AiC Snoopfrog Edition

Jiraiya stared into his barley tea, and grimaced at his reflection in it. 

He didn’t even like barley tea. It was a poor replacement for good sencha, or his real preference- sake. 

But Mist was basically a barley tea town. It seemed to be dry, in the sense that there appeared to be no alcohol around whatsoever. It wasn’t terribly beautiful- though it was obvious that some effort was going towards that. 

He lifted his tea and stared contemplatively over the rim. In the distance, a red haired girl crafted a bench out of sheer irritation. To be precise, she jammed pieces of wood together and seemed to command that they become a bench. She didn’t offer any threats, but her face offered murderous consequences for noncompliant boards. 

He’d snuck out, evaded his admittedly skilled (but not nearly skilled enough- had Uzumaki either thought they could stop him, or left him with lesser-trained guards to reserve better ones elsewhere?) guards, and then? Nothing. 

There was a whole, fat lot of nothing to do here. 

Oh, there was activity. Like that Kushina lookalike haphazardly creating park decorations with fury and resentment. 

Mostly they had better attitudes. She was just very striking. And probably in both meanings of the word. He’d avoided personal contact. 

The people bustled, they built, they planted ugly little saplings and tiny sprouts. There was construction going, or maybe completed, on something near the bay that he’d have to check out before he left. That was pertinent information. 

He’d seen, in truth, not as many shinobi as he would have suspected. Were they that reduced, or somewhere else? 

The public facilities were obviously outdated- but oddly, not a lot of focus on the presentation aspect of rebuilding. It seemed Uzumaki was starting something from scratch here. 

His stomach roared, and he didn’t move an inch. He’d rifled her damn desk (carefully and respectfully, as a guardian/spy should) and by the time that Chuunin came around with an insulting note, it was just time that every single restaurant in town was closed until five pm. He could only get bad coffee or barley tea, for another hour. 

Fucking bean-water town. 

He could feel himself slipping into introspection, and that was dangerous territory. First of all, if he was caught outside his generous accommodations, the Mizukage could use that later. The unspoken understanding that he was obviously going to fuck off wherever he wanted to, only extended to when he wasn’t caught. Then, it became a problem. 

Also, having feelings was a process. He preferred to have characters in his books have all his feelings instead. Outsourcing them was exponentially more convenient. 

And if he got stuck going down that road, he’d be there a long time. There was a lot of stuff he hadn’t…. dealt with. 

A distraction. 

That’s what he needed. 

Something, anything. A bunch of blank pages, a vague idea, an inspiration, a promising lead… 

And Mist had none of that. All of the stationery stores were sold out, for ‘inexplicable reasons’.

It was boring as dust- the government changes, a shinobi village rebuilds itself, and somehow people still like rice.

Mist had also regrettably held up a long-standing outside myth. For years, he’d seen some ferociously ugly nin. Sharpened teeth, contorted faces, and cow print arm covers. It was a parade of the visually repelling. For years, he’d confirmed this with nin and civilians all over the Nations: shinobi from Mist were just really ugly. 

It seemed improbable- was it strategy? Was it something in the water that left them wild-eyed and overly sharp?

And regrettably, he’d confirmed it. Mist was full of onsen- just a land of onsen. Plentiful and hot and relaxing, and filled with people that looked like bad comic book villains. Was it a requirement?

Everything had failed him. Uzumaki had entrapped him in a town devoid of hospitality, decent food, or minor pleasures. 

He was getting dramatic, but his impulse was to lean into it and go whine at his ‘guards’ for an hour about unfair treatment and a violation of his human rights. 

Then something caught his desperate, desolate eye. The right shape, no apparent fashion catastrophe. Just long hair over a beautiful blue, pink, and lavender kimono in some sort of floral pattern.

His innate fashion and design sensibilities advised him it was an impressionistic interpretation of plum blossoms. And expensive. 

He zeroed in from his seat on the Bench that Hate Made. 

Hair that had a light scent of camellia oil- okay, another good sign.

