1 Right. [Takao | Private] Sat Oct 20, 2018 2:11 pm
Ting
D-rank
Generally speaking, Konohagakure had a relatively weak night life. Most people would retire into the comfort of their own homes to discuss the happenings of the day, have dinner with their families, or perhaps just relax on their own in preparation for what the next day had to offer. There were, however, pockets of more vile people getting up to less than legal things when night fell upon Konohagakure. Small dens of sin and debauchery were scattered throughout the village, most of them in the regions most stricken with poverty. It is within one of those dens that the tale of Ting and her story as a shinobi begins.
A frail looking young woman with beautiful pastel blue hair would shake nervously as she pushed open the door to a familiar place. Men and women from all walks of life were placed all around the room, some laughing and others in deep conversation as they periodically indulged in mind altering things. That young woman herself had come empty handed in search of snow in the middle of fall.
A man in stained clothes with a few missing teeth would notice her entry to the den and leave his little corner to confront her. “So, do ya have it this time? We talked about this before, you know I can’t have you in ‘ere freeloading all the time. This isn’t a charity.”
Ting’s mind was not on him, his words seeming to fall upon a husk as she somewhat dissociated. She knew she was supposed to have brought money or product tonight. She knew she had been threatened early on that week for doing this exact thing. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that her landlord had finally locked up her door and left her things outside it. Or the fact that she hadn’t eaten a meal in a few days. And the withdrawal. The nausea and profuse sweating she would get hit with constantly as she sought out another line.
Ting truly had nothing to say to the man who sought to shove her out of his shitty house and back onto the streets. When he felt his hands upon her shoulder and the harsh shove, something reflexive seemed to take hold, something beyond her as a drug addicted, homeless civilian. It was that shinobi training she had spent the last few years neglecting. Her left hand would fly forward in an upward angled open palm aimed directly for the man’s nose, cracking it severely and sending him to the ground.
She could manage nothing other than an anguished cry as she tried to gather thoughts that would not stop racing, and before she could react she had dozens of angry denizens upon her, striking her and spitting at her as they shoved her through the door back into the streets. Within a few minutes of sobbing into her hands she would walk with fatigue along the lamplit market district. Every few blocks she would find herself doubled over, dry-heaving onto the sidewalk.
Finally, the blue-haired snow angel would slide down the side of a brick storefront and pass out in exhaustion.
531
A frail looking young woman with beautiful pastel blue hair would shake nervously as she pushed open the door to a familiar place. Men and women from all walks of life were placed all around the room, some laughing and others in deep conversation as they periodically indulged in mind altering things. That young woman herself had come empty handed in search of snow in the middle of fall.
A man in stained clothes with a few missing teeth would notice her entry to the den and leave his little corner to confront her. “So, do ya have it this time? We talked about this before, you know I can’t have you in ‘ere freeloading all the time. This isn’t a charity.”
Ting’s mind was not on him, his words seeming to fall upon a husk as she somewhat dissociated. She knew she was supposed to have brought money or product tonight. She knew she had been threatened early on that week for doing this exact thing. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that her landlord had finally locked up her door and left her things outside it. Or the fact that she hadn’t eaten a meal in a few days. And the withdrawal. The nausea and profuse sweating she would get hit with constantly as she sought out another line.
Ting truly had nothing to say to the man who sought to shove her out of his shitty house and back onto the streets. When he felt his hands upon her shoulder and the harsh shove, something reflexive seemed to take hold, something beyond her as a drug addicted, homeless civilian. It was that shinobi training she had spent the last few years neglecting. Her left hand would fly forward in an upward angled open palm aimed directly for the man’s nose, cracking it severely and sending him to the ground.
She could manage nothing other than an anguished cry as she tried to gather thoughts that would not stop racing, and before she could react she had dozens of angry denizens upon her, striking her and spitting at her as they shoved her through the door back into the streets. Within a few minutes of sobbing into her hands she would walk with fatigue along the lamplit market district. Every few blocks she would find herself doubled over, dry-heaving onto the sidewalk.
Finally, the blue-haired snow angel would slide down the side of a brick storefront and pass out in exhaustion.
531