The Scarecrow (Mistress Mannequin)

"Do you have any Wisteria colored dye? From Miniko's batch last year?"

Temari squinted at all the dyes, finding none that matched her uniform's pleasant hue.

"What you see there is all I have." He caught her disappointed expression. "You won't find a bigger collection of colors from here to Konoha. Everyone is low on dye since the raidings on the trade road increased."

His explanation did little to lighten her mood. She had visited five shops already. Three were out of dye completely, and the other two had a meager collection of mostly black.

Her uniform had been spotted with blood two days before during a battle.

Kankuro had suggested she leave the stains on it - after the blood had dried, it resembled cherry blossoms.

He had been disappointed to see she had removed the dramatic flair. Bleach had effectively removed the stain, and the colors with it.

'Sometimes he worries me.' She thought to herself. 'To be efficient in battle is one thing, but to find a slain ninja's blood fashionable is another.' Blood was neither art nor beautiful, but a result of tragic circumstances.

Sometimes she wondered if a girl in his life would do him good. She eyed him through her peripheral vision, noting the striking purple paint marks across his face. 'At least a girl could instruct him on the finer details of fashion.' God knows she gave up on teaching him herself long ago.

"Will you hurry up? I would like to start our mission some time today." Her brother from across the shop whined. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded.

"You didn't have to come with me, so shut up."

He grumbled in reply. 'Lousy, finicky sister.' If she had listened to him and not tried to clean the blood off, he wouldn't be stuck here, bored out of his wits.

His eyes slowly grazed over the darker half of the shop that was obviously unkempt and rarely visited. A dusty pile of assorted objects rested in the darkness in the room beyond, making every item melt into an unidentifiable pile of conglomerate junk.

Most was covered by a dirty green tarp. 'Was that Ininka's way of cleaning up? With all the open spaces and crannies, it would make a great hiding place for a robber.' He thought to himself casually. 'What a terrible shop owner.'

A familiar looking black cat laid comfortably at the foot of Ininka's makeshift sales desk. It eyed Kankuro with an air of regality. Its tail flicked, then looked to the pile of garbage. It mewed quietly, as if making a timid statement. 'Go take a look.'

Ininka caught his mild interest. "Just finished spring cleaning." He said, nodding his head upwards to indicate he meant the attic. "Lots of grandmother's old junk. I'll sell you the whole lot for a clean fifty."

The corners of his wide lips curled downward slightly at the concept of being pawned useless garbage. "It would take fifty to get it hauled away." He grumpily replied. 'Hurry up, Temari. He's trying to sell me useless shit.'

Temari sighed and picked up a bottle of light blue. "This will have to do until the market recovers..."

"..Or until someone puts an end to the raiders." He finished her sentence for her, then wandered over to the pile of debris. "Which is what we should be doing now."

She ignored his further complaints and approached the sales desk. She ignored Ininka's obvious stare at her legs. She placed the dye on the table.

"That'll be twenty."

Kankuro huffed quietly. That sounded a bit pricey for a single bottle.

"Twenty? But it's only..."

Their voices faded from his interest. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was easier to pick out the different objects from the heaping pile. A bike, a coat rack, a shelf, a little wooden chair, an upside down doll bed... what a bunch of worthless...Out of the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of a delicate finger pointing from underneath a corner of the dirty tarp. "Mmm?"

"...Supply and demand. If I sold all my dyes for the regular ten, I'd be out just like everyone else, and these dyes are high quality."

Kankuro bowed his head to catch a better look, preferring not to remove the tarp for fear of upsetting the fine layer of dust. Dust was a bitch to remove from his black uniform.

"Fine. How much is that purple back there?"

He could see the tip of the finger led to a slender wrist. He ran his own fingertip down the inside of the arm. Wood, nicely carved and well sanded. And was that a joint at the elbow he felt?

"They're all twenty except the blacks; those are thirty."

The carving quality was delectable. He hadn't seen such artistry since he had purchased Sanshou. His heart skipped a beat. What were the odds of finding treasure in this rubbish? No. He couldn't bring his hopes up like this, he had been disappointed before. Life had taught him that habit time and time again. But still...

"I'm not paying twenty for this!"

