Factotum [Mission Chain]

Mission #1:

Inaba’s lips clamped onto an unlit cigarette that bobbed under the rhythmic shifting of his stride. He followed the brown-robed man down a hall that had been recently whitewashed. Inaba’s forefinger traced a trough between bricks as he walked. The brown-robed man shouldered open an iron studded door, and with palm up, outstretched against a room lined with rows of books, welcomed Inaba to enter. Inaba nodded, passing by him and through the doorway.

“Aren’t you a little old to be a Genin? Usually, we only get Academy students or very young Genin doing this type of work.”

“It’s a long story, but yeah, I am.”

“Honestly, the students cause too much trouble for me. They're cheap labor sure, but they're always goofing off. The Head Curator continues to insist on hiring them though because of the price. But you seem like a reasonable person, I have no worries at all. Well, to be honest, as long as the job gets done--oh, and absolutely no smoking.”

Knobby finger indicated the cigarette that hung out of Inaba’s mouth. Inaba nodded in compliance, retrieving it between thumb and forefinger, and stuffed it in the pack. Head turned to a hiss of flame. Candlelight rotated under the unseen tongues of wind that spilled from an open window. The brown-robed man walked down a row of empty desks to the window and closed it, securing the hasp with a clank. The flame righted itself.

“It’s good you came so late as well, there’s no one here you could possibly disturb.” He said, “I’ll need your name as well, so I can confirm the work with your superior.”

“My name is Inaba Kurohane.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m . . .” He said, “and, welcome to Thunderpeak. Well, I best be off, I have work to do myself.”

Inaba wiped away films of dust from scrolls as the man's footsteps pattered off into the distance. He stacked books in great heaps, his hands and face became lined with grime from the great ages past. Inaba’s bent arms stuck books in slots along a shelf. A pinched length of shirt wiped at flakes of soot collected in his eyelashes, and at beaded sweat on his brow. He unfurled scrolls along table length and brushed new coats of gloss across archaic symbols under candlelight. Candlewax oozed and dripped down burnished candelabras.

Tightness in the chest, he knew he needed one, that old feeling. Head turned to the door. Maybe just one, I doubt he’ll even notice. Inaba walked through labyrinthian rows of books, past desks, the waft of his stride contorting candlelight to cast long undulating shadows. Upturned hands flung open a window. His thumb worked the metal wheel in his lighter with the scrape of metal on metal. A cherry of light lit his face. Inaba released a cataract of smoke and sighed.

Looks pretty good. He checked the time on his wrist, then looked back to his work. Well, I better scram. Inaba flicked the cigarette out the window. He walked past his work to the door. Head craned back for one last look.

[WordCount: 506]

Mission #2:

Inaba stopped, turned over a palm greased with white tar. Bird shit on the handrail, on the perches, on the grated walkway. Why me? Of all the Genin, why me? He brushed a smear into his britches and looked up to shadowed avian silhouettes. The beat of wings, the rattle of cages, the gamey stench of raptors. Stray feathers swayed downward on nothing. Hooded heads of bird keepers bobbed as they dropped cubed carrion into snapping beaks. Their smiles seemed sinister against the sound of tearing flesh.

“I’ve been sent by a Chunin by the name of . . .The scroll says you’re in need of a laborer.”

Inaba jerked away from the metallic grate of a cage being rattled. Turned to see a monstrous raptor, talons wrapped around bars that heaved and groaned under the force. Its voice a terrible sonorous scream that initiated the other falcons to join in a chorus. He took a step back, yellow eyes following his nervous fidgeting. A hooded bird keeper approached, and with a long oak rod tapped gently at the talons of the behemoth, and the raptor released its grip with a pleasant coo.

“Most of our Falcons here are quite good-natured, you know. Ota here, not so much.” He threw a carrier cube between the bars, and Ota snatched it with a quick strike of its beak. The bird keeper ran his finger along the bars that had been twisted under her talons.

“She was quite sweet before the last war, but once she got a taste for human flesh, she became, well, really spirited.”

“I’d say,” Inaba said.

“Don’t mind her, once she is fed she’ll be no trouble to anyone. But I’d still advise you to avoid her cage all the same.”

“I’ll take your advice to heart.”

The birdkeeper chuckled, “Well, about this business, um, we could use you. We keep the larger birds here, but you could go below and clean up after the chics, I think you’d be more comfortable doing that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“They're down the stairs, first floor, second door on the right. We use a lighting system above their nests. You can’t miss it, but if you do, by some chance get lost come back here. If you finish early, come back as well, I can find more for you to do.”

“Thank you.”

He walked along the grated floor, almost touched the shit-covered hand-rail, pulled a hand back with a start, and quickened his pace down the stairs. Down the stairs, first floor, second door on the right. Inaba did as he was bid, coming to a door marked with a cracked egg. The door creaked under his hand, lamps illuminated stalls filled with straw. The soft chirp of featherless chics. Inaba leaned over a wooden stall, watching them snuggly nestled together. He rolled up his sleeves, removed the babies with deft fingers, placing them in plastic tubs, which he lined with fresh straw. He pushed a trashcan to the stalls, elbows bent, he began flinging the used bedding into the bin. He sighed and wipe his face.

[WC: 1011]

Claims:

[*] 2000 Ryo and 10 AP from Missions
[*] 10 Stats(From WC) to be allocated to Inaba's Chakra Stat.
[*] 1000 Words to learn Maimed March Technique.