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Deidara did not care for dressing up and pretending to smack people with swords. That wasn’t what he was here for. His talents lay with pottery; with the arts. He crafted beautiful statues and sold them here every year. It’s not that he liked Renaissance Faires, but rather that it was good for his business.
So what if he did dress the part? It’s not like he wanted to. Honestly. Truly. He was just...following the rules. Whatever it took to use the gorgeous, open kiln and have people ooh and aah as they watched him craft right before their eyes. He deserved to be praised, of course he did.
His art was the absolute best, after all.
Way better than the ugly ass puppets and dolls that Sasori from across the “road” made. The only reason the guy got so many customers was because of his stupidly pretty face. Apparently women were into that. A few men, too.
Deidara snorted to himself. None of them had any real appreciation for art. He wouldn’t want them over here anyway.
He wiped sweat from his brow, the heat from the kiln drawing a flush to his tanned cheeks. So far he’d already sold a good portion of his works, and found himself carefully crafting another to add to the shelves. His hands were brown with clay, some stuck under his fingernails. The blonde man was so concentrated, his tongue poked from the corner of his lips and he didn’t even notice someone new approach.
“Hey, these are pretty great!”
Deidara huffed, “Of course they are, I made them!”
He looked up to see a girl, her features on the pretty side of plain. Brown hair and eyes, both the same shade of umber. She was probably around his age, decked out like a knight, glittering chainmail and all. Her hair was tied up into two severe buns, and there wasn’t a hint of overbearing make-up on her face.
She has a hand on the hilt of her sword casually, her posture lax and comfortable like she knew how to use it. Her eyes are locked on the statue of a woman holding the head of her enemy. Quite fitting, for how she was dressed.
“How much is this?”
“You really do have a good eye, yeah.” He said haughtily, putting down his current work.
She smiled. “Well, I’d be blind otherwise.”
“It’s $140.”
“Seems pretty cheap for this kind of quality.”
Deidara grinned at her. “Now you’re flattering me, yeah.”
“Just being honest.”
“Very knightly of you, lady.”
She laughed. It was a pretty pleasant sound. Deidara felt victorious somewhere deep in his chest. He ignored the feeling and leaned forward.
“Well, maybe you’re right. I did lower the price a bit.”
“Did you?” She looked surprised, as if she honestly hadn’t expected it despite their joking conversation. “Whatever for?”
Deidara turned away, carefully touching his current statue. “No reason. Maybe I was just feeling generous. But if you’re not going to accept it, then that’s your loss, yeah. I only make the best, after all.”
“No, no,” She kept laughing, pulling his attention back to her. “I’ll buy it, I’ll buy it! It’s pretty.”
“Pretty?” He repeated, glancing over to the statue in question. The female figure was in a position of violent victory, her expression a howling cry. The head was agape, reflecting the agony of the man’s last moments. Her sword was held aloft by her head, as though she was gearing up for another swing.
Deidara hummed, then leaned forward. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Tenten.”
“Lady Tenten,” He smirked, clear amusement in his tone. “I really must stress that you have impeccable taste.”
“Now you’re flattering me.” She said, smiling with unpainted lips.
He thought a strong statue would suit a strong woman.
“Yeah,” He replied. “Maybe I am. Now are you gonna buy the damn statue or not?”
“I’m buying, I’m buying!”