taes
in
bigbluebox
[recycle] Slaves of the Snake
Working title: Slaves of the Snake
Author: taes
Fandom: Naruto
Genre: AU, fantasy, angst
Warnings: serious, angsty, and written to make you think. Likely abuse on Sasuke and or Naruto.
Disclaimer: the hand that draws is not the one that owns it all, but the one who dreams it all is king of a realm between the faery and the fae...[don't own it...]
Pairings: SasuNaru, NaruSasu, OroNaru, OroSasu...and whoever-the-hell-Orochimaru-feels-like x either.
Summary: Slaves.
Author's notes: I would like to continue this, but I don't see this happening. No ideas for this one, and too many other stories to work on...I might pick it up? But it's doubtful. Very, very doubtful. Do what eva' you want, eh? :) continuing from here, rewriting the idea, I don't mind. :)
[chpt 1]
Their eyes were just like ours, only deeper set, but without the wrinkles our old get. The taller blond’s were amazingly blue, and his quirked smile was accented by the loose, golden hair. The smaller Jap, he got black hair so deep it’s blue, hey? It ain’t like ours, it ain’t brown or course, you get me, don’cha. It’s a silky kinda string and fine as could be, yeah? Yeah, I can see why the two Fuck-asses were little more than whores.
I can see real good, see?
Dancing smiles, both of ‘em. It was like watching a fly swim in the air, really, with that crappy feel of shitlines.
I got the feelin’, m’bro, that if you mixed their skin together, huh? If you mixed it up, and could make it like one guy’s, you’d get a healthy honey wash, better ‘n the cleanest guy like me. An knowin’ this, I had to spit, to get the taste outta my mouth...yeah.
Their clothes. Yeh, that clothing’s like designer slut wear, hell yeh. They looked good, with just enough skin showing, and just enough covered up.
Yeah, real good, see?
Too good to look at us in our poverty, at our dirt-caked skin and hungry forms. They got it good, man, not at all like us, hey?
You know what I mean. You been there, huh? You just like us, not like them, not a climber.
“What’re you lookin’ at, ho?” I called, my voice loud. They finally got to me. I stepped closer, imposing my height and build on them. I mean, I ain’t the biggest, heaviest guy around, but I sure as hell am bigger ‘n them. They’re daisies, and I’m a rock. My eyes glowed, my hair stood on end, and they had the nerve to not even flinch!
Imagine the fools.
I coulda pounded either one of ‘em, and they don’t even blink!!
“Fuck you, man-” I’m yelling, handing out words like knives and hopin’ they wanna tango, y’know? It’s too much ta take, livin like we do. And I’ll sure as hell wipe the ground with their sorry asses, the bastards.
The blond prince laughs, while his king watches through slitted, amused and golden eyes. The king turns away-safe in the slums, the bastard’s so f’ing powerful-and leaves his pets to me. I can’t help but grin.
“Nice choice a words, fuck-wad.” White teeth flashed in that gently tanned face, and the contrast had my eyes in moments.
That’s when I realized that their badass tattoos weren’t quite what I thought. Shit, it was like a spider web, wound up and coiled like rope with tiny, flower-like kisses. The raven prince’s was like a choker, a vampire necklace that came together just off the center. It made the seal on his neck less noticeable, but even a Natural like me can feel the power...
The blond Cat, with his painful laughter and huge grins, his is hidden behind a wave of hair, but a breeze reveals the web. This time, it’s like the spider got wet, and spun a web thicker ‘n the raven’s, and only on half the face. Up above the forehead, hey? Around the edge just enough to touch a sarcastic eyebrow and stopping at a curve just under his eye. Like the others, his web near glowed, and if I concentrated, I could feel the chains.
The ropes and coils and needlebites that bound the two ho’s to their King, the snake lord.
“You think you got it so bad?” I scream at ‘em, huh? And the Raven doesn’t even think of me. He’s off somewhere in his head, not even on the same world like the rest of us.
And Cat, yeah, Cat with his six whiskers on his round face? He’s a picture! He just grins at me, a snide ol’ grin like m’ol’ pop used to have, ri’ before they turned his face in.
