15. Week 2: Hungry Hungry Hinata
Taiki saw her off - human-shaped, thankfully, and more appropriately attired - at the entrance to the main house compound. Hinata expected him to say something, even if she wasn't sure what it might be, but he merely bowed politely and, with excruciating manners, waited until she had acknowledged him before he left.
Hinata watched him go.
Then she went in, walked to her room, closed the door, closed the curtains and then crept beneath the covers of her futon and waited for the shaking to start.
She had… she had turned into… a p-p-pig in front of the Lord Hokage! A flying pig!
Father would… Father would…!
The trembling started. Father had told her, Father had told her she had to bring pride to the Main House. He had trusted her to do so, allowed her to study techniques that were not part of the core style of the Gentle Fist. But he had also told her, very clearly, not to let herself get distracted, nor distract Naruto. And she had, she had just-
She covered her face with her hands and breathed in deeply.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
She wrote the character for peace on her hand. Swallowed it. Did so a few more times until her breathing evened out as much as it was going to. It was an old tradition, except you were supposed to write the character 'person'. Hinata wasn't sure what the reasoning behind it was, and to stay safe, had long ago decided to eat peace instead, because eating people seemed like a risky habit to fall into.
Slowly she calmed down.
The important part was moving forward, right?
And she - and had! She'd learned that that which she killed became a part of her. She could assume their form. She could even take the parts of them that she liked, and use them for other things. In fact, if she concentrated…
Her hair fluffed itself: when she reached up, it was made of black, downy feathers. She curled her fingers and they were talons; when she uncurled them, they were not.
Hinata nodded, then shook her head, feathers turning back to hair. Wings... she'd need wings. Not many ninja could fly. Correction: almost no ninja could fly, not on their own. There were stories, of course, but even those agreed that one needed great gifts to be able to fly.
It was a great gift, right?
She'd have to figure out how to make her clothes… to make her clothes fit her wings. If she cut a hole in the back of her sweater, so that fabric would be pushed out of the way when she unfurled her wings? Or wore something with a hole in the back and put something else over it, like a sort of poncho?
She took out a piece of paper and began sketching ideas.
When the dinner was called, she flushed guiltily, but continued to work. With each minute that passed she told herself she'd stop, go down and eat, but the thought of her father's disappointed stare kept her at her task. She took one of her old sweaters, measured twice, and then took out a sewing kit and went to work. She measured her wings (a difficult proposition: they were wider than the room), then measured the sweater, and with a determined scowl, set to work.
When she was done, it was far past midnight, and when she tried it on, the garment tore anyway. She wanted to cry. She'd wasted time, skipped supper, and produced nothing but garbage.
Idiot, idiot, idiot-
She went to sleep, wings curled about her.
-----
When she woke up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, wings gone - retracted at some point, during her sleep - she stepped off her futon and onto something that crinkled. She looked down, then blinked. It was one of her crumpled sketches, smoothed out. Someone had left a note there in the form of a bright yellow piece of paper.
She picked it up.
'This one is cute! If you wait a few days, I'll have it prepared!'
She stared at it, feeling her cheeks heat up. Wh-what? How? W-who?
She picked up the paper it had been stuck to. Her poncho design stared up at her. A lavender halter top as the inner garment, layered on top with a poncho, half dark and half light, that would come apart at the back to let her wings breathe free. The poncho itself would stick to her via bands that…
Her stomach growled, interrupting her. Hinata frowned then opened her eyes wide: she could feel things that were distressingly internal become distressing mobile, as if her sudden shapeshifting abilities were expressing themselves within her. When she put a hand to her stomach, she squeaked in surprise and then lifted the bottom of her ruined sweater: she would have sworn that, for a sliver of an instant, she could feel teeth where there hadn't been before.
But no, her stomach looked normal. Still, that was definitely a capital-c Concern.
It took a greater than average amount of willpower to force herself into a new top, then walk calmly to the dining room. This early in the day, she didn't have any company: one of the attendants brought her a bowl of rice and its usual complements: red bean soup, pickled radish, grilled fish.
She ate the soup with relish, then swallowed the rest in whatever order they happened to come in.
