The Bleak Adventures of Puppet Sasori
A/N: Yeah was still having trouble with updating the chapters. School's back in session unfortunately, so I'll try to update every week or so with a new chapter. Last chapter was a dozy to make, this one's gonna be shorter that's for sure.
For all of those confused by Gaara's purpose in the story he's like a demented version of Jiminy Cricket. There will be at least two other characters with the cricket's personality, but none of them last as long as Gaara. He fits Sasori's personality.
Sasori and Chiyo both have a brutal past that will be revealed in due time. I might push our Sasori's escape a couple chapters back. He won't leave Konoha for quite sometime.
Enjoy and I apologize for the inconvenience of my delay in updating.
Insomniac: Can't you just imagine raccoon Gaara in a very cute chibified form despite his insanity?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything really. Every sentence I've ever wrote has been written by someone before, but it's still fun to write, non??
Chapter Four –
The bustling market place was absolutely flowing with such strange commodities – merchants haggling over prices, women shoving one another for the latest garments, children playing silly games in the streets, men thrusting swords down their throats – all of these events were overlooked by visitors as something of the norm.
A nervous child clung desperately to the hem of his grandmother's robe. There was something disquieting about the crowd, something that young Sasori apprehended, "Nana?" the Marionette whispered, making sure his wooden limbs were hidden underneath his attire, "There are so many people here."
Chiyo nodded impatiently, one hand palming her coins protectively, knowing the desolate street-rats would not pass an opportunity to pocket an old woman. "Yes child. Konoha is one of the most proliferate villages in the Fire Nation. It was once not like this, of course." A quizzical expression appeared plastered across the Marionette's face. 'Fire Nation?' He inquired to himself, storing this latent discovery for further use. His new pet had failed to mention any information on the country of his sire.
"This could pose a dilemma in my most arborous of plans," the child-like doll whispered harshly, clenching the palms of his hands. The tanuki gulped, anxiety heaping at his master's notable change in mood. It could only mean that bodily harm was on its way if the raccoon couldn't quickly please his Master Puppet.
The Old Lady, a hag in the puppet's perspective, had not detected any sudden changes in her grandson's disposition.
Gaara, like his owner, cared little for the rotting flesh, but knew that his master had something in mind for her demise. He snorted, remaining hidden beneath Sasori's red and black coat. The raccoon could hardly wait for blood to spill.
"How do melons sound to you Sasori?" The aged-puppeteer asked, lifting a large yellow fruit for her grandson to see. The Marionette twitched, curiously pondering why the old cow was asking him of all people if melons would be good to eat. She really was going senile. However Chiyo misinterpreted Sasori's aggravated expression as a sign of discomfort.
"Is something the matter, beloved grandchild?" the old woman remarked, handing the melon to a merchant.
A stark retort was about to escape the wooden child's lips when he gazed at a most frightening robed-man speaking with an elder figure that seized some sort of authority within the village. The dark haired man held a gaze of loathing and distrust, eyes darting suspiciously towards the civilians in the market place. Dark eyes that soundlessly spoke of horrors – little terrors that Sasori felt.
This rush of emotion, feelings if you will, caused the apprehensive Marionette to shiver. His pet glanced peculiarly at his master from under the coat, unfamiliar with the puppet's bizarre behavior. Nonetheless, loyal Gaara whispered sweet nothings like his mother often did to appease him in a moment of crisis. Tales of violent deaths and fleeting lives always comforted the young tanuki.
'Their leader' the furry monster had remarked to his master, 'was a heart-loving fool. The Almighty Baboon, they had taunted in the streets of Suna while I was a cub.'
Yet still Gaara's reassurance did not calm Sasori from his inner turmoil. This man ahead of him, talking politely with the village leader, understood the secrets of Konoha's past. His hatred for the village was so apparent that Sasori could not help but feel the air choking around him.
"Nana." The doll muttered uncertainly, less confident with the angst he felt while regarding the strange man, "I'm scared. Who is that strange man next to the Hokage?"
