Lost and Fou... Oops (Open/Requesting Anbu)

[Basuta]

It is not the best position to be in. Having to admit to an error isn't always easy. Taking a light running pace, Shoma rushes within the Spire. He brings urgent news for those that serve as shinobi within the Stone Village. However, he would need guidance as to who to bring this to. But for now he notifies the receptionist, "I have urgent news. Someone suspious male possessing an odd displacement ability has fleed the village. I have his physical description."

 

[Omoi Tetsu]

With his eyes half open, the dust from the sunlight that reached into his office very slowly coating the surface of his face like a fine mist of snow, Hachirou tried to pull some nagging tick out from the depths of his annoyance. Something obvious he was supposed to be doing, but he could barely even hold on to the train of thought for long enough to remember that this particular itch needed to be scratched. But what was it? "Oh yeah..." The words crept into the air, echoeless in the small, hushed, room.

He reached inside his desk to pull out a small stack of variously styled and uniformly unopened envelopes. Bills. Just the word, once thought of, sent the man into a narcoleptic fit, but he tried to hold on to consciousness a little longer. Just rip the bandage off quickly and you'll save your headache for another month or so. Well, after you pay too, with money you may or may not have. Baby steps though. After a moment of staring at the envelopes without being able to make out the words, the man decided to stand up, get some blood flowing first, but just as he did so, brushed his pant leg against the desk, sending a small portion of them falling back into the open drawer. Instinctively, he reached down to catch them, but found his chair unexpectedly close to him as he bent forward and leaned his legs back. Striking the back of one of his knees sent it shooting forward to nudge the desk drawer shut, and, being the old beat up thing that it was, decided that now was as good a time as any to jam up as it closed.

"Morning Hildy." Haichirou greeted the receptionist, whose name was not Hildy, but who once spilled coffee on the carpet at the entrance of the man's office, and so earned the name this way. "You got a butter knife I can use?" The woman looked up at him with indiscreet annoyance, asking, in turn, "Can't you use those throwing knives they give out for free? What am I, a dispensary?" The man, paying no attention to this, went back to his office to start kicking the drawer of his desk.

[Topic Entered]

 

[Basuta]

Shoma then witnesses a transaction of word between this receptionist and someone who seems to be a coworker of hers. Shoma simply stands there, awaiting the end before he turns back to the desk worker to dress he urgent concern. "Ms. Hildy, it is of great importance that I speak to someone of proper authority immediately." The woman shows an expression of slight displeasure whilst shaking her head and stating "I'm not...(sigh)", before directing Shoma with her thumb toward the person now leaving. "Uh look at this, someone's schedule just cleared up. That gentleman is just the man to speak to. she states with a bit of sarcasm.

Shoma takes this time to nod respectfully before approaching the new comer. At this time, the former samurai is dressed in his on-duty attire of a normal traditional black ninja outfit with a match set of red shoulder, wrist, and shin guards with knee pads. Upon reaching this man, Shoma tells him his plight, "Sir, I was just directed to you about an urgent matter. Someone has fleed the village without consent. Are you the one I should take this matter too?"

 

[Omoi Tetsu]

These goddamn government issued desks have got to be the worst pieces of garbage to be meted out to those poor hopeless souls who go out to patrol the village every night. Honestly, even as relatively new as he was, Hachirou just couldn't understand how those at the top wouldn't at least spend a bit more money keeping everything up to snuff for those who were, in a very real sense, putting their neck on the line daily and virtually without glory, for the sake of people they had no attachment to. Something, something, "Someone has fled the village without consent..." The words trickled in from somewhere above the desk. "Yeah, hold on a minute, would ya?", the man said as he started sliding himself under his desk, letting his hands feel around for the small latch behind the drawer that would free it, somehow, from it's otherwise permanently locked state. It wasn't even like you'd have this enormous investment on your hands either. You pay the ANBU a decent weekly wage, they'll probably save it up, knowing your typical ANBU's training schedule; wait a few weeks till they're invariably knocked off, and go retrieve the remainder.

Hachirou poked his head up above his desk. "Someone has fled the village? As in past-tense?" It was probably all part of some philosophy that kept only the noblest of minds recruited for the position. Instead though, and here he gave the drawer a good upwards smack, what you seem to typically end up with were those young souls not in it for the money, sure, but without a huge priority placed on the sanctity of human life either. His was a league for the blood thirsty and honour bound. "I don't want to be needlessly contrary, this being our first meeting and all," The man paused for a moment, now taking in the sight of the armored warrior standing rather attentively before him as he rose up from the desk, "Well, look at you, all dressed up and ready for church." As soon as he said the words though, some of the levity dropped from his expression. You don't leave the room with a man dressed like that without a huge headache on your hands. You could probably pass someone like this off to someone else, sure, but sooner or later and more than likely they'd end up back at your doorstep with a headache bigger than the first and with two great big fists to back up their own annoyance at the snub. Hachirou wasn't sure why exactly this was, but it seemed to operate based on some all-governing law of the universe. "As I was saying; I don't want to be needlessly contrary, but seeing as how this unnamed person has already, presumably, exited the country, can we both agree at least that the urgency of this matter is, at the very least, questionable at this point?"

