There were many uses for shinobi. Some were best regarded as cold-blooded killers while others are over-priced dog catchers and laborers. And then there were times when they were neither, or perhaps it did not matter what their capacities, successes or failures were. The fate of the conscripted was to find and seek employment for their services and their skills be it to the Diamyo or to a patrician. Today was no different. A mission went up on the board early this morning, an elderly man sitting behind the worn desk unsure of where it came from. It read the following: Requested: an able-bodied team of shinobis to infiltrate and assassinate a dangerous visitor traveling through Sunagakure. For parties interested, please meet me at Mao's Place at 11:30 pm, a private booth has been reserved under the name Aburabuta.
Mao's Place was a nightclub located in The Desert Crown. A sanitary place, however, is no less seedy. It was an exclusive club, the kind only the most wealthy men and women in Sunagakure frequent. Music, lights, good drinks, well better than what could be found in other clubs. The club was also a den for illegal activity although for the most part officials looked the other way, white-collar crime just seemed to lack the bloody-knuckle appeal street crime possessed. Insider trading, accounting and spreadsheet 'errors' were the most dire crimes this club ever had to deal with, weapons and questionable substances (be it recreational or otherwise) were to be left at the door. For the most part, those who came here complied, although there has been a rare incident otherwise security was more than 'capable' of disarming the problem.
11:29
A well-dressed bespectacled man quietly sat down in a booth at the back of the club. He seemed to have no interest in the bright lights, the music or the people gyrating to the rhythm. He laid the white napkin on his lap and ordered a bottle of wine, an expensive bottle of red. He seemed uninterested in small talk as he handed the waiter a folded bill wordlessly and waved him off, not even allowing the waiter to uncork and pour him a drink but the waiter left the corkscrew behind. Buried to its neck in the cork, with ease and a sudden *pop* the bottle was opened. The man sniffed the cork, taking in the fruity bouquet before he poured himself a glass of the burgundy liquid. His pinched fingers rubbed together over the open mouth of the bottle, an indistinguishably small amount of white powder released from between his finger pads into the bottle.
"Mister Aburabuta, is everything all right?"
A waitress asked, right on schedule.
"There is something different about you today, do you need something."
The man glanced in her direction but did not reply verbally, simply shaking his head 'no.' His eyes never leaving his own glass, he slid the bottle to the center of the table and partook his first sip. Someone should be here shortly.
Mao's Place was a nightclub located in The Desert Crown. A sanitary place, however, is no less seedy. It was an exclusive club, the kind only the most wealthy men and women in Sunagakure frequent. Music, lights, good drinks, well better than what could be found in other clubs. The club was also a den for illegal activity although for the most part officials looked the other way, white-collar crime just seemed to lack the bloody-knuckle appeal street crime possessed. Insider trading, accounting and spreadsheet 'errors' were the most dire crimes this club ever had to deal with, weapons and questionable substances (be it recreational or otherwise) were to be left at the door. For the most part, those who came here complied, although there has been a rare incident otherwise security was more than 'capable' of disarming the problem.
11:29
A well-dressed bespectacled man quietly sat down in a booth at the back of the club. He seemed to have no interest in the bright lights, the music or the people gyrating to the rhythm. He laid the white napkin on his lap and ordered a bottle of wine, an expensive bottle of red. He seemed uninterested in small talk as he handed the waiter a folded bill wordlessly and waved him off, not even allowing the waiter to uncork and pour him a drink but the waiter left the corkscrew behind. Buried to its neck in the cork, with ease and a sudden *pop* the bottle was opened. The man sniffed the cork, taking in the fruity bouquet before he poured himself a glass of the burgundy liquid. His pinched fingers rubbed together over the open mouth of the bottle, an indistinguishably small amount of white powder released from between his finger pads into the bottle.
"Mister Aburabuta, is everything all right?"
A waitress asked, right on schedule.
"There is something different about you today, do you need something."
The man glanced in her direction but did not reply verbally, simply shaking his head 'no.' His eyes never leaving his own glass, he slid the bottle to the center of the table and partook his first sip. Someone should be here shortly.