Mari had chosen her outfit with care; a one-piece sea-foam-green swimsuit with a low back, a pair of cheap wooden wedge-heeled sandals, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. The suit was attractive but not alluring and the green was much less eye-catching than her red one. The sandals clicked noisily when she walked and the soles were high and slightly uneven, making her both just a bit unsteady when she walked. She had plenty of experience with walking like a fit civilian instead of gliding like a trained ninja, but part of that experience was to use equipment that made the disguise easier. Also, the shoes were loose enough that they could be kicked off instantly if she needed to fight. Kicked off into an opponent's head, even.

The hat, of course, was the most important part. The ultra-wide brim cast shadows across her face and made it hard to tell which direction she was looking. She appeared to be facing straight ahead, absorbed in her book. In actuality, her eyes were locked on Jōtarō and the quiet conversation he was having at the other end of the veranda.

Jōtarō wasn't really her type—the brash, noisy ones usually weren't nearly as good in the sack as they thought and had too much ego to be educated—but his conversation partner...mmmmmm. Yum.

On the short side for a man, he was only six or seven inches taller than she was. Perfect. She could wear heels and still be shorter, but they were close enough not to be awkward in bed. He was lean and fit, although fit like a civilian and not a ninja. Also good; ninja were suspicious of everyone, even their lovers, and usually a giant ball of traumatic stress issues and unexpected triggers.

Long fingers and expressive hands, silky chestnut hair that tumbled just past his collar and was gathered into a loose pony tail. She had to drag herself back from thoughts of what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, make a fist in it and pull him in close, feeling the heat of those soft hands on her skin....

She forced herself to drag her eyes over to the much less appealing Jōtarō before she started unconscious griding her hips on the lounger. Besides, Mr. Yummy had his back to her and she still hadn't managed to see his face. Jōtarō, on the other hand, she could see in three-quarter profile. He was well out of hearing range, but plenty close enough for lipreading. It was one more piece of evidence in the 'combat asset, not professional intelligence operative' bucket.

—say you could have hurried a little more, Jōtarō said. Those two are a complete pain in the ass. He's nervouser than a mouse at a cat party and she's more defensive than a...a very defensive person.

Mr. Yummy must have said something because Jōtarō glowered.

Fine, he said. Whatever, at least you're finally here. Just—he scratched his cheek, blocking her view of his mouth for a moment—another mission and you've made me late as it is.

Mr. Yummy's hands moved, and presumably so did what she imagined would prove to be a pair of full, deliciously nibblable lips.

No, she hasn't given me the key, Jōtarō said. She thought I'd ditch them if she gave it up.

Mr. Yummy nodded, one hand making a throwing-away gesture. He turned, Jōtarō falling in beside him as the two made their way back to the main building and Jōtarō's room. Mari finally got a good look at him.

On the one hand, disappointing: not quite what she'd hoped. The lips that she'd been daydreaming about were a little thin and the nose was wider than she preferred. No scars, skin that was neither good nor bad, dark nor light. Nothing eye-catching or memorable about that face at all. Very forgettable.

On the other hand, wow. That face was so incredibly forgettable it almost screamed 'SPY!' It made him even yummier; spies were tons of fun to talk to because they generally had the same sort of training she did. Emotional awareness, active listening, empathetic projection, mirroring, identification of primary drives...all the things that made someone fun to be around and easy to talk to. Better yet, most spies weren't as good at it as she was.

Best yet was that all those skills made them very attentive and enthusiastic lovers.

Her lips quirked in a tiny smile. She really, really needed to get laid. For almost a year now she'd been riding herd on three hormonal balls of teenage angst. Oh, and don't forget the adorable Golden Retriever in human form, and the poster child for paranoia and PTSD. (Well, more like a Border Collie—Goldens were dumb as a box of hammers, and despite her status as an evangelical Power of Youth preacher, Akane was pretty bright. And Kagome wasn't actually the poster child for paranoia; he was far too paranoid to have ever allowed his picture to be taken for a poster. If anyone had made a poster of him, Kagome had no doubt blown it up.)

Jōtarō and Mr. Yummy were leaving the veranda, headed back into the building and out of sight. Mari pondered her next move; there wasn't really a plausible reason for her to follow them inside. Her room wasn't on their wing, or even on the same floor—she was on the first floor in the north wing and Jōtarō's group was on the second floor of the east wing.

