It always amazed her how fluid runners were. At first glance their movements would seem awkward, the strange shift of body weight, the bob of flesh at each step. Some would bounce as they ran, others would swing their shoulders from side to side, like a flag whipping back and forth in the wind. Then there were the ones who really caught her eye, the ones who knew what they were doing, executing their movements as if they had been born to fly, long legs ghosting over the ground like a bird floating through the air. It was graceful. It was stunning. And it was nothing like the way she ran.
Sora gasped, struggling to keep up so as not to be dragged again. The desert sun felt blistering on her unprotected face, chapped lips hanging ajar as moisture was sucked from her open mouth. It was foolishness to travel in the desert without water; even more so to travel at such an ungodly pace. But her captures' didn't seem to care. It was as if the harsh environment didn't affect them. They didn't eat. They didn't sleep. And she had yet to see any fresh water oases.
She had never run so far, so fast, in her entire life. Even before Sora had come here, she had been adverse to anything faster than a speed walk. Running through the wild was not something she did. But here she was, flinging herself over treacherous sand in the god-damn desert. Her flagging strength was slipping and she knew she was going to collapse, despite the fear of doing so. Sweat trailed down the length of her back, the heat of her clothing unbearable. Sora's face twisted wistfully, and she winced at the pull of her tight skin, longing for the cool weather of the Land of Tea, the quiet silence of a starlit night and the gentle lap of waves against the docks.
Sora even preferred the dank darkness of the cargo ship they'd taken to reach the main land, the overcrowded hold at least semi-cool.
But what bothered her the most, despite nearly dying from exhaustion, was the silence. She was used to the café; its music and laughter. Used to the hustle of the port, the movement of crowds, the shouts of dock workers and constant chatter of passerby. The Land of Wind was aptly named; all she could hear was the rush of air along sand. And if she didn't need her breath for other things, the pun of its hidden village's name would have been enough to make her burst into hysterical giggles. The 'Sun' defiantly was felt here, in all its wretched, burning glory.
Her 'companions' only made it worse. As if ignoring normal bodily needs weren't enough, they had to disregard social needs as well. They rarely spoke to each other, let alone her.
Sora stumbled, hissing when the collar of her over-coat brushed against the burnt skin of her exposed neck. Having short hair was both a blessing and a curse. The boy-cut didn't protect her from the sun, but her spiked curls, now sweat-soaked and plastered to her head, didn't hold in the heat either.
She chanced a glance at the men sprinting in front of her, eyeing their robes. Black was sooo not in right now. Sora's feet fumbled yet again and she fell, chalky dust rising around her in a lingering cloud. Groaning in the back of her throat, the girl decided to make herself more comfortable. She wouldn't be able to get back up anyway.
That is, until someone kicked her in the ribs.
"Get up, bitch. Stitches says we're almost there."
Sora bit her lip, fighting back a retort. It split and blood dribbled down her chin onto the sand, turning the small grains a rusty color. A flash of red hair danced in front of her minds' eye, but she chased it away with a shake of her head. That person was far from reach, both physically and emotionally. No use dwelling on something you can't change.
Instead, the young woman focused on getting her limbs beneath her, struggling to coax her suffering muscles into exertion. She was light headed when she got to her feet, pausing a moment to let it pass. When the darkness receded from her vision, she spotted the men some distance away, obviously too callus to wait for her. Sora was angry for a split second- then her body reminded her of the harsh kick she'd received. She winced; it could have been much worse.
"Bitch, hurry up! We ain't got all day!"
"R-right!" She croaked through her ashy mouth as she started to, once again, move.
It was some time before they stopped walking and only when Sora could make out a faint line of palm trees and- was that an old shack? It was. And they were now walking (thank God) straight towards it.
The young woman looked away, too tired to be remotely curious, and continued forward with her eyes downcast. Only to run into a very hard back. She stumbled, barely righting herself in time to cringe at an icy green glare.
Kakuzu let the awkward tension build for a moment before speaking.
"We are going inside. Hidan will stay here-"
"The fuck, man!" Came the sharp protest, which the older shinobi dutifully ignored.
"-and you will be silent and touch nothing."
Sora could only nod, skirting around the cursing 'monk' to catch up with her swiftly departing kidnaper. The wooden door creaked when he pushed it open, the corroded wood barely holding together. She slipped inside behind him just as he released it, dodging what would have been an embarrassing blow to the forehead.
She had just enough time to appreciate the subtle drop in temperature that the dark interior provided before she froze, Visions flashing before her eyes. This one was more feeling than anything else, the only thing standing out to her in the whirl: a sense of horror, disgust and strangely, a putrid smell that made her want to gag.
Then it was over and she found herself alone, blinking into the darkness. Kakuzu had moved to the other side of the shack, approaching an old balding man with a white mustache trailing down his chin.
Sora shuffled closer, grimacing when her sore feet pressed onto the flat surface of the floor. She could feel her blisters rubbing against the worn leather of her boots, the pressure harsh on her irritated skin. Her shins ached, splinting and the joint of her left knee felt ready to give out. She shifted, trying to find some sort of relief. Absently, she realized that the floor was wooden, a valued commodity in this place, no matter how scuffed up it appeared.
The girl looked up, openly peering at her environment. The walls were lined, from top to bottom, with thin drawers, their faces lacking any visible handle. Instead, they had paper labels, strange squiggled lines curving at their middle.
Her head snapped up at a soft thud, attention drawn to the far counter and the two men looming over it. The old man she'd briefly noticed earlier was leaning back against his metal chair (another rare commodity), playing with his beard and nodding at whatever Kakuzu was murmuring to him. The scroll placed between them was then unrolled, the end flipping open over the edge of the counter. Kakuzu's hands moved in an action too fast for Sora to see and, suddenly, the room was filled with thick white smoke.
