By the time morning came around, Daraku had gotten maybe 2 or 3 hours of sleep and his eyes wrenched open against his will, greeting the daylight that came through his windowpane with scorn. He turned away from the harsh sun and faced the wall, but couldn't will his eyes shut again, and the comfort of his bed was no longer comfort at all. He had lost the fleeting sleep, he realized, and there was no point in trying to rest because he would just sit there awake for a few more hours. He lay there for another 10 minutes or so and then forced himself to sit up straight. He leaned against the headboard and brushed a hand through his hair, thick and unruly as it usually was. The room around him, despite being home, felt unfamiliar since he hadn't slept in it for so long. He was glad to be back, though, and as he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet, he went to the window and opened it wide, letting the desert breeze fill the room. It was hot, so hot it was unbearable to the average man but those who were from Sunagakure were used to it and some, like Daraku, even grew to love it. The heat, the sun, the sands.

The halls were bustling down below. Daraku could hear his fellow clansmen preparing for breakfast but he knew that he wouldn't be joining them this time around. Too lazy to put on clothes just yet, he put on a golden silk robe and tied it loosely over him as some gesture of courtesy so that the rest of them wouldn't have to see him walking around in his underwear. He descended the stairs and passed by the dining hall. The Ishido were once a hateful, disparate bunch and now Daraku watched them eat together as a happy family. The fact that his efforts had changed his clan from a motley crew back into a powerhouse brought a smile to his face. He turned toward the kitchen and swiped a few kushikatsu from the chef's counter.

After he'd finished eating the skewers and taken a shower, the ninja threw on a white sleeveless shirt with a hood and black shorts along with his usual sandals. He strapped Nisebi to his back and headed out, saying an upbeat goodbye to everyone as he left through the main doors. I think I'm gonna go to the hospital today, Daraku thought to himself. Maybe volunteering would be good for me, just like back in Kiri. Probably even better since I'm in my own village now. The walk to the hospital was rather far from the Ishido Castle, which was out near the slums, but he took his time and arrived at the hospital around half past noon. A few nurses walked by when he came in and once he finished checking out their asses, he approached man at the front desk. "Hi, my name is Ishido, Daraku. I'm actually a—"

"A Sannin, yes. Everyone in Sunagakure knows you. We here at the hospital also know that you killed a woman and stole her heart in this very building." Daraku just blinked and stared back awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, but that was already more than a few years ago...haha...I'm really sorry about that." The man rolled his eyes, treating Daraku with just enough disgust to make Daraku feel a little attacked. "It's alright. Lady Suzume insisted that you be pardoned of all your past crimes when you returned to Sunagakure and did your 'time'. Now, why are you here?" Daraku explained that he wanted to volunteer, and the man said that he may as well just work there as a full-time medical ninja. He handed Daraku an application form and then went back to doing some kind of paperwork of his own.

So, Daraku took a pen, moved over to the small waiting room area, and sat down in the cushioned seat. He used his leg to pull the glass table toward him so that he could write on it. The application was more than a few pages long, and he despised boring and monotonous tasks, but he figured it was necessary if he wanted to do any work at the hospital. His hand scribbled away, filling every field one by one in his chicken-scratch handwriting...

A dull pain greeted Akarui as he drifted out of sleep. With a grimace his golden hazel eyes flickered open and the young shinobi let out a pouty groan of annoyance and boredom. Face contorted into a pitiful frown, the red haired man sat up on the thin hospital mattress and raised his bandaged left forearm to his face to rub his eyes. It had been a week since he had woken up in the hospital and he was starting to resent the fact that there were no medi nin available who were skilled enough to help with his recovery. That knowledge, however, had not yet stopped Akarui from checking every day on the off chance someone might be able to help. In this same vein of spite at his own situation, the young man clumsily twisted his legs over the edge of the bed with a determined grunt. Sighing quietly to himself, Akarui retrieved a plain hospital shirt and proceeded to tie it above his boxers just where the bandages on his abdomen ended. The robes were nothing fancy and they certainly were not comfortable but they provided some degree of dignity that the shinobi wearing them was sorely lacking these days. At the very least the hospital robes covered up the bandages on both his abdomen and part of those on his left thigh. Letting out a sigh, Akarui realized that the robe would not be enough to cover up the fact that he was injured and a patient. While the robes themselves were a big giveaway, there was something else that would scream out his current state of health.