But the Jap answers first. “Don’t even think of comparing us.” The words caught me off, y’know? It’s like everything shoulda been sensual, pretty, even, but him? Yeah, this Raven, he’s like ice, man, he’s like gettin’ stuck by a knife in the gut...
I crow, laughing now, ‘cause I know they can’t touch me! A slave lifts a hand on a Natural, and shit, man, they’re gone ‘fore they even know what hit ‘em! Haha, yeah, no shit, man. I can deal with a couple a slaves.
“We different, ho, we ain’t got special food or clothes like you do!” and it looked so cool in the killing sun, it looked so great.
Makes a guy want some time alone with this kinda slave.
Cat’s smile is sad now, and I think of my old nana, my old lady sayin’ that there’s a cat in the sky, crying down on all o’ us asses.
The Jap’s laughing like he know, too. I spit again, but I soon think better of doing it another time, ‘cause my mouth’s as dry as hell. I want a soda, I want water, damn it, something to help my throat.
But my head’s hurting like hell, and my hands are achy too.
I don’t want to hear about their troubles. I don’t want to hear about how a slave can hurt, too...
We’ve got enough of our own problems, hey?
* * * * *
[chpt 2]
The sun was bright.
The lady, plump.
Her companion, almost starved.
Both were browned by the sun.
Both were out, alone, on a once-busy street.
They talked, they gossiped, and the lady smiled a self-satisfied grin.
She pushed her stroller back and forth as she talked. “Me, sugar? What do you want to know about lil’ ol’ me for, babe? I can smile all I want, ‘cause I’ve got conections ‘roud here.”
Her companion mumbled something indistinct.
“You might be hungry,” the lady’s eyes roamed unabashedly up the poor woman’s form. “but I can smile and walk, babe. I can smile and cook my sweet cakes, I can walk my street and hold my head high. Unlike you poor and desperate fools, I’ve got it good. I can do as I please, I can cook, I can smile.”
And she could.
“Because he’s got me.”
Her smile didn’t falter, her eyes didn’t squint.
Her companion didn’t say anything, but she thought it.
It looked like a mask, her face.
“You know, right?” her voice, too smooth.
Her companion slowly lifted her head. The poor woman slowly smiled back a little.
“You know the kind of lovin’ I get.” She laughed. “You know the power I hold in my fair and dainty hand.” She flexed her hand. It wasn’t the least bit fair or dainty.
“So don’t you laugh, hon,” she laughed herself, and her companion whimpered a small protest. “don’t you look down on me, alrigh’? I know where I am, you know where you are?”
Her companion knew.
Perhaps, more than the lady did.
“Right. I thought so.” The plump woman laughed again.
“You don’t know no better than a plow horse, you sweet fool.”
Her companion said nothing.
“Those kids, there?”
The teenagers were different. They were clean. They smelled sweet.
“Don’t you kid me! They’ve got it good, better than you!”
But their eyes looked like the lady’s.
They darted. They shrunk.
“Better than lots of folks, those lucky trinket whores…just a flash of gold in the day’s own sun! Just a little coin in ol’ King Snake’s dead-white palm.”
The poor woman shuddered.
King Snake.
“…baubles, is all.” The plump woman continued. Her baby gurgled.
“That’s all, dear.”
The poor woman smiled.
“Nobody ain’t got it better ‘n me.”
The poor woman’s smile was gentle.
Kind.
“…not even them.”
Both looked at the whores.
The baby in the stroller wailed for a brief instant. The plump woman jumped. Looked at the sun.
“So, ‘scuse me, sweetie, my baby’s cryin’ now, dear, and my man’ll be home ‘fore I know it. Get alon’, now1 I’m sure yours’d be just as sweet if you were as good to ‘im as me.”
The poor woman looked at her own baby.
A product of love.
She looked at the simple cloth shielding tender skin.
She smiled.
“Get them toy lovers out of yo mind.”
She’d already forgotten them.
“You don’t owe them a n’ther passing glance, dear.”
The plump woman was getting farther away. Her retreating form was something to watch; it swayed.
The poor woman’s baby crooned a lovely little croon.
“Not a single, solitary
“one.”
But she did think.
And she spoke that thought aloud.
“Poor souls. I wouldn’t trade an hour of my life for their’s.” she looked after the plump woman.
“Not a single, solitary
“one.”
