They arrived in Rootbell Town at sunrise. As the entered the guarded village, Sasori found that there was a relatively high population of civilians as well as military men and women.

"Okaa-chan, look! The ANBU are back!" a little boy on one of the low-level houses cried, pointing at them. His mother, who looked worse for wear, was hanging laundry on a metal wire. She gave them a wary look before returning to her duties as a homemaker.

Look at this place. Sasori frowned as the horses took them underneath some dirty, ragged flags. Run-down and worn by time, and... He eyed two soldiers that had just come out of a bar, laughing heartily. They were the only ones making any sort of remotely happy noise in these streets. ... Perhaps something else, too. He could imagine that this had once been a prosperous town; despite how run-down it was, the architecture was firm and sturdy, and the town was built cleverly, backed by mountains and forests to protect them from natural disasters and enemies from the north and south. However, if an enemy were to break through the western frontier, this town would be in the immediate line of fire, their mountains and trees only serving to trap them. It was a double-edged sword, the very sort of thing Sasori was used to working with.

The lead ANBU, Cat, signaled something that had the rest of them—including Sasori, who was flanked on all sides by the four-man guard—turning left. Sasori had already committed some of their hand signals to memory, and did not need to be nudged in the correct direction by the ANBU behind him.

They passed by more flags, all of them half-down and flapping listlessly in the morning breeze, as if their ascension to the top of the poles in celebration had been abruptly halted.

A horrible smell reached his nose then, and Sasori narrowed his eyes in distaste at an old mill to their left, where two horses were slowly walking in a continuous circle in order to generate spin for the mill. When they got too sluggish, a rough-looking man with a hunched back whipped them viciously. The animals did not kick or whinny, they merely picked up the pace, as if they were used to such treatment.

"Poor creatures," Cat suddenly said, and Sasori raised an eyebrow when she—yes, she; the curves were hard to hide even with the ANBU cloak and armor—turned her head to stare at him through the black eye-holes of her feline mask. "They're old war horses. You can tell by the scars."

Yes, he had noticed. Sasori spared them one last glance before they disappeared from view, obscured by a protruding house. They were once proud and strong creatures... He had no trouble envisioning them in their prime, galloping off to war with their tough, sinewy bodies. Reduced to such a state... He clicked his tongue in disappointment.

The civilians in this town didn't seem to be any better, Sasori thought. They were skinny and wide-eyed, and their body language told many tales. These people were terrified, grieving, angry... It's as if something's been taken away from them. Tch. If the high density of ANBU soldiers don't have anything to do with it, I'll eat all of my storage scrolls.

The bell-tower in the middle of the city began to toll as Sasori and his ANBU guards approached a large military compound, an important-looking building sitting smack dab in the middle of the surrounding walls. The gates opened for them with a metallic squeal, and Sasori was immediately on guard. There were multiple soldiers within the vicinity, all of them raring to kill at any given moment if the killing intent they were giving off was any indication.

"Keep your head down, Akasuna no Sasori," Cat instructed without turning around. "In your current state, it would not be difficult for them to kill you."

They got off their horses when they reached a set of stairs leading up to the main building, their boots clicking on the concrete. The ANBU guard quickly reformed around Sasori. It felt strange to walk. Having his chakra flow cut off from important tenketsu points was an experience he hated.

Like the hand signals, Sasori committed the winding hallways of the house to memory as well, or at least the sections where they passed by. When they arrived in front of double paper doors with Konoha's symbol printed on the fabric, they paused. Then Cat threw open the doors and the ANBU marched him in.

The room smelled heavy of incense. Whoever owned this place was religious. Sasori could detect the faint scent of tea as well; it reminded him of his grandmother's tea.

"Danzo-sama," all of the ANBU intoned as they saluted to the man seated at the front of the room, kneeling upon one knee while they were at it. They had dispersed from formation as soon as they had entered the room.

Perhaps they felt like they were safer from him here, what, with all the guards in the room.

He felt Cat nudged his ribs roughly. Impressive, as he hadn't even seen her twitch. Roughly, he adopted the same form as them. "Danzo-sama," he addressed, grudgingly. Shimura Danzo of the Konoha Council. He was the one who suggested execution. Something told him that this man was used to getting what he wanted. When Tsunade had denied him of Sasori's death, the old conniver had likely found another way to get to him.