With a frown the young man glared over to the bedside table. The only thing on it was an old wooden crutch: the kind which rests neatly into the armpit. In a ragged but fluid motion, Akarui retrieved the crutch from the end table and lowered himself onto his good leg. As his injured left leg touched down a jolt of pain rushed up through the man's body, causing him to shiver and clank down the crutch to relieve the pressure. After a few moments of self pity trying to get himself balanced, the red head began the process of limping his way out of the room. His accommodations at the hospital were small, but at least he was on his own: no old man hacking up a cough in a bed beside his own. Even if it were a little stuffy he couldn't complain: the village was paying his bills. That was perhaps one of the only perks of being injured while on duty. None of that really mattered to him, though. The only thing that mattered was going through the motions of requesting a qualified medi nin to treat him.

And so he made his way out of his room and down the hallway: click clack jolt. click clack jolt. Every cycle of motion was relatively the same, and while he had come to expect the pain every time he put weight on his left leg, Akarui still found himself surprised every time the feeling rushed over his body. He had tried thinking about the good side of it, like the fact that the pain only meant that he was alive and that he had not been killed by that psycho in the middle of who knows where, but the lack of sufficient medical care was causing him a bit of depression. He needed to get out of this place.

As he approached the counter his eyes passed over a few doctors and nurses, and he even sized up Daraku for a moment before turning to the counter and the man behind it. With a pedantic facial expression and a bit of a snarky tone, Akarui complained to the receptionist. "Look, I know there aren't that many skilled medical shinobi in Suna at the moment, but it's been a week. Surely there's somebody available to help me out by now. I just want to get out of here." The red head leaned his crutch against the counter before doing the same with his own body, supporting himself on his shoulders. He had done this routine a few times, and he knew the answer was almost certainly a no, but this was the highlight of most of his days. It was an excuse to get up and care about something, and he wasn't about to head back to his room so soon.

751

Just as Daraku finished his application, he heard someone coming near. There was an unfamiliar pattern of footsteps and clacking noises suggesting that it was probably a patient with a cane or a crutch. Daraku's mind immediately imagined some century old creature with wrinkles deeper than oceans and a cynical attitude. He wasn't personally a fan of taking care of elders. Helping heal ninja with lethal injuries was more his speed. Distracted by his preconceptions of old people and without much thought to it, Daraku rose to his feet and went to back to the desk but his path was cut off on the way there by the source of the sound; a man slightly shorter than he was with dark red hair, wearing a hospital gown. The man stood in front of Daraku and requested that he get some kind of medical care, since apparently Suna didn't have enough skilled medical shinobi at the time to help him recover. He seemed defeated and it was obvious that this wasn't the first time he had tried asking. "I just want to get out of here." Daraku stopped walking toward the desk and thought about this for a while before looking back down at his application and bringing it to the receptionist. "Here's my form. From the sound of it, you guys are pretty short on skilled staff anyway so that probably means that I got the job." Once that was out of the way, he turned his attention to the red-haired guy. "And I think I can help. Not to toot my own horn or anything but I'm an expert medical ninja, probably the best one in the whole village."

Daraku took a closer look at this man. He had bright brown eyes that bordered on being yellow, and a rather thin frame. The extent of his injuries was hard to discern, exactly, because he was clearly fine enough to get up and move around on his own but he was using a crutch to avoid walking on one of his legs. There was also some bandages around his torso, which for the most part were concealed by his gown, but Daraku noticed the small portion that was visible. "I'm Daraku, by the way. Who're you? I don't think we've ever met before, but at this point that's not such a strange thing. I haven't been in the village for a while. And what got you so beat up, dangerous mission or something?" He spoke with somewhat genuine concern but with his usual nonchalant tone and smile. He figured if he could heal this kid then he'd get some extra brownie points with the hospital and maybe a guaranteed spot as a medic there, so that was motivation enough for him to try, at least.