* * * * * *
tell me what you think? Try your hand?
Author: taes
Fandom: Naruto
Genre: AU, fantasy, angst
Warnings: serious, angsty, and written to make you think. Likely abuse on Sasuke and or Naruto.
Disclaimer: the hand that draws is not the one that owns it all, but the one who dreams it all is king of a realm between the faery and the fae...[don't own it...]
Pairings: SasuNaru, NaruSasu, OroNaru, OroSasu...and whoever-the-hell-Orochimaru-feels-like x either.
Summary: Slaves.
Author's notes: I would like to continue this, but I don't see this happening. No ideas for this one, and too many other stories to work on...I might pick it up? But it's doubtful. Very, very doubtful. Do what eva' you want, eh? :) continuing from here, rewriting the idea, I don't mind. :)
[chpt 1]
Their eyes were just like ours, only deeper set, but without the wrinkles our old get. The taller blond’s were amazingly blue, and his quirked smile was accented by the loose, golden hair. The smaller Jap, he got black hair so deep it’s blue, hey? It ain’t like ours, it ain’t brown or course, you get me, don’cha. It’s a silky kinda string and fine as could be, yeah? Yeah, I can see why the two Fuck-asses were little more than whores.
I can see real good, see?
Dancing smiles, both of ‘em. It was like watching a fly swim in the air, really, with that crappy feel of shitlines.
I got the feelin’, m’bro, that if you mixed their skin together, huh? If you mixed it up, and could make it like one guy’s, you’d get a healthy honey wash, better ‘n the cleanest guy like me. An knowin’ this, I had to spit, to get the taste outta my mouth...yeah.
Their clothes. Yeh, that clothing’s like designer slut wear, hell yeh. They looked good, with just enough skin showing, and just enough covered up.
Yeah, real good, see?
Too good to look at us in our poverty, at our dirt-caked skin and hungry forms. They got it good, man, not at all like us, hey?
You know what I mean. You been there, huh? You just like us, not like them, not a climber.
“What’re you lookin’ at, ho?” I called, my voice loud. They finally got to me. I stepped closer, imposing my height and build on them. I mean, I ain’t the biggest, heaviest guy around, but I sure as hell am bigger ‘n them. They’re daisies, and I’m a rock. My eyes glowed, my hair stood on end, and they had the nerve to not even flinch!
Imagine the fools.
I coulda pounded either one of ‘em, and they don’t even blink!!
“Fuck you, man-” I’m yelling, handing out words like knives and hopin’ they wanna tango, y’know? It’s too much ta take, livin like we do. And I’ll sure as hell wipe the ground with their sorry asses, the bastards.
The blond prince laughs, while his king watches through slitted, amused and golden eyes. The king turns away-safe in the slums, the bastard’s so f’ing powerful-and leaves his pets to me. I can’t help but grin.
“Nice choice a words, fuck-wad.” White teeth flashed in that gently tanned face, and the contrast had my eyes in moments.
That’s when I realized that their badass tattoos weren’t quite what I thought. Shit, it was like a spider web, wound up and coiled like rope with tiny, flower-like kisses. The raven prince’s was like a choker, a vampire necklace that came together just off the center. It made the seal on his neck less noticeable, but even a Natural like me can feel the power...
The blond Cat, with his painful laughter and huge grins, his is hidden behind a wave of hair, but a breeze reveals the web. This time, it’s like the spider got wet, and spun a web thicker ‘n the raven’s, and only on half the face. Up above the forehead, hey? Around the edge just enough to touch a sarcastic eyebrow and stopping at a curve just under his eye. Like the others, his web near glowed, and if I concentrated, I could feel the chains.
The ropes and coils and needlebites that bound the two ho’s to their King, the snake lord.
“You think you got it so bad?” I scream at ‘em, huh? And the Raven doesn’t even think of me. He’s off somewhere in his head, not even on the same world like the rest of us.
And Cat, yeah, Cat with his six whiskers on his round face? He’s a picture! He just grins at me, a snide ol’ grin like m’ol’ pop used to have, ri’ before they turned his face in.
But the Jap answers first. “Don’t even think of comparing us.” The words caught me off, y’know? It’s like everything shoulda been sensual, pretty, even, but him? Yeah, this Raven, he’s like ice, man, he’s like gettin’ stuck by a knife in the gut...
