To all my dear readers, I'm sorry I've been MIA for so long—and haven't finished The secret behind yet… but since I don't want to go into endless excuses, I'll just present my newest finished work: Scarlet Ambiguity.

I wrote this for my awesomely wonderful best friend, Ri-chan!! It took me a while to get the ending done, and I've had this all finished in my hardrive for a couple of weeks—but today I'm finally posting it!! Yay!! Go me!!

Ok, I'm done blabbering, so just a few quick things…

I've changed my pen name to Azure Serenity, a lot of reasons to it, but it's a permanent change!!

This story is dedicated to Ri-chan!! I couldn't live without you my girl other half!!

Feedback is much appreciated, so drop a review at the end!!

And now… Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or its characters, I do, on the other hand, own the plot of this story!


Summary: Monsoon weather, a disturbing freak-show house and someone from his past -- what could possibly go wrong.



ヽ(^~^)ノ ヽ(^~^)ノ


Scarlet Ambiguity – Part I


Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at him, jaw clenched and fists tight, a vein throbbing in her forehead. Her rage came off of her in waves. He watched her, poker face on.

The only reason he had agreed to this pathetic plan was because a female was needed to infiltrate the premises—it was his only use for her—besides, she couldn't do much else, she was just a weak and pathetic girl who always needed to be protected—the reason why she had been assigned such a mission escaped him—not that he cared either way.

Her features darkened and twisted into a scowl, and he didn't care that she had been doing well so far.

"If you think that I like having to work with you-" She spat out, venom in each word she spoke. "-you're a complete idiot." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd much rather be going through torture from Ibiki than being here with you." Her back was straight and he could see all her muscles tighten as she faced him head on, a murderous glare in place.

"Besides-" She crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't see you coming up with a better plan genius." The last word was clearly mocking, and he glared at her, but she just kept facing him head on.

He let out an annoyed breath as she turned away, walking towards the door and walking out of his room while grumbling "2 hours, front lobby" and then slamming the door shut—the painting in the wall next to the door shook and settled sideways, one side higher than the other. This had been going on ever since they'd agreed to work together.

He scoffed when he heard the door of her room—right next to his—slam shut, she was just a temperamental kid, just like when they were younger. He sneered to himself, the only difference was that now she could talk back—she was still useless though, just a pathetic little girl.

With another scoff, he walked to the bed and opened his bag, taking out what he needed for the mission to get ready, the sooner he got it over with, the better.

2 hours later he walked into the lobby dotting civilian clothes—black slacks and a black button up shirt—and carrying his cloak over his arm (because hell, the weather was shitty in this godforsaken village), his face, hair and eyes in a simple—and undetectable—henge to seem as if he had copper brown hair styled much like Suigetsu and brown eyes, the whole matching his new face.

He narrowed his eyes when he didn't see her—all her complaining and she was late—but then the low buzz of her chakra reached him, and he almost expected it to come from the stairs—it didn't, it came from near the front desk.

The only reason he knew it was her was because of the chakra—that disappeared completely once he noticed her—because she didn't look, at all, like herself. Although, she hadn't changed any features.

Her hair, her eyes and her clothes were what changed her so much—short pink hair was now waist length and jet black, held by a blood red ribbon, her eyes, instead of forest green were vivid electric blue and she wore a black dress that reached her knees, strapless, with a blood red waist obi-like thing, without the bow at the back—it was more like a dress-incorporated-belt actually.

She looked like a completely different person, and the way she held herself told him that she knew what she was doing—he scoffed to himself at that, she was just a nuisance—even though a small (very, very, very small) voice at the back of his mind told him that, so far, as it concerned the mission, she had never slipped up and had done everything perfectly. Needless to say, he completely ignored the voice.

She spared him a cold glance before taking her cloak from the counter and slinging it over her shoulders as she walked towards the door, her black knee-length boots almost noiseless. With a sneer, he followed after her—he absolutely loathed this mission because of the fact he had to play tame-little-pet and she was the master.

The rain poured hard, unrelenting, and the wind blew with force as they walked towards the freak-show-house. When they got there, their cloaks were soaked, but their clothes weren't—special cloaks made to keep dry under it.

The hostess greeted them as usual, taking their cloaks to dry, and they were directed to the upper floor, a good sign, since only a selected few could.

The infiltration, so far, had been successful. Sakura—Kaorin for the mission—had mingled nicely with the other women, while said women ogled him, gossiped and whispered among themselves how lucky she was. She feigned casualness and embarrassment, while he just didn't mingle at all, just stayed in his own corner.

