Teaser: Paint With Words
My name is Ink, I'm the author of this here fanfic. This is a Naruto : Sasuke/Hinata romance fic, for the most part. However, it is an AU, set in our world.
The high school experience I will be describing in the story will be a middle ground between Japanese and Western, and just for the heck of it I might add some of my own Spanish flavor. It won't be very noticeable, I promise.
This is my first AU so please be gentle with me, I've a very fragile little ego, lol.
Leave me a message, let me know if anything doesn't make sense, or needs fixing.
disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Naruto and so on, blah blah blah. Plotline, however is very very mine. Keep your hands off.
The night was silent, only the whisper of the breeze and the cooling touch of incoming rain could be heard as it splashed across the cobble stone ground that made up the courtyard of the Uchiha Mansion.
The building was old, older than most in town, with architecture both European and Japanese to detail its smooth stone surface. Marble statues were placed strategically over the smooth green lawn and Sakura trees lined the sides of the bordering walls keeping their estate separate from everyone else.
But the windows were all dark, and there was no light to be seen pouring out from the double doors at the top of the steps, under the giant archway.
And Sasuke Uchiha noticed it.
Frowning visibly the young man got out of the car, ignoring the servant rushing to open his door only to find he had done so already.
His school uniform was going to be ruined by the rain, he was sure, but he didn't really give a damn, not at that moment… not when his heart was racing in his chest and a sickening sensation was beginning to turn his stomach.
"Sir?" The driver enquired, pulling out an umbrella from the passenger seat and opening it just in time to ward off the buckets of water that began to fall from the dark gray sky, rolling with clouds and angry lightening in the distance.
Sasuke did not reply but started forward, stepping out of the cover of the umbrella, uncaring of the water that drenched him in moments as he walked slowly towards the double doors, his school bag in hand, slung over one shoulder lazily.
Still frowning he reached up, loosening the tie around his neck before stopping at the top landing, staring at the open door slightly ajar… like a mouth sneering at him, daring him to go in.
He didn't have to be a genius to know something was wrong.
"Stay there." He snapped softly at the driver, who froze a few steps down from where he was, noting the opened door, his face paling rapidly.
"But, sir!" he gasped, almost making a move to stop the young man before he slipped into the house and vanished into the darkness.
The depth of the shadows was nearly impenetrable, aside from the bluish light that was seeping in through the curtains in the foyer, reflecting off the tiles on the floor and the glass that covered the expensive paintings on the wall.
The drip drip of rain water falling from his clothes onto the cold floor echoed dully, making him ponder if it really was as loud as he thought, or if perhaps he was imagining it… a trick of the mind because of his tension.
It was empty, there were no bustling servants to light all the lamps, not laughter from the kitchen where the cook should have been making their family dinner, no idle chatter from the sitting room where his mother and father usually sat around the time he returned from school, waiting for him… to say welcome.
The feeling in his chest intensified, his grip on his book bag loosening slowly until it hit the floor with a thud and he was running, up the steps covered in lush carpet, eyes wide, searching for something, anything.
Please be okay, please be okay…
He burst like a shot through the double doors at the top of the stairs, rushing past the empty rooms and alcoves that dotted the hall until he reached the library. The last place he had seen his brother at…
The smile he had been offered had been one that sent shivers down his back, Nii-san's dark eyes knowing and almost amused as his little brother shivered despite his best intentions and made up some stupid excuse about leaving, about having somewhere to be.
Long ago Nii-san had been his hero, the one he had to live up to, but the last few weeks, something… something had whispered dark frightening warnings, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end each time his brother passed him in the hall, or looked at him at dinner, or flicked his forehead, like some many times before.
It was like there was something… a hidden meaning.
Nii-san was dangerous.
"Oka-san…Oka-san…Oka-san…" he didn't realize he was repeating it until he shoved his shoulder into the door leading to the library and burst forth, spraying rain water in all directions.
The door snapped against the wall, a loud bang to announce his entrance.
The windows to the right were flung open into the pouring rain, the curtains drawn back so the lightening in the distance flashed through the scene.
Shelves were knocked over, rows and rows of shelves that he had wandered with his mother, or his father, enquiring about a million things, wanting to know everything, anything.
