#ascent of the sour serpent

[dndcreaturesinfo]

Gummydusa by Loot Tavern

[peepingtoad]

|| @dokuhebi:-

War was approaching, Konoha’s farms were struggling to keep up with the demands of the citizens, even though the population was declining in size, even though fewer mouths were in need of being fed, and more families were without the right income to cater to those needs of hunger. The assignments being handed out were of more dangerous ranks, the shinobi placed on those assignments suddenly younger and younger in age. But all of that, and so much more, is practically ignored by the child. They have a more pressing affair to deal with.  It’s their friends birthday, and they have just heard his mother wouldn’t be making it home in time this year to visit.  Had she even managed to send a letter? Or had that gotten swept up in the conflict as well? They can’t be sure. What they are sure about however, is that it is up to them and Tsunade to mitigate this colossal disaster of their teammates empty celebration. Their little apartment, dreary as it usually is, will be the perfect grounds for staging a surprise. With no one there to meddle with the two childrens affairs. Allowing for the young serpent and princess to modify it to the desired effect. Far more vibrant and ghost-free now. A few decorations strung from cupboards and ceilings, window frames and doorways. The small counter space along with the even smaller side table is used for gifts and snacks, an assortment of foods that the two knew Jiraiya liked. Gifts are all wrapped, messily so, but serving the purpose. An orphan such as them hardly had the means for elaborate gift giving. But Jiraiya didn’t have to know that Tsunade had helped chip in for theirs, nor did he, or the Senju for that matter, need to know that the rest of the money for the present was acquired through pawning off items they stole here and there. Deciding it was well within their moral compass to do so, because it was for a good cause, and they had only robbed those who the child decided deserved a good lesson. For telling them off harsher than necessary, for being too obnoxious or loud a neighbour, for looking at them the wrong way because of their status in society.  So perhaps his mother wasn’t there for the celebration of the young boy, perhaps he would have no blood family around on the special day. But he would have a different family there, when Orochimaru, thinking themself very clever and subtle, lures him back to their apartment after training, feigning that they didn’t want to walk home alone, only to bring him in to the abode and announce the surprise. Where all three could spend the day, afternoon and night celebrating together.  Now at nineteen years old, his mother would miss his birthday again. Only this time, it would be well known she would miss all the rest to follow it. Her passing had struck him violently, unable to ever forget the look on his face when they walked in. When they watched the last piece of his already shaky foundation crumble from beneath his feet.  So perhaps that was why it became important to have a redo of the same little party they had done as children. A reminder he still had family, a distraction from an empty home, no matter how rarely she was ever there to begin with. The serpent offers up their apartment again, but not without a healthy dose of rules and warnings. Certainly not without hiding a few items for the sake of that precious research being preserved and out of harms way. After all, the innocent little snack table has been repurposed for some drinks instead. Only one year until the trio is twenty and legally allowed alcohol, for now, Orochimaru does what they do best: ignoring Hiruzen’s laws outright, and doing whatever the hell they wanted anyway.  And once more, Orochimaru is the one to lure Jiraiya back to the apartment. This time however, their tact is worth their own praise, as they let the man think the truly are forgetful and negligent of the day. While Tsunade and Dan set up at the serpents abode, Orochimaru keeps the ignorant guest of honor doing trivial tasks. Making him help them in the Hokage’s office, pretending that the right amount of stress and duties had made them forget the celebratory day - and with their hardworking nature, it wasn’t hard to convince anyone of that possibility. There is perhaps, a bit of fun to be had, waiting to exasperate Jiraiya a little that his day off became a handful before telling him they needed help with one last thing. Only for a light smirk to reflect on their lips and give the game up the moment they push open their door and let him enter.  A bit of fair warning to expect something.  Less juvenile decorations, less sloppy furniture arrangements,  the table showcasing various gifts, surrounded by various bottles of sake and whiskey for overindulgence, and a pickled and deep fried based menu of party food.  Whenever Jiraiya’s glass empties, Tsunade, Orochimaru or Dan were quick to top it up, an agreement between them that it would take any edge off from the morbid memory of who wasn’t able to attend. The night would continue well in to the morning, until Tsunade and Dan need to get back, or more so, until Dan decides for her sake, Tsunade may need to find herself in her own bed with some welcoming home comforts come her hangover in the morning. Eventually, leaving only Jiraiya and Orochimaru there for the remainder of the night, the buzz of drinking leaving a spell of calm, as the two sit on the small but pleasant balcony. At some point, deciding it might be fun to teach Jiraiya some of their erhu, but being too controlling - even drunk - to properly let him touch and tamper with the delicate item. More of a demonstration, than a lesson then. A moment of playful banter and jabs, until Orochimaru has brought out a small gift from their sleeve, and offered it to him. Deciding to retire for the night, and drunkenly placing a kiss to the top of his head, and a small pat of his shoulder as they move inside and leave him to unwrap the gift by himself on the balcony, “there’s room for two on the bed, don’t let me catch you sleeping on the couch come morning on your own birthday,” they say, or perhaps order, in parting. This time, Orochimaru could afford their own gift for him. Mostly ethically earned. A Kiseru and tobacco pouch, crafted in Kumogakure, the golden metal bind that winds up the long pipe carved in to by the intricate patterns of serpents weaving through lily pads. A note with a short ‘think of me on your journeys’ splashed with ink on a small card. Wrapped far more neatly than from the past. And perhaps the note is as much in support of his wanderings and passions, in support of his mothers legacy, as it is a possessive little trick. That if he found himself smoking at some bathhouse, in the company of some little she-devil that wasn’t them, one glance at the serpents on his kiseru would put the bastards work of flirting him up to waste, as they steal his thoughts from countries away.

