You're Falling – Chapter 2: When We're Bad
A/N: As promised, I'm updating within 24 hours! Yay for me and my speedy updates! I have carpet burned my elbow pretty badly, which makes it painful for me to type because I can't rest my arms on the desk like I normally do, so I'm typing at half speed :( curse the Oreo that rolled under my bed! Even if you were delicious! So, thanks for the reviews…all three of you. But besides that, I'm still writing this. Even if I had one reviewer, I'm writing it because I have a plan, and my plans get followed until they get finished. Song of the chapter is 'The Fight Song' by Marilyn Manson, which is epic and a bit relevant. Anyway, on with the story! Still Deidara's point of view. Oh, and just for pointers 'hitai-ate' is the correct romaji, not 'hitae-ate'. The 'ai' and 'ae' sounds are different. Also, 'ryou' is the currency. I add the 'u' because there's supposed to be a line over the 'o' but I can't remember how to type it :S I am trying to stick as close to the anime as possible in this part, sort of kind of quoting maybe, especially with this one scene that I do…yeah. Okay, forwards, to victory!
This is thinking/dreaming.
This is regular story.
This is author's note.
This is title
Warnings: Swearing warning, terrorism, criminal activity, bla bla bla bad things kids, don't do it. Although no sex yet, because that wouldn't make sense. Please don't take Deidara (or most of the characters from the Naruto series, really…) as a role model for life because being a terrorist is bad, you know. Killing is bad, too. In fact, I think generally being a ninja is frowned upon in polite society. People tend not to like you doing ninja-y things. This also applies to World of Warcraft. Damn you, ninja looters!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters, although if I did…Naruto and Sasuke would be (explicitly) canon, Kakashi and Iruka would be together, Kakuzu and Hidan would be together, and Sasori and Deidara would be together, along with a whole lot of other pairings I support. Basically everyone gets it on, because that's just how I roll, baby. Clearly I do not own Naruto, because none of that has happened yet.
oO..Oo..oO..Oo
The death of one is a tragedy
The death of a million is just a statistic
But I'm not a slave to a god who doesn't exist
And I'm not a slave to a world that doesn't give a shit
oO..Oo..oO..Oo
The night air was refreshingly cold against my bare skin as I flew away from the bar, away from the approaching ninja. Before I had even thought of double-crossing that moron I had established my own safe house, far away from the town where the bar was. It's good practise to have a safe house separate from that provided by the employer; if they double-cross you or sell you out, then there's always a place to escape to.
In this case, the safe house was doubly useful. In my table dancing whore costume, I had few places to conceal clay bombs or clay pouch. I didn't even have a place I could strap a regular weapons pouch to without raising a few eyebrows. As a general rule, most ninja don't double up as prostitutes in their free time. I had risked leaving my equipment, one set of clothes and my supply of clay at my safe house. If it was found, I wasn't losing much; even though the clay was expensive, it was replaceable, and I didn't have any personal belongings.
The landscape rolled by, trees becoming denser as I approached the location of my safe house. I passed a derelict shrine, part of a religion abandoned long ago. The Land of Fire was not the safest place to operate from, but the safe house was easily concealed in the forest, and it was close to the nameless town with its disgusting, nameless bar. As one of the most powerful nations, its law enforcement was the hardest to evade, and a kunai through the throat was the last thing I needed.
I began my descent towards a small outcrop of pale rock, shining like a beacon through the black-green of the trees. I kept my eyes open, scanning for anything unusual. I was feeling jumpy without my clay.
I shivered again. The air was ridiculously cold, the wind chilling me to my bones. It was the first sign autumn was approaching, the chill in the air. Of course, my general lack of clothing didn't help. I wriggled my toes, the cool digits rubbing over each other for warmth. I always got cold feet this high up.
The bird dropped low enough to brush the treetops, circling once around the rock before settling to land on top of it. I hopped off it quickly, draining my chakra from it until it became a tiny, lifeless statuette again, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. My feet were even colder on the rock as I slipped across it, not making a sound and I neared the edge. Concentrating chakra to my feet, I crouched and crawled under a vertical overhang, moving forward blindly with one hand outstretched until my fingertips brushed the back wall. I let myself drop, turning in the air in the short space to the ground. I groped around in the dark a little, fingers brushing cloth and sacking, then the cold metal of my lamp.
The cave lit up. Maybe safe 'house' was the wrong word, considering it was actually a cave. It was just big enough for two people to lie comfortably side by side, or for one person and a sack of clay.
I stripped off the hooker's shirt and shorts, digging my own clothes out of the bundle. Green silk over a mesh undershirt, a relic of my days in Iwa. With the fresh fabric against my body, I felt cleaner and more secure. I could really have done with a shower, but caves generally don't come equipped with running water.