"Akasuna no Sasori." Danzo only acknowleged him, his single eye gleaming with interest. "Cat, Rabbit, Owl, Raccoon—dismissed."

"Hai, Danzo-sama."

Cat was the last to leave the room, shooting Sasori a quick glance before closing the double-doors behind her with nary a sound.

"You need not worry about prying ears," Danzo said, leaning comfortably in his chair. "The only ones privy to this know not to speak." Sasori side-eyed the masked warriors on all sides of the room. Unlike his ANBU guards, who all bore masks representing an animal, all of their masks were wholly nondescript.

"It's hard not to worry," Sasori said, slowly. "Nothing short of physically restraining them will keep their tongues in place."

"My assurances are still the same."

Boldly, Sasori walked right up to the table between them and took a seat opposite the old war-hawk. Danzo's guards tensed, but made no move to attack. "Hmph, don't keep me waiting then. Let's talk business, shall we?"

Danzo chuckled. Sasori wished he wouldn't do that. Such a sound wasn't meant to come out from a man like him. "Eager, I see... Very well, then. We must not waste time, so I'll keep this clear and concise. You are to be assimilated into my special forces," Danzo gestured at the still soldiers around them, "and carry out orders only from me. You will fight for me. Die for me. Your will will be mine." Danzo eyed the bands around Sasori's wrists, one of them larger than the other to accomodate his Zetsu arm. "We'll get rid of those and replace them with something better, not to suppress your charka, but your monster blood. Do I make myself clear?"

As he waited for Sasori's answer, Danzo poured himself and his guest a cup of tea. Sasori looked him straight in the eye as he held the cup to his mouth, covering his lower face with it.

"And if I refuse?"

"There are other methods. All have the same result."

Sasori's fingers tightened around the cup. His mouth was dry—he dared only to wet his lips with the tea, even if he had seen Danzo pour the tea into his own cup.

"It was worth a try. What do you need me to do?"

Danzo snapped his fingers, and a guard dropped from the ceiling with a box. If Sasori was surprised, he didn't show it, his eyes following Danzo's hand as he removed a small object from the ornate box.

Danzo took out a sealing brush and paint. "Open wide, Sasori-san."

"What is this?"

"The first seal. The second will be on your grey arm."

Sasori clenched his jaw. Then, reluctantly, he obeyed, even when the already present sense of wrongness pervaded his being even more. By the end of the sealing, his tongue was numb, and his Zetsu arm felt heavy, which was worrying in itself as it was normally light as air.

He could understand the arm seal, but he only had an assumption for his marked tongue. And assumptions were unacceptable, especially working under a man like Danzo.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded, the question coming out as a growl from his throat.

"Merely a precaution. No one outside of ROOT will ever know about it."

Sasori froze. 'My assurances are still the same'. Of course... You sneaky bastard!

"Now that we have that sorted, I'd like for you to meet your partner. You will take missions together, sleep in the same quarters, and put your lives in each other's hands. Teamwork is something we like to emphasize in Konoha, even within ROOT."

"And who, pray tell, is that?" Sasori said dryly, crossing his arms. Beneath his sarcastic facade, he was a ball of simmering rage. As soon as Tsunade had sentenced him, his will had not been his own. In a way, it never had been, but cage was now smaller than ever. It infuriated him, especially knowing that he had willingly acquiesced to it. Not like there was ever another choice...

"You can come in now... Sai."

The doors opened up and a pale boy with ink-black hair strolled into the room, immediately saluting to Danzo. It was in a different fashion than the ANBU guards had done, and Sasori instantly knew that he would be saluting like that from now on.

"Introduce yourself," Danzo instructed. He smirked. "And take him around town. Our new member needs to know the stronghold like the back of his hand."

"Hai, Danzo-sama." The boy turned to Sasori, smiling so falsely that Sasori had to deadpan. "It is nice to meet you. I am Sai."

Sai led Sasori out of the room, smiling all the way. Before they left, Sasori halted, glowering at Danzo. "I won't forget this, old man."

