Grey white clouds bellowed from Sasori's mouth. Cringing at the artificial flavor, he felt the rest of himself relax as the first plumes of nicotine infiltrated his nervous system for the day. He was trying to quit, doing okay at it too. It's five in the evening now, halfway through his last eight hours of his work week; he's got thirty minutes to kill the itchy craving in the back of his throat.
The brick is cold. The wind is too. Sasori shivers and pulls his hoodie closer. He opens his mouth minutely for a second before wrapping his lips around his teeth. Groaning at the feeling of ice in his mouth, he shoves his vape between his chapped lips once more. Its 10 degrees, its really not that cold, why does it feel so cold. He opens his mouth again.
Silver eyes match the clouds that stutter away from him. His last ditch effort at common courtesy failing miserably. Sasori bows his head in a silent apology, not meeting the man's bright eyes. Sasori could barely make anything else out about him. The only definite being that, at least genetically, he must be from the water lands, most likely Kirigakure.
Sasori feels his mouth twitch a tiny bit as his mind naturally drifts towards the only person he really knows from the area. Kisame leaves as fond of a smile as he does a memory to the older man. He finds himself wishing that he were better at keeping in touch, Sasori's contacts have always remained painfully empty. Not even thinking about his friends wanting to keep in close touch, he relied too much on social media connections that fizzled out. But he knows that Kisame's much the same, they've both had all of their accounts banned at one point or another. His a bit more, evidently.
Another shiver racks his body, ripping him from thoughts that he probably shouldn't dwell on anyways. "Depression's just as cold as winter," Konan said once in a bid to make him feel better. He glares up at the sky, still bright with vapory clouds. They're blowing east, towards Suna. His mind relays him this information without his consent. A sledgehammer to a watch nail, Sasori is far away. And there is no more home to return to.
The incandescent lights burn more than the cold, but at least its warm inside. The emporium is crowded, so he has to push his way back to the jewelry counter. His thirty minutes aren't up yet, but Sasori's too cold to care. He lets his hoodie slide off of his shoulders one at a time. Dramatically, "Because this is the most attractive part of the building, us included," The general manager, Deidara, is a right moron, but Sasori can appreciate the marketing ideals.
So he slides behind the counter, types his code into the terminal and continues his shift. Mindlessly, Sasori guides a few more people through their selections over the next hours. Its his favorite part of the job, finding the pieces that make people's souls show. He took the job for the pay, and its why he stays, but the constant repeat of the selection process is what he really appreciates about the job. It makes him think about metals and stones, and crystals, and chains in an entirely new light. The myriad of input has improved his art, he has expanded in his mediums. He sees materials in everyday objects now. It has furthered his journey as an artist immensely.
So Sasori likes his job. For the most part all he hates is his proximity to the fragrance section. But its Konan's department, so he'll smell it either way. The lights flicker too, Kakuzu says that it gives the emporium "character". Deidara isn't even the most unlikable persona to work with, Sasori suspects that he's hiding more than meets the eye, but he's not bad. Definitely not compared to some of their vendors. Even if Obito means no harm, he puts Sasori on edge with how close his stands to everyone's backs. The new one wasn't too bad, can definitely understand body language, unlike Obito. The customers are just backgrounds to his daily routine, the way they should be.
Nine o clock comes around. The rest of the emporium begins closing. Sasori's already swept, mopped, and started taking his inventory, he'll be done long before everyone else. He doesn't have to, but he would rather wait on Konan as opposed to her waiting on him. He waits around near a hole on the show floor. Taped off in a curious purple, he and Konan wonder why Kakuzu chose a spot near the center of the emporium. They round the corner to Kakuzu's office, deposit envelopes in hand.
"Out of the four new vendors so far, one hasn't answered, and the other two complained about the damn lights again," Kakuzu and Deidara are looking over the emporium's floor plan together. Sasori and Konan drop their deposits together, listening openly. Its the beginning of what looks like a late night for the other two.
"Did you get your suit brand?" Konan has been excitedly trying to guess the owner favorite brand of suit since he announced that he had started talks with a rep from the company. Kakuzu didn't often wear a suit, he had a standard uniform of charcoal grey slacks and a grey button up. He really seemed to like this silvery blue shade of grey, he's wearing it today, Sasori knows he has at least four other shirts in the same shade. Its a relatively cheap brand, considering Kakuzu's status. No one has been able to guess the suit, though.
"As a matter of fact, they're our only go ahead so far. We meet our brand rep tomorrow, who will be our main vendor since we're so small right now. I asked them for extra catalogues in case you wanted one as well, don't worry."
Konan seems content enough with the development that she's willing to wait the forty eight hours, or she's forgotten that she doesn't work tomorrow. Both are likely at this hour. unfortunately for Sasori, both are false.
"We'll be in tomorrow then! good night, drive safe Deidara." She scowls at the youngest. No one knows why she's so paranoid about his driving in particular, they're on par with each other as far as Sasori is concerned. Which is that Sasori can see them both having fun and excelling at car commercials. That doesn't happen on the open roads though, not that that notion in particular has ever stopped a theater kid before. Definitely not Deidara. Sasori can see the local culture permeating the concrete outside, and into their heads. Their banter amuses him.
