All the World's a Stage - Chapter 19 (Patreon)

“Nah.”

“What do you mean, nah?!” Jiraiya asked, dismayed. “This is your only job!”

The small orange toad glared up at him. “I am a toad. You ain’t getting me to cross the desert.”

“I already paid you!”

“That cheap sake ain’t worth the rice it was made from, and it definitely ain’t worth me drying myself out in the desert sun.”

Jiraiya held up the Hokage’s letter and pointed at it. “This is time-sensitive, Gamaroba. It needs to reach the Kazekage ASAP, or the mission is dead before it even begins!”

“That sounds like a whole lot of not my problem,” the toad said, bored. “Find someone else to die in the hot sand.”

“Gamabunta will be hearing about this!” Jiraiya threatened, but the toad unsummoned himself before he could finish. “Bastard.”

Where was he going to find another summoner who could send a message? The messenger hawks were neither fast enough nor secure enough, it had to be a summon.

There were the Cats, but those belonged to the Uchiha, and Jiraiya would rather not deal with Fugaku any time soon. The kid had only just ascended to clan leader after his father died, and was acting like a hardass to try and overcompensate for his inexperience.

Did anyone else in Konoha have summons? Tsunade’s Slugs weren’t exactly fast, and Orochimaru’s Snakes were the opposite of diplomatic. If he sent them, it could only end badly. The Deer didn’t have an active contractor right now; the Nara were all too lazy to hold up their end of the deal. All that was really left was…

Jiraiya snapped his fingers. It was a good thing he still had that frog puppet’s eye; the Dogs needed a scent before they could track anyone.

--------------------------------------

“Oh, Kermie, you know I would do anything for you… Don’t you think you should return the favor?”

“Well, uh, Miss Piggy the thing with that is, in order for you to cash in a favor…”

“Hmm?”

“In order to cash in a favor, you need to earn one first.”

Ondori coughed. “Sorry, frog in my throat.”

“And a pig, from the sound of it,” Jiki said, annoyed.

Ondori leaned against the bars of her cell. “Yeah, Piggy’s voice isn’t easy. That’s why I was hoping you’d--”

“Even if I wanted to do your crummy show,” Jiki said, standing from the bench, “I can’t, because I am in fact imprisoned, you idiot.”

The cells of Suna’s prison were at least two levels underground beneath the T&I building. Jiki was still being processed, and it wasn’t certain yet if she’d be allowed to rejoin the general forces. She had deserted, after all, and the only reason she wasn’t executed is because she hadn’t killed anyone or stolen anything but her own work on the way out. That she had techniques they wanted to preserve was merely a bonus.

“I think your voice would be much better suited--though I think a husky voice is fitting for Piggy, can you go lower?”

“I am not going to play an ugly pig!”

“She isn’t ugly,” Ondori argued. “I haven’t made her yet, but I have a sketch here, see?”

Jiki scowled at the notebook being shoved in her face. There was, indeed, a pig on the page. One with eyeshadow and a feather boa and a pearl necklace. “This is supposed to be me?”

“No, it’s Miss Piggy,” Ondori said.

Jiki stared at him, looking for any sign of hidden insult and finding none. “Can I talk to the frog? Maybe he’d be more self-aware.”

“What do you mean?” Ondori asked, looking confused. “Also no, they wouldn’t let me bring any puppets in here. They thought you’d try and take control of it from me and use it to escape.”

Jiki scoffed. “As if I’d sully my hands with a slimy amphibian.”

Now Ondori looked at her like she was crazy. “Jiki… he’s made of felt.”

Jiki colored. “Oh good grief! Is this supposed to be my punishment? Trapped in a tiny cell with no jewelry and a loon pitching me his play ideas? Are you the one they sent in here to torture me?”

“No? I just wanted to ask if you wanted to play Miss Piggy.” Ondori actually sounded hurt now. “If you don’t want to, you just have to say so.”

Jik’s eye twitched. “I feel like you haven’t been listening to me.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “Oh my god. This isn’t your idea of flirting is it?”

Ondori’s face went slack. “What’s huh?”

“I’m flattered,” Jiki said disingenuously. “Obviously I know I’m a catch--beautiful, powerful, intelligent--”

“Yes, you’re at least two of those,” Ondori said.

Jiki squinted at him. That had sounded like an insult, but there was nothing but blank honesty on his face. “Right. So. It’s nice to know I’m turning heads, but I’m just not interested in you.”

Ondori stared. “...Are you interested in playing Miss Piggy, though? I have some preliminary scripts worked up here, I can show you and get your input if you don’t like--”

Jiki let out a frustrated groan. “Are you keeping your brain in your puppets? Why are you not getting this?”

