Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Artless ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: YoukaiFate 
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.17.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 689 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.17.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 689 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Naruto. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.
Artless
A/N: This is my first try at a Naruto fanfic. It was inspired by watching DeiXIno amv’s on Youtube, and then coming across a doujinshi on deviantart by Hinata-nee-chan. It’s called “Eternal Art,” and I totally urge you to check it out. It got me thinking about the characters, and what would drive two such people together. And voila! Here is the result. =) (Fate)
Chapter One
Nature had lain the perfect canvas.
The girl lay sleeping in a small field of scarlet lilies, her pale hair lit into a halo by the sunlight that glowed around her with a hallowed light. Such an innocent little nymph, she was a true tennyo of the flowers that laid a bloody blanket of crimson fire all around her. Her silky hair---so pale and gleaming it reminded him of metal burning white-hot in the forge of a master swordsmith. The shadow of her clothing---purple, black, like roiling clouds of smoke. The perfect grace of her sleeping form, the purity of her pale skin, untouched by the ruddy tan so many blondes sported. So innocent she was, this little tennyo basking in the sunlight, an angel of life and fire and beauty. How could he not capture it forever in the fleeting purity of transience, claiming the delightful image for himself before some other stole it away from him?
The canvas called for something delicate, beautiful and sweet. His hands moved, sculpting one, two, another and another. Each tiny white figure was slightly different from the last, if only in the thin flick of its translucent wings, the oval void of its empty eyes or the simple pattern lovingly traced across its back. Oh, he was working feverishly now, for he did not want the first to go before the last was dancing upon the breeze. Caught up in the vision of a field of white butterflies drifting over a field of scarlet flowers, a young girl caught forever in the epitome of his art---he reached for more clay, disregarding how quickly it disappeared within the hungry mouths on his opened palms as his fingers shaped and molded, letting each tiny beauty go with a smile of lazy benevolence.
Oh, a pity, but she was waking now, her eyes opening to look around her with wary wonder. What beautiful eyes---so pure a blue, like the unclouded sky on a pale spring day. Oh, she was lovely, her face and form so utterly untouched and perfect. How could he not capture this fleetingly perfect moment forever? How could he not take advantage of such beauty for the sake of his art? She would never know such greatness, such glory, as in this single instant, when all would go up in a blossom of scarlet fury to arrest this perfect canvas forever in an explosion of truly epic proportions.
Ah, but she must sense some danger on the wind, which fluttered through the flowers, making them nod and dance around her like beckoning partners. Her wide eyes were fixed on the white butterflies lazily drifting towards her, dozens and dozens of them. Oh, but he must work quickly now, for he could feel her growing alarm. Her fear, so sweet as it was to savor, would not help her, for his little clay beauties were already settling gently on the bloody lilies that covered the little meadow from one end to the other. Lazily flicking their near-translucent wings, they flirtatiously crawled across the dancing petals, their empty eyes turning in her direction.
Her shoulders stiffened and her eyes flashed---oh, there was fire in her, the little darling. She really was worthy of becoming a part of his masterpiece. But there would be no escape, for she was all but surrounded, and even now he was sending the last butterfly off. His fingers moved into the jutsu that would etch this beautiful scene forever in his memory. He could see it exploding across his mind’s eye, captured forever in that truest expression of art his creative soul always thirsted for.
His whisper was loving, gentle, his breath warm against the rigid tip of his calloused forefinger as he breathed, “Katsu…”
Too close---gods, she’d been stupid to have fallen asleep in the meadow. But it had always been her secret retreat, a safe haven for her to escape to when the thoughts became too much. She had never believed anyone would dare attack so close to Konoha, so deep inside the perimeter of the roving patrols. If her mental defenses had not been down in the sleepy warmth of the meadow’s quiet isolation, than she would never have felt that uneasy awareness of someone watching her. Someone who watched her with a disturbing mixture of joy, avarice, and an eager anticipation tinged by malice. That was what woke her---the strangeness of his idle thought. The wandering thoughts and feelings of others were always plaguing her, and she had learned to ignore them, but that she could not.
Stupid---gods, she’d been stupid. But she had to concentrate, if she wanted to get out alive. For the butterflies were dancing all around her---shit, left! Dodging, legs pumping, heart in her mouth, she dove to the side, felt searing pain as fire blossomed along her thigh. *Damn it! Concentrate, Ino!*
She slammed her shields into place, violently summoning her chakra to smother the telltale trace of energy inside her, for the butterflies were homing in on it. She managed to deflect two of the terrible bombs with hastily thrown kunai, but that ploy would not work, for there were too many butterflies gathering around her. All she could do was run, and run and run until she could not run any more, and even then she could not let herself stop, for then they would catch her, and she could not, would not, let it end like this!
With a sob of pure terror, she fled through the trees, the beautiful white creatures airily flowing after her with deadly intent.
