“LINE
UP!”
The
golden glow of the gangster’s opulent audience chamber was annoying
you. Why did these guys have to make everything gold? Seriously,
wasn’t the fact that they HAD an extravagant audience chamber enough
to prove their obscene amount of money? It was just unnecessary.
A
balding, brutish, pudgy man sat high atop sumptuous, scarlet, plush
pillows as the other girls huddled together in fear. You stood by them
calmly, trying but failing to be as scared and weak as the rest. Even
crouched amongst them, you looked nothing alike. They were rail thin and
pale, skin nearly translucent with malnutrition. Your body was evenly
toned, healthy and vibrant. Even with make-up, it was obvious that you
were not like the others. It was a good thing Itachi had given you a
back story before the mission, or you would never have been explainable.
A
flicker of the events of that morning pasted through your thoughts.
“She’s
my sister,” Itachi stated to the man with the clip board. He was
standing outside the back entrance of the gangster’s temple. It was a
cold this morning and you tried not to break into shivers.
“Your
sister?” the lackey questioned, looking skeptical.
“Healthy,
fully trained, disease free, and of no more use to me. She’s a
bargain.”
You
shook your head, dispelling the memory.
Of
course, you looked nothing like Itachi and were clearly not his sister,
but, through a little influence from the Sharingan, that could be overlooked. A critical lack of women for that evening meant that you were
bought lightning fast and herded to the floor for approval. You were
instructed to play the part of a slightly frightened, but much more
experienced girl. You had to look like a higher breed than the other
slaves girls, but not so high as to give away your true nature.
The
work was easy. Itachi would get you in through his influence and leave
to help with another mission. Once inside, it was you job to be the best
damn slave of the bunch and get alone with the boss. After that, it was
a simple kidnap and turn in. For a pathetic loser, the bald gangster was
worth a decent amount in bounty fees. With the Akatsuki in need of
funds, the mission was rather critical.
Kisame would be standing by in the forest, waiting for your
signal.
In,
out, and very quiet was the name of the game.
You
felt that using both Kisame and yourself was overkill. Why were two
Akatsuki necessary for a simple grab and go? You insisted it would be
easier to just bust down the walls, seize the bastard and head on out.
However, apparently everyone thought it needed to be discreet. Screw
that. If they wanted silent, why didn’t they pull Konan? Or Itachi? He
was all sorts of silent. But noooooo… Itachi was not a woman
and Konan was busy flitting around Pein like a little angel. So, you
got stuck pretending to be enough of a pussy that you could be sold.
Yeah, right. Like anyone could sell you without you gutting them and
your “new owner” first.
“I
SAID LINE UP!”
You
controlled your temper, and sauntered away from the other girls to form
your own line. Shoulders back and head held high, you definitely looked
like you were something different. The leader, who had gotten off his
high and mighty butt, was eyeing you up as the other girls slunk over to
stand in line. They looked scared and weepy; probably virgins kidnapped
from their families. The gangster started to walk along the row, waving
his fat bejeweled hand and spewing opinions.
“Too
skinny, too tall, she’s tolerable, too old, too ugly,”
He
stood in front of you, raised an eyebrow and paused. You smiled and
looked at him through half lidded eyes. Of course he stopped at you. You
were a rare flower, a gem among stones, a shining example of all things-
“I
thought I told you no more transvestites!” the boss growled, rounding
on his lackey.
Son
of a bitch was going to die.
“She’s
a girl, sir,” responded the lackey, shrinking down towards the floor.
His fingers played with his glasses in nervousness as the boss raised a
fist and began to go on a tirade.
“IDIOT!
How can you not tell she’s a he?!”
You
twitched, desperately trying to keep your cool. You made a mental note
to drag him over a few rocks on the way to the turn in station. You were
most assuredly a girl. In fact, you were a hungry, tired bitchy girl and
fatso was really pushing what little luck he had.