“Hey, my brain is just fine,” Ondori said, insulted. “In fact, it’s in pristine condition!”

“Of course it is,” Jiki said. “You’ve never used it!”

Ondori brightened. “Hey, that’s a good one!”

Jiki let her face fall into her hands.

From the next cell over, a dry, wheezing laugh rang out. “Heh. Heh. Heh. Oh, you kids. To be young again…”

“Shut up, tanuki,” Jiki murmured.

“Tanuki?” Ondori asked, receiving no answer. He stepped over to peer into the next cell. It was especially reinforced, though the modifications looked recent. Still sturdy, though. The bars were thickened, and the door replaced with one made of solid iron. It had a curious, sandy texture…

“Satoshi-kun made them stronger,” the prisoner inside said. “It isn’t necessary, but I don’t begrudge him his caution…”

“Oh, so he fixed up these bars with his Iron Sand?” Ondori asked. He looked inside the cell and frowned at what he saw.

The prisoner was an old, old, old man. The oldest man Ondori had personally ever seen; he looked like could have been Ebizo’s father. He sat, legs crossed, in the center of the room. A circle of kanji characters were written on the floor surrounding him, and directly in front of him, inside a smaller circle of its own, was a simple tea pot.

The old man cracked one eye open to look at him. “It’s impolite to stare, young one.”

Something about this tickled at Ondori’s (perfectly fine) brain before a word--tanuki--kicked a neuron into action. “...the Ichibi.”

The elder huffed. “As you say.”

Ondori looked over at Jiki, who was whining over the state of her nails. Receiving no answers there, he looked back. “W-What are you doing here?”

The elder took a long time to answer. “...I am old,” he finally said. “And I cannot heal the way I once could. I suffered an attack of some sort not long ago, and Satoshi-kun had me transferred here so I could more easily receive treatment.”

Ondori became aware of the array of pill bottles on a shelf behind the old man. He couldn’t read the labels from where he was standing, but the picture of a heart on the bottle gave him an idea what they were for. “I… see.”

They stood in silence for a moment, before the old man looked at him again. “You are still here?”

“I--yes.”

The Ichibi’s container sighed. “I will not harm you, young man. I am old, sick, and on the other side of a wall.”

“I-I know,” Ondori said. He swallowed. He eyed the circle of symbols. “That looks… an awful lot like a seal.”

“Very astute.” The old man reached behind his back and produced a chipped teacup. He picked the pot up, and seals that couldn’t be seen before flared to invisibility. The pot whistled as it heated up, and he poured himself a cup. “I’d offer you some, but I’m afraid I only have the one cup.”

“It’s fine.”

“Why does he get tea?” Jiki asked angrily.

The Ichibi container chuckled. “I’m cooperative, my dear. Satoshi-kun wants me to live as long as possible, so I get perks, you might say.”

“I don’t even have anything to read!”

Ondori lit up. “As it happens, I have this script--”

“Ugh!”

The old man laughed again. “This show of yours sounds interesting, young man. I wish you luck.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

The old man’s laughter broke off into a fit of coughing. “Urgh. Take my advice, children. Never get old. It is not a pleasant experience.”

“I have no intention of getting old and ugly like you.”

“Jiki, you can’t even see him!” Ondori scolded.

“I don’t need to see him to know he’s ugly. Most people are, especially old people.”

Ondori scowled at her, but the old man shook his head, amused. “It’s fine. No, it’s fine. She is welcome to her opinion. No, I’m not going to do that, we’ve been over this.”

“Who are you talking to?” Ondori asked, brow furrowed.

The elder looked at him. He set the teapot back down in the center of its circle, then adjusted it so the spout was pointed directly at the north wall. “Run along now, young man. I’m sure you have better places tobe than in here with an old monk like me.”

Ondori frowned, but nodded. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Was it really?” the monk wondered. “Remarkable.” He closed his eyes and resumed meditating. The seal circle glowed faintly.

Ondori turned to Jiki’s cell, but she was sitting facing away from him. He sighed and left the prison.

After he left, Jiki laid down on her bench and groaned. She was so bored. Was she expected to just play cat’s cradle with chakra strings the whole time?

“Real good job, guys, this is definitely the best way to rehabilitate someone,” she said to nobody. “Let me go crazy because it’s the only thing to do?”

She’d kill someone for a book right now. No, worse--she’d shave them bald!

She idly looked out of her cell, then looked again.

That idiot had left his scripts outside the cell on the floor. Just in reach.

…

She looked to make sure no one was watching, then tsked and grabbed them. They were better than nothing. Barely.

In the cell beside hers, Bunpuku chuckled again, quietly.

Ah, youth…