Chapter Text
Skittering out of the way of another angry grasp, Inari darted into a dark alley, gasping while trying to be silent. The disembodied voice rang out, "Where'd that brat go this time? I wasn't finished with it." Another voice chimed in, "It just disappeared; maybe that way?" and Inari knew she had to move again, despite the aching lungs and pounding heart. She looked around and saw the chain-link fence barring the only other exit, huddling further into the shadows behind the trash bags. No exit, she could only wait. Controlling her breath, Inari listened, vision blocked by the same trash protecting her from the incensed villager. "Aha!" A hand grabbing her shirt, a fist to the stomach, the faces twisted in anger, freezing hoping it would make it stop sooner.
-
Awaking to the irritated voice, this time accompanied by a sneer, "Didn't even put up a fight, maybe it's learned its place finally?" Inari stopped breathing. "Well, I have to get back to work, so be good this time monster. Don't get in my way again."
She remained frozen until the footsteps receded, daring to look around, despite the relentless spinning of the world around her. Still that same alley, still laying in the trash. Inari tentatively braced herself with a shaky hand, getting up despite the creak of her ribs and the jarring pain, blood pooling in her mouth. She swallowed the metallic fluid, ignoring the tinge of nausea. It was still light out, but starting to get dark, the shadows long and languid. Quietly slipping from shadow to shadow, Inari made her way along the dimly lit streets of the red-light district, evading grasping hands reaching out for her clothes, her hands, her pockets. Each movement made her ribs shift, causing pain to arc like lightning across her chest. Stumbling into her apartment, the key nearly falling out of her shaking hands, she collapsed to the floor the moment the door was locked, barred, and jammed.
-
The chirping of birds and bustle of morning greeted Inari, who was, as always, surprised by the lack of pain. Cracking open one eye warily, she surveyed the tiny room: the same hovel it was every time she saw it, pipes leaking through the ceiling, the ivy threaded through the window frame, mold growing in the corner by the bathroom. She marveled at the differences between the world she'd left and the one she was in now every day: the casual disregard of children, the callous ignorance, but also the lack of pain despite the similar lack of medical advancements. Inari's stomach growled angrily, rebelling against her need for silence. She got up and set some water to boil on the stove, retrieving a cup of ramen from her meager supply: all her allowance would permit. She mentally scoffed at the idea of a child (how old was she again) being left alone, expected to run a household without support or guidance. The wait, lengthened by the cheap kettle and ancient stove, was excruciatingly slow. She stared, waiting for the kettle to make a peep of noise. As soon as it gave a hint of a squeal, she poured the water into the ramen cup and set the kettle on the cold side of the stove. Barely able to wait for the noodles to soften and the water to cool, Inari gulped down the noodles, broth, and whatever vegetables were in this flavor. She couldn't even taste it. Testing the kettle to see how hot it was, she deemed it safe and downed the water left there too. Better safe than sorry.
Inari set the cup and wrapper in the designated trash corner, resolving to take it to the street later for disposal.
-
Blinking, she found herself in the grass. *not again*
----
Inari had known something was wrong as long as she could remember. Too cold in the winters, too mild in the summers. It didn't look like any afterlife she was familiar with. There was no peace to be found in waving fields of grain. No river to traverse, no feather to weigh her heart against. No inescapable void dotted with the stars of her loved ones (her personal favorite).
It was obvious once she caught sight of her reflection in a puddle one day, yellow hair, bright blue eyes, and birthmarks like whiskers gracing her cheeks. "We're no longer in Kansas, Toto" and all that. She should have dark hair and inquisitive dark eyes, not this sunshine sky nonsense. All she had here was her name, Inari, since no one ever assigned her a name. That was all she owned.
She got kicked out of the orphanage in the fall (the leaves were turning). An elderly man, introducing himself as Hokage, whatever that was, gave her a key to her apartment and a meager allowance, instructing her to go to the Academy, where she'd learn to be a weapon for the village to wield. Every so often, money would appear again, not a speck of dust out of place to indicate where it was from. She wasn't great at keeping track of time. The instructors would scold her for her tardiness, but it made no difference. It wasn't like she could control...whatever it was that kept stealing her time. She'd blink and be somewhere else, some-when else. The same village, the same hateful citizens, but an indeterminate amount of time had passed. She would be able to tell how much time had passed, at least by her stomach, but one time she came back and was mid-swallow shoveling takoyaki into her mouth, so she didn't rely on that anymore.
At least the most was a few hours, based on the scribbled date on the chalkboard in class. At least she had the same anatomy as before. At least she knew how to buy food and read and write and perform arithmetic. She didn't need to know her birthday or her name. Inari was enough. Right?