Chiyo turned to her little Marionette, "How do you know of the Hokage?" A head peered from the back of her grandson's coat, maddening green eyes cursing her observance and whispering tales of sweet bloodshed in Sasori's ear.
The old lady sighed; apparently her doll's pet has proved by far to be the worst nuisance of all. "Never mind. The man is our former Kazekage. He was among the hundreds that flocked from the village of Suna to Konoha. A foreigner that became one of the strongest and loyalist allies to this community."
Interest peaked in Sasori's eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what she was telling him was the truth – as if he had somehow already known this fact. It discomfited the puppet greatly.
"You speak of those strangers fondly. Were you from Suna, Nana?" the mischievous Sasori asked, leaning closer to his grandmother. Subconsciously he led his nearly-dead cow into a quiet alleyway, where their discussion could not be eavesdropped by passing villagers. He would not want them to think any less of his grandmother Chiyo.
"My entire family was from the desert." The elder admitted, her mind drifting away to a time where things were peaceful and the sand was a nation of glory. It is interesting how much can change in a lifetime. Chiyo could not help but be reminded that her time would soon be up in this world, and all she had left behind would be a wooden puppet masquerading as her grandson.
"Sasori," the mistress of poison called, glancing at the estranged expression on her grandson's face. His fingers dug deeply, revulsion gleaming in his eyes. Oh how it was close, so close, the hag wouldn't know what hit her now. Concerned with his unsociable attitude, Chiyo glanced at the child, "you're gripping my arm too tightly. There much better. Sasori? Sasori! What are you-?"
Her grandchild stilled his grandmother with invisible threads, then came up to her and embraced her.
Chiyo's eyes widened, the wrinkles on her face never before were this pronounced. She staggered away from the wooden child, avoiding the mocking manifestation of hurt on her doll's visage.
Metallic wings stabbed her in the back, injecting lucrative toxins into her body. Slow chemicals that if left untreated would kill her within a number of hours.
Those new appendages flew from the spine of her puppet grandchild, coated in thick red blood. Her blood. A tiny raccoon manically laughed at her misfortune, pulsing orbs desiring the taste of its master's kill. Except she wasn't quite dead yet.
Sasori snarled, careful not to decapitate his affectionate pet who had been lapping the blood from his wings, "Like the new addition? Had plenty of time to fix myself up at that pathetic hut."
"Karma's a bitch old bag! Don't go and pretend that you don't deserve this," the child accused. Chiyo, feeling for the Marionette's lifeline, paused to admire the stupidity of her doll. She would have to readjust some of its clockwork this time, she couldn't afford another mistake.
"Stupid grandchild. You think your poisons can stop me?"
"Honestly? No. But it'll be fun to watch." The child-like toy sat a top of a wooden carton, admiring the art he had accomplished. The tanuki snuggled into her grandson's chin, pleased with its master's work. It then trained its blood lust eyes in her direction. Chiyo knew she had limited time.
With one solid motion she lifted one hand into a pocked in her robe and pulled out a vial. She drank its contents and tossed the remnants against the alley way wall. Sasori tilted his head, curiosity getting the best of him "What are you doing?" he said unable to pry his eyes from the sight. The Marionette motioned forward, and then froze. His hatred for the mortal woman soared to new levels, "You think these strings can hold me."
"You think that with these bloody strings you can control me again? That I would be held a prisoner of my own body? That you can stop me?" he barked, motioning for his pet to flee.
She did not respond. Instead, the elder puppeteer gripped her grandson by his neck and lifted him. She watched emotionlessly as the doll struggled for breath, invisible threads now also cutting any mode of circulation. Perfect.
"I can not stop you. But if you struggle your limbs will tear from your body." She warned, hesitant to break the beautiful body of her departed grandson.
Sasori's eyes narrowed, "Foolish mortal cow. Shows how stupid you truly are. I'm merely a puppet. I can't feel."
"But you can, Nana."
A brown beast leaped up into the air, surrounded by a sphere of red sand. Madness, the thirst of blood, assumed. It took everything in the old lady of Suna not to scream. Then there was darkness.
