I like this chapter, I guess. And there's no doubt that it's important. So read it. And please review! Last chapter was the only one so far that I got less than 10 reviews for. I mean, I deserved it...but it still sucked... so help me achieve 300 reviews this time around!
July 6 was my one-year anniversary here on FanFiction. It's great to be part of this community, and thanks to all you great people who have made my time here so amazing so far! All the heartfelt best from LutraShinobi. :)
Chapter 21 - Foreplay
He couldn't feel the wind through the mask on his face, but when he experimentally protracted a few Chakra wires, they bent under the air's whiplash.
Kakuzu, the Waterfall nin, was pursuing a bounty. He wasn't quite sure who, or what, it was, but he knew it would be fruitful. There was no other assumption to be made when he could feel his rarely-stirred anticipation jingling like freshly minted coin, or when his strong, pliable fingers itched with adrenaline, stemming from the burning in his left middle finger, more specifically from the Northern Star.
It vaguely bothered the wayward ninja that he had begun to refer to the ring in terms of a name; it didn't rightfully own one. But it had been a constant, subconscious nagging since he'd slipped it dishonestly on, and the sensations it gave him were unlimited and impossible to ignore. This burning, for example; it was a bone-deep ache, searing through his knuckles like hot, un-crippling arthritis.
He'd considered throwing the thing away. But then he couldn't; it might be valuable, after all.
It, or something, was spurring him on now, towards the biggest bounty he'd never laid eyes on. He lowered his mask a little, bulbous green eyes glowing, to let the wind brush his cheeks. This was how it should always feel, homing in on the target, tasting the wealth ahead.
For Kakuzu, there was no question about it - greed was a very pleasurable feeling.
He could feel the wind cupping his face in rough, motherly hands, bathing him in cool relief after a life of heat.
Everything in Suna was counterproductive, Sasori decided. The Kazekage's regime was oppressive and hypocritical, squishing creative liberties while the leader himself experimented with demons and unborn babies. It was too hot to train properly, too barren to do anything else.
Sasori was positive that if anyone, besides that intriguing stranger, had ever discovered what he'd done to that girl in the wasteland, he would have been executed. This embittering knowledge made his seed of a soul shrivel up further, twisting inside him as it tried to grab hold of some root.
He hated everything about sand - the colour, the texture, the sting when it got into his eyes and mouth. But when he died, he wanted to be buried in the stuff from head to foot on some sunless beach where nobody swam. It would be the only thing remotely like peace in this world.
Of course, he didn't intend to die anytime soon.
The Virgin was calling to him, just as that girl's red, red lips had. It was just a ring, but he would follow it for now. He was comfortable with the supernatural, more so than with all that was real and attainable.
He had brought his favourite puppets with him, among them the hideous Hiruko, the child of his genius. He leaned against these marionettes when he slept, spoke softly to them when he wanted to clear some of the overwhelmingly fresh air from his lungs. They were his family now.
No one would miss him except Chiyo-baa-sama. But she would most likely be dead by the time he returned.
He never paid any undue attention to the wind. He had two voices of his own; he didn't need a third to whisper contradictions in his ear.
Zetsu was never alone; he had his own doubly substantial conscious, and as long as there was a single blade of grass within a mile, he had an unconditional companion. The communication was not important, only the connection. People never understood that, which was why he preferred plants.
So, Zetsu didn't trouble himself with loneliness. Ever since he'd obtained the Black Tortoise, however, that interesting artefact from a dull pub, he had begun to feel that he was carting around yet another sentient being; not human, not vegetable, but nonetheless present. He didn't like its communication method; wrenchingly unsubtle, when compared to plants.
The fire in his fingers was reminiscent of gripping a hot stem in his hand, sapping its sunlight for a moment but not tearing it from the ground. This was not an unpleasant feeling, but it didn't end or fade, and it constantly disrupted his peculiar process of mental photosynthesis.
At the moment he was appeasing this foreign ring, following its direction. The trees and flowers seemed to encourage him in this aim, swaying tranquilly as he passed. He had the wind to thank for that, he supposed.
This ring was odd, but he thought that it must belong to some forgotten division of nature.