I crow, laughing now, ‘cause I know they can’t touch me! A slave lifts a hand on a Natural, and shit, man, they’re gone ‘fore they even know what hit ‘em! Haha, yeah, no shit, man. I can deal with a couple a slaves.
“We different, ho, we ain’t got special food or clothes like you do!” and it looked so cool in the killing sun, it looked so great.
Makes a guy want some time alone with this kinda slave.
Cat’s smile is sad now, and I think of my old nana, my old lady sayin’ that there’s a cat in the sky, crying down on all o’ us asses.
The Jap’s laughing like he know, too. I spit again, but I soon think better of doing it another time, ‘cause my mouth’s as dry as hell. I want a soda, I want water, damn it, something to help my throat.
But my head’s hurting like hell, and my hands are achy too.
I don’t want to hear about their troubles. I don’t want to hear about how a slave can hurt, too...
We’ve got enough of our own problems, hey?
* * * * *
[chpt 2]
The sun was bright.
The lady, plump.
Her companion, almost starved.
Both were browned by the sun.
Both were out, alone, on a once-busy street.
They talked, they gossiped, and the lady smiled a self-satisfied grin.
She pushed her stroller back and forth as she talked. “Me, sugar? What do you want to know about lil’ ol’ me for, babe? I can smile all I want, ‘cause I’ve got conections ‘roud here.”
Her companion mumbled something indistinct.
“You might be hungry,” the lady’s eyes roamed unabashedly up the poor woman’s form. “but I can smile and walk, babe. I can smile and cook my sweet cakes, I can walk my street and hold my head high. Unlike you poor and desperate fools, I’ve got it good. I can do as I please, I can cook, I can smile.”
And she could.
“Because he’s got me.”
Her smile didn’t falter, her eyes didn’t squint.
Her companion didn’t say anything, but she thought it.
It looked like a mask, her face.
“You know, right?” her voice, too smooth.
Her companion slowly lifted her head. The poor woman slowly smiled back a little.
“You know the kind of lovin’ I get.” She laughed. “You know the power I hold in my fair and dainty hand.” She flexed her hand. It wasn’t the least bit fair or dainty.
“So don’t you laugh, hon,” she laughed herself, and her companion whimpered a small protest. “don’t you look down on me, alrigh’? I know where I am, you know where you are?”
Her companion knew.
Perhaps, more than the lady did.
“Right. I thought so.” The plump woman laughed again.
“You don’t know no better than a plow horse, you sweet fool.”
Her companion said nothing.
“Those kids, there?”
The teenagers were different. They were clean. They smelled sweet.
“Don’t you kid me! They’ve got it good, better than you!”
But their eyes looked like the lady’s.
They darted. They shrunk.
“Better than lots of folks, those lucky trinket whores…just a flash of gold in the day’s own sun! Just a little coin in ol’ King Snake’s dead-white palm.”
The poor woman shuddered.
King Snake.
“…baubles, is all.” The plump woman continued. Her baby gurgled.
“That’s all, dear.”
The poor woman smiled.
“Nobody ain’t got it better ‘n me.”
The poor woman’s smile was gentle.
Kind.
“…not even them.”
Both looked at the whores.
The baby in the stroller wailed for a brief instant. The plump woman jumped. Looked at the sun.
“So, ‘scuse me, sweetie, my baby’s cryin’ now, dear, and my man’ll be home ‘fore I know it. Get alon’, now1 I’m sure yours’d be just as sweet if you were as good to ‘im as me.”
The poor woman looked at her own baby.
A product of love.
She looked at the simple cloth shielding tender skin.
She smiled.
“Get them toy lovers out of yo mind.”
She’d already forgotten them.
“You don’t owe them a n’ther passing glance, dear.”
The plump woman was getting farther away. Her retreating form was something to watch; it swayed.
The poor woman’s baby crooned a lovely little croon.
“Not a single, solitary
“one.”
But she did think.
And she spoke that thought aloud.
“Poor souls. I wouldn’t trade an hour of my life for their’s.” she looked after the plump woman.
“Not a single, solitary
“one.”
* * * * * *
tell me what you think? Try your hand?