On the lower floor, the men stayed in one side while the women went to another to mingle. From there, a selection was made, and only a few went to the upper floor—and even so, those few might only come to see the upper floor once.

The fact that they were visiting the upper floor for the 3rd time was a sign that they were trusted—biggest mistake, but they didn't know that.

The night started as per usual, her mingling, him observing and gathering info, though—and it frustrated him—he couldn't do much since only the females were free to walk around while the males had to keep at bay, sitting on the sofas and stools like obedient-little-dogs.

He listened around—trained senses allowing him to listen to even the women whispering on the opposite side of the room. Most of the guys were talking among themselves about their masters—he found it pathetic that they let themselves be controlled by women—while most of the women were talking about their pets. Thoroughly pathetic.

Tuning out all the annoying gossiping voices, he caught Sakura's voice, talking to some other women as they sat around a table, sipping from their drinks. They were casually talking about politics, how the club they were in was ran and how powerful people were connected to the guy behind it all—a so called Nomi Eiri, the man his nuisance of a partner had to kill.

He sipped from his drink, ignoring the stares from several women, and kept his face blank, containing a scowl when the women Sakura was talking to started questioning her about him and what kind of fantasies she had him realize for her.

He noticed, with malicious and smug amusement, as she faltered and almost choked on her drink, trying to change the subject afterwards—it seemed that some things still got to her.

The other women didn't let go, probing for more while giggling. She composed herself and gave them what they wanted to hear, making up the details up as she went—he had to say, she was somehow creative. She played the innocent card well.

He watched—bored and frustrated—as the air suddenly shifted, the time coming.

The time was the time in the evening when all the fucked up shit started to happen, because then, well, then it was like an all-out messed up orgy—except for those master & pet that didn't want to go at it in public or just watched.

Honestly, he thought it was disgusting.

On the lower floor, it was just a normal club of freaks—with the disgusting exception of women fondling their pets in ways normally considered inappropriate in public—except this was a freak show house, so it didn't surprise him, these people were seriously disturbed.

On the upper floor, the situation changed a little after a few hours into the night—at midnight, how creative.

After midnight, the mass orgy started—it was seriously disturbing to see the men degrading themselves. The newbies, the first 2 visits, were only allowed to watch—if they entered or tried to enter the game, they were out.

If the master & pet were allowed a 3rd time, then they were in.

The women started beaconing the men they had brought, and the morons walked—kid-in-a-candy-store look in place—to them, acting like tamed dogs.

As the disturbing fondling, grabbing, groping, kissing, and whatever else they did started, he caught the women Sakura had been talking to dispersing, only 2 of them staying to talk some more—though the topic was just as disgusting as this whole freak-show they had going on. They were trying to corner her into sharing him—he wasn't a fucking pet like the other losers—but she played shy and embarrassed, fiddling a few strands of her hair—subtly saying no.

The women pouted, but her denial of their wishes to have a piece of him—just the thought made him want to roast all of them with one of his Katon—wasn't mood-killing, in fact, they weren't giving up—they wanted to see. Oh fuck, he was sure he wasn't going to like this.

She glanced his way—looking shy and coy as the women giggled. Another part of the act.

He sent her a dark look, one that clearly said he would have her head in a stake if she made him participate in the freak-show—he saw her roll her eyes when the women weren't looking, followed by a dark look of her own. The women got her attention again, and she giggled alongside them to a stupid joke.

One of them—a brunette—nudged her in the ribs and giggled, glancing his way and then back to his almost-on-his-to-kill-list-partner-for-the-moment-being. She glanced his way too, playing shy and coy again, and turned to face him, the giggling women surrounding her as she raised a finger close to her chest and beaconed him to come—her eyes, as she gave the women her back, told him she'd rather be out of there the sooner she could—the disgust clearly there.

He internally sighed and took a deep breath—if he wanted to get the scroll, he needed to play the part, no matter how disgusting and disturbing it was. Torture from Ibiki was starting to sound really inviting.

He got up from his seat and casually walked towards her—expertly avoiding the mass of nude or half-nude people—and when he reached her, she made the show of blushing and of shyly tugging at his sleeve, bringing him closer to herself until her forehead almost touched his shoulder.

The women, a few feet behind her, giggled, eyes eager to see what would happen—he contained the gagging reflex.

She made show of squirming against him as he kept in place—hands still shoved in his pockets—and spoke, her voice just loud enough that only he could hear.

"We need to get into one of the rooms." Her left hand—that was on open view for the giggling, stupid women watching—started fiddling with his shirt over his chest—and the women squealed. When she spoke next, her words dripped with disgust.

