A/N: Hello, everyone! Here's the next installment of Behind the Mask!
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Naruto!
WARNINGS: None this chapter. (As a side note, we obviously don't know much about some of the different member's childhoods, so I'm taking a few liberties!)
Kisame
If anyone knew, he'd probably never hear the end of it. After all, someone like him really shouldn't, couldn't, be into something artsy and sensitive like poetry.
He knew how people saw him. He was too big, too freakish-looking, too dumb to understand the intricacies of poetry. Hell, he was sure most people assumed he didn't even know how to read. But in those dark, bleak days as a Kiri ninja, he had found a light in the faded old books of the bookshelf in his lonely home.
Both his parents had been killed when he was a young child; he could still remember looking down at their bloody, mangled bodies. His first introduction to shinobi life. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only victim of Blood Mist Village, and there were countless orphanages dotted around the village to take kids like him in. Yet, because of his appearance, none of the orphanages were willing to take him. So he just lived in his home, parent-less and on his own. It was a fate he resigned himself to, forever destined to be alone in this cruel world.
He grew up, feared and ostracized by the other villagers for his looks and raw power. One day, as he walked the empty halls and rooms of the small house, he finally took notice of the bookshelf tucked away in a corner of what used to be his father's study. Curious, he padded his way to the corner, crouching down to inspect the spines. His eyes honed in on a thicker text, gently pulling it off the shelf. He opened the book, inspecting the pages carefully, only to find verses lining them. In this abandoned study is where he read his first lines of poetry, specifically haiku.
He had been enthralled. Here was the beauty and elegance he had been searching for. These words wove stories of nature, and love, and peace. The one thing he was sure didn't exist in a world like his, yet these words spoke of it like it was a true concept. He had finally felt hope.
From there he discovered other forms of poetry: senryu; tanka; renga. While he enjoyed all of them, he found himself drawn more to the irony and cynicism of senryu. After graduating the academy and being assigned missions, he would use his money to buy new senryu books, often garnering strange stares and looks from the shopkeepers. He had learned long ago to ignore the way other people would look at him, more interested in getting home and indulging in his secret hobby.
He amassed quite the collection over the years, and before he defected from the village to join the Akatsuki he was sure to seal his sacred tomes away in a nondescript scroll. He didn't need any of these new 'comrades' coming across his poetry. Thankfully, his partner Itachi was the type of guy to keep to himself, so there was never much worry about him being nosey.
He glanced around. Itachi had gone off to scout a small town for their next target, leaving him alone in a small clearing to wait until his return. The Uchiha hadn't been gone long, and he was sure he wouldn't be coming back for at least an hour. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled the sealing scroll from the hidden pocket, easily summoning his favorite volume. Settling in against a shady tree, he allowed himself to get lost in the familiar words, as well as the sense of peace and hope they brought.
Hopefully Itachi didn't decide to return early.
A/N: I know that the Databook tells us the hobbies of different characters (Kisame's, for example, is actually caring for Samehada), but I want to take an opportunity to look deeper at the characters and bypass the obvious! :) So the topics of this story are not going to be identical to what the Databook tells us. Hopefully you all will still enjoy the story!