[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

These exams had so far been less deadly than the Mizu no Kuni exams—Masahiko remembered vividly the sight of that Leaf child getting eviscerated in the third round—but no less bloody for the relative lack of fatalities. Genin seemed to be losing arms like most children lost their house keys. Modern medicine was excellent, and some problems were easier to solve than others—an arm lost at the elbow could be cleanly replaced by a chakra-conductive prosthetic, the unique talents of the shinobi’s chakra manipulation making using and adjusting to a prosthetic far easier a task than it would be for any civilian. Attaching a hand prosthetic, however, was much easier than attaching an entire arm. Masahiko wore his hair in a single tight braid and held back by his hitai-ate, unwilling to risk shedding long, mint-green strands in the sterile environment of Kuwana’s hospital. Thick white robes billowed in his wake as he navigated through the hallways, getting turned around once or twice, but helpful Iwagakure mednin were able to direct him to his destination easily enough. Everyone instantly knew who he was asking after; lots of visitors, it seemed. He knocked twice on the doorframe. "Uzumaki Atagi?” he called. Not so loudly as to disturb the rest of the floor, but loudly enough that it might wake the patient if he was sleeping. His tone was even, clear, free of the emotions that churned in his gut. "I’m Nue Masahiko. I’m here to talk to you about some treatment options.”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 251

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

Whether it was prediction or presumption that he’d be asleep, it was one that was spot on. Atagi’d been sleeping a lot– typically, his internal clock was scarily accurate, though whether it was the result of or the reason for him waking up at just about the same time every day, it hadn’t been worked out. But with his recent grievous injury in the exams, it should’ve been no surprise that just about everything about his life was shaken up, schedule and all. Though he oft complained aloud about being instructed to wait around until he was back up to his usual level, in truth…healing was a taxing process, and his body, however hardy, was still recoiling from the wound, scrambling to cope.

And so, there he was, snoring aloud, muttering something or other about applause or girls or whatever else populated his dreamscape. Calling out his name, like casting a spell, awakens him in sort order, and after a few moments of his eyes being open, there’s a flex at his midsection, sitting up in a hurry, tossing his sheets slightly from the movement. "Huwahba-.” There’s a bit of drool streaked at his cheek, and there’s a rather embarrassing shift of an arm-nub to try and wipe at it, before the Uzumaki was relegated to craning his neck to wipe the side of his face against his shoulder and upper torso, instead.

Finally, his brain catches up with the rest of his body, not unused to lagging behind. Immediately, eyes roll up and down the man before him, sizing him up like one would an enemy, a romantic prospect. Maybe both. ”...Masahiko-san, then. A pleasure! You strike me as more of a model than someone who’d be a doctor.” Of course, exchanging pleasantries first was practically a requirement. Even though he’s already been regarded by name, the Kusa-nin introduces himself. ”Atagi Uzumaki, of the hidden grass. Aspiring great person. Fantastic with dogs n’ kids. And especially popular, as of late.” At least one of those statements was true. There’s a mirthful grin that works it’s way across the grass genin’s lips, too. Not that it lasts terribly long, once he properly processes what’s been said. ”...And don’t take this the wrong way, but. Treatment options?” It’s far from a ridiculing tone, but between the tilting of head and a hastily scribbled out expression titled ‘confusion’, it’s apparent that he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

”You might’ve been directed to the wrong patient, or sommat. This. A little circular movement of his shoulders, to draw attention to the severed limbs. ”...isn’t the sort of ailment where there are treatment options. Hell, the ‘s’ itself is generous! I’ve been told that my ‘option’ is to learn to live with it, maybe get some faux-arms in replacement.”

Despite that…well, he was a true-blue optimist. There was a twinkle in those amber irises, an intense gaze directed towards the Yuki-nin’s eyes, searching, wanting, yearning that he was about to be told just how wrong he was. Sure, it’d hurt if such dreams were dashed away, but…

For Atagi Uzumaki, to hope was as natural as breathing.

