01
Art blocks, man. Art blocks.

Kiba's first thought was that he shouldn't have had that cheap and nasty energy drink that Naruto had shoved at him on his way out from work. It was bad enough that the sickly sweet fizzy drink gave him mini heart attacks when he was fully awake, now the liquid shit was making him see some weird shit since he was halfway to falling flat on his face and calling it a night on the dirty pavement.

He blinked once. Then again, because maybe it had hit him worse than he thought. Then he turned to fully face the thing that had caught his attention and actually looked at it.

His second thought was how he was going to find the asshole that screwed up a great piece of art.

On the wall of the alleyway that he took as a short cut home, unofficially named Artists Alley by the locals, was a tag. A weird looking sideways poop (or maybe it was a cloud. The fuck if he knew,) spray painted in the gaudiest shade of red he's ever seen, covered the wheatpaste poster of a wolf howling at the sun. Said poster had been there for almost a year, untouched by anything but the weather, and was one of his favourite pieces in the city.

Never mind that there were about a dozen of the same poster pasted all around Konoha, the fact that some shitstain out there though it was right and fair to paint some shitty pile of crap over something that was well liked by almost everyone who walked by, himself included, made him want to throw the jackass over Naka River Pass with a drum barrel full of gravel tied to their feet.

He wondered if the artist would feel the same if they saw what's happened to their work.

A buzzing in his jacket pocket interrupted petty revenge thoughts. 'Big Bitch' flashed on screen. Fuckin' Shippo's been renaming his contacts again. His Ma would probably try to whack him again if she saw the name assigned to her mobile number. Or if he didn't haul ass and get home soon.

Maybe she'll do it just for the sake of it. Nothing says love like a good kick up the ass, according to her.

"Yeah Ma."

"Don't you 'Yeah Ma' me, boy! Where are you?" Her voice cracked loudly over his half-brick phone. No hello, how was your day, did you take your lunch. Just straight to the point, no bullshit at all. Just like him.

"I'm on my way home now. I'm just waiting for the bus." Okay, he was still a five minute hike from the bus terminal and the bus home wasn't going to arrive for another fifteen, but Ma wouldn't know that.

"If you got the time, pick up some steak and chops for the dogs. Hana didn't tell me she fed the last of them to the boys this morning."

"Yeah, alright. Need anything else while I'm at the shops?"

"Nah we're good. And hurry home, boy, or you'll be eating a cold dinner."

"Yeah, yeah. Byeeeeeee." Kiba hung up before his mother could get another word in.

Well, there went his lovely stroll down rainbow road this cold, wet and miserable evening.

Granted, he would be cruising through this alley next Monday night and taking in all the awesome new stuff that would be up on its walls, the fact that the artists of the city worked so damn fast was what was ticking him off to begin with.

It's rare for anything to last more than a week without being half-buffed by another artist, or to be trashed by some half-assed tag. That the howling wolf poster had lasted for as long as it did was a once in a lifetime thing for this place. Kiba's only known two other pieces that hadn't been wrecked in any way, shape or form since they went up nearly three years ago, and it was only because there was no way in hell no one could get to them without the need for a fucking crane.

Though he would gladly kiss the feet of whoever it was who painted the orange Kyubi on top of the clock tower of Town Hall Station. That shit was rad as hell.

Sometimes he wished he could be part of it again.

Too bad they had made it very clear what would become of him if he so much as even thought of picking up a paint marker or spray can again. A hole in the side of his guts would be the least of his worries when they would be through with him. Again.

Fuckin' assholes had run him off the streets over a stupid bit of wall space. The only reason he obeyed was so his Ma didn't have to spend her retirement fund to burn his sorry ass and bury the vase six feet under.

She probably would've forgone the burning part and thrown him in the nearest ditch if she ever found out what he was really doing that night the cops came knocking on their front door. It was just his luck that there was another asshole going around the city, beating up kids who were out and about at night. The cops had practically made up his cover story for him.