"We need to play the part." She paused, the hand she had hidden between their bodies clenching and unclenching in frustration. "At least partially, and we need to be convincing." The fingers of her right hand twisted on his shirt, her fingers digging painfully on his abdomen—a warning, a threat. "So get the stick out of your ass and don't fuck it up, got it?" her last words were in a hiss, her fingers digging on his abdomen pressing harder as her chakra touched his skin—a jolt that felt like acid on his skin where her fingers touched—he would have missed it if they weren't so close.

He took his left hand from his pocket and took hold of her elbow—a seemingly gentle gesture, but he had his tricks too—a few microscopic electric needles piercing her skin where he touched.

She drew back, giggling for the show as her eyes murderously glared—he would have given her a smug smirk, had he not needed to play the part of tame-pet.

The women—stupid and disgusting—giggled and squealed, whispering among themselves how obedient he was.

They swarmed around them like a pack of dogs in heat and whined and begged for her to share him—just a little, please. He would kill her if she let those women assault him.

She didn't, playing her part, and hugged his arm—like a child would hug a plushie—and looked up at him, a shy—fake—smile on her lips as she giggled—another fake for the show.

He sensed how she tightened her hold on his arms so her frustration wouldn't show as the women kept insisting in whiny voices—she spoke in a just as whiny voice, giving a sense of finality to the conversation that made the women pout, but relent.

"Iyada." She tugged at his arm like a brat throwing a tantrum. "Mashiro-kun's mine!" the women pouted and looked at him, as if asking him to ditch his master for them—she wasn't his master and they disgusted him. Sakura, in the meanwhile, and taking notice of the looks—her hold tightened again with a small tremble—looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent, like a child.

"Ne, ne, Mashiro-kun." She made herself sound just like a child too. "You're mine, ne? You just like Kao-chan, ne?" the women watched her, now quiet, as she acted almost desperate, holding on to him—seemingly in almost despair, really holding back her frustration—and looked up at him, her now electric blue eyes shining and watering as she moved to stand in front of him, clutching his shirt—he had to give her some credit, she was good…well, kinda.

"Mashiro-kun." She sounded almost broken, as if she was about to cry. "It's just me right?" her fingers loosened—as if she was giving up—and she looked down, putting up the show of being about to cry as she sniffed—ok, maybe she was actually good, not just kinda. "Y-you promised." She sniffed again, and the women behind her were either about to cry at the dramatics of the scene or looking smug, as if they knew he would come to them.

For the sake of the mission—and really, for his own sake—he decided to go with the less of 2 evils (figuratively speaking) and decided to play the part—after all, he'd rather have to put up with the annoying-temporary-teammate than to have to go with any of these seriously messed up women. So he lifted his hand—his left, his right still in his pocket—and ran his fingers through her cheek—an empty gesture that looked like a caress to anyone who didn't know they were acting.

She lifted her head a little, looking at him through her lashes—her frustration at having to do this quickly masked with fake distress and tears for the act—and then he cupped her cheek, fingers lingering—Kami, he had to summon all his will and patience—as he slowly let them slide downwards to her jaw, deliberately lifting her face so that she could look up at him with fake distress, equally fake tears almost falling and a slightly quivering lower lip—as if she was actually about to cry.

(When she cried, her eyes showed her every emotion, showing how much her soul broke. When she cried, she bit her lower lip to try to keep her composure.)

The women—a larger number of them now (how pathetic)—were all eagerly waiting what would happen next, some even holding their breath—only a few, the ones who had wanted him to ditch her, were looking pissed off.

She sniffed again—her eyes briefly showing how much she wanted to get out of there—and he let his hand cup her cheek again, making the show of keeping her face up—though he knew she'd keep it up for the sake of the show, for the sake of the mission.

"You talk too much." He didn't bother trying to sound emotional and all that crap, nor did he bother to try and change the way he acted—but she'd already known that.

In the background, some women gasped—probably not used to such blunt words—but 'Kaorin' just kept looking up at him, her eyes still wide and teary—he was going to need some serious relaxing and meditating to forget this hellhole.

"Mashiro-kun." Her voice sounded small and fragile, as if she was on the verge of breaking, and he had to admit to himself that she was good. From the background, he heard a lot of women gossiping on how mean he was being, but he just ignored, they were petty idiots that didn't care about much else than their own pleasures.

He sighed—as if he was about to explain something to a child, which, as far as the act went, wasn't far from the truth, the shy and innocent act was so they could get into one of the rooms and not—he mentally shuddered—on the mass orgy going on around them.

