The room was silent, save for the steady sound of a knife peeling off miniscule layers of wood. That was how the redhead liked it. Just him, his puppets and a dim light overhead. It was the closest he could really get to an emotional connection with his puppets. He supposed that he could do this anywhere at any time; he definitely had the talent for it. However, there was some artistic, human, part of his heart that screamed at him, that told him to do it this way. That doing it this way would make the puppets better, more beautiful, more immortal. He had scoffed at the sentimentality of it all several times, but still he sat in this dim light, alone with his instruments and the puppets, and worked in silence. He could almost barf at the romanticism of the procedure.

There was a knock.
If Deidara didn't bother him. The blond liked to be a bother, the redhead was sure of that. That was his entire 'art form', being a bother. Interrupting the pathetic mortal existences of others with loud, finite explosions. It didn't mean anything to those mortals, they would forget about it by the end of the week. No one on the continent ever felt a lasting emotional impression from those explosions, except for that dumb blond.

Without waiting for a response, Deidara barged into the room, an oddly chakra-less box tucked under his arm. In addition to that, he seemed subdued. The redhead shuddered on the inside; he was going to ask for a favor.

"Master Saaasori?" Deidara dragged out the syllables of the name, distorting it into some disgusting, whiny vocalizations. He waited for a few seconds for a response, even if he knew Sasori would not say a word. "Can you help me train?"

Sasori paused for a second, before continuing his wood shavings. "We've been over this Deidara. I do not, nor will I ever, appreciate your explosions. Nor do I want to deal with them."

"They're ar—" Deidara bit his tongue, but glared at the redhead's back. "That's actually not what I'm asking."

Sasori made a noncommittal noise and refused to turn around. Deidara took that as a cue to continue. "I want you to play chess with me."

Sasori actually turned to face his partner and try as he might, an expression of confusion had wormed its way onto his wooden face. "What the hell?"

Deidara let out a sigh, looking away and rubbing the thin box under his arm. "I heard fucking Itachi was good at this."

Sasori snorted, dragging the knife over the sleeve of his cloak, "Of course he fucking good at that. He has the Sharingan. He's probably memorized every play in existence."

Deidara shrugged, turning away. "Oh, okay. If you don't think you're good enough to teach me how to beat him…" He trailed off. Sasori had never been jealous of Itachi in particular, but his pride was larger than a countries'.

"Brat." Sasori grumbled, glaring at his partner's back. "I know you're trying to manipulate me."

Deidara snorted audibly, "Does it mean I'm wrong?"

Sasori growled, throwing his knife on his desk and storming towards Deidara. "Fine." His eyes flickered to the single, exhausted bulb on his ceiling. It would not be suitable for dueling, even if it was with something as simple as chess. "Your room."

Deidara smiled a 180-watt smile, nearly brightening Sasori's room to a normal level. "You're the best." He simpered, tapping the box as he walked out of the room.

Sasori clicked his tongue to his teeth and locked the door behind himself.

I'm tipsy and felt like typing. Been wanting to do a random drabble. Hope you had fun.

tldr; nothing really happened.