Audience with the Mizukage

Recap:

Grin and Ichi sought, captured, interrogated, and killed the turncoats who sought refuge in Konoha (Questionable Integrity). Grin procured a list of names during the interrogation, of which included one in particular: the now-deceased Shichidaime Mizukage. The claim was that the former Mizukage had been selling intel for years to Konoha and other villages alongside some of his higher advisers. Being against just about every edict the Mizukage portrayed under the Bloody Mist, this has brought a lot of question and scrutiny down on key elements of the former regime.

Ichi's own fate comes into question as he now carries the yet-unopened scroll carried by the deserter; the scroll is sealed by the Mizukage's personal Fuuinjutsu guaranteeing by nature, design, and chakra that what lies inside was cast by the Mizukage's pen. And only the current Mizukage could break said seal. As closely allied as Ichi was to the Shichidaime, as both adopted-son and merciless sword, it begs to wonder precisely how the current Mizukage will handle the news.

The early morning bells of the coastal village lost within the countless miles of expansive forest and rocky cliffs rang an eerily ominous tone that as they approached the walls. Ichi's first taste of humanity left him with the sense of acetone burning at the back of his throat; but he couldn't spit it out. No, he couldn't cave to pit in his gut for the first time since his childhood, pulled into the village by the Shichidaime Mizukage and raised with everything the might of the Mist could have offered.

Father_{did he just refer to him as dad?} had betrayed them. Betrayed him. And now the only thing he could do is carry the burden back home and attempt to deal with this as best he could— let's face it, it probably involves bloodshed.

Ichi, with all of his present shortcomings, those bottled up and repressed feelings for nearly a decade seemed to bubble at the top. He had no idea how to deal with it. Could he at all? The gray haired sage simply stared in the bronze sunrise that gleaned against the still-quiet state. White hair and reflective sunglasses kept the outward facade steady. To Grin following at his rear, the young jounin was likely his usual, unwelcoming, stoic self. The only reason that the other jounin might have suspected anything at all was the fact that he stood there as all of the bullshit came into light.

Spans of fifty meters were now being crossed in single bounds; as they inched further, anxiety pushed him harder and faster. Tree branches caught his weight, bending violently and even snapping on occasion as he tossed himself forward, having no free-mind left to offer to the usual subtlety and grace he offered. The final few marches planted him against the village walls and the rooftops toward the heart of Kirigakure, passing into the even quieter interior where the Mizukage awaited their report.

They'd finally come to rest in the audience chambers, where Ichi stood and said nothing.

Grin smirked; eyes glancing at the interior of the Mizukage's chambers, looking anywhere but toward Ichi.

The 'sage' wasn't the Ghost's cup of tea. They worked together, that was the end of it. Frankly, Grin wasn't sure Ichi had ever appreciated having a little competition for the title of 'Mizukage's favorite'; or the fact he wasn't the only one running around with something special. Then again, maybe he just had a stick up his ass. Taking a seat on a small cushion, the Jounin acted reminiscent of a child -- eagerly removing a kunai from its holster, spinning it haphazardly around his middle digit.

The whirling blade spun vertically, held very close to the right side of his head so he could hear the metal slicing through the air. The knife's assault against nothingness seemed to be the only sound in the chambers; for all intensive purposes, this place was a graveyard. Ichi and Grin were alone, idly waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Catching the kunai, Grin set the blade against his right thigh, hand resting atop it; the briefest of sighs escaping his lips. Brown eyes settling on the rockstar-looking shinobi in the room with him, Grin tilted his head; eyes narrowing as he examined Ichi. Patience wasn't one of Grin's virtues.

" Kinda girly glasses you got there. "

Apparently, neither was politesse.

"What information did you two get?"

There was no doubt in Tenma's mind that the mission was a success. After all, the team that was sent out was essentially a demon tank and. Well. Ichi. The worst kind of over kill.

The Mizukage folded his hands and waited on one of the two to present him with the intel.

Metrosexual, the appropriate title is metrosexual sunglasses. And were he a man to dabble in the more leisurely hobbies in the company of lady folk, he'd get a lot of play. The few times he had whipped them out, his particularly awkward, stoic, and detached nature tended to be what blew it more than anything else.

