There was no consideration shown for his imprisonment, thrown in; a sack of garbage onto the stone flooring, blunt onto his knees scraping at his hands with a rueful sting. The rotten odour of flesh seeping into his nostrils more prominently as he was in a cage, where a body still lay, bits of the hanging flesh turning blackened in their state. Indeed, he was near thrown into the congealed pile of former human, almost allowing himself to succumb to gasping for the fact as he reeled backwards -gasping would have only increased the stench. The cell door was clicked into place behind him, but his shackles had not been released- though they had been placed in front of him rather then behind. There was mildew lightly accenting the sweetened smell of the area, as water trickled down the stone walls, only visible by the glimmers of light brought from the torch just outside. What echoed as worsened unto his slandered mind, digging the pike further into his subconscious, much alike his kunai had slowly ripped at his chest; he knew where he was, the lowest level- he was being treated as if he had directly attacked the village.

"Uzumaki. You are rather early today." The baritone of the man nextdoor rang far more prominent when he too was inside a cage; how? He did not know. Yet, the derision held within his tone was obvious; and Naruto knew its scorn held not unto him, a strange comfort. Madara was amused, a humour which the blond found himself agreeing with, despite the cruel undertone it retained. Fitting for the mood that danced overtop and threatened the blond's psyche. Thus, he laughed along, merely happy for the fact he could, because it had been a joke, though tepid enough that many persons would not hear it underlined. He could hear a weakened chuckle from the man nearby, scraped through his throat. Naruto allowed his laughter to mellow into hiccuping giggles.

"I was trying to catch you off-guard." There was an exaggerated snort on the other side, and the jinjuuriki snickered to himself at the obvious amusement hidden under stoicism- he knew how to catch the minor shift in noncommunicative responses that indicated mindset; the subtle differences between anger, exasperation, and humour. Strange was it; to be thrown into the cells of 'death's waiting room,' and find further comfort with the presence of a man whom was responsible for thousands of lost lives, then within the village people he had been birthed into. Gladdened for the fact that he had been thrown into the farthest most piteous area of the 'secret' prison simply for the fact that he was in good- decent, company.

"Your method is weak." Once more a joke escaped chapped lips, and once again Naruto laughed for the sarcastic manner the man spoke within.

When he had first comprehended that he held the Kyuubi within, his terror had spiked rather grand compared to the wavering apprehension he'd prior held around others. Knowing of his bane therein gave understanding, yet it had done nothing to quell the manifestation of pitious self-hatred conjelating in his gut- instead, adding a new element. Rather then the comfort which might be pronounced in acknowledging he himself had done naught to provoke their hatred; it merely provided him with the reasoning that he was the disgust, no action of his own had fabricated their ire, their detest, merely the fact he lived.

With hardened mind however, he had sought to derail their illusions of himself, script a new literature which may sway their opinion. No action had quelled them in his early years as a shinobi, their gazes did not land on him long, but there was razors in their eyes which had not been prior to his graduation. Following his return with Jiraiya he had been spurned, but no action had been made against him direct or indirectly. For a shortened period. Alas, as he had grown more profound in skill, the longer their glares remained upon him, the more those expressions danced with open detest. Yet, as such had manifested he had earned respect from multiple jounin, come to find friends within his comrades, no one openly expressed their true loathing. He had fallen entirely back down, hit the gavelled bottom of the cannon. Rocks in his back, cracked multiple bones upon impact and struggling to breathe as the support of his ribcage was negligible in due to all the broken bonds- bones.

He wondered what could become of him, to drag him out? Would it be that his fate were to come to decision while he remained detained? Though such questions lingered, he dared his mind not to speak in contemplation of what his 'punishment,' may be. How far he had fallen into that pit to find solace in a former enemy. Or perhaps, he mused- rather sour; perhaps he had never gotten up from the bottom, had merely closed his eyes while laying placid and allowed his imagings to fool him. Waking up to reality, finding his bones broken, lungs collapsed, staring to the sky and struggling to keep a clear mind.

Depression had always watched over him from the corner of her eye, still he had never bent to her obstructing whim before; he wondered, if this oppressing feeling coagulating within his gut and blackening his thoughts was that principal. "It's soothing is it not?" It was for nought, but still he turned his gaze to the wall between their cells, unable to identify what coloured the man's tone, his rather quiet baritone.

"What is?" In the prison designed for the worst of people, with blood dried on the floor and a body rotting beside, he could think of nothing which could be contrived as such.

"Her song, the seduction it is, the temptation which stains all man, woman, and child." Crossing his legs, he waited, because he couldn't understand. Though, Naruto did not know what he meant, a part of him was instinctively uncomfortable. "Melancholia; Man believes that temptation is one of our greatest sins, yet what flares temptation more then any other reasoning? More then lust or addiction- that which strives some forward into those very sins? The fall into depression; there is no greater temptation within this world then the urge to purge one's negative emotion. Some see fit to gamble, some kill, some meander, others cry or submit into carnal pleasures. All to rid oneself from the feeling. Her call is somber, and it is soothing- tempting, but once insnared by her song; she becomes painful to silence. You know this well." He dared not reply, he could admit and agree with much of what the man has said in previous conversations, however, this, he could agree with- but could not admit to. His mental fortitude was weak, as he was- "melancolia is a kindling for temptation, but not the source of the fire. It is not shameful. Merely some, though, not all; of the actions which might be taken to shake her away are at least unto ourselves."

