had been through literal hell. Any and all logical reasons as to why they could have just gotten a kunoichi for the matter had shriveled to a bare squeak in front of the Daimyo’s demands and the amount of ryō he was willing to contribute to the war torn village’s near empty reserves. 

No wonder the Okiya was a thriving business despite the troublesome times; with nobles and royalty willing to pay through the nose for their services. Certainly, with the lord of the Land of Fire sponsoring a luxurious tea house where he signed most of his (questionable) dealings; nothing could be of more paramount importance. 

And of course the Hokage would have no qualms with bending to the Daimyo’s will with nary a protest. Minato could still hear the “you’ll be fine”, “every Hokage candidate has to go through something like this at one point” and “you don’t even want to know what Orochimaru had to go through” that the Sandaime had used to console his mounting horror. 

Not that it had worked, of course. Minato only hoped the rest of the Jōnin didn’t catch wind of this; or Kami forbid Kushina -- he could already hear the relentless teasing the Uzumaki would put him through. The thought alone was enough to make him grimace while the fourth member of their team threatened to blow their cover for the umpteenth time. 

Pause. Blue hues exchanged a look with brown counterparts in silent conversation; as if to decide who would talk to Kakashi this time. 

You’re better with words

But you’re the team leader

Ano--

Besides, I went last time and he refused to open the door. 

Sensei and student stared at each other in a silent test of wills before Minato sighed. The blond clambered to his feet, mindful of the swathes of silk trailing around his person before making his way to the bathroom where the Hatake (the only other Jōnin, mind you) had holed himself up in. 

“Kakashi, we’ve been through this.” He said quietly - it was as loud as his voice was willing to be after countless hours of vocal exercises. Tan digits peeked from the gold trimmed sleeve before resting against the door, “This is a S ranked mission, remember?” Maybe the Hatake would be willing to listen to reason over their need to collectively squirm, “Its not supposed to be easy, ne?” 

A beat. 

“You don’t want me to call okā-san for help, do you?” There was a lingering tilt in his tone, suggesting that he would actually carry out said threat. Obito’s barely suppressed whimpers (’No not her she’ll poke me with the stick again’) could be heard from somewhere behind him, amidst Rin’s snickers that echoed in the room. 

At least, someone was having fun with this. Cue an exasperated sigh, “Just let me help, ne?” No amount of chakra control will help you tie the blasted obi anyways. They had been forbidden to mold any chakra, lest a potential suspect be an enemy nin who could expose them in front of the other lords.

Also, because proper ladies did not associate themselves with peasant tricks such as dirty chakra molding as it would disgrace the noble art of the Geisha -- or whatever the heck the Okiya Mother had been on about. The old crone had refused to let them near her establishment (despite his charms) unless they agreed to the traditional methods. 

Maybe missions like these were why Tsunade ane had abandoned her active kunoichi status. Just where in Kami’s name did kunoichi hide their weapons in these things?

@konohagakurekakashi @swirleysarefun @strawberry-medic @senjutsunade

Flake Okiya 🌀

Closed Starter for @minaa-munch, @swirleysarefun, @strawberry-medic

Brows pinched together as fingers raised to feebly tug and twiddle with sleek, brown strands, grey hues (a shade lighter than his own) narrowing at the itch at his neck and shoulders, whilst his mouth (free from the familiar cloth of his mask) parted to sneer at his reflection. He looked ridiculous. Like a child in fact (a bright-eyed civilian that would not know how to hold a kunai or fashion a Rāiton clone) and Kakashi hated it, despised it. Calloused digits lowered from the wig strands to prod and poke at his cheeks, a wounded grunt seeping from his throat at the stubborn baby-fat endless hours of training had yet to burn and firm out, afore he turned around, back to the mirror to glower at the door instead.

On the other side he could hear the tell-tale shuffling of the Uchiha, followed by the lighter, surer steps of their Sensei, the two of them locked in a conversation regarding their mission specifics. Kakashi would have perked his ears for any additional information under normal circumstances, but as it stands, Kakashi merrily took a few steps forward to make sure for the utmost time that the bathroom lock was still in place, before he started to sift through the garments his sensei and the Okiya Mother picked out for him. The garments were just as horrible (if not more so) the Hatake having to steel himself against further whimpers at the soft, silky feel of the Kimono against his palms.

