Prologue: A Strange Attraction

At the peak of the early noon sun, Konoha never looked more like a blazing jewel. The village, she glowed a radiant light, kindly receiving the sunlight rays, and in turn throwing off the brightest hues of red, green, orange, brown, and the rest of the rainbow. She burned as if caught under a distilled flare – so like the flash of an explosion.

Deidara relished the scene from his place atop the swaying tree leaves two quarters of a mile away, the rangefinder upon his left eye cutting the distance in half. The inhabitants went about their lives, unaware of the ominous implications posed by the Akatsuki member's presence; plus the hunger in his eyes. The mouths at the palm of each hand drew their tongues accordingly.

"It's a shameful occasion that I cannot taint your skies. But feel this wind and perhaps you too may feel the ever-looming hour of revolution, where order shall lose its constraints. Hmm.."

And with a final grin, and last minute calculations, Deidara jumped off towards the ground, barely leaving a small rustling disturbance in his wake. Except for the soft jangle of his bamboo hat's bell caught between wind and step, which trailed off into forest. The whirring of the breeze occupied his ears with a strange type of music, nature's language – a beautiful sound, so often found by flight, whenever traveling on one of his flying clay sculptures.

"..exploding clay sculptures..." the raspy voice seemingly recanted, concluding with the sudden ejaculation, "...what a joke!"

Appalled, Deidara paused in his tracks, straining his ears to pick up once again its sound, of which now took upon a more humanly form, and this time, its source. No sooner was he guided by the rise of laughter and another, "I cannot see how destruction can be considered art?"

"You must be referring to Deidara," came a second voice.

The Akatsuki member proceeded to run up a nearby tree, and perched himself at a position that allowed a greater view of the vicinity. There upon a fallen, old log, sat two young female ninjas, perhaps from the village of Konoha. Upon closer observation, however, their headbands did not indicate any association at all; the first of the two, a milky white-haired girl contained the mark of mist, while the second, also a girl, could not be discerned due to the heavy scratches hers bore. Two fingers went up to imitate quotation marks, and the Mist native spoke, "The "gay" one you mean? Yes," her voice confirming itself as the first speaker; the clay sculpture artist, Deidara, glared on. Her companion was a brunette of sad, droopy strands that concealed her face, except lips, out of clear sight.

"Oh be nice, " they gently moved, "he's his own rightful beholder to interpret beauty as he so pleases. Although I must admit that for such a gift of creation, destruction is such a waste. He's too good for such a practice."

"Why flank the generosity, when you know as well as I do their evil tendencies to wreak havoc? - the whole lot of them! Do you actually think they'd take the time to care about their actions?" The milk-head grasped her hair from the breeze, and merely grunted.

"Is that how you really see them? Is that really how the Akatsuki are like? I've always wondered..."

"What else is there to know aside from their bloody trail of carnage? Villages were attacked, people destroyed and killed. It's not exactly a tea party, you know."

The second girl laughed, joined afterwards by her smiling friend. Wind continued to batter at them, as well as the forest throughout, that a silence reigned for a good moment, almost as if in appreciation of nature's own interjecting discourse. She threw back her head, to no avail; her flying hair would not relent the identity of her face. Turning, quite shyly, to the other, the brunette said, "To be honest – you should know that despite the overwhelming evidence of the Akatsuki's dark deeds, I've come to understand a certain attraction to it; owing to what, I cannot quite explain."

Here, Deidara titled his head, ponderously, while the other companion dropped and raised her head in one go, a new tone of restraint emerging from her words. "What are you saying?"

The friend shrugged it off, "I don't know." But on the contrary, she did. Both of them did. Deidara could see an underlying meaning in the delivery of the conversation, and the body language which then ensued. The girl grasped the headband next to her, and stood up, facing in the direction of Konoha and the wind, her back to the present audience. She was aware of the implications she had just released from within herself and wished to step away, as if afraid to face her friend, who repeated the same moving gesture, standing to meet her at the same level.

"Why?" she simply implored.

"Uma, do not act dumb. I'm sure you've known since the beginning. You knew that one day it'd come to this. I do have my own damages to pay."

Uma nodded. "You have always known your way, which is why I trust you. It has been good seeing you, and that smile again. It comforts me how much we can still share."

Her friend then turned back to face her, and for the first time, Deidara beheld her identity. It was shadowed under the flying locks of hair caught in the wind current, but it also glistened from the few sun dapples that managed to leak through; she carried a look of distant emotion. A last nod in farewell, and she was off towards Konoha. Uma looked on, sad-like, and muttered, "Just don't forget who you are, Metsuki."