| To Fit the Crime [Arakaki, Sandaime] |
[Feb. 5th, 2012|01:31 am] |
[Takes place in the early morning hours of May 9th, five days after Waiting for Silent Sunrise, the day following Kakashi and Ginta's arrival back in Konoha with their rescue detail, and almost a month following Ryouma's disappearance.]
Arakaki Hisoka sat at his desk rubbing his temples and studying one of a half-dozen mission reports littered in front of him. He picked up one in his right hand and reached for a white ceramic mug of coffee with his left. One sip was all it took to change his mind about the beverage—it was barely lukewarm. He eyed the clock. Just past two.
It wasn’t too late, yet.
He tucked three of the reports in their folders, pushed a fourth into a red envelope and stashed that in a drawer, and left two face up. Then he pulled over a stack of personnel files, all in their black and white edged folders, stamped and sealed so only those with appropriate clearances could open them.
The top file was thick and battered, and the one underneath it wasn’t much cleaner. Then there were two slightly newer looking files, and one in a blue-tinted folder, black-and-white edged like the others, but with an additional seal affixed. He set the two newer brown folders to one side, placing the mission report filed by the Hokage’s son on one, and the mission report by Shida’s protege, Morino Ibiki, atop the other.
The blue folder labeled “Tousaki Ryouma” he pushed to the center of his desk, making the apex of a triangle with the remaining two—the veteran’s files—Sakamoto Ginta’s and Hatake Kakashi’s.
( He’d read everything in each of those three files enough to be able to recite passages from memory. ) |
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| The Talking Cure [Kakashi] |
[Feb. 5th, 2012|05:20 pm] |
[Begins on May 15th, a week after To Fit the Crime and a month after Ryouma's disappearance.]
Shira Yumon tapped his fingers gently on his desk, and studied the ID photograph paperclipped to the upper corner of the open file. A stony-faced, masked young man with mismatched eyes stared back, looking directly into the camera. Hatake Kakashi, the White Fang’s only son. Twenty years old, ANBU Hunter for five of them.
It was going to be an interesting day.
—
“Tell me a little about yourself,” Yumon invited, starting things easy.
The blank stare he got in return was, at best, slightly off-putting. Hatake Kakashi was a wall of black, dressed head to foot in dark, nondescript clothes, with his arms crossed over his chest and absolutely no expression on his face—what little of it Yumon could see, anyway. The only hints of colour were the silver in his hair, the pale skin of his half-gloved hands and the visible quarter surrounding one eye, and the white bandage wrapped around his head. He was carved in monochrome, like ANBU armour brought to life.
( And decidedly non-verbal. ) |
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| Look to the Center [Satomi] |
[Feb. 5th, 2012|05:42 pm] |
[[Takes place on November 4]]
Uchiha Satomi argued her way into the office of ANBU’s Director of Operations ten minutes before the Konoha Military Police arrived on her trail. By the time the first of her uncles was renewing the argument with the chuunin in the lobby, she was already seated in a high-backed chair in front of the heavy wooden desk, while a silent-footed secretary served porcelain cups of tea and Arakaki Hisoka flipped through her service file. He didn’t taste the tea. Satomi rubbed her split knuckles and didn’t touch her cup either.
She could hear the muffled edges of the altercation in the lobby: that was Fugaku’s voice, short and sharp, rising above the others, with Yashiro’s a low rumble beneath it. The chuunin’s answers were inaudible. The woman had said Konoha’s Military Police had no jurisdiction in ANBU HQ; ANBU took care of its own. At least, their Sentry Division did, and the Sentries reported to Arakaki. Arakaki reported to the Hokage himself. Satomi hoped like hell that was actually true.
Voices rose. Arakaki turned a page.
“Sir,” Satomi said at last. His dark eyes flicked up to her, unreadable. She set her jaw and forged forward.
“That file’s just more of the same. You won’t find anything in there my summary page didn’t tell you. I’m a jounin, I’ve got the full Sharingan, I’ve been running field recon and combat missions for six years, the only two mission failures I’ve had have half a ream of paper backing them up. I’d be an asset to ANBU under any circumstances.”
“And yet we haven’t recruited you.” Arakaki tapped a finger idly against one close-printed page. “Not everyone has the temperament for ANBU. Talent is not the only factor we look for in an agent, Uchiha-san.” His hand flattened on the page. He looked at her levelly, unblinking.
What did ANBU look for in its agents? Satomi had run into a few of the black-and-bone spooks, out in the wilds of the mission-field, and hadn’t noticed many differences from any other young and reckless shinobi wearing Konoha’s crest. Civilians called them baby-killers or heroes, depending on who they knew or which rumors they listened to. ( Shinobi, who knew better, seldom talked of them at all. ) |
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