Hey, hey, yeah, Pirate on Wheels, I'm so awesome and all that jazz. Wooh! Yeah, come on, I can write anything, even Kankuro V. toaster and still make it believe-it-bly awesome. I welcome your challenges. The P.o.W.
I don't own Naruto. For a complete list of things I don't own, see a dictionary.
Kankuro vs. a Toaster
They will battle in a battle where there can be no winner.
Who will win?
Kankuro was lying in bed, wearing a white pajama version of his kabuki-cat suit attire, curled up in fetal position. Perhaps it was his subconscious fear of Gaara's raccoon that caused him to sleep that way, or maybe it was a habit he got from always hiding in his puppets bandages. Or perhaps, just maybe, it was because underneath his pudgy sadistic exterior, laid the heart of a child who still played with dolls, and never quite grew up.
In any case such thoughts that would be apparent to any onlooker were not to be found in his head. In his awakening stupor, the puppeteer had to deal with the most fundamentally important questions that any street bum must ask himself in the morning.
His head pounded as his mind stirred,
"Where am I?
What am I doing here?
Where's my puppet?"
It had been two days since the sand three had gotten back from the forest of death, and the answers came slowly, like all of his thoughts.
"O.k.
Am I home?" He half-heartedly opened one eye. "Nope, not enough sand." He thought.
"The forest…no, not enough trees."
"Ok, I was in a forest looking for a scroll…and Gaara killed some guys." That didn't narrow it down by much.
"We waited in an empty building…then… the qualifiers." Kankuro began to smirk.
"How easy those were. I broke stretch-arm-strong with my puppet, Temari hurt a little girl, and Gaara crushed the eyebrows guy. Yeah, that was cool… That leaves me back at the apartment."
The mission was a success. Kankuro had found where and when he was.
He unfurled from his ball of safety and stared dreamily up at the ceiling.
"What should I do today?" He pondered the possibilities,
"I think I'll work on Karasu."
"Give him more weapons. You never can have too many weapons you know.
Ahh…I think I'll put knives in his arms. All four, no, six of them. I'll get the wood from the coffee table.
And daggers in his legs.
No…swords.
Dipped in poison.
In his arms and legs.
And his head.
And I'll make kunai shoot out of his mouth. Also poison.
Ooh! I'll make 'em all come apart and fly around shoot blades and poison and…"
At that moment a knock on the door shocked him back to reality.
THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!
"Hey Kankuro!" a women shouted, "We've got a job for you!"
Kankuro searched the room for his doll, grumbled, and activated his chakra strings. He then proceeded to make Karasu open the door. It was Temari, the only blonde in a family of brunettes and redheads.
The blonde found herself face-to-face with a poison puppet.
"What is it Temari?" As Kankuro spoke, the dolls mouth moved up and down like a broken sliding block puzzle.
"As a member of this household, this team, and this family, you have obligations." She started.
"Tell me about it. I have to get woken up by you every morning!" the puppet jabbered.
"I'm serious here, you need to get up and get out of your sleeping cat suit, and into your…" She stammered for a moment, "ahh other cat suit, and…and…"
She broke off and gazed awkwardly forward, only to be met with the gaze of an expressionless block of wood.
"And what?" it clacked.
And with that, the femme fatale erupted in a manner not unlike Tsunade before 2 p.m. on a Sunday.
"Grauhhhh!!!!" she punched the stand in and sent the wood-chuck across the ill-kempt room and into her sand shield-less brother. "Auugh!" he cried as he tried to brace himself before the impact.
"You get up and get dressed and then you walk out here and do your chores!" Emphasizing every verb in her sentence like a parent would to a child. With that she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her, and leaving Kankuro fumbling to rid himself of his multi-armed puppet, which at this point looked more like a drunken molester than a tactical killbot.
"Sh, she's worse than Gaara." he stammered.
A few minutes later Kankuro emerged, puppet in hand, from his room in relatively normal, but slightly shaken sense, to find Temari sweeping the living room in a white apron, and Gaara on the couch projecting his murderous intent onto who knows what.
Kankuro watched Temari try to sweep the dirt pile she had collected into a dustpan. He seemed less than anxious to speak with her while she was busy, and thusly directed his attention toward his more gourded sibling
"Hey Gaara, good morning. You enjoying your time off?"
Gaara continued his ominous look toward nowhere and began to speak in a slow guttural tone, "I only feel good when I prove my existence. Killing; is the only thing I enjoy…" Kankuro paused to survey the room. Gaara was getting ticked, but Temari was busy fighting to rid the floor of that one line of dirt that can never seem to be swept up, all the while the vain on her forehead increasing in size.