“It’s
clearly a boy dressed like a woman,” the boss continued. “It may be slightly
feminine looking, but it is obviously not female. Look at how it carries
itself. No woman stands like that. It’s too masculine!”
Your
smile shortened by a few teeth as you desperately tried not to kill him
before it was time. You could feel your whole body quaking, palms
growing sweating with fury.
“I’m
more a woman than this thing will ever be!” the boss laughed. All his
men, except the embarrassed lackey, joined in the revelry.
THUNK
The
hollow sound of body against building echoed throughout the chamber. The
gangster slid down his own gold leafed walls, completely knocked out.
You lowered your leg from the round-house kick you just delivered,
noting that everyone in the room was too busy being shocked to move. You
took the opportunity to charge the nearest guard, fully intending to
tear everyone to pieces.
A
short while later, you noticed the fat man stirring. He had been passed
out for nearly ten minutes and you knew he would be waking up around
now. You dropped your newest victim and strolled nonchalantly to his
side. Dropping into a crouch, you placed one hand on the wall and one
hand in the U-shaped ring of greasy curls around his skull. With a
violent tug, you twisted his head to the side and forced him to look up
at you.
“You
awake yet fat ass?” you asked the boss.
The
balding man just groaned. He reached to the back of his head and felt
the matted mess of blood and hair where his cranium had collided with
the wall.
“Come
on slut,” you spat, grabbing his collar. “I don’t have all day.”
He
opened his eyes, only to find himself in a scene of absolute slaughter.
Four
of his men were impaled on the decorative pikes he had placed in the
room. [1] The shaft of the weapon protruding from their anuses, and the
metal blades were in their mouths. It looked like the tip had been
propped against the backs of the men’s teeth in order to keep them
from sliding down the pole. The tails of the spears and been driven
several feet into the ground in order to provide support for their
gruesome ornaments. Lumpy red-brown fluid dripped down the wooden handle
and pooled around the hole in the floor. [2]
Unlike traditional impalement, it looked like little care had
been taken to keep the victims alive.
For them, this was a good thing. The men were freshly dead, and
unable to feel anything. [3] Auxiliary nervous messages occasionally
caused them to move, jerking like cooking meat on a spit.
Another
man was cut open like some twisted dissection. [4] He was slit from chin
to groin, skin splayed open, and ribs cracked to keep it that way. His
entrails had been pulled out of his body cavity, tossed onto the floor
and squashed like pumpkins. His chest was filled with a dark brown fluid
that looked like liquefied chocolate, probably juices from a ruptured
organ.
Three
more guards were choked with silk curtains hung around the room. Their
eyes rolled back into their heads, broken blood vessels visible from the
extreme trauma. The corner of their mouths had been slit, making their
jaws gape open three times as wide as a living human. Their tongues
lolled from their mouths like dead animals. Their hands were locked onto
the fabric that had chocked them, fingers broken from their desperate
clawing to free themselves. The cloth itself was still attached, tied
into tidy golden bows around their necks.
The
lacky who believed you were a girl fared much better. He was huddled in
the corner with the girls, all of them crying hysterically.
“DAMN
IT! SHUT UP,” you yelled, from across the room. Your clothing was
saturated with warm blood. The splatters on your face were coagulating
rapidly and starting to flake off in brown bits. Your wrists wore the
clingy remnants of what looked like the pericardial sac. A small strand
of fatty tissue was caught in your hair, hanging down a little in front
of your face. Your wild eyes held only a crazed look in them. They
clearly stated that you would not just kill anyone who did not obey you,
but enjoy doing it too.
Only
the cicadas outside replied to your command.
“Sheesh,
it’s so damn hard to get some peace and quiet sometimes,” you
muttered, shaking your head.
“It’s
easier when you don’t kill half the people in the room,” a grating
voice called from the doorway.
A
collective hiccup of fear came from the girls in the corner of the room.
You turned around to see a tall, beast like entity in the door frame.
