Mission Pre-Approval
Mission Rank: E-D Rank
Mission Premise: Locate & Return Granny Miroku to the Toraono Dojo
There were photographs of an adorable old lady strewn about the city of Soons Haven. This pleasantly smiling woman sitting in casual, traditional garb in exceptionally positive lighting. She was missing and there was a need to relocate her and bring her back to the Toraono Dojo. A matriarch of the family perhaps, she might have been the victim of a kidnapping. She appeared quite old, perhaps she was lost or injured. Being so old was a dangerous thing, poor old woman. The boy put the image to the back of his mind as he carried on with his day. This was not a shinobi village either, much like Sora. His journey was far from complete and a part of him even considered pulling down one of those photographs to accept the call the adventure but he felt it was unlikely that he would be successful. Not because the target was overwhelming but this was a big city, the desert even larger. He had no hope of coming upon her.
"Sorry old lady, another time I guess."
He would resupply and then carry on, Sunagakure could not possibly be far from here, or so he thought until he heard a bellowing war cry. "You used my fabric scissors for what!" Soromon turned his attention to the storefront and there it was, he saw HER face. Well, the face was different in the picture, in the photograph her face was placid and calm. The woman in the store was frenzied, her hair massive and wild, her clothes layered and eccentric. Armed with a rolling pin she was threatening a group of young rapscallions... no, she was threatening a craft store called "Sew What?" His eyes opened wide as he looked between the the madwoman inside the store and the wanted poster plastered on a nearby wall. This was providence!
There was only one problem: the woman looked not only dangerous but insane. The patrons and staff of that small crafting hovel were huddled in a corner, some had taken rolls of fabric from the walls to act as a barrier in their defense. Soromon approached the storefront, his face pressed against the glass, he wanted to know what he was getting into. The old woman was deceptively quick, her bunny slippers pivoted on the floor and in the blink of an eye she had made her way to a space adjacent one of the shop employees. She clocked him on the head with her rolling-pin and he went down like a sack of potatoes. The others, employees and patrons alike attempted to unite in their battle against this geriatric menace. They attempted to converge on the old woman, their clothen barriers before them like spartan shields. However,they were no match for her. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and flung them at one of teenagers that picked the wrong shift to work. It was like a throwing knife with two areas of insertion. It was not a fatal strike, but the scissor blades embedded themselves deeply into the boy's thigh. The employee screamed and clutched his leg. The old woman was distracted by a floral print, the patrons and employees fled.
...and Soromon entered.
He was not going to be able to overpower the geriatric woman, his most powerful nemesis to date was a tomcat. He was not going to fight her, that would never work but she was also not going to get away either. He would be able to track her with the pungent bouquet of Ben-gay and mothballs. No, he was going to outsmart her. He had a gram, an awesome gram. She was not nearly as crazy or as dangerous as this one but all gram-grams thought alike. Or so he hoped. So with a deep breath the boy stepped forward. "GRAMMY!" He declared, his arms outstretched as if he was seeking a hug. Internally he was chanting, please don't stab me... Please don't stab me... Please work... Please work... Please don't stab me...
There was a 50-50 chance that he would die here.
Thankfully the odds were in his favor. She looked at him, a twinkle in her eye she smiled. Her dentures shifted. "My boy!" she replied, omitting his name. Old people cannot remember their real kids, never mind their fake ones.
"Gram, you came," his mind was racing a hundred miles a second. "My birthday is tomorrow and dad said that you would have forgotten," he claimed. He was just winging it, but he had played this game several times before with his own grandmother. Whenever he needed an extra yen for some ramen it would suddenly be his "birthday". Had his gram remembered how many times she had paid out, he would be about 50. It worked like a charm every time as long as he did not get too greedy, a few weeks was usually long enough. He was 'growing like a weed' anyways.
Play on,
"C'mon gram, we gotta get home or you'll miss my party!"
It was working. That was the problem, it was working. Apparently he needed a 'gift' and what better gift was there than some new threads. Three misdemeanors and another case of assault later, Sormon looked like the prissiest dork he had ever seen.
But the old lady was proud and she was coming with him, back to the Miroku household wherever that was.
