100She was invisible as she crouched in the open window, rain lashing at her covered form. She'd waited, watching the establishment for any patterns, and knew there would be a guard rotation in exactly 10 minutes, and a waitress passing through for fresh bottles of wine sporadically, for the patrons below. Roughly every 6 minutes, give or take 30 seconds.
But Hayami Ake didn't give 30 seconds, no, she liked exacts. She slowed her breathing, ever the professional; and allowed her heart to slow, calm settling over her as she darted from the thick wooden ledge and into the room opposite.
9 minutes to pick the lock.
The tools slid from her thin thigh pouch with ease, and she crouched, calves burning after stationary hours in the trees opposite. The tumblers moved within, and she slipped like a ghost into the darkened room; it's occupant leaving an hour earlier. He was not set to return for another.
She quickly dried any damp spots outside the door and closed it gently, silent as a whisper.
She surveyed the room. Medium sized, and matching the construction on the outside. No hidden walls. Rich with books-the owner was obviously a well read man, surprising, judging by the rather limited vocabulary she'd heard him use with his staff and customers over the last 2 days. Sliding her hand into her waist pocket, she popped a sweet food pill into her mouth to quieten the rumbling in her stomach and smiled. It could just be for show, she supposed.
These books were not the ones she was interested in today though; though...she quickly darted to one of the cases and pulled a slim book out, stashing it in her thin pack. She'd been after the third installments for weeks; and given that it was nowhere near the first and second that were annoyingly in separate shelves entirely, she guessed he wouldn't.
Unless he had a penchant for pirate fiction and horrific book organisation as well as gambling houses.
She very much doubted that.
No, it was the book on his desk that was her mission today. A thick tome; filled to the edges with money owed, money given, lended and spent. She settled behind the desk, enjoying the feeling of the soft downy cushion beneath her, and pulled a notebook of her own. Rapidly scanning the pages, she coped the first month rapidly, the shorthand neat and perfectly parallel.
She forced her heart and hands to remain steady as she rapidly scanned and copied the pages, noting repeated names. Large transactions, both in and out. Anything to indicate this was no simple gambling house.
She finished, her hour stub candle reaching it's end just as the final errand girl ran past the door. Setting the desk exactly how she found it, she slid the chair back to it's normal resting place and pulled the fabric strip from the bottom of the door, where it had been blocking the light of the small candle from the room. She listened, and only when she knew the occupants were in their preferred positions, the guard around the east corner and the wine carrier down the west stairs, did she move. She slid out of the door, crouching to quickly relock it, then darted like an adder out to the window, and into the tree opposite. She lay against the willowy branch, watching the room she'd observed for the past few days.
Watched as the guards rotated like clockwork, watched as the continuously running wait staff saw to their patrons, exhaustion rapidly taking over their faces. And finally, watching as the portly man entered his room, unlocking it and retiring for the evening. Her breath fluttered as she watched, waiting to see if he would notice the book, notice the desk.
It had been a risky move, a stupid one, but...worth it.
Especially as he left the room and retired to his own for the evening, completely unawares.
She pursed her lips and pushed out a large breath, shimmying backwards out of the tree and onto the rockface behind. Time to head home.
The town gates ahead of her were a welcome sight, feet tired from hours of travelling and mouth stained with the taste of food pills. Her mission had only been a short one for her line of work, but there's no time to break when you're an infiltrator-and she always had to take at least three diversions on the way home in case of any unwanted ninja following her trail; and couldn't stop to sleep.
But she was finally home; and her body wanted with all its might to automatically walk her to her small home on the outskirts of town, but she had to report in first. The seat in the hokage's office was a joy on her strained body, as the one in the office 8 hours before had been; and she made a note to pick up the pace in her training, she shouldn't be this tired after such a standard mission. She'd allowed her stamina to get sloppy-if her sensei saw her bone tired after a simple 8 hours of running, of only 4 days on a few hours sleep? Inoki-sensei would have her pulling double rounds for that sort of nonsense.
She pulled the notebook from her slim back pocket and informed them of the most pertinent information. The debt the man had been in, the deposits put into the business. Huge deposits, pulling them from disrepair and into profits. Huge profits.
Not only did they owe the leaf increased taxes as the land right holders of the establishment; they were likely involved in nefarious activities. She hadn't seen any of the expected powders and ointments from her location, or within the main office, but she'd smelt the often overlooked burnt cinnamon aroma that came with a particularly nasty strain of Okam; one of which they certainly didn't want to see entering their town- or any other for that matter.
They would meet again tomorrow to go over a strategy of entry; decide whether to use subtlety and use assassins to kill or threaten the owner and take over the business as their own; or to go in hard and make an example of the establishment. She wanted to observe for longer, using a team posing as patrons to get proof of their dealings; but Tsunade-Sama was an unpredictable woman, and who knew what her preference would be.
Hayami bowed, spoke to Shizune about a meeting time the following morning, and steadily headed home, the familiar ground under her feet guiding her almost without the need to think to her door.
Her home was small; but perfectly suited to the single woman. It was conjoined to a second house, identical to her own. They were the same colour, style, size and likely layout; though there was one major difference-a quiet and unassuming woman lived in one half, whereas the loudest, most brightly shining person she had ever met lived in the other. But, she wouldn't have it any other way.
She found her neighbor charming, an anomaly of cheeriness and life among what was often a sarcastic, grumpy profession. Hayami herself knew that she was too used to blending into the background, perfect for her line of work but not so much for attempting to introduce herself to the fast paced man next door. She'd given up trying to give him his housewarming present after a week of missing him as he ran down the street, not always on his feet, and had instead placed the small plant on his doorstep, a note reading "welcome to your new home!" with a small happy face. Her steady, quiet nature was perfect for her work though. Less loud fighting and killing, no dark assassinations; just watching. Observing and sneaking into places, reclaiming things from people they didn't belong to and discovering information for the town. She was an easily forgettable face. Slightly tan skin from laying in the sun, dark green hair usually held up in a bun; a light spattering of freckles, muddy brown eyes. Yeah, Hayami Ake knew she was perfect for the role of easily missed, easily forgotten, never noticed.
She could hear him singing to himself through the thin wall, a smile unconsciously gracing her dainty features as she made tea and instant noodles and carried both into the bedroom, discarding her tactical black jumpsuit and leather over harness in the hamper and letting her hair down, groaning with happiness as the pressure created by the tight bun was lessened and a wave of dark green cascaded around her face. The singing had become a soft rhythmic thumping from the room next to her, typical of this time of night. Most people would blush and think sleep was the last thing happening in the room next door between the thumping and soft groans, as she had when he'd first moved in-but no woman had ever entered that house as far as she'd seen; and unless he kept a secret lover locked within the walls, she had no reason to blush. The counting was what had given it away, solved the ever nightly puzzle, and she slurped through her beef noodles, feeling guilty for her fluffy pajamas and soft sheets when she too probably should be doing pushups.
Another night perhaps. Tonight she was drained, she felt like the life had been sucked from her and whatever had done it had spat her out after a good chew; aching everywhere. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, the half eaten noodles abandoned on the bed side table.