Jiraiya drained the sadness tea and stood up slowly, careful not to actually stare directly at his current person of interest. Shinobi or not, women did NOT like being followed. And he wanted to be chivalrous, but frankly right now he was desperate for a glance of anything that didn’t remind him of a deep sea creature. He stretched luxuriously, like a handsome cat. A lion. 

She hadn’t looked. Well.

She (or he assumed this person was a she, judging by the style and pattern of kimono) was gliding down the street in little geta. Shinobi, maybe? It was difficult to look that graceful in geta. She could be a visiting noble, then, as well.

Jiraiya deftly moved into the crowd. Smaller, less terrifying people tended to part in his wake, but he didn’t want that kind of attention right now. Also, he was in disguise. 

Well, he’d put on a brown wig and covered his distinctive marks with skin colored stickers. He had also considered the mustache, but dismissed it because it was likely Uzumaki would laugh at him if she saw it. 

He watched this mystery woman nearly float her way across town, to a small vendor for a small bag of mikan, and out of the village central. 

Jiraiya knew he was pushing it. The crowd was thinning out. He had no reason to be here, and the only excuse that currently came to mind was that he was looking for his pet ferret. 

Oh, Shit. 

The giant obsidian post near a gate marked it as a clan. He was entering a highly sensitive district. 

Which, honestly- good for him. He was such a good spy. 

But it would be a pain to explain if he got caught. 

“You.”

Ah, yes. Of course. 

He raised his eyes from the road, and met hers. 

Oh DEAR GOD.

Ice blue eyes locked with his. 

“You were following me.” The vision of beauty said, through coral colored lips. “Why.”

His first impulse was to introduce himself as “JIRAIYA OF THE SANNIN, AUTHOR OF BOOKS AND THE MOST GIVING OF LOVERS,” but… he was in disguise.

“I just think you’re beautiful.” He said honestly, in what was definitely a change for him. 

She slowly blinked through long lashes, and unfolded her hands from inside her kimono sleeves. He bet they were delicate and matched the light color of her neck. She was immaculate. 

Had he considered that he might be hallucinating? That shade of eyes was not normal. He might have dreamed her up after seeing that man earlier with the dorsal fins and neon wrist warmers. 

She hummed, more to herself than to him, and looked to the tall, imposing gate. It opened without a sound. 

‘That’s amazing, I bet it weighs more than Tsunade benches.’ He thought, but restrained the urge to close the distance between them. Nobles and shinobi really liked their personal space. He was on thin ice, but it seemed like she was being fairly accommodating. 

Though that might be another point for ‘hallucination’. 

She glanced him over, one last time. His heart jumped when perhaps she lingered on his face- oh, the attentions of a beautiful woman. They still did everything to him. 

“Your hairline is showing through your wig, Jiraiya-sama.” She said evenly, before sweeping her eyes away and taking a step through the gates. “Please take care.”

The gates closed behind her, swiftly but not rushed. 

Jiraiya took the chance to walk forward, and place his hand on the gate. It was definitely stone. The weight suggested some imposing thickness. They were also more than twice his height. 

‘Shiiiit, this is a fortress.’ He thought admiringly, taking in what little detail the defenses had on offer. 

Then he noticed the nameplate. 

“Dearest Hiruzen- nope, too weird.”

He started again, trying to act like a normal human being. 

“Hokage-sama.”

He’d never once addressed Sarutobi-sensei that way. He would know something was up.

“Hey, Sensei.”

Ah, yes. It would be just disrespectful enough to make the advisors’ wrinkled lips pucker even further, while not so much as to actually somehow either tip or piss off Sensei. Good call, Jiraiya. You’re the champion. So good at words.

“I have discovered a promising lead in the land of Mist.” Yes, it was vague. Vague was good. “Will tell you more in person.”

“Why are you reading your letters out loud?” Raidou said from the tatami, sprawled out like a lizard. He was living by the theory that the humidity was lesser the nearer to the ground you were. 

He wasn’t wrong, but Jiraiya thought it make him look like a newt. Not his style. Raidou lacked the kind of presence that made it necessary to behave in a dignified manner.

Despite this, Jiraiya grinned. 