He thinks about it on the drive home, thankful that Konan would rather listen to the radio than talk. She's a lot like Kisame, he knows that they would get on well. Asides from their well embraced "blueness", they shared similar tastes in music, literature, food, and art. Despite not being an artist himself, Kisame loves the processes of artists; studying them, their uses, and their practical outcomes. The kind of mind that Sasori associates with engineers, that's what Kisame has about studying artistic processes.
Konan has it too, to look at something and divide it into triangular shapes in her head. She can then do whatever she wants with them because they just so happen to be so useful. Origami, her original medium, to drawing bodies out of triangles. Coming to rounded forms just as digital art became accessible, PlayStation triangles led her to animation. She has a wall dedicated to holding her rolls of paper. Hung up on fabric rollers from Kakuzu's old fabric store. She taught herself how to build a computer because she ran out of "specifically graphic memory". Sasori is sure that somewhere in her life is a blood pact with a four leaf clover.
Konan threatens to dump ice on him if he doesn't go with her to the representative meeting. They weren't formally invited, but Kakuzu rarely says no to Konan eavesdropping on things it seems. Her two cents is all over the emporium, Kakuzu seems to welcome it, along with his and Deidara's. For such a stern and frugal man, Sasori is surprised to feel how much Kakuzu seems to value them. A lot of his more insulting gestures are bizarre backwards compliments. He once called Zetsu a sloppy pig for wearing torn jeans and dirty sneakers into the emporium, to which the other man responded with "youre right, I don't waste food sir." Once he was done laughing, Kakuzu changed his opinion to a "Golden retriever, just like Obito." And the grassy haired man just beamed about it.
Sasori thinks about where he fits into the totem pole of the emporium's odd comradery. Konan almost floats above Deidara, having passed up the promotion apparently. Deidara seems entirely aware and appreciative of this. Kakuzu doesn't seem to dwell on it, Sasori wonders if he saw the choice as even. Sasori's probably partial to Konan by this point.
He sells the expensive items in the building, even the rare perfume bottles go back to his counter. He apparently counts a drawer faster than Kakuzu, and he hasn't had a mistake yet. Maybe he's just reliable. He's not. But maybe that's what he is to these people. He reminds himself that they don't know him yet, they're all brand new. They haven't seen him lose his cool, "Fall off kilter", as Granny used to say. He hasn't been drinking as much since she died, and he's scared to let them see him like that. The closest thing he has to friends now. The only one who could handle him drunk is Kisame, but that was one time. They never got to meet in person again. They Probably never will.
He just had to go and be funny, get banned. Sasori and Kisame trolled the wrong team, and the duo was ruthless. Being from different lands, having each other's wireless numbers was useless. The team of brothers noticed that, and acted slowly. All of Kisame's usernames were the same, Sasori's weren't. When they noticed this, they must have compiled his accounts first, before exacting their revenge. They mass reported both of their social spheres by using bots. Sasori was devastated when he realized that they had managed to get everything. He was going to have to rely on Kisame choosing a new username that he would be able to guess. That was seven months ago. For the first time in his life, Sasori is completely starting fresh. He hasn't sabotaged himself yet, he hasn't found his best friend, but he'll be able to say he did it when he does.
Sasori will have stories to tell Kisame when they find each other online again. He'll tell him about Granny first, she said goodbye to them both after all. He can't wait to introduce him to Konan. His mind flits between scenarios of conversations, meeting in person again, existing in the same land, just to make friendship easier. He thinks about the other reinstalling Oni catch on his phone, about the two of them competing for the strongest team. It's a shame that you can't change your username in the game. Sasori and Kisame both chose their real names, Konan did too. Things make less sense as he slips farther into unconsciousness. Konan slips away from the scenarios again, leaving just Kisame and Sasori. usually in a park. The hill cants up the same way as the one he always saw from the window of his childhood home. He used to think it was a sand dune, but instead it turned out to be a large field of wheat that he and Kisame are laying on. A blade of wheat sticking out of the taller mans teeth, he's trying to quit. Sasori doesn't remember Kisame ever smoking, He's always said it burned.
"Does the wheat burn?" His mouth doesn't move, but Sasori knows that he said it out loud. He'd try again, but Kisame turns to look at him. The wheat is long enough to tickle Sasori's nose.
"Only if you hit me with it," the longer caryopses curls around his lashes, but doesn't obstruct his vision. Doesn't poke his eye out when he feels it split open with shock.
"Why would I ever do that?"
"Its just a thought," A violent one. Maybe. The speed required to make that burn, Sasori would need multiple pieces of wheat. He would have to stand a particular angle and range, most likely over Kisame's broadform. He shakes his head against the grass, Head sinking down even further. He's looking up at Kisame's piece of wheat now, and the silvery blue grey clouds beyond it. They're the same color as Kisame's eyes. Suddenly Sasori is being stared at.