Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor am I using their work for profit, blah blah blah don't sue me.
Hello! (Is this a misuse of bold print?) This is just a random story I'm writing so that my skills don't die in a pit and set fire to themselves while I'm developing my main story. For story purposes, Sasori's last name is Locke and Itachi's is Keye. This is the fanfic version. You can find the original version on my blog: . Enjoy!
P.S. Indenting is for suckers.
Under Locke and Keye: Chapter One
Deidara stared at him through the steamy glass window. His eyes covered the man's body in one swift glance and decided he wasn't Deidara's type. Too much muscle, and he seemed pretty much like a jerk. Plus he hated blonds.
It wasn't Deidara's fault his own genetics cursed him with blond hair and blue eyes, the poster child of America and certain plans of Jewish elimination. He usually kept his hair in a high ponytail with long bangs covering one large, ever-shining eye. He had an upturned button nose that got him pretty popular when he was in art school. But those days were over, and he was all alone in the dangerous world of adulthood. He had no beautiful boyfriend, and this thought was constantly cartwheeling in his head, never failing to poke him with a stick at least once a day. In his eyes, he wasn't getting any younger, and he was well out of his prime.
He considered this as kind of a sad thought since he was only twenty-two.
And speaking of art school, that brought him to his current location. Lurking in the café across from the art supply store, he only had to gather the courage to gather up his coat and dash across the street. He did this after disposing of his manly mint mocha frappuchino with some amount of dignity. What could he say? The weekly trips to the art store always made him feel daring.
The familiar scent of the local Sam Flax warmed him like a fire in the dead of winter. He wandered around for a bit, first examining their selection of messenger bags and then their selection of cashiers before heading off to the main event: the pen-and-marker aisle. In his mind he seemed to spin and twirl through an ocean of pens, throwing them in the air and catching them in his shopping basket.
A knowing glazed look went over his face, and he alternated between picking out pens and testing them out on communal notepads. He would write out his name… occasionally his phone number and a sketch of his face. No one warned him that art school doesn't make you an immediate millionaire, and he wouldn't mind having a rich guy to rely on.
He just got one of his pieces sold, so he decided to splurge and get a couple of Copic markers. Their brush tips never failed to send waves of infatuation from toes to collarbone.
He danced over to the markers, which were at the far end of the aisle, where he spotted a young man determinedly dumping boxes and boxes of Copics of all sizes in his basket. As Deidara moved closer, the man moved to the individuals, where he picked out the same colors except in unusual and unusable sizes. He picked out several of the exact same marker, in case they ran out of ink. Copic markers cost around six dollars PER MARKER, and the man must've had dozens.
Deidara gulped and approached the individuals, since they were all he could afford at the moment. The man stepped back politely to make room for him and watched with amusement as Deidara threw a sparse handful into his basket, and then he walked toward the check-out counter, passing through the pen section on the way. Deidara glowered and muttered a flustered "thanks" before stomping off to pick out a few canvases and watercolor shades.
He took his time, and when he wasn't able to find anything to prolong his stay, he too made his way to the counter.
"That will be $52.96," said the cashier, a young brunette girl probably forced to rely on herself for money.
Deidara gave his wallet a grave look and began to make depressed conversation as he pulled out a few crumpled bills and coins, and his debit card to pay for the difference.
"Don't you want to use your giftcard?" she said boredly.
"My what?" Then, realizing his tone, "err—excuse me, un?"
"In your pocket. ...No, the back one…" Nice to know someone was watching his backside.
Deidara pulled out the bright yellow card that seemed to be made of gold, half in awe, half wondering if he was hallucinating. And then half (or a third) in loud disbelief as he saw the "$100" written in what must have been Copic in the corner.
Of course, he'd never bought himself a giftcard. He couldn't even spend 100 dollars to replace his microwave, which waved goodbye to its last micro when Deidara stuck dry ramen in it.
"Heheheh…" Deidara snickered. He gave the card a sly smile before placing it dramatically back in his wallet. "Looks like I have more shopping to do!" He gathered up what he picked out earlier in his basket and marched off with a grin.
Deidara didn't even have to think to figure out that the rich man from before slipped it in his pocket when he passed him. That handsome rich man.
He found himself once again in the company of pens, and felt that he had finally retired, died, and gone to heaven. As he was about to test one out, he noticed where he put his face and number earlier. Below them was another face and number, but these weren't his. The face matched the man's, and the number was written messily and with speed. No doubt this was a sign from the heavens (or from the man himself) that they were meant to meet again, perhaps for Deidara to thank him, or to discuss the beauty of performance art over mint mocha frappuchinos. He tore the page from the notepad hastily, and then walked in the direction of the clerk when he hesitated and ran to the Copic section.
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He arrived at his flat with the same amount of money he had when he left.
His flat was the nursery in which he grew his pieces as sort of children, if you could hang children on walls (a funny thought) or cover them in foil.
His elation from the unexpected shopping spree was wearing off slightly, and after he put his pens, markers, and painting paraphernalia in their correct places, he examined the piece of paper he snagged. He was slightly jealous that for a quick sketch, it was more accurate and detailed than any drawing Deidara could do.
He spent the remainder of the night sitting on his bed staring at the face and number, inwardly debating what he should do. Should he call him? Or maybe he should just text him, a much less awkward option. Either way, he didn't feel comfortable calling a complete stranger, so he gathered up the MoldyPages (YellowPages) and cracked it open for the first time.
It took him an hour and two papercuts before he found the name Itachi Keye, associated with Locke and Keye Galleries.
Jesus…not just one gallery, but galleries. No wonder he's stupid rich, un.
Deidara flopped down on his bed again, and saw paintings come into being beneath his eyelids, a usual occurrence that happened whenever he wasn't engaged in important actions such as thinking, talking, or blinking. He ignored them for once, since he didn't have enough energy to paint the 12x12 foot piece he saw, and didn't have enough energy to scrounge up some tree moss for it. Instead he fell into a fitful sleep in which he was hosting an art show teaching high school students the dangers of Copic marker demons.
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The end! Please review/subscribe! I WILL continue this series! Constructive criticism is much appreciated, as well are suggestions. Thanks! -SNV