“I… have made a discovery.”

He could feel Raidou rolling his eyes as he talked, voice muffled by a reed pillow he’d buried himself in. “I’ve been up and down every street of this village, building shit with Yamato-san. There’s nothing that interesting.”

The humidity was making Raidou sassy. Jiraiya made a mental note of it. It was the first real character trait he’d gotten from him. 

“Oh, Raidou-kun, how wrong you are.” He breathed, drying the ink on his missive. “I have found heaven in a desert, and not only that.”

Raidou said nothing. Jiraiya wasn’t even sure he was conscious. 

“I Have a Reason to Investigate a Clan of Beautiful Women.” He enunciated. 

Raidou huffed- or snored. He was the absolute worst conversational partner.

“This clan, of as-yet-unknown shinobi, is filled with gorgeous women.” Jiraiya continued, hoping for a reaction. Nothing. “Despite the fact that all previous intelligence supported this entire country being full of ugly-ass weirdoes.”

Raidou sat up, pushing himself back onto his legs. He looked dully at Jiraiya. “That is news.” He said, but without the kind of passion and adoration Jiraira required.

Kakashi-kun would have never disappointed him like this. Even in the coma. 

“And to top it all off…” Jiraiya built up the suspense, but at this point it was only for himself. “The name of this clan… is…”

Raidou dutifully opened his mouth to gasp. Jiraiya at least appreciated that he was going to go through the motions. 

“Hoshigaki.”

Raidou started to gasp, and then coughed.

“Oh, yeah, that.”

“Whaaaaat?” Jiraiya half-roared. 

“Yeah, the rumor is one of them`s a seduction specialist, or something. See her going in and out of the Mizukage Tower district sometimes. She’s Hoshigaki Kisame’s sister, and seems really nice. Works for Terumi-san, I think.” Raidou settled back down onto his pillow. “Brought us ice cream a few times, after we were done for the day.”

“And you didn’t think that was pertinent information to share with me?” Jiraiya asked, feeling betrayed. He hadn’t been complaining of Mist’s lack of beauty, landscape or otherwise, because he was not a rude lunatic. But surely Raidou had noticed his resignation and subsequent lack of interest. 

Oh, wait. This was that thing Tsunade-hime was always reminding him about. Not everyone focused on him all the time. 

He shook it off. 

Raidou had slumped farther onto the floor. Perhaps he’d become one with it and they were going to have to buy that mat to get him home. 

“Wasn’t a secret.” Raidou grunted. “Again, you go to the Mizukage’s office, they’re all around. We liked working near the Kage district. You must have just missed them.”

Whatever. It was still a lead. Or a lead enough to give him an excuse. Jiraiya doubted that poor Yamato-san had debriefed the Sandaime about the bevvy of babes related to a missing nin. 

With that in mind, he went to the onsen.

Having felt refreshed in his body and soul (and definitely not after having peeked through the slatted fence to view the ladies’ side), Jiraiya luxuriated in his yukata with a strawberry milk. It was perhaps a bit childish, but delicious. And it really hit the spot. 

The citizens of Mist wandered in and out as Jiraiya watched from his seat. Onsen were little spots of joy and life in otherwise dreary places. Everyone always wanted a hot bath and the chance to gossip. 

He attuned himself to listen to the women’s onsen-the male shinobi had been bitching about gardening duty, which wasn’t really even news. Someone had to plant all that crap to make a beautiful garden. And that someone was most certainly a chuunin or lower. Unless he’d rubbed off on Uzumaki more than he thought, and she was inflicting the mind-numbing, finger-aching jobs on Jounin that had managed to piss her off. 

The women’s bath didn’t present any particularly interesting information, people chittering about their day, civilian and shibobi alike. Apparently Uzumaki-san had something of a problem on her hands, though. She was hard to find- and civilians never like that. And this Terumi Mei was still sitting on more power than he bet Uzumaki would like. 

Not his problem, but it sounded like it could go sideways real fast. Danzo-style. 

His milk was long- gone, but he didn’t have anywhere to go. 

