The house smelled absolutely disgusting…like an old pair of socks that had been left to mold

The house smelled absolutely disgusting…like an old pair of socks that had been left to mold. It also had a damp, earthy smell to it in some places, as if the floor were rotting away. The walls were crumbling, and there was a slight draft in the kitchen. They dared not tread upstairs for fear the floor would give out beneath their feet; the feet of a bed were sticking through, well in view, in the living area, and this hole in the ceiling above Sasori's head often creaked as if it were about to give way, at which point he would awaken with some trepidation and sometimes would even move out of the way in case the bed did happen to fall through the rotting wood. But nothing had fallen through so far, and though he often wanted to know what the upper level of the house looked like, he didn't dare go up there. There was a loud cracking noise; Sasori knew better than to look. He knew pieces of the wooden ceiling above him were crumbling out of place again. He would fix them, but really, he didn't think it was worth it. This place was going to fall down in a year whether he tried to fix it or not. He sighed and threw down the decaying newspaper. Always the same old stories. 'Man is murdered; family safe…' It was probably because they had neglected to go into town and retrieve a new newspaper (consequently, they were very behind on the times), but Sasori knew better than to blame anyone other than himself for their boredom. The front door opened. He knew it was the front door by the sound of it almost cracking off of its hinges for the hundredth time since anyone had been here last. Then there was a strange wrenching noise as it scraped against the floor. His partner was attempting to shut it. "Did you get anything?" Sasori asked, flipping himself onto his stomach and resting his chin on the worn out arm of the couch. "No," Orochimaru spat, brushing a strand of deep black hair out of his face. "I keep telling you we're in the wrong area, but do you listen? No! You're so conceited you won't stop to look at—" "Shut up," Sasori said in a deathly calm voice. Orochimaru obeyed, but reluctantly. The anger shown bright in his eyes. "I've told you a hundred times, Orochimaru, I was shown undeniable proof that he would be coming this way. If you don't believe me, fine. You can cross the desert, risk your own life, because you won't survive two days out there!" A strong gust of wind rattled the house, and a couple more windows shattered upstairs. There was a dead silence as Orochimaru and Sasori glared at each other. Loathing was roaring like a desert sandstorm through the house, and Sasori was ready in case he got attacked. He always had a few tricks hidden up his sleeves, so to speak, but Orochimaru seemed to know better than to make a move. His initiation into Akatsuki had been a rough one, despite his outstanding skills as a ninja. Zetsu had nearly slaughtered him out of hunger, but Orochimaru had caught him at the very last second and just managed to save his life. Sasori had not been pleased about this. Due to his lack of a partner, Orochimaru seemed the perfect match, but this had been proven false. Unlike most Akatsuki, Orochimaru and Sasori's working relationship was strained by their loathing of each other, and they rarely worked well together in battle. This often resulted in failed missions, and Pein being extremely irritated with both of them. Kakuzu had once said, "Never partner together two people who arrive in Akatsuki three days apart." Wasn't that the truth. "Look," Sasori said. "You can either stay here and go with the original plan, and live. Or, you can go on a madman's journey through the desert, and die. It's all up to you." Orochimaru was fuming; his hands shook with anger. "I choose the desert," he hissed. "If I'm dead, I won't have to look at you!" Sasori shrugged, and turned back over on his back, picking up an old, half-decayed issue of 'Audubon.' He flipped through the pages, looking at pictures of strange flowers and birds, and there was a dull, wooden thunk as something penetrated his skull. He sighed, lifted his hand, and found the handle of a kunai, and pulled it out of the wood. As his head was piecing itself back together, he said, "Did you really think you could kill me, Orochimaru? Just go on your little nature walk to Suna. I'll go find you when I've got the Shukaku." He heard Orochimaru storm out the door, and as he slammed it, it fell to the ground. Sasori couldn't care less what happened to the door. It was sort of in the way anyway. He flipped past pictures of penguins and hummingbirds, and then his eyes fell on a stunning photograph of a tree frog just barely hanging on to a thin branch. His eyes were strained in the dimming light, but he knew the colors must be absolutely vibrant. Carefully, his thin fingers gripped the page, and tore it out. He nimbly folded it, and tucked it in a pocket inside of his cloak. The tree frog would be his forever. Another gust of wind tore through the house, blowing dust and newspapers everywhere. The wind outside howled through the night; there was a crash of thunder, and the rain started.