(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Masahiko politely shifted his gaze as the younger man craned his neck to wipe the drool from his face, the veneer of professionalism never faltering; instead he allowed himself into the room, leaving the door cracked open behind him and briskly walking to adjust the curtains of his window to allow a slim ray of sunlight to shine through. Just enough to occupy him until Atagi seemed more awake and settled. … and the first thing out of his mouth was a compliment. "Especially popular with the nurses,” Masahiko replied wryly, charmed despite himself and all too willing to match Atagi’s banter. But he sobered quickly, his dogged good cheer giving way to confusion and doubt. "You’re… not wrong,” Masahiko admitted. He perched on the chair stationed at Atagi’s bedside, adjusting his robes so that he could primly cross one leg over the other, hands folding neatly in his lap. "For any civilian in your position, the only choice would be to live with it. Shinobi are somewhat more lucky in that we have some access to more sophisticated prosthetic limbs—they require a constant minor transmission of chakra to be able to use, making the amputee vulnerable to chakra sealing effects, but for most patients in your position it’s certainly a more preferable option of the two.” Amputee was a bit blunt, perhaps, but there was no point in dancing around the subject. "There is a third option. It isn’t accessible to most people, which is why I assume it hasn’t been offered to you yet.” He shifted in place, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs. "In short, I can regrow your arms. Based on prior experience, it would take roughly a week to complete both of them, maybe longer.” Masahiko leaned forward in his chair, his fingertips steepling together. "I don’t want to give you the false impression that this is an easy option, Atagi-san. The technique is complex and the process would be long, painful, and exhausting—several hours each day of constant chakra-initiated cell stimulation.” A wry smile. "I’m sure you remember how painful going through growth spurts was.” Hiko’s own teen years had been miserable; there was something uniquely terrible about being able to feel your bones lengthening at a cellular level. Not that any of it would be comparable to having your limbs bitten off by a monstrous teen. "You don’t have to decide right away,” he added. "Do you have any questions for me?”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 408

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

It’s only been a few moments, but already, Masahiko’s personal dossier is getting shuffled away into the ‘good person’ folder of the filing cabinet that inhabited Atagi’s skull. There’s a brief consideration toward the prospect of getting up to his feet, so that he could chatter with the Yuki-nin without making the new acquaintance look down too much, but once Masahiko sits down, those ideas are abandoned. Instead, he listens with rapt attention, producing neither sound nor motion. Well, nearly none– there was still the gentle rising and falling of the chest, both accompanied by and evidence of his gentle, consistent breathing.

There’s an affirmative noise given, and a single nod. ”Mn. It’s not ideal, but some sort of arm is better than being deprived of most of my agency.” Then, back to letting Masahiko continue to to educate and inform. At the words ‘third option’, his eyes visibly widen a little, and a smile crops up at his face once again, sterling in quality.

”I’m well aware. Everything’s got a cost, yeah? It’s only sensible that defying nature is painful. Bones cracking and creaking to life, muscle and sinew sewing itself together, flesh coming from naught but energy. Any medical jutsu worth it’s salt is painful– if it isn’t, I’d be worried about my doc swindling me, instead. Evidently, you, my friend, are not a liar.” A brief pause, then a single, affirmative nod, slow and deliberate.

”Nothing worth doing is easy.”

Sometimes, it seemed he had an aphorism for any situation.

Chest swells up some with a deep inhale. Emotions that’d been caught up in the whirlpool of shock and surprise start to find their way out. What sounds almost like a sniffle. Some tears that start to spill from the corners of his eyes, some rapid blinks given to try and scare them away.

”Ach, shit. I must look…nn. Lame as hell, bahaha. I just, um…” Another little maneuver to wipe his cheek at his shoulder, like with the drool earlier. ”...I feel like I’m bein’ offered a second chance on life itself, somehow. It’s a lot. I can’t even begin to try and overstate how grateful I am for the offer. Even if I shouted it out the window a hundred and a half times, that feels like it wouldn’t be enough.”