‘Maybe another quick dip, since I’m here and already paid.’

It was admittedly kind of nice to be in a place where no one was attacking him. That seemed to happen a lot. If it wasn’t Orochimaru just straight up fucking with him, enemy nin who never liked his excuses for rifling drawers, or Tsunade. 

The worst part about that wasn’t even that she usually took his money after beating his ass (which they both knew he would have given her anyway, had she asked), but that Shizune-chan tended to offer apologies during the entire episode. 

He disrobed and re-rinsed himself, and went back into the onsen proper. He wasn’t going to do the warm-up bath first, this time. He was here for relaxation and dirt. 

Jiraiya relaxed into the water, feeling like a predator. It was easy to do that when you had a good foot of height on everyone else, and a hell of a reputation. 

The Mist nin still didn’t really pay attention to him, though. Disappointing. Their eyes flecked over him as he came in, and they went right back to talking about the latest prices on miso. 

Shinobi tended to do that- a lot of them were cost-conscious. It was probably something about shinobi culture in general. And it always made Jiraiya sad. What was the point in living so close to the line, when your job literally was going to kill you at any time?

Of course, he wasn’t exactly different. He just went in cycles.

“Yes, but if you buy your rice from Shimamura-san, and you go through the village scheme for food prices, you can eat for a month on about ¥3000.” The shinobi with bright pink hair said, leaning back against the rocks. “There’s no point in living off those disgusting food bars.”

“We’ve been over this…” the other nin groaned. “I don’t care. I don’t have time to cook and I’m awful at it. I plan to live off nutrition bars and restaurants until I get married or die. End of discussion.”

Jiraiya’s stomach grumbled. 

“Hey,” he called, causing both nin to actually tense up. “What’s a good place to eat around here?”

He left the restaurant, and decided to take the long way home. Or rather, to that weird little diplomatic building. He wondered if Raidou had come further along in his gecko impression- or whether he’d already started to lose bone mass. 

Jiraiya jingled the coins in his pocket and danced a little as he walked. It hadn’t been a good day, but it certainly hadn’t been a bad one. No attacks, nothing horrendously weird. Except for how Uzumaki-san had maybe, maybe taken a shit in her office closet and hid there for three hours. 

In any case, that wasn’t hurting anybody but whoever had to clean it. 

The night was humid, too, but once the sunlight had gone it felt less oppressive. He tried to whistle for some reason, but he’d never been terribly good at it. He couldn’t get past the part where it sounded like mouth farts. 

He gave up on whistling and reverted back to one of his many actual talents, which was daydreaming. 

Jiraiya was halfway through the plot of his next Icha Icha book when he reached the door. He sped inside, to the relative cool of the circulating air and his last notebook. 

“Welcome home,” Raidou called, which was nice but a little weird, maybe. 

“Yes, I’m back.” Jiraiya responded simply. “How was lying limply on the floor?”

Raidou padded into the room on his bare feet, holding a tea cup. 

“Good,” he gently swirled the cup in Jiraiya’s line of sight. “They gave us the good stuff. You want some?”

Huh. Maybe that was a point for staying home and not snooping. He wouldn’t have to suffer barley tea. 

But then again, there was a lot of snooping to do. 

“Nah. Maybe later. Thank you.”

Raidou nodded and wandered off again into the bowels of the diplomatic suite. Man, that dude was weird. Amiable enough, at least. 

Jiraiya settled down with his notebook, reminding himself that he should probably dedicate this book to Kakashi-kun for his recovery. The kid would like that. Also, it might make Jiraiya feel a bit better for not being there. 

The knock on the door came not long after. 

He ignored it. Right now, it was imperative that he get down these details. Otherwise, he was going to forget everything he’d dreamed up and have to change the plot halfway through. Last time he’d done that, he’d had to split them into a four part series. It was a logistical mess.

Raidou obviously opened the door, because the next thing he heard were the words “Mizukage-sama” and the distinct sound of Raidou fleeing the room and possibly the borders of Mist itself. That boy was so squirrely.

He had expected another appointment with Uzumaki pretty soon, but not this late at night.

