one_long_mission | Entries tagged with character: sabaku no gaara

The most beautiful flowers are those no man shall ever see.

The redhead was sitting on a bench near the stone-and-glass landmark of the village, a pretty black parasol patterned in red, abstract swirls held open to protect her from the light drizzle. Her posture said that she was deep in thought, from the way she traced idle patterns on the gourd at her feet with her free hand.

It hadn't surprised her to wake up alone, but that note... Gaara was fairly certain it had been left by Uchiha Sasuke, but the why eluded her. What had he meant by that, anyway? He was honestly a confusing person, and she didn't quite know what to make of him.

Aside from that, her head was quiet. Occasionally, she caught the murmurings of her tenant, but this close to the full moon, she should have been inundated with his inane grumbling. Instead, she received only stray comments, and most were relatively tame. It seemed, after his encounter with Sasuke, he didn't want to cause too much trouble. She'd even been allowed to sleep...

Slowly, the rain faded to the barest mist and, as the sun peaked out, a small cluster of bright flowers unfurled near her feet. She stared at them quietly, once again recalling that note.

...she was so confused...

In the blink of an eye, from one moment to the next, she was somewhere else. The redhead blinked in mild surprise and stared around at her surroundings. This...didn't look like Kumo. She'd been there a moment ago, speaking with the Raikage about possibly reworking some of their treaties, and now...

She appeared to be standing on the outskirts of a village that she didn't recognize; from the numerous pinpricks of strong, trained chakras, she suspected it was a shinobi village of some sort. That was...not a bad thing, she decided. And so Sabaku no Gaara began walking toward the village, long red curls lifting briefly away from her neck in the stray breeze.

If this is genjutsu, it is unlike anything I have seen before, she mused as she walked, easily weaving between others visiting the markets and wandering. The gourd strapped to her back earned her a few surprised looks, but she ignored them in favor of searching for someone who was likely to be a shinobi; civilians rarely had the answers she required.

It had taken some time for him to heal enough for Temari to actually let him out of the house and, while he'd appreciated her concern, he needed some air right now. He could only take so much coddling before it became less endearing and more annoying, which was why he was currently out and about, exploring this new village.

He come to the market and was peering at the goods on display - so different from the ceramics and glassware that Suna was famous for - when the fluttering of some kind of paper caught his eye. He stared at it for a long moment, surprised; it was pinned to a wooden stall by a kunai. Curious as to what it could be, he plucked it up.

There were only two words on the paper: They died.

He froze, staring at it for a long, long moment. Logic dictated that this meant nothing; logic dictated that he was not involved in whatever this was, because he had been here only a few days and - so far - only three people were aware of his existence.

And yet...and yet, the simple statement squeezed at his heart. He crumpled the paper in one hand, clenching the other in the fabric of his simple black shirt, just over his heart. That statement struck at the very center of his fears for what he had left behind. Something very much like pain and heartbreak crossed his features, but luckily the break in his facade was covered by hair that he really should trim. But it couldn't hide the trail of tears steadily tracing down his cheeks.

He could not recall having ever been in so much pain in his life; even the extraction of Shukaku, while agonizing on every level, had eventually faded when his mind simply refused to process the pain any longer. That had felt like every single one of his nerves was on fire, chakra pathways alight and slowly being shredded to pieces as the ichibi was taken from him and he was left to die - which he had, though he'd eventually gotten better.

This was so much worse, because he was aware of every ounce of blood that seeped out of the gaping hole in his chest, the multiple lacerations, the way he was fairly certain those white things puncturing his chest were his ribs. Madara had toyed with him - with all five kage - before finally deciding to end the game. He was dying, he knew that - but he did wish he had been allowed to at least see his siblings one last time.

Tsunade-hime had tried to heal the other kage, and it had worked to some extent - he'd seen the Raikage shift and open his eyes, watched Mei-dono slowly roll over, saw the stubborn old Tsuchikage draw in a hacking, life-giving breath. But when the soothing chakra had reached for him, there had been something like an odd barrier, a vague sort of increase in pressure, and then darkness.

Which led to this point - a semi-conscious redhead lying on the outskirts of this strange village, the ground under him practically drinking that blood.

Current Mood: Dying?

It was nighttime, and so cold, but not the same kind of cold as home. It was unfamiliar, like the buildings around him - all sharp, clean edges and made of wood and stone. They were nothing like the comforting architecture of Suna or the cool touch of stucco, the rasp of sandstone...

He could feel it, too - the lack of sand, aside from what was perpetually following him. There was something about this place, and he was so lost, and Teddy was missing. It was dark, even with the street lamps, and late enough that few people were out. The dark didn't frighten him, and neither did the solitude. He was used to that, because everyone always avoided him. Little monster child with the demonic, murderous sand.

But the feel of this place. It was so different, and that... That scared him. That scared the jinchuuriki who was supposed to be a weapon, turning him into a lost little four-year-old, quietly sitting against one of the closed market stalls and crying.

Current Mood: anxious

He had heard about the mystical elements called thunder and snow before, but this was his first time seeing it.

And he was sorely unprepared.

None of the buildings around him looked like the ones in Suna. Gaara walked down the path with hesitant steps, while skittishly looking every which way. Clasped within his two small hands was the arm of a teddy bear, clutched tightly to his chest. Every time there was a loud crash of thunder, he jumped, and so did his sand. One particularly loud clap close by shot panic into the young boy, and he immediately bolted for the nearest shelter.

Gaara huddled in the dark corner, peeking out every so often at the tumultuous sky. A small whimper escaped, and he quickly covered his mouth. He couldn’t be scared. He had to be strong! What if Father was watching him from somewhere? Maybe this was a test, to see how brave he could be.

It was getting cold, even colder than desert nights. He tugged the tunic closer around his body and drew his knees up, hiding his face behind them.

Current Mood: scared

Cold.

Gaara didn't know cold very well and he didn't like it. And where there were things that he didn't like, there were certainly more things coming that he wouldn't like.

Where had he been last--ah.

Dead. He must be dead. His body had felt cold, at the very end, both times. Blood, blood, blood. Everywhere. His blood. Tsunade's blood. Old man Oonoki's blood. There had been a time where Gaara enjoyed the sight and smell, and now it only left him with the horror that once more, he had left his world.

He'd left Suna, his people, the war.

He'd left his siblings, Temari and Kankurou.

He'd left Naruto.

He wandered throughout the village, aimless, blinking blankly, trying to resign himself to this place and this fate. His body felt weak, but he supposed the shock of dying a second time would do that to you. What would happen now? Would he be greeted with shadows of his life before his soul passed to the beyond?

Had the last few years of good made up for the six that he'd spent torturing his fellow man? No. He was probably going to be greeted by the Great God carrying with him a sea of pain for his actions, taking retribution for the lives he stole through his flesh.

There hadn't been enough time. Not enough time.

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One Long Mission, the Naruto dressing room.

January 2014

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One Long Mission

A Naruto Dressing Room

Entries tagged with character: sabaku no gaara

[Open] Quiet Contemplation

[Open] I have too many Gaara mused OTL

(no subject)

[Open] After a thorough trouncing courtesy of Uchiha Madara...

[Open] Little baby, all alone...

[Open] Happy Birthday! Now have some thunder and snow...

[Open]

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January 2014

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