Assassination
"And then, well, you know father, he- GOODNESS!"
The girl walking down the street gave a soft cry of surprise as a heavy shoulder plowed into hers. Her attendant caught her by the arm and from the alleyways that lined the street armed soldiers swarmed. Once she had straightened, the girl turned in a huff to face the man who had knocked into her. He stood surrounded by sharpened swords, emerald eyes wide and lined with smudges of cockeyed khol. He was dressed in a rough cotton hakama and his nose was badly sunburned. He bit his lips nervously and she could see a tremor working through his legs.
"I- I-I'm sorry," he half-slurred his words, tried for a bow but couldn't get far with the sword to his neck. "M-my clumsiness is unforgivable." He glanced at the soldier holding the blade to his throat and whimpered.
The attendant opened her mouth to retort when the girl tapped her shoulder with a powder white hand.
"It's alright. You apologized, so there is no need for punishment." The girl's voice was soft and firm and coiled under her sun umbrella. "You may go."
The soldiers all pulled back but none relaxed.
"Oh, thank you," the boy said adamantly, bowing repeatedly as he turned to leave. "Thank you so much!"
He practically ran down the street, half-tripping over his straw sandals. The girl gestured and the soldiers at last retreated, leaving only her and her attendant in the street. Around them, foot and cart traffic continued as usual. It was as though nothing had happened, which was the best way many of the city's inhabitants had found to react to near-miss executions.
"Lady!" her attendant admonished. "Why did you let him go? He very nearly knocked you down! YOU, the only daughter of the Lord Arakida!"
"Rei, didn't you hear the way he was talking? And his clothes? The poor boy looked backwards- and besides, he had pretty eyes."
The woman inhaled sharply. "Lady Miya!"
"Oh, stop it. Father isn't here, I can say what I like about the men around me."
Rei sputtered and fussed for a little while before finally grabbing hold of the Lady Miya's arm and practically hauling her through the streets, aggravated at the delay in their errands and the inevitable scolding she would get from members of the household should the noblewoman be late for her lessons. From a shadowy corner, unwatched by soldier or passerby, the boy who had run into them watched them go.
His too-wide mouth quirked into a smile that would make demons shudder.
"Oh, stop it." He mimicked, and the voice that came from his vocal cords perfectly matched that of the lovely Lady Miya. He resisted the urge to scratch at the red makeup caked thickly on his face. He would have time to wash it off later, when night had finally fallen. For now, his plan needed adjustments. He oozed further into the darkness and no one on the busy street would give him much thought, which was preferable. He'd hate for all that training to go to waste.
---
Kankuro watched through narrowed eyes as the guards changed rotation for the third time. No doubt someone had been well paid to design the routes and overlap the patrols to keep out such unscrupulous fellows as himself. That was all well and good, but he wasn't a thief out for the family silver.
No, he sought a different prize.
The sun finally dropped below the horizon, casting long shadows on the thick stucco walls of the Arakida Family Compound. Kankuro shifted his shoulders, sliding from the long drainage pipe he had been laying in like a snake emerging from the underbrush. A whisper of wind and he was gone; hardly a footprint remained in the soft sand.
Kankuro crawled with ease up the walls. The moon was waxing and against the stucco, with the pale light shining, his white-painted face would appear as merely another half-shadow. The only purple on him was the paint on his lips. Everything else was white, save two small grey dots over his eyebrows- a genderless noh mask, the solo mission design. Kankuro had to go to one of his elders in the Playhouse to learn it. He'd chosen Frog, who had a streak of kindness the desert hadn't managed to beat out of him.
At the top of the first wall, Kankuro took a moment to crouch and observe. The lucky strings were vibrating for him- there was a long, thin servant's ladder (Wind Country Nobleman's hired help rule number one, never keep servants who leave their ladders behind) just waiting for someone to come along and climb.
Kankuro obliged. At the top of the ladder there was a narrow walkway. He traversed it easily, hooking his fingers onto the red tile of the roof and pulling himself up seconds before the next guard rounded the corner.
The Arakida were an old-blood noble family, wealthy and well placed with several holdings in Wind Country. The current head of the clan, Matsuo Arakida, had increased his family's wealth and lands by brokering contracts between various villages under his jurisdiction and hidden nin villages.
Too bad none of those contracts had the Suna hourglass on them.
Doubly unfortunate that most of them had Konoha's leaf.
Kankuro crawled up the roof, eyes settling on a far window that still burned with a candle flame, though it was long past the time for working. He'd taken a copy of the compound's newest layout that very afternoon, committed it all to memory, like a good little ninja. That was the room he wanted, he was certain of it.
Once he was settled between two storage room windows Kankuro made a series of seals in quick succession. Bandages began rolling over his shoulders and down his chest to wrap neatly around his middle. Free from its wrapping Karasu ghosted over Kankuro's head to sit in front of him. Though his stomach was churning, Kankuro couldn't help but grin at his puppet. It looked like an obedient student waiting for a lecture.
Tied around Kankuro's waist was a pouch, an elongated leather water bladder; he reached behind him and opened it up. Sand poured out and guided by chakra strings began pooling obediently in Karasu's cloak. Bits and pieces of it still glittered with Gaara's chakra. It was mostly old chunks of discarded sand armor scooped up by a shrewd puppeteer when the death threats had concluded and his brother had turned his attention to other things. Gaara had marvelous moldable chakra.