Right at that moment he wanted to know nothing.
The air had slid right out of him, and it felt like he wouldn't be able to breathe again, his lungs refusing to expand and take in the needed substance.
He was filled with something else. Horror.
Blood was splashed across the ground, seeping in through the cracks on the wooden floor, mixing with the rain splashing in through the windows, soaking through the pages on the floor. Books had been ripped to shreds, their broken, torn pages spread out like petals over the two bodies that lay still and bloody on the ground.
His brother leaned against one of the shelves, arms crossed, looking down at the pair of still bodies in silence, his eyes hidden by the locks of dark hair.
"Hello, little brother."
Something of a whisper of air escaped him, his knees giving way beneath him so he hit the ground with a loud thud, feeling as dead as the two bodies lying still on the ground.
"…what have you done?" the whisper escaped him, it was an echo going on repeat in his head, over and over, asking, wishing to understand.
There was blood, so much blood.
His brother sighed deeply, as if bored by the situation, pushing away from the shelves as he walked towards him, his black coat slick with the blood that had spilled earlier on.
"You wouldn't understand, little brother." Itachi replied, stopping in front of him, a flash of lightening making his features jump into Sasuke's sight.
Blood splattered over the older man's face, matting his hair and drying to make a scar like tissue over his skin. But the frightening thing were the eyes that looked so much like his father's were cold and dead and unseeing.
There was no remorse or emotion there.
"…no.." Sasuke breathed, staring up at him, feeling the tears start to slide down the sides of his face though he could hardly fathom why, or how.
He could hardly function, could hardly breathe.
They're not dead… they're not dead… they're not dead…
"It's a little bit of a pity, I suppose." Itachi continued, grabbing the boy by the collar, dragging the limp body up with strength that seemed almost super natural.
Sasuke let him, struggling to think, to form a rational thought.
This can't be happening.
"Don't worry, it's nothing particularly personal." The murderer continued, pressing a blade to his throat.
The cold steel meeting flesh was like a trigger, a detonator that sent warning signs shooting through Sasuke's brain, an explosion of thoughts streaming out of his mind and his will exerted before he even knew what he wanted.
"NO!" suddenly he was struggling, ripping himself out of Itachi's gasp and backpedaling out the door, hearing the footsteps behind him, slow and steady but in his direction, Itachi's amused voice calling out.
Nowhere to run that I won't find you…
"…don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me…"
He was blind, the tears were all over the place, making everything seem too surreal, so… not possible.
His shoulder slammed into a door, any door, he didn't care where it led, just so long as it was far.
Blood, tears, screams… Mother must have begged for mercy-
There was a smell, it was all over, making him light headed, somewhere in the back of his head a whisper of logic stated the name.
He was in the foyer, straining to keep going, but the air was so thin, so different… his body was collapsing, struggling to keep going.
He heard the steps as he lay on the floor, the cold tiles cooling his hot feverish cheek.
The edge of his brother's cloak was soaked in blood, he stared at it, eyes wide, despite the tears pouring out.
"Goodbye, little brother."
The footsteps faded, the door opened and slammed, and he couldn't understand…
But then he heard it, through the rain, through the wood and through the silence. The flick of a lighter and then the crash of it falling through a high window.
It was an instinctive motion, but it saved his life. With a cry Sasuke curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his head as the lighter hit the floor once, bounced and then exploded.
The rain of fire met the real rain. Windows exploded, sending crystal in all directions, trees burst into flame as the fire shot out of holes and doorways.
Fire alarms were ringing, cop sirens screaming.
And Sasuke lay in the foyer, fire blazing above him in the rafters, but all he could do was watch it dance, his eyes focused on the slowly decaying supports of his family's home.
I hate you…I'll kill you…
The crack of the wood suddenly snapping, the falling debris heading direction towards him.
He had enough time to curl up and close his eyes, flames being the last thing he saw before the weight of the world came to land on his shoulders.
And then, everything was … black.
The force of Otou-san's hand against her cheek sent her flying backwards against the wall, hitting it with a grunt.
Bitterly Hinata Hyuuga stared down at the ground, her knees shaking under her, biting her lip with enough force to draw blood. It spilled down the side of her mouth to her chin, trickling and mixing with the tears that were sliding over the sore flesh of her cheek.
