(Untitled)

[tonguejob]

Who: Deidara (tonguejob) and Itachi (pogromanate)
Where: Elysium
When: After midnight Around nine, after curfew.
Summary: Ninja. In the night.
Rating: R just in case of violence and a lot of swearing.
Other: Itachi's an asshole, and he's got no sense of art.

Comments

[pogromanate]

Wisps of hair curved around the Uchiha’s delicate visage as fingers took a hold of the fold that met his robe. Typically donned in his Akatsuki attire and easily avoiding those that were in the duty of lining their vision with those that did not belong after hours. Itachi had no qualms with their own duty; however, their acknowledgement of him would equally lead to their downfall.

As of late, Itachi had been experimenting with the new sharingan he pulled from his mentor in a frenzy of power-hungry. Madara - he did not need it, he was not the one that would bring around the rebirth of the Uchiha clan. There was a chance and yet...

With a hand through his hair, Itachi with the robe as his shadow and the straw hat that was upon his skull, the Uchiha made his way throughout Elysium. There was nothing in particular he was doing - he would not deem it a walk out, but to take comfort in the isolation that the city had succumbed too. It was simply that this the time of night where all things were clear.

Even the blonde slender teenager that ducked quickly to avoid the gaze of the military, and Itachi continued to walk, not casting a crimson gaze at the blonde, but to simply walk past him.

[tonguejob]

Deidara stopped, stared for a moment as someone he knew, knew from the past just... Walked past him. Calm and casual as you please. He knew that outfit, you'd have to be an idiot in Abyss not to have heard rumors about the people that wore it--you'd have to be an even bigger moron to try and wear that get-up anywhere without the legitimate right to.

Deidara'd found out the hard way why the hell the Akatsuki were feared, only whispered about, and generally not fucking messed with.

So to see not only a member of the elite organization, but one he knew and hated so incredibly strongly--the adrenaline was enough to make Deidara feel like his heart had stopped for a moment, and his teeth bared in a vicious, silent snarl.

As usual, he had his satchel of clay slung over his shoulder, and he tugged quickly, angrily at the glove on his unbroken hand, let it dip into the bag, the tongue licking up clay, as he started a jerky, aggressive step towards the man.

"Itachi." Deidara's voice was low, bordering madness, visible blue eye wide and dilated with complete, fixed aggression.

[pogromanate]

The low snarl, the blood boiling full of hatred and the Uchiha turned around, the hem of the robe enveloped him with one arm languidly rested on the curtained material, his stance was obviously proud, the sharingan in all it’s scarlet galore held a pattern of the eternal. Coils of snake-like figures swimming in a pool of crimson and thin lips creased to show none other than indifference.

Itachi was silent. Deidara, the one whom may have been included in the massacre of rebellious anarchist and thugs, pseudo-nihilism and delusions of art. However, Itachi’s lips did not move to speak, only the sharingan took in the image of charka that filled the other. His aggressive visage was ignored, as was the low darkness in the blonde’s throat.

Fingertips took a hold of the brim of the hat to let red optics peek from beneath the straw material; to look at the figure that provoked and came to confront him. And still, Itachi took no satisfaction of acknowledging the young man he had met so long ago - and to leave him beside the cadavers of his acquaintances. The only reason he left Deidara alive was potential.

[tonguejob]

It wasn't revenge for his comrades that drew the anger from Deidara. He couldn't have cared less about the kids he'd run with back in those days--they'd died artistically, gone out magnificently.

What pissed the blond off was Itachi. Those eyes. The eyes that didn't care for his art or his ability, that looked at him and through him as coldly as if he didn't exist. As if his art didn't exist. Deidara's mark on the world meant nothing to that man, and Deidara wanted to force a different look into those eyes; he wanted to see shock, surprise, acknowledgment in the brief moment of realization before Itachi died.

He'd wanted that since he'd faced the man years ago, covered in the blood of his gang-mates, sure that he would be next, only to realize he wasn't even worth killing when Itachi walked away.

"You're out late." Deidara's grin was manic, insane. He could taste the clay in the mouth on his palm, felt his energy infusing with the sculpture. He wasn't thinking. The smart course would be to walk away. But Deidara was not interested in the smart course, he wanted to prove his art, here, now.

Prove that Itachi had made a mistaken in finding him too pathetic to kill.

[pogromanate]

None of those in which Deidara desire would come from Itachi, and Itachi had no desire to humor the blonde-haired teenager. His expression continued to display the coldness, apathetic calmness that surrounded him. and the Deidara’s lips moved, words came out, and that is when Itachi contemplated on turning to leave the blonde in the clutches of the military that scouted the city like starved lap-dogs.

Still, there was no movement that the Itachi committed. He only let his scarlet hues gaze along the figure before him before returning to the other’s expression. The manic expression that decorated Deidara’s face was only returned with one that had no concern for such petty threats or gestures to cause conflict.

"How observant." Itachi said in reply with a blank tone. The words, condescending, and yet there was no hint of arrogance in them as he spoke them, no flinch of movement, and no emotion. "I would advise you to leave...however--" It was obvious that Deidara wanted nothing but to feel chaos, and slender fingers made their way into the Akatsuki robe to hook a kunai between his fingers as he spoke. "You choose to waste my time."

