#mission log.

[investigaiden]

@titantread

the tranquil pond was ripe fishing grounds. ibiki, rod in rugged hand, casts his line. (splonk! cerulean waters bobble, ripple.) green leaf trees rustle and bend. a bird chirps. “ while i recognize you could catch a meal quickly enough with those teeth, tazima-san, nothing beats the hands-on experience of fishing. ”

[investigaiden]

@unmeikatte

(ashen embers of a dead fire oval the forest ridge. afternoon light dips sunburst orange and purple tulip toward mossy treetops.)

the interrogation expert loops, laces the string around his fingers. he patiently recreates a complex bridge shape. “ ayatori. ” ibiki explains, speech blunt. “ it fosters creativity and keeps fine motor skills intact. ”

his moonstone eyes indicate the extra, leftover string laid upon tree log. “ would you like to try it yourself, neji? ”

[investigaiden]

@moonsdying, plotted starter

it was a c-rank mission. escort job. carpenter from nearby village needed safe passage. ibiki, headband shimmering, boyishly gruff, had kept his kunai close at hand. among dirt paths and dusk mauve sky, daylight died.

even in childhood, he lacks stereotypical radiance associated with children his age. (where others were sunshine, young ibiki resembles an ice cube. strict. arctic.)

the child builds camp with his teammates. a small, flicker fire. an earthy seat along the bladed, billow grass. « hayate. » his fluid hands sign. « something is wrong. » to indicate with you, he points a singular finger toward his comrade.

[mousefactors]

My roommate started the day with a fun finnish fact. She's the best. My mission to turn her into a folk metal chick is well on its way.