Daraku sat atop one of the establishments along the bazaar in Sunagakure, in the middle of the day. It was near half past noon and the sun in the sky beamed down on the sands, keeping the air hot and humid. He watched from his perch as drones of people moved, from shop to shop, through the street. Loud yelling and excited squeals were the only present sounds, drowning all else out and occupying the vicinity with an uncomfortable volume that put a strain the ears. Daraku was there for little to no concrete reason aside from gathering his thoughts. He was still in disbelief at his uncle's demise and his coping mechanism was denying its truth, acting as if it had never happened. His expression was dull and lifeless as his eyes followed the attractive ones in the crowd and he rated them by their appearance. She's cute. 8/10. He's nice but too short, 7.5/10. She's hot. 10/10. She's hot too, holy shit. 11/10. He's disgusting, fuck. 2/10. he rolled his eyes and reclined, pressing his back against the hard clay rooftop and shifting his feet to support his new position.

The Sannin's eyes were level to the clouds and he watched them pass, just like the people but with more distinct paths as they flowed in the air like colossal wisps. He wondered what he would do if he were a cloud, without obligations or stress. Just float around and make rain and shit. Pretty cool. "Beats this whole human gig, that's for sure..." he mumbled to himself before rolling onto his side and looking back down to the crowds. Their noise had died down a bit but he was still thoroughly annoyed with all of them, although far too lazy to move now. He was never the type of person who enjoyed social situations or people in general, and even watching the commotion from a safe distance was just as stressful. The true definition of a cynic. He wanted to continue rating them but he was beginning to grow drowzy, and the clutches of sleep struggled to pull him into their grasp, to coax him into a long nap under the warm sun.

It was a village, one of the main five shinobi villages in existence, with a rather large civilian population, so it wouldn't be strange to find so much noise entering one ear and escaping out the other. Words were filtered rather quickly, as Fuzen only honed in on particular conversations if they were of interest to himself or his goals; or if they would aid his goal at all. This day was like any other in Sunagakure no Sato, hot and humid. It was rather... annoying in a sense, seeing as when he was raised (the amount of time he could recall), the environments he was exposed to were either relatively warm or close to freezing temperatures. He didn't know how much longer he'd be spending time in this particular village, he had set no deadline for himself, thus he decided he'd probably wander around the world for a year or so. Dodging children and adults alike, most of which were civilians with some shinobi amongst their ranks, Fuzen's aim today was nothing, nothing at all. When he woke up, it was just one of those days where he would see what the world would offer to him instead of taking it himself. While the area was certainly quiet crowded, as it would be for walking along one of the main paths within the village, Fuzen assumed, by the geography alone, that there wouldn't be anything too particular that would stand out to his eyes alone.

Letting out a huff, Fuzen's focus randomly wandered to the buildings around him, taking in what kind of establishments were run in this particular part of the village. Most of what he found were restaurants, bars and simple cafes, nothing too fancy, suited more towards the commonfolk than the "upper class" of people. Maybe, soon, it would be time for him to leave this village, to find a better way to make ends meet, but for now he would stay here, another week or so was a definite conclusion, he just wasn't sure if he wanted to be around for much longer. Running a hand through his hair, maybe, just maybe, he'd also get it cut, it wasn't suitable as it could possibly, easily, give him away. Something shorter could definitely hide him, for a short period of time. He'd decide on the fate of his hair before the week was over.

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(OOC: Ending this thread early, Gin needs me in Kiri! We'll resume this in another thread, where we can have a proper introduction.)

Daraku was just about to get up and abandon his post and head back toward the admin building to speak with Suzume when he noticed someone deviant in the crowd, moving in the direction opposite from the flux of people. Nothing about the man walking seemed all that familiar aside from the fact that he held a determined glare with the way he walked, somewhat similar to the way Daraku's father had looked. This triggered a state of paralysis accompanied by feelings of guilt and terror and Daraku didn't move for a long while, instead just watching as the person passed by. What made the made different from the rest of the crowd was his hair, which was far past his shoulders and silvery-white, like snowflakes. His gaze was finally broken as the man was obscured by the crowd and his paralysis seemed to ease its grip. His breathing leveled out and he was only glad that he didn't either have a mental breakdown or go into a violent rampage, as both were things that had happened in the past when such triggers occurred. He figured he should make it a priority to see a mental health professional soon, else his conditions become worse.

Before the silver-haired figure was too far, Daraku dared to be a bit cocky and rude, as per his usual self. "Get a haircut, freak!" he shouted, as if to compensate for his own fearful reaction to the resemblance between that person and his father. He waited for a reaction only a few moments before turning and sprinting away towards the administration building.

[Exit Thread]