#because immunity to running water only temporarily graced him

[tiafrye]

Skinny dipping morphed from Shart 💦

[dokuhebi]

Tobirama / cont.  @kxshikoi​

Most children wouldn’t have listened to half of the words he had said and if they actually had, then they wouldn’t have understood them, wouldn’t let them run through their mind long enough to attempt to, but Orochimaru, the youth before him, was different. It didn’t take a genius to see that. It was written all over their youthful features, their process of thinking, how they took every word in and let them go through a deep network of thoughts and memories. Tobirama felt like he needed to be worried, to some degree, because such silence and thinking process usually meant a lack of childhood, but the alabaster skinned male wasn’t surprised there, not after getting to know where Orochimaru lived. They were an orphan and even though Tobirama wasn’t, he knew how that felt like, what it could do. What loneliness it had to mean, and the feelings that came with it. Hadn’t it been for Izuna, then he might have carried similar feelings, even now due to how different he was from all the other Senju.

Hearing the polite words, Tobirama is once again hit by the strange sort of maturity that rolls off the little one before him as many children that age wouldn’t have been so polite, so sure in their own statements and would have without a doubt, shown a moment of hesitation or childishness in some form or manner. Some would have been worried, but not the Senju, it just made him curious.

A light hint of a smile graced the elder’s fair lips upon hearing the words, happy that the youth followed a set of rules. For someone so young, Tobirama was glad that Orochimaru didn’t wander around after dark, even though the Senju knew that there were eyes all around Konoha. Eyes that would look out and make sure no harm came to the people living within their home. However, not every crime was seen, not every harmful act, even if they tried their best to make Konoha as good and safe as possible.

A soft chuckle leaves Tobirama as he reaches over to gently ruffle the little one’s hair, to cheer Orochimaru up due to feeling their disappoint at the thought of having to leave.

“  I promise, we will see each other again soon, Orochimaru-kun. And before you go, I got something for you.  “ To kick this plan of his into action, Tobirama had to do something that the youth might not appreciate, but it was also why that Orochimaru wouldn’t know a thing.

Pulling out one of his specially made kunai, slender digits handed it over to the youth, with no hesitation, not fearing that any harm would befall the child. After all, it was normal for a youth this age, to have weapons such as this. And the elder trusted Orochimaru to be mature enough to not go swinging it around.

“  For you, as a symbol of my promise.  “

Golden eyes blink closed when his hand is placed to their head, pale fingers contrasting their midnight coloured hair when he ruffles it. They look back in curiosity at the pleasant sounding laughter that falls from his lips, intrigued when he mentions having gotten them something. The fact that they are leaving with a parting gift is certainly succeeding at shedding some of the bitterness. That he has made a promise to see them again, and offered something that was certainly mysterious in its worth. At least, in the eyes of the child it was. For how could a weapon handed down by the Second Hokage not be considered legendary in its own fashion? Small hands are more than happy to take it from the mans possession, pale fingers gliding over the metal before clutching the item close to their chest, and offering the Senju a clearly excitable smile and gaze. They nod at his words, confirming acknowledgement of his promise. And their tone has shifted to something with a slight bounce, with a clear hint of exuberance, “thank you, Tobirama-sama.”                                                   ____________ It will be that night that the child proudly puts their weapon beside their bed. Deciding to keep it close, for having one blade nearby at all times was good practice for a young shinobi. They have no idea that the item gives the sensor insight, that he will be aware of each and every movement they make. If they had known however, they would have merely felt far more protected. The lonely apartment was simply too daunting to be fussy about a breach of trust. Knowing he was somewhat ‘with them’ in the room would bring more comfort than disdain for not being informed. Regardless, it would be three nights to pass where they unknowingly give the Senju a glimpse in to their daily life. Night one is accompanied by a storm, thunder claps together in welcome of the lightning soon to follow. The child, burdened with a young and wild imagination, is unable to quite comprehend that the chaos of flashing lights and loud noises does not equate danger. They have paced in their room a few times, before surrendering to the shield that is their bed. But that however, only lasts the next half an hour, before the rain has managed to upset the apartments wiring. Feeble walls, poorly structured architecture. It does little to combat the elements, allowing for noises to be amplified and water damage to be abundant. Moments after a loud crack is heard, the bedroom light has flickered in anger before dying out entirely.

