Unfortunate it was that it should rain on such an amorous holiday. Perhaps, it was the sky was weeping for Princeling Izuna’s poor decision-making; extending his jealously guarded heart to someone far, far from deserving.
Stalking through the courtyard, this crimson blot of fluttering samite robes flicking out like flames from the edge of his umbrella, the Uchiha travels from one sector to the next with a lethal quickness. He didn’t intend to be seen by anyone, not his foes, and never his betters. Fixed into his hands was a small wooden box carved by a local merchant and whittled in with the visage of a fat canary over the lid. Its presentation lends no credence nor symbolism for the receiver nor the gift. A case to merely host what rested inside on satin cushions: 3 vials of mysterious poisons, unlabelled, yet romantic pink fluid of varying tints. A cheeky warning card is wedged into the corner, partially obscuring the three, with its patrician scriptwork:
This ribbon wrapped gift finds itself near Tobirama’s personal chamber. Izuna, clever as he was a quiet shadow, managed to slip between the folds of human surveillance to deliver it here. It’s left abandoned before the bamboo doors atop another piece of parchment. When unfolded, it reads:
“With love — have fun deconstructing these.”
tobirama's eyes snap open.
had he been any average shinobi, surely there is a need to gasp, a whole body jerked with the suddenness of being awake so without warning. there are some things, after all, that one simply does not shed from the warring times no matter how peaceful the region had grown to be, and it is peaceful indeed as tobirama lies very still, closes his eyes, and takes in his surroundings. underneath the pitter-patter of the morning rain and the bustling of his household coming alive with the dawn, the young senju activates his sensory ability; there is a presence that does not belong to the senju compound, but it is gone before tobirama could identify it.
still, it must not be an intruder. somebody welcomed then, or someone the ward of their household had recognised for surely no one would be able to sneak so easily into these grounds, not without alerting anyone, under uzumaki mito's specially crafted ward.
he calms his raised heartbeat and once more activates his sensory ability to identify any that seems amiss while his fingers make deft at straightening the yukata where he suspects has been wrinkled or folded in his sleep. finding nothing out of the ordinary, tobirama makes to fold the bedding, despite knowing that the servants of the house would feel more chastised than anything that he'd done so. but tobirama couldn't help it; despite the rigidity with which the senju held its members to the clan hierarchy, father's teaching is absolute. you must be as self-disciplined as you are self-sustained. out in the battle field, there will be no handmaiden to care for your bedding.
and it is only as tobirama cares for the last roll of his futon that his attention is taken to the sliding doors leading to his own personal engawa. tobirama stares. and then, finally, after a few seconds, he stands. makes his way to the edge of the doors and opens it. there, his mind quickly snaps to. a small wooden box with a note. paranoia dictates that he must seek others within the household, inform them of this foreign subject, but tobirama dismisses it. he has activated his sensory ability before, and this had alerted him nothing. so he bends down, and picks it up.
oh. he thinks, as he reads and finally opens the box.
the senju white demon does not smile, though he supposes he could feel the tension of his face breaks apart with each second he's inspected the vials. he has forgotten what today was meant to be; the day of love was never fitting for a then-boy made to be father's soldier. he is sure it hardly fits him now, the existence of any battle be damned, and the lack of acknowledgement in terms of gifts from others besides. and yet— someone has thought of him. not just anyone, but ...
tobirama soon finds himself with a scroll and ink. he writes,
Do not think I would not recognise your handwriting anywhere.
Please accept this gift as token of my gratitude.
They are made by highly-sought Senju silk and were woven by our best craftsmaster. My only contribution had been the choosing of the design. I would hope it is to your liking.
As warned, I will not drink.
in the attached jewellery box, smaller in size, tobirama has neatly laid the kumihimo, in silk of dark blue, black, red and white. there is perhaps a distant whisper somewhere that tells him he must wait; that reciprocation is only anticipated a month from now, but he has never been gifted anything before, and he suspects he will not rest unless his thank is known. so he calls for a messenger boy, and sets him off to uchiha izuna, his own gift and letter in tow.
@hatredcurse — a valentine's day ask !!
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