Funeral Dress

Shisui panted, his Sharingan-bright eyes darting from side to side as he sprinted across a dirt path, all pretenses of stealth forgotten in his crazed dash. He was intelligent enough to realize that he'd never be able to outfight his attacker, but perhaps, if he ran fast enough, he could find some way to warn—

The Uchiha skidded to a stop near the edge of a small bridge made of uniform planks of white wood. His lips curved upwards in a resigned smile as he looked outwards at the bridge, all of the fight suddenly drained out of him. "Well," he said, "I didn't see that coming."

In the middle of the bridge, his assailant smiled back, but the smile was cold. "I certainly hope not," he replied, and with one swift strike killed him.

Uchiha Itachi went to Shisui's wake more out of his duty to the clan than any real want to see his grief-crazed relatives sobbing in bouts of what he hoped was only temporary insanity. His little brother, Sasuke, tagged along more out of blind devotion to his brother than any real want to see what a waterlogged corpse really looked like.

It was quite the bout of genius to dump the body in the river, Itachi silently admitted to himself. The water (would have) washed away any evidence (had he been fool enough to leave any). The river was also far enough away from the Uchiha Clan's domain, so he had had a day or two to express 'concern' over the sudden disappearance of his best friend.

Sasuke fisted his hand deeper into his brother's funeral robe, a simple white thing that made its wearer scoff at its complete and total uselessness. He had always hated funeral dress—it was so long and showy, making it impossible for him to reach (or, for that matter, conceal) any of his weapons or blend into the background. His ANBU-trained senses screamed at the sheer danger of wearing such impractical clothing.

However, he bore it without complaint, for he knew that soon there would be an even greater reason for funeral dress, but there would only be one person left around to wear it.