Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Missions:
Don’t forget an Umbrella

The silver haired Jiraijin stood at the entrance to the meeting room, the heart in his chest pounding with anticipation for the moments to come, today was the day he would be partnered with another Shinobi for a mission. The Mizukage office had received numerous reports of countless civilians in need of aid after a devastating tropical storm that struck a minor village near the borders. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his chest, only a few years ago his fathers entire fleet had been destroyed at anchor due to a similar incident, it effected thousands of life’s for months until his business could continue, food prices flew up - aid was hard to come by and illness prospered in its place. Jiraijin sighed, his heart dropped into his stomach, he resolved to do whatever he could to aid those who needed his help.

The door swung open. A large wooden table stretched out before him, there were a handful of squads and individuals on the same mission as he was, he searched for a face that he may recognise - no Kaikoss, no Rudra or Ichikai. They were all new to him, Jiraijin immediately felt small, the desk and its seats overpowered the feel of the room, anyone sat at them would exude power without even trying. Maps and scrolls were scattered on its surface, small flags assigned to areas on the map that matched to squads here, the importance of this mission once again highlighted by the sheer amount of information gathered as well as time it took to get it.

Jiraijin took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, his hand searched for his pockets in his cloak and entered them. He confidently approached the table, his eyes gazed around and his ears listened to the multiple conversations going on here. He wasn’t sure who he was meant to meet, Jiraijin was a last minute addition to the group. He barely had time to prepare, a set of scrolls sat at the small of his back and at his waist was something akin to a holster, in it a paintbrush. At the hip was a sheath, containing a squared off Tanto with a leather handle. The guard was a bright bronze plate, covering steel underneath. His clothes were mostly untucked, but he looked like he was meant to be there.

His hands moved to his headband on the arm of his cloak, the steel rivits were clean, undamaged. The plate holding the Kirigakure symbol was clean with no scratches. Either he had been lucky and never got hurt on a mission, or he was green to the Ninja world. ”Yo - I’m not sure where I’m assigned, I was told to report here. The names Jiraijin.” He spoke directly to whomever was the closestj, not making much effort to be polite, just straight-edged and to the point. Headfast, act first and think later. A pure instrument of war.

WC: 495