Snuffed out light is simply more of a warning than the child needs, they have grabbed the precious blade the Hokage gave them from the bedside table, and abandoned the dark room for the living area. Since the light is still working there, they hurriedly switch it to life. Looking around the room as if every shadow may possess someone with ill intent. They will spend the night on the couch, with only the thin sofa drape acting as a blanket in the drafty room. Where, to no ones surprise, they wake up a few degrees colder, a soft sneeze befalling them. Brushing it off, and deciding it was good enough they had survived the night, that a little bit of a chill wasn’t the greatest sacrifice, they prepare for early morning training. Night two would reveal the results of night one. Where the child has come down with a cold. For having dropped their immunity during the storm, and left them wide open to falling victim to any underlying illness they came in to contact with. Feeling too low to care about anything other than sleep, the child has skipped dinner. Which if the man was keeping track, he would notice is a trend. Along with skipping lunch. They would however, on a regrettably empty stomach, help themself to painkiller. Evidently plagued by a headache and fever. It takes them a good few moments to inspect the dose, which they at the very least follow. An early night is in order when their little form is gripped by a rather common cold. But even the simplest of ailments proves a difficult task for a young child to fend off on their own. There is no one around to offer them a second or warmer blanket, to offer them medication, food or water. There is no one to run a cloth over their head, to keep them company when they lie unable to sleep. And while the independent nature of the child reveals they can manage each task on their own with greater difficulty, there is a sense of incompetence that would have any adult holding their breath. The child is still learning - and the council of a guardian would have spared them many harder taught lessons.

Despite their attempt to get to bed early (still safely positioned on the couch given they felt they had no business in the haunted bedroom), they are awoken around midnight. The banging at their door is accompanied by a mans voice, angry, hostile, threatening. It certainly jolts the child awake, and banishes their illness temporarily. They grab their blade, listening to the loud efforts of a man trying to breach their front doors defenses - a wooden frame that they somehow doubt offered much protection. But the sound of banging is soon replaced by laughter, and it doesn’t take the young serpent long to figure out the prank. That the new genin in the building had just figured out a new trick, that the use of henge was swiftly becoming a misuse. One of the boys can be heard mockingly apologizing to the child, though he calls them by the title ‘yuki-onna’, a cruel nickname said in jest. With their unusually pale skin, set in vivid contrast to their jetblack hair and topped off by ‘demonically’ sharpened eyes, it was only natural the other genin make the connection to the yokai. That the little serpents ability to master the art of killing from so young made them that much more foreign and inhuman to peers. It is needless to say they spend the night mostly awake from there. By day three, they have proven to be desensitized to the odd interactions of their rowdy neighbourhood. They have survived their cold, they have survived the water damage and broken light, the drafty living room couch, the skipped meals and the poorly taken medication. They have survived the pranks, the name calling, the loneliness of their apartment. They have proven, that despite how problematic it was to have someone so young alone, they could adapt. That they were desperate to show they could adapt.  It’s the late afternoon when they find their way down pebbled paths and through scattering crowds. The number of people growing smaller and smaller the nearer to the outskirts they get, until finally they have found the cemetery. It is clear the layout of the graveyard is familiar by the ease in which they navigate it. A few handpicked flowers resting neatly in their palm, their prized gifted weapon in their hand as they arrive at their parents graves. For this is where the child often returns to - they have always found themself most comfortable speaking to ghosts. The flowers are placed down, equally divided between their mother and father. They then sit politely on their knees before the tombstones, toying with the blade, careful not to cut themself with it. Hiruzen had told them their parents may come back one day, that the white snake herself had promised it with the symbol of her shed skin. They hold on to that hope, it has them returning to this spot to keep their deceased family in the loop of the living, clinging to the belief that the two would join them there. They tell their parents all about Tobirama, oblivious he would know what it was they said. How excitable they were for their weapon, for their next visit, to have sat across a table from him. How they had see him use his powers effortlessly, seen him navigate the world as if he had been born to be a few tiers above most others. The way he spoke, acted, thought... it had all gained some praise from the child. A hero in their eyes, nothing less. And it is perhaps the story they tell their parents about their meeting with the man that has them wondering when they would see him again. That has them taking a long route home just to curiously indulge themself. To see where it was the man lived so they could see for themself whether the Senju truly were deserving of the ridicule their wealth sometimes earned them. It will be a short visit, before they head home. Before their long way back has them passing through markets they don’t usually have any business being near. Orphans were not always appreciated near the small businesses. The little one would prove why. For despite their claims that they didn’t mind others had more than them, they hadn’t made any claims to not want those things to. To not be willing to play a bit dirtier for them. It will be on their way back home that they shoplift a trinket they find desirable. For someone like them could never afford it, and it was effortless with their talents to apprehend the item. A petty crime, a small hairpin that would cost the business woman some of her profit. But it is perhaps the start of what problems lay to wait. That while the child had adapted, survived and learnt... they had also become less sympathetic of others. That they started to piece the world together the same way a fox might when stumbling across a farmers land and scenting livestock - the lonely and brutal wild was so cruel, how could it resist the taste of easy prey? Stealing... it just seemed a reasonable price to pay when greeted by the howl of hunger.