Comments | crimson_prose: [ LOG ]

crimson_prose

[ LOG ]

May 25, 2007 12:35

Who: Akasun Sasori (this-mannequin) and Uchiha Itachi (crimson-prose)
Where: Sasori's apartment complex.
When: May 25.
What: Itachi - listless, hopeless, proverbially homeless and soaking wet - arrives at Sasori's apartment with bad intentions and worser ailments. Sasori is a decent friend about it, if a very alienated one.
Warnings: To be added as things progress ( Read more... )

itachi, log, sasori

Comments 15

FINALLY HAD TIME TO POST IT HAVE YOU GOTTEN THE E-MAIL YET? DD: crimson_prose June 17 2007, 21:11:34 UTC

Heedless ( ... )

this_mannequin July 22 2007, 21:23:05 UTC

He stares down at Itachi for a few seconds before squatting, as though to get a better look at what he could already see, what he could already feel writhing beneath him. (Emotionally, Sasori is years past Itachi, but Itachi will never surpass him, for he will have died by then. But now, perhaps if just to defy, now is not the time.)

He puts his small, delicate hands on Itachi's shoulders, and for a second it could have been intimate, before they drive into the bone, fingers no longer childish as they always appear but dangerous in every right, in everything there is about Sasori. (Itachi has never been more right when he calls out on Sasori and claims him God. Crazy. Perfect. He is always in control and Itachi is always there for him to dangle on a puppet string, manipulate to his will, destroy and recreate to the state it was before he decided to break it. Sasori loves Itachi in a way that only Sasori could love anyone. The way he loves Deidara and Tayuya. The way he can't wait for them to end up dead so he can keep them beautiful ( ... )

crimson_prose July 23 2007, 01:51:53 UTC

And Uchihas don't either ( ... )

this_mannequin July 29 2007, 01:38:16 UTC

He jerks to a halt when he reaches a door, his delicate fingers still rapped in Itachi's long hair, and he pulls a key from his pocket, shoving it in the doorknob and twisting with a snap before pulling the door open. It returns to his pocket after a moment (Of what. Existing in all of his complexity, in all of his Self, in all of the things that lie within the blackness of the room, because if Sasori keeps it locked, it is meant to fucking stay locked. And Itachi-) is dying. (And Sasori is not who is contributing.)

Sasori is just an accessory

(a beautiful
glittering-)

to Murder.

Farewell the ashtray girl.

The door snaps shut when Sasori pulls Itachi completely within, and he locks it with the same key, hand not groping but making perfect contact with the lightswitch on first try (-You're so inhuman, Sasori.) and letting the series of florescent lights blink on within the room. (If Itachi were in his right mind, he probably would have expected to see this. Probably.

Sasori is far more insane than any of the Akatsuki knows ( ... )

crimson_prose July 29 2007, 02:29:03 UTC

And the table is cold but that is not why his entire body - limp otherwise - pulsates with a gruesome shudder. It is strange the way his entire body (which seems as nihilistic as his eyes in most every other regard) alights in the dark waltzing rising tide that is another something on another side of him (incomprehensible); the goosebumps rise on the wet of pale skin to which his clothing is tightly hanging. He looks smaller than ever - never as small as Sasori, but decidedly more pitiful. (Sasori could be nine years old and not look any different than he does. Itachi, on the other hand, looks as if he has lost several years to ripping himself limb from godforsaken limb ( ... )