InsaneJournal

More Storms! Yar.
My exams are over! Wheeeeeeeeee! Actually, they were over as of 12:40 yesterday (it was supposed to be 12:30, but the exam started late). Spent . . . pretty much all day after the exam being drunk. Yeah. Hehehe. It's Aidan's beer festival tomorrow, so I shall probably spend all of tomorrow being drunk as well. XD

Anyway, have a short snippet of the next scene from Storms. Because I am not with the writing much of anything at the moment, so I figured I should share something. ^^; Previous stuff on the Not Heaven tag.




Storms snippet 2


Gaara hung back and let Kankurou and Temari buy all the things he would need for his new house for him, simply trailing along and ignoring the frightened looks the shopkeepers kept sending in his direction. Temari had suggested that he stay in the new house while she and Kankurou went shopping, which was completely stupid as far as Gaara was concerned; it was his house, he was the one who was going to be using the furniture, why wouldn’t he go with them?

But then it became apparent that none of the shopkeepers would deal with him directly. Gaara knew that he would have to do something about that soon, as he would need to buy supplies for himself once he had fully moved into the house, but Temari and Kankurou seemed determined to do everything for him.

At least they didn’t try to pay for everything themselves.

Unexpectedly, that caused a problem of its own. All throughout the time Gaara, Temari and Kankurou were in the kitchenware shop, a young man fidgeted nervously behind the owner, glaring daggers at Gaara. From the resemblance between him and the owner, he was most likely the owner’s son – and was certainly less patient than the man calmly offering samples of the latest products and explaining about the free installation that came with larger items such as the dishwasher.

Gaara ignored him, standing in the middle of the shop with his arms folded over his chest and staring at nothing. This seemed to aggravate the young man further: his glowers became more pronounced, and he kept shifting from foot to foot in the manner Gaara had observed among the new pupils at the Academy when they were attempting to find their balance. Or at least, that’s what Kankurou had said they were trying to do – Gaara couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t automatically stand with his weight positioned just so, and had concluded that most children had to be remarkably slow learners. If the shopkeeper’s son actually attempted to attack him, Gaara felt that he would have to revise his estimate of the average intelligence of the human race down even further.

It was difficult to understand how Naruto could be so concerned with other people when they were all so revoltingly stupid.

Perhaps it was a concern only justified by other shinobi, Gaara mused, ignoring the shopkeeper’s son as he edged towards an old ceremonial katana that had been mounted on the wall. Naruto had a way of looking at things that Gaara was all too aware he lacked; perhaps he was able to see the seed of a shinobi’s worth in all civilians and thus respect them for that.

“Blood money,” the shopkeeper’s son said, loud and clear. His droopy brown eyes bore right into Gaara’s when Gaara lifted his head, not the slightest trace of fear marring them. Gaara wondered whether he was stupidly brave or just stupid.

The shopkeeper sighed heavily. “Go find your mother, Hiroshi,” he said.

Hiroshi swung on his father. “Why are you accepting their – that’s money?” he demanded. “Is it supposed to make up for Taka-nii’s death?”

“Go find your mother,” the shopkeeper said flatly, meeting his son’s gaze with a calm, slightly sad, yet implacable expression.

“Father—”

“Leave, Hiroshi. You don’t understand the life of a shinobi, and I would like to keep my remaining son.”

Hiroshi stared at his father for a moment, then turned jerkily and stomped to the back of the shop and up the stairs to the living quarters. Gaara frowned, comparing Hiroshi’s and the shopkeeper’s faces in his mind.

“I apologise for my son, Gaara-san,” the owner said, drawing Gaara’s attention from sheer surprise that someone was talking to him – and more than that, talking calmly. He was still afraid, but it only showed in the pinched look about his eyes and the way that his gaze settled on Gaara’s chin, the shopkeeper being unable to drag it higher.

But he was coherent, and talking to Gaara. Voluntarily. If Gaara was to do his own shopping in future, this was a state of affairs to be encouraged.

“Idane Takashi,” Gaara said.

The shopkeeper started. “Y-you remember my son’s name?” he asked, incredulous.

Gaara nodded. He didn’t explain that the only reason he remembered was that it had been during one of his slow periods; it would only waste time and not get him out of the shop faster. Of course, if the shopkeeper kept staring at him like that and not paying attention to what they were buying, he wouldn’t get out of there at any great speed anyway.

“He was a good fighter,” Gaara offered, somewhat lamely. Then Temari winced, and Gaara wondered what he’d said now.

“Ah, I, um. I guess you would know that,” the owner said, his face shuttering. To Gaara’s relief, he turned back to Temari and began the shopping process again, albeit with a stiffness to the interactions that hadn’t been there before.

“You really have no tact at all, do you, little bro,” Kankurou muttered, just low enough that he probably thought Gaara couldn’t hear him. Gaara frowned at the floor.

Then it dawned on him.

To Gaara, a shinobi’s worth was how well he could fight. He was not alone in that respect – it was pretty much how every shinobi judged every other shinobi. But to a civilian, when being spoken to by the person who had killed a shinobi they knew, to hear that he was a good fighter was not to understand that he did his duty, fought well, and was thus someone to be proud of – to them it meant that the shinobi they knew had tried his hardest and just wasn’t as good as the person who had killed him. Which was also true, but Gaara’s meaning had very obviously not been that and he was sure that even a non-shinobi had to see it that way.

So the shopkeeper was deliberately focussing on one thing and not the rest.

Civilians. Revoltingly stupid.

Eventually, the owner and Temari finished haggling, money exchanged hands, and a date was set for the kitchenware to be delivered. At least the shopkeeper was not allowing his emotions to interfere with the transaction, something which Gaara approved of.

So he supposed he should try to clear up the misunderstanding.

“Thank you for your custom,” the shopkeeper was saying to Temari when Gaara lifted his head. He fixed the man with a hard stare, which made the owner jump when he saw Gaara looking at him like that.

“My father is dead. It won’t happen again,” Gaara said. He should probably say that he was sorry, as well, except that he wasn’t.

“W-what won’t. . . .”

“You won’t lose another son,” Gaara said, then paused and added, “Not because of me.” Someone that stupid probably needed help staying alive while crossing the street.

It was enough explanation, and now Temari and Kankurou were staring at him as well. Gaara turned on his heel and walked out.

TBC

Edit: work, stupid lj-cut.