Naruto stared at the wall towards the speaker for that, uncomfortable for the fact that his heart was beating quickly and his skin was somewhat warm in such cold surroundings. It was perhaps not direct, not plainly stated and not made to be obvious. However, sobering though it was, Naruto knew that Madara understood his psyche well enough to guess at where his present mindset was. The man did comprehend people well, and though any human thrown into a cage of the damned would feel depressed at the fact that they had been thrown in for no adequate reason; Madara knew that he -Naruto- was ashamed; not for being tossed within, but for the fact that he was dolorous. The stoic, veteran, former enemy, was comforting him.

Gratitude blossomed fast. Though his smile was not large it felt so on his lips, there was water glistening his eyes, sticking to his eyelashes in sparkling droplets which would not fall easy- his cheeks her rosed, not from the chill of the room; but from his own embarrassment and pleasure in actually being comforted. Comforted, by one whom was so frigid in manner. He felt special, he felt validated. "...thank you..." His voice pitched higher with the words and came out sounding sickeningly sweet onto his own ears being so wisping and soft. Yet he didn't care.

"I am enervated Uzumaki. Leave me be."

.o0o.

As it was, he found himself drifting into a tumultuous sleep himself, there was little but the murked green liquid lurking within his mindscape. The place was not silent; no, it was too quiet, different in that as he wandered he could hear the faint splashes of his footsteps upon the water as echos within the barren halls. Not loud enough to be resonating, rather instilling discomfort- an intimidation. Yet, the effect was waned, as he had been there so many times before the place was expected; even when he had no knowledge of his unwanted companion, he had walked through the caliginous halls as a toddler- plagued too much by the sneers of those he did not know and the eyes of those he did. Frightened so very much by the gust of his own shadow, the shutters banging against the window as the wind bellowed past- remembering when rocks had hit on the glass instead; finding himself forced into tenebrous surroundings, and too young to understand.

The place did not bring trepidation anymore. Presently, he could walk- listen to the splashes of water from his feet echo, and wait for another horror to apparate in front of him without the intimidation it used to bring. Frequently there were blurrings of people, fine, as he had faced those images of strangers he had no hope of recognizing drift in his mind asleep or awake. However, as his life had come more aged, on occasion the limbs grew more defined, or the hair stood apart from the endarkened figure- vibrant and familiar, blood might seep through the image from random spots and darken the green mold lake beneath. It used to be that rarely he saw full images, representations of people or things, appearing misplaced, tossed, into the dismal place- or perhaps lost, having accidentally meandered into the darkened place of which they did not fit into. Plainly not the case, no matter how much he wished for that small truth, indeed they could not have been lost- absentminded in their wanderings, no, because more often then not they were absent of mind. Dead to all worlds with their eyes rolled into themselves, staring up unto the abysmal abyss above, or twisted to look directly upon him as he approached their corpses. There were those who were mangled, there were those whom were pristine, those who breathed shallow, and those who did not and yet still moved. Presently, there was not a time when he slept in which those faces did not look upon him.

Again, he walked, for to stand statuesque simply made every image congeal into another before his eyes, rather then spreading about. His footsteps held a different resonance today, not fluttering around him as the noise should, rather sounding, then becoming soft too fast. As if being absorbed away, in glancing for the reason he found an oddity in the walls- an obstruction, the sides were mildly indented- not the smooth concrete like surface he was adapt to. Cautious, suspicion for the knowledge of his training, he brushed his finger carefully over the indentations, withdrawing almost as quickly, only to tap his finger on the surface; though he did not understand what it had morphed into- he knew it was not concrete. For a moment he stared, waiting for the reversion to begin; it did not, and he continued on walking, there was nothing to be done as it were. Unusually, he found himself drifting into his demon's large space, the monumental red bars too prominent to ignore, he did not bother to turn away from the area. There the walls too, had morphed, shifted subtly from what they had been, though so smoothly transitioned he only just noticed they were of an entirely different make. Newly, they were old stone walls, antique, those used for far too old prisons. Much as the one which he sat within in reality. Similarly, there were torches lined around with their warmed glow illuminating the place- there had never been light within his mind before. Confused, but unable to find a reasoning, he simply sat down and waited for wakefulness to return.

.o0o.