Not that that was what was on his mind right now. A flick of his right hand tore the orange sunglasses from his eyes, tucking them neatly away in the inner pocket of his long black coat. A few slow steps approached the Mizukage with a pensiveness he hadn't touted very often prior. “A scroll was bein' carried by the old man. It bears the Shichidaime's personal seal,” letters were dropped by a man who rarely ever sought anything but simple and proper, “only you and whoever he trusted with the alternative seal can activate it.” Obviously Ichi wasn't one who was trusted with the seal, something that after their ordeal, weighed considerably more on the young shinobi's heart— did he even have a heart? All of this bullshit mucked the simplicity he was normally content with up greatly.

Ichi hadn't the slightest inclination as to what lie in the scroll, but the gut said nothing good at all. The Shichidaime Mizukage was already implicated in treason, the Rinnegan knight was but a stone's throw from gettin' caught in the mess. A glance, for the first time since their mission had begun, was offered to Grin. As uncharacteristic as it was, he'd let the other man share the news. He couldn't stomach it on his own.

Grin smirked when Ichi removed his glasses. When the Mizukage entered, the entire tone of the room changed; politicians always ruined Grin's fun.

He rose to his feet, of course, showing all the signs of proper respect. He listened to his noticeably disturbed partner explain the details of their findings, and appropriately read his glance -- picking up where he had left off, saying what he could not.

" The man had a scroll containing the names of his co-conspirators. I've already given the list of names to Shichika and Kirihara; they're organizing HYDRA squads now to try and locate the traitors. However, the list contained one name I thought it best to leave out of my report to HYDRA. I know I speak for myself, and probably Ichi, when I say that I was hoping you could explain how it is this *particular* name ended up on this list . . . "

Grin cleared his throat, taking a moment to compose himself; standing a little straight, eyes a little sharper, voice keener.

" Sir, the Shichidaime was listed as a co-conspirator. "

While curious, Grin masked his obvious curiosity as best he could. He attempted to appear impartial, neutral to the whole ordeal: he approached the findings of this assignment with a particular detachment characteristic of a man who does not fully understand the circumstances. In Grin's case, however, he knew he did not understand the circumstances: facts had been left out, lied about. He, as much as Ichi, wanted to know the truth about the Shichidaime. But there was another emotion masked, hidden along with Grin's curiosity, an emotion he went a great deal further to conceal deep within himself: shame.

What the scroll says:

Tetsuya:

I have reason to believe that they'll be unseating me soon. When they do, none of us will be clear anymore. You must take all of the final scrolls to Konoha, Ame, and Kumo as quickly as possible. We need to be sure the last pieces of information are passed before all of us have been uncovered.

The Bloody Mist has grown weak. When I fall, it'll be strengthened under a new banner. Ichi will us follow soon. Keep a close eye on him, they'll try to use him against us. In due time, he'll follow in our steps. I trust him.

Shichidaime Mizukage, Taku

There was so much fail in the words that Tenma read that it almost made him sick. What possible reason could a kage have for weakening his own village, and what the hell could he have been getting in exchange for that information? There were so many possible implications in that short letter. "Can't honestly say I know any more about this than you, Grin."

Tenma decided to address the most obvious question first. "How much do you know about the Shichidaime's foreign policy, Ichi?"

Shichidaime's foreign policy? As far as he knew, there had been none, and that was the reality until just a matter of hours ago, stooping over a dead man, ended after spouting what was seemingly nonsense about his would-have-been father. He was raised under the principles of isolation by the same man who now, by his own word— since faking that seal would have been nigh-impossible —had admitted to selling their nation out to neighbors and enemies alike. And here Ichi stood, staring down the new Mizukage having apparently been incriminated by the same man who brought him up.

The nightma— no, he wasn't the source of fear anymore, he was now embodying it— the man's eyes closed halfway staring back. Though he hadn't known what was etched in that scroll yet, his wild emotions hadn't completely blinded his sixth sense. After all, he spent his entire life building up notoriety for doin' every dirty deed the Shichidaime demanded, and what was now in question was as dirty as any of it. He'd have to be suspect.

“I. . he had no foreign policy.” Ichi found himself in a moment of weakness, his only moment, at one of the worst possible times. Studdering, a quivering lip, tenseness in his expression; any dipshit could have told you they were signs of weakened nerves, most commonly associated with lying. But was he lying? If he was, he'd have probably actually maintained composure. But that reality wouldn't really earn him anything under the circumstances.

"The old man clearly expected you to do something. Maybe ship off a Kaguya to Kumo? Or maybe you're supposed to pawn off one of the seven swords. I dunno. Maybe you can tell me?"

Coal black eyes stared soulessly back at Ichi. Black lines underneath his pale skin began snaking every which way, while a hand started going for the massive twin handled Hiramekarei, which rested at his side.