All the World's a Stage - Chapter 12 (Patreon)

“I think it was a bit overwrought.”

“Well, I thought it was lovely. I hope I get half so lovely a send-off,” the shinobi argued.

The merchant disagreed. “I’m just not certain of the thought process behind it. If he wanted to retire the old frog, why bring attention to it? I wouldn’t have acknowledged it at all.”

“No no, see, I heard from Gurosu that Ondori had to sacrifice the Wilkins puppet in battle on a mission,” the shinobi explained.

The merchant frowned. “So it wasn’t just him deciding that the old one wasn’t up to his standards?”

The shinobi flip-flopped his hand. “I’m sure there was some of that in there, but. Well, I’ve worked with puppeteers before, and they can get weird about their puppets. It’s a major time investment, putting those things together. It’s easy to get attached to something you’ve put so much effort into.”

The merchant made a noise of understanding. “Like Shimisu-san and her bar, perhaps?”

“Sure,” the shinobi said. “She does get scary about keeping the tables clean, doesn’t she?”

“Have you ever worked with Ondori-san before?” the merchant asked.

“...Once, I think. During the Chunin Exams, my team and his worked together to get to the tower.” He shrugged. “He was alright. Not great. He wasn’t the best puppeteer in the exams that year, but he wasn’t the worst, and he passed. That’s all I really have to say about him.”

“He never displayed this level of creativity on the battlefield?”

The shinobi hummed. “I can’t recall. It’s been years. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Both of them turned as a bell rang across the square.

“Oh, I believe that’s the missus signaling me for the lunch rush. Got to go!”

“Have a good one.”

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The Land of Fields was a beautiful country. It had an old-world charm to it. Giant trees, chasms crossed by rope bridges, bizarre and hostile wildlife, the works. Fire Country had those too, but not as densely.

Furthermore, in Fields all those things were natural. Fire’s forests were bigger, the chasms deeper and the animals deadlier, but those trees were grown by the Shodaime Hokage during his many battles. The chasms were carved enormously powerful jutsu, and the animals were big and angry because they were passively reacting to all of the battlelust the Shodaime had pushed into the trees as he grew them, that even now they continued to echo. The animals felt it more keenly than humans, and reacted accordingly.

Or that was the theory, anyway, Shikaku mused as they traveled. There were places, after all, where the forests were so saturated in negative traits that even seasoned ninja felt uneasy, regardless of how well they knew the place. The Forest of Death was only the most famous one. The Land of Fire was a big place, and the old Senju fought battles all over it. No one could conclusively prove that the occasional deranged beast of a wildcat or fifteen-foot-tall bear got that way because of misplaced Senju trees, but it was as good an explanation as any.

None of this actually mattered, of course, but it was something to think about as they went. Inoichi wasn’t feeling chatty today and Choza was never one to start a conversation.

It was boring. There weren’t even clouds in the sky to look at.

They came to a stop by a rope bridge over a small chasm, a shallow river below them. “Where to now?” Shikaku asked.

Inoichi unfolded a map. “We’re here… and the target was suspected to be here, to the northwest.”

“Do we wanna do the gotcha?” Choza asked, grinning. “I have a great henge in mind. How do you think I’d look as a priest?”

Shikaku and Inoichi looked at him. “Why a priest?” Inoichi asked.

“It would give me an excuse to have my staff out and at the ready. You two could be my retainers.”

“The target has been robbing wealthy people. Priests aren’t expected to carry much money,” Shikaku pointed out.

Choza smiled wider and patted his stomach. “Maybe, but a priest who looks like this? Fat and under guard? Might be corrupt. Might be a con man. Might be an attractive target.”

“If we go with that gambit, Inoichi might be better.”

“I don’t want to be a priest. Though I’ll admit, I do have an air of nobility about me. I could pass as a tax collector. It wouldn’t be too hard to whip up an illusion of a strongbox in my hands.”

“I never get to be the VIP,” Choza whined.

“I don’t think an elaborate disguise is necessary,” Shikaku argued. “It’s too much effort when we don’t even know for sure if the target is still in that area. We’re better off continuing on to the next town and searching for rumors.”

Both Inoichi and Choza looked disgruntled.

Shikaku sighed. “And of course we still need to go in disguise, obviously. We don’t want a Grass-nin to see us and get hostile.”

They cheered up, and he sighed again. What a drag. I hate dressing up.

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Takenoko Village was made entirely of bamboo. Entirely of bamboo. Every structure was in shades of green and yellow and blended in so well with the surrounding forests that he’d been halfway across the town square before he realized it was there at all; it was an embarrassing thing to miss, for a ninja.