"Gomen, Otou-san… Gomen…" she whispered softly, breathing in a deep breath that felt shallow.
The looming figure in front of her was vibrating with authority and power. Her father's tall form was like a shadow, always a shadow. She never looked at his face, it almost felt like that wasn't allowed, in a way.
The lush red carpet of his office was the last thing on her mind as she stared at the shadow that was her father, standing in front of her, the light of the lamp on his desk casting menacing darkness to spill everywhere else.
"Your grades are disgusting." Roughly she felt the report he had been given thrown in her face, making her flinch sharply, expecting another blow to follow but feeling none.
Instead her father stepped back, sliding into the leather chair behind his massive mahogany desk, ruffling through the papers there as if they were far more important than she was.
"You're in a private school for a reason. How do you expect to enter Harvard or Yale with grades as disturbing as the ones you're currently showing me?' he snapped sharply, tossing something into the shredder by the side of his desk.
Hinata's eyes lingered on the paper, and on the way that it was torn to pieces, ripped until it was nothing more but garbage, absolutely useless.
She wondered briefly if there were any human sized shredders somewhere…
"Gomen, Otou-san… I will do better."
"You spent so much time doodling and scribbling in all those notebooks of yours that you've lost sight of what's important." His eyes were on her, she could feel them even though she was still staring at the black shoes and white stockings of her school uniform.
"If I have to burn all your foolish 'art' materials myself, I will. Consider this a warning. No daughter of mine is going to waste her life away doodling." He said the word like it was a bitter salty rotting thing on his tongue, gagging him.
Hinata breathed in deeply, struggling not to let the scream of half terror half anger from escaping….
Immediately something came forth within her to silence the self righteous hiss of anger, folding it and putting away in a small box within her heart. Father was right…
He was always right…
"Gomen, Otou-san… I will improve, I promise." Her voice shook slightly as she said it, but she refused to stutter. It might earn her another slap to the face if she did. Her body still remembered the last time she had dared to stutter in his presence after he was upset about something.
Swallowing heavily she resisted the urge to hug herself, the bruises decorating her legs and arms aching dully as if in reminder.
"You had better, or I'll drag you out of that private school, maybe I can marry you off to one of my business partners, that's all the use I'll ever find in you if you can't use that head of yours for something other than paints and pencils."
She was sobbing, or crying hard enough that any other normal person would have been sobbing. But Hinata Hyuuga had learned things after a time, she had learned that sobbing was loud, and far more messy than normal crying.
She had also learned that father did not appreciate loud messy things in front of him. Her crying and sobbing was in silence.
Nodding she turned, half blind from the tears streaming down her face, making the light lavender of her gaze even more odd to look at, but thankfully there was no one there to see it.
The door opened as a servant of the household appeared to let her out, and she stepped into the hall, resisting the urge to collapse into a heap of weakness.
If father heard about that from another servant there would be hell to pay.
Swallowing the knot in her throat she grabbed onto the wall, breathing deeply as she walked, thoughts racing.
It was the end of first semester… her average was 88, but that wasn't enough. Perhaps he was right, perhaps her painting had taken to dominating her study time?
Somehow she found herself in her room, the white washed walls bare of any pictures and only a floor to roof window to mar the bleak emptiness.
Rows of used canvases were stacked against the walls, not set up for decoration, just stored there, pressed against each other so the rest of the world couldn't see their faces, only one another.
On her bed was her book bag, and scattered pencils and sketchbooks, notebooks filled with thoughts and stories and several boxes she had looked through for a certain kind of paint she had planned to use that evening to paint the northern lights that would dance through the night sky.
She didn't bother to turn on the light but leaned against the door, staring at the piles of used canvases stacked near her window, where the moon was sneaking out, it's bright face looming in the dark sky.
"…burn…them…" she whispered softly, remembering her father's words, sure that his eyes had looked impatient and hungry to do just what he was saying.
Breathing deeply she scrambled over to the canvases, pushing them apart to stare into their faces, shared with no one. Images of dark places, of staircases made of marble, of faces with eyes of bright red, flowers that bloomed beautiful fairies and tears drops that fell like rain from the eyes of crying children in the sky…
Her paintings had never been shared, would never be shared.
