Fearless [Naruto]

Chapter Six: A Demon's Offer

The Sound shinobi Miki fought held both good and bad news for the woman.

The bad-- none of them had seen head nor tail of Yukio.

The good-- they had seen the man known as Makoto.

Miki had flipped to his picture in the bingo book on a whim. She knew Makoto and Yukio were often sent on missions together-- as Yukio liked Jin and Jin had never been spotted in a village without Makoto. This information had only been reaffirmed by Kazue. While Miki had never met the man she'd heard many, many details about the mysterious S-Class criminal. He'd apparently appeared from nowhere around seven or so-- give or take a couple-- years ago and had been rumored in the darker channels to be one of Orochimaru's right-hand men.

If anyone knew where Yukio might have gone... well, Makoto seemed like a good place to start looking.

These thoughts were what led her to staking out one of the villages few inns the following evening. Rumor said Makoto had been as bold as to rent a room in the place. This fact was confirmed sometime after midnight as the red-haired man slipped through the shadows-- almost too smoothly to be seen despite how closely Miki had been watching-- and into the inn. She waited, stalk still, for his room to light up. It was until she'd seen his shadow passing the window, as she was then certain it was his room, that she slipped from her hiding place in the alley and scaled the inn, using chakra when she couldn't get the best grip on the wall.

It only took her a minute to reach the windowsill, and only a heartbeat to work the glass up without disturbing the curtain on the other side.

Still, it wasn't good enough.

"Do you need a hand?"

The dry, humorless voice was unfamiliar to Miki. Still, if she'd been caught she saw no reason to be careful. So, she slipped through the window, landing deftly on the inn floor. The man she assumed to be Makoto stood on the other side of the lamp-lit room. His back rested against the doorframe, fingers idly turning a kunai over, drawing blood on the finger he had pressed to its sharp tip. There was little doubt in her mind that she had the right person-- he matched his bingo book picture to a T.

His deep red-- obviously dyed-- locks hung in unkept strands that ended just inches above his shoulders. His bangs were awkwardly cut-- as if he'd taken scissors to them without care of the results-- and barely gave view of his mossy green eyes. He was more slight of frame than Miki might have expected. While he was obviously well built and a good foot taller than her, there was a thinness to his frame that inclined her to believe that muscle was the only thing causing the bulk beneath his shirt.

Altogether, the man held a strange familiarity about him-- something that was strange given she'd never laid eyes on him before this moment. Miki dismissed it, however, as being caused by how many times she'd stared at his bingo book picture over the years.

"I handled it well enough," she said after a long, silent minute had passed.

Makoto inclined his head. "That you did."

Silence settled upon the room again.

"You're Makoto," Miki stated.

"And you're Gekko Miki."

She started in surprise. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," Makoto replied, faint bemusement playing across his expression. "It would be strange if I didn't given our shared acquaintance."

Miki went stiff. Her fingers flexed at her side; she was sorely tempted to just snatch her katana from it's sheath and fight for the answers she wanted. At the same time, she knew better. There was little chance she could get out of a heated, temper-driven battle with Makoto without a) multiple injuries and b) attracting unwanted attention in a town that already wanted her gone. So, she settled for scowling.