A clearing of the throat. The offer seemed like it was too good to be true, and even if the Uzumaki wasn't a cynic, he wasn't a complete idiot. Atagi was a man of principle, and even if sometimes those principles were skewed, doing things the right way was important.

”I’m not deterred by the idea of the pain and strain, but. Will you be okay? Is it the sort of secret technique that drains your life force, or something? Who are you, anyway?” The questions were ceaseless, mind in overdrive as if to compensate for the stillness of body. ”Because I couldn’t ask anyone to do that, first and foremost. Secondly…the village. Nothing comes without some cost, yeah? If my country’s getting a raw deal, or gods forbid, are getting screwed over completely for the services of an obviously elite med-nin…then there’s no way I could accept in that case, either.”

(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Nothing worth doing is easy. Truer words, et cetera. Atagi was grounded, pragmatic, very understanding of the sheer size of the task they would be undertaking, which was something that Masahiko always appreciated in a patient. Less reassuring was his truly earnest outpouring of gratitude. For the first time since stepping into the room there was a crack in Masahiko’s professional veneer as he shifted uncomfortably in place, a tinge of pink blooming on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat, awkwardly timed as Atagi made a similar noise, and Masahiko floundered in the social faux pas. Questions of political agenda and personal exhaustion were his lifeline, and he immediately grabbed on. "Your loyalty is admirable,” Masahiko said, "but I assure you everything is aboveboard.” He scratched his cheek, his gaze averting. "Elite is a generous word, for whatever that’s worth, though I don’t know if that’s assuring or not considering I would be the one treating you. I’m only a special jounin; I just happen to have a very specific niche talent for cellular regeneration.” Maybe it was whatever ill-timed flight of fancy that had made him bring his request to Lady Yuki, or the embarrassing overwhelm of emotion that Atagi had on full display, but he felt compelled to… share. A rare impulse. He considered the instinct, and followed it. "I lead a genin team,” he said. "Two of my team members went into the second round alongside you. What happened to you could very easily have happened to either of them.” It was too cruel to say aloud that he was grateful it didn’t, so he let that lie unspoken. "If it had, I would have wanted more than anything for someone to help them. But it happened to you, and I’m in the unique position of being able to help. So I want to help.” His thought process laid bare, clinical and careful, as though he weren’t quite comfortable enough with the concept of empathy to make it any more simple. "I don’t know if that’s a good enough reason, all things considered. But Lady Yuki was kind enough to humor my impulses, and Lord Kouga was content to accept the offer, no strings attached, so it’s what I have.”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 379

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

For a moment, Atagi considers how odd it must seem, to even be tarrying over matters like Masahiko’s own health and safety, or the political (and/or fiscal) safety of the village that he called home. But he can’t deny his nature, defying common sense and the temptation of human selfishness for the sake of making sure he was doing the right thing, whatever that meant at the time. It’s what his idols, fictitious and factual alike, would do. The awkwardness of suddenly crying in the presence of someone who was basically a stranger isn’t lost on the man; while he’s not exactly scared of exposing the soft underbelly of insecurity and emotion, it’s not something he’s done often. In some ways, the fact that the shinobi from the snow is a stranger makes it easier, even. Showing an emotional chink in the armor around someone like Kojirou would simply be unforgivable. But the earnestness with which Atagi Uzumaki is allowed to let those emotions flow out of him is much needed.

When his counterpart and soon-to-be bedside companion explains himself, the redhead tunes in. However overinflated his ego might’ve been, part of what he took pride in was being good to others. On top of that, he had a genuine interest in the beauteous benefactor that’d suddenly been presented before him.

A handsome and mysterious stranger appears, practically from the ether, with what seems like deus ex machina in tow. Truth is stranger, huh…

Not until the Nue’s completed laying out all his thoughts n’ motivations in a tidy row does Atagi respond, packaging them up with twine.

”You don’t know if it’s a good enough reason? Well I do! It definitely is. Just as the adventurer scaling the mountain does it simply ‘because it’s there’, to help someone in need simply ‘because you can’, whether others can’t or won’t or you’re the only one who can…” A positively exuberant grin, simple understanding and sheer joy showing even past the shroud of tear-streaked cheeks.