And the bitter sweet smell of decay.
Sora gagged, wrist coming up to cover her mouth and nose with her jacket sleeve. The smoke cleared, revealing a severed head, eyes glazed and staring directly at her. It was bloodless and from what she could tell, in rather good shape. Actually, it looked… fresh.
Sora's eyes widened, horrified. It only took her an instant to realize that there were two other heads, each face frozen in a different array of expressions. Movement from behind the counter tore her eyes away from them, horror mixing with disgust as the old man seemed to tutt, pulling a black book from between the folds of his tan outfit. He rounded the counter, leaning over the corpse-less heads while he flipped back and forth between pages. He took out a large red pen, marking a page before turning it.
From her vantage point by the exit, Sora could just barely make out the pictures on the pages, the writing indecipherable from this distance. Kakuzu stood back the whole while, waiting, and when the old man nodded and tucked the book away, the nin's hands rose up again, flickering. The bearded man then grabbed the innocent looking scroll and turned, walking steadily towards her.
Sora's hand had long since fallen to her side, trying (and failing) to school her features. He reached where she was standing, raising a brow at her when she scooted away. Shrugging, he moved behind her to the wall, tapping one of the drawers with a gnarled finger.
The paper pulsed and Sora nearly gasped at the flare of powerful chakra, unused to the sensation on her skin. Writing appeared- names perhaps- and the drawer popped open. The bald man reached inside, pulling out a thin brief case and replacing it with the scroll.
The drawer slid shut with another pulse of chakra and he returned behind the counter, flipping the case onto the scratched surface and opening it with practiced hands.
Her vision was blocked by a familiar broad back as Kakuzu moved to count the money she'd barely caught a glimpse of, the amount she had been able to see: staggering.
Sora felt herself growing sick again, finally struggling though her shock enough to recognize what was happening. The Lonely Shack, the Black Book, the Cash:
It was a bounty exchange, more names crossed out in the Bingo Book.
She shivered, suddenly cold, despite the blistering heat outside. She'd never realized how impersonal it was, how-
Ugh, now she really did feel sick.
The brief case locked shut with a click, Kakuzu lifting it to hang at his side in a whirl of red and black.
"What about her?"
The old man's voice shocked her more than his statement, not expecting such a grandfatherly tone to come from his mouth.
Then his meaning connected in her head.
Sora bit her already bloody lip, body stilling in place and blood draining from her face. Her panicked gaze moved to her capturer, assessing, but he was already stalking towards the door.
Prying it open, he glanced back, harsh voice cutting though the air.
"Not for sale."
The bounty collector nodded and Sora bolted forward, forcing her tired body to dart out the door behind Kakuzu. No way was she going to push her non-existent luck. She couldn't help but chance a nervous look back before the door shut completely, catching a glimpse of the man before she left. She swore his eyes glowed in the darkness.
Unnerved and feeling beyond ill from staying still for too long, Sora stepped out onto the swirling sand, blinking into the sunlight. Her expression twisted sourly at the renewed heat, stomach roiling unpleasantly.
An obnoxious, barking laugh burst out and she flinched at the loud sound, scowling in its direction.
Hidan's grin was sharp on his face, arms folded across his chest as he leaned in the shade of a scraggily palm tree.
"Damn, you're green! Don't come over here if you're gonna be sick."
Sora complied, stumbling around behind the building as bile rose in her throat. Her eyes stung as she dry heaved, arm shaking as she tried to support herself against a wall. Her palm felt hot against the wood and then suddenly there was a sharp snap, electricity running up her hand as chakra flared. She drew it away with a pained yelp, curling it against her chest. The shack seemed to shimmer for a moment, then, like a mirage, it disappeared. In its place was a large, empty plot of sand, surrounded by palm trees.
Then she saw it. A blue glint against the brown earth, the pool of water lay ten feet from what was once a decrepit building. She stumbled quickly towards it, eager for relief. Falling to her knees beside it, trembling hands reached out-
"I wouldn't touch that."
Sora jerked at Kakuzu's voice, pulling away guiltily. Frustration made her daring.
"Why not?"
A brow lifted, eyes glinting. Then he pointed. Sora's head swiveled in that direction, picking apart the landscape on the other side of the pool until she'd though she'd exhausted all explanations.
A rock, desert ferns, small cacti, large palm- she ran her gaze over it again- the same rock, cacti, fern, palm tree…
She stopped at the rock, staring at it; its form and shape picking at her brain. It only seemed to stare back and realizing what she'd just thought, Sora reared away, falling back on her bottom with a thump.
The rock wasn't a rock- it was a skull. An old sun-bleached skull half hidden in the sand. Now that she could see it, her eyes started picking up other things: wires shining faintly in the light, crisscrossing the entire spance of the pool, sharp metal peeking out from behind the ferns.
The pool was booby trapped.
Sandaled feet appeared beside her and she looked up, breath coming out in a whoosh. Kakuzu didn't look at her, features hidden in his cloak. His only visible hand was wrapped firmly around the handle of the black brief case, its color stark against red clouds. His head tilted subtlety at the pool.
"Scarcity often adds value."
The young woman swallowed, throat tight. Her dry hands felt like they were burning in the sand so she brought them to her lap, twisting to look back over the water.
Then the man beside her started walking away.
"We're leaving."
Sora struggled to her feet, eyes lingering on water so close, yet so far away. Then she limped back to the men who were, surprisingly, waiting.
AN: I really enjoyed writing this chapter! I felt like everything just came together. What do you think? Find any mistakes? Find anything you liked?
Review Please!
~Delgodess