In his waking, his lids refused to open for a moment, stuck down with the familiar sore crust that arrived after having cried for far to long. Odd, for he had not gone adrift with a want to cry tingling under his lashes. Sore, and somewhat sensitive even within the dimmed light of the cells, back aching for his discomforting position, back having rested on the back wall stone digging into his spine, head hung down chin to his collar, neck prickling in protest- just as his muscles when shifting away. Least he had not been kneeling and he had come to waking with no particular aching in his lower limbs. There were none to see, but he still hastily wiped at the corner of his lips and chin as he felt freshened liquid there. Embarrassed, nonetheless for the drool dripping down; though he had not been in early childhood until Sakura in their frist true camping experience had mentioned it in utter disgust- while Sasuke had scoffed in mentioning his rather obnoxious snores. Though at least he had the decency to mention he train himself to retain it for the worry of being discovered; rather then scoffing in distaste. Embarrassment was manifested in the blond shinobi however, as he considered that it was possible he had done so in the company of his neighbor.

"What is it you dream of?" Came the familiar baritone, and he startled for it having just woken, somewhat under the hope that the man had still been asleep. The questioned posed however, was less a demand- less pointed then how Madara usually spoke and Naruto hesitated with the shift. It did indeed sound like an idle wonderance, one he needn't answer and in truth, sounded as a lightened conversational topic. Not opposed, nor certain, the jinchuuriki shifted.

"I don't. I never have." It was honest, though he did not know if it was something he should have admitted to. After all, he spoke to the man whom had sought for eternal peace within the realm of dreams. He waited for a response with creeping discomfort, squirming with the ensuing silence. It lasted ninety seconds.

"Interesting, do you then, enter your mindscape?" A genuine curiosity underlined then man's tone, inquiry and intrigue and though he should have thought it further, gave consideration to possible calamity with the presented knowledge; within a resentful margin of his head -minimal though it was,- he found no want for care.

"I think so?" There was no manner of which he might be certain, there was no way to disconcert when he possessed no true understanding of what a mindscape might properly be. A guess was formulating his answer, thus he answered with a question in his voice; hoping for a better comprehension of what the definition was within Madara's experience. His lips felt terrible, dry and cracked, there was a sting when he opened his mouth, he licked them for moisture, but also for the fluttering of nerves turning in his stomach. "Its always the same, I just walk around- there's nothing to see in it, just hallways. But sometimes- there are images of people, dead friends, or blood, shadows." His stupidity, he felt, was rising with each word. For, he was speaking of his visions of slain friends with the man which was responsible for many- for most. Yet, his antipathy towards the veteran was nye a leaf on the breeze- fluttering about perhaps, but to be gone nonetheless.

"Mindscape's are often inaccessible to the common mind, those with particular kekkai genkai are capable of entering at will however. Mine own clan, and that of the Yamanaka are capable. Howbeit, the Yamanaka possess the most fervent ability to do so, in the manner that they might broadcast themselves into another and therein control their actions. My kin, withal, can enter and may influence what is seen- create illusions in the mind, which, though similar, is quite divergent from genjutsu. In addition, my kith are proficient in accessing their own at will, a skill very few persons can do, even the Yamanaka have issue with the task. Some Uchiha possess the ability to walk through the mind of another, though that is quite arduous." Learning of such, Naruto found himself continuously intrigued, within the academy he had found little motivation to be educated- within his childish comprehension there was no reason, as there was no one around to admire his skill; none who might congratulate him for wholesome training or the marks on a test. He had seen that many kids spoke of it to their parents while rocking slowly upon his favourite swing as a silent observer; and naturally taken that as the meaning of schooling. This poised a different knowledge, a subject which had plagued and filtered within his mind in small tides of apprehension and fervent waves of frustration. He had heard speak of dreams, and none had described his own experience.

His mind bounced to a certain incident while listening. "Sasuke did that once, he was suddenly standing with me right outside of Kyuubi's cage." The former leader had said it to be a challenge, yet, as he recalled his friend hadn't had any visible trial in doing so at all. Merely stepping within in the span of moments, crossing the way to the valley and into the forrest without hesitance. "He didn't seem to have any problem." A sharp grasp covered his chest then, and he snapped his mouth shut for the feeling, the name was tender- too exposed to emotion.

"Then the young Uchiha was exceedingly talented." It was not much, but the glee of pride came into him at the words. He had known it of course, but it was different in hearing the praise come from such a hardened man, a man whom Naruto knew was also skilled in such; he needn't be told that, he knew. "The place is a personification of an individual's mentality. One jocular may see a field of flora, one traumatized may see the gore of a battlefield, one in mourning may see all in grey. Though as I mentioned, most people do not see their own mindscape at all. To intrude is too see inside the mentality of another. When they -most likely,- do not know it themselves. One's mentality is one's psychology, influencing their perception of world." Naruto shifted, though not for the ache his back protested, discomforted by the words.

"Can it change?" He felt it to be a stupid question in truth, but with his limited understanding he wanted to be sure of what he could comprehend.

"One's view of the world can change, how he comprehends another, his ideals." The confirmation went unsaid, though heard nonetheless, though it offered little to the blond, he nodded his head regardless. He had seen into his own mind several times since the war, yet, it hadn't shifted the environment, bodies had just come to vision more frequently, more gore came to plague it. The walls, the water, had remained the same. The alteration of his own mindplace was a contemplation he had no want to analyze, regardless of benefit.