Puppet Sasori, with a semi-unconscious raccoon at hand, ran from his buried grandmother. He almost sacrificed his pet in his desire for revenge, the fleeting emotion of guilt still present in his cold wooden heart. Now he feared that all would be in vain. The old bat was always so temperamental. It would only take minutes for her to dig herself out that sand. He needed aid from an outsider.
Officer Shiranui Genma enjoyed an uneventful stroll within the hidden village of the leaf. The young man with straw colored hair watched the peddlers on the streets, a hint of bemusement dancing in his murky black eyes.
Alas as all tranquil evenings, they just had to end rather abruptly.
A hand reached out to his dark green vest, pulling the officer from his peaceful mindset. A little child of deep red hair gazed at his with fearful beady eyes. He wore an oddly assorted black cloak with painted red clouds. On the boy's shoulder was a lump, where a tiny furry creature peered through its aquamarine orbs.
Remarkably, the hand tugging felt excessively hard – not like the soft nimble fingers of the common snot-nosed brat.
However another frantic gesture halted the officer's musings as the boy cried louder, "Help me mister! You have to help me!" The howl of distress dragged unwanted attention from the crowd. Officer Genma bent down to the child's eye level, asserting the bizarre boy's condition.
"What is wrong child? Is something the matter?"
"Get that wicked little boy!" shouted a hoarse voice from the crowd. An old woman pushed aside the throng of bodies, knocking over a street vendor in the process.
"Old Lady Chiyo?" Genma pondered aloud, wondering if he had correctly identified the old crone. It wasn't a mystery to any of the citizens of Konoha that the Sand Elders drew power from the madness of their minds. The officer of the leaf sighed, irritated by the sudden disturbance of this once peaceful evening. 'Just another mild day with the intervention of the Sand' the official thought, taking the initiative of this sensitive subject by removing his much favored stick from the caverns of his mouth.
A bored gaze met the shrieking senile woman, "What're you wailing about this time?"
A hotly glare met his. There was something peculiar about the old woman this evening, Genma observed taking note of her rather heaved breaths. The ancient bat never appeared tired, no matter what excruciating activity she has undergone.
"That troublesome brat is my grandson." Old Chiyo spat, pointing at the clinging child hidden behind his leg.
The officer quirked a brow, eyes shifting from the frightened child to the enraged elder. Genma smirked, "Really? The resemblance is uncanny."
Whispers grew from the gathered mass, cynical responses and half-hearted inquiries arose. The petty villagers of Konoha never overlooked an opportunity to gossip.
"Look. Is that the hermit Chiyo? What's she doing outside of her hut?"
"My God did you see the state of that boy? The old crony probably beats him."
"Is that true? Does she hurt you child?" Genma asked, eyes narrowing at the sight of the old crone. He didn't trust the old bag any further than he could throw her.
The child's eyes adverted to the ground. He gulped, shaking beneath the officer's intense gaze, "Says I deserve what ever I get."
By this point, Officer Genma had enough bullshit. He couldn't understand why any sane person could beat a defenseless child. He regarded his partner, a newly appointed captain of the leaf, and commanded "Captain Yamato, escort Old Lady Chiyo to Ibiki's chamber please. I hate adults that beat their children."
"What!" the old bag shrilled, exclaiming her audible protests as she was dragged by the bored captain. She smacked the other in the face, attempting to escape her sentenced fate, "You can't do this to me. Unhand me you fiend!"
"Ma'am," Yamato forcibly demanded, tightening his grip on the old Suna poison ninja, "If you cause any further delays I will have to sedate you."
Around noontime the crowd dispersed, leaving the previously frantic boy alone to his own sickening thoughts. The wooden Marionette smiled in wonder, disbelief settling in as to how easy it was to trick the flesh-walkers. Sasori felt a shift in his coat, the rhythmic cackling of that crazed tanuki bringing him back to reality.
"That show was beautiful my Master," Gaara applauded with admiration, nuzzling his master's chin in adoration. His love for his master could only intensify with every act of brutality. Even mother praised the puppet's performance, though reprimanded him for allowing their body to be in such a state of weariness.
