the moribund
(x)
he would never allow another to escape so easily thus gaara should find no surprise in one who extends the same challenge to him. what was it like on the other end, to be the one who knew fear?
against his will he's finding out.
his opponent's expression shifts, a laugh that grates his soul escaping from it. earth is displaced as he steps forward and instinctively gaara pulls back - the rabbit who stares down his own demise cannot run, he will never be fast enough. wire constricts his leg and pulls the limb nearly from under him. an inconvenience.
his tongue clicks at his own carelessness as he forces himself to balance within his constraints, a thin layer of sand taking the worst of the wire's grip. "for ones like you, there is no respect sunagakure has to spare."
he hates this. once again, this time with fairer aim, his kunai aims at the man's center mass. in the midst of that, sand pushes out against the wire and he pulls his leg free. gaara lowers his stance and tired eyes narrowly glare. he should have, for the lives lost for him, more the more that would be of this man attacked him again like this, yet gaara stands still - as much as he can manage.
"why give chase?" he asks. "you will follow regardless." he knows not why nor for how long. the way he speaks of suna - gaara can't ask questions... maybe if he can bind him somehow or keep him with a sand prison.
there's no reason with him - maybe naruto would disagree with him, but gaara is two steps removed from pushing further then he knows he can at the moment.
“Why pursue?” Sasori could not help the chuckle that began to form in his throat, a little wheezing sound at first that gained vibrancy with a mechanical little rattle, Hiruko’s eyes widening at the emergence of the sand. “Why run? Are you not the best of us, Kazekage-sama?”
He certainly spoke the part, even if he could not bring himself to behave it, a faltering child that understood how to ape the bluster of a leader without the force of conviction that lay behind it. A dune would crash, when not reinforced, scattered grains of sand to the barest gust of wind.
And he was not even performing a justu, was not even eroding the spirit of the boy with his fonder mechanics - all it took was a little wire and a few senbon, and the child was near to tears.
This was what his great nation had been reduced to.
“Pursue I shall, then. I hate being kept waiting.”
The raise of his arm this time brought not the tug of wire, but the scattering of senbon, a shower of them that grazed against the boy-ruler and dotted him with more holes than perhaps he was comfortable with - and more than he was comfortable with, Sasori felt the strain of his chakra, the flurry of his human heart locked inside of his chest.
He grimaced, taking the step back and beginning the slow semi-circled, kiting the boy, pinning him in place as one might an insect for display.
the best, the most dangerous - above all else a weapon to be pointed at enemies but before him is an enemy and around him, his sad falters, his nerves falter. he is allowed violence here, he is allowed the ruthlessness that ones was second nature. all he must do is call for it.
yet he can't. yet he is powerless despite power being all he has, all he is. pursue. this is his target. if not gaara now, then another will fight, another will fall. why, he thinks.
gaara does his best to hop back, but the man is fast. sand shields vitals as best it can but well placed senbon pierce through sand and into skin. he grits his teeth and feels the layer along his skin crack and slough off.
there's an attempt to reorient but the other is a step ahead.
he's lost, he's smart enough to know that, but he can't lose. one kunai remains at his side and he hides it amongst tendrils of sand. each one weaves and scatters until lone one containing weight hits. it's hard to catch his breath, even harder to hide that he needs to. he doesn't know what it is he should do.
