Marionette
A Microfic by Sarehptar
Sometimes, he wondered how much free will he had left. It couldn't be much, to be truthful. When was the last time he'd chosen what time to be woken up? When was the last time he'd chosen what to eat for breakfast, what to wear, what to do with the day? When was the last time he opened his eyes and seen fresh, unassuming sunlight?
"You're late." The voice that greeted him gruffly was one he could pinpoint instantly, no matter how dark their surroundings. Who else had a cold voice that wanted so very much to be warm? Sasori-danna always sounded like that: half-dead, slow, like sand in a snowstorm. "There's a new mission." His pale blue eyes adjusted to the inky light slowly, bringing the fragile form of his partner almost into view. The scorpion's alabaster eyelids glared half-lidded at him, in an expression all too familiar.
"Where to, un?" And the emptiness in his own voice sent a shiver down his spine. When had he become this weak person? When had he adjusted to servitude in the stilt of an S-ranked refuge?
"Iwagakure." Only the word was new; everything else he could describe with closed eyes. Even the chipped cup, the wisps of steam, the glint of his partner's scarlet strands in the darkness... Even the chilling lack of interest in their voices was routine. Iwagakure. This was new. This place... His own home. Why did the thought of going there not illicit even the tiniest spark of life? It simply didn't matter. Missions never did. Go, succeed, come back. Go again. Lately even seeing his art in action had failed to break the monotony.
What had he done before Akatsuki? Nothing. Or maybe something that didn't matter anymore. Living, after all, was insignificant beside the goal. What goal? He'd forgotten their aims more often then they bothered to remind him. What would happen if he asked one day, seriously, what they were all here for? A wry laugh bubbled free, and Sasori did not blink. A testament then, to how often they had acted out this same scene. Even the laugh was choreographed, timed perfectly to match all the other mornings that had come before.
The scorpion sipped his tea, much like a sage, only lacking the enlightment that days in darkness could not provide. The sound was the same as it had been last week, when they had been preparing for a mission in Rice country. Damn it! He'd give anything to change the motions, even the tiniest... But Sasori stood and swept the straw hat onto his head. Like a taller mirror, Deidara echoed his partner's movement, subconciously; thoughtlessly. His body knew every step, every uneven stone... How? What if he decided suddenly to put his foot in a new place, a different place?
He kept walking in the footprints he had made weeks eariler.
It wouldn't always be like this. There was, for all it's monochrome appearance, a pattern to his existence. Days, weeks, months of unedited, unchanging routine--and then a flash, a spark of something. A single loss could send them reeling; could put his feet in places there had never been footprints before... He stiffled quickly the tiny hope that their mission in Iwagakure would be a failure.
Whose fault was this? Who had told him to fall in rank; to sigh at the exact same minute every day? Not Rei, not anyone he knew... Was greyscale life a part of seeking power? Mission, rest, mission, mission, rest. He had relinquished his free will for the greater good. (Good being a fairly inaccurate word.) The sun stung the way it always did, not refreshing, not warming. Cold almost, not able to lighten the threads of the cloak he wore everyday. He followed the same path they always followed, the same number of inches he always stood from Sasori.
The ivory hands of his partner rolled Hiruko's scroll tightly, quickly, with a skill crafted from repetitive application. For a moment Deidara paused, only a moment, cobalt eyes imagining the puppet trapped within. Odd, wasn't it, to feel sympathetic for a dead thing? But he could feel it none the less, a little spark of empathy. He knew the feeling of strings around the wrist; knew the grey hopelessness of losing control. He knew the desperation that roiled behind the happy eyes of someone bound and bounced about by an unimaginative owner.
He kept walking in the footprints he'd made weeks eariler.
Life is a careless puppeteer.
Author's Notes: Deidara is bad for my health. He makes me depressed. I have no clue why. He's always happy, but it doesn't seem like he should be. Oh well. This is one of the drabbles that bother me; too psychological. I'll probably change it up someday. Next drabble: something totally genki and artsy, I promise.
To Rikou Suiyou: Serious, are you? Eh... I don't know, I just don't feel much up to tossing Itachi and Deidara into the same room. Deidara'd get massacred in about three minutes. Maybe I'll torture Itachi a bit. Nothing like Deidara to grind on stoic nerves. Haha... (Evilly Fun Idea) Why not? That'd qualify as "genki", wouldn't it?