It would depend on what they did next; it was two o'clock already, which was a little late in the day to start traveling. From what Jōtarō had said it was clear that he was passing the woman and the boy—and, presumably, the scroll (or whatever it was)—off to Mr. Yummy. It wasn't entirely clear if Jōtarō would be leaving on his own or escorting the three from here; if he went along then the team would need to figure something out. If he left on his own then they could pretty much do what they wanted with the three civilians.

She chuckled quietly. 'Do what they wanted with the civilians', huh? She knew what she wanted! She'd never force Mr. Yummy, or anyone else, but in her experience it usually wasn't hard to convince a heterosexual man to want the same things she wanted. A woman had needs, you know? Almost a year and she'd had her ashes hauled exactly once. Granted, it had been by Jiraiya who was holyohmygods good at it. It had taken twenty minutes for her toes to uncurl. And, now that she thought about it, it was really more like seven or eight times. (Apparently advanced ninjutsu expertise could really increase a guy's stamina, rowr!)

Anyway, back on the actual subject...the civilians might leave today, if their destination was close enough. If it wasn't, they'd probably leave in the morning. Jōtarō could travel at ninja speeds so his travel circle was a lot bigger. He'd said he had another mission to do, so if he wasn't going to stick with the group he'd almost certainly leave today.

She glanced across the veranda to her opposite number. Whoever he was, he was good. Well-trained, definitely belonging to some intelligence service. She wasn't even sure if he was a ninja or not; if he was using a henge she couldn't spot it, and he moved like the mid-forties civilian he appeared to be. When the team first arrived it had taken her a full four hours to notice him; she'd only twigged because she caught him following Jōtarō's movements a little too closely.

None of the kids had noticed him as more than another guest, despite Hazō walking within arm's length of him on at least two occasions. She was pretty sure Jōtarō hadn't noticed him either. She'd be interested to see how Mr. Spy Guy reacted to Jōtarō's contact arriving.

She wondered again if she should point him out to the kids. At this point, probably. She'd been waiting to see if they would notice him, but it was time to give them the information so they could factor it into the plans.

'So they could factor it into the plans.' Wasn't that just all kinds of adorable? Thirteen-year-olds, doing the planning for what was essentially a small strike group? Doing it pretty well, too. She'd never tell them, of course, but she was actually impressed. Hazō was coming along nicely as a future leader; he had Noburi's ego issues mostly sorted out and had slotted the other boy into a beta role almost without Noburi realizing it. Noburi, in turn, was steadying down. He'd lost most—well, some—of his insecurity and was in the process of turning into a strong young man. Keiko was...improving. Long way left to go, though.

Even Kagome was getting better. His flashbacks were much less frequent and seemed to be less intense. He was starting to sleep more than three or four hours at a stretch, and it had been almost a week since the last time he came up swinging when she woke him up. It was going to be a long time before she let any of the kids wake him, though.

She sighed. Dealing with Kagome was exhausting. Enough flirting and playfulness to keep him focused on positive things and engaged with the group, not so much that he actually developed a crush. Carefully measured voice modulation and display of gestural emblems signifying authority so that he followed the lead of the tiny little redhead instead of going off half-cocked. Constantly watching him for microexpressions of fear and, whenever she saw them, staying between him and the kids in case one of them accidentally triggered him. All without letting any of them notice what she was doing. It was just lucky that he had more tells than roomful of first-time poker players; if he'd had any sort of ability to hide his feelings it would have been ten times worse.

She shook off the negativity and forced herself to breathe. Puppies and fuzzy little kittens! Rainbows, chocolate cake, and Auntie Machiko's apple cobbler!

She settled back into the lounger, taking an extra-deep breath and wriggling just a little so that she could watch the eyes pop out of the head of the middle-aged guy two recliners over, who was desperately trying not to look and clearly hoping that his wife wouldn't notice that he had. She'd read a bit longer while waiting to see what Mr. Spy Guy did. If he didn't react before she finished her current chapter she'd go find the others and signal them to pull in for a briefing. She had a feeling the next couple of days were going to be exciting.