[tonguejob]

"What, got a date waiting?" Deidara laughed, raising his hand from the back and letting the clay figures his teeth had been molding slip between the lips on his palm, tongue shoving the grey clay to rest on his palm.

It was a group of little rabbits, strangely quite adorable, and a little surreal, modern, not too detailed. With a spoken word they jumped from his fingers, transforming mid-air from the size of thumbtacks to the size of real rabbits.

The clay bunnies bounced towards Itachi, Deidara himself stepping back, watching the man intently. "Still got no eye for art, Itachi?" He asked, sharp, voice long past the boundaries of madness, gleefully cavorting int he fields of insanity.

[pogromanate]

The mocked words had no effect on the Uchiha, instead he was filled with none other than cool and calmness with complete control over his emotions and gave no reply, nor any indication of doing so.

With his fingers hooked around the ends of the penetrating tools, they maneuvered with ease from his robe and swiftly released in a graceful manner to pieces the animated pieces of art. Several of them hit with the utmost accurate aim in hopes for a chain-reaction of explosions.

All the while; the eternal sharingan activated and the Uchiha without any hesitation vanished with quickness to reappear beside the blonde. His fist was outreached and his palm collided with Deidara’s skull, a hard grip, the Uchiha yanked the teenager’s skull forward towards the exterior of a near-by building.

[tonguejob]

The bunnies exploded quite violently as the kunai hit them, and Deidara raised a hand to covered his face from the blast. He knew without seeing that none of the clay creatures had hit their mark. But they'd probably alerted the authorities.

The hand that grabbed the back of his head was a nasty surprised, and wish a hiss Deidara kicked out behind him, flailing as the Uchiha dragged him to the wall and slammed his head against it, painfully, dizzily.

Thoughts swimming, Deidara clawed at the wall, tried to shove himself away from it, get some control before Itachi could slam his face into the concrete a second time.

[pogromanate]

The dust and smoke were no irritation to Itachi’s newly-acquired sharingan and the hand in which grabbed onto the boy’s skull soon enough abruptly jolted downwards whilst the Uchiha’s knee jerked up to collide it with the boy’s abdomen.

Another swift movement and his fingers left Deidara’s scalp so that Itachi could process to bring up his leg and perform a forceful kick to the other’s visage. As the dust and smoke cleared, Itachi once again soon perfectly still without any waver in his permanent fixture of indifference.

"You do not stand a chance against me." Itachi murmured as he looked at the wounded figure while thin lips worked around blunt words. "So don't bother..."

[tonguejob]

Blood ran down Deidara's face from a cut on his forehead. His face was smashed and scraped, his breath effectively knocked out of him. He could barely wheeze, gasping in oxygen, half doubled over and on his knees, his broken hand bracing against the ground, holding him up, hair falling forward to cover his eyes, get in his face.

His other hand had dipped back into the bag, snatching clay with greedy teeth as he caught his breath. For all that beating hurt physically, Deidara's pride stung more. It hadn't even cost Itachi any effort to bring him to his knees.

Fueled by more than a little insanity, Deidara jumped to his feet, spun and tackled Itachi, or tried. He ended up falling, tumbling and catching himself awkwardly on his shoulder as the man dissolved into crows beneath his weight.

Looking around, Deidara spotted Itachi a few feet away, rolled back to his feet and flung a small host of clay butterflies into Itachi's face, igniting them before the other man could slip away again--or so he hoped.

[pogromanate]

A flock of black feathers dispersed before Itachi reappeared only a few feet away. The scarlets embedded in his calm facade kept focus on the other’s movements, letting the sharingan read the movements of charka, how their coiled and constricted until the immense power was released by the sudden assembly of manmade insects.

Once again, and just as the army of butterflies ignited, Itachi once more vanished. It seemed all too surreal and dream-like, how for one moment the Uchiha could be there, facing his opponent, and the next moment he was beside Deidara.

Fingers wrapped around the boy’s wrist and tugged in Itachi’s direction before the Uchiha’s elbow met the clothed bones on Deidara’s ribs, to give them a harsh impact as they collided.

[tonguejob]

The teenager bit his tongue a bit as Itachi's knee impacted with his ribs. A sharp, pained gasp and he doubled over, panting, lungs rattling wetly with the blood of bruised organs.

Gripped desperately at the wrist bound to the hand grasping him, the teeth sought purchase, the mouth on Deidara's palm bit, but only encountered cloth. Disappointed that he could even get a spiteful bite in, Deidara fell back, gasping.

He couldn't move for a moment, dazed by the earlier blows and the second loss of oxygen, it was only through stubborn insanity that he didn't actually pass out right there.

[pogromanate]

Itachi did not retreat after the blow towards Deidara was inflicted; instead he stood over the figure with his expression gracing the features of dispassion and disinterest in the conflict that was committed.

Red optics gazed towards the long organs and teeth that bit on his clothing; he did not maneuver from the act of spite, and only watched Deidara collapse once again with disdain.

The Uchiha tilted his head, fingertips went to grasp at the brim of the straw hat and once more the hard material was lowered as he turned, not glancing a look back at the wounded teenager, and discarded the one-sided duel.