The doors shut, and Danzo smiled woodenly. "I don't expect you to, Akasuna no Sasori..." Slaves should never forget their master.

Nobody stopped them on their way out, or even glanced in their direction. Sasori wondered if the seals he had received somehow connected them with the other ROOT members.

"Where would you like to go first?" Sai asked robotically.

"Aren't you supposed to be the tour guide here?" the red-haired man retorted cuttingly. "I can't believe some brat like you is supposed to be my partner."

"Oh. Would you prefer a different one?"

He thought of Deidara. Itachi. Obito. Even Kakashi. "Yes."

"Then that is a shame. I cannot change Danzo-sama's decision, Prickly."

"... What did you just call me?" Sasori whipped around, glaring daggers at Sai's mechanically smiling face.

"Prickly, of course. Short for Prickly Bastard, long for Prick. Why don't we go to the stables?"

Sasori followed Sai, fuming all the way. He had not bathed or eaten or even slept in over twenty-four hours and now this boy was testing his patience. "I'm not a bastard, you pale-faced freak." He would have said more, but the lack of sleep was doing him no favors.

"Really? Because from what I've been told, you are thirty years old and hail from Sunagakure. Of all the Great Nations, Suna has only just caught up to the other countries in terms of development. Reliable birth control was introduced in the last twenty-five years. You were born five to six years before then, so there is a very likely chance that you are, in fact, a bastard." Sai tilted his head to the side when Sasori hurled a discarded horseshoe at him. The horseshoe crashed into a wooden shack.

"Not. Another. Word."

Sai shrugged. He swept past Sasori to reach out to one of the bleary-eyed horses in the stables. He held up a gloved hand, and the animal buried its nose gently into his palm. Then he used his free hand to unhook a blank drawing scroll on his belt and a calligraphy brush. There was a tiny seal inked on the side of the brush that piqued Sasori's curiosity—which was quickly sated when ink began to seep from the brush and onto the paper. He did not recognize the seal—it must have been a Konoha creation.

"What are you doing?" Sasori inquired shortly when Sai began to mess around with the brush and paper.

"My art," Sai said simply.

Art? Sasori walked forward until he was peering over Sai's shoulder, watching him paint a strange humanoid shape near the top end of the scroll. "Tsk. That looks absolutely ridiculous." He snatched the paper from Sai, who did not protest, merely watching with those coal-black eyes of his. "This is not true art." He tore the paper in two. "Art is something that lasts forever—not something that can be so easily destroyed like this." Spitefully, he dropped the paper on the ground, crossing his arms as he waited for Sai to react. To get angry. To defend his art.

But he didn't. He merely picked up the pieces and smiled that annoyingly plastic smile. "You are strange, Prickly." Then he started to walk away to the nearest disposal bin.

"That's it?" Sasori went after him. "You're not going to defend your work? Hmph. And here I thought that you might just be worth my time. Pretender." Come on, brat. Get angry. What are you waiting for?

Sai merely kept on smiling, never faltering once. Sasori didn't follow him when he returned to the horse, petting the beast.

Some tour guide he turned out to be. Sasori looked up at the sky, checking for the time. It was still very early. So Sasori left Sai to enjoy himself with the horses, stalking off to tour the town by himself. He'd seen it when he'd crossed the mountains—it was not big, and he would probably be finished by noon. After that, he wasn't sure he would do, but he trusted that Danzo would call for him if he was needed. But if this backwater town had a store which sold quality wood and tools, he'd make sure that he knew where it was.

The township felt oddly deserted, even though there were plenty of people going about their day. Nobody spoke to one another unless they needed something; all of them kept their heads low, and the only voices that he could here were the gruff brogues of the soldiers and the high-pitched squeals of children who didn't know how to read the mood.

There were a few street stands set up, all sorts of trinkets on sale and shining under the pale sunlight. Most of the vendors were elderly members of the community, but there were a few young men and women working as well, dark circles under their eyes as shoppers attempted to haggle with them. Sometimes, voices raised, but one look from an ANBU soldier would shut them up.