”There’s nothing more human than that, if you ask me.”

Was it the med-nin’s usual proclivity for cutting to the heart of another’s soul? Maybe it was a function of the kusa-nin’s (sometimes overbearingly) honest nature. It was frighteningly easy for Atagi’s anima to unfurl, whatever the cause.

”I require no further convincing– let’s make it happen, Masahiko.” An affirmative nod and a soft smile follow, steeling himself within and making preparations for conquering the sierra of treatment with the green-haired guide tugging him along.

(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

There’s nothing more human than that, if you ask me. There was nothing more embarrassing that Atagi could have said to him. The pink tinge of his cheeks deepened, and Masahiko cleared his throat again, distracting from his own self-consciousness. Philanthropy didn’t come naturally to him, and it was rare that his services were met with such sincere gratitude rather than cursing, screaming, or simple resigned silence. But then, he supposed, it was rare that he offered his services to help, rather than to harm. "... Right,” he said, "well. I’ll be back soon, then. A couple of hours to speak with your care team and check in with your leadership and mine, give you a chance to speak to anyone you might want to speak to, and then we’ll get started.” The next several hours would pass in a blur of activity. He checked in with Hizou and Kohaku to let them know that he would be occupied for the next several days; one more check-in with Lady Yuki, and coordinated with the hospital to prepare the operating room. If he was going to playact at being a doctor, then he was going to commit to the part; his usual robes and gomu-hada were shed in favor of the med-nin uniform, a cap for his hair, a mask, goggles, gloves. It was going to be a long week. It would be preferable to sedate the patient, as being able to witness your limbs regrowing would be a unique kind of horror, but there was nothing to be done about it—the technique was too intimate, too demanding, and unless a patient was knocked out cold from blood loss or shock it seemed unlikely that they would stay asleep throughout the whole procedure. Even his tranquilizer technique only lasted for a few minutes, maybe half an hour if he pushed it; and he wouldn’t have any chakra to spare on re-applying it over several hours’ worth of work. "Let me know if you need a break at any point,” Masahiko said, his voice muffled by the mask. "Ready?” Deft, gloved fingers ran over the stitched flesh of Atagi’s right shoulder. The sutures needed to come out; he snipped where he could, carefully pulling them free from partially-healed flesh. From there, the technique was both complicated and deceptively simple: careful applications of chakra to the wound site. The stem cells were there. They just needed a little encouragement to grow. "The body knows what it’s supposed to be,” Masahiko said, partially to himself, partially to Atagi. "The flesh always remembers.” He would progress one section of the arm at a time—first, from shoulder to elbow, starting with the bone. It grew out to the joint but stopped before the bend, not yet willing to move on to the forearm. Around the bone grew muscle tissue, cartilage, veins, fat. Then the skin, thin layer after thin layer of fresh, prickly, sensitive, baby-soft new skin. By the time the day’s work was done, Atagi would be left with half of a right arm, the skin at the elbow joint perfectly smooth, as if nothing was meant to connect to it at all. Masahiko would be left with his scant reserves bled down to almost nothing; putting on the finishing touches felt like scraping teeth over glass. Sweat soaked through the back of his medical garb, exhaustion plain on his face—and pride, too. Satisfaction.

Uzumaki Atagi -- 570

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

There was always a danger, whenever one made a life-changing decision as Atagi just had, that there would be a surge of regret, wonder, or worry about having made the correct one. Thankfully for the young Uzumaki, overthinking wasn't even on his list of moves, let alone one that was equipped at the moment. Time passes and arrangements are made-- of course, for the part of the Kusa-nin, there's startlingly little to do other than awaiting the first day of the treatment-- but hospital staff and Masahiko both seem to be quite busy, so obviously enough there's a lot to take care of that's not immediately apparent or obvious to someone limited to a single side of the curtain.