She wouldn't let him see them right before he burned them. He had no right.
They were her creations, her dreams and aspirations. Breathing heavily she buried her face in her hands, shaking.
I'd rather burn them myself than let you do it… I'll burn them myself…
She didn't realize when she had made the choice, when she had taken armfuls of the canvases and thrown them out the window where they crashed onto the lawn.
Lights were being turned on downstairs where the servants were probably just preparing to leave for home.
Father would hear if he was out of his office, but somehow she didn't care.
Crying silently she continued, her hands full of sketchbooks and notebooks and papers scribbled and doodled on. The canvases landed with loud whacking sounds on grass and stone below, exposing their beautifully lonely faces to the stars above.
It was winter, her seventeenth birthday had come and left as had Christmas and she had nothing to show for it, nothing but a bad report card and a slap across the face that would probably turn purple soon…
She'd have to wear more make up than usual again to school.
Breathing deeply she flung open the door to her room, crying out in surprise at the sight of Hanabi, her little sister, looking at her with huge eyes and a frightened expression. "Hinata! What are you doing?"
"N-nothing…" Hinata whispered, rubbing her face roughly with the back of her hand as she stumbled down the steps of the stairs to the backyard, seeing nothing of the finery of their house. The fact that they had leather couches for the sitting room that no one used, and designer carpets on the ground to be stepped on, and a painting of Picasso on the wall. Not that it mattered, father didn't care about the painting itself but the cost, the number that came along with it.
Like her report card, it wasn't 'expensive' enough. It didn't matter that she had already skipped a grade and taken higher level courses- damnit!
Her hand slammed into the sliding glass door to the yard where several of the servants were standing in confusion looking in surprise at the canvases, and the images upon them.
None of them dared to speak just how beautiful they thought them to be, or how frightening for some of the darker ones sent shivers of delight and fear down their backs, laying almost dead across the ground like wounded beings.
"P-please stay back." Hinata whimpered softly, trying to remain civil and in control despite the tears chocking her as she walked towards the pile of memories and daydreams, nightmares and wishes.
Her hands were clammy, wound tight around tall matches she had snatched from the dinning room table where someone had left them. Probably her cousin Neji- how many times had she begged him not to smoke?
Hanabi was standing behind her, looking wide eyed, shaking visibly in slight worry.
"Onee-chan? Nee-chan what are you- wait!" she cried, watching her light a match, the flame small… insignificant… innocent.
Hinata breathed out softly, watching it dance as her breathing came in and out, caressing it softly.
I'd rather cut my own wrists... than let you hang me…
Hanabi rushed forward, ready to snatch the match from her sister's hands, but Hinata let it drop quickly, watching in fascination as the fire roared sharply as it fell into the loving arms of dried oil paint and wood.
"No!" Hanabi cried, stepping back in surprise as the sparks jumped in all directions, landing on Hinata's clothing.
Her skirt waved around her by the cold winter breeze, making the flames dance higher, lighting up her eyes and the tears still pouring down.
Her uniform would be ruined, she was sure… but somehow it didn't matter. The faces of her paintings were being eaten alive by fire, devoured by the dangerous once innocent little flame in her hand.
Slowly she raised her eyes, intending to look at the sky, at the dancing northern lights she had wanted to paint, only to stop in surprise at the figure of her father standing by the office window, staring down at the fire burning brightly in his yard.
The servants were running, moving to fetch water, or the hose or something, dirt even if they could.
She didn't move, but watched. It was her duty to watch her creations die, melting into themselves, distorted and monstrous.
I hate this… I hate it all…I'll never paint again…
She smiled bitterly, burying her face in her hands, seeing through the cracks in her fingers the licking biting hungry flames.
If only she didn't have to look at the beauty of the world anymore…
There's the teaser for Paint with Words.
The plot outline I have been working on is very sketchy, so please be kind enough to wait for each chapter to come out as it should. I have to figure this one out with care, ya know?
Um, please leave me a message. This is the un-edited version, therefore there might be mistakes, please be kind.
I love to hear from you all though, so gimme some feedback!