Jiro didn't remember much about what had happened after he escaped Akkuma. He remembered that he had said he was entering a tournament and then he remembered waiting a couple days before fleeing. He remembered running but being so incredibly weak that he passed out. Weak. Just like Akkuma said.
The next thing he knew, he had woken up with bright white lights in his face. The faint smell of hospital lingered strongly, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. He found out soon enough that he was back in Suna, in a hospital. This was the last place he wanted to be. He'd rather be back in Akkuma's clutches. The thought made him cackle as he rocked back and forth, making the medi-nins look at him, filled with concern.
That had been a couple days ago. They kept him for what they said was observation. More like torture... He let them poke and prod him, tried to keep some semblance of sanity so they would just let him go, let him leave so he could get out of this damned village. He wanted nothing to do with it after what the woman who birthed him had done, but it seemed that he now had no choice.
Finally, the medi-nins came to his room. They told him everything seemed fine. He was healthy, everything came back normal for a Shinobi of his age and Rank. They made him sign some papers and then he was allowed to be discharged to go home. Home...
Where was home?
He didn't know where home was. All he knew was it was not with that woman who had sold him like he was a piece of property to be given to the highest bidder. He would never see her again unless it was to murder her. That was what he wanted to accomplish once he got strong enough. Oh, he had fantasies about it. He dreamed about the day he was able to use the methods he had been taught to make her suffer like he suffered.
So he left the hospital, making his way to the outer village. He would figure out how to survive from there. Maybe someone would take him in. Or he could get a job as some type of mercenary. There were many things he could do and a few less-than-savory occupations to get by.
That was how he found himself in the Red Lights District. The blonde Shinobi found himself in a nightclub known for its less-than-wholesome reputation, but he used that to his advantage. Sidling up to people who were too drunk to resist his advantages, he used his looks and their inebriated state as a way to get what he wanted. All it took was some pouts, a wink of his pretty blue eyes and some suggestive implications and he was able to get food and a few drinks.
One such victim even had their money taken by him. He moved his hand to their lap to distract them while his other hand reached into their pocket, snatching their wallet and leaving shortly after he got what he wanted. And then he moved onto his next victim. Now to find a place to stay for the night. While he despised the hospital, it did do him the favor of offering him shelter. But now, for the first time in his eighteen years of living, he was alone.
Soon, he found a good target and sidled up to the bar next to them. He pushed his long blonde hair out of his face, looking at their profile as he sat. "Get the man next to me another drink," he told the bartender, sliding the elderly man a few of the stolen yen he had gotten a hold of.
The bartender pocketed the yen with no question and gave him a nod. The miser grabbed another bottle of what the person next to him was drinking and slid it over to them. Jiro leaned closer to his newfound potential roommate for the night, as if he was engaging in a secret. "Thought ya needed that," he said with a wink. "Pretty people deserve nice things. I'm Jiro..."
He sipped his own drink, wincing at the bitter taste. He had never drank beer before and it tasted too bitter, a flavor he didn't like, but he drank it nonetheless. Who was he to turn down a free beverage from the man whose wallet he had stolen earlier. Plus, it seemed to be the only thing this sad excuse for a club sold to drink. As he spoke, he scanned the dance floor, bodies writhing against each other likes snakes in some twisted mating ritual or death dance.
"What're you doing in a place like this?"
[MFT]
[Word Count: 796]
The next thing he knew, he had woken up with bright white lights in his face. The faint smell of hospital lingered strongly, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. He found out soon enough that he was back in Suna, in a hospital. This was the last place he wanted to be. He'd rather be back in Akkuma's clutches. The thought made him cackle as he rocked back and forth, making the medi-nins look at him, filled with concern.
That had been a couple days ago. They kept him for what they said was observation. More like torture... He let them poke and prod him, tried to keep some semblance of sanity so they would just let him go, let him leave so he could get out of this damned village. He wanted nothing to do with it after what the woman who birthed him had done, but it seemed that he now had no choice.
Finally, the medi-nins came to his room. They told him everything seemed fine. He was healthy, everything came back normal for a Shinobi of his age and Rank. They made him sign some papers and then he was allowed to be discharged to go home. Home...
Where was home?
He didn't know where home was. All he knew was it was not with that woman who had sold him like he was a piece of property to be given to the highest bidder. He would never see her again unless it was to murder her. That was what he wanted to accomplish once he got strong enough. Oh, he had fantasies about it. He dreamed about the day he was able to use the methods he had been taught to make her suffer like he suffered.
So he left the hospital, making his way to the outer village. He would figure out how to survive from there. Maybe someone would take him in. Or he could get a job as some type of mercenary. There were many things he could do and a few less-than-savory occupations to get by.
That was how he found himself in the Red Lights District. The blonde Shinobi found himself in a nightclub known for its less-than-wholesome reputation, but he used that to his advantage. Sidling up to people who were too drunk to resist his advantages, he used his looks and their inebriated state as a way to get what he wanted. All it took was some pouts, a wink of his pretty blue eyes and some suggestive implications and he was able to get food and a few drinks.
One such victim even had their money taken by him. He moved his hand to their lap to distract them while his other hand reached into their pocket, snatching their wallet and leaving shortly after he got what he wanted. And then he moved onto his next victim. Now to find a place to stay for the night. While he despised the hospital, it did do him the favor of offering him shelter. But now, for the first time in his eighteen years of living, he was alone.
Soon, he found a good target and sidled up to the bar next to them. He pushed his long blonde hair out of his face, looking at their profile as he sat. "Get the man next to me another drink," he told the bartender, sliding the elderly man a few of the stolen yen he had gotten a hold of.
The bartender pocketed the yen with no question and gave him a nod. The miser grabbed another bottle of what the person next to him was drinking and slid it over to them. Jiro leaned closer to his newfound potential roommate for the night, as if he was engaging in a secret. "Thought ya needed that," he said with a wink. "Pretty people deserve nice things. I'm Jiro..."
He sipped his own drink, wincing at the bitter taste. He had never drank beer before and it tasted too bitter, a flavor he didn't like, but he drank it nonetheless. Who was he to turn down a free beverage from the man whose wallet he had stolen earlier. Plus, it seemed to be the only thing this sad excuse for a club sold to drink. As he spoke, he scanned the dance floor, bodies writhing against each other likes snakes in some twisted mating ritual or death dance.
"What're you doing in a place like this?"
[MFT]
[Word Count: 796]