Kankuro took in a breath to avoid inhaling the aggravating dust and gingerly removed the tarp. At full glance, the scarecrow looked far worse for wear than its lovable and well-carved hand.

"I'll drop it to eighteen for you, but that's as low as I'll go."

A stomach-churning, hideous painted clown face stared back at him. A faded red smile betrayed its true, calm expression. The peeling white eyes were a stark contrast to its warm wooden origin. A potato sack with straw sewn into it was stapled to the the majority of its head.

"You're really breaking the bank on this dye. Are you sure you won't go bankrupt selling it at eighteen?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm.

First a work of art, then a mannequin, then a toy, then a scarecrow. It had once been loved. Now it was just yesterday's garbage. His heart broke at the blatant mistreatment.

"Look, how about we go fifteen and you take care of that pile over there? It can resell for quite a sum. I just don't have any time for it."

Who could treat this beautiful creation in such a manner? He had an uncontrollable desire to hug it, stroke its hair if it had any under that potato sack, and promise it the best care in the world.

"That won't sell for anything. I'll buy the dye for twelve and no more."

Hideous clothes hung off its body that made Kankuro wince. It reminded him of that old, grouchy and hateful nanny from his childhood. Those flannel-colored clothes would have to go. Maybe he could give it a cape like Crow?

"Fifteen, you take the pile or no sale-"

Kankuro interrupted the painful haggle. "How about twenty for the dye, you keep the pile of shit and I take this ugly scarecrow off your hands?"

Temari put her hands on her hips. 'What the hell was he doing?! I almost had a deal!'

Ininka licked his lips, trying to hide his excitement. It was his first sale for today. "Ah, the fine scarecrow? Well, it is worth-"

"-It's worth shit. Don't lie to me. Twenty for the dye, I take the scarecrow. Take the offer or spend another day eating cheap ramen and trying to swindle your thinning customers. It's your call."

Ininka put a hand to his mouth in thought. The scarecrow was a fright. He probably wouldn't get anything for it anyway, and Kankuro being about as equally creepy looking as Scarecrow would probably be the only one who would take it.

"All right. You strike a hard bargain, but it's hard times. I'll give in." He made it to sound like he was sacrificing his house and home.

"But..." Temari began.

"I'll buy the dye." He heaved the scarecrow carefully over his shoulder. He reached into the bag that hung from his hips and dropped the money on the counter.

"Let's go. I hate this place."

Temari placed the dye into her bag and slowly followed after him.

"Thanks for your business!" Ininka shouted as the door slammed shut.

---

Outside, Temari lifted the scarecrow's head by grabbing its potato sack for a better look at its face. "Ugh. Why did you even bother? It's not even a puppet."

"It's beautiful."

"You have a strange concept of beauty, 'Kuro."

"Whatever." His mind was racing. What would he do first with it, remove the potato sack or clean it? He couldn't decide. He tuned out her critique of his character and interrupted her. "How about we start our mission tomorrow? We don't have a deadline, and it's getting late."

She sighed. "That's what I asked you an hour ago." Her five-minute pickup of dye had turned into an all-day trek.

"Well, it was a good idea. See you after breakfast tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Sounds like a plan. I can even dye my shirt before we leave."

"And I can welcome my new friend to the other puppets."

She ignored his comment, refusing to acknowledge his gleeful trade of real people as company for puppets, and now hideous scarecrows.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

---

Had he been a more social person, he would have been singing as he opened the door to his room. He shut the door and locked it.

Both of his puppets hung from the ceiling from traditional strings, as if they were friends standing to greet him as he came home. Their mouths hung lifelessly open and revealing their weapon barrels.

He left Sanshou in his summoning scroll simply due to its size, otherwise it too would have been present.

He gently laid the scarecrow onto his messy mattress, careful not to tangle the random strings that hung from the frayed potato sack. "Scarecrow, meet Karasu and Kuroari." He whispered lovingly at it, tilting its head so it could see the two puppets, as if it actually had eyes to see. "I'll introduce you to Sanshou later."

"Aww, look at you." He sized up the nightmarish scarecrow, letting his eyes travel from the top of the potato-sacked head to its one ugly-shoed foot. "You've had a long, hard life. So, am I going to oil all your joints or get that sack off your head first? What do you think?" He kneeled on the edge of his mattress.

