Nov. 22nd, 2012

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Within hours of finding himself in this new location, he'd removed his Sound forehead protector and buried it in a copse of trees beyond a rice paddy. It was clear that there were no shinobi here, and he had no desire to stand out. What was the saying about the post that sticks up...? If captured, he would need to be able to morph his allegiances to suit, not be branded prematurely by a piece of metal. Purposefully, he'd masked his Chakra and made to blend in, smiling and earning himself the trust of a simple herbsman within the village itself. To even the most trained eye, the young man with the prematurely-grey hair had made himself a home in this so-called Michi no Sato.

Yakushi Kabuto had no home, only cover stories.

Whether this was a test of Orochimaru-sama's or a genjutsu prison devised by any one of their many enemies, Kabuto would survive, would thrive, and would eventually escape to rejoin his master. Any lingering doubts that he might eventually be happy here on his own were quickly squashed. Independence was not an option.

Within a few days, other shinobi began to arrive, some more obviously than others. Through it all, the young man only smiled, collected herbs, mashed poultices, and took careful, careful notes.

The bustle of the Frost Festival provided the perfect opportunity to personally gather more information. The shifting timelines and alternate personalities he'd observed would only be to his benefit here.

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One Long Mission, the Naruto dressing room.

January 2014

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