Two figures approached Konoha's gates from opposite angles in the dead of night, with equal stealth but differing styles. One slunk along, coiling into the shadows and then striking out like lightning around street lights and domestic areas - a lurking. The other moved steadily, in a fluid, fast crouch, soundless and camouflaged by the strategic fall of darkness between moonbeams - a creeping. Both were a coming.
Orochimaru and Uchiha Itachi acknowledged one another wordlessly, then turned to greet their third-party observer. The moon briefly outlined two Leaf forehead protectors and one lone Mist.
Kisame grinned, straightening from his careless slouch against the gate. "Fancy meeting you two here."
Orochimaru smirked in return; his lips were paler than his skin in this light. His face appeared nearly translucent, bringing to mind images of the bone and flesh beneath the thin outer layer.
Itachi didn't smile, but the black void of his eyes slowly filled with a wild scarlet.
Konan forced herself to pay attention to geography for once as she moved. She timed every second that grew to a minute that grew to an hour, and no detail in her surroundings was missed. It was caution to the point of obsession; and that was Pein.
That was the problem, maybe. Obsession. That focus, that riveting concentration in his blue eyes at all times, that paranoia that he'd adapted to so effectively. It was unsettling to know that you were inside his radar, always watched, always listened to. It was like she was controlled when she was near him - just like he seemed to contain the environment, maintain it according to his wishes. It was impossible, but he was so powerful. So obsessive.
She knew it wasn't his fault. He tried to convince her that it was, but she always felt so darn bad when she thought about his early years. Those thoughts made her never want to go back to Rain. Those thoughts made her want to cut out half of her heart and give it to him, so that he could feel a bit of warmth and love and wantedness for once, and so that she could take half of his heart and understand just a little better what he went through.
She didn't have much warmth or love left anymore, though. And he didn't want her heart.
Once immersed in full-fledged reflection, she'd forgotten very quickly to keep track of her travelling, and now she was out of the woods. The trees were behind her, but more night lay ahead. There was a grating street under her feet, suddenly jarring her knees. She came gradually to realize that she was hungry, tired, angry and sad and altogether not in her best condition.
All that stuff about shinobi and withstanding the elements and beating the odds and fighting till death and resisting weakness and keeping on? Load of crap.
She didn't feel strong now. She didn't feel like someone who had trained for years and years to reach this level of physical and mental fitness. She didn't feel like what she was doing and what she stood for was right. She didn't think Pein did, either, from those evenings on the road when he would lie on his back just for the sake of custom and follow the slow, slow movement of constellations through the sky, and never close his eyes.
All of us shinobi, Konan thought, carry a lot on our minds. If she and Pein were into those dangerous affairs of thinking a bit deeper than most, that was their problem.
She almost ran into something solid - a bench. She stopped just in time and took it in, senses functioning on autopilot. She wasn't really looking at it, though, and so she was startled into drawing a kunai when someone said, "Looking for something?" It was a rough, uncouth voice, coming from a throat that was used to shouting, or at least exclaiming loudly.
"No," she answered automatically, almost snappishly. Her gaze fell on a form that was sprawled across the bench, taking up all the space. One bare arm was thrown carelessly over the back rail, holding the figure halfway upright. The other hand toyed mindlessly with a small, gleaming amulet resting against a ruddy neck, tiny sprouts of chest hair revealed by the low neckline of a loose shirt.
The head was facing away from her, but the voice was still going. Definitely male, and adult. "Waiting for something?"
"No," she said again, more cautiously. She wished he'd turn to look at her; she felt kind of stupid craning over him to get a glimpse of his face.
He let out a little half-sigh, half-grunt of impatience. "...geez, then. Wandering around pointlessly in the middle of the night for absolutely no freaking reason at all ?" His tone turned bitingly sarcastic on the last words, and her hackles rose. You didn't talk to a stranger like that, like you knew all about them and their business. This stranger didn't know the half of what she'd been through or what she expected to put herself through in the future. She would not become that useless, frightened outcast again. She would not allow herself to be too weak for any challenge.