Standing an impressive 6’5”, the former “Monster of the Hidden
Mist” towered over everyone in sight. He was cloaked in the black and
red garb of all Akatsuki, an insane sword strapped to his back. His skin
was arctic blue, offsetting the navy color of his hair. Three gills on
either side of his face only accented predatory eyes.
“You’re
one to talk, Kisame,” you replied, hauling the boss to his feet.
Roughly, you roughly steered the gangster towards your partner. “You
kill more than I do,” you finished,
“Exactly,
if you kill them all, then there’s no one left to scream.” Kisame
pointed out, his clammy white eyes narrowing on the group gathered in
the corner. Razor blade teeth grinned menacingly at them, shattering
what little comfort they had left. You could feel the waves of terror
radiating from all the slaves and the former lacky. Just then, Kisame
turned back to you. “By the way, you have something in your hair.”
“I
do?” you asked, confused.
“It’s
hanging right in front of your nose. Can’t you see it?” he
questioned, pointing directly at the center of your face.
“Oh!”
you pulled the bloody tissue out of your tresses and causally flicked it
onto the floor. “It was hiding. Didn’t see it there,” you
finished, pushing the bounty towards him.
“You’re
welcome,” he responded, grabbing the petrified boss by the shirt and
swinging the man over his shoulder.
“Yeah,
yeah. Thank you and all that shit.” you acknowledged, before turning
to the group in the corner. You
raised your arms like a messiah, and proclaimed: “Ladies and
gentlemen, consider this a new lease on life. Get the hell out of here
and do something with it.”
Nobody
moved.
“Morons,
I swear. Do they even know how to use their legs without somebody to
boss them around?” you sighed before turning on heel and walking out
the door. Kisame followed you, the former gangster swinging back and
forth with each step.
“How
much chakra did you waste?” Kisame inquired, having surveyed your
masterpiece of death.
You
looked over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. That was a strange
question coming from Kisame. He never cared about you blowing chakra on
missions before. You did it a lot just for kicks. It’s not like you
needed all of it to crush the losers you were hunting.
“What
are you now, Itachi?” you complained, crossing your arms behind your
head. “He’s the only one that gets his emo panties up in a twist
about me wasting energy. If I knew I’d have two guys riding my ass, I
would have brought condoms.”
Kisame
chortled in his rough tone, voice fluctuating between low and high. You
rolled your eyes in response, half smiling. Kisame had always been the
one Akatsuki you could really deal with. Outside of battle, he was very
even tempered. Though he was not the oldest, Kakuzu held the crusty old
man title by several decades, you always felt a very grandfatherly
“whatever” from him. Even if you surprised him, you’d never seen
him truly upset. He took everything in stride and, in general, just
seemed to let it go. Violence hungry he might have been, but he never
got into the petty rows you shared with the likes of Hidan. Every time
you went off at someone, he was always laughing; as if it was all so
damn predictable. You wondered if he got off on the consistency of
your bad attitude.
“No,
but Itachi did ask me to remind you to pick your battles.” Kisame
warned. “He said that, if you keep up this behavior, you could become
a liability.”
“Chcch,”
you spat, clearly unimpressed. “Itachi is SUCH a concernicus. [5]
I’ve never screwed up before, why would I start now? Besides, the
people that would try to harm me are all dead. Unless they can peel
their brains off the floor, I think we’re in good shape.”
“I’ve
been meaning to ask you, how did that, “silent operation” plan work
out?” Kisame inquired jokingly.
“As
badly as I told them it would. As if I would be wrong about that sort of
thing,” you returned with a shrug.
Kisame
looked up at the setting sun and chuckled again. “They sent the wrong
people for a “silent operation”.”
“You
said it Kisame,” you laughed, finally feeling a little less pissy.
Your stomach growled, but you ignored it. “They sent the DAMN wrong
people for this job.”
After
you dropped the bounty off, (and had a quick wash to make you look human
again) you and Kisame traveled back to the inn you were staying in. You
opened the front door and noted that the saloon was in full swing.
