Finishing up the night with this; it's Sasori's time to shine (or not)!
Disclaimer: I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"
xxxi — devious II
"…my hand slipped."
Kagome contemplated him as though he were something strange, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "That sounds a little too familiar… And why do I find it hard to believe you, Sasori?"
Tiny, multiplying pinpricks of red marred the image of the Kagome before him, but Sasori chose to dismiss the minor nuisance.
"What I meant to say was—my chakra strings," he bit out, a bizarre numbness creeping up his legs. "T-tangled… th-they got tangled."
"Are you stuttering?" Kagome enunciated with pure skepticism, disregarding his poor excuse as to why he was currently extending a bloodied hand towards her.
His body began freezing up, and a telltale chill wormed its way down his spine, the symptoms eerily similar to when he had had a drink of Chiyo's potent—
…oh, shit.
It was then that Sasori realized, something had gone wrong in his impeccable plan.
(He had used the wrong kunai on himself—the one, among many others, that had been pre-marinated in his trademark poison.)
"H-h-hurry," he hissed, breaking out in cold sweat.
"S-Sasori, you look really pale right now," Kagome pointed out as the beginnings of panic set in on the both of them.
"Hurry!"
"Hurry what?" demanded the girl, spreading her arms out like wings in exasperation. "I'm no medic-nin, you need to tell me what it is you need right now!"
It'll all have been for nothing! the young redheaded shinobi swore in his aggravated mind.
"K-k-i—"
"Sasori!"
"—iss…!"
Sasori fell down in a ruined heap to the kitchen floor, twitching, and in the most mortifying position of his life.
Dancing anxiously above him, Kagome gripped hard onto the butcher knife in her grasp and shrieked, "Chiyo obaa-sama!"
.
.
.
Damn you to hell, Yashamaru…
He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt.
—Joseph Heller
Author's Note: Can't blame him for trying! ;)