Naruto Fic: Discarded Dreams
Title: Discarded Dreams
Setting: Circa eps. 127-128
Rating: G
Characters: Orochimaru
Word count: 498
Spoilers: Yes, for the series and the manga.
The room was dimly lit. The soft sound of flickering candles, always present, like a lullaby, a sinister hum that floated all over this subterranean base he'd made his lair. Shadows were cast on the walls by the tiny dancing flames, always threatening to become extinct, to end the limbo and allow the room to be devoured by darkness. The scent of wax everywhere, smoke rising, making wraith like figures in the air. In the darkness, the smoke was a vague gray, almost white, matching the color of this host body.
It wasn't the body he'd chosen. It was simply the body of a man who'd survived long enough to be acceptable as a container. Acceptable, but not perfect.
The body he'd desired for years, the boy with the powerful bloodline limit, with the strongest bone structure: he'd been his dream container. He'd been perfect, and now it was all ruined. His prized vessel had become weak, corrupted, tainted, by a virus not even Kabuto had managed to cure. It was a pity, really.
Thinking about it made Orochimaru's hair stand on end, and the shards of ice inside his chest - where his heart should have been - seemed to shift slightly, like broken glass in a shallow container. But they didn't shift enough to hurt, and if they did, his cold and calculating mind had been strong enough to push any discomfort away.
If the snake sannin had ever learned to mourn, he might have. If he'd been capable of shedding tears, he might have wept. But neither was possible. Clinging to memories of times past was a weakness, useless sentimentalism he couldn't afford. Ordinary feelings, ordinary things. Not room for any of it, when his mind was set on greatness: gaining all, unveiling the secrets of the world, achieving his dream.
Kimimaro was dead and no longer a part of the dream. There was no point in dwelling on it.
He'd found another key, a new precious piece to play his game, and he was already on his way.
His fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of the wooden chair, watching the candles' endless dance. He was covered in bandages once again, though this time it wasn't only his arms. His torso was covered, his legs, and even most of his face, wrapped in clean dressings, only one yellow eye visible. Kabuto had done a nice job patching him up.
And where the hell was Kabuto now? He'd left the room momentarily, and the silence was getting on Orochimaru's nerves. Waiting was also getting on his nerves. With Kimimaro gone, it was possible Sasuke would encounter other unwelcome delays, and the thought made the sannin frown under his bandages, his single visible eye narrowing on a random spot on the wall, where the candles didn't manage to illuminate and darkness had begun to spread.
"Sasuke-kun," he whispered, the single name holding a special mystery as it escaped his lips. "Sasuke-kun."
5/26/2005
Setting: Circa eps. 127-128
Rating: G
Characters: Orochimaru
Word count: 498
Spoilers: Yes, for the series and the manga.
The room was dimly lit. The soft sound of flickering candles, always present, like a lullaby, a sinister hum that floated all over this subterranean base he'd made his lair. Shadows were cast on the walls by the tiny dancing flames, always threatening to become extinct, to end the limbo and allow the room to be devoured by darkness. The scent of wax everywhere, smoke rising, making wraith like figures in the air. In the darkness, the smoke was a vague gray, almost white, matching the color of this host body.
It wasn't the body he'd chosen. It was simply the body of a man who'd survived long enough to be acceptable as a container. Acceptable, but not perfect.
The body he'd desired for years, the boy with the powerful bloodline limit, with the strongest bone structure: he'd been his dream container. He'd been perfect, and now it was all ruined. His prized vessel had become weak, corrupted, tainted, by a virus not even Kabuto had managed to cure. It was a pity, really.
Thinking about it made Orochimaru's hair stand on end, and the shards of ice inside his chest - where his heart should have been - seemed to shift slightly, like broken glass in a shallow container. But they didn't shift enough to hurt, and if they did, his cold and calculating mind had been strong enough to push any discomfort away.
If the snake sannin had ever learned to mourn, he might have. If he'd been capable of shedding tears, he might have wept. But neither was possible. Clinging to memories of times past was a weakness, useless sentimentalism he couldn't afford. Ordinary feelings, ordinary things. Not room for any of it, when his mind was set on greatness: gaining all, unveiling the secrets of the world, achieving his dream.
Kimimaro was dead and no longer a part of the dream. There was no point in dwelling on it.
He'd found another key, a new precious piece to play his game, and he was already on his way.
His fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of the wooden chair, watching the candles' endless dance. He was covered in bandages once again, though this time it wasn't only his arms. His torso was covered, his legs, and even most of his face, wrapped in clean dressings, only one yellow eye visible. Kabuto had done a nice job patching him up.
And where the hell was Kabuto now? He'd left the room momentarily, and the silence was getting on Orochimaru's nerves. Waiting was also getting on his nerves. With Kimimaro gone, it was possible Sasuke would encounter other unwelcome delays, and the thought made the sannin frown under his bandages, his single visible eye narrowing on a random spot on the wall, where the candles didn't manage to illuminate and darkness had begun to spread.
"Sasuke-kun," he whispered, the single name holding a special mystery as it escaped his lips. "Sasuke-kun."
5/26/2005