She plunked herself down on the meagre width of space not taken up on the bench by him, pushing into him so that his legs slid off the side. "Excuse me." She found it amusing that all that was needed to bring her back to life was a bit of unfounded antagonism. She returned her kunai surreptitiously to its holster; maybe he hadn't even noticed that it had been pulled out.
He cursed indelicately and swung his whole body around in a very swift, graceful motion so that he was sitting normally next to her. She drew in a sharp breath at his fast, agile movement; only ninja moved like that. She hoped she hadn't gotten herself into anything too brutal - she knew what temperamental shinobi could be like when it came to push or shove, because she was one herself to some extent.
He finally looked at her. She was smiling competitively in readiness for him, but it faded a little at the sight. It wasn't that he was hideous; no, he was quite handsome, actually. Deep, intelligent eyes of a peculiar but lovely lavender colour, silver hair greased and neatly combed straight back, thin eyebrows, thin lips and an elegant, unbroken nose. A very hard jaw, however. But it wasn't any of that; no, it was just that in spite of everything...well, in spite of the gentle lavender, his eyes were not in the least gentle, in spite of the neat hair he was not in the least neat, in spite of the attractiveness he still seemed dangerous.
He was like...a vampire. He was like...unrefined sugar. The whole effect screamed "delinquent".
"Well darn, blue hair," he said bluntly, and she was sure that her first impressions of him had been as right as they were wrong.
"That's right," she deadpanned, steeling herself for something or anything. If he pushed, she would shove back.
He lifted his arm casually and slung it over the back of the bench again - over the back of her part of the bench. She didn't really think it was because he was hitting on her; it just seemed like something he'd do if he felt like it. The next question, however, made her wonder. "Are you a virgin?"
She gasped, grabbing his arm and wrenching it down so that it fell into his lap. He stared at his elbow as if he couldn't believe she'd touched it, and she stared at him. At length, nonplussed and slightly embarrassed, but still outraged, she demanded, "What was that? "
"A question." His reply was brusque, uncaring. "But hell, never mind if it gets your blue panties in a twist." He was very difficult to read; his expression changed constantly, from annoyance to boredom to amusement to cynicism. None of them looked like very strong emotions, which was befitting to his laid-back, lack-a-daisy manner.
She looked to the front again. There was a moment of silence. "...I don't wear blue panties."
He snorted in unmistakable mirth. "Who the hell cares?"
She laughed softly too. It was strange; the first person she'd laughed with in days was some random stranger sitting on a bench who wanted to know if she was a virgin.
She clasped her hands in her lap, looking for all the world like an overgrown, reticent schoolgirl. She felt even worse now that she was still; the hunger was gnawing at her insides, helped along by varying stages of regret, irritation and grief over a dozen tragedies. "Apathy must be nice." She didn't really mean it, though she could have wished to at that moment. But then again, this guy seemed to have nothing weighing on his shoulders at all, and he didn't seem happy. Satisfied, maybe, but not happy.
He spread his arms over the back of the bench yet again, tilting his head back as if to stargaze. But he was looking at her, his pupils aimed in her direction through slitted eyelids. "It's better than hell." She didn't know what it was about him; he seemed hopelessly untrustworthy, but his every action and word bespoke honesty. There was nothing clandestine or mysterious about him, and she could almost welcome that after Pein.
He started talking again. "Behind us, this building's a temple." She turned her neck slightly to get a look. It was just like all the other structures she'd seen in this town; shabby and greyish. "Stupid monks threw me out. Going to hell, all of them. Every last sucker." He was very matter-of-fact about it.
She didn't want to play the game of gab, suddenly. She just wanted to curl up and sleep on this bench; but that would be a bad idea with some weirdo ninja next to her, and a defeat. She said nothing. Why had she even started listening to him? He certainly didn't seem to listen much to her in return.
"Do you believe in Jashin-sama?"
She cast him a tired glance. She didn't want to have this discussion with him; she didn't even know what the discussion was about. "I don't know. If you mean God...I still don't know."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it. His lips curled up into a mediocre grin. "What do you believe in then?" She didn't know how he managed to sound like he meant the question, since he'd already obviously judged her already just like he seemed to have judged everybody else, but he did.