He thought for a moment, staring at it blissfully. What a marvelous project he'd found. Now he wished he hadn't accepted the mission - it would take precious time away from his new friend who obviously needed someone to love and respect it.

"Let's start with that terrible outfit." He ran his hands beneath its dressings and lifted the old, dusty fabric off its head and knocked off the shoe.

He took in a breath at the sight. Its body was exquisitely carved. Peaks and valleys, dips and curves graced all the right places from C cup nippled breasts to shapely legs. So it was a girl scarecrow.

He ran his hand over its stomach gently, feeling the deep scores in its wood. He could see a deep cut through its chest from front to back - through the heart - where a sword would fit perfectly. It was apparently target practice, too.

Hours of careful sanding of his puppets when they were scratched in battle gave him the confidence that he could sand and buff almost any scratch out of wood, but the stab through the heart would prove to be impossible.

He leaned forward to rip off a piece of sandpaper from the pile on his nightstand. His body brushed against its chest as he reached for the sandpaper, his body making a thumping sound that echoed inside. So it was hollow, too, just like Kuroari. He wondered what the space was used for.

He began to gently sand off the paint from the scarecrow's forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure. Coarse grit paper eventually evolved into fine grit as the paint lifted from the wooden surface of the scarecrow's face.

After a while of leaning over, he opted to hang her from the ceiling instead, like his other puppets. As he positioned her to a standing position, he noticed that she was so well balanced that she stood well enough on her own.

Girl Scarecrow wasn't even a scarecrow. She had to have been a mannequin, and not just any mannequin, but one who must have displayed the most expensive clothes in her time. Clothes meant for royalty, even. No average store owner would have been able to afford such craftsmanship.

Had she not possessed joints at the elbows, shoulders, hips and knees, she could have passed as a statue. Just where and when did she come from? And who was her artist? So many questions, with the promise of no answers. He pushed his distracting thoughts away and concentated on his work.

---

He had told himself he would dedicate only one hour since he needed sleep for his mission tomorrow. But one hour turned into two, which eventually led to all night. By the time the early Suna sun began to peek over the horizon, the sanding was complete. He had worked well into mid morning, opting to skip breakfast to finish her.

He had just rubbed the last of his expensive orange oil into her few wooden joints and surface. Drenched in quenching oil, she looked as though she had just stepped out of a shower. Her body glowed a rich burnt sienna. As the sun's morning light shone through the window, it settled on her body. The sun further revealed even more curves he hadn't noticed before - a hint of rib, even an occasional vein.

As he wiped away the oily excess, a drip formed below one of its eyes, resembling a tear. It glinted in the sun's light, catching his eye. He moved to wipe it away with his cloth, then paused. His jaw hung slack, both from exhaustion and surprise.

Standing so close to her, he hadn't noticed before. Her lips were carved in an upwards fashion. Not only did it create lifelike striations in her lips, but it also made her look as though she were smiling in such a manner that one couldn't tell if she was thankful, shy, cunning or sad. The tear below the eye completed the picture.

'Thank you,' it seemed to say, in its own eerily silent way.

A shiver ran up his spine. Suddenly it felt as though there were a real person standing before him and not the once-hideous scarecrow. Even Karasu and Kuroari didn't vibrate such a sense of presence.

Internal emotion and energy is different when facing a live person as opposed to an inanimate object. Subtle communication doesn't exist in the latter. But in this moment, he began to internally generate emotions towards the form that stood before him.

A question of permission.

Both nervous and excited and lost in the moment, he slowly wiped the oily tear away with this thumb, then tilted his head and kissed the mannequin deeply.

It was fucked up, he knew that, but... The wood felt so warm underneath his lips and fingers. He slowly broke the kiss and pulled away, watching her face. Her expression hadn't changed from before. No display of disgust, no catty comment or rejection followed his advances. Only a shy smile.

He had expected to feel stupid for kissing a mannequin. And yet he didn't. In fact... he felt great.

He wanted to kiss her again, and did so ever so softly.

"I'll have to name you something else, Scarecrow." He whispered into her ear. He broke the kiss and smiled at her. She smiled back.

In this private moment in his room, Kankuro knew that he had finally found his mate.

---