Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. What more can I say?

Ok, another Bana the random story coming right-atcha. Hope you like this one! One warning this is original…. So, please review. I'm really trying to become a better writer, that's why I write for (that and the fact that it gives us all an excuse to write on another person's work).

Notes: Jezebel Itako…. She is my character, and not much is known about her yet (that'll be cleared up eventually). You may notice certain similarities to Gaara. This is purposeful. She is like Gaara, but her childhood is different, thus, a different person. Thanks!

DO NOT BE INTIMIDATED BY LENGTH. This IS really very easy to read if you bear with it.

Dragon Blood Oil


How can one erase fifteen years of hell? You can't, it's ingrained into you. You grow most at childhood, and what you're exposed to… and hear becomes part of you. You can never escape it. It is who you are.

You can't control your life, or can you? Perhaps if I had known the answers to these questions it wouldn't have been so hard. Maybe I'm just deluding myself. I am a liar, you know, all the time. I hide things, but I never considered this lying, it's just not…. Telling everything. Maybe, I'll be completely truthful for once, totally and completely clean. You can believe whatever.

Itako Jezebel

Voices from Beyond the Mortal Planes…

"This child has quite a fate awaiting her,"

"She will not be easy for those around her,"

"You should talk, lord. You're half blood yourself, are you not?"

The lord held his child at a distance from his body and scrutinized her.

"That I am," he replied. "I would have the girl stay, you know,"

"Then why-?"

"Fire!" And, of course there was fire, set by a small figure huddled behind a water barrel. She giggled a bit, grinning toothily up at the ebony sky where the smoke was beginning to blot out the stars. She appeared invisible in the black night, cloaked within the shadows.

Mud caked in her brown hair, which fell in a wave to her waist. Nothing about her outward appearance would have revealed the character that waited within, except maybe her eyes. Empty green eyes glared in empty thrill as screaming and the crackling of flames reached small ears.

She rocked back and forth, holding fast to her knees until something thudded against the side of the water barrel. Water sloshed over the side. She hissed as a protective coat of dirt rinsed away.

A small white hand shot out, and grasped for the fallen object. The hand ripped into flesh and tore away gooey chunks, so quickly the victim had no time to cry. Sharp canine teeth tucked into the body and sipped. Man, age forty-three, she could tell. She didn't care.

The child Jezebel ate well that night, lulled to sleep on the sounds of destruction. The dragon in her reveled in the sweet perfume.

For thirteen years chaos reigned supreme in Jezebel's body. She was intelligent, bestial, and callous. A deadly combination. By that thirteenth year the innate uncontrollable chakra started to fade. The intense power dwindled away. As that happened the animal in Jezebel disappeared, replaced by a cruel calculating human.

The oracle was the type of man that nobody liked, except the occasional brave child. A swindler and scoundrel, crude and a drinker, but also wonderful to children, he held them in exception. He was a liar, but kind. As opposed to Jezebel who was open and psycho.

The day the short thirteen-year-old met Watcher was not easy for either of them. She hit puberty and was drowning cramps in a bowl of ramen. Watcher, a carpet salesman by trade, drowned his loses in beer.

Sand blew through the desert noodle bar, whistled through the screens and around the guests. Not that there were many, it was the middle of the day. Most got up and headed for shelter at the first telltale signs of a sandstorm, but two quietly sipped their order and made no move to leave. A short pudgy man, the proprietor, ambled over to them. Before shoving glasses beneath the bar he glanced outside through the massive wicker screen that surrounded the noodle bar, then at the two people still sitting there a few stools away from each other.

"You'd best be getting home now, miss." Fat jowls rippled. He stuck a hand in his apron pocket.

"Home?" Cold green eyes stared at him. The hair on the back of the man's neck rose, he looked away, not quite sure why. Jezebel took a moment to wonder exactly what home was, she had wondered before, but her answers always came up lacking. Was that what home was, a place to go when sandstorms blew up? Pointless.

"Come on, girl, do you have a death wish?" She smiled, not that she gave a damn. Proper women watch their weight.

"Actually." She ran her tongue over sharp canine teeth inside her closed mouth. "I do."

The owner paled. For some reason this girl scared him, something about her was not quite right.

"Just to remind you, you already paid for that ramen. But if you want the money back I'll-." She ignored him as he worked himself through a circular argument.

The oracle watched. He sipped his beer with sun-browned hands and stared with eyes so black they could be onyx. His skin was wrinkled and old, like sandpaper. Fluffy white hair surrounded a growing bald spot. He had been around for a long time.

The Watcher tilted a beer to his lips and continued to listen.

Sand swirled in small tornadoes between the tables and around the bar. Outside the sandstorm picked up. The proprietor was rather nervous about this, the screens surrounding his noodle bar would be ripped off if the storm got any stronger. He wanted to be in the kitchen when that happened.

"Don't worry. I don't want anything to do with you. I try to keep the fat in my diet minimal. Besides, you probably taste like dog." (Assuming she's eaten dog…) Jezebel gagged at the thought of such a man. The Watcher decided it was time to make his entrance into the forced conversation.

"You, know, you've grown much since I last saw you." Jezebel turned, frowning, she noticed him for the first time.

"Are you insane or just stupid? You humans get blown away in these storms. Go home."

"Indeed you have grown, smarter at least." Watcher was unfazed. Jezebel didn't like him. He was to unlike the humans she was used to; he would look her in the eyes instead of slowly backing away.

"I don't remember anyone like you." In truth, she didn't really remember anything about her childhood.

"Well, I remember you; you're a hard face to forget."

"Is that a compliment?"

"A statement, girl, a statement." He took a long draught from his bottle. The fat man, eager for an excuse to leave mumbled something about dishes and darted to the kitchen, glad that the freakish girl's attention was no longer on him. "By the way, you have blood under your nails."

"Oh, thanks." She proceeded to clean the dark red crescents out with her teeth. The rug swindler made no noise of disgust. Jezebel's dislike for him deepened, wasn't he afraid of her? He will be if I tried to kill him. She contented herself with that explanation, unwilling to expend further energy. Besides, her abdomen hurt. He's lucky he caught me on a weak day. "Wish I knew what he meant…" she muttered.

"Be careful what you wish for girl," intoned the Watcher. "Just be careful."

"Hah!" She tilted the bowl to her mouth and slurped up the last of it. "Why? I've never gotten hurt in my life. Come to think of it, what is pain? People speak of it constantly. The concept, I mean… To hurt?" Hard raucous laughter filled the shop. It was an odd sound, not belonging to someone so young. She mocked what she didn't know. She couldn't miss it. Besides, who would miss pain? Pain is hurt. Who would miss hurt? Hurt was discomfort. Discomfort just sucked.

"Lady, I'd be politer if I were you," Watcher said blandly. "We will meet again. I would rather not fight when the time comes."

"It won't come." She stood and walked to the screen door.

Sand swirled in waves outside. Before leaving she turned.

"By the way, you have shit on your face." She indicated a dribble of beer on his chin. He nodded and wiped it.

She swung the door open against the wind, and disappeared into the blowing dust clouds outside.

The Proprietor popped his head out of the kitchen.

"She went out in that?"

Watcher nodded and slugged the last of his beer. Then he too got up and vanished into the sandstorm. There was work to be done.

Please review! Constructive criticism is very, very helpful. If you review I'll give you a cookie, or a muffin. throws muffin at unsuspecting brother- wheeeeeeee!