Heaven's Door

They were open, but it was the middle of the day so they needed to be open for people to come and go he supposed. The wide road that lead into the village appeared perfect for travelers and merchants of all sorts but, alas, the red headed man had no knowledge of this lands specific or unique customs. It may have been that this world was one that people ventured to in order to start over, to forge a new life in a land which overflowed with infinite opportunities. It could alternatively be that it was a prison camp that no sane people would ever willingly walk into. He could not say, but he could say that his small amounts of research had shown him that a member of the Black Sun gang, this "Gluttony," had struck here at a similar time and with equal surprise as he had his own homeland.

For now, he strode through, not caring to hid anything about himself save for his eyes over which he had through a pair of round sunglasses, not so much for the shade but to obscure the disfigurement of his face. Beyond that, he walked proudly forward, the strange spear upon his back foreboding, particularly to anyone who could sense chakra and may care to notice how strange it seemed with that particular style of seeing.

Sudden security, a personal favorite of his.

The man tilted back his head, red hair tossing gently in the wind, and let out a sigh which lasted long enough for the people around him in the line they had begun forming - now that there was someone checking papers - to shift uncomfortably away from him. Most, particularly those to his rear, had given him a wide berth all ready, wary of the odd weapon he carried. However, that instinct towards safety had dampened the longer he remained among them without doing anything odd or making sudden movements, though now he had broken this illusion with his quiet but outlandish behavior.

No matter, he had no present recourse but to be turned aside it seemed. Hands still stuffed into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, he patiently awaited his turn in line to speak with the coast guard. He had yet to see anyone have whatever papers they were to present stamped, but what did he know? He had sunglasses on after all. He shrugged, head cocked lazily to one side, and continued the slow shuffle to the front.

The man stamping papers - or doing whatever it was he was doing with whatever papers he was demanding and that at least some amount of travelers apparently had access to - seemed like some bedraggled older fellow, dressed plainly in some kind of ninja uniform marked with something which looked only very vaguely like a set of clouds. He seemed outwardly unarmed but he was a ninja, so appearances held little value. The red-haired man could not decide who among the two appeared more bored by the current situation. Odd odd odd.

He paused at the question, about a full second or two too long to be the pause of a fully functioning individual. His head was still tilted off to one side in a look of slight puzzlement, his thin mouth hanging partially open as he thought for a span of time.



He could write though, and reached his hand out to accepted the highlighted paper to fill out on his weapon, should the page still be offered to him. Assuming it was, he would get to work filling it out,
his script a surprisingly simple pattern, mostly unadorned but with an obvious delicate determination to the lines and curves of the kanji. The syntax, however, was not fully there, mostly in the areas surrounding articles and the like.

• A: Carrot


• B: Very sharp.


• Great for the soul.


• Decorative (with caution).


• Great meditation partner.


• E: 5 feet and change

>

He would then, if given the chance, re-merge partially with the line to hand the registration back to the customs agent to... file or whatever else it was the gate did with all the forms they collected. Where di they go? Did some central part of the village just contain shelves and shelves and shelves of documents and travel papers and seals from minor lords and ladies? Who knew? Regardless, the next step appeared to be to, by some means, acquire a form of identification. To his knowledge he had no birth certificate and the arena which owned him had had little concern with branding, tattooing, piercing, or in any other way identifying their chattel.  

Shrugging, he moved on over to the small door the man before him had indicated. The small black portal radiated a strange aura of low grade foreboding. He had not paid it much attention prior, but seeing it now he realized that most people seemed to avoid it, either actively or passively. Outside of it stood a singular, short, plain, bald man in dark attire, learning casually against the wall next to the opening in the wall. He did not move nor make eye contact as Jae approached, nor did he stop him or indicate in anyway that the man should continue. So, he pressed open the door and went inside.


Some time later, about twenty minutes, he emerged once more, looking just as he had before, but with a small, leather bound bundles of papers in his left hand. He handed these back to the gate guard who looked it over before stamping it with something like a more completed version of the symbol they wore on their headbands and clothing before ushering him within, bidding that he cause no trouble. Jae smiled at this, nodded, and proceeded into the wondrous village of Kumogakure.   

Exit