Together, he promised. Together forever.
A delicately vicious creature laid before him, comfortably sprawled out on the wooden operating table. For a hidden sensitivity riddled the beast's features, with a subtle grin that opened to the gentle indifference of the world. Components dripped with a familiar substance, in a slow rhythm, playing a waltz only the puppeteer could hear - stroking the cold fingers of the creation, altogether he saw beauty. An undefinable gorgeousness he saw, that a majority would scoff at. To most, creatures were but monsters that crawled underneath the active imagination of a terrified child, forced to listen to claws scrap across the defenseless flooring, that followed them in human form to adulthood. How childish, he scoffed.
An artistic veteran such as himself knew this a primal interpretation. Primal in every sense of the word - it's diction, understanding, and worst of all, simplicity. 'Insanity' most would call his theory, much to the male's disdain. For such bland interpretations had no place in his glorious kingdom, only occupied by the occasional, repetitive heartbeat.
Turning around, only then did he meet a familiar azure gaze. One that whispered harsh tidings to come ahead, and a longing fear. Looking down at the creation, the message was loud and clear, as it gracefully swayed through the still air.
"I-... Are you ready, sir?"
Upon stroking his newly made puppet form's hand, he smirked. Instead of saying the obvious response, he walked towards the tranquil figure before him, then replied with a stroke to her soft cheek, underlying emotions practically brimming, yet unreadable to the common eye.
Together, he promised. Together forever.
In his head, Sasori listened to the screams of fighting men, occupying the battlefield with deadly intent. As the thought became more vivid, the familiar faces of his comrades began to appear, gaze frightened, but aims ready. Death was inevitable, Sasori knew. But it seemed as if some were oblivious to this readied fact.
Pitiful, he found it. Pitiful that men for all their years of experience were still oblivious to this well-spread thought. Really, it was shameful to the young man's inner artist, which mocked common thought for all it was worth.
"Sasori."
He tried to ignore it, the clash from reality. Clenching his hands tightly together, his mind wavered onto the thought of his future works - for they brought a sense of safe sanctuary to the young puppeteer. A sanctuary unmet with threatening kunai and barbaric screams.
"Sasori..." The almost entirely unfamiliar old woman before him began. "I'm sure you are aware of the current happenings with Sunagakure's recently deceased."
As an act of reassurance, the red-head calmly nodded. Yet those that looked inside his distant brown eyes knew there was but distance between the two, that sprawled out farther than any desert ever could.
"The dead have been... stolen, as you're aware. You are to assist in the investigation to find out who is behind these crimes."
In a moment of curiosity, the apathetic teenager asked, "I assume the police aren't reliable enough?"
Ignoring his retort, the stern Chiyo stated, "We believe that this is no ordinary grave robbery. Certain evidence implies that these crimes have been committed by a... puppeteer. One intending to use the dead to provide 'parts' for his puppets - why is unknown. You have been chosen as a liable candidate for tracking them down."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't." Chiyo firmly reassured, attention remaining on a series of paperwork before her. "Sasori, this is no different than assisting Sunagakure by providing puppets. Assist the village - as you are expected to do. This is becoming more and more of a issue as days pass - it is affecting morale, morals... It's upsetting soldiers and citizens alike. And we need their support more than ever."
The teenager then remained silent, seemingly pondering on his role to Sunagakure society. Such was implied ever-so-slightly in his brown gaze, riddled with thoughts and incomprehensible theories. As enigmatic as ever, Sasori pondered on the job in question.
Sliding a file in his direction, she concludes, "In this file contains whom we believe are suspects. Read over this. Then investigate as you deem necessary."
He rose from the wooden chair in a somewhat quick maneuver, lacking the causality of the normal act, the creaking sounds of the sliding chair only adding to the awkward atmosphere. Walking to the unwelcoming archway, prepared to leave, the timely drop of a pencil interrupts the process.
"... And Sasori?"
"Yes, dear Grandmother?"
"Tread carefully."
In his workshop, dimmed with dying candlelight and unfinished bodies lying about, a masterpiece was on the horizon. For as the sun fell in the day time sky, dedication to his craft was leading to the near completion of a new, glorious creation to amaze the masses - not that he was ever too fond of them. Society as a mass resulted in jumbled opinions, otherwise known as the artist's bane.
A home littered with the incomplete, a distinctive folder stands out like a sore thumb, pulsing in an unwelcome pain. Distracting, distracting was the anomaly to the loner's trained gaze. Lingering in the back of his mind, dreadful instinct controlled the cold teenager as he picked it up, then continued to thoroughly read it, with a tinge of apathy hidden in his frown.
The folder contained the usual information that was to be expected. Facts, information, lists... It was only when a brunette's frozen gaze met his own that he stopped. Brown locks swept to the shoulders of the mysterious figure before him, effortlessly instilling a memory within him. It was a ghost that shivered behind his constantly calculating mind, reminding him of the nostalgia brought by funeral marches, chilled gravestones, and yearning eulogies. An eternal thought that whispered within his ear with a unmatched softness, embracing him with loneliness incarnate.
Closing the file, the ghost whisked away in synchronized timing. The teen threw the closed folder on top of the wooden desk, only proceeding to then lean back in his desk chair, an somewhat uncharacteristically silent moment consuming his form. A hiss is heard as his mind seems to waver back towards the suspect - surely he would hate them. Just looking into her fearful gaze was pathetic to the puppeteer, after all. Cowardly behavior did not fit the role of a impending artist, Sasori concluded.
Pathetic, Sasori decided. Pathetically pitiful.
From then on, the teenager's mind only wavered in a state of childishly active imagination as he faced the future piece for his unique collection - a detailed illustration prevalent on the smooth piece of paper, taking the form of a peculiar puppet. Nonetheless, silent thoughts brought him to face a distant part, in the shape of a arm, surely to be used for this project in question. Realism graced it's features with a swift mastery, distinguishable for it's incomplete perfection. Yes... Yes, it would do quite nicely, Sasori concluded.
Upon doing such, temptation lured him into reading the files yet again. But now was not the time, Sasori noted. Plans were to be made and followed.
After all, he always would tread carefully.