"They're all crazy murderers and I need to speak to one of them." Unpleasant thoughts rushed through his head, "I'm going to die before the mission ever gets going." He had to choose, a definite quick sandy death after a short amount of pleading, or a moderately long more immediate pain intensive fate with a slim chance of living. Something had to give.
"Kamitachi no jutsu!" Temari swung her fan, equally dispersing the line of dirt amongst every inch of the room. "There!" A sense of satisfaction rang in her voice, "And with only minimal damage to the furniture. Hee hee!" She folded her fan and cracked a smile. Kankuro took this opportunity to escape from Gaara. "Later Gaara!" Kankuro didn't wait for a reply, he was already walking toward freedom. Gaara never broke his icy gaze from the empty space in front of him. "Get in my way and I'll kill you."
Kankuro rushed toward his sister while counting his blessings. He'd already made it to 9:00 without using up any of his nine lives, and if he made it to her before her smile faded, he might well see 10.
"Hey Temari, good morning!" He used the same tone and greeting as he did with Gaara, but in the hopes of a better result. "You enjoying your time off?" It was to no avail. "What time off? I have to spend all my picking up your toys and sweeping up Gaaras' sand. Now Gaara's the youngest, but…" "They're not toys!" Kankuro huffed. "They're weapons. How would you like it if I said your fan was a just a, a…toy, fan, thingy, for cooling off. At that moment, Temari wished that she didn't share 50 of her heritage with the linguistically inept three year old dough-kitty standing before her. Kankuro wished that she had an easier weapon to make fun of, like nun chucks, or a stick with a rusty nail sticking out of it.
"You're pitiful." She stated with a ring of boredom, and a tinge of disgust. Kankuro thought fast, with all the speed of warm molasses.
"Fan-girl!" His words reverberated in the air.
Temaris' expression changed from boredom, to shock. Then from hurt to rage. In the updraft that was the puppet masters mind, he managed to join the two words that could conceivably be joined together to form a coherent, relevant insult; and with devastating results. Perhaps it was because the turnaround was so quick, or perhaps it was because the phrase was so undeniably factually true, or perhaps, just maybe, it was because it was Kankuro, the boy who played with dolls, the one who wore make-up, and the brother that loved cat hats; had been the one who struck that sensitive nerve no-one had yet to un-earth. Retribution was swift. The wounded konoichi pulled her fan from its holster sash and cracked it on the ground next to her right foot, and began in a forcefully slow manner,
"How about we find out who has the toy, and who has a true shinobis weapon?"
A wide grin broke across her face as she contemplated the ways he would suffer.
"After all, we're not all necessary to complete this mission."
Kankuro loved a good fight. A fight where he was in control…in a nice dark area…filled with lots of hidy-holes…against an inexperienced mid-ranged genin. Ino came to mind. But his opponent, no matter how blonde, was no Ino. His sister excelled in long ranged fighting, and in these closed quarters, even her basic fan-based taijutsu could easily break his un-toned body. In fact, most of his attacks were poison based, and in best case scenario, he poisons her and himself simultaneously. Temari had no such fears. She wouldn't hesitate to destroy this apartment just to see him suffer; after all, she didn't even hesitate to use ninjutsu on a line of dust. Kankuros' lonely life of tea parties and woodshop flashed before his eyes. He needed an out before he was.
"Uhh, what was it you wanted me to do when you came into my room?" He presented the question like a poor worker coming back from a smoke break, but succeeded in throwing off the femme fatales train of pain.
"Oh yes, I almost forgot." Sounding suddenly chipper, "
Gaara broke the toaster this morning and I needed you to fix it."
FlashBack
Gaara stood before the toaster awaiting his breakfast as Temari set the table. His murderous intent growing more evident with each passing moment.
"Give me my toast or I'll kill you…"
"Gaara", his fan-atical sister cut in, "threats won't do any good."
He responded in a sly manner.
"I see…" He stood patiently for another few seconds.
"…"
"Desert Coffin!"
"Gaara no!" Temari cried. Within a few seconds the entire kitchen was filled with a sandy explosion.
"That was our only toaster." Temari sat despondent on the kitchen floor, holding the remnants of their family's breakfast food cooker. Gaara walked away slowly.
"So. Have Kankuro fix it."
How bout that? What do you think? Will Kankuro pull it off? Can Kankuro pull it off? Don't miss all the puppet walking action, on the next episode of K. v. T.! But seriously, I'm expeirementing with different writing styles, this is just practice. If you have any suggestions for this, another project, or especially critiques on my writing, that'd be awesome. Not that it isn't awesome already, but it can always be awesome in a different way, an ever so slightly more awesome way.
The thoughtful thought for the day:
I know I can dance if want to, but if my friends do dance, must I still leave them behind?