Waking up to a dream sequence

I want to know from my followers and roleplayers.

“Oh! Er - well..”

Fingers starting to toy with one of her braids. Twisting the strands and pulling on them, making them messy and uneven. A very telltale sign she’s nervous. Anxious.

“I.. can get you a list of names.”

She’s being rather vague now. Finding names was incredibly easy for the detective. Mikoto doesn’t want Hashirama to worry. Even if it was a parents job to do so. “Do - do you want names? I can get you names. If you’d like. But you shouldn’t worry. Don’t worry, dad. Some of my problems just bleed into one. I just - advice, really. Yes.”

She’s trying to be smooth but it’s the opposite. She really did have many problems. Many, many.

”I guess what I’m trying to ask is: will I get in trouble if I go to the extremes to get out of these.. situations?”

Miko had very mixed thoughts about her predicaments. Nothing major actually happened before she managed to get away. “I can safely say they don’t happen as often anymore. I just..” A small pause. “Actually, better question. Would I get in trouble if I get rid of these problems permanently? I’ve done a little in the past..” Not to get much attention onto herself, of course. She wants to remain as that “good, helpless girl” for her own benefit. “Do.. do you know what I mean, dad?” She could also safely say that she never cared about the law, or anything relating.

"Who is bothering you? And why?" he asked carefully, and curious. He could get rid of her problems for her, and she wouldn't even know. And there wouldn't even have to be blood.

"Is someone threatening you?" he didn't ask for her permission to send them somewhere far. He didn't want her to worry either, he also didn't want her to know that would happen.

Hashirama wasn’t that helpful, but he probably didn’t face these circumstances. Or even get asked about. Fair. “ - I try not to use daddy’s name like that. I can’t keep having him get rid of my problems - though yes, I did that when I was younger but.. these same problems simply keep getting new faces.”

Her lips turned into a pout for a few seconds, then she sighed. “I’m trying not to immediately go to killing. I’m trying to be good, but it’s rather difficult. It would benefit if I do -“ A small pause given before she continues, “ - I mean.. when said problems turned serious then I went to daddy. He got rid of them.” After being completely angry, of course. Not at her.

“Do you think that would deter more people?”

The assumption that Hashirama did not have to face such situations was actually wrong. However, unlike Mikoto, he always let them not leave him alone, or he politely disappeared.

Konoha founders - modern AU! I finally made myself do the real lineart and colouring for the sketches. Girls are especially beautiful imho. <3 

Getting back up she scurried off to the door of the cell again, and this time using the bobby pin, she wiggled it into the lock. Pick locking had been a secret hobby of hers for a while now and it absolutely came in handy. “I’m working on it dad!” She answered him, so he wouldn’t worry too much. She almost forgot to with how focused she was. But that’s the only reply he’ll receive for now.

for what she’s noticed, there really was no security. Just the seals on both of them, the shackles, and locked doors. How silly of them! They should’ve taken more measures in restricting them - especially hers. Their mistake!

The door swung open and she trotted next door to Hashirama’s cell. She had no idea how she looked: unruly strands of ink, free from signature braids, skin much paler than usual, flecks of dried blood around her mouth and forearms as some of the newer self harm wounds had come open - which were visible, unfortunately, as the bandages weren’t on. There indeed were fresh, dark bruises on her legs, some distinctively hand shaped.

Mikoto hummed as she worked to open the door, and she stepped in quickly, ignoring the searing pain of her injured leg. She’s working on pure adrenaline so said pain was mostly on the back burner. Then she stopped at the sight of the Senju. He looked terrible, the seals stood out like a sore thumb that weren’t hidden by fabric. She didn’t comment. There wasn’t time. Who knows how much time they had but the sense of dread she had was steadily growing stronger.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” she muttered beneath her breath as she concentrated on the shackles he sported. But her hands weren’t as steady they had been seconds prior. She only gotten through half of them when the coughing started. Sudden. Harsh. Fresh blood now decorated her mouth and chin.

“How come you can do this? Who taught you that?” he asked, a little confused. He didn’t teach her that, and he doubted Madara did. She was a smart little fox, but it was also a little disturbing. On the other hand, it was a skill that could be helpful. 

It didn’t take long, and Mickey entered his cell. 

Hashirama’s eyes glazed over Mikoto to make sure she was alright; she wasn’t. The violets of bruises painted on her thighs and arms, the dried blood on her face and hands. It made Hashirama’s breath stop for a few seconds. 

But this wasn’t a time to panic. At least she could move, it was him who was as useless as a child. 

“We need to be quiet, and we need to hurry. Do you feel someone’s presence?” he asked. He didn’t care much about his injuries; he knew they would heal as soon as he’d get rid of those seals. 

On the other hand, his shackles were keeping them here. 

Suddenly, Mikoto’s cough echoed through the cells, and Hashirama’s eyes widened. First, because it was too loud and it could bring guards. Second, because Mikoto didn’t look right. Maybe it was caused by some mold that was spreading here? 

“Are you alright?” he asked her, all concerned. If he could, he would lift his hand and put it on her back. That was something he wouldn’t do for anyone who he didn’t consider his child. However, the shackles kept him at bay. 

“Mikoto? Maybe you should go… I’m not sure how long it’s going to take for me to get out of this… you need to go and find help,” he tightened his fists and yanked his imprisoned arms forward. The sharp metallic sound rang through the air, but Hashirama was still unable to move. 

He needed Mikoto to be safe. He didn’t care about himself, his life wasn’t worth much. Maybe a few barrels of old sake. He was old, while Mickey was young. He was a relic of the old world, while she had been a legacy. She had to live. And he might too, because he trusted his skills more than their captors. 

@hashimada-week - Day 4 - Obsession