It didn’t really bother him when it occurred that Orochimaru and Tsunade had probably forgotten about this day. That wasn’t to say that he’d been so wrapped up in his moping that he was dead set on being indulgently miserable for it—after all, every extra year one survived in this world was a worthy cause for celebration—but there was no denying that he was in a funk. That his shoulders seemed to be just that little bit heavier than before. That behind every buoyant smile, he was deflated inside. So it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he wasn’t bothered by it either.

It was all just… grey.

Having said all that, what actually was irksome to him was that a day that should have been spent getting hammered in that one seedy bar that was willing to serve them (largely in thanks to Jiraiya’s sheer height and broad build that screamed ‘fully grown man’, enough to give him a pass), was instead being gradually frittered away on annoying little tasks. Orochimaru was dead set on doing everything necessary to keep themself firmly in their sensei’s mind as his natural successor; Jiraiya knew this, and they were exceptionally diligent with it.

So why, then, was he roped into helping them to suck up to the old man instead of falling into blissful drunken stupor? How annoying. And yet he still doesn’t refuse to help.

This ultimately leads to him being rather moody and pouty as they finally finish for the day, an early evening sun warming the dull dirt path to gold as they stroll along, Jiraiya with a sour expression and hands shoved just a little aggressively deep into his pockets. With the sudden mention of a seemingly-just-remembered ‘one last thing’ by the time they reach their apartment door, he’s all but ready to give them the most linguistically colourful of refusals, only for the mischievous little flash over their features to stop him dead in his tracks. 

Raised eyebrows and a slightly more curious kind of pout signal his own realisation and intrigue, progressing into a look of heartfelt wonder as the door is opened, and he is very suddenly presented with the more grown up version of a similar trick from… when was it, seven years ago? Eight? 

The first time his birthday had ever been so distinctly without her.

He can’t even be agitated that the intimate them-ness of this little home-made party is slightly skewed by the presence of Dan. After all, the guy had clearly gone to a load of effort in helping Tsunade to set it all up, and at least this way there was an extra person to help fill the void left by a distinctly missing one. Good food and drink, too—that which he’d been craving all day and which Orochimaru had cleverly worked up an even greater appetite for—saw in the hours to follow sadness being replaced by merriment, and that grey feeling exchanged for a far more celebratory mood. Celebrating his ascent to the next year of his life, sure, but also that they were all here. That they were all together.