The Furisode was lilac in colour, with pink and silver lotus flowers embroiled along the sleeves and Kakashi was sure that if the garment was to be worn by someone like Rin or Kurenai, it would have been pretty to look at. Now however, it took everything in the Shinobi not to stomp on the silk brocade and push it out of the window. ‘How do you even tie the Obi? Into a knot, a bow? Did you tie it at the back or at the front? Kami this wig tickled his ears’ Another frustrated grunt flittered from the boy’s slumped form as he picked out the warm timbre of the team Iryō-nin as she joined the other two in their borrowed living quarters, the rich, toasty scent of Hōjicha denoting that she brought a brew of tea with her. Kakashi loved Rin’s tea, she never made it too sweet or over boiled the leaves, but at that moment it only served to remind him of the missing Ochaya girls and the nature of their mission. In the end Kakashi merely flung the broad, silver obi around his neck, before he barked at the door, nails digging welts into his palms. 

“This is stupid! We’re shinobi, I-I’m using a Henge.”

[konohagakurekakashi]

A S-ranked Mission? Kakashi snorted at this, pale finger-pads still thumbing the soft material of the Darari. This was a funeral procession is what it was, for his honour and skill as a shinobi, as well as that of his sensei and teammates. The thought of what would happen should anyone of  their Konohagakure comrades find out about their current cover lay heavy within the pit of his stomach and caused a headache to bloom and pulse at the back of his head. Though in all honesty, it could just as well have been the weight of his wig at this point. The damn Wareshinobu bun was heftier than Bull on a good day and Kakashi already managed to yank two of the dainty ornaments from the contraption; seeing as the dangling wisteria blossoms kept poking at the corner of his eye. Sure a S-ranked mission ascertained a high level of confidentiality and with the Fire Daimyō and members of his court cited as their main clients for this ‘mission’ (cue disbelieving cough) the privacy clause would contain even more red-tape than normal—demo, weren’t there always a squad or two of Konohagakure’s finest stationed within the Capital and near the Daimyō’s guard platoon? What if they, they being Team Minato, were recognised? His sensei and the cry-baby weren’t exactly inconspicuous and just one person knowing was enough to add to the many night-terrors already plaguing his subconscious.

The Hatake took a step away from the door, wholly conflicted about the whole situation as his bottom-lip were caught between his teeth to be gnawed on without mercy. Curse the Yondaime contender for attempting to play on his sense of duty and curse Rin for even daring to steep Hōjicha leaves at a time like this, the delicious scents still wafting their way through the gaps in the wood, acting like a Siren’s song. As soon as the tart, greasy taste of Abura and Beni-red pigment rushed across his taste buds, the Shinobi realised his mistake and quickly floundered back to the mirror to peer worriedly at his pale (paler?) complexion. The Okaa-san wasn’t kidding when she said that the traditional make-up could only be removed with the Okiya’s own, special oil amalgam, the red paint still fixed firmly on the boy’s lip despite its earlier abuse. Without really meaning to Kakashi’s mouth parted to make sure that no red stains coated his pearly whites, before his shoulder’s sagged in an exhale once his teeth were found to be in the clear. “Mattakū…this is so embarrassing…”

His voice quivered loudly, weary, in the small bathroom and obviously drew the attention of his mentor; as the rustle of many layers of silk could be heard on the other side of the ingress, followed by the twist and turn of the copper knob as the man tried (and failed) to best the lock again, afore his own sigh ensued. All of a sudden Kakashi’s annoyance was replaced by the tell-tale weight of guilt, his rogue brows furrowing at the (gross) seep of emotion from his gut and into his chest. Kakashi supposed that he was being unnecessarily difficult, that none of his teammates (with the sole exception of their Iryō-nin) wanted to be there, entrapped in scented powders and heavy, feminine layers. He managed to slip away from both the aggressive Okiya Mother and her Geisha the moment they were bathed (should be read as: drowned like sewer rats) burritoed in a simpler, cotton Kimono and their faces and necks plastered in the traditional, Oshiroi paste (coupled with supplementary pink shades for the younger Maiko) under the guise that he needed a glass of water—only he failed to emerge from the bathroom since. It helped that the Okaa-san and her daughters were wholly fixated on his sensei and Uchiha teammate, the latter’s tortured howls fully discernible through the paper-thin walls.

There was no sugar-coating it however, he was being unprofessional. Something he always accused Obito of being, but 'uttoooooshi!' The moment his mask was yanked from his person it somehow took his composure along with it. He should have done better, kept a better grasp on his fizzled emotions or else he could hardly fancy himself befitting of his rank of Jōnin. Plus they were a young team, the war now over if (only barely) more excruciating, no,/humiliating/ missions were sure to follow in this one’s wake—he should just learn to think of this as practice for the worse things to come. Taking another gulp of air, the taste of colour pigments still heavy on his tongue, Kakashi resolved to become a better tool. He wasn’t a kid, he should stop acting like one as he would never forgive himself if his pride caused his team a successful report back to their Hokage (also as a side-note: he really wanted/needed some of Rin’s tea. Kami such weakness (T-T)) . If only he could finish getting dressed, maybe help wouldn’t be such a bad idea…A thought that was only underscored by Minato’s threat of calling the Old Crone.