It was also aptly named as “Bamboo Shoots Village,” because Takenoko didn’t have any roads. It didn’t have any stone floors, either; everything was built on stilts. They didn’t have a choice. According to the village elder, nothing anyone could do would stop the bamboo shoots from bursting out of the earth. If they tried to put down stones for a foundation, the shoots would either push them to the side or break through them. Wooden floorboards were shoved aside by shoots worming their way up through them. Flagstones were shattered by the tenacious little things.

Ondori could swear he felt the earth shifting under his feet as a shoot tried to come up under his feet. How did these people live here?

The answer turned out to be ‘through sheer stubborn will,’ which he could respect.

It was giving him ideas. If he exaggerated the rate of growth even more, it could make for a funny skit. And wasn’t there some ancient story about a girl who was born from a cut bamboo stalk? Hey, maybe these people knew it. Another skit idea, there.

Maybe something like… a logger going through the woods clearing trees, but the bamboo is growing back faster than he can cut it? Eh, he’d workshop it with Ozu once he was back home. Meanwhile, he was entertaining the locals.

“Hi-diddle-dee-dee,

An actor’s life for me!

A fine silk hat and silver cane

A watch of gold with a diamond chain,

Hi-diddle-dee-dee,

You sleep til after two!

You promenade with a big cigar

Tour the world in a horse-drawn car

You dine on chicken and caviar

An actor’s life for me!”

Ozu let him hold on to Fozzie for him. He wasn’t interested in doing shows without Ondori. Sasori had decided to keep Gonzo to himself, muttering about wanting to make improvements. Which could mean anything, coming from the kid. Ondori vaguely hoped it didn’t mean he was giving Gonzo… shuriken launchers or electro-coils or something. Which was fine, it was his character, but it would require a lot more care to keep the audience safe.

“Hey Rowlf, ask me why I’m carrying this fish around!”

“Oh Fozzie, why are you carrying that fish around?”

Fozzie smiled wide. “Just for the halibut!”

Rowlf groaned.

Ondori had fewer resources out here by himself. He had to make do with genjutsu for stage effects. He’d asked the village elder for permission and had informed the audience he might make use of them, which he did now as Fozzie ordered scenery down for his act, to Rowlf’s confusion.

Ondori hadn’t actually realized this was a solo mission until he was leaving Suna. He didn’t know what the Kazekage was thinking; Ondori wasn’t… well, okay, technically he was primarily a combatant, but that was only by default. He wasn’t an assassin, or ANBU or anything. He had limited information about this Jiki character, and what he did have was almost certainly out of date.

He wasn’t doing a full show, just a song or two. Kermit did one, and then Rowlf and Fozzie did one. He was getting pretty good at the voices.

As the show wrapped up, Ondori looked over the crowd. It wasn’t very large, mostly old folks and children. The adults had work to do. There were three teens in the back who were watching him a little intensely, and Ondori took note of them because something about them picked at his senses, but he had other things to worry about.

He sealed the bear and dog and let the frog sit on his shoulder again. Ondori approached one of the younger elders.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Young man,” she answered. They weren’t as guarded as they had been when he first arrived but they didn’t exactly trust him yet either. “That was a neat little performance you gave us. Is that what the youth are into these days?”

“Just me,” Ondori said honestly.

Kermit leaned forward. “But I hope to bring in more as we need.”

“Only if they want to, of course,” Ondori pointed out.

“Oh, well,” Kermit said. “Wanting to? That might be a problem, if they’ve seen the show before.”

“Stop that. You’re great.”

“Everyone is their own worst critic,” Kermit shrugged.

“Except for Yaji and Chosho.”

“Oh yeah, them. Thay are worse.”

The woman tittered. “Oh, my. You never stop, do you?”

“A show is always a momentous occasion,” Onodir confessed. “That is, it has a lot of momentum.”

“I got the pun, young man. So, what did you need?”

“Have you heard anything about another puppeteer? A young woman, probably around my age, possibly asking around for clay, pottery or porcelain?”

The woman’s tongue stuck out as she thought. (Ondori took a note of that; it could make for a character trait for someone else.) “I can’t say as I have,” she said at length. “We work in wood, not clay. There’s some clay down by the river’s shore, but it’s not up to a good potter’s standards.”

“I see.”

She smacked her fist into a palm. “Ah, but I know where you might look next. About two day’s walk straight north, there’s a place where the river suddenly doubles back on itself. There’s a potter’s village there in the crook of the water. All our pots come from there.”

“That sounds like an excellent place to look,” Ondori said, grinning. “Thank you very much, ma’am.” He took the collection bowl he’d set out before the show and upended it into her hands. “You have my gratitude.”

“Hope to see you in our audience again someday!” Kermit added as they walked off.

Two days by civilian standard meant he could probably get there before dark, assuming the terrain played nice. He’d expected a lot more flatland from the Land of Fields.

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Behind him, the three teens followed.