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[attr="class","zacwords"]There it stood, in all its shining glory, a monument to a past best left forgotten. Yet with all attempts at self-immolating his memory via alcohol, it was that damned jewel of a tower that constantly pierced the skies, as well as his vision. A totem he could simply no longer ignore, the apparent vagrant uttered unintelligible moans of disgust after his sight had been invaded by such a monument – it was none other than the Kumogakure tower, the crowned jewel at the center of one of the more prestigious hidden villages across the lands. There it stood, glass meeting wood and steel in the most organized and efficient way possible, perfectly designed to hold the collective pride of the Hidden Cloud.[break][break]

Having recused himself to the slums, only the very top was most visible, low-income dwellings otherwise sprawling across his vision scape, a constant reminder of where he was, and what he had become. Contrasted with the glory of the tower, and ironically, the most visible floor, the top, the home of their fearless leader, it served as a silent form of daily shunning. It was all self-imposed, of course, and he was more than capable of ending his own torture at any time. But with years of conscripted service to self-misery and pity, it seemed there was no end in sight. Chinetsu was truly at home with his degrading self, and the actions he himself took to retain such a status.[break][break]

Hues of light blue crackled at his side, the results of a minor medical technique being summoned. While he had resigned himself from the shinobi life some time ago, preferring instead one of transiency and inebriation, he still used his natural skill when it suited him. If he met unruly and unsavory characters at one of the many dens of misery that he attended, he would employ his taijutsu skills to dispatch his foes with swift ease. If he had one too many constant nights living outside the world of sobriety, electrical currents would make sure his heart never failed him. And he woke up a little too hungover – a state of mind all too often embraced by the Chuunin, he would do his best to remove as many toxins from whatever was left of his liver.[break][break]

His long face, broad chin, and pronounced eyebrows employed a myriad of dirt and scars, a dirtied façade that screamed an extreme lack of self-care. His long black hair, once flowing proudly, reaching such lengths as his lower back, was now knotted and disheveled, nary a comb nor hair product having frequented it in ages. Mutton chops that once were associated with a brash, arrogant but effective battle medic, were now riddled with old food and cheap liquor. And his once proud white attire – which consisted of a double-breasted French coat, large, buttoned cuffs and lapels, trousers and trench boots – had finally achieved the same color of his surrounding, the proud achievement of an alcoholic chameleon that, simply put, no longer gave any fucks whatsoever.[break][break]

After another long sigh, he was finally satisfied with his purging, though his body was far from being fully cleaned. Still, it was enough to allow him to lean the rest of his body weight off the side of the abandoned building he chose to hide in, and continue to slink around in the darkness, avoiding the pursuit of a potential barkeep whom he had cheated out of his bill just the night prior. Footsteps scraped in the distance, their accelerated pitter patter growing louder and louder.[break][break]

It was time to move.

[attr="class","zactitle"]CHINETSU