I reached into the sack for a handful of clay, gently squeezing it and rolling it between my fingers, kneading chakra into the soft white material through the mouth. The clay was cool against my palm, earthy and stable and right. I loved my clay; it could be normal and inert one minute, then blasting through someone's roof the next. I could mould it into such pretty shapes, although they wouldn't last. My chakra held the shapes of my bombs; heating in a kiln would fracture the sculptures because of the air bubbles I worked into the clay for optimum explosions.
Sometimes, I thought it would be nice to be like clay; mouldable, soft, pure white. But other times, I was grateful I wasn't. I was durable, hardened, and sullied, and that wasn't changing any time soon.
I ran a couple of fingers through my hair and re-tied my old hitai-ate. I wore it out of habit, even though I hated Iwagakure. It held my hair back well enough, letting one long section fall forward to conceal my scope. Just because I wore their symbol didn't mean I forgave the bastards for what they did.
I grit my teeth, compressing the clay in my fist into a tight ball.
No, I wouldn't sit around and feel sorry for myself. I divided my handful of clay up, moulding each tiny ball into a delicate spider, watching them scuttle from my palm towards the entrance of the cave to stand sentry.
The money was still on top of the whore shorts. A thick, solid bundle of ryou, more than enough to last me for a while. I could live quite well of it for maybe a month or two, depending on how much I was willing to spend. I really needed a new pair of trousers and maybe a cloak for the approaching winter, depending on where my next job took me. Food and other necessities would drain a significant portion, but I could probably afford a hotel or inn for a while, provided I stayed in some hole-in-the-wall, out of the way backwater. I really wanted that shower.
My dreams of showering were interrupted sharply. Three chakra signatures were approaching, barely disguised.
I didn't think. I strapped on my clay pouch and crawled out of the cave mouth, leaping between trees away from the approaching ninja. They were gaining on me, moving faster than I could. As I broke the tree line around the old shrine, I shot a look over my shoulder, peering through the trees with my scope. Black figures, three of them, all of varying height. Black cloaks with red clouds.
Akatsuki, but why were they chasing me?
I darted forwards into the open door of the shrine, the doors hanging by their hinges. I couldn't outrun the Akatsuki; there was no choice but to face them. At least inside I had a greater chance of doing some damage to them if they wanted to fight. Adrenaline bubbled through my veins at the prospect of a fight. I almost hoped they would want to fight; I hadn't had a proper challenge in a long time. Perverted old men mistaking me for a woman were hardly difficult to fend off, especially once I opened my mouth. My voice was anything but effeminate.
Statues lined the walls, their crudely designed faces glaring down at me. No wonder this religion had been abandoned; they lacked all artistic ability whatsoever. They couldn't even make their fake gods beautiful. Figures darkened the doorway, their cloaked figures creating menacing silhouettes.
"You're Akatsuki?" I stated as the figures moved closer. One was significantly taller, a large sword strapped across his back. A shorter, slimmer figure stood across from him, eyes glowing faintly. I couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light or some kind of jutsu. The third figure stood between them, short and hunched over. They didn't look like much. "What do I care? You're just interfering with my affinity for art, un!"
"So, this is the kid that's supposed to be my partner?" The middle figure said, turning to face the figure with the eyes. "He's got some fight in him, but he seems like the type that dies young."
"This was an order from Leader-sama, so we have to make use of his abilities," My eyes adjusted to the low light, and I could make out their features better. The eyes of the figure on the left were definitely odd, a scratched out Konoha hitai-ate tied across his forehead. Although his eyes glowed slightly with the jutsu, they were dead and lifeless. His voice was monotone.
"You know about my abilities?" I said, my eyes widening. I wasn't exactly famous; I would be executed if I was identified, but I wasn't that notorious. "Who are you?"
"You're a terrorist bomber, known to have worked with various organisations in multiple nations. What kind of purpose is that for a person like you?" The tallest figure spoke. I could make out what looked like fish gills beneath small eyes, and his skin was bizarrely greyish blue.
"Purpose? What purpose, un? I blow stuff up when people pay me to, using my creations, yeah," I dug in my clay pouch, taking out a handful, kneading it between my palms. "Look! There's such detail in the lines that it exceeds two-dimensional form, un. However, that's not all there is to my art. My creations come to life. As a shape, it's nothing more than clay, yeah, but it explodes! When it explodes, it changes, and becomes my art's true form for the first time. The only time you can see my true art is when it undergoes that change, un!
"Art…is a bang!"
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A/N: Yes, I'm very bad, but I acknowledge here that it's not good practise to take dialogue pretty much directly from the anime or manga, but I wanted to keep it similar to actual canon. I have edited it, added in a bit more of Deidara's vocal tick because I think it's totally cute. You can check me on this, its close, but it's not copied straight. It's fighting time next chapter! I admit I spent far too long on this chapter because I was busy browsing deviantART for cute/sexy SasoDei pics…of which too many are either chibis or are really random. Just because he's the uke, Deidara is not a girl! Dude! Okay, rant over. Review :3