When he's informed that there's nothing to be done about being the fact that he'll have to be wholly present while the treatment is occurring, there's a tinge of worry, but as he puts it, ”If I was the sort that ran away from pain or terrifying situations, I probably wouldn't have ended up in this state, bahaha.” Resoluteness was his bread and butter, even at the worst of times, but it came in handy in the better of them, too. A single, solemn nod is given when prompted for readiness, and served to acknowledge the urge to be notified if the redhead was in need of any sort of rest.

Then, they get to work.

At first, it's like there's no ability to look away even if he wanted to. Something is fascinating, or maybe perplexing, about watching bone sprout from nothing, the way bamboo seems to-- just a shunt, at first, a tiny pointed piece, that forms into the full 'tree' of his upper arm. It's not without discomfort or even outright pain. The images alone would be a lot, but between the crick of bone and what's the almost alien sound of flesh, vein, sinew, and muscle creeping over the foundation of bone, something within the shinobi prods him to look away. But he's a man of principle, even at moments where it seems to serve little purpose, he searches for one(or a few) nonetheless. For as long as he can stand the physical toll, Atagi Uzumaki will observe his regeneration, however wonderful(ly horrifying) it may become.

And there is a physical toll, it becomes readily apparent as the hours crawl over one another. Atagi's breathing roughens, hitching at times. Sweat beads at exposed skin. It may not hurt as much as the shinobi imagined it might, but it still hurts. Even if it was entirely painless, though, something about the experience is draining.

Still, they're done for the day. Though his first instinct is to wave around the partial-limb with it's whole different hue of flesh from the rest of him, instead he throws Masahiko one of his trademarked toothy smiles. ”Well, would you look at that, yeah? I feel as though I've seen a close-up miracle. Or at least part of one.” However sprightly he might've been 'in general', Atagi's not very chatty aside from the praise, content to let silence hang between them like a hastily woven spider's thread.

For the first time since the day that the Uzumaki had sustained his grievous injury, he falls asleep in no time at all, and soundly, to boot.

---

Their next session was much like the prior-- physically draining and not so effortlessly endurably mentally either-- but for his part, Atagi's mind had started to wander, afforded all the extra time and focus in the world where poor Masahiko had to be entirely committed to his work, it seemed. Whether that time was a blessing or a curse, it was difficult to say. The unfocused eyes of a sleepwalker are fixated at a point on the wall for a long time, until he speaks up, voice slightly scratchy from not being utilized as much as it was used to.

”Oi, Masahiko-san. Are you a med-nin by trade? I figure if you lead a genin team, that means you must like doing good for folk, big and small.” Blinking away some of the bleariness that'd built up when he was swimming around the soup of imagination and memory, working to stay grounded. ”How'd that start?” he asks, sincere interest italicizing an otherwise simple question.


(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Banality could seep into even the most immediate of visual horrors: the curse of a long and arduous task was, ultimately, the inevitable onset of tedium. There was some statistic about sociopathy and surgeons that Masahiko didn’t care to remember in detail, but the thought lingered unbidden in the back of his mind, the faint question mark of what it meant to hold the trajectory of a man’s future in the palm of his hands and be bored. Atagi’s voice, scratchy from disuse, drew Masahiko from his reverie. He realized with a jolt of guilt that if his mind was wandering, then his patient was likely in a far worse state. Conversation was the least he could do. "You have a very optimistic outlook, all things considered,” Masahiko said softly, not looking up from his work. "I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of team leadership as a particularly altruistic position. It’s just been my assignment for the past year—no, two. Medical corps wasn’t a good fit, and Lady Fifth thought me better suited to field work.” Elbow to wrist was the goal of the day’s labor; if he made good time, then finishing the carpal bones and surrounding tissue would be an excellent end point. "I have a colleague, another genin lead, that I was on the same team with as a teenager. Lady Fifth might have just thought it would be funny to keep the rivalry going.” Though his face was largely covered by the paper mask, the edges of Masahiko’s eyes crinkled just so at the corners, a reluctant fondness he’d never been good at concealing. "He was about your age when he promoted to chuunin, though his circumstances were… unique. Did you start at the academy later in life?”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 293