Mission Rank: E-D Rank
Mission Premise: Locate & Return Granny Miroku to the Toraono Dojo
There were photographs of an adorable old lady strewn about the city of Soons Haven. This pleasantly smiling woman sitting in casual, traditional garb in exceptionally positive lighting. She was missing and there was a need to relocate her and bring her back to the Toraono Dojo. A matriarch of the family perhaps, she might have been the victim of a kidnapping. She appeared quite old, perhaps she was lost or injured. Being so old was a dangerous thing, poor old woman. The boy put the image to the back of his mind as he carried on with his day. This was not a shinobi village either, much like Sora. His journey was far from complete and a part of him even considered pulling down one of those photographs to accept the call the adventure but he felt it was unlikely that he would be successful. Not because the target was overwhelming but this was a big city, the desert even larger. He had no hope of coming upon her.
"Sorry old lady, another time I guess."
He would resupply and then carry on, Sunagakure could not possibly be far from here, or so he thought until he heard a bellowing war cry. "You used my fabric scissors for what!" Soromon turned his attention to the storefront and there it was, he saw HER face. Well, the face was different in the picture, in the photograph her face was placid and calm. The woman in the store was frenzied, her hair massive and wild, her clothes layered and eccentric. Armed with a rolling pin she was threatening a group of young rapscallions... no, she was threatening a craft store called "Sew What?" His eyes opened wide as he looked between the the madwoman inside the store and the wanted poster plastered on a nearby wall. This was providence!
There was only one problem: the woman looked not only dangerous but insane. The patrons and staff of that small crafting hovel were huddled in a corner, some had taken rolls of fabric from the walls to act as a barrier in their defense. Soromon approached the storefront, his face pressed against the glass, he wanted to know what he was getting into. The old woman was deceptively quick, her bunny slippers pivoted on the floor and in the blink of an eye she had made her way to a space adjacent one of the shop employees. She clocked him on the head with her rolling-pin and he went down like a sack of potatoes. The others, employees and patrons alike attempted to unite in their battle against this geriatric menace. They attempted to converge on the old woman, their clothen barriers before them like spartan shields. However,they were no match for her. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and flung them at one of teenagers that picked the wrong shift to work. It was like a throwing knife with two areas of insertion. It was not a fatal strike, but the scissor blades embedded themselves deeply into the boy's thigh. The employee screamed and clutched his leg. The old woman was distracted by a floral print, the patrons and employees fled.
...and Soromon entered.
He was not going to be able to overpower the geriatric woman, his most powerful nemesis to date was a tomcat. He was not going to fight her, that would never work but she was also not going to get away either. He would be able to track her with the pungent bouquet of Ben-gay and mothballs. No, he was going to outsmart her. He had a gram, an awesome gram. She was not nearly as crazy or as dangerous as this one but all gram-grams thought alike. Or so he hoped. So with a deep breath the boy stepped forward. "GRAMMY!" He declared, his arms outstretched as if he was seeking a hug. Internally he was chanting, please don't stab me... Please don't stab me... Please work... Please work... Please don't stab me...
There was a 50-50 chance that he would die here.
Thankfully the odds were in his favor. She looked at him, a twinkle in her eye she smiled. Her dentures shifted. "My boy!" she replied, omitting his name. Old people cannot remember their real kids, never mind their fake ones.
"Gram, you came," his mind was racing a hundred miles a second. "My birthday is tomorrow and dad said that you would have forgotten," he claimed. He was just winging it, but he had played this game several times before with his own grandmother. Whenever he needed an extra yen for some ramen it would suddenly be his "birthday". Had his gram remembered how many times she had paid out, he would be about 50. It worked like a charm every time as long as he did not get too greedy, a few weeks was usually long enough. He was 'growing like a weed' anyways.
Play on,
"C'mon gram, we gotta get home or you'll miss my party!"
It was working. That was the problem, it was working. Apparently he needed a 'gift' and what better gift was there than some new threads. Three misdemeanors and another case of assault later, Sormon looked like the prissiest dork he had ever seen.
But the old lady was proud and she was coming with him, back to the Miroku household wherever that was.