Through the Lilac Haze (Naruto)

vi. hands that do not feel

Not a chapter! Just some snippets that never went anywhere + backstory pieces. I'm not even sure if they all apply to the fic's canon, there's just... vibes.

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Beneath the mist of desperation that gripped her in her wild dash far, she came upon a single, chilling realisation.

     The fact is that this is her, and no matter how much she denies it, Kaede is dead. Everything that occurs to this life occurs to her, and she is not Kaede. Not anymore.

     And right now, she needs an escape.

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The end of the war did not mean returning home.

     Okay, maybe it did for some. For whatever reason, Uchiha Sasuke was allowed back into the wreck that once stood proud as the strongest Hidden Village and was allowed to spend his time doing absolutely nothing while the Council decided on an apt punishment for his crimes. (Which was, in my very humble opinion, utter bullshit, because he didn't need to be tried to do community service! Put the prisoner in my shoes and let me sleep!)

     But fine, I could put up with having an Uchiha within the village walls again. What's the worst that could happen, right? Tsunade-same may be a chronic drunkard but she's not dumb, and she sure as hell won't give him the Hokage position he suddenly decided to chase. Hopefully.

     ...So maybe the village is a little fucked.

     None of that mattered in my day-to-day life, though. No, that is just an endless cycle of mission, mission, rest, mission, random promotion (because I was not qualified to be Anbu Captain, shinobi shortage be damned, please, Hokage-same, I just want to sleep in), mission, rebuild the fucking decimated village, and worst of all, sociology.

     Why was I, Kaede, heir to a clan most notably led by an overzealous madman, daughter of an alleged traitor to the village and some dumbass who didn't even know he had a kid till half a year ago, classmate of the village's most notorious mass murderer, a newly minted Anbu Captain with more kills on my record than objects to my name, chosen as a sociologist? To make things all the better, I had approximately no training in keeping my mouth shut and my only talent was, as testified by many wise acquaintances, shit-talking.

     But, no. I have to be the one to tell the local baker to kindly stop screaming about the exact fucking location and design of your house, no, we're not working on commission, yes, you do have to pay us, the village cannot afford free labour because the shinobi are the ones who died and you lost literally fucking nothing, oh, my god, SHUT UP.

     Right. I can totally do the talking.

     My mission partner laughs at my plight and abandons me to the unending complaints of the man who cannot fucking stop talking. He begins another spiel about how utterly unwarranted the incompetence of Konoha shinobi is and I cannot physically restrain myself further.

     Tsunade-sama doesn't have to know about the temporary illusion disconnecting the man from reality and finally, fucking finally shutting him up. An hour of uninterrupted work and a motionless baker brings his wife to inquire about him, only to find him unresponsive. Before she can scream, the same illusion drapes itself over her, and I abruptly feel like a criminal.

     But it gets me through the job quickly and without the added headache of listening to the man's prattling, even if I do have to drape another illusion over the couple that pulls at my chakra steadily and reduces my efficiency in moulding the earth. You just gotta make some sacrifices in life.