Plus he had a job and school to keep him occupied most of the time. Unless he learned to live without sleep, there was no way he was gonna be hanging around the streets anytime soon.

Though, the thought was very tempting, as he looks up at the white and blue Kusanese script that decorates the wall just beneath the edge of the roof.

'Awww fuck it, I'll come back later.' Kiba thought. It was getting late, it was cold, he was still in his ugly ass, high-vis work gear (fucking fluoro orange, man. Even Naruto hated his work gear, and orange was his favourite colour) and his Ma just might actually throw him over Naka River Pass with a drum barrel full of gravel if he misses his bus and gets home late.

Walking out of the alley, head down and mind far away, Kiba nearly bowled over a couple as they rounded the corner. Quick reflexes on his part saved the guy he ran into from getting a bruised ass. "Shit, sorry man. You alright?" he asked, steadying the young man. It took him a moment to realise that he had spoken in his traditional language, and nearly tripped over his tongue when he repeated it in the common language.

Reflective shades covered his eyes and his skin was an almost unhealthy pale, like he's never stepped out into the sunlight in his life. The girl with him was just as pale and her dark hair obscured the colour of her eyes. Like Kiba, the couple wore high-vis fluoro orange hooded jackets, insulated for cold weather . Under that, they both had the standard painter garb; white cotton shirt and pants with a generous amount of paint splattered all over them.

Huh. Didn't think a pair so pretty would've picked a tradie job as a career. They looked more like they belonged in some fancy university near the centre of the city. Then again, looks could be deceiving. Half of the guys he worked on site with though he was in his early twenties. And he sure as shit wasn't going to tell them that he was under aged, and without any proper tickets to do the job his aunts and cousins had set him up with. The shit he does for money.

"I am alright. Thank you." The young man said, picking up the bucket of paint he dropped. Lucky for him the lid didn't pop off from the impact and spill.

The girl muttered an apology to Kiba and the pair were off on their way down the alley. Yeah, he wouldn't wanna stick around for anything in this weather. He jogged the rest of the way to the bus terminal, tool belt clanking against him every so often. At least his ugly ass, high-vis work gear was good for keeping in body heat when it was meant to.

"Cash or card?" The bus driver asked to the boarding passengers. Kiba dug through his pockets for his wallet, where Aunty Senaka's travel card took up the photo ID slot. It was times like this he had his car. Stupid Ude and Ashi and their fuckin' road trip.

He froze when he couldn't feel the other occupant of his left pocket.

"My phone!" he screeched, tearing from the bus, knocking a few commuters aside to get out. Fuck fuck shit fuck shiiiiiit if he lost that half-brick piece of crap, his Ma would definitely skin him alive and throw his carcass to the dogs.

Where in the name of fuck could he have dropped it! He was only on the phone to his Ma a few minutes ago in-!

Bolting full speed down the street, tool belt clanking with each step, he prayed to The Origin and Mother of All that his crappy half-brick junk of a mobile phone was in Artists Alley. Or else he could kiss his ass goodbye.

Skidding to a stop, he went down on all fours looking for his phone. Of all the fucking places to lose it, it had to be in the section of the city where anything dropped was considered fair game by anyone with sticky fingers. Even if something wasn't worth any money, if it wasn't bolted down, it was up for grabs.

"E-excuse me? Is t-this yours?" Came a quiet voice from beside him.

Out in front of him, held in the outstretched hand of his new guardian angel, which he had almost bulldozed earlier, was his half-brick piece of crap from the stone-age phone. Mother of All, he could have kissed this girl for finding it for him. But before he could manage more than a 'thank you', he watched as his bus took off down the road towards the highway and he went chasing after it out of habit.

He gave up after a few meters and trudged back to the terminal to wait for the next bus and an angry call from his Ma.

This day fuckin' sucked.

… Yeah, this thing's making a comeback after I got rid of it (and most of my other Naruto stuff) when I tried to quit the fandom. But I've come to grudgingly accept my love-hate feeling for this series and the fact that I can't abandon these useless characters who happen to be my favourites. If their creator won't give them any love, then I will.