Customers darted here and there, some too plastered to really move much
at all. They staggered to the counter, an irresponsible bar tender
giving anyone with money another round. Music played loudly, blaring
from the doors with the low and steady thump of bass echoing in your
chest. You noted several prostitutes, with caked on makeup, walking in
and out of the bar with companions.
“I
think that’s what I need,” you stated, jerking your thumb towards
the ruckus. “I have not been out drinking in a LONG time.”
“No
drinking, we’re on a mission, remember?” Kisame pointed out.
“Damn
Kisame, I never knew you were such a pussy,” you fired back with a
careless wave of your hand. “You sound like Hidan and his
“Jashin-sama hates drunken sots” rants. Besides that, who’s to
know?”
“Itachi.”
Kisame stated bluntly. A shudder ran down your spine at the thought.
Kisame
was right of course, Itachi would find out. The man was a living lie
detector. Not that Itachi condemned drinking, but it was strictly
forbidden on missions for a few good reasons. Number one, you were still
in the money collecting phase of your plan. You had customers to impress
and it was hard to do that when you were inebriated from head to toe.
Number two, it was hard to complete a mission with a hang-over. Number
three, and God forbid, you might spend money that you should have given
to Kakuzu.
You
relented with a heavy sigh. Though it sucked, you knew Kisame was right.
“Fine
then, no drinking. I need a meal and bar food works just as well. But,
I’m going to get laid tonight and even “Jashin-sama” himself
can’t stop me from doing that,” you notified him, finger pointing at
his face.
“Whatever
you feel like,” Kisame responded. “Just don’t get killed.”
“’Chhhc,”
you hissed in sarcasm, making your way towards the bar. “Like anybody
could kill me if they tried.”
In
the glass window you could see two things, Kisame shaking his head and
walking towards the upstairs bedrooms and people staring at you for
being seen with a six foot five inch shark man.
You
opened the front door and were immediately assaulted by stench of stale
alcohol. Breathing through your mouth, you made your way to the bar
without tripping on anyone else. Seating yourself at the counter you
eyed up the room, scanning for prey.
None
of the men were particularly good looking, but some were better than
most. The whores were all pretty ugly, but life on the streets was
hardly a beauty pageant. You decided that, given you were clearly the
loveliest lady in the room and not charging, your chances of getting
some action were right around one hundred percent.
With
those happy little conclusions in mind, you strolled up to a younger,
but mildly attractive man who was clearly contemplating getting a
prostitute. He looked shyly up at them and then looked away again as
they smiled and fluttered their fake eye lashes. He was shy, and
nervous. Perfect. You hated the cocky ass wipes; they were pigs and
always killed your afterglow. Your hand settled gently on his shoulder,
thumb rubbing a small circle on his shoulder blade. You felt him
immediately tense up but relax once he realized you meant him no harm.
“Looking
for a good time, sweetie?” you asked, strutting in front of his chair
and conveniently blocking the prostitutes from sight. They would be mad
of course, but they it was their own damn fault they didn’t move fast
enough. They knew enough that they could read customers like a book and
any hooker worth her salt would have spotted easy money in this one.
The
guy’s face turned bright red as he met your cocky leer with a look of
pure terror. He quickly shrugged his shoulder, causing you hand to drop
off, and jumped to his feet. His eyes raked your body up and down before
he took a few petrified steps back.
“You-you’re
the one with the shark man, right?” he stammered. You shook your head,
and sweetened your smile a bit.
“No,
I’m not WITH the shark man. I’m all alone and just trying to find
some fun for tonight.”
“I-I-uh…
um… I’m not into that! I-I gotta go!” he cried. He raced out the
bar room door, white as a sheet.
What
the hell was that all about? Did Kisame seriously scare him that much?
Sure, the blue skinned beast cut a horrifying figure, stalking around in
a black clock, but did associating with him mean that nobody was
interested in you? You shook you head. No, clearly the man was just a
pussy. He said “I’m not into that”. That just meant he wanted sex
but did not want to be thought of like a creeper. Stupid shy types. They
were SO repressed.