Until Dan has to take Tsunade home, anyway. Not that it even registers to Jiraiya, who at this point is so away with the fairies he could have entertained himself for hours and probably not realised it. Besides, he has Orochimaru, and watching them equally as intoxicated as himself, seeing how they come out of their shell a little more and show off their more frivolous skills, delights him in such a way that he sees practically nothing else. The erhu ‘lesson’ really makes him wish he’d swung by his place for his shamisen, but he settles for makeshift percussion by way of random surfaces and his palms, and even a poor attempt at atmospheric singing at points—a treat for their neighbours, no doubt. Eventually their activities take them to the balcony where they continue chatting, until the mystery gift brings upon them a shroud of silence.

It hadn’t actually occurred to him that there might be any more gifts. The evening, yes, along with the company and the free pass to make a real mess of the place without them biting his head off, were great enough gifts in themselves… but this slender box seems to hold quite a gravity about it, if not by the fact it’s been left until the very last, with only the two of them here, then because of the affection pouring so freely from them as they retire, leaving him with a tender kiss and touch, a mysterious gift to open, and a suggestion… no, an expectation of what should follow.

That confidence of theirs really is something… and ‘misplaced’ is not that something.

Jiraiya opens the gift in bated silence, his expression oddly neutral but wide-eyed as he reveals the elegant kiseru, with its design that feels very much deliberately chosen to contain an element of themself, but of him too. The pouch is also filled with tobacco which he opens and inhales the scent of, a blend that smells so fine that even a relative novice like him can tell it’s the good stuff.

Dammit, you trying to make me into an old man here? ‘Oh, that’s the good stuff!’ So old mannish…

He thinks that, but only with the giddiest of smiles that blooms suddenly, not a hint of disappointment to be seen—not at the gift itself, and certainly not at the validation contained in that one little message that came with it. A message that he knew for a fact he’d admire every brushstroke of whenever he found himself missing them from afar.

Needless to say, he doesn’t quite catch on to any possessive undertones that may lie in wait between the lines like serpents in the grass; so overwhelmed is he by the pure, soft sentiment of it, furthered by his current state no doubt, that thick tears slide down his cheeks without him even realising they were brimming to begin with. Only a few, before he pats them away with his sleeve and returns inside, carefully placing the gift on the bottle-strewn table but not lingering there himself.

Even drunk, he knows there’s no way they’d have fallen asleep already. Hell, they’d said with no measure of subtlety that they wanted him in their bed tonight, so it’s only natural for him to take that as simply as it sounded: as an invitation.

Now, to what capacity they wanted him, he can’t say. But given the physical closeness that came so naturally between the three, ever since they were little (as much as a certain princess would deny it), there would be nothing untoward in sneaking through the door of their bedroom, nor in stalking up their bed on all fours, nor in gathering them immediately into his arms to give them a tight and gratitude-laden embrace that seems to involve every one of his clumsy, drunk limbs.

“Oro…” He sighs, brows twitching a little as he realises what a useless phrase a mere ‘thank you’ really is. Like making him feel like this, so loved and appreciated, during one of the roughest points of his life thus far, can be returned with mere words of thanks. When he withdraws from the embrace, it is only to put the most minimal distance between them, still close enough that his vision swims hazily with alabaster skin that even the night can’t swallow completely, the ever-present glow of yellow irises, the void-like negative space where ebony hair seems to sever throat from shoulders and drip down their chest like rivers of shadow. They’re so beautiful it snatches his breath away, leaving him very much aware of the thundering of his heartbeat.

… This is one of those moments, isn’t it? Those moments of opportunity, where the options were divided between safety and risk, change or stagnation, control or release.

Concepts that are all far too complex in this particular moment, and so Jiraiya does only what he feels in his bones is right given the close entanglement they’ve found themselves in, with limbs curling around each other and fingers ensnared in each other’s hair. He holds their jaw within his heated palm, and gives one quivering caress of their lips with his thumb before replacing that uncertain touch with the far more definitive press of his mouth.

It’s hard to really quantify how long they stay like that, exchanging kiss after kiss between soft sighs and humid pauses for breath and the amazing feel of them—of this—filling his brain with the most blissful static, but there comes a moment where their foreheads are pressed together that he finally remembers his point, and gazes blearily at them with a smile that’s somehow both bashful and truly self-assured at the same time.

“I will.”