“It’s like I have to do everything myself.” Jiraiya grumbled, carefully putting his notebook into a pocket before putting on his game face- that is, his amiable idiot mask- and barreling into the living room. 

It certainly was the woman herself. And she had little globs of blood caked onto her bottom lashes. 

Uzumaki was moving stiffly. Not like she was hurting. Conflicted? Confused?

His mind had flipped into spy mode immediately. He took note of how dilated her eyes were- barely at all. And Kami, were those Rinnegan still creepy. It had been offputting enough on Nagato-kun, so many years ago. But combining it with the blood was a bit over the top. 

Her presentation wasn’t normal- to his eye, she had a flair for cockiness that seemed to rest just above some real tension and the twitchiness of a career shinobi. His earlier bet had been that the cockiness was an affectation to overcompensate for a more paranoid nature. 

It wasn’t uncommon. Her particular brand of bluster and bullshit was uncommon, but the combination was not.

But the façade had fallen quite spectacularly. 

Why? 

This wasn’t even close to the comfortable, cocky Mizukage who’d thwarted him for the better part of the day. 

Her body language was more open in a natural way- hit me with your best shot, it said. I’m tired. And maybe -maybe- a little scared. 

It was real fucking weird. 

“Mizukage-sama. I didn't expect you until tomorrow.”

“Let's make a deal,” she said. The blood in her eyelashes was still giving him the creeps. What could do that? What had she done? “I'll give you 20 minutes of being completely candid. No deflections, no evasions, no lies. You can ask me about Akatsuki, my home, my plans.”

That was… drastic. And according to Minato, so counter to her character that Jiraiya began to feel distinctly ill. 

“That’s half a deal.” He replied, to dispel his discomfort. Now, to bite the kunai, as it were. “What do you want?”

She finally looked at him directly, and something about it hit him in the heart like a hammer. “I need to kill Orochimaru,” Uzumaki said, devoid of feeling. “I waited too long. You are one of the best people in the world to help me do that.”

Facts. Cold, hard facts. And it made it sound like she was reporting to someone- too long? Jiraiya wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what she meant by that. 

“The two of us? That's risky. And it would undermine the treaty between our nations and Suna. I don't have the authority to do that. Besides, it won't take much longer until we can launch the joint effort.”

He definitely did not have that authority- though a good part of him knew that that had never stopped him from doing anything. But he had to at least protest. 

Uzumaki- Aiko- took a shuddering breath, and shook like she was trying to shake something off. Or out. “I need,” she explained, sounding increasingly hysterical, “to kill him.”

It was clear there was some sort of battle going on inside of her that he didn’t understand. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Her face contorted and scrunched up in the effort. She was in pain. 

“He told me to.” The words hung in the air. Jiraiya could feel himself becoming more ill with every word. “In Konoha.”

Wait. “Orochimaru?” Jiraiya asked, trying to sound skeptical instead of betraying his increasing panic. “Doesn't sound like something he'd say. Unless it was a joke. He's a funny guy, could have been jo-”

“Death.” She said. 

And just like that, she lost whatever battle she’d been fighting since she came in. Her posture went straight, her face flat and impassive. 

And the stench of decay and rot filled the room as if it had been spontaneously filled with corpses. 

Kami-sama, he was going to lose his dinner. He was going to lose his mind. 

The smell brought back thousands of memories, all of them traumatic. His brain spun on a dial and he felt woozy.

“Death,” a gravelly, distinctly inhuman voice spoke from Aiko’s mouth. It echoed in the room, and reverberated in his very soul. 

“He has defiled and stolen souls.” The not-voice said. “This must be rectified. His soul, like yours, is mine to claim. You have two days.”

Then it was gone. Aiko- just Aiko, raised her hand to her chest, over her heart. 

“He does not care about alliances and reasonable timeframes. He commands it. It is a perversion and a breach. It must be rectified.”

Rectified. 

The horror was still computing, creeping out from his strained, mortal heart out. But it hadn’t quite reached his mind yet. So he said something stupid, instead. 

“That's an interesting party trick.”