The smoke started roiling up, obscuring the delightful view as she disappeared among the thick trees. Pulling a clay bird from his pocket, he summoned his chakra and stepped lightly onto the enlarged form of his earlier creation. The wind fanned his ruddy blond hair back as the clay bird took wing, and he balanced easily as it swooped up for a better view. He could hear the muffled booms of multiple explosions and frowned as he realized he was missing all the fun. He heard a faint shout born back on the breeze, and his eyes narrowed.
Ah, the leaf-nin were finally coming; brought by the indelible noise of his artistic endeavor. Even more a bother. He must end this, and quickly, for he was supposed to be lying low. The scene had just been too perfect for him to pass up, and Master Sasori would not be pleased when he finally reported. Not that Sasori-no-danna could appreciate his type of art. The old curmudgeon alleged that art must be kept forever frozen in its purity, not savored in the fleetingness of transience. Nothing lasted forever, especially perfection. A scene captured and then destroyed by his own hand gave him power over it for all time, not the other way around. Not that the puppet-master would ever understand that.
He swooped low, trying to catch a glimpse of her among the thick shadows. Smoke billowed up all around him as fire danced across the decimated trees. What beauty there was in fire, so cleansing and easing. She was probably dead now---he had been too slow to see it. But wait---a flash of cornsilk hair, a shadow-on-shadow as she somehow managed to dodge out of the way again as one of his perfect clay butterflies exploded just overhead.
How…?
Appalled, Deidara sunk his right hand inside his pouch, the mouth on his palm snatching up the fine powder even as he knew it was too late---for he could feel the distinctive chakra of several ninja converging on the area. He could not hope to fend them all off, and he did not have enough clay left to destroy the whole area. He watched in disgust as the last of his little butterflies hit a tree dead-center, lighting the giant oak’s spread limbs like a vast candelabra as it exploded. For one second, he hoped against hope that the exhausted girl had been caught in that final blast, but no---there she was, falling to her knees just beyond the tree’s furnace, her wide, blue eyes terrified holes in her ashen face.
And then came the others, surrounding her and covering her as they took her away under their protection, and he had to flee lest they see him flying up there above. His fists clenched, teeth grinding together as he realized, unbelievably, that she had gotten away, taking the true expression of his art with her. The only one, perhaps, who had ever done so…
Artless
A/N: This is my first try at a Naruto fanfic. It was inspired by watching DeiXIno amv’s on Youtube, and then coming across a doujinshi on deviantart by Hinata-nee-chan. It’s called “Eternal Art,” and I totally urge you to check it out. It got me thinking about the characters, and what would drive two such people together. And voila! Here is the result. =) (Fate)
Chapter One
Nature had lain the perfect canvas.
The girl lay sleeping in a small field of scarlet lilies, her pale hair lit into a halo by the sunlight that glowed around her with a hallowed light. Such an innocent little nymph, she was a true tennyo of the flowers that laid a bloody blanket of crimson fire all around her. Her silky hair---so pale and gleaming it reminded him of metal burning white-hot in the forge of a master swordsmith. The shadow of her clothing---purple, black, like roiling clouds of smoke. The perfect grace of her sleeping form, the purity of her pale skin, untouched by the ruddy tan so many blondes sported. So innocent she was, this little tennyo basking in the sunlight, an angel of life and fire and beauty. How could he not capture it forever in the fleeting purity of transience, claiming the delightful image for himself before some other stole it away from him?
The canvas called for something delicate, beautiful and sweet. His hands moved, sculpting one, two, another and another. Each tiny white figure was slightly different from the last, if only in the thin flick of its translucent wings, the oval void of its empty eyes or the simple pattern lovingly traced across its back. Oh, he was working feverishly now, for he did not want the first to go before the last was dancing upon the breeze. Caught up in the vision of a field of white butterflies drifting over a field of scarlet flowers, a young girl caught forever in the epitome of his art---he reached for more clay, disregarding how quickly it disappeared within the hungry mouths on his opened palms as his fingers shaped and molded, letting each tiny beauty go with a smile of lazy benevolence.
Oh, a pity, but she was waking now, her eyes opening to look around her with wary wonder. What beautiful eyes---so pure a blue, like the unclouded sky on a pale spring day. Oh, she was lovely, her face and form so utterly untouched and perfect. How could he not capture this fleetingly perfect moment forever? How could he not take advantage of such beauty for the sake of his art? She would never know such greatness, such glory, as in this single instant, when all would go up in a blossom of scarlet fury to arrest this perfect canvas forever in an explosion of truly epic proportions.
Ah, but she must sense some danger on the wind, which fluttered through the flowers, making them nod and dance around her like beckoning partners. Her wide eyes were fixed on the white butterflies lazily drifting towards her, dozens and dozens of them. Oh, but he must work quickly now, for he could feel her growing alarm. Her fear, so sweet as it was to savor, would not help her, for his little clay beauties were already settling gently on the bloody lilies that covered the little meadow from one end to the other. Lazily flicking their near-translucent wings, they flirtatiously crawled across the dancing petals, their empty eyes turning in her direction.