"Excuse me, young man." Sasori turned to see an elderly woman with a large wart on her nose waving him over, inviting him to take a look at what she was selling. She looked remarkably witch-like, Sasori thought, but there was an underlying gentleness in her countenance, so he decided to appease her. If he even got paid for his conscription (he doubted it), he hadn't received a single ryo of it yet, so there was nothing he would be able to buy. He glanced over at the stall next to the witch-woman's; a young lady was selling shrunken vegetables for dirt-cheap. The woman gestured dramatically at her wares with her knotted hands. "I'm a sure a man like you has a woman waiting for you back home—why don't you take one of my jewels for her?"

Jewels, huh? Sasori picked an emerald brooch up and inspected it. He was no expert on jewelry, but they didn't seem as badly crafted as he had first thought. Did Deidara even like jewelry? he wondered. There was so much he had yet to find out about her, and it only served to remind him that if he wasn't careful, his time on this earth would be cut short. He wasn't just living for himself anymore—he was living for her as well. The red-haired man placed the jewel back to its original place, another one catching his eye.

It was a blue brooch; the same shade of blue as her eyes. When he held it toward the sun, it glimmered ethereally.

There was a heavy feeling in his heart when he was forced to return it to the vendor. "I have no money," he admitted, prepared for the woman to shoo him away.

"Money?" The woman blinked in surprise. "You're part of the ANBU Corps, aren't you? I can see their symbol on your cloak. Why would you need money?"

What? Sasori's silent question was answered when an soldier sauntered up to the vegetable stall the young lady was running. She did nothing as he snatched a radish from the display and walked off, merely looked down at her feet sadly. Nobody offered her any sympathy, so she squared her shoulders as best as she could and called out invitingly to customers when an all-civilian crowd walked by.

Before Sasori could reply, a brown-haired, plain-faced teenager came hobbling up to the stall with a wooden crutch. "Baba! Baba!" He puffed in exertion as he finally reached them. "What are you doing? Stop giving away our goods to soldiers!"

"Aiyah!" the witch-woman scoffed, shaking a fist at her grandson. "This is my store, not yours, you naughty boy! If I want to give things away, then don't stop me!"

The boy pointed accusingly at Sasori, who merely stared back blankly. "He's one of them!" the boy hissed hatefully. "A soldier! Have you forgotten what they've done to this town?"

"Not so loud!" To Sasori, she said apologetically, "Sorry about my grandson, ANBU-san. He can be very unruly." She scooped up a handful of jewels and held it out toward him, her aged hand shaking. "Take this as compensation... I'm sorry that I don't have much else to give."

Sasori reached out a hand; from his periphery he could see the boy glowering helplessly at the situation. He was as skinny as a stick, and his complexion wasn't healthy for a boy his age. To their left, the young woman running the vegetable stall was looking away, her brow furrowed guiltily.

The teenage boy made a spluttering noise when Sasori gently closed the old woman's fingers around the jewels. "Keep it. I have no need for such trinkets." A little girl and her mother came up from behind, the mother trying hard to reel the girl in; the child was trying to take a closer look at the witch-woman's jewels. They might have only been trinkets to him, but to the witch-woman and her grandson, they were their source of income. Sasori stepped back to make room for the child and her mother, his monster arm accidentally jostling the stall. The blue brooch he had picked up early fell to the ground, gaining the attention of the little girl.

"Excuse me," she picked it up and held it to him shyly, "is this yours, ANBU-san?"

He stared at her wordlessly, then looked up to the witch-woman and her grandson. The teenage boy seemed to have calmed down significantly, and the old woman was nodding slightly.

So, sighing, Sasori took the brooch from her. "Yes. Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome!"

He didn't want to stay any longer, lest they do something foolish like invite him for tea or something. So he left them to barter; the last thing he heard from them was the small girl asking her mother if she could pretty please buy all of them.

"That was nice of you."

Sasori snapped his head upward, eyes focusing on the figure seated on a nearby rooftop. "Oh yeah?" Without even batting an eyelash, he used a stack of wooden boxes leaning against the side of the building to launch himself up on the rooftop. "I think you'll find that that's the furthest extent my niceties go."