She asked for more. Then more, then even more. She ate with the steady, professional tempo of a soldier who was going to take food wherever it was to be had. At some point, the plates placed in front of her moved on from breakfast foods and into the less prepared dishes. A hasty salad. Fresh fruit. Not so fresh fruit. Raw cucumber.
At one point, a giant clam, its rubbery flesh nearly the size of her head. It tasted a little strange, but with some soy sauce and grated garlic it went down quite well. When she looked up from her plate, it was to the sight of her father staring at her with something approaching appalled fascination, only without the fascination.
She looked back down.
"E-e-excu-" she covered her mouth, muffling a burp, and finished weakly, "excuse my p-poor manners, Father."
He made a vague gesture. "You are excused."
There was a moment of silence.
For some reason, all the fears she'd had yesterday had - while they hadn't vanished, they seemed to be elsewhere, at the moment. She grabbed tomato and popped it into her mouth. Juice sprayed out, dribbling down her chin. She wiped it hastily before introducing another.
Father stood up. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked a little desperate. "Would you like to spar?"
Hinata nodded, mouth full.
-----
Outside, the air was still brisk and the grass shone with dew. Father had his robes on and after some changing, so did she. He took up a stance. Hinata mirrored him, eyes narrowing as she activated her byakugan. There were more observers than usual - they stood in a loose ring around them, half a dozen strong. Taiki was there too, his bald pate shining in the morning sun.
Others might have said 'do your best', or 'hold nothing back,' or even 'remember, this is just a spar.'
Father said: "Start however you wish."
She gulped. That was not how he usually began.
-----
What is Hinata's strategy…?
[x] Speed
'Speed kills,' Enma had told her. Hinata will use her silver chakra to close the distance as fast as she can, and hit him however she can, mostly relying on her silver chakra to see her through.
[x] Techniques
'You Hyuugas depend too strongly on your doujutsu and your in-house martial art,' Jiraiya had said. Hinata will use whatever combination of techniques and abilities that best suit the moment.
[x] Orthodox
According to her father, 'the Gentle Fist and the Byakugan would be all she ever needed.' Since she is here to practice the Gentle Fist, she will use nothing but the Gentle Fist.
[x] write-in
Write-in a strategy.
QM Note: That took much longer than it should have.
Hinata watched him go.
Then she went in, walked to her room, closed the door, closed the curtains and then crept beneath the covers of her futon and waited for the shaking to start.
She had… she had turned into… a p-p-pig in front of the Lord Hokage! A flying pig!
Father would… Father would…!
The trembling started. Father had told her, Father had told her she had to bring pride to the Main House. He had trusted her to do so, allowed her to study techniques that were not part of the core style of the Gentle Fist. But he had also told her, very clearly, not to let herself get distracted, nor distract Naruto. And she had, she had just-
She covered her face with her hands and breathed in deeply.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
She wrote the character for peace on her hand. Swallowed it. Did so a few more times until her breathing evened out as much as it was going to. It was an old tradition, except you were supposed to write the character 'person'. Hinata wasn't sure what the reasoning behind it was, and to stay safe, had long ago decided to eat peace instead, because eating people seemed like a risky habit to fall into.
Slowly she calmed down.
The important part was moving forward, right?
And she - and had! She'd learned that that which she killed became a part of her. She could assume their form. She could even take the parts of them that she liked, and use them for other things. In fact, if she concentrated…
Her hair fluffed itself: when she reached up, it was made of black, downy feathers. She curled her fingers and they were talons; when she uncurled them, they were not.
Hinata nodded, then shook her head, feathers turning back to hair. Wings... she'd need wings. Not many ninja could fly. Correction: almost no ninja could fly, not on their own. There were stories, of course, but even those agreed that one needed great gifts to be able to fly.
It was a great gift, right?
She'd have to figure out how to make her clothes… to make her clothes fit her wings. If she cut a hole in the back of her sweater, so that fabric would be pushed out of the way when she unfurled her wings? Or wore something with a hole in the back and put something else over it, like a sort of poncho?
She took out a piece of paper and began sketching ideas.
