Author: katseng
Title: Once Upon a Time
Rating: M
Warnings: Mature themes, mature language
Pairing: None
Summary: She prays that she'll come up with something quickly enough to save them. Meanwhile, her teammate picks his nose.
A/N: This has been written for the better part of two years. I thought I should finally post it to inspire me. Feedback is lovely.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, Team Seven dies on a mission.
It is a relatively simple mission, they groan when they get their briefing. Too simple. They are bigger and badder and better than ever before and pleasepleaseplease, isn't it time for us to get better missions yet?
We'll see after this one.
The plan is crystal clear.
Heh. Even you can't mess this up, Idiot.
Hey! Who are you calling—
The plan is crystal clear. She would get in and then open this window – Here, see? – just as soon as the target went to sleep, she would give the signal and let them in to split up and complete their assigned tasks. Nothing big, really – steal a couple of valuables to help cover their tracks while going for the motherlode of scrolls hidden away in far distant corners around the house. Under high security.
Neurotic bastard.
And so they start. It begins well enough – she enters the compound as a freshly christened brunette orphan and newly hired maidservant and I'll be the best worker you'll ever find! Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
So she goes in – without any visible bugs on her because those goddamn neurotic bastards are gonna search her. What if she needs us? Goddamn motherfuckers better not dare to—
She goes in and everything looks pretty good. One of the more matronly servants starts to show her to her new home in the servants' quarters when another, spindly old servant who was previously hiding in the shadows when she came in (civilian chakra levels, she felt when she walked to the door) comes up and whispers in the older lady's ear. The colour visibly percolates from the woman's face, leaving it ashen as she sags and ages in seconds with the news. She tensely glances back and forth from the man to the new girl when she gulps loudly and nods to the spidery creep, warbling her nervous assent to the creep who continues to watch them as they walk away.
Crap. It can't be that bad, can it?
Of course. It can.
The matronly old lady says that her new boss wants to meet her and, really, it isn't so bad after the first time. It'll be okay and she'll be okay and, you know? she had a daughter just your age once and she really doesn't want to do this but it's her job and it only hurts so badly the first time.
God. God, she doesn't mean…? Oh God. She does. Her politely blank helpless orphan face morphs into a politely confused orphan face, pitiful and with just the hint of real worry seeping through. How the hell did we not have this information before? She knows it's a mission but - She does not – She will not… Goddamnit. Then—
Those boys fucking owe me for this one.
She starts her breathing exercises to try and get her focus together again on the meandering, backtracking – didn't we just come here? Neurotic bastard. Neurotic pedophilic bastard. Goddamnit. – seemingly endless route to the Boss and prays that she'll come up with something quickly enough to save them all.
Meanwhile, her teammate picks his nose.
They are in their close-but-far-enough hideout in the treetops while they wait for her signal.
Eww, Dobe. That's disgusting – even for you. Stop. Stop! Don't fucking flick them at me, you retard! That is so disgusting – and unhygienic. Goddamnit, stop!
Running out of words, Bastard? he quietly chortles, aiming a perfectly juicy round yellow one to decorate the other boy's ridiculously glossy black chicken-ass hair.
They both stop in their tracks when the mission leader appears between them (timed between flicks, not that they'd notice), leans forward, and bashes their heads together. Hard.
Your teammate is out there with her life on the line, you idiots, and you can't even keep your act together – or keep from potentially giving our position away. Is this how little you really care about her? How little you respect her? She is out there risking her life for you and—
The 'she' in question is finally facing down the target. Damn. The fat bastard actually manages to look worse than he did even in the briefing photos. She didn't even think that was possible.
Except it is. And she has proof. And, goddamn, is it ugly.
I heard you were an exceptionally perky one, he says after he dismisses the old woman, who scutters out past the menacing-looking huge bald man who guards the door and has way too much chakra for comfort. Medium C? My ass. This is, at the very least, a B-class shitstorm rolling with her starring the leading role. Damndamndamn now what is she supposed to do?
The room is surprisingly sparse, save for a few obligatory opulently gaudy baubles interspersed among stark shadows. His chair and ornate desk barely fill the room. She turns her attention back to the Boss, whose six chins still jiggle with all the excitement a full thirteen seconds after he stops talking. His nauseatingly saccharine perfume makes her want to gag and she tries not to breathe through her nose, though it doesn't help the smell much. He looks her up and down, slowly, thoroughly, disgustingly and cheapeningly, and he's not far from slobbering over himself.
She, apparently, does not hide her disgust quite well enough.
Ooh. Fiery. I didn't quite hear that when my handler mentioned you.
What? A goddamn handler? She barely keeps herself from glaring around the room. Who the fuck—Aah. Spindly. She will fucking snap his creepy little neck too and paint the walls with his brains when she—
You're here for a very special reason, don't you know? Fatass stands up, leaning on the desk, and he towers over her with surprising height to go with his enormous bulk. His expensive, tailored suit tightens further around his bulging arms and stomach, and she sees that there's more muscle to him than she had initially accounted for. He continues to strip her with his beady little eyes that peek out at her from within folds of the fatty tissue that surround them.
She hides behind her conveniently long brown bangs, aims her murderous glare at the plush velvet carpet instead, takes a second to recuperate and regain her tenuous hold on smothering her notoriously alarmingly flashy killing aura, and demurs, I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean, sir. I'm here to be a maid. I'll be the very best maid you'll ever have, she gets out between clenched teeth. Sir.
His eyes slit in a much too predatory glint as the corners of his fleshy mouth creep higher, distorting his entire face even further, this time into a macabre grimace of a grin. Indeed, I'm sure you will be. It'll be my pleasure to show you personally, my pretty young thing, how very, very good you can be. At her twitch, which he mistakes for surprise at the personal attention he deigns to give a mere servant, he continues. Of course. Here, when it is just you and I, we are going to become good friends, are we not?
Her eyes widen further in pretty confusion as she seethes internally. You and me, you and me, may you rot eternally in hell, you fucking imbecile. I have a kunai looking for a home in your eye, friend. Goddamnit, those assholes better be prepping while she's in here.
Fatass gestures to the Bald Brawn, who comes close enough to her to reach out and touch, though no way in hell would she want to unless it was to kick some major freaking ass. He hovers menacingly, she notes, adding that the skill had probably taken years in front of some poor mirror to hone. Was it a requirement that every man in this building had to be ugly enough to curdle milk on sight? Ok. Stop, stop, think. Think. Thi—oh, why the hell is she back and—that's a—oh, goddamnit—
Don't worry. You'll be fine. It's no fun to fuck broken things anyway, he giggles in a whisper soft enough that any civilian probably wouldn't hear as she barely gets out a look that bleeds from disbelief to betrayal before the world turns black.