Cat laughed, the sound oddly feminine. Perhaps he was just used to hearing more male soldiers. Then she did something unexpected—she took off her mask, revealing her pretty face. "I'm off-duty right now," she clarified. "So you can call me Uzuki-san, Akasuna no Sasori."

Uzuki Yugao and Akasuna no Sasori stood on the roof of an inn, staring down one another.

Then—

"Just Sasori."

"Well then, Sasori-san..." Yugao smirked. "I hope you don't die too soon, even if you deserve it. That would be..." She stepped backward off the roof. "Disappointing."

When he looked downward a few seconds later, a draft of wind brushing against his cheeks and pushing some of his hair back, he could see her figure disappearing into the distance, her hips swaying seductively.

"Hmph." Sasori straightened his back and stretched, feeling some joints pop. "At the very least, she's an improvement from the porcelain-doll-brat..." He held the cornflower brooch up, examining it's shine. But she's not you.

It was a week into her new job when Deidara encountered Chiyo, who looked more excited that she had been in a long time. It was a rare sight to see Chiyo worked up about anything.

"Chiyo-baa?" Deidara said uncertainly, when the old woman grasped her shoulders. "What happened, yeah?"

"Girl! Pack your bags, because we're moving!"

"What?!"

It turned out that Chiyo had been playing mahjong with a few other ladies every day for almost two weeks now. With money being staked. Old Rio's mahjong teachings turned out to be very useful for Chiyo, who had managed to earn a small apartment flat after winning against a landlady the other day. The papers had just been signed, and now Chiyo had full ownership of the little flat.

It was a basic place, Deidara soon found, but a definite improvement from the squashed environment at the refugee centre.

"Are you sure you want me here?" Deidara looked around skeptically.

"Bah! Of course! I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm very fond of you, Deidara." Smiling, Chiyo took her by the hands, looked her in the eye, and said, "I'm glad someone like you is in my foolish grandson's life. You will make an excellent wife for him, and you're one of the few women I can actually tolerate and rely on."

"I... I don't know what to say—"

"Then don't. You don't need to say anything, girl." The old woman smiled craftily. "Our little family is almost complete. Why don't we just wait for the last member to come back? Oh, I also took a few liberties with the store room..." Chiyo led Deidara to the third room in the flat, and she almost choked when she saw what Chiyo had in store for her.

It was a studio. An art studio. There were already blocks of expensive clay just waiting for her on one side of the room. On the other side of the studio were tools clearly intended for woodworking.

"When he comes back, I want him to spend his days with you, not someone old and withered like me." Chiyo opened the curtains on Deidara's side of the room, letting sunlight trickle in. "And what better way is there? And forget about paying me back, girl—I won all of this from mahjong. At least that Rio was good for something. Now get to work!" she suddenly snapped at Deidara, whose eyes widened, partly from shock at the big reveal. "By the time I'm done with dinner, I want there to be dozens of those grotesque centipedes of yours crawling all over the ceiling."

Deidara couldn't hold it in. She laughed. Laughed, and maybe cried a little, but mostly laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. Then she opened a pack of clay, reveling in the feel of it in her palms. It brought comfort to her, even when she could no longer use her right hand for her artistic pursuits. She set immediately to work, passing the time by creating all sorts of creatures, mostly ones with many legs or oddly shaped bodies. They were the kinds of creatures that fascinated her.

She lost herself in her art. She forgot all about the number on her neck, the perpetual pain that came with her prosthetic. She forgot the pain in her heart, the burn scars on her body, and gouge beneath her eye. She forgot about the distance between her and Sasori; while she worked, he was looking over her shoulder and constructing more of his puppets.

The moon was high in the sky when Chiyo popped her head into the room, announcing, "It's time for dinner. Are those centipedes done yet? I don't see them on the ceiling."

In response, Deidara held out an an arm, and a medium-sized centipede wrapped itself around her limb, its antennae vibrating and pincers clicking. "Yeah, but I don't think you'd be too happy having clay spots on the your ceiling. Danna might accuse me of encroaching on his territory, hm, if it gets on his side of the studio."

"I don't care," Chiyo told her, "as long as you don't forget about who you are."

