Party Like It's 2016 (Tutor)

[Enomoto Satoshi]

[OOC: Nobody's posted in this subforum for almost a year so let's give it some activity.]

Satoshi had learned some essential lessons since his initial foray in the field of pedagogy. In hindsight, it was a tad ambitious to expect his inaugural student to fight for his life against wild wolves and bears at 1:00 AM in the woods while a raging typhoon stormed about them. With invaluable experience behind him, Satoshi embarked on the next step of his journey to educate the future of Kumogakure’s great shinobi, this time satisfied that the likelihood of a student fatality was much closer to zero.

Satoshi stood outside the renowned Cloud Village Banquet Hall: a centurial edifice featuring a lavish cornice, majestic colonnade and an elaborate frieze depicting legendary battles in Cloud’s history. The Banquet Hall once played host to the most extravagant parties in the country, but sadly was seldom used these days and endured as a relic between the Ancient Forest and the Hot Springs. Tonight was an exception, however, and in approximately an hour the Hall would once again enliven with bacchanal exuberance as aristocrats and business tycoons poured into town to celebrate some rich person holiday.

Satoshi was dressed surprisingly formally for someone who would never be considered for the guest list in a million years. Adorned in a dapper combination of oxford shirt, tie, and neatly-pressed slacks, Satoshi better resembled the gentleman who would offer to park your car than the shadowy ninja who would slit your throat in the night. Nonetheless, things are not always as they appear, and Satoshi situated himself discreetly under the shade of a tree where he could observe every single person who entered the Banquet Hall. Thus far, the patrons had yet to arrive, but things were still early and there was only a very specific person he was anticipating right now.

“Let’s see what we have here…” muttered Satoshi as he flipped through a rather thick stack of papers. “Today’s student is named Shinigawa Otome. Aha! So she’s Genin rank and apprentices as an Anbu-in-Training. I hope I can keep up with her, those Anbu are a slippery bunch.” Satoshi stepped out from beneath the canopy of the tree in order to increase his visibility for the newcomer.

“My lesson plan today is a bit more complex than last time. Good thing I didn’t organize this at the Aurora Erudito or I’d have the ethics committee barking up my ass again.” Satoshi turned around to face the grand façade of the Banquet Hall, pausing a second to take in its beauty, and then peered about to identify a nearby bench which would make a perfect location to explain his intricate plans once his pupil arrived. The courtyard surrounding Satoshi was deserted entirely, but within the Banquet Hall walls he could faintly discern the industrious noisemaking of attendants and staff working busily to prepare a luxurious party for the evening. Alas, it was a tragedy that Satoshi and Otome weren’t invited to join in on the fun.

[WC: 490]

 

[Ginyama Senshiro]

Otome arrived casually late to the tutoring session Satoshi had planned for her; an appropriate coincidence considering the festivities that were about to commence. In lieu of her typical 'bad girl' outfit, she opted for a rich violet cheongsam dress embroidered with dark flowers and vines with a matching purple ribbon holding her hair in a loose topknot-ponytail hybrid and black open-toed heels. She even used a dash of make-up and nail polish to further enforce the illusion that she was not the bloody Butcher of Kumogakure responsible for the deaths of hundreds of criminal scum; she doubted financial elite would not appreciate the intrusion from such a person, no matter how noble her cause.

Upon seeing the man thumbing through a large stack of papers under a tree's shade in the deserted courtyard, the young woman patted her thigh and found her blood encrusted kunai hidden under her silk garment. Reassured she had a contingency plan in case the lesson went awry, she approached whom she assumed to be her instructor with a slight bow.

"Enomoto Satoshi, I presume?" she inquired.

[MFT: 182]

[Sorry for short post; in a hurry now, and am not on my own computer]

 

[Enomoto Satoshi]

Otome’s arrival caught Satoshi by surprise, and he briskly lifted his head up from his papers to identify the source of this greeting. Standing before Satoshi was a young woman, only a few years his junior, with long blonde hair and a curiously imposing presence. Word of the festive ceremony bringing life once more to the venerable Banquet Hall had clearly spread far already, for the burgeoning Anbu had dressed for the occasion with dazzling sartorial elegance.

“Your presumption is correct. I’ve never been a fan of formalities so please call me Satoshi. Assuming that you’re Shinigawa Otome, let us get straight to business.” Satoshi beamed a quick smile and gestured towards the shaded bench as he marched in that direction. Sitting down, he began flipping through his stack of papers and handed selected sheets to his companion.

“I’ll begin by explaining our missi…sorry, I mean our lesson. Then I can elaborate on the mundane, logistic details later. It’s only once in a blue moon that the Banquet Hall opens to host a celebration, but the event never fails to impress with an extravagance and luxury beyond our wildest dreams. The Cloud Village elite have paid a small fortune to import the world-famous Chef Pierre from faraway lands to furnish a marvelous cuisine of exotic dishes for tonight’s gala. We could travel for incalculable miles in any direction and never encounter meals as authentic as his, so we cannot let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip past us.”

Satoshi was practically salivating as he rapidly thumbed through his papers, and eventually he pulled out a large sheet and showed it to Otome. “This is the structural blueprint of the Banquet Hall. First things first, you can see that there is a massive foyer directly through the entrance. At the far west end of the foyer is a doorway to the kitchen, where Chef Pierre does his magic. On the opposite side of the foyer to the east is an employee breakroom, which will be important later but let’s not dwell on trifles. To the very north of the foyer is the dining hall where tonight’s celebration is taking place.”

Satoshi dropped the map in Otome’s lap for her further perusal and abruptly stood up. He pulled out an obscure article of clothing from his deep pockets and fastened it around his waist, and suddenly in full display Satoshi could be seen wearing a waiter’s waist apron. He continued speaking aloud as he paced to a nearby tree and began fidgeting with something behind it.

“Chef Pierre is renowned for his preeminent specialty: the hot dog. An ambrosial delicacy beyond mere peasant tastes, I posit that no self-respecting man or woman could consider themselves a true shinobi without tasting from this gourmet marvel of the world. We have to sneak in, retrieve a sample, and abscond back to this location completely undetected.”

Satoshi wheeled back a squeaky dining cart with an enormous serving tray sitting on top. A resplendent silver lid with an elegant handle completely covered and concealed the contents of the dish. “Time is running short, and we’re about to initiate phase one of our tutoring session. Do you have any questions or desired information before we head into the lion’s den, for once we enter those doors there is no turning back?”

[WC: 552]

 

[Ginyama Senshiro]

"Likewise," she confessed her disdain for facades of formality as her body relaxed as much as her attire would allow. "Just Otome will do"

She followed her instructor for the evening towards the shaded bench and sat down a comfortable distance away from him before she reviewed the information bestowed upon her. For the most part, the experienced shinobi just nodded as Satoshi elaborated upon each facet of their mission, an eyebrow arching as he tried to mask his slip.

However, her patience was wearing thin the more Satoshi went on and on about their mission.

"Maybe you didn't know this about me, but I was born and raised in a whore house in the Susukino district," she whispered through gritted teeth. "So when you say that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to taste such a delicacy, I have to wonder if you ever had to suffer years of just rice and water or if you were just spoiled."

She stood up, lit one of her long Reapers, and took an exceptionally extended drag before smothering the lit end with her fingertips and storing the partially spent cigarette back into its box.

"Let's just get this over with."

[MFT: 203]

 

[Enomoto Satoshi]

Satoshi continued preparing the dining cart with a detached expression as Otome unleashed her grievances upon her piteous instructor. “Rice, water…I concur, those make very humble meals,” mused Satoshi aloud as he crouched down to assemble some silverware on the bottom shelf. His tone was conversational and polite, yet simultaneously aloof. “All the more reason to be excited for this lesson. If neither one of us screws up, we shall dine like royalty!”

At last Satoshi seemed satisfied with his toiling, and standing back up he placed both hands atop the silver lid which resonated with a hollow ring. “You don’t strike me as the type who requires palaverous explanation, and that’s excellent because we have scarcely more than 30 minutes before the first guests arrive. We must act with haste, and I trust an Anbu to think well on her feet when my instruction is lacking.”

With one nimble swoop of his hands, Satoshi lifted the lustrous cover off of the serving tray. Nothing but empty space was exposed after this dramatic reveal – a completely flat platter of sterling silver built to unusually large proportions.

“I apologize if these accommodations are somewhat…cozy, but I must graciously request that you lay upon this silver tray here while I hide you under the lid. If you’ve ever heard the tale of the ‘Trojan Horse’ you can likely extrapolate on my machinations.” Satoshi gestured meekly towards the empty tray, compunctious in the knowledge that his entreaty was indeed unpleasant and inhospitable. However, Satoshi was rapidly approaching the age of 20 which in shinobi years felt nearly 80, and he concluded that the clandestine act of infiltration was much better entrusted to an intrepid, young Anbu-in-Training than a washed-up old fogey like himself.

Assuming Otome complied with his earnest request, Satoshi ensconced his pupil beneath the spacious silver cap and began rolling the laden dining cart up to the Banquet Hall’s doorstep. “Let me explain some brief details before we must depart,” whispered Satoshi leaning close to the lid where Otome could hear. He pushed the cart slowly in an attempt to ensure a gentle ride, but despite painstaking efforts the terrain beneath was rough and the cutlery hanging from the bottom shelf jingled with every turn of the wheels.

“Once you’ve entered the foyer, you must slip out surreptitiously and navigate directly westward to the end of the room. When you reach this destination, you will be standing before the door to the kitchen. Knock three times upon this door, and hopefully I will have arrived from the back in time to let you in.”

Satoshi grimaced as he reached a shallow flight of stairs which he had to ascend. The dining cart rattled and shook as he climbed up, but after brief turbulence they hit solid ground again and Satoshi continued expatiating.

“No guests have entered yet, but the foyer will be bustling with employees and laborers preparing the event for the night. In your elegant dress you will stand out like a purple tomato, so assess the situation and think creatively in order to maneuver the long distance without being seen. And should somebody stop you, I trust that your Anbu training has adequately prepared you to escape from the nuisance without making a scene.” Satoshi paused briefly and continued rolling the cart across a pleasantly smooth patch of grass in silence. The end of their trek was close at hand, and finally he resumed speaking. “I’ve never seen the interior of the Banquet Hall and cannot describe its layout beyond what I showed you on the blueprints. I imagine it’s magnificent, but whatever it looks like, use your imagination to avoid certain danger.”

The cart stopped with a jangle, and Otome could sense Satoshi’s presence step some distance away from the silver tray. “Hey, it’s the boss man!” yelled Satoshi loudly as he approached an elderly man standing impatiently beside the front door. “My name is Hayate! I am the head caretaker of this residence, and you lowly grunts had best learn to treat me with respect” roared a gravelly voice incensed with rage. Otome could not observe the conversation between the two men beneath the silver lid, but the interlocutors spoke audibly and their voices were clearly discernable.

“My apologies, sir. My name is Satosh-”

“Silence!” bellowed Hayate with gesticulations so exaggerated that his handkerchief leapt out of his tuxedo pocket and his gray toupee shifted upon his head. “I am the only important one here. You waiters are completely useless and I could replace you so fast that your head would spin. And not only are you worthless; you’re late!”

With his last exclamation, Hayate lifted the cane he had been leaning upon and whacked Satoshi flat across the head. Satoshi fell upon one knee with a groan, and his glasses were sent flying across the ground and landed next to the dining cart. He swiftly maneuvered back to pick up his spectacles, and still leaning over, stealthily whispered one final set of instructions to Otome.

“If everything else that I mentioned went through one ear and out of the other, take grave caution not to forget these last words of advice,” muttered Satoshi in a somber tone that was a striking far-cry from the light-hearted cheerfulness he had conversed with all evening. “Under no situation should you taste from the hotdogs until we have safely vacated the premises. You will soon be entrusted to carry them, and the temptation could be excruciating, but for reasons that I cannot yet explain, please do not eat them. Good luck.”

With those final words of parting, Satoshi the waiter stepped away and moved on to accomplish his part of the objectives, whatever that could possibly entail. Hayate snorted and grabbed the dining cart with a harsh grip by the handle, rolling it gratingly through the front door where he slammed it next to a wall and then bustled away beyond where Otome could find him. Beneath the silver lid, Otome could hear the foyer rustling loudly with assiduous activity as workers busily prepared the festivities for the night.

[WC: 1019]

 

[Ginyama Senshiro]

Otome sighed as her aggravation seemed to have fallen upon deaf ears. While Satoshi's detached responses certainly didn't help alleviate the indignation she felt, what proved to be even more infuriating was the fact that her instructed seemed determined to mask his own grievances out of courtesy.

"Very well," she conceded, anxious to commence this superficial mission. "You can dine like royalty if you wish; I'm just here to better myself."

The young woman nodded with a grin as the two finally agreed on something--that being her ability to improvise should the need arise. However, that fleeting feeling of respect faded fast as Satoshi revealed the method of infiltration she would be utilizing.

"You're joking, right?" she asked, hoping that the man before her would have another plan. "No . . . I can tell you are being completely serious with this suggestion."

With a sigh, she quickly performed the gestures necessary to transform her garb into an outfit similar to that of Satoshi's own before allowing him to transport her under the cover of the silver lid, listening to his instruction as best as she could amidst the clanging of cutlery on the bottom of the cart.

"'Stay out of sight' . . . well, no shit," she thought to herself as she refrained from moving or speaking just yet; a task that proved difficult as she barely stifled a small chuckle as the caretaker Hayate whacked Satoshi across his forehead with some sort of cane. Unfortunately, Otome was the next to suffer his wrath as he slammed the cart next to the entrance. With a grunt, she performed even more elaborate gestures within the constraints of the platter before summoning a fly-like construct for the sole purpose of reconnaissance.

Once she was assured nobody would notice her escaping the confines of the tray, she would slip out and begin making her way towards the kitchen.

[Jutsu used: Transformation [Mastered]; Crystal Eye [Rank 1]+Special Action]

[MFT: 318]

 

[Enomoto Satoshi]

Upon hearing the sound of three ‘thumps’ on the door, Satoshi swung it wide open and ushered Otome briskly inside. “The Anbu’s reputation for punctuality is truly well deserved. You made it here in record time,” commended Satoshi in muffled tones as the two shinobi sat crouching in the corner of the kitchen. Satoshi wore a genial expression, though Otome could see beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. “And you’re dressed almost identically to me! No wonder you made it through unencumbered. I’m actually well acquainted with that particular Ninjutsu, but despite my familiarity you’ve still managed to trick my eyes.”

Satoshi and Otome quickly familiarized themselves with their new surroundings – a spacious, industrial-style kitchen where dozens of line chefs were assiduously preparing some dish at their station. Satoshi pointed at one individual in particular: a tall, energetic man pacing back and forth with a floppy chef’s hat and a meticulously waxed mustache. He was barking orders in a thick, foreign accent, and Satoshi whispered to his companion that this man was indeed the distinguished Chef Pierre.

“Allow me to outline the next step of our plan. My job requires far less strategy than yours, yet is infinitely more dangerous. I will be creating a diversion of some sort, drawing the attention of this entire room upon myself. I cannot guarantee you more than a handful of free minutes, but you must move efficiently to locate the dining tray labelled “hotdogs” and replace it with this dummy.”

Satoshi pulled out a dining platter covered by a silver lid not dissimilar to the one which concealed Otome yet was much smaller. Engraved on the top was the word “hotdogs”, however Satoshi explained how there were numerous similar dining trays lying in the kitchen with different labels such as “sushi” and “burritos” but only one other with the inscription “hotdogs”.

“Find the hotdog tray, switch it out with this duplicate, and promptly exit the kitchen. Maneuver all the way from west to east across the foyer to the break room door carrying the real tray. Be warned however, I can hear the sounds of increased activity indicating that guests have finally started pouring into the foyer. Be subtle and quick, and knock five times upon the break room door. By that time I should have arrived concomitantly to let you in.”

Satoshi marched towards the chefs busy at work and began preparing some handseals with a single hand when he stopped suddenly and turned around. “One more instruction, but this is exceedingly important,” he spoke soberly as his lips arched downwards into a frown. “Do not open the silver lids on those trays. Not even a peek. The labels are accurate.”

Satoshi pivoted back and finished his jutsu. The chefs were too occupied to notice this unexpected change, but no doubt to Otome’s great stupefaction, Satoshi vanished and was replaced with a man-sized walking hotdog!

“Hee hee ha ha! I’m a giant hotdog! I’ll teach you a lesson for eating my people!” shouted Satoshi the hotdog as he ran down the aisles of the chefs’ work stations, destroying their food and pushing their utensils onto the floor.

“Merci! Excusez-moi!” shouted a bewildered Chef Pierre, hopping frantically up and down, as he directed his chefs to charge after the intruder with knives in hand. “Le hotdog will ruin le dinner! After him!”

“Gwa hah hah! You can’t catch me!” taunted Satoshi towards the angry, cleaver-wielding mob chasing after him. “I’m 100% beef and you’re just mystery meat. I’ll put your buns on the grill if you lay a finger on me!”

Satoshi ran into an adjacent room and nearly every chef hurried after him. The entire kitchen was virtually deserted, though there could be one or two stragglers for Otome to avoid/fight (that’s for you to decide!). Time was fleeting, however, and Otome knew that she had to find the correct tray, switch it with the imposter, and navigate all the way across the foyer again.

[WC: 664]

-------------------------------

OOC: Real-life depiction of Satoshi using "Transformation" --


Also, we're quickly reaching the end of the plot which is great that we've made such speedy progress. However, feel free to think outside the box and describe an elaborate fight with a chef or some fascinating interaction/conversation with one of the aristocratic guests in the foyer to make sure we both reach our 1,500 word requirement in time. You have as much creative latitude as you want to create and throw away NPC's as needed.

 

[Ginyama Senshiro]

[OoC: Sorry for the delay; have definitely not been in a good recently XD. One liberal use of creativity, coming right up!]

Otome stared in stunned stupor as Satoshi transformed himself into a giant hotdog and lured a veritable platoon of chefs out of Pierre's domain. Although diversions were not unheard of in her profession, the brash method in which her instructor did so earned him some of her respect. Of course, that small amount only went so far considering that his flamboyant mannerisms had been grating on her nerves the entire evening.

Not to mention his way of elaborating every little detail with verbose eloquence reminded her of Koikogoro House's despicable 'agents'.

Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she began creeping through the kitchen as Pierre himself rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the dishes that Satoshi had destroyed.

"Why is he still working so hard?" she thought as she scoured tray after tray, believing money was not an issue for a chef of his renown. "There's something wrong here. . . . "

Just as she found the hot dog tray, a familiar face burst through the doors to the kitchen.

"Ah, mademoiselle! It is a privilege to be graced by your presence! I--" Pierre quickly hurried to placate the seething woman.

"Enough!" she cut him off while Otome stilled both her movement and her breathing. "Groveling without results will only earn you my wrath!"

"Sadako . . . " Otome silently identified the woman's voice as her hand instinctively hovered over her kunai.

"And judging by how little progress you've made, you deserve quite a bit of wrath. Have you even laced the hotdogs yet?"

Otome's eyes widened in horror as Sadako and Pierre began navigating their way towards her current location. Knowing she had little time to act--yet still curious as to what their plan was--the kunoichi quickly swapped the real tray for the decoy started to cautiously make her towards the door in case an expedient escape was necessary.

"But of course. . . . " Pierre replied dejectedly, as though the very thought of tainting his signature dish was spoiling his own appetite. "A dose of truth serum in each one."

"Truth serum?" Otome wondered.

"Excellent," Sadako responded. "This will make blackmailing the more effluent members of our society that much easier. How many have you made?"

"See for yourself, mon cheri!" Pierre proudly proclaimed as he lifted the lid off of the decoy. "W-what is this?"

"Don't toy with me, you imbecile!" Sadako shouted at the master chef as she slapped his face so hard that her hand left a print. "Where are they!?"

"I-I don't know!"

As the exchange between Sadako and Pierre became even more tense, Otome crept out of the kitchen before rushing over to the employee break room and knocking five times as Satoshi had instructed her to do so.

"I've got something to tell you."

[MFT: 472]

 

[Enomoto Satoshi]

Satoshi sidestepped danger with a sprightly haste as a stampede of 20 or so chefs chased after him swinging razor-sharp meat cleavers. He danced nimbly around the side-kitchen and leapt from table to table, commandeering whatever makeshift weapon was within reach to turn against his pursuants. Satoshi tore down pots and pans hanging from the walls and launched them across the room, though he was scrupulous not to land any serious blows for these cooks were honest workers and justifiably perturbed at Satoshi for wrecking their dishes.

Confident that his little diversion furnished Otome adequate time to complete her objective, Satoshi kicked through a glass window and landed outdoors at the far west-end of the Banquet Hall. The sky had grown considerably dimmer than when the two shinobi had entered only a passing while ago, and the evening sunshine had all but vanished. Satoshi observed a cavalcade of extravagantly dressed patrons pouring into the entrance, though this was a sizable distance away where no one could discern him through the obfuscating murkiness of nightfall. Under the stygian horizon, Satoshi raced around the circumference of the Banquet Hall and abruptly encountered a familiar face as he curved behind the posterior end of the grand edifice.

“H-Hey! It’s that slacker from earlier! Why the hell aren’t you shining our guests’ shoes as they enter?!” barked Hayate as he lifted his stout wooden cane again.

Satoshi grinned and continued sprinting without the slightest deviation from his intended direction. Within a few fleeting seconds, Satoshi and Hayate were face-to-face and the aged caretaker swung his cane at the running shinobi. He missed, for Satoshi had leapt at the last second and landed on Hayate’s face with one foot, nimbly careening off with the other in a complete somersault and hastened along at an undisturbed pace. Hayate plummeted to the grass face-first and was neutralized from the pursuit, and Satoshi swiftly arrived at the east end of the Banquet Hall which he entered with no time lost.

The employee break room was a prosaic, practical room of rectangular shape with sparse lighting and even fewer windows. The walls were lined with lockers, and located in the center was a plastic table topped with several overflowing ashtrays and flanked by cheap, fold-up chairs. Somebody’s leftover pizza lay neglected upon the linoleum floor, and suffice to say, the break room for staff paled in luxury compared to the decadent interiors reserved for the guests.

Satoshi strolled through the lugubrious domicile alone and mentally reviewed his objectives. The break room had been entirely vacated by employees occupied with their various tasks, so Satoshi felt confident that he and Otome could strategize undisturbed. He had previously received reliable intelligence that the esteemed Chef Pierre was involved in a blackmail scheme with some shady characters whom were targeting Cloud Village’s elite society. The entire persona of Chef Pierre was, in fact, a contrivance and even his accent and wax mustache were phony. His true identity was that of a lackluster local chef named Yoshitaro Pieru, who originated not from “faraway lands” as advertised but from Cronopolis, and had been busted by Satoshi in a similar criminal enterprise. Pieru had successfully reinvented his image as an exotic chef and fooled the credulous aristocrats of Kumogakure into paying him top dollar, however fame and fortune failed to rehabilitate his underhanded ways and he remained attached to criminal underworld. Apprehending Pieru would be an effortless task but Satoshi was more interested in discovering the identities of other conmen and individuals of low repute with whom he might be colluding.

Five thuds resonated from the thick wooden door in quick succession, and Satoshi promptly welcomed his accomplice inside. The two ninjas sat briefly at the plastic table while he relayed the true identity of Chef Pierre and his background to Otome, and Satoshi waited patiently while Otome explained whatever she thought pertinent from her own intelligence gathering.

“The whole purpose of this tutoring session was to refine both of our abilities at espionage and reconnaissance, and based upon all that we’ve discovered I’d contend that it was a very successful endeavor. We are not under orders to arrest and certainly not to eliminate any observed criminals, but rather all that we’ve unearthed should be reported to your friends at the Anbu for them to take swift action. It is auspicious that we’ve replaced the doped hotdogs, however, because we might have truly averted a serious crisis here tonight.”

Satoshi rose from his fold-up chair and cleared his throat before continuing. “I will be departing now, for I have learned all the information which I sought and I do not wish to risk further detection. I has been a pleasure conducting this operation with you, and I hope the mission-style exercise was beneficial to your training as an Anbu. I must fly now, but you have full permission to continue gathering intel if you think it germane. Until next time!”

Satoshi nodded his head, transformed into a hotdog once more, and sprinted away into the twilight outside.

[WC: 842]
[Topic Left]

 

[Ginyama Senshiro]

"I see . . . " the Butcher thought aloud as Satoshi relayed some information he had intentionally neglected to tell her prior to the mission. "Well then, I guess I should continue investigating on my own."

She rose to meet her instructor before he departed and bowed before him; despite her initial disdain for his elaborate mannerisms, she had come to respect his methods and morality.

"Take care, Satoshi," she said just as she rose to see him turn into a giant hot dog yet again, forcing herself to stifle a chuckle. "And for Raiden's sake, be careful!"

Once he was gone, however, her cheery disposition defaulted to a more serious one as she leaned over the table and massaged her temples. Several issues plagued her thoughts, including, but not limited to, her nemesis Sadako, Pieru, and their devious intentions involving the hot dogs laced with truth serum. Her gaze wandered around the break room, bouncing from the hot dogs to a few open lockers to a board filled with the schedules of the employees.

"First, I need to make sure no one will ever eat these," she thought as grabbed the tray of hot dogs, shoved them in a locker belonging to a staff member on medical leave, and finally slammed the locker shut. She gave it a solid tug, reassuring herself that none would be any the wiser until the meat had already began to spoil before took the tray and departed through the same door Satoshi had done so not too long ago. Once outside, she haphazardly hurled the evidence of their mission deep into the surrounding hedges before discarding her transformation.

"Now to find out more about what Sadako and Pieru had planned."

As she rounded the corner, she saw an elderly man struggling to return to his feet with the aid of his cane.

"Dammit, Satoshi!" she thought as she rushed over to aid the caretaker. "The staff here are not expendable!"

"Here, let me help you, sir." Otome offered politely, only for Hayate to refuse.

"My apologies, but I didn't get where I'm at now without a little effort from myself."

"Trust me," Sadako said as she and Pieru arrived shortly after. "You wouldn't want the Butcher's help anyway."

"The Butcher?" both Pieru and Hayate repeated, the former now well aware of the predicament he had trapped himself in and the latter completely oblivious to Otome's history as a vigilante.

However, the kunoichi was undeterred by the taunting from her nemesis.

"Ah, Sadako!" she greeted the woman with faux enthusiasm. "It's so great to see you! Tell me; has the Shepherd been leading more lambs astray?"

The other woman gritted her teeth and growled before regaining her composure.

"I offer life while you offer death; there is no reason for you to continue this charade."

Otome scoffed at Sadako before turning to leave.

"The wolf hidden in the herd is far more dangerous than I am."

[MFT: 493]

[Topic Left]