"Now then," Kankuro said to Karasu, "Let's get you gorgeous."
He twitched his fingers and the sand traveled up, coating his puppet's face and arms as his other hand moved through a series of genjutsu signs. The client wanted it traumatic. The client wanted it messy.
Ninja Rule Number 45: The Client always gets what they want.
---
The knock on his office door was soft, gentle. This late in the evening, it could only be Miya. Matsuo Arakida blinked the fog from his eyes and looked up.
"Enter."
She slipped into the room like a whisp of smoke, her smile small and hesitant as it always was when she visited so late. "Father?" she asked. "Why are you still up?"
Matsuo slid a hand across his desk, pushing a folio on top of the documents he had been studying. "Work waits for no man, my dear." He beckoned her forward. Amongst his many possessions, Miya was his most prized. She was beautiful, well bred, well behaved. She sat obediently by his side, plucking nervously at the long blue sleeves of her kimono. He let his hand rest warmly on her thigh. Her own small hand covered his.
"Father?"
"Yes?" he asked, turning to look at her, shifting closer, feeling comfortably warm.
"Why would you betray your country?"
He froze.
"What?" he asked harshly, pulling his hand back. Miya stood, looking at him with her usually empty, elegant eyes. "Why would you betray your country?" she asked again, clasping her hands behind her back.
He stood, pushing back his chair and giving his daughter a considering look. Cold began to curl in his gut. Who had reached her? Who had corrupted her? How quickly could he ascertain the damage and contain it?
"It's all just politics, my darling." He said, approaching her slowly lest she panic and run. "You recall the special lessons that-"
"I hate politics."
Arakida stared down at his daughter- at the long, thin knife that had emerged from her wrist, the mere quarter inch not buried in his stomach shining with a very light purple substance. He coughed up blood, dark and slick.
"Don't ever betray Wind Country, father." The girl whispered, wrapping her knife-free hand around him and hugging him close. "I don't think I could take it. It makes me so sad."
The softest of clicks and he jerked his head back with a garbled shout as his daughter's embrace became sharp; she pulled away and he fell, staring up at the six horizontal knives which had emerged from her breast.
"It really would make me sad, Father." She said, covered in red, staring down at him, grinning, "So you won't do it ever again, will you?"
He coughed, stared up at her. One arm moved, beseeching her and she knelt with a nod, pulling his head into her lap. She brushed his hair away from his face like a good daughter would.
He tried to say her name, but it came out a garbled gurgle.
She smiled, leaned over. "Promise me." She sing-songed.
He tried to speak again and instead began coughing, shaking. Once the fit had subsided he nodded.
"Good."
She leaned forward and slanted her mouth across her father's and everything was going to be okay because his Miya still loved him and he could keep his promise as soon as the newest contract was signed, minor upsets were to be expected in well-bred ladies such as her-
Arakida didn't register the soft clicking noise, though it was the last thing he heard. He certainly didn't feel the needle poking out of the back of his skull, at the bottom where neck met head. When Miya pulled away she allowed her jaw to rehinge itself; a swallowing motion brought the long poisoned needle back down her throat.
"Father?" she asked with a girlish giggle, patting her cheek and spreading his blood across her neck.
No reply.
Miya seemed to consider her father's position, then stood up. She turned and reached for the desk lamp. She knocked it over, took the papers he had tried to hide from the desk, and walked back into the dark as the flames slowly started eating away at expensive lacquers and veneers.
Miya emerged in a servant's hallway. Beside her, another body emerged- a white faced ghost with a black hood and emerald eyes. Kankuro held his hand over her head and curled the tips of his fingers ever so slightly. Miya collapsed, strings cut. Chakra charged smoke dispelled the illusions and sand grains dribbled from her face, running obediently back into the leather water bladder.
Kankuro picked up the papers Karasu had retrieved and stowed them away. He surveyed the mess on the front of his wooden monstrosity, then flicked a finger; the bandages wrapped around his middle flew out and began slithering around the puppet.
The ninja shouldered the marionette. It was time to go. Any second now someone would smell the smoke. The Arakida had their own personal firefighters on guard.
Paranoid, the lot of them.
Kankuro wondered if anyone would find Miya.
Probably not. There was plenty of space in that drainpipe.
She was pretty. Maybe he'd base a puppet off of her.
Kankuro managed to wait until he was outside the city, safe from prying eyes and having his cover blown, before he forced himself to hurl. It felt like the right thing to do.
---
Gaara considered the paper. Every detail had been written out as concisely as possible. He could almost hear Kankuro's standard 'mission drone', hands locked behind his back in parade rest as he recited the assassination step by step.
Arakida's death had been reported the morning after it had occurred, with demands, complaints- why weren't any of your people there, how could this happen, did you hear how they found his daughter?
Gaara remembered the Fourth holding up a hand and saying in that voice that he wished wasn't so much like Kankuro's, "What's done is done."
Gaara reached for the next report, refusing to note that his hand was trembling ever-so-slightly in the soft light of his desklamp.