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intraspectiveNormally, missions were given out by the desk Chuunin, who marked down which mission scrolls had gone out and which teams were capable of handling each level of missions.
This time, however, rather than be given a scroll and told to go on their way, they were taken to one of the many briefing rooms to wait for a Chuunin. Ino cast a glance at Asuma-sensei, who was sitting unconcerned in a chair, and then at Shikamaru in his Chuunin vest and wondered what sort of mission this was.
Both Chouji and she, after all, were still Genin.
She leaned against the wall closest to the door, eyes downcast and keeping watch. Ino didn't recognize the Chuunin that entered the room—dark hair, a short beard, narrow eyes and a slight swagger that hinted at arrogance—but that wasn't surprising. These days she wasn't in Konoha often enough to recognize most of the shinobi.
"It is currently 09:07, 08/03. Room B1-211. In attendance: Fujiwara Hiro (Ninja Registration No: 011054), Sarutobi Asuma (Ninja Registration No: 010829), Nara Shikamaru (Ninja Registration No: 012611), Akimichi Chouji (Ninja Registration No: 012625), and Yamanaka Ino (Ninja Registration No: 012604). This mission was pre-assigned due to the need of a specific skill set," the Chuunin said, flicking on a voice recorder, all cool and professional and not bothering with pleasantries. Ino's gaze didn't flick to look at him, though she was certainly listening.
You didn't have to look at someone to pay attention to them.
"Mission Rank: C. Mission: Assassinate Yamada Saburo, second son of Aomori Province's Daimyou. Eliminate Yamada in such a way as to implicate his mistress, Kinjo Sae, in the murder. Leave no evidence of Konoha's involve…"
He continued on, outlining the process and going over the blue prints they'd obtained of the house, the pictures of those who lived there… Ino listened on auto-pilot, her eyes having narrowed very slightly at the specs, as she put it together and found herself at a loss for what to think.
No need to question whose skill set this was going to rely on, and her stomach rolled with a queer mixture of apprehension and exhilaration. This was what she'd spent years learning how to do it properly.
This was something she'd been forbidden to even practice with at Fandom. Ino didn't need to be a genius to understand the whys of that—and she didn't need to be even particularly clever to know that, if she wanted to avoid losing friends, she'd have to lie if pressed about her mission. This mission.
Most wouldn't get it. Soft. How can you be excited at the chance to murder someone? Ino ignored the way her stomach twisted at that thought. Fandom-thoughts, not hers.
Culmination of practice, a real test, a situation where if it went wrong a sorry wouldn't cut it—how could she not be excited? Surely that was the reason why her thoughts raced so fast she could barely parse them?
This was why she'd been born.
"Expected hazards are low," Fujiwara wound down, an interminable fifteen minutes later. "Yamada has few men-at-arms, believing himself too insignificant to pose a threat, and what few he has spend most of their day guarding Yamada Miyako, his wife."
Fujiwara settled back in his chair. "Any further comments?"
That was the time, then, for someone to speak up if they had an objection, a refusal, or even a simple question. For a moment no one spoke, then:
"Ino." Asuma-sensei didn't even have to make it a question.
She looked up from the picture of Kinjo Sae that she'd been studying—the woman whose body she'd be wearing shortly—and gazed at Fujiwara rather than at her team. No need to look weak. Her eyes were a chill empty blue. Mission gaze.
"No further comments," she said, voice far more level than her stomach felt. "Mission accepted."
Reno's voice echoing in her head: You do the job.
[NFB, NFI, OOC a-okay. Warning: Dark/disturbing matters being discussed.]
This time, however, rather than be given a scroll and told to go on their way, they were taken to one of the many briefing rooms to wait for a Chuunin. Ino cast a glance at Asuma-sensei, who was sitting unconcerned in a chair, and then at Shikamaru in his Chuunin vest and wondered what sort of mission this was.
Both Chouji and she, after all, were still Genin.
She leaned against the wall closest to the door, eyes downcast and keeping watch. Ino didn't recognize the Chuunin that entered the room—dark hair, a short beard, narrow eyes and a slight swagger that hinted at arrogance—but that wasn't surprising. These days she wasn't in Konoha often enough to recognize most of the shinobi.
"It is currently 09:07, 08/03. Room B1-211. In attendance: Fujiwara Hiro (Ninja Registration No: 011054), Sarutobi Asuma (Ninja Registration No: 010829), Nara Shikamaru (Ninja Registration No: 012611), Akimichi Chouji (Ninja Registration No: 012625), and Yamanaka Ino (Ninja Registration No: 012604). This mission was pre-assigned due to the need of a specific skill set," the Chuunin said, flicking on a voice recorder, all cool and professional and not bothering with pleasantries. Ino's gaze didn't flick to look at him, though she was certainly listening.
You didn't have to look at someone to pay attention to them.
"Mission Rank: C. Mission: Assassinate Yamada Saburo, second son of Aomori Province's Daimyou. Eliminate Yamada in such a way as to implicate his mistress, Kinjo Sae, in the murder. Leave no evidence of Konoha's involve…"
He continued on, outlining the process and going over the blue prints they'd obtained of the house, the pictures of those who lived there… Ino listened on auto-pilot, her eyes having narrowed very slightly at the specs, as she put it together and found herself at a loss for what to think.
No need to question whose skill set this was going to rely on, and her stomach rolled with a queer mixture of apprehension and exhilaration. This was what she'd spent years learning how to do it properly.
This was something she'd been forbidden to even practice with at Fandom. Ino didn't need to be a genius to understand the whys of that—and she didn't need to be even particularly clever to know that, if she wanted to avoid losing friends, she'd have to lie if pressed about her mission. This mission.
Most wouldn't get it. Soft. How can you be excited at the chance to murder someone? Ino ignored the way her stomach twisted at that thought. Fandom-thoughts, not hers.
Culmination of practice, a real test, a situation where if it went wrong a sorry wouldn't cut it—how could she not be excited? Surely that was the reason why her thoughts raced so fast she could barely parse them?
This was why she'd been born.
"Expected hazards are low," Fujiwara wound down, an interminable fifteen minutes later. "Yamada has few men-at-arms, believing himself too insignificant to pose a threat, and what few he has spend most of their day guarding Yamada Miyako, his wife."
Fujiwara settled back in his chair. "Any further comments?"
That was the time, then, for someone to speak up if they had an objection, a refusal, or even a simple question. For a moment no one spoke, then:
"Ino." Asuma-sensei didn't even have to make it a question.
She looked up from the picture of Kinjo Sae that she'd been studying—the woman whose body she'd be wearing shortly—and gazed at Fujiwara rather than at her team. No need to look weak. Her eyes were a chill empty blue. Mission gaze.
"No further comments," she said, voice far more level than her stomach felt. "Mission accepted."
Reno's voice echoing in her head: You do the job.
[NFB, NFI, OOC a-okay. Warning: Dark/disturbing matters being discussed.]
