Kankuro (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dance_mypuppets) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-01-14 11:01 pm
dance_mypuppets) wrote in towerofanimus2013-01-14 11:01 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Characters: Kankuro and YOU
Setting: Restaurant, Graveyard, and Anywhere Else
Format: Starting with action, will switch to prose if you prefer
Summary: Kankuro is a 38-year-old ninja who's been here too long to give a shit. May be pushing the edge of alcoholism. Definitely more than a little nuts.
Warnings: Will add as needed.
[Restaurant]
[Kankuro's sitting back in a table at the restaurant, a bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass in his hand. Between the paint he still wears, the new scars slicing down one side of his face, the eyepatch the years have given him, and the way he's managed to find the dimmest corner of the place, it's hard to say if there are any of the visual cues of drunkenness on his face. His hand certainly seems steady enough, his voice unaffected, but he speaks expansively.]
Here's to twenty years in this hellhole! [And he raises the glass in an ironic toast.] And no doubt twenty more to come -- on and on till there's nothing left but dust and bones. Not like there's a way out, nothing that'll take -- there's no getting off this ride. They say the only certain thing is death -- to hell with that. It's not death, it's bullshit.
So here's to that, then.
[And he tosses down the drink, then pours a couple fingers more in his glass.]
[Graveyard]
[Kankuro's sitting at one of the graves -- the place where he's spent the majority of his waking hours for the last twenty years. His fingers brush over the engraved characters, spelling out the one name he least wishes to see.]
Sabaku no Gaara
Godaime Kazekage.
[Beside him, anyone would see his brother sitting -- but the figure is unnaturally still, and there is no life energy to it. A puppet. Lovingly crafted, perfected over years of labor in the so-dangerous workshop, the puppet is a work of art, but there is no spark of life save what Kankuro gives it. An illusion of humