(Untitled)

[crooked_tongue]

What: Kidnapping, a failed retrieving and the madman behind it all
Who: Kankurou, Gaara and Sasori
When: This evening
Where: The streets
Rating: PG-13~R for violence, possible drug reference and language
Open/Closed To: Gaara, Kankurou and Sasori

Comments

[dexterous_fake]

The butt of Sasori's knife handle struck Kankuro's jaw, causing him to jerk away to deafen the blow. He struggled to break away, finding Sasori's blade now against his face with another attack that sliced the pale flesh of Kankuro's cheek. The mark slid down his jaw, Kankuro breathing heavily to try and avoid a deeper cut. He knew how Sasori used his knives. The wound burned, a fire burning inside as the blood dripped down his face and neck.

He could feel his temper raging, and he growled as the redhead spoke, those deadly words hitting his ears.

He was nothing like his father, he repeated in his head. He was bigger, stronger and he refused to fall down. Not now. Not now. Somewhere inside Kankuro had an admirable side. Where Sasori was vicious, Kankuro was humane, it was what set him apart from going completely crazy. Kankuro would never be completely alright, and he'd forever have his father's ghost haunt him in more ways than one, but that side of his mother's was what made him compassionate even if it was buried under all the hurt, anger and rage that he built around himself to appear strong. It's what came through in his eyes, and a reminder that Kankuro would never be as delusional as Sasori wanted him.

With growl of determination he broke his hands free from Sasori's grasp, turning around to thrash his weapon around and dig into the other's face. Compensation. He grinned, eyes wide with anticipation.

"That's why your ass'll will burn one day." Grin. "Put you in that electric chair and watch you go poof," he said with that inane giggle. Twirling his knife around in his hand, he waited for another attack. He was ready. He had to be. None of it mattered as long as he could get Gaara back.

"You let him go when I beat your ass to the ground." Kankuro would get this bitch in jail, keep his badge and save his brother. That was his plan. He couldn't let Sasori best him---even if the other's words were starting to sink in. Reguardless Kankuro had to appear in control. It wasn't worth it if he didn't.

[crooked_tongue]

Sasori didn't even lift his hand to check on the cut on his cheek. He knew he was cut. He didn't need confirmation to justify the liquid drooling down his face. Cracking his neck from side to side, he rolled his shoulders and smirked.

Like he liked what he was hearing.

Sasori's tale of the abyss, about his grandmother, it wasn't true. His view of her was distorted because she had forcibly committed him no less than three times to the same institution. He always worked his way out, a few months, a few years went by and he was right back where he had started. He hated it.

The redhead honestly couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been the way he was. Maybe his parents' death had sent him over the edge, the psychiatrists reasoned, maybe the grief had been too much and the boy had escaped himself by going into himself, by shutting down his empathy. But you didn't get a diagnosis of sociopath by pushing kids into sandboxes. You got it by being ruthless, by being more than what man was made to be.

And that was what Sasori viewed himself as: manmade inhuman compound. He had no rules. He had no judge. He escaped justice, one way or another, every time, because the world was too weak to judge him. That was what set him apart. Because he truly believed himself to be untouchable. No one could get him into a cage. Not Aizen. Not the police. Not his grandmother. Not his doctors. And especially not Kankurou.

"Do you really think," he said, softly, "that any jail cell in the world can hold me? Do you honestly and truly believe that locking me up will keep me behind bars? You have nothing. Nothing to confirm your diagnosis. Nothing. No proof. No pictures, no proof, not even a judge to hear your case, and you surely cannot find a lawyer brave enough to stand against my influence."

Sasori tilted his head back. "Even now, you're losing. You're poisoned. You'll show signs of rabies, froth at the mouth, high fever, sweat, flushed skin, your blood will be pumping under your skin so fast you can see it go, but you won't die. Because that... just wouldn't be fun."

Taking a step forward, the redheaded whispered, "And you can't escape me, even if I die. If I die, everything leaks. Everything goes. Your badge. Your family. You'll be the one locked up behind bars, because your name is under every file. As far as I'm concerned, everything... was... you."

Tossing his own knife in the air, he grabbed it by the tip of it's blade and flung it at Kankurou.

[dexterous_fake]

Kankuro rubbed his cheek vigorously, knowing by the sting in his blood that Sasori's knife had been tainted. Sasori played hard to get, but when he was within your grasp he always tossed a hidden curve ball. His blades were as deadlier than any snake bite, and he liked toying with his victims. Kankuro had at least earned the right to live, but it was going to be painful on his way down. He'd feel like he was going to die, and that was the hard part.

His breath hitched up a notch higher, feeling his heartbeat already starting to climb just from the revelation. His forehead started to perspire with sweat, and he wiped it down with the sleeve of his uniform.

It was too easy to kill him, Sasori was taunting him, dangling his brother in front of him as well as what the future held if he attempted to get in the way. This was his punishment for not giving the redhead what he wanted. For not bending over and being his lackey. For not forcing himself to be just as delusional.

"I'll find you," he said darkly. If it meant loosing his badge over it to get his brother back---then hell he'd do it.

"I'll----" his breath hitched. Looking down to his torso, his hand felt around for the culprit to that burning ache.

Sasori's knife had embedded itself in his stomach. He could feel the blood soothe over his fingers, his voice cracking at the shiver that ran down his spine. "Fucker..." he breathed out in a whisper before his feet gave way and dropped him to the rough cement. He could already feel his energy slipping inside, his mind spinning in five hundred directions as if it was being drawn and quartered.

He needed help now, if he could make it to his car before passing out.

[crooked_tongue]

"You know the thing about knife wounds?" Sasori walked right over to him and bending down. Reaching in, he jerked out the knife. His knife. "It only has potential for danger after the knife's been taken out."

Turning, ignoring the crumpled man, he went back to his car and unlocked it. The redhead took his gun out of the back of his belt before sliding into the driver's side. The woman was still crying, so, without even thinking twice, he took his gun and shot her in the head, then used his knife to swipe his duct tape. Turning on the car, he tapped a button on the side of the door; the woman's door shot open and, with a quick spin of the wheel she was spilled out. Using the button again, he closed the door and turned around in his seat, facing Gaara over the headrest with a maniacal grin.

"This is my city," he whispered through his teeth, before ripping out a new strip of duct tape and pressing it over the man's eyes. "He can't get you. The police can't get you. You're mine until I no longer want you."

[volatile_sands]

There was blood on Sasori's hands.

Not that that was all that surprising considering the nature of the psychopath, but the fact was there was very corporal blood on his hands as he re-entered the vehicle.

"Where is he, what did you do..."

The softly spoken words were lost in the cries of the woman, this poor fool who had gotten caught up in something that had absolutely nothing to do with her - and then there was the loud explosion of gunfire and the sensation of something wet impacting against Gaara's face. There wasn't much time to observe the very real presence of death sitting beside him as the car began to move again, sending the body flying out the open door.

More words were spoken, he could see Sasori's lips moving, but anything that was being said was lost in the ringing following a gunshot in such close proximity, and even then that was gone as his vision was taken from him.

All Gaara could do was grit his teeth and try to remain seated as the vehicle took off once again. His brother's blood stained in face, smeared off when the duct tape had been applied. Was the idiot dead or just wounded? He didn't like not knowing, when there were all these questions left unanswered.

And the questions and unknowns continued to pile up.