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

The terrifying sights and unusually organic sounds of the work being done fade away into banality, boredom, or lethargy from the laborious rejuvenation, just as Masahiko noted. Even for Atagi, who was as fascinated as he was fazed by the initial sight…well. After about the twelfth hour, it’d just become ‘the way it was’, and he supposed that optimism and good vibes tangoing with malaise was the right spot to be in, comparatively. After speaking, the Uzumaki realizes that his voice’s been tainted by disuse and touched by dryness, so he clears it once, then a second time. There was something bemusing about it being noted that his standpoint was particularly sanguine. Not that he didn’t appreciate it, but anyone who spent any length of time around him came to realize that it was as natural as breathing to him, whether out of principle, practicality, or both.

He resists the everpresent urge to instantly start talking anytime there was so much as an atom of silence in the air, instead waiting patiently– he’d once been told that all Uzumaki were like that, but even among them he might’ve been one of the worst offenders when it came to exuberance and loquaciousness both.

”Would the Yukigakure Lady really do something like that just for the fun of it? And I suppose I understand what you mean, but-. Well, being responsible and capable enough to not only lead but also protect and nurture and teach…I imagine it’s not something just anyone could do. No, it would certainly require someone who’s as beneficient as they are beauteous and brilliant.” His compliments and questions both were equally forthright, and at times the former got him in trouble for seeming (or being!) flirtatious. ”And I suppose I did, yeah? I graduated and became a genin proper when I was around 14 or 15. I had plans on promoting before my twentieth birthday in the spring, but…” Well, it didn’t need to be pointed out why those plans’d had a wrench thrown into them.

”It must be nice to have a friend who’s followed a similar trajectory t’you for so long, yeah?” Subconsciously or otherwise, he’s replaced the word colleague with the one that seems most true and likely to him. ”Tell me about ‘im. As much or as little as you like. D’you have a favourite memory, between the two of you?” Atagi will listen, and is all too happy to do so in full…but he’s growing tired again. For some reason, as they worked their way down his appendage, it seemed like the process was taking more out of him. He’d broken his hand once, when he was still naught but a boy, and vaguely remembered the doctor remarking about the number of bones in the hand and foot having some sort of relationship to the time it’d take to heal. Perhaps it was something like that?

At any rate, the point is that he spends the rest of their session somewhat out of it. Focusing on breathing, converging on staying relaxed.

---

Sleep evades him, as minutes of midnight crawl over one another, insistent on reaching the destination that was the end of time, obstinate despite the onerousness of such an impossible task. It was like he was stuck in a sort of fugue, body still, expression neutral, but the brain worked overtime as if to compensate. His dreams, day or otherwise, had been touched by a pink haze, creeping over his mind the way fog descends into a street. It'd taken the form of someone with hair like candyfloss and a devil-may-care demeanor, fun and fetching and fervid and a whole host of other f-adjectives he couldn’t think of, at the moment. Missing them? That was a scary thought. Atagi was thinking about her again. Koume-ko. And why not? Why had he been trying not to let his mind wander that direction, even when it seemed pulled there as naturally as the apple to the ground or ferrous sand to the lodestone? Because he still wasn’t sure what had become of her. Fretting about her fate, worries about how he’d come off looking after being humiliated, vexations about how this vicissitude of fortune might somehow change things, whatever the hell that even meant.

Most of all, though, was a elucidation, a purification of the mind that’d come with having it nearly emptied of all thoughts except for ‘fuck, please gods let me survive’ and then shortly after ‘okay, I know I asked for a lot already, but don’t leave me like this either’-- and he hardly believed in the power of deities, at least not more than a belief in every individual’s mastery of their own kismet.

Ah, it’s that…if I hadn’t made it, if somehow my story’d come to an end in that arena at the hands of Hotarubi…I would’ve left too many things unsaid. Unspoken! Un-manifested. Me, Atagi Uzumaki, for whom honesty is the best policy and foot-in-mouth syndrome is a most common affliction– have been holding back too much. And for whom?