Sasori cheekily smiled, walking away from the busy streets of Konoha. No need to extinguish any other suspicious bystanders. "An award-winning performance I must say. Difficult thing will be to put myself back together again," the puppet commented, indicating the broken metallic wings his grandmother disposed of in the battle with the sand. A flitting thought caused a bolt of laughter to surge in Sasori's body, "It will hurt."
Gaara looked up at his master quizzically, a single tail twitching in confusion, "I don't understand. I thought you couldn't feel."
"I can't." The doll's grin spread across his face.
"Then?"
"Just a little joke."
The small raccoon shook his head, pity eminent in his glance. Gaara sorely wished that his master could feel the twinge of excitement at the sight of pain in others. Mother agreed that this would make his master far more attractive, covered in blood, with a gleam of madness in his eyes.
Not that cold look, the serious expression -not even realizing what exactly he was doing. To the little beast, Sasori appeared to be playing a game when he hurt others.
"You're missing out Master." The raccoon attempted to elaborate, "Pain tells the body that we're alive."
Sasori chuckled, "Not mine. Never my pain."
And so our story, for a brief incurable moment, drifts away from the wooden Marionette and his talking raccoon and to two inquiring officers held stationary within the contrabands of town.
Now once more another tale begins …
Previously captivated by the oddly colorful child, officials Genma and Yamato stood dutifully beside a prison cell, ignoring the shrieks of the captive wrongdoers in the Uchiha Police Force's domain. At times Genma believed that the proud brothers of the legendary Sharingan were as vile and savage as the sand warriors of Suna, particularly with their effective measurements deliberated on the inhabitants of this holding ground.
In all reality the Uchiha Headquarters was Ibiki's paradise. Only a true sadist could love a land such as this.
Yamato, carefully shielding his mouth guard tighter as to not vomit the content of his lunch, examined silent companion. Officer Genma sighed in exasperation, not used to such an awkward incident between him and his comrade. The straw-color haired man chewed gingerly on the senbon-like stick, "Who do you think that was Captain?"
Neither of the men needed to distinguish the topic of very musings. Both had been undoubtedly pondering the old bag's words and the red-headed boy's remarkable resemblance to a once thought dead being.
Shiranui unconsciously bit his lip, "That child with the poison master, do you think Chiyo would do such a horrific thing again?"
The captain prevented the shudder from sending shivers down his spine as he was reminded once more of the abominations created by the elderly woman. He did not want to be reduced to the state of a genin warrior in the face of his calm partner.
Yamato chose his word's carefully, as always. "I am uncertain Genma." He muttered, zoning out the louder shrills from just down the hall. He, like every other member of the police force, hated the pompous Uchiha clan. Captain Yamato paused for a moment to rethink his decision, "Maybe we should mention this to the Hokage."
Officer Genma nodded, aware of that predicament eons ago. His partner had not relieved any of his concerns whatsoever.
"That woman is as cold as ice, I dare say." Genma noted, crunching the end of stick. "Not even Ibiki can crack her."
On a lighter note, what many including his partner Yamato failed to realize was that the secret of this officer's career was held within the mandible of his jaw. The innocent little stick clenched between the leaf warrior's mouth was actually a weapon – a senbon as noted previously. Of course, Genma did not go about advertising his little weakness.
Captain Yamato, remnant of the first founder of the village of the leaf, remembered the delicacy of the body. Bones and organs were so easy to break. He could still as a child recall the black screams from the forest surrounding the old hermit's cottage.
"She and her brother have caused so much suffering in the Fire Nation." Yamato emphasized, "What is worse becomes apparent now that her grandson has reappeared."
"Then you believe her claims? That the boy is of the undead?"
"Without a doubt."
The two men remained oddly subdued at this awareness; however the officers spontaneously decided to keep their revelation a secret. Nothing good, both silently agreed, could come about with the knowledge of the dead walking among them.
Silence would keep this town under the strings of the puppet.
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