When the dinner was called, she flushed guiltily, but continued to work. With each minute that passed she told herself she'd stop, go down and eat, but the thought of her father's disappointed stare kept her at her task. She took one of her old sweaters, measured twice, and then took out a sewing kit and went to work. She measured her wings (a difficult proposition: they were wider than the room), then measured the sweater, and with a determined scowl, set to work.
When she was done, it was far past midnight, and when she tried it on, the garment tore anyway. She wanted to cry. She'd wasted time, skipped supper, and produced nothing but garbage.
Idiot, idiot, idiot-
She went to sleep, wings curled about her.
-----
When she woke up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, wings gone - retracted at some point, during her sleep - she stepped off her futon and onto something that crinkled. She looked down, then blinked. It was one of her crumpled sketches, smoothed out. Someone had left a note there in the form of a bright yellow piece of paper.
She picked it up.
'This one is cute! If you wait a few days, I'll have it prepared!'
She stared at it, feeling her cheeks heat up. Wh-what? How? W-who?
She picked up the paper it had been stuck to. Her poncho design stared up at her. A lavender halter top as the inner garment, layered on top with a poncho, half dark and half light, that would come apart at the back to let her wings breathe free. The poncho itself would stick to her via bands that…
Her stomach growled, interrupting her. Hinata frowned then opened her eyes wide: she could feel things that were distressingly internal become distressing mobile, as if her sudden shapeshifting abilities were expressing themselves within her. When she put a hand to her stomach, she squeaked in surprise and then lifted the bottom of her ruined sweater: she would have sworn that, for a sliver of an instant, she could feel teeth where there hadn't been before.
But no, her stomach looked normal. Still, that was definitely a capital-c Concern.
It took a greater than average amount of willpower to force herself into a new top, then walk calmly to the dining room. This early in the day, she didn't have any company: one of the attendants brought her a bowl of rice and its usual complements: red bean soup, pickled radish, grilled fish.
She ate the soup with relish, then swallowed the rest in whatever order they happened to come in.
She asked for more. Then more, then even more. She ate with the steady, professional tempo of a soldier who was going to take food wherever it was to be had. At some point, the plates placed in front of her moved on from breakfast foods and into the less prepared dishes. A hasty salad. Fresh fruit. Not so fresh fruit. Raw cucumber.
At one point, a giant clam, its rubbery flesh nearly the size of her head. It tasted a little strange, but with some soy sauce and grated garlic it went down quite well. When she looked up from her plate, it was to the sight of her father staring at her with something approaching appalled fascination, only without the fascination.
She looked back down.
"E-e-excu-" she covered her mouth, muffling a burp, and finished weakly, "excuse my p-poor manners, Father."
He made a vague gesture. "You are excused."
There was a moment of silence.
For some reason, all the fears she'd had yesterday had - while they hadn't vanished, they seemed to be elsewhere, at the moment. She grabbed tomato and popped it into her mouth. Juice sprayed out, dribbling down her chin. She wiped it hastily before introducing another.
Father stood up. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked a little desperate. "Would you like to spar?"
Hinata nodded, mouth full.
-----
Outside, the air was still brisk and the grass shone with dew. Father had his robes on and after some changing, so did she. He took up a stance. Hinata mirrored him, eyes narrowing as she activated her byakugan. There were more observers than usual - they stood in a loose ring around them, half a dozen strong. Taiki was there too, his bald pate shining in the morning sun.
Others might have said 'do your best', or 'hold nothing back,' or even 'remember, this is just a spar.'
Father said: "Start however you wish."
She gulped. That was not how he usually began.
-----
What is Hinata's strategy…?
[x] Speed
'Speed kills,' Enma had told her. Hinata will use her silver chakra to close the distance as fast as she can, and hit him however she can, mostly relying on her silver chakra to see her through.
[x] Techniques
'You Hyuugas depend too strongly on your doujutsu and your in-house martial art,' Jiraiya had said. Hinata will use whatever combination of techniques and abilities that best suit the moment.
[x] Orthodox
According to her father, 'the Gentle Fist and the Byakugan would be all she ever needed.' Since she is here to practice the Gentle Fist, she will use nothing but the Gentle Fist.
[x] write-in
Write-in a strategy.
QM Note: That took much longer than it should have.