“Tch…What do you know about tying Darari Ōbi, Minato-sensei? Did you go to Kunōichi School with Kushina-san?”

Though his tone was flat and just the tiniest bit pretentious, the Hatake still found his finger’s reaching for the lock, unlatching it at the same time that the yellow-haired shinobi thought it a good idea to try the handle again, copper giving way to see the blonde come stumbling into the tight space. Kakashi managed to side-step the flailing, periwinkle sleeves with its gold-trimming to slam the bathroom door back into place (quicker than one could say ‘Kai!’ ) but didn’t bother with the lock this time; as cinereal-coloured orbs were too fixed on his mentor’s altered form. All fears of recognition were wiped from the boy’s mind as he blinked at the intricate Ofukū in which Minato’s hair was pinned, the tortoise shell combs and dainty Ume blooms so expertly placed, Kakashi doubted the existence of a wig at all. ‘Uhn...Was sensei always this…err…womanly?’ He doubted the man would be identifiable at all, lest he use any of his signature Jutsu—which of course was forbidden.

Severely uncomfortable and not wanting to be caught gaping, Kakashi quickly lowered his gaze to the tatami weave, lips parting to say something, before he closed it but a minute later. Somewhere within the Okiya a Shamisen was being stung, causing his pale digits to twitch at his sides, before his wrists rose of their own accord to fiddle with the ornate trinkets still scraping at his skull. No amount of adjusting brought any relief to his pounding temples, so after a beat, Kakashi left them to tug the obi from about his neck instead and held the long swathe of expensive fabric for the ‘not-quite Geiko’ to take. Rin would probably know better (best in fact!) but saying anything at this point proved exceptionally difficult, his usually blunt tongue dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth. The only thing left to do (the only thing he was able to do) was to continue issuing his mental prayers for strength and resilience to any Kami willing to listen and hoped that he didn’t look as far removed from himself as his team leader. Because this, this was a nightmare. Duty or no.

@minaa-munch

@strawberry-medic

@swirleysarefun

Flake Okiya 🌀

Closed Starter for @minaa-munch, @swirleysarefun, @strawberry-medic

Brows pinched together as fingers raised to feebly tug and twiddle with sleek, brown strands, grey hues (a shade lighter than his own) narrowing at the itch at his neck and shoulders, whilst his mouth (free from the familiar cloth of his mask) parted to sneer at his reflection. He looked ridiculous. Like a child in fact (a bright-eyed civilian that would not know how to hold a kunai or fashion a Rāiton clone) and Kakashi hated it, despised it. Calloused digits lowered from the wig strands to prod and poke at his cheeks, a wounded grunt seeping from his throat at the stubborn baby-fat endless hours of training had yet to burn and firm out, afore he turned around, back to the mirror to glower at the door instead.

On the other side he could hear the tell-tale shuffling of the Uchiha, followed by the lighter, surer steps of their Sensei, the two of them locked in a conversation regarding their mission specifics. Kakashi would have perked his ears for any additional information under normal circumstances, but as it stands, Kakashi merrily took a few steps forward to make sure for the utmost time that the bathroom lock was still in place, before he started to sift through the garments his sensei and the Okiya Mother picked out for him. The garments were just as horrible (if not more so) the Hatake having to steel himself against further whimpers at the soft, silky feel of the Kimono against his palms.

The Furisode was lilac in colour, with pink and silver lotus flowers embroiled along the sleeves and Kakashi was sure that if the garment was to be worn by someone like Rin or Kurenai, it would have been pretty to look at. Now however, it took everything in the Shinobi not to stomp on the silk brocade and push it out of the window. ‘How do you even tie the Obi? Into a knot, a bow? Did you tie it at the back or at the front? Kami this wig tickled his ears’ Another frustrated grunt flittered from the boy’s slumped form as he picked out the warm timbre of the team Iryō-nin as she joined the other two in their borrowed living quarters, the rich, toasty scent of Hōjicha denoting that she brought a brew of tea with her. Kakashi loved Rin’s tea, she never made it too sweet or over boiled the leaves, but at that moment it only served to remind him of the missing Ochaya girls and the nature of their mission. In the end Kakashi merely flung the broad, silver obi around his neck, before he barked at the door, nails digging welts into his palms. 

“This is stupid! We’re shinobi, I-I’m using a Henge.”