The pressing throng of the unwashed, the unfortunate, and the forgotten mingled around the lean-tos and shanties that looked as if they had hurriedly been erected amidst the chaos of a difficult world. The buildings reflected the desperation of the people who scraped out a living, selling whatever or whomever they could. The general din of merchants, prostitutes and enforcers blended into a stew that only the strongest could stomach.
Crimson eyes gleamed as it watched expertly the subtle nuances of the black market, noting the key figures, the illicit trade, the secret communications between store owners, customers, and the clearly bribed or gang-affiliated heavies. For here, amongst the sewer-rats, was where Migoya had been raised - albeit in a different land - and here was where he was at his best.
He leant against a filthy wall, his ratty garments (conveniently ‘acquired’ from a nearby clothesline) covering his body, giving the appearance of yet another homeless teen on the streets. He had adopted what appeared to be the local posture - slumped but on edge - and easily slid amongst the lower class like a hand in a glove. No - if the Suna shinobi wanted to find him, they would have to work very, very hard indeed. The smell itself from his clothing and whatever he had intentionally rubbed into would drive away most people with sensibilities, including ninja tracking dogs and insects, and that was exactly what he wanted.
For those people who lived in the sewer, smell was the least important sense. Rather, survival was what mattered given appearances could be altered, sounds muffled, taste tricked, and touch… tempted. No - it was the sixth sense those born on the street had developed that was of the most use here. Several times the simple prickling of his skin alerted him to where, and to whom, to avoid and those born a rat knew the rat-catchers. Even having been here only a short time had let him know who to avoid.
Because, despite what some other people thought (usually the wealthy), one did not become ‘powerful’ in the underworld due to strength alone. In fact, displaying strength only brought interest towards you. No - it was the subtle movements that brought true power. Being able to acquire information. Getting the ear of the right people. Lining the palms of the right sucker. Right now, Migoya was scoping out who they were.
Oh, there might be conflict certainly - after all these people knew their own, and Migoya was an unknown piece in this Sava game, but Migoya was a Myakashi - the peoples assassins - and he would thrive. But first things first.
He needed contacts.
[OOC: Hello! More than happy to RP with anyone here, just be aware that Migoya is in a very good 'non-chakra' disguise (its his thing), and does not resemble his 'bingo book' entry, rather a smelly homeless 'bum' ]
Crimson eyes gleamed as it watched expertly the subtle nuances of the black market, noting the key figures, the illicit trade, the secret communications between store owners, customers, and the clearly bribed or gang-affiliated heavies. For here, amongst the sewer-rats, was where Migoya had been raised - albeit in a different land - and here was where he was at his best.
He leant against a filthy wall, his ratty garments (conveniently ‘acquired’ from a nearby clothesline) covering his body, giving the appearance of yet another homeless teen on the streets. He had adopted what appeared to be the local posture - slumped but on edge - and easily slid amongst the lower class like a hand in a glove. No - if the Suna shinobi wanted to find him, they would have to work very, very hard indeed. The smell itself from his clothing and whatever he had intentionally rubbed into would drive away most people with sensibilities, including ninja tracking dogs and insects, and that was exactly what he wanted.
For those people who lived in the sewer, smell was the least important sense. Rather, survival was what mattered given appearances could be altered, sounds muffled, taste tricked, and touch… tempted. No - it was the sixth sense those born on the street had developed that was of the most use here. Several times the simple prickling of his skin alerted him to where, and to whom, to avoid and those born a rat knew the rat-catchers. Even having been here only a short time had let him know who to avoid.
Because, despite what some other people thought (usually the wealthy), one did not become ‘powerful’ in the underworld due to strength alone. In fact, displaying strength only brought interest towards you. No - it was the subtle movements that brought true power. Being able to acquire information. Getting the ear of the right people. Lining the palms of the right sucker. Right now, Migoya was scoping out who they were.
Oh, there might be conflict certainly - after all these people knew their own, and Migoya was an unknown piece in this Sava game, but Migoya was a Myakashi - the peoples assassins - and he would thrive. But first things first.
He needed contacts.
[OOC: Hello! More than happy to RP with anyone here, just be aware that Migoya is in a very good 'non-chakra' disguise (its his thing), and does not resemble his 'bingo book' entry, rather a smelly homeless 'bum' ]