Aiko work in progress snippet

When she finally bounded up the last incline and saw a temple on the top of that particular mountain, victory was so sweet that she could have cried. Beaming, Aiko walked under the gates and called ahead to announce her presence.

It was nearing dusk, so it must have been a surprise to the monks to hear a visitor. After nearly a full minute, a tremendously elderly man with a curious expression strode out to see her. As he walked up, the scent of his dinner wafted off of his simple robes.

"You roast boar?" Aiko asked, intrigued. "That smells incredible."

"With burdock," he agreed easily. He gave her a bow in greeting. "How may we help you?" His companion finally came into view at the partially open sliding door behind him.

"You can invite me to dinner," Aiko suggested, interested in that boar. "And you can tell the Senju that if they fight the Uchiha this time they're going to suffer unprecedented misfortune."

He barely blinked. "Come in to our table, priestess." He smiled, just a sly little bit. "You can use the time to elaborate on why I ought to say such a thing."

Not five minutes later Aiko was seated comfortably at the table. She gave a half smile to the middle aged man who'd introduced himself as Fujo. He didn't smile back, but he inclined his head the slightest bit.

The master of the temple was humming quietly to himself as he assembled a tray in the other room.

Fujo looked kind of dour, honestly. It might have been because the master had taken back their untouched rice bowls in order to distribute it among 3 bowls.

She gave him her most beatific look. Saintly, even.

He was unmoved. A clever guy, Fujo.

Master Haraki slid the door open with a gentle shuffle of paper against the wooden frame. Aiko watched his fingers curl slightly to balance the tray. They were nice hands, wrinkled and brown and somehow strong despite belonging to an elderly man on a restrictive diet.

"We have simmered wild greens," Haraki said cheerfully. "And snake berries for dessert with our tea."

"Wonderful," Aiko said honestly. The tray was in front of her now. She waited patiently with hands on her lap as Master Haraki served rice, miso soup, and a portion of the meat and vegetables.

"Look at his face," Master Haraki mused. He shot his younger colleague a mischievous look. "Priestess, do you think that Fujo-kun could benefit from relaxing?"

Well, that was a trap if she'd ever heard one. She suppressed a grin. "I think that many people work too hard."

Fujo shot her a glance that clearly questioned what the hell kind of priestess was precious about labor.

They chatted while they ate- the weather, the harvest, the possibility that there was some kind of political shakeup. Aiko fixed her smile in place at that point while Master Haraki's questions became more pointed. He seemed amused the whole while, which told her enough about how much news he was getting on his mountaintop. He'd known who she was when he invited her to stay for a meal.

…Did that mean that Fujo-san's unfriendliness was an educated choice and not his habit? If so, good for him. It wasn't necessarily smart, but it was impressive nonetheless that he wouldn't pretend to like her.

Too late, she realized that knowledge implied that they had regular visitors.

She figured it out in the way that she figured every terrible thing out: she noticed that some asshole was arriving. She felt their chakra arrive kilometers away, at the base of the mountain.

Aiko sat up straight mid sentence, chopsticks hovering above her roasted boar.

That was someone big and bad. That was a real motherfucker.

She gave Master Haraki a sideways look, nerves twisting in her stomach.

'Were they stalling me until Hashirama could come and deal with me?'

Aiko couldn't be totally sure that's who was making their way up to the shrine at a breakneck pace, but it seemed like a pretty safe bet. He was the one who should go off to get pre-battle approval from the gods.

'I didn't even get to explain what I'm gonna say Izanami portended,' Aiko thought mournfully. She hurried to finish her food. 'Time to wing it.'