“ that’s a lot of pressure.” //to gaara!
Open Prompts > @beastgale
“It is,” Gaara bluntly responds, ever-conscious of how his sleeves hang several inches past his fingertips.
It had been weeks since he had been thrust into the position of acting Kazekage, pending a Council-approved candidate, and somehow no one had thought to tailor the too-big robes to his size. Understandably so, considering what must be done. Villages to be rebuilt. Treasuries to be filled. Alliances to forge. Consequences to avoid.
Fashion is low on his list of priorities.
Still, Temari had fixed the bottom of his robes, so that its hem would not trail in the dirt. Then Kankurou had gone behind her and sown it properly, so that he at least looked professional meeting with the Sunan Council; then Konoha’s Council. Kiri. Iwa. There are reparations to pay, damage to fix, lives to mourn, and Gaara is all but a child playing dress up in his father’s robes.
Distantly, he sees that he and Lee match, in color if not shape or size. Gaara is still slender and short—traits inherited from his mother—where Lee was built like a warrior.
From a distance, he imagines, their differences are blurred. Maybe they blend into the foliage; maybe they look like leaves. Never mind the villages they hail from; never mind that Rock Lee is of the Hidden Leaves, and Gaara is of the Sand.
If he closes his eyes and squints, they are the same: Two shinobi dedicated to protecting what is precious to them, who are vicious and brutal when the time calls for it, perhaps enjoying the fight a bit too much.
He sees nothing wrong with opening up to himself. A proper leader has no fear of speeches, at any rate.
“There is a old saying among Sunan miners,” Gaara starts, hesitantly. “‘ No pressure, no diamonds. ’ But I am not made of coal. I am no diamond. No man is.”
If he had to pick a metaphor...
“I am a single grain of sand. Only one, among thousands of others, just like me. If I am pressured too much, I crack and split. I only make more sand. My self becomes smaller, not greater...”
“Yet, the desert is made of sand. It is great. It is vast. It is endless. It consumes whole bodies without remorse. It breeds life, as small as it may be. Little gem-eyed bugs, nesting under pebbles, or hummingbirds drinking dew from cacti, or Sunans, scavaging for food and water...”
...and now he’s rambling. Gaara clicks his tongue.
“To be brief: Alone, I am a grain of sand. With allies, I am a desert. And that cannot be crushed.”
