Home
1![Down the Rabbit Hole? [Private] Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Down the Rabbit Hole? [Private] Thu Jun 08, 2017 2:07 am
Seiryū
D-rank
![Down the Rabbit Hole? [Private] Left_bar_bleue](https://2img.net/i/fa/i/left_bar_bleue.jpg){kind=small}
![Down the Rabbit Hole? [Private] Empty_bar_bleue](https://2img.net/i/fa/i/empty_bar_bleue.jpg){kind=small}
The first and primary sense that had been stimulated far more than necessary was that of sound. For every corner turned, there would be another set of people loudly conversing with others within their in group. The ages of all the other building occupiers happened to fall within the early adult range, though there happened to be older individuals milling about as well, though in much smaller groups or simply by themselves. No matter the area where one would settle themselves, there was never a moment where pure silence would overtake the individual; the constant chatter and boisterous laughs would resonate within the vicinity for the next few hours, regardless of anything short of an attack breaking out in the village. However, such a thought was neither here nor there, for while it may be a legitimate concern for a shinobi village, for a shinobi who had no allegiances and was relatively unknown outside of his home village, he hadn’t developed many worries over the past few months that he’d been out on the run.
Here he was in a place where next to nobody knew of his existence – only a couple that he had potentially run into in his past, but even to them he’d likely remain invisible. It was best this way. The less people associated with him, meant he didn’t get to know them at all. Everyone he knew thus far had abandoned him in some way, shape, or form and any future acquaintances would follow that exact same path. Seiryū’s life was dictate by a script, one that meant people constantly arrived and left his life in just mere moments. That was how it was, whether it had been foreign shinobi or those who had lived in the village with him – eventually they would all stop any form of socializing with the bastard that had grown up in the slums from the ripe age of eight.
The burning sensation that once would have had a younger him sputtering and barely downing his drink, had grown used to that particular sensation that it was like drinking water in a sense; the initial taste of the alcohol still always proved strong, yet after that it was no longer an issue. The rogue-nin was nowhere near drunk, though that could mainly be accounted for by being on his second drink at this particular moment. He had stowed himself away by sitting in the far corner of the bar, such that his right side was facing a wall with an open seat to his left. The man could easily blend in for being a normal patron, for there was nothing out of the ordinary about him, nor was there any of the larger weaponry on him that would give him away as a shinobi. The only items he would have on him were his senbon and kunai, but those were safely stashed away in his pockets. Dressed in what happened to be a black sweater, and jeans, along with a pair of dark brown shoes, Seiryū fit the mold of any normal civilian – his long dark hair had been tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck was the only thing that really stood out to an untrained eye.
“Rough day?” The familiar voice – of only twenty minutes – entered his ears, which made Seiryū look up only a second later. The bartender was a man in his mid-thirties, one who was prime for socializing with, primarily with the female audience, though smart enough to talk to the male patrons as well.
Swirling his glass of scotch briefly, before settling it back down on the countertop, “More like the past few months.” Being honest while leaving out any form of details was no major deal, for any person goes through a rollercoaster of emotions during the course of their lives – only that Seiryū’s had never really, truly hit that peak. It only ever neared it during his last few months in Suna, before he made the last choice he made in Sunagakure no Sato. “Though, things could always be worse.”
690|690 Words
Here he was in a place where next to nobody knew of his existence – only a couple that he had potentially run into in his past, but even to them he’d likely remain invisible. It was best this way. The less people associated with him, meant he didn’t get to know them at all. Everyone he knew thus far had abandoned him in some way, shape, or form and any future acquaintances would follow that exact same path. Seiryū’s life was dictate by a script, one that meant people constantly arrived and left his life in just mere moments. That was how it was, whether it had been foreign shinobi or those who had lived in the village with him – eventually they would all stop any form of socializing with the bastard that had grown up in the slums from the ripe age of eight.
The burning sensation that once would have had a younger him sputtering and barely downing his drink, had grown used to that particular sensation that it was like drinking water in a sense; the initial taste of the alcohol still always proved strong, yet after that it was no longer an issue. The rogue-nin was nowhere near drunk, though that could mainly be accounted for by being on his second drink at this particular moment. He had stowed himself away by sitting in the far corner of the bar, such that his right side was facing a wall with an open seat to his left. The man could easily blend in for being a normal patron, for there was nothing out of the ordinary about him, nor was there any of the larger weaponry on him that would give him away as a shinobi. The only items he would have on him were his senbon and kunai, but those were safely stashed away in his pockets. Dressed in what happened to be a black sweater, and jeans, along with a pair of dark brown shoes, Seiryū fit the mold of any normal civilian – his long dark hair had been tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck was the only thing that really stood out to an untrained eye.
“Rough day?” The familiar voice – of only twenty minutes – entered his ears, which made Seiryū look up only a second later. The bartender was a man in his mid-thirties, one who was prime for socializing with, primarily with the female audience, though smart enough to talk to the male patrons as well.
Swirling his glass of scotch briefly, before settling it back down on the countertop, “More like the past few months.” Being honest while leaving out any form of details was no major deal, for any person goes through a rollercoaster of emotions during the course of their lives – only that Seiryū’s had never really, truly hit that peak. It only ever neared it during his last few months in Suna, before he made the last choice he made in Sunagakure no Sato. “Though, things could always be worse.”
690|690 Words
Hokage: 
Kazekage: 
Raikage: 
Tsuchikage: 
Mizukage: 