Her shoulders stiffened and her eyes flashed---oh, there was fire in her, the little darling. She really was worthy of becoming a part of his masterpiece. But there would be no escape, for she was all but surrounded, and even now he was sending the last butterfly off. His fingers moved into the jutsu that would etch this beautiful scene forever in his memory. He could see it exploding across his mind’s eye, captured forever in that truest expression of art his creative soul always thirsted for.
His whisper was loving, gentle, his breath warm against the rigid tip of his calloused forefinger as he breathed, “Katsu…”
*~*~*~*~*
She was off and running before the first butterfly exploded.Too close---gods, she’d been stupid to have fallen asleep in the meadow. But it had always been her secret retreat, a safe haven for her to escape to when the thoughts became too much. She had never believed anyone would dare attack so close to Konoha, so deep inside the perimeter of the roving patrols. If her mental defenses had not been down in the sleepy warmth of the meadow’s quiet isolation, than she would never have felt that uneasy awareness of someone watching her. Someone who watched her with a disturbing mixture of joy, avarice, and an eager anticipation tinged by malice. That was what woke her---the strangeness of his idle thought. The wandering thoughts and feelings of others were always plaguing her, and she had learned to ignore them, but that she could not.
Stupid---gods, she’d been stupid. But she had to concentrate, if she wanted to get out alive. For the butterflies were dancing all around her---shit, left! Dodging, legs pumping, heart in her mouth, she dove to the side, felt searing pain as fire blossomed along her thigh. *Damn it! Concentrate, Ino!*
She slammed her shields into place, violently summoning her chakra to smother the telltale trace of energy inside her, for the butterflies were homing in on it. She managed to deflect two of the terrible bombs with hastily thrown kunai, but that ploy would not work, for there were too many butterflies gathering around her. All she could do was run, and run and run until she could not run any more, and even then she could not let herself stop, for then they would catch her, and she could not, would not, let it end like this!
With a sob of pure terror, she fled through the trees, the beautiful white creatures airily flowing after her with deadly intent.
*~*~*~*~*
What bother. She should know how pointless it was to run---she could not escape true art. But he was surprised and flattered by her fierce will to live. She really was made of fire, his little tennyo of the woods. And how graceful she was, slipping from side to side, dodging and sliding, her will strong enough to overcome the pain as a few of the clay butterflies came too close when they exploded. The little blossoms of light lit her hair and skin with an orange and reddish glow that he could not help but admire as it played across her skin. She ran flat-out now, uncaring of the roots she stumbled over or the branches that tore at her. It was almost a pity she could not last much longer, not at this pace. He smiled, for he really did love her for trying. So fierce she was. Too bad it was in vain.The smoke started roiling up, obscuring the delightful view as she disappeared among the thick trees. Pulling a clay bird from his pocket, he summoned his chakra and stepped lightly onto the enlarged form of his earlier creation. The wind fanned his ruddy blond hair back as the clay bird took wing, and he balanced easily as it swooped up for a better view. He could hear the muffled booms of multiple explosions and frowned as he realized he was missing all the fun. He heard a faint shout born back on the breeze, and his eyes narrowed.
Ah, the leaf-nin were finally coming; brought by the indelible noise of his artistic endeavor. Even more a bother. He must end this, and quickly, for he was supposed to be lying low. The scene had just been too perfect for him to pass up, and Master Sasori would not be pleased when he finally reported. Not that Sasori-no-danna could appreciate his type of art. The old curmudgeon alleged that art must be kept forever frozen in its purity, not savored in the fleetingness of transience. Nothing lasted forever, especially perfection. A scene captured and then destroyed by his own hand gave him power over it for all time, not the other way around. Not that the puppet-master would ever understand that.
He swooped low, trying to catch a glimpse of her among the thick shadows. Smoke billowed up all around him as fire danced across the decimated trees. What beauty there was in fire, so cleansing and easing. She was probably dead now---he had been too slow to see it. But wait---a flash of cornsilk hair, a shadow-on-shadow as she somehow managed to dodge out of the way again as one of his perfect clay butterflies exploded just overhead.
How…?
Appalled, Deidara sunk his right hand inside his pouch, the mouth on his palm snatching up the fine powder even as he knew it was too late---for he could feel the distinctive chakra of several ninja converging on the area. He could not hope to fend them all off, and he did not have enough clay left to destroy the whole area. He watched in disgust as the last of his little butterflies hit a tree dead-center, lighting the giant oak’s spread limbs like a vast candelabra as it exploded. For one second, he hoped against hope that the exhausted girl had been caught in that final blast, but no---there she was, falling to her knees just beyond the tree’s furnace, her wide, blue eyes terrified holes in her ashen face.
And then came the others, surrounding her and covering her as they took her away under their protection, and he had to flee lest they see him flying up there above. His fists clenched, teeth grinding together as he realized, unbelievably, that she had gotten away, taking the true expression of his art with her. The only one, perhaps, who had ever done so…