Random, I know, but apparently my story inspiration comes when I'm in the shower… Anyway, the OC's named after a guy that was at my school a few years ago. If it's misspelled, will someone please tell me the correct spelling? I didn't actually know him; I only heard his name and thought it sounded cool.
I don't own Naruto. If anything in here looks a lot like someone else's fanfiction, it was not intentional. I can't think of seeing any of the non-cannon things originating from a fanfiction… If something looks funny, just send me a message, and I'll look at it.
Onward! Please leave comments on how to improve this!
Kintaro perched on the bar's counter, oblivious to the glares and stares of shady patrons and outright criminals. One hand continually toyed with his pen, tapping it against the paper balanced between his knee and the wall, while the other sprawled behind him, fingers curling over the back of the wood top. Those fingernails tapped on the edge in time with his foot on the counter's side.
Calmly, as if by habit, the barman reached over the youth's shoulder to hand a drink to a shinobi. With an odd glance to the boy, the ninja met the barman's eyes.
"Is he that naive, old man?"
"Naw…" The barman sighed, half-way affectionate, the other half incredulous, "It's a bluff. He's paying attention."
Currently engrossed in a spurt of writing, Kintaro hardly helped the man's defense of him. The elder twain watched him for a moment, as he smiled and wrote something with a flourish, before the shinobi snickered.
"Does he really belong here?"
Momentarily surprised, the barman laughed. "Of course! This brat's the best spy in town."
"Only 'cause I don't come tryin' to pay for some boss's bonus." Grinning, Kintaro met the shinobi's eyes, "And if I do get caught, enough people like me enough to get me out without many questions."
The barman smirked over the spy's shoulder, mouthing, 'Told you.'
"Anyway," Kintaro's sudden voice broke the silence stagnating for the past twenty seconds, "I better go. Got a meeting to catch up to!"
He hopped off the counter and dashed out the door without a second thought, paper still clutched in one hand.
Behind him, the barman only laughed, handing the shell-shocked shinobi one more drink. "On the house. That brat's a whirlwind!"
Kintaro slid into an alleyway, apparently at random, and flipped onto an abandoned dumpster. "Jiraiya-sama!"
In a cloud of smoke, the burly white-haired sannin appeared. Seeing the boy holding two packs of papers, he queried, "So what's the deal today?"
"You get the new treaty between Mist and Stone. I get some trivia on jutsu. Sound reasonable?"
"Sure, sure, kid. But, let me see this 'treaty' first."
Kintaro's eyes narrowed, before he smirked and flapped one of the packs at him, "How do I know you wouldn't just take it? You're a famous shinobi, a warrior of stealth. What if you stole it from me?" He adopted a concerned expression.
Jiraiya just scoffed, "Fine, brat. What do you want to know?"
"Some stuff about blood limits." He continued unaware of the other's tensing. "Like the normal stuff about the different ones. What they are, what they do, who has them, who's used them… Stuff like that."
"What for?"
A smile broke across Kintaro's features. Brandishing the other pack of papers, the one covered with his hurried writing, he grinned, "I'm writing a 'guide for civilians.' It's called, "Shinobi: When to Confront, When to Bribe, and When to Commit Quick Suicide." Interested?"
Jiraiya smothered a laugh, "If that sells, it'll damage public relations."
Kintaro looked at him quizzically, "Do you really want to work for someone who takes advice for survival from a joke book?"