"How many times do I have to tell you." He sounded annoyed—and actually was—as he took a deep breath—both for the dramatics and to calm himself and form an action plan—only to conclude he had to wing it, so he went with what he'd seen here and there while they had been having to come there for the past days—10 days now—and lowered his head to be at eye level with her, their faces close—too close for comfort, but they had a mission that required it, so he sucked it up. She, on her turn, blinked, her fingers fidgeting with his shirt—he had a feeling she was making an effort not to rip the cloth in frustration.

"It's only you." He lowered his voice, not quite for the dramatics—though it contributed to it—but because saying things like that… he wasn't used to it, it wasn't in him to say things like that.

There was a cooed "aww" on the background as the women squealed—a sound he was starting to loathe.

"Really?" she made her best to sound like a small child, unsure and confused, but he saw the way her eyes shifted to look around and how her teeth clenched—now, wasn't she having the time of her life?

He gave a curt nod—not about to repeat those words or something of the kind—and let the hand on her cheek slide back until his fingers were intertwined in her now jet black hair.

She didn't look away from him—her fingers holding his shirt tighter for the show as she moved slightly closer—and a forced reddish blush adorned her cheeks as she smiled shyly.

"Just me, ne?" the women were all squealing and giggling, hearts in their eyes as they played their little charade. He nodded again, holding the urge to break something in, and twisted his fingers in her hair—soft and silky he noted as he thought of what to do next.

"I promised didn't I?" a smile tugged at her lips—wide, happy and childish—but he could see that, even as she did her best, the smile didn't truly reach her eyes.

Another chorused 'aww' came from the women, followed by giggles and squeals and whispers of how they looked so cute and how they knew he was going to kiss her.

On his shirt, her fingers twitched, probably having heard the same thing as he had, but she did nothing to stop him when he lowered his lips to hers—even if she wanted, she couldn't or she'd blow their cover.

She let her eyes close, forcing a redder blush to her cheeks as they kissed—close-mouthed and soft—and a few seconds later, he pulled back, getting his hand back and straightening as he ran a hand through his hair. It'd been supposed to be a get in and get out mission, not a drama act in a freak-show.

She giggled—a sound fake to his ears—as she hugged his arm again, his hand back to his pocket. The women, he noted, were no longer gossiping about him—at least not about ways to get him. It seemed that the little charade they had put up—dear lord, thank you—made the point across that he wouldn't be going to any other women.

The women that had been watching started to disperse to go do whatever obscene thing they would be going to do as Sakura made show of dragging him towards a free couch in a corner, around 5 feet away from the door they would hopefully be going through for a room in order to be able to go venture further into the premises to get the mission done and over with.

"Never thought you'd have it in you." At her whisper—too low for anyone else than him to hear—he snorted quietly. She didn't say anything else until they reached the couch, subtly pushing him into it without trouble—he shot her a glare at that, to which she raised a brow—and then sat on his lap, curling up into him and laying her head on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck.

"One word." She hissed, the underlying message of pain not passing unnoticed. "See that guy near the bar with the red shirt?" he casually looked where she mentioned, letting himself slide a little in the couch in the pretense of getting comfortable and loosely—and begrudgingly—wrapping his arms around her.

He saw who she had mentioned—the guy in the red shirt—looking straight at them as if analyzing them.

"He's the one that says if you get to go inside or not." She didn't sound one bit pleased with that particular fact as she wrapped her hands around his neck, fingers twisting raven black turned into copper brown hair, her lips now over his jugular so no one would notice if she spoke.

"From what I got from the whiny banshees, he only lets someone go in if he gets a good enough show." She made a noise of disgust. "These people are sick." His lips tugged upward—they agreed in that, the disgust for this place that is.

He glanced down at her, nudging her slightly in a way that asked 'what next?' and she sighed, leaning her forehead against his neck, her fingers twitching, he presumed, in annoyance and/or frustration—probably both.

"We need to give him a good show." She shuddered against him. "But really." She paused and leaned away from him, her expression set into one of giddiness—betraying her true thoughts—as she faced him. "We just wing it."

And with that she kissed him—passion and depth the main ingredients.


End of Part I




Hope you liked it and want what comes next!!

Let me know what you thought of it!!

Since I've already finished it, I'll be posting a new chapter every week – there should be about 4 or 5, I'm not sure, I haven't really divided the whole thing yet…

K&H, Azure Serenity!

April 2nd 2010

April 9th 2010 (updated)