Oh,
well. The night was still young and you were hot to trot. Next fish in
the sea please.
You
scanned the room and saw a big muscular man alone in the corner.
Wonderful. You always liked a guy that knew how to care for himself. You
could just picture all the delicious fun you would have tonight as you
meandered on over to his table. You grabbed the chair and pulled
yourself out a seat right next to him. You could see shocked eyes
underneath his bushy brows and thick hair. Poor guy must never have seen
a piece as hot as you. Well, tonight was his lucky night.
“Hey
big boy, need some company?” you asked, playing up your long lashes
and bedroom stare. You crossed your legs at the knee, spreading your lap
wide. Your arms crossed in front of you, daring him to come a little
closer. Based on your previous attempt, you guessed the strong,
seductive body language wasn’t in this year. You’d try the hands off
style instead, and see where it got you. After all, guys wanted what
they couldn’t have and nothing said, “can’t touch this” like
crossed arms.
Your
question hung high in the air, so thick with sexual tension you worried
that you’d suffocated your quarry. The man’s face turned paled and
then took on an olive green hue. He stood up stiffly and walked away as
fast as he could.
What
was wrong with everybody tonight?!
Clearly,
there had to be some running tread inspiring their hasty flights.
You’d used a different technique on two very different men. There were
only two things that the situations shared in common. One was you and
the other was being seen with Kisame.
Just
as you were trying to figure out which one it was, a slight hand with
long gaudy nails trailed its way down your cloak and squeezed your butt.
You whipped around only to see a bottle blond call-girl with golden
curls, winking at you. She pressed her ample bust into you, snuggling
into your shoulder and linking her arms behind your neck. Her mascara
plastered eyelashes fluttered as she gave you what she clearly thought
was a sexy look.
“Hey
honey, I’ve been watching you. I can’t believe those guys turned you
down. I like ‘em when they look like girls and you are just TOO
cute! What do you say to a one nighter, honey? It’s on the house.”
“Not
interested,” you growled through gritted teeth, ducking out of her
arms. As you stormed out of the bar, you saw her face reflected in the
window. She looked shocked. Served her right. Girls were all well and
good, but you preferred something with a penis.
You
couldn’t sleep at all that night.
As
you rolled around in bed, alone, you tried desperately to figure
out what had gone wrong. It should have been easier than a floozy to
pick up SOMEBODY in a bar. Most of the guys were so drunk that even the
ugliest girl in the world could have gotten laid.
Despite how much it pissed you off, being hit on by the hooker
did was make it clear the problem was not you. Obviously, you were
“cute” enough to get a free night, so evidently you weren’t bad
looking. That was your bruised ego’s only comfort.
You
sighed heavily and rolled onto your back, stomach growling loudly. You
had been so upset you forgot to grab a meal at the bar. You regretted
that sorely. Hungry and tired, but unable to eat or sleep, you pondered
your efforts to get a date. If you, your tactics, the guys, and the
environment weren’t the problem, then what was? A sudden flash of
brilliance hit you. You’d already discovered the problem earlier that
night.
Kisame.
Ever
since you joined the Akatsuki, you hadn’t had any ability to pick up a
date. You were either too busy with missions, too drained from arguing
with people, or in the presence of guys who intimidated the crap out of
the entire male populace. You had conclusive proof now that they stood
between you and a roll in the sheets. The entire situation sucked more
than your black hole of a sex life and you were red-eyed and furious.
You
roared in frustration, slamming your pillow against the floor. You
continued to howl as you torn the stuffing out of the cushion. As chunks
flew about the room, you found yourself more pissed off that you had
ever been in your life. You had had the worst day ever. You’d been
mistaken for a boy, unable to drink, unable to get laid, and now unable
to sleep. You were calmer
after tearing something to shreds, but not any less vengeful.
If
you couldn’t sleep, why should the source of your troubles get to?
It
was then you resolved to go make Kisame’s night as miserable as yours
had been. | 