Incense

Disclaimer: Never owned 'Naruto', never will…

She hated them. With every bone in her lithe and curvy body. With every single bit of anger that was locked deep within. Anko hated them. Perhaps even more than Orochimaru.

They were horrible. Atrocious, disgusting, failures. They were the kind that drove people like her to drink. To drink until her memory failed and thoughts of maiming and killing fled from her scarred and tortured mind. Until she heaved and retched all over the floor. Until no more liquid would spill from her lips. Until there was nothing left in her body.

Then she'd do it all over again.

That's how sick those pathetic little children were. How sick they made her.

She wanted to tear her eyes out, to rid herself of ever seeing the utter failures that had churned out of the depths of nowhere. That had popped up seemingly overnight and paraded around like they were god's gift to earth. Like they were a troop of fucking saints.

They thought they knew…thought they knew the things their job, their career entitled.

Those weak, useless little girls that considered themselves ninja. That considered themselves kunoichi.

Those little prissy bitches. Those little uptight girls. Those squabbling pubescent wimps.

They didn't know anything.

Knights in shining armor. Saving princesses and daimyos. Finding true love. Killing for justice.

Fuck that fairytale shit. That fake nonsense.

Watching as the last glimmer of life fades from a still warm body. Blood spilling down your hands. The cold steel of a kunai. The flames licking at your bare skin. The panting of breath. The long nights of seduction. The panting and whimpering. The scream of horror, the bloody gurgle and the surprised look imprinted on a rapidly cooling corpse.

That was real.

And they thought they knew.

Anko scoffed.

Disgraces. They hadn't even killed anyone yet.

Really. What more could they be described as?

Half of them were fucking fangirls. Laughable. A kunoichi, a fangirl? That should have been cut down a long time ago.

A fangirlish, pink haired failure. Loud, annoying and petty. Book smarts? Who gave a fuck if you were the smartest kunoichi in your class? That didn't stop a nin from tearing a blade through your screeching wind pipe. What good would memorizing a fucking whole book do you in a world of killing and subterfuge? What good would it do if you couldn't apply it? If you didn't have the balls to pull it off?

She didn't have many other skills anyway. Three academy jutsu, a weak body crippled by dieting to back up a shitty taijutsu style and a perfume scented hair that reeked for miles. Really, even with super strength, she didn't have the speed to hit shit.

Fangirl? How much more shallow can you get? How much more pathetic do you have to be? Especially if you're stuck on a fucking thirteen year old punk, whose balls haven't even dropped yet…for five years?

A blonde, pony tailed harpy. One technique. That's all she knew. One fucking technique. No-one would say it, but she must've been a disgrace to the Yamanaka clan. Really, the daughter of the legendary Yamanaka Inoichi, part of the Ino-Shika-Cho team and all she could grasp of her clan's bloodline…was one jutsu.

She had horrible teamwork skills, non existent ninjutsu or genjustu…and a taijutsu style the likes of a street brawler.

And while she might've grown out of her fangirl state…she was still as immature and hard to work with as ever. That would get her killed quickly.

A timid, shy, white eyed girl. Heiress to the most powerful bloodline in Konohagakure. And she couldn't use it to save her life. Couldn't even drudge up the courage to defend herself against attacks, verbal or otherwise. For crying out loud, she stuttered half the time. She couldn't even talk to the boy she liked.

Her father said she was pathetic. And at the rate she was going, Anko tended to agree. While her taijutsu was quite good, and her medical prowess a little better, her genjutsu (despite having a master as a teacher) and her ninjustu were utterly poor.

Before long she'd be marked with the Hyuuga seal. And even when that happened, Anko doubted that she'd voice a complaint.

A bun-haired senior genin. Whose only outstanding trait was an extreme talent in weapons usage. Lots of good that did you against a ninjustu specialist. Or a genjustus specialist. Or anyone that could use something other than a blade. Or any good, well rounded ninja.

She'd had a year over her other kunoichi…and had still failed in Anko's eyes. How long does it take for a ninja to realize that specialization will get you killed?

Anko really didn't have much to say about the rest. These four were the best of their generation…and yet, they lacked anything that remotely qualified them as shinobi in her eyes.

The new generation of Konoha kunoichi made Anko want to cry. Really. Really bad. And crying was something she didn't do.

But more than making her cry or puke…more than wanting to tear her eyes out, more than wanting to drink herself into oblivion…Anko wanted to show them. Every. Single. Last. One.

Show them what it was really like.

She wanted to feel the blood on her hands, wanted to bask in the satisfaction of their screams, the high pitched, shrill cries of girls not fit to do their duty. A kunoichi's duty. A woman's duty. They weren't fit for it. Weren't made for it. They had delusions. Delusions of grandeur.

And Anko wanted to wipe those away.

She wanted to break them. Into little tiny, tiny pieces, until they screamed and cried. Until they begged for mercy.

Anko wanted to utterly break them. Until there was nothing but a girl, who knew the true meaning of a kunoichi.

That's what she wanted the most in the world. But it would never happen. It was just wishful thinking.

And through it all, watching them fool themselves and laugh up a life of murder and deceit…sometimes Anko liked to think it was just her.

Maybe she was just jaded. Maybe it was because she had grown as a kunoichi under the snake. Maybe it was because she'd had it hard all her life…and these girls hadn't. Maybe things were just different now.

But Anko knew it wasn't true.

And it makes her hate them even more.

Because they really were failures…

If they didn't grow up now, they'd inevitably die painful and horrible deaths.

So Anko lit incense. And she prayed, long and hard.

And as the exotic smell hit her, Anko thought about the utter failures that were a new generation of Kunoichi.

And wished they would just give up.

-Fin-