[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Masahiko's recent--interaction--with Isao had left him... pensive. He wasn't wanting for skill, but the fact remained that Hiko would be intensely vulnerable in any serious one-on-one bout against someone with superior strength and weaponry. He had neither the gift nor the upper body strength for the sword, or any other large weaponry for that matter, and his small projectiles--his spin-nai and senbon--were tragically run-of-the-mill. More than capable of keeping up with his genin, but his genin were the least of his concerns with regards to his personal safety. It was this train of thought that had Masahiko boarding the railway out of Castle Black to Yukigakure proper. There was a weapons shop in town that Isao had recommended to him once, years ago, and out of pure pettiness Masahiko had vowed to never visit. But he was older now, and at least a degree more wise, and he knew that any establishment recommended by a man who loved his sword that desperately was worthy of Masahiko's patronage. After disembarking and enjoying a short walk through light snowfall, Masahiko found the shop in question, and pushed through the front door to the gentle chime of bells. "Good morning," he called. No one at the counter, but the sign said open, and it felt it was safe to assume that whoever was minding the place was in the back. He took a moment after entering to stomp the snow from his boots and dust it off his shoulders and unbound hair, examining the shop's displays with mild interest as he shed himself of the cold outside and made himself presentable for business.

masahiro sango -- 270

LAIKA OF THQ

[masahiro sango]

i am flesh and i am bone

Yuki Tanzō Buki wasn't a large shop by any means, but it was neat, well organized, and - most importantly - stocked with quality products. Just as the shinobi Masahiro strived for excellence in the ninja arts, so too did Sango's civilian father and brother strive for it in blacksmithing. The shop floor was split about seventy-thirty percent, with most of the shelves and displays housing kunai and tantos and all manner of weapons to arm Yukigakure's ninja with. The rest was a myriad of more mundane tools - farming equipment made out of regular iron and steel, traps for the hunters, and other little knick-knacks that someone might need forged in metal.

The forge itself was situated in a building attached to the back of the storefront, but even so, its fire kept the whole shop warm and safe from the gusts of icy air that accompanied in any customers.

Sango was used to being roped in to help their family run the store - their mother and them switched off, mostly, depending on who was out on a mission or training - ever since their brother had, gods save them all, started taking commissions of his own. He hadn't burned the whole town down yet, so they supposed that was something to congratulate him about. The chuunin snorted to themself from where they were in the "back room" - it was glorified closet, really - adding a few more coils of wire and bundles of senbon into the stock box.

They were interrupted, however, by a greeting being called out from out front. "Be right there!" they called back. Sango ran a hand through their bangs to neaten them and patted their shirt free of any dust. Deciding that the box could wait to be lugged out front until later, they slipped through the doorway and raised a hand to the customer. Their sharp eyes ran across him even as Sango offered their best shopkeeper smile and an apologetic, "Sorry to keep you waiting - welcome to best weapons and tools shop this side of the Kuroi Kōri." He was jounin - maybe a special jounin - they thought, not recognizing him as any of the other chuunin they knew, and that made them raise a brow in interest. "How can we help you?"

nue masahiko
Yuki Tanzō Buki - snow forged weapons // sango gets their bad humor from their dad

rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold

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MADE BY MIZO

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[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Well. The joke at least explained why Isao liked this place. It was the fatherly kind of humor that Masahiko grimly expected the older man to enjoy. Hiko himself offered only a faint huff of a laugh, the barest acknowledgement that comedy had been attempted, as he approached the counter. The person minding the counter was someone he dimly recognized; a shinobi, of that he was certain, but what was their position? He would know them if they were a genin--he did his research before assuming leadership of team one--and they seemed too young to be a jounin. Chuunin, then, likely made genin after Hiko had already left team two, but promoted to chuunin before he took over as an instructor. Ops, probably. He worked too closely with the mednin and GOKA for there to be another option. "No trouble," he replied, pulling his snow-damp hair over his shoulder. "I was hoping to speak to the, ah..." What was the term? Smithy? "...weapons-crafter about requesting a commission, if possible. I'm assuming that's not you," he added quickly. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, insincere in the way of most expressions made in pursuit of quick and polite social interaction. "Unless you've found to way to balance smithing and ninja arts."

masahiro sango -- 213
its ok i liked the dad joke

LAIKA OF THQ

[masahiro sango]

i am flesh and i am bone

"The blacksmith," Sango corrected lightly, their smile taking on a bit of an amused curl as they ducked below the desk to pull out a neat and organized, if clearly well-used, ledger. They gave a polite laugh and shook their head. "Despite his best efforts, no, I haven't taken on a new apprenticeship." 

Well, not yet at least. It wasn't just their mother who had a silver tongue in their family.

