Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Saprophytic ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Masashi Kishimoto does.

Author's Note: Flashbacks are in italics. Not sure if I'll turn this into a longer fic with chapters… Feedback is greatly appreciated!

 

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Two walking figures made very strange tracks in the terrain. They were wearing strange clothes and had hats resembling mops on their heads.

Things were strange. But then, maybe they always had been. For the breed of man that were walking on the rather bland river bank, strange was no longer a novelty, but a part of naturalness.

 

The blonde-haired boy retraced his steps when it occurred to him that he had stepped on something. Also when it occurred to him that there was a certain searing feeling in the back of his neck. He looked nervously to his side to see a little boy staring back at him. Both their gazes then fell to the shards of something broken on the ground. After a murderous silence, Deidara began to pick them up.

 

These two people walked and walked to no particular purpose on that dry afternoon. They did until occurred to them that they were moving absolutely nowhere. They stopped, staring at the empty pathway ahead. Deidara blinked, and, with a small twitch in his face, glanced down at his trembling body. The air beside the frigid water was cold, but then, the air was so stifingly hot… His ears and eyes began to spin.

 

“That's not art. It's white.”

 

“And? Is that all, un?” His smooth hands patched together the broken fragments of the eye. “That is not all my art is, un. My art can burst into fire. It's a special kind of art.”

 

“Deidara,” came a soothing voice. “Deidara, you know I do not wish to cause you pain.” Sasori remained standing, staring blankly at the convulsed body on the ground.

 

The bomb artist chuckled, but his eyes remained taut with strain. This seemed to greatly disturb Sasori.

 

“You destroy what you make?” The other child's fingers suffered from a rather uncontrollable twitch.

 

Deidara laughed. “Not destroy. I make it, and then, well… Hn. I don't destroy it… just, I like explosions, un.”

 

“It attracts too much attention.”

 

“Don't worry,” he continued, “I won't explode this one, un.” Then a thought struck him. “Hey, what is this for? What are you making?” He asked, looking down to the other's lap to see a collection of metal and other odd objects.

 

“Can your clay not fix that? Can your art not make you beautiful?” He was furious now, glaring angrily at the man who called him master.

“Deidara, how much longer will you make me wait?”

 

“Toys. I like toys.”

 

Deidara frowned upon seeing the sinister, occult `toy' sitting in another corner.

 

“They don't look like toys.”

 

“But. But yours doesn't look like art. It is white.”

 

“You know, Master, I've never enjoyed making you wait.”

 

Sasori looked at his companion. “Yes. I know.”

 

The artist's second mouth managed to produce a single wad of clay. He felt his hands shaping his soul. A tiny, white fragment of the man's art rested in his limp palm, awaiting instruction. Deidara blew and it flew. It was damaged on one side - an imperfection - yet it managed it to make it to Sasori's shoulder. “Do not wait for your art wither, un.”

 

Sasori blinked at his new additions. “I will make you eternal,” he whispered.

 

“Yes, so it works with this broken eye just right.” Deidara rolled the mended thing into the other's lap.

Sasori reached up, and, to Deidara's surprise, quickly pushed back his hair. “I like your eye,” he said.

 

But Sasori's puppets do not blink.