"Funny," Deidara said as she closed the door behind them, the smell of meat and vegetables enticing her, "he told me the same thing."

"I can't stand it!" Fumiko declared one day, hands on her hips as she addressed Deidara and Choji in their shared workroom. "Look how depressing this place is. How can you guys work like that?"

"Like what, hm?" Deidara said absently, not looking up from the tome she was reading. There was a clay bird perched on her shoulder that resembled a miniature dragon than anything else. Occasionally, she would scratch its chin as if it were a real, breathing creature.

"You guys are so into your jobs," said Fumiko, crossing her arms. "I guess you're not affected by the work environment like me."

"That's not true," Choji protested mildly. "I get what you mean, Fumiko-san." He looked out the window, at the grey world beyond. "I guess that's just what war does, huh?"

At that, Deidara looked up from her book. "War. Tch." She sneered. "What good has that ever done us? War's the very reason why we're even here..."

Fumiko, who was sitting on a table with a typewriter in her lap, breathed out a sigh, swinging her legs. "War... it's something hard to avoid in the material world. People fight over things all the time, no matter how stupid. I just wish they could open their eyes and look around them!"

Deidara grumbled. "Tell me about it, yeah." She joined Choji by the window, watching people go about their day, absolutely spiritless. It wasn't as bad here, she had to guess, since Konoha City was where all the rich people lived, the capital city of the entire country. She couldn't imagine what it was like in the outer towns and cities.

There was a period of silence after that, Choji and Deidara returning to their work while Fumiko frowned at the wall.

"Deidara," Choji started. "I'm glad you're getting better."

"Huh?" She blinked at him, midway through flipping a page. "Oh... It's a work in progress, hm. You know, Choji... I'm not the only one suffering, yeah. Don't be too worried about me."

Choji smiled weakly. "It's hard not to. Out of all of us, you're the one who's changed the most."

She paused in her typing. "Do you really think that?"

"Well, yeah. We're all colder now, we've seen more and know more about the world we live in. But I stand by what I said—you've changed the most."

"I doubt it, hm. The others are just better at hiding it..."

"Yeah, maybe..."

Her art could only do so much. It was a window of escape for her, but she would always be dragged back into the jaws of reality. Her everyday life was mostly mundane. She spent most of her days with Rin, sometimes with Itachi and Kagami as well. Occasionally, Kakashi. And, of course, she would see Chiyo every day when she got home after a long day of writing reports, articles, and translating foreign papers.

And when she wasn't occupied with her own life, she thought of the life of another. Hana. After that night by the river, Deidara hadn't seen the brown-haired woman at all. Then again, the city was big, busy, and bustling, so it was no wonder what they hadn't seen each other. She wondered if Hana was still alive, and what she would do if they encountered one another again. For a noblewoman, she was too scrawny and dirty. Now that she was eating properly again, even Deidara had a healthier glow in her cheeks than what she had last seen of Hana.

Hana had suffered, too.

Maybe it was just her curiosity, but she wanted to know what kind of experiences she had gone through. Noblewomen weren't meant to experience hardships at all. But then she thought of Hinata, Hanabi, Ino, and... Hitomi.

"People do bad things because we don't know how to empathize with one another," Fumiko said out of the blue. When Deidara and Choji gave her quizzical looks, she held up the book she had been flipping through. "That's what it says here. If we all knew how each other was suffering, then maybe we wouldn't do all the bad things that we do. Which means no wars being fought... Personally, in a city like this, I think a little awareness is what we all need. Konohagakure's been touched by war, but to people here, it doesn't seem as real." She flipped through the book. "We hide our feelings because we're scared that we'll be ridiculed by others; we're scared that they won't understand." It was clear that she was just reading from the text.

"What is that book?" Choji inquired.

Fumiko closed it. "The Diary of Sarutobi Sasuke. I think these were written when he was very young... In a way, I agree with him. We're all so unaware of each other, it's crazy."

"Crazy, hm?" Deidara typed the final sentence on her typewriter, the clay bird on her shoulder making a clicking noise to imitate the sound of the bronze keys. "Yeah, it is crazy, isn't it? But what can we do about it?"