"I..." don't know, she was about to say, but then the absurdity of the statement hit her. She didn't know what she believed in? What was she living for? How could she not know, how could she have not learned anything so far? No wonder she was so exhausted and starved and spiritless, if she was that far gone. She'd lectured Pein on principles, and she didn't even recognize her own.
It was his fault. She'd known what was right before she met him, but he'd messed with her heart and her head and had messed her up. He'd taught her a very important lesson: that she didn't know anything. It hurt, that lesson. It hurt a lot. It was hard to take.
But it's not his fault.
It was. It was him and the circles in his blue eyes. The piercings all over his face, proving nothing. The hate that he held inside, and the pain that he wouldn't let her into. Zero on his right thumb. The people he met. The church, his church, with dust on the altar. His atheism. His humanity and lack of it. His sensitivity. His genius. His survival. His smile and lack of it.
But it's not his fault. It's you. It's your parents, and Fusao, and Hanzo. It's Rain and rain. It's birth and it's life and then it's death. It's the strangers who sit on benches and talk to you when you don't want to be talked to.
But it wasn't really any of that, not so much as it was him. She didn't believe in those things much anymore. She didn't blame him and she didn't hate him. She didn't think it was his fault. But she...
She believed in Pein.
"I know. I know," she said out loud, and the silver-haired vampire didn't even give her a funny look, though he did start at the raw earnestness in her declaration.
She stood up quickly, alert all over again. She took a couple of steps away, then hesitated and turned around. She walked confidently back toward the bench and stuck out her right hand.
He stared at the ring around her middle finger for a moment before reaching out readily to grasp her hand in his. His fingers were larger than hers, but they weren't extraordinarily large. She gave them a good shake and said firmly, "I'm Konan."
That grin reappeared. "Hidan."
He was leaning forward on the bench, limpid lavender eyes looking into hers. He felt like a friend at that moment, that odd type of friend that you'd never really been close to but still missed, and she released his hand with reluctance. She didn't like him much, and she'd even admit that she was a bit afraid of him and the way he didn't seem to care about anything. But there was always something special about meeting someone so unique that you knew you wouldn't ever meet anybody like them again.
"It's been a pleasure. And thanks." It was inadequate, but appropriate. Awkwardly, she made an excuse. "I have somewhere to be..."
He laughed outright this time, instead of that contemptuous snort of humour. "For the love of Jashin-sama, any moron with his head up his butt in hell could see that." His brilliantly white teeth glinted, and their flash was the last part of him she saw before she whirled around and bounded away, new truth bringing new energy.
The night was only getting darker, but the moon glowed brighter with each hour, and it was nearly full.
They all became aware of one another as they began to draw closer to the common destination, but it was Pein who sensed them first.
He was cross-legged on the grass in the same clearing that he'd been roaming in yesterday, and the day before that. Really, he was quite surprised that he hadn't been forced to avoid a passing ANBU team as of yet. It was dark out, the kind of darkness that you got so used to you stopped thinking of it as night. He'd been counting the hours, but he couldn't remember how long it had been since the last light.
Meditating was what he called it, this still but active exercise. It was the organization of thought in his mind and emotion in his heart, all the while retaining perfect openness and alertness to outside signals. Simple but complex - his area of expertise.
Kisame was the first he felt, possible because he was the closest, and also because he made no effort at all to mask his Chakra. I'll have to work on that, Pein mused. Then again, he is already an excellent hunter...
He sensed Itachi and Orochimaru as well, travelling in a tight group with Kisame. Then there was another Chakra less intensely familiar, but nonetheless remembered; bitter, peculiar, Kakuzu. The Chakra that rolled in waves, Sasori's. Then, last, Zetsu's distinctly divided aura.
He discovered with mild surprise that he'd been expecting them.
A/N: Does anybody else ever feel slightly dirty...sinful...after writing/reading Hidan? It's like his badness rubs off the page, or is contagious or something. I cringed at the virginity question, but I think cutting corners with Hidan makes him out of character. Not that he wasn't OOC here. Anyway. think about it and then tell me what you think about it. Of course, you can think about telling me what you think about it first. :P
Thanks for everything. I hope I'll be here for many years to come!