Himself, he’d realized, and that was the most uncomfortable thing about it, that’s why his subconscious had been so eager to get away from it, because it hurt, or maybe because it contradicted who he thought he was. Atagi, who’d happily struggle, joyously fail, and eagerly embrace defeat if it meant he could become a better him…well, even he was afraid to trip and fall when it came to some things. Or someones, an accusatory voice in his head nags at him.

Ignorance is bliss, was it? Atagi Uzumaki’d never operate that way.

Once they were back home in the land of grass, he’d say something. Earnest and embarrassed, doubtlessly.

---

The next day, when they begin the session to start finishing at the hand, Atagi manages a tiny wave with the stump, flesh sensitive and skin coloured far lighter than the rest of him– he wondered how long it’d stay that way. There’s a haggard quality to him, indicative of sleeplessness or at least bad sleep quality, but he beams bright, anyway.


(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Would Lady Fifth actually do something like that? Masahiko knew that wasn’t the case, but it was far easier to dismiss his position as an act of whimsy or flight of fancy than acknowledge the responsibility that came with it—the responsibility which Atagi illustrated so clearly, and with such a deluge of warm compliments that Masahiko felt his cheeks warming to an uncomfortable degree. He cleared his throat and deftly avoided the praise by eagerly latching on to the life raft Atagi offered him. "Isao was twenty-two when he graduated the academy,” Masahiko said. "Twenty… four, perhaps, when he promoted to chuunin? Each at their own pace. You have plenty of time.” If he realized that Atagi edited colleague to friend, he didn’t comment on it—it felt, on some subconscious level, like permission to accept what he wouldn’t otherwise. Hiko shifted into using the man’s given name with easy familiarity. Talking about Isao was easier to Masahiko than talking about most things, and he contentedly relayed stories of their time on genin team two together. Though he spoke mock-scornfully of needing to teach a grown man basic ninjutsu, there was a subtle warmth and fondness to his voice that he would never willingly admit to, and that he kept tightly under wraps in most circumstances. This was, if nothing else, an unusual circumstance, and his own persistent effort and draining energy were making him looser-lipped than usual. Noting Atagi’s exhaustion, and wishing to fill the silence with something to soothe his mind, Masahiko continued rambling on as the hours waned and their work continued: narrating what he was doing and why, the processes of chakra molding and stem-cell activation that the salamander technique relied on, a veritable improvised dissertation concocted to keep a tired young man entertained on the operating table. His sleep was restless. He dreamed of his own stint in the hospital as a youth: the countless hours of meditative, trancelike reflection that had spurred him out of cowardice and into adulthood. He dreamed of Isao, fierce and stone-faced, single-handedly fending off his clansmen to save Masahiko’s life; Isao dragging him bloodied and near-dead through miles of snow for no other reason than because he felt it was the right thing to do. Atagi looked about as tired as Masahiko felt, but he was in good spirits, a smile like sunshine. "We’re going to do this hand today, and if time allows, get started on your other shoulder,” he said, then paused. "Are you sure you feel up to it? You look as though you haven’t slept much.”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 430

LAIKA OF THQ

[Uzumaki Atagi]

Those with hope have everything

The stories Masahiko shared were pleasant to the ear, admittedly. If anyone had mistaken his earlier reverie for some sort of apathy about human life in general, Atagi was certain that hearing the yuki-nin speak of Isao would change their minds. Even the occasional (or frequent) chastisement carried with it that ‘but what can you do? They’re family/love/close to me’ that was favoured by older siblings and tired mothers. The entertainment was welcome– even if he’s not exactly the studious type, much of the medical knowledge spilled atop him is soaked up like a sponge, the Uzumaki finding it fascinating. There was a good chance he would’ve been fascinated by just about anything new, though.