Hachirou placed his feet up on the desk, tearing away the top of one of his many bills, now liberated from their iron prison, and slipped a mint into his mouth. After a moment of intensely focused reading, he would address the hulking samurai, but his eyes couldn't seem to manage leaving the paper. "Who is this person?"

 

[Basuta]

[Lol, poor Shoma.]

Shoma raises a brow to the man's casual responses. The former samurai wonders for a time if this person was always like this or if he, like many others, were from Leaf Village and knew of Shoma's origins. How can he not see the urgency of this situation? Perhaps he just needs clarity stated with patience. "Yes, though this person is no longer here, I do believe it is a... time-sensitive issue. The person that... fled... exhibited unnatural warpping ability. I have assumed so far he is shinobi trained from his ability and he has admitted to leave without the appropriate process." Shoma then presences the desk worker with an extremely accurate drawing of the escapee, though not his own.

The Stone shinobi explains further, "I'm in need of further identification, that or the assurance that someone other than myself will be taking up this task." Shoma wasn't feeling so sure now what the best course of action should be.

[Sharing Snapshot 1st slot: http://www.ninpocho.com/viewtopic.php?f=573&t=46794 ]

 

[Omoi Tetsu]

The back of his chair slowly creaked, as if it were ready to give at any moment, as Hachirou leaned back in it, gazing intently into the face of the Samurai. If there was one special skill he valued above all others through the course of his military training in the village, it was his now sharpened talent for appearing as though he were staring down those forces of antagonism that ended up so often in front of him. Really he was biding his time while he tried to figure out just where the hell he was going to go from there. In all forms of politics, the appearance of uncertainty is your greatest enemy. First of all, he reasoned, asking for a name was obviously pointless if the answer to "who is this person" comes in the form of a drawing. So, this guy doesn't even know who it is that left, and we're to high tail it through no man's land to chase after him. Nevermind whether this guy is powerful or not; outside of the major villages, there were more than a few who killed for nothing more than sport; people who, in many cases, fought the highest ranks of their own country for the right to freedom from it, and won.

The thought of this, alongside the slowly deepening realization that this medium-sized titan not only isn't going to take no for an answer, but clearly hasn't got a clue who he's after, sent the man leaning forward to rest his temples against his fingers. All of this meant that they were not only going to have to avoid those S-rank bandits along the path to their righteous destination; but that they will very probably have to actively seek them out, somehow motivate them to help the stiffs that stand for everything they've fought against, and then parse through what information is good, and what's going to lead to an ambush. Should be a gas. Anyone whose played chess before knows that at some point you're going to come to a turn where there are just no good plays, but you will, nonetheless, have to move. Poker is much easier; you can always fold a bad hand, but life usually wasn't so forgiving.

"Well why didn't you say it was such a rush?" Hachirou would finally relinquish, getting up to pat the man on the shoulder as he crossed him, going over to a nearby coat rack to dawn something a little warmer for the invariably long journey. "Grab your purse, let's try to make it to the opera on time then. Oh, and by the way, we're gonna have a little chat on the way about just how you plan on tracking this guy down." As he was leaving, he grabbed a handful of mints from the small basket on the receptionist's desk, as she sent a quick flash of possessive anger in his general direction, "I'm on my way out with this fine gentleman, Hildy. If the Tsuchikage calls, tell him I'll be back at the earliest opportunity. Oh, and use the word fortnight, he'll think a little better of me if he hears be being so articulate." The receptionist tried very hard not to roll her eyes at the thought of the kage calling on this man for any reason whatsoever, but did her job nonetheless, and pretended to write it down. On his way to the door, the man felt around for the small piece of paper in his pocket; it was getting to be a kind of compulsion just to see if it was still there.

MFT

[Leaving topic with Shoma after your next post, unless stopped by him. Lead the way-]

 

[Basuta]

Shoma observes a bit of a change in the person in of him. Perhaps Shoma should have stated first the possibility that the running-man is believed to be a shinobi, an error Shoma takes upon himself. However, this man that 'Ms. Hildy', or perhaps fate has placed in the swordsman's life was a bit of an odd one. "A purse, as a man I do not have one,... Opera?!"

Shoma follows this man outward, causing them to pass Ms. Hildy once again, in turn bringing her a little more grief. Shoma grants a nod to the receptionist in passing. Unfortunately, the former samurai hasn't gotten out much in his life, which made it difficult to understand his new acquaintance. 'This man shows himself to be joker of sort,' Shoma reasons. But those who choose to play the fool are among the hardest, if not the hardest, to read. 'What does he hide with his humor? Hm, I'd best not pry for now.' Shoma lets the man proceed ahead a bit before back-tracking to the receptionist. He states in secret to her, "Be understanding Miss, he hides with humor," before walking away. Shoma smirks in secret while chasing his accomplice. Yes, Shoma would not pry into his secrets, but why not plant the seeds of passion with mystery? Ava as taught him just how women like mystery. But even if it fails to take root, maybe a good laugh could come of it.

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