Puzzle Box

Summary: The picture is always rendered incomplete until all the pieces are fitted together. A series of Naruto-centric introspections from multiple points of view.

Basically, this is a collection of thoughts and observations centered around our favorite blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Kyuubi-containing vessel. It will include snippets and thoughts of various lengths coming from all over. That is to say, any one from any where, from any time, and any place. Characters, timelines, villages, and even the Naruto universe will be open to be played with. The "chapters" that will be posted in this series will have almost nothing to do with each other, except for the fact that the sole subject will be Naruto.

Hope that explains it.

And as a side note, this little project was birthed out of Fry's impatience with the rate of A Broken Promise, something that is trying to be remedied, but there is no cure for Shrimpy's laziness. So before anyone asks, we're working on it.

General warning for the entirety of the series: There will be SPOILERS for all of Naruto that is currently out in Japan. This was written when the last chapter I had read was 325. In order to understand most of it though, simply knowing through the Battle of the Valley at the End is enough. Probably won't do too much with the characters introduced in the new arcs, but one never knows.

(Opens box)

Here's the first piece.

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Piece One: Definition of Beauty

It was once said that "Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder," but that was a view that never made any sense to him. Such an concept would only birth the idea that everyone's perception of beauty was different, when they were very much the same. It was simply how people described beauty that was different, for that adage that was comparable to the notion of two people looking at one image and calling it by two different names.

Beauty was something more than such a shallow graceless definition. It was something permanent and everlasting. It existed everywhere and could be embodied in anything, if people only had the patience too look.

He was a researcher of beauty. His entire ambition was to seek out the true beauty which was hidden. His limitation was that one man with one lifetime could not possibly find all the beauty there was to see and discover.

He had only determined what was not beauty.

Those with weak hearts saw the beauty that was only the thin veneer over the truth. What they accepted as perfection was overrated, as there was no beauty in perfection.

Perfection created egoism, and haughtiness, and the result was nothing that could be described as beautiful.

Some people were drawn to power, and they saw the strength one possessed over another as beauty. And again he would reason that they were mistaken.

Though it was true that through sweat and blood, something spectacular could be revealed, there was something much more meaningful than the ideal to be the best. After all how could there be beauty in something so superficial that a conquest could be achieved through chance? It would not even remain for very long for there was always another victory to be sought, and then power faded so easily. It was something that was not always remembered.

No, he defined beauty as something much more real, something almost tangible but not. Yet it always existed and forever would.

Beauty could only be found in contrast. How could one call something beautiful, if there was not something ugly to compare it to? Where was grace without the ungainly? What was insightful without the obtuse? One could simply not exist without the other. In order to have beauty, the repulsive must also exist.

Beauty could be found in the deformed, not in their physical manifestation, but in their personality, their soul. Just as a person who deemed themselves as attractive could be found to be hideous within. That grotesque conflicting nature of humans could take away from the beauty they possessed or elaborate on what they already had.

There was beauty in destruction, as one could see the fire, the light in devastation, yet could still appreciate the peace of the unbroken.

Beauty could only exist in contrast, and in order to see all the beauty of the world, one might have to create the contrast.

It was his ambition.

He was no artist, nor was he a composer, or a lover of the fine arts. No, he appreciated something much deeper, much more meaningful than trivial strokes on a scroll, or the vibrations in the air that would pass out of mind and memory too quickly. What he sought was an everlasting sign of contrast, and that could only be brought around by pain.

It would be the pain of bottomless despair, for that was the only kind that remained forever. He had attempted my experiments over the time, glossing over his efforts as physical experimentation, but it was the mind that interested him.

He had come close a few times with his apprentice Anko, but that had failed when he became too appreciative of a different kind of beauty she possessed. It was lovely, but it was not his goal. So he abandoned her, and tried a different approach with a young man picked up from an enemy village. That too failed, but the boy became useful as a tool in his endeavors.

No, it was not until much later, after he had left the village of leaves and fire, and had witnessed the true horrors and desperation of the village. A youma of great power had been laying waste to his home village, and he had only observed with mild interest.

It was when he had seen the beauty of the Fourth, of the Yondaime, that it had stirred his attraction. A lone man against the rampaging beast of limitless power. One would have thought that the youma would have attracted him more, with bloodlust glowing in it's eyes and the ferocity with which it deigned the destruction of the village.

No, it was to the single blonde man, who was only young in body, who stood against the embodiment of annihilation, who so captured his fascination. That youthful face, drawn in seriousness. Eyes, bright orbs of sapphire, glowing with determination. And the resolution with which he stood. It was the beauty of self-sacrifice, and he found himself addicted to it.

Even when his enemy was seen as nothing more than a beast, the Yondaime had stood tall, and faced it as a true opponent. And in the end, showed mercy and compassion in its defeat. Instead of obliteration, the youma was merely sealed, within the belly of a child meant to be a hero.

But that was the flaw of the Yondaime, always too naïve to understand human nature. He understood it quite well, though. The boy would be reviled by the whole village, seen only as the demon itself, and not as selfless creature who imprisoned the youma within his own body.

The boy would suffer abuse, alone and unwanted. He would be ignored and shunned, and in the end, the boy might despair.

But the boy was yet still a bud. He would hold no interest to him until the bud bloomed, or at least grew up. That would be years in the making.

Still he awaited such a moment with anticipation. He at last had a medium with which to paint true beauty, he need only the tools to set it in motion.

He found them in the form of a boy and his brother.

Smiling to himself, Orochimaru seated himself deep within the bowels of the Otogakure castle.

When one lived only for vengeance, they often neglected the important things they would leave behind. He counted on that to stir the betrayal within the soul of his one trusted friend. That would be enough.

He wanted to see the depths of pain and self-sacrifice his artwork would suffer. He wanted to see the true beauty emerge from the unpredictable shell. It was time to cast aside the crystallis and reveal the blossom.

He waited for he knew the young one would come to him. And in time, he would see true beauty revealed.

He had his brush, his colours, and the most extraordinary canvas to be found. He had applied the first few strokes, and chosen the colours to paint. It was only a matter of time before the piece emerged.

Orochimaru eagerly awaited the day when that blonde-haired, blue-eyed wonder would come to him, chasing after his dear friend who was loved like a brother. It was then that he would see anguish and strength, and the contrast of existence between he who lived for power, and he who lived for himself.

He has seen beauty in the Fourth Hokage, but he had revealed it within the Yondaime's legacy. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than the knowledge that the youth everyone had grown so fond of was just a product of his machinations.

Through the boy, would everyone see true beauty.

Fitted

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Shrimpy: So we started off with Orochimaru. I didn't want to, but his was the easiest, so to speak. Actually, it was more of he was the first thing to pop into my head. He might get more later, but I think Fry was looking into Neji or Gaara next. Maybe even a Kyuubi based one.

Fry: Was anyone confused by this? It was too short, but not much development to be seen here, so Shrimpy skipped over most of the timeline. It probably isn't too accurate either as she didn't want to go look up EXACTLY when Orochimaru left the village, and neither did I for that matter.

Shrimpy: Fry's lazy too.

Fry: I'm practical. It's more important that I restore all the data you lost when you reformatted like a dunce, most notably how you lost ALL of ABP that had already been written.

Shrimpy: (shuts up)

Fry: Thought so. Now this series will be ongoing with no real end or beginning, just ideas that will be tossed around. Some might depict the same event different times. This really is a puzzle as in it's just a bunch of pieces, but we hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Any suggestions for more puzzle pieces is welcome.

Shrimpy: Sorry it's so short.

Fry: Give us your thoughts, and we'll see what image emerges next.

Shrimpy: Bye bye.