"My father is out of town, at the moment, anyway, and shouldn't be back until the end of the day, day after tomorrow, and his apprentice isn't taking shinobi commissions above genin level, currently." Sango flipped through the pages of the ledger until they reached a blank page. "But I can still help you get the commission started if you already have an idea of what it is you're looking for. And even if you don't, actually." They might not be the blacksmith's apprentice, but they had been working in the shop since they could totter around on their own two feet - though, back then it was a slightly different definition of working. Now, as a chuunin, Sango had seen - had commissioned themself, with their rope dart - just about every request, shinobi and civilian, that could possibly come through the shop.

"So," the younger ninja continued, getting straight to business with an expression that was just as insincere and polite as the jounin's, "What's the name and rank for the order, and a basic description of the item." The question was more of a statement, a testament to the rote-ness of such a task.

nue masahiko
sango like - this is going to be another average sword commission isn't it

with no clue about what's about to be dropped on them

rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold

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[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

If the blacksmith, as this person put it, wasn’t here, and they themselves were not capable of filling any requests, then Masahiko was tempted to simply leave—but then he considered the possibility of word reaching Isao that Masahiko had refused to patron the shop due to a lack of immediate accessibility. Leaving a message with this person would be the next best option, he supposed. "Of course,” he said. "Thank you for your help, then. Nue Masahiko, special jounin. It would be several items, actually—” And here he paused, suddenly at a loss as to how to describe what he wanted. This was why he had hoped to speak to the blacksmith directly; Masahiko had specific needs for his gear, and it was often… uncomfortable for other parties to discuss those specifications. The fewer people involved in the conversation, the better. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it. "A set of thirty senbon, or similarly sized and shaped projectiles, with an inlaid mechanism for storing and releasing poisons on the point of impact,” he said. Then, as casual as if he were speaking of the ever-snowy weather outside: "Made of bone. My own, preferably.”

masahiro sango -- 201
totally normal sword commish for u sango nothing weird happening here

LAIKA OF THQ

[masahiro sango]

i am flesh and i am bone

As Masahiko first started describing the commission he wanted,  Sango had to stifle a sigh. Senbon was what he wanted to be made special for him. Of course. It wasn't like there was a clear label for them attached to the shelves designated for projectiles. The chuunin's smile grew a little stiff, but they politely kept their thoughts to themself as they started jotting down notes in the logbook.

Money was money, after all, and who were they to turn away idiot shinobi that wanted to waste their hard-earned pay on custom, generic weaponry? The inclusion of a poison delivery mechanism was interesting, Sango supposed, absently nodding and humming an assent where appropriate. "Senbon, set of thirty, poison storage and delivery method... made of bone, preferably yours... Wait, what did -"

The last little bit processed a bit slower than the rest. "Bone," they repeated slowly, "You want - thirty senbon made out of your own - bone." Sango's head jerked up from the book to stare at Masahiko; their eyes, rather obviously, ran over what limbs they could see of the special jounin. Ink dripped onto the page without their notice. "Do you... just have that, uh, sort of material just - readily available?

nue masahiko
sango is just incredibly concerned lmao // sorry for the wait!

rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold

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MADE BY MIZO

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[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

They seemed irritated, which was fair, Hiko supposed; it was a rather fastidious request, and would likely be difficult to accomplish. They seemed rather blase about the potential biohazard of it all, however, so Masahiko was just thankful that he was proceeding through this transaction rather easily— Until it clicked in the shopkeep’s mind, and suddenly it wasn’t so easy. Masahiko sighed. They were clearly examining him, looking for loss of limb, and he helpfully held his arms up to display that he was, in fact, in possession of all of his parts. "Not at the moment,” he admitted, tucking his hair behind his ear. "It would take a day or two to get the materials, ah, prepared, as it were. I was hoping to speak to the blacksmith directly to find out precisely how much was needed before I went through the trouble of getting it.” This was the debate he always had whenever his unique biology came up in conversation—explain himself and potentially grossly alienate whoever he was speaking to, or refuse to explain himself, leave the person wondering, and still potentially grossly alienate them. This was why he preferred to simply not speak of it, if he could help it. A middle ground, then. Maybe that would work. "What’s your name?” he asked, his attitude suddenly shifting—gentling, as if he were trying to calm someone down. "If you’d like an in-depth explanation, I’d be happy to refer you to speak to the Head Medic—Nue Toru is the head of my family, and I’m sure he could address any specific concerns you might have. In the meantime, I can assure you that the process of acquisition is relatively painless for me, and I’ll be sure to sanitize the materials before I deliver them to your blacksmith.” He paused. "Your pen,” he added helpfully. "It’s dripping into your ledger.”

masahiro sango -- 312

LAIKA OF THQ