Choji and Fumiko continued to talk, but their conversation faded into the background for Deidara.

Stopping wars... that's impossible. Deidara closed the tome. Isn't it?

She was just about to leave when she nearly walked into the boss himself.

"Deidara-san! Am I glad that I ran into you!" Fatso exclaimed. "Could I have a word with you?"

Choji and Fumiko, who she'd been walking with, exchanged a glance and waved to Deidara before leaving without her.

"What is it, Fatso-san?" He led her to his office, where he proceeded to sit her down.

"There was a question in the interview that I wanted to ask but didn't get to."

You've already hired me, old man. Deidara tensed in her seat. Why didn't you ask this when you were supposed to, hm? Outwardly, she kept her face neutral, looking Fatso right in the eye.

Fatso didn't waste anymore time.

"What do you want to go from here, Deidara-san?"

"I... What?" How is this related to anything? Deidara's brow lowered as she contemplated the question.

"Take your time," Fatso told her.

She thought, and thought, but couldn't find an answer that satisfied her. The answer she gave wasn't very satisfying either. "I don't know."

"Are you lost, then?"

Lost on what? The road of life? Deidara wanted badly to snort and roll her eyes at the notion, but the question was staring at her in the face, and she couldn't look away. So she settled for silence.

Fatso sighed, pulling out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "I'd suspected. You seem a lot brighter than when I first met you, but it's like you're trapped in a glass cage. So I can only do one thing for you, Deidara: set you free."

"You're firing me?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, no, you misunderstood." He pushed the paper across the desk, toward her. "But being stuck in this shabby old building all day isn't the place for you. Choji's doing well here, as is Fumiko-san, but you're not, no matter how much you pretend you are. You don't belong here, but I can find a place for you without laying you off." As she read the paper with confusion on her face, he went on, "The project I am assigning you will be something you will have to tackle by yourself. It'll encompass the whole year starting from now, and it'll require many hours of travelling. I've been planning to give this assignment to someone for a while now, but then you came along, and, well... I figured that you're the best person for the job. Not just for the readers, or the people I have on this list, but for yourself, too." Fatso took out a bottle of sake and poured himself a glass. "A fatal flaw we have in the big city is that we lack the ability to empathize. But you and Choji—especially you—are different from the rest of us fat cats. You've seen the world before finding yourselves in this big dome. You've lived the war, or a side of it at least. You and your friends got the opportunity to tell your stories at the trial, but there are those... who simply have no voices left."

Deidara regarded him warily. "... What exactly is my job, hm?"

"Go out to Konohagakure and tell the stories of those who cannot. The Gazette will pay for all of your lodgings and other necessities. You'll need to pack your clothes, and your typewriter as a minimum. The list of names I have here are people who I want you to approach and write for. It won't be easy—they won't trust you with their feelings, and who can blame them?—but I believe in you."

Deidara read the list again.

This wasn't just an assignment—it was an opportunity. She doubted that she'd be stopping wars anytime soon, but...

She exhaled. "When do I start?"

Deidara brought only a few things with her, which she carried in a brown case, those items contained in separate scrolls which made her case rattle.

A spare change of clothes, her typewriter, clay, and Sarutobi Sasuke's diary with the list of names that Fatso had given her tucked between the pages of the leather-bound book.

She wore her eyescope today, hiding it partly behind her hair.

"All aboard!" The boat made a low horn-like sound as Deidara stepped up the gangplank.

On the docks, Rin and Itachi were there, the former waving to her and telling her to write often. Itachi's face was as impassive as usual; he was holding his child in his arms. Deidara wondered how he was coping with raising Izuna by himself. She knew that Rin would help him if nobody else would.

The woman next to Deidara started to cry, waving at her sisters who were also crying at the docks. "I promise I'll write!" the woman sobbed. "Goodbye, Ina, goodbye, Yuna!"

Slowly, the docks drifted further and further away.

Then they were gone.

And Deidara sighed through her nose before taking a deep breath, smelling the salt on the wind.

Then she looked at the first name on the list.

Inuzuka Tsume.

A/N: What do I even put here? Inspired by Violet Evergarden? Because it sure was.