Fired Up

[Milk]

"Uncooperative. Disrespectful towards peers as well as superiors. Generally just a bad kid with an attitude problem." Akane snickered up until the moment the Shinobi's eyes glanced up from the paperwork. Her eyes rose to meet him. The snicker was gone but the faintest of smirks remained in her pursed lips. It was enough for him to grunt in reply.

He was young enough to be called a "Young Buck" and experienced enough to not be called green. A recently promoted Jounin. A recently promoted political Jounin. "Response?" He sat behind an imposing desk, imported from one of the other Countries that Akane couldn't quite place. It was smooth wood, carved exquisitely. The desk was his pride and joy, judging from how he left the rest of the room (his "office" as he insists) bare of any furnishing. He might have been a fit man, but sitting behind that desk and buried in shawls it was hard to tell. He wore layers of them, his headband sown into the left shoulder of the outermost white shawl. Only his head peeked out from the mess of fine cloth and spun silk. He was handsome, with a truffle of bright red curls that framed his young face and no-nonsense brown eyes. He cleared his throat, waiting for the answer.

Akane crossed her legs in response, her hands resting on her lap. "Genin is unresponsive and uncooperative," he said aloud, the sound of pen scratching at paper shuffling after his words.

"In your last mission, two Shinobi out of your three man squad died. Response?"

Akane avoided his gaze. The window offered a beautiful view of the village. It was a cool, breezy morning. The window offered a great escape.

Pen scrawled along paper in quick, abrupt motions. "Both were brought back and burned, per their rights as Shinobi of the Hidden Sand. You were hospitalized and briefed while in care. Following the news, you have signed up for 10 separate missions. Six were attached to a squad as an extra body, while four were solo. All were disastrous." Akane felt her mouth betray her; the bad habit of pursing her lips emerged, and she quickly forced her face back to emotionless. But he saw. She saw him see her purse her lips. The Jounin scribbled in response to her involuntary purse and Akane forced herself to remain emotionless.

"Prior to their funeral, however, our Medical Ninja managed to preform an autopsy on the two. As well as reviewing your wounds and fatigue level upon checking into the hospital." The page turned beneath him and he continued. "Based on this evidence, they're reinforced and lent their support to your report's validity."

"Excuse you?" Akane felt the words rise up and slip out of her mouth before she could respond. Great. The Jounin smirked the slightest of smirks. She was giving him what he wanted. The sick bastard liked getting a rise out of someone. He had just her file. Aloud. And now this desk jockey's trying to get a rise out of me?

He cleared his throat again, pushing his chair back and disappearing briefly under his desk. Akane heard the click of a button. He then rose up and met Akane's fury with contempt. "This is strictly off the record. I know you won't report it because, well, you're too cool to care, but it needs to be said." The absence of emotion was gone. Akane clenched her fists. "You really think I'd take the word out of some worthless Genin who was just lucky enough to make it out of that slaughter? Let's just say what's hanging over your head: You let two good Shinobi die. I personally knew Mochi. He did nothing but go on an on about you two kids, the great oaf he was. Hikari he said would be Kazekage before we were in the grave. And you..." the young man's eyes flitted down to his papers, searching for the words.

It was odd. The contempt and anger was there. But it was slow, almost methodical. Much like him. "He said that you're a late bloomer. You'd grow into it, given time." The Jounin leaned back into his chair, apparently done. He liked his lips, a hand sprouting from the mess of rags with a water skin in response. His lips were pressed onto it, with his fingers working the skin to coax the precious commodity down his throat. He finished and the water skin disappeared into the flowing robes, along with the arm that had sprouted. "That's enough of that. Let's continue." The shift was so sudden. Akane took a minute to register this, before looking at him in disbelief.

"You think you can say that to me and just expect me to sit here and stay quiet?" Her throat felt hoarse, producing the jagged words.

"Yes." The same monotone voice. The click of a button beneath his desk was deafening. "Finding that this is indeed the case...I have elected to grant you leave from your duties to recover, train, and hone your skills as a Ninja."

"How long?" She asked through clenched teeth. Somewhere in that whole spill about Mochi and Hikari she found herself glaring at him. Her body trembled with anger; her hands were tight fists pushing onto her lap and her legs stiffened with tightening muscles.

"As long as I say you need. Until then, I'll be doing random evaluations to see your progress. This concludes our meeting. Please excuse yourself."

Her body mechanically rose from the lone chair she was sitting in. Her legs started walking towards the door, and beyond it. She kept walking and walking, not really caring for a destination. She just wanted to punch him, which was so easy usually. And she had trouble mauling over the fact that she didn't--or couldn't.

It was because he had the audacity to be right. That's what kept his face safe from her fist. And that's why she couldn't stand to be in the same room with him any longer.