”Well, that’d be because I didn’t sleep much.” His smile isn’t dampened, even by that admission that some might’ve found embarrassing or shameful. ”Right as rain, don’t you worry. Correct as a storm, even.” he remarked, as if the latter statement was supposed to be a strict upgrade over the first. ”Just one of those…you know, brain’s been buzzing with activity more than usual. I suspect it probably happens a lot to patients, yeah? Confined as they are physically, people always find ways to adapt and accommodate, whatever precisely that means in a given situation.” A pause, only momentary, as he thinks of something, or perhaps it’s better to say is reminded of something.

”What I’d do for a bottle of kisei yocha, though.” Atagi might’ve been more of a coffee man than a tea man, but some of that Kisei liquid magic would’ve hit the spot, right about now. ”You ever had any of their drinks? They’re a big hit, back home, but I’ve got no clue how far products and the like make it out from our little patch of grass.” Atagi had actually visited the land of snow, once upon a time, but it was a short lived, unsanctioned trip, so he didn’t know anything about it’s particular set of nuances other than the existence of the train.

The prospect of having a full arm back to normal is exciting, and even if part of him’s a little wary about if it’ll come back right, if he’ll have to relearn how to write and eat and gods know what else…well, that feeling is tiny compared to the overflowing happiness from regaining his agency, one day at a time.

(nue masahiko)

aeron at thq

[nue masahiko]

FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER

Correct as a storm. The quizzical edge to Masahiko’s smile was unmistakable even beneath the surgical mask, finding himself baffled and charmed in equal measure by the casual word-smithing that fell from Atagi’s lips. He was creative, no doubt about it, housing a well of ideas dug so deep that it would be a wonder if it ever ran dry. Despite the exhaustion he must have been experiencing, Atagi seemed in better spirits as each day had gone by. To be expected, Masahiko supposed: each day had visible, tangible progress, bringing him closer and closer to the net neutral of consequence Atagi had rested at before the dire circumstances of the exams. Masahiko murmured a quiet negative as he got to work, propping up the stump of Atagi’s wrist on a sterilized table and summoning the now-familiar, hyper-precise flow of chakra to his fingertips. "I’m not familiar with the brand,” he said, glancing at Atagi. "Yocha—it’s a tea?” Masahiko had not had much opportunity to travel—he had been to Mizu no Kuni for a mission or two, Tsuchi no Kuni for a mission or two, but he was aware enough of current geopolitics to know that while Yukigakure and Kusagakure were not on strictly negative terms, Yuki’s allies were in conflict with Kusa’s allies, creating quite a bit of unwelcome tension. He took the opportunity to ask Atagi about his homeland: the environment, the culture, the food, the fauna, the people. His friends and family, his mentors, this kisei yocha he praised so highly. Masahiko lapses in and out of conversation as reconstructing the hand requires varying degrees of his focusing: there are so many little bones within a single appendage that he needs to make sure everything is aligned right, that each joint is cushioned with the correct amount of cartilage, that he has the correct amount of fingers and the keratin of his nails is healthy and strong. Even when the hand seems fully formed, Masahiko spends extra time on it, ensuring that the tissue is healthy and plump, walking Atagi through a variety of mobility exercises and tests of grip strength. A snapshot of physical therapy. There’s no time to work on the shoulder that day, but the second arm is completed in much the same fashion as the first. Masahiko grows more relaxed over time, his stiffly professional persona shedding away to reveal the genuine nugget of snarky dry humor beneath. A natural consequence of spending upwards of seventy hours in a single room alone with someone over the course of a week, Masahiko assumes; despite the circumstances, he sincerely feels like he’s made a friend. The work gets more tiring in proportion to how rewarding it is, the closer they draw to the end, until finally they are left with Masahiko’s chakra reserves scraped raw, and Atagi has two working arms. "You need to keep up a strict exercise schedule for at least the next six months,” Masahiko said, rubbing gently his eyes. He’d been so scant on chakra that he hadn’t had any to spare to repair his dark circles, and it was driving him mad. "Strict doesn’t mean excessive. If anything hurts, stop for the day and do something else. All of that muscle tissue is brand-new and highly delicate, and you don’t want to risk tearing something and ending up right back here.”

Uzumaki Atagi -- 561

LAIKA OF THQ