Ten paces out on old, creaking planks and frayed rope, Asuma had to pause, resist the urge to flare easily-detectable chakra into his feet, and remind himself he wasn't afraid of heights. Grounds, on the other hand...

"Either my depth perception's gotten better in the last ten years," he muttered, keeping his gaze squarely in front, "or my memory's fried. I could've sworn this canyon had a bottom before."

It still did, probably; just not one he could see. High winds, tall rocks, and whipping currents had lashed up enough white spray to blanket the river in its own low-lying cloud cover, thick and impenetrable. Halfway down the sheer stone walls, all he could see was nothing.

Ahead was a different story. Leaning casually against one pillar of the red torii gate, picking his nails with a long hunting knife, was a man clearly trying to prove the whole monkeys-to-humans evolutionary theory was completely unfounded. Asuma couldn't decide if it was prehistoric lizard genes adding that thick, leathery quality to his skin, or if his mother had gotten just a little too friendly with a crocodile. He tossed up a friendly wave; Lizard-Boy answered with a rictus grin.

He'd filed his teeth into points.

"Ooo-kay," Asuma muttered, and kept walking. Next to Lizard-man, sprawled against the opposite pillar, was a pretty-boy teenager distinguishable mostly by his blond mullet, long pale fingers with a few too many joints, and an outfit that seemed to be constructed entirely of blades strung on belts. Asuma didn't bother waving at him.

Lizard-man and Fingers weren't his main problem, anyway. That special honour fell to the tall, slim, completely unreadable woman standing hipshot in the middle of the bridge, shedding the last concealing threads of a complicated genjutsu. Asuma swept a glance over scarlet hair, impressive cleavage that didn't quite outrank Natsumi's, and a stern face networked by slim white scars.

The stolen antique sword hanging from her hip was pretty interesting, too.

"Afternoon," he said amiably, as soon as he drew near enough to be heard over thundering water. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in resolving this over drinks and a lapdance? I know a really good place that does a buffet. Has very little death." He paused, then amended: "Well, unless you eat the sea-bass."

The redhead stonewalled him. "Are you an idiot?" she asked, after a too-long moment of white noise silence.

"Occasionally," Asuma agreed, setting his feet square as the bridge lurched. "It's genetic." He held up the money-sack, letting it swing from one hand. "This is your money; that is my master's sword. You want to do the pretty pleases first, or do I need to get down on one knee?"

The redhead didn't twitch an eyebrow. "I don't think you're a servant."

"And I don't think you're too smart, lady. Lookit. Easy money, right here. You want to keep me waiting all day, or can we do some business?"

Natsumi couldn't fire a single shot until the sword was in his hands, safe from falling. He just hoped she knew that.

Maybe one tactic wouldn't've hurt.

The redhead's lips lifted fractionally, drawing a pale bow. "Business. Of course. Would you like to say goodbye to your friend first?"

Icy mist slid over Asuma's skin. "What--"

He didn't need to ask. The suddenly-glimmering threads of a jutsu wound straight through the bridge's ropes, leading back to wind-burned dirt where the slightest footstep would be a screaming warning to its caster, was answer enough.

Chakra lashed, and something bone-deep began to rumble. Asuma wrenched himself around.

"Run!"

His focus narrowed on the cliff-side, searching desperately for the flicker of black and bone. He didn't notice (didn't care about) the flash of antique steel until it bit into his side.

Cared even less when giant chunks of ancient granite ripped themselves free, destroying the only place where an archer would stand, spiderwebbing cracks through the entire cliffside, and shattering into the abyss below.