Private The Waiting Game [Req Owly]

[Miroku Akkuma]

The low murmur of conversation filled the air, a comforting hum beneath the rhythmic clatter of chopsticks & the occasional slurp of broth. A gentle steam curled through the shop, carrying the rich scent of simmering stock & seared pork. However Akkuma had little interest in the food. His mind was elsewhere.

A pair of unremarkable eyes, the product of a Transformation Jutsu, swept lazily across the room. To any casual observer, he was just another weary traveller. Tucked away in a private booth, waiting for his order. But the illusion was only skin deep. Beneath it, Akkuma’s instincts were razor-sharp. His every sense honed on the presence he had felt trailing him through the streets.

Had they already spotted him? If so, they would know by now that he had his suspicions.

His fingers drummed against the wooden table in idle rhythm as he placed his order, two drinks. A honeyed sake, its warmth a prelude to conversation & the other a dessert-based liquor, sweet yet deceptive. He had no intention of drinking both. No, the second was an invitation.

It was a gamble, but one he had played many times before. If his pursuer was merely watching, they would hesitate. If they were bold, they would take the bait. If they were a fool, well they would ignore the warning entirely.

Akkuma had spent a lifetime in the underbelly of the world, building an empire in shadows. A world of whispers, with the weight of unspoken threats. He knew when to trust his instincts. When to hold his hand. When to play his cards.

And right now, he was waiting to see who would sit across from him.

[OOC: Sorry on the delay ninja!]

 

[Toraono Ryota]

Being in this job... sure had its perks. He got a lot quicker to one of his goals, not only was it revenge on those jashins with what they had done... But also to meet his benefactor. At his home, he went over the papers once more, before he burned them... He had all the information in his head, that was more than enough. Not everyone in this place was a shinobi, so blending in with just a simple trick.. was enough.

He had made it so he looked a lot older, his hair was a bit longer not too much, his eye colors had changed with it and he gained a little bit of height. This was why eople would think he was at least a real adult. He took simple clothing on and made his way outside.

Spoiler: picture

He found him... he was sitting there.... He tried to not glare as much to the man, more like keeping an eye out as he pulled on the hood further over his head. Playing cards with one table as he watched their movements. His transformation jutsu was top notch, not even his skin color was the same as without it. And so far he had already fooled every single person in this place.

Something was placed down, another cup... Who was he expect.... 'me...' The boy facepalmed, instead of ratting the other out he was ratted out. An annoyed thought crossed him before he would place the cards down and walk away, that was when the clones also disappeared, without anyone's notice.

His gaze sharp as he sat down. ' I knew the adult trick did it.... but why is everyone so keep on feeding a 17-year-old alcohol...' His eyes went from the drink to the man. How could he know if it wasn't poisoned..? He already had a burden on his mind with that damn leaf. He didn't sit neat, didn't cross his legs... No... he went into a gojo sit. His eyes remained sharp and fearless while his words followed. "You aren't going to do anything stupid... and if you are... Let's say I will crack some eggs..." He tried to be intimidating and let a little of his chakra slip out.

The following second, he placed down a book on the table, it was old, worn and meticulous kept together. It had been precious to someone, but not to this man. "I cannot read this... but you can, I want you to tell the the contents... And why." His grew colder, he wanted to punch this man right here and right now, but first things first... he needed information. Why him, why that lab, the books, patient zero, the herbs... Why. What was he really after? What was ryota really living for? Why did he ditch him with that family that mistreated him till the point where he was broken... then it was worse. He wanted to crack those eggs and make him beg for forgiveness.

 

[Miroku Akkuma]

The second drink was barely placed on the table, when his guest finally made their move. Akkuma didn’t bother to acknowledge them at first, though the faintest of smirks curved his lips. So, they had taken the bait.

Then came their words; a threat, like a blade being sharpened against stone. A sliver of chakra slipped through the cracks, an attempt to cast a shadow larger than the one they naturally bore. How quaint.

"You aren’t going to do anything stupid… and if you are… let’s say I will crack some eggs."

The air shifted.

Akkuma inhaled slowly, as if savouring the taste of something inevitable. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, soft, amused, not mocking, but close.

"Crack some eggs, will you?" His fingers, idly tracing the rim of his untouched cup, came to a halt. Now, finally he looked at them. He was unhurried & measured in his actions.

"You remind me of a tale," he mused, voice laced with something akin to satisfaction. "An old story the nomads tell…about a man who believed himself master of the desert."

He let the words settle, studying his guest’s expression before continuing.

"This man was ambitious...some might say brave even. He did not fear the shifting sands, nor the creatures that lay beneath. One night, he stood before the dunes...raised his arms & shouted for them to yield...to make way for him." A small, knowing smirk tugged at Akkuma’s lips as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.

"The desert did not answer. It never does..." His voice dropped just enough to make the silence that followed heavy.

"But the next morning…the man was gone." His fingers drummed lightly against the table, punctuating the words. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Swallowed whole. Not by fangs, not by a storm...but by the desert itself."

The weight of the words was deliberate. There was no threat spoken, but the implication & message was clear.

I am the desert.

Those who stood before Akkuma & believed themselves to be in control…were often mistaken.

Finally, his gaze fell to the worn tome placed between them. It was familiar. His fingers; clawed, if one could see through the veil of his disguise. Brushed its cover, tracing the rough edges of its binding. An imitation.

"You brought me something interesting." A slow exhale, the shake of his head. Crude. Imperfect. A hollow imitation of his own works.

He flipped a page absentmindedly, scanning the contents. They had tried to replicate his abominations. But the hands that had done this work were not his. Not nearly as skilled. What was curious to the Sage, were the obvious traces of his work in their efforts.

"I could read it for you," he admitted, a knowing look in his eyes. "But knowledge, my dear wanderer, has a price." He tapped the tome lightly, gaze flicking back up.

"If we are to do business, I expect a certain degree of…etiquette." His smirk deepened. "Show me you can conduct yourself appropriately & I may very well tell you why this..." his fingers drummed once more on the tome. "...exists at all." His tone remained casual, but the message was unmistakable.

A storm would warn you before it struck.
The sands would whisper before they swallowed you.
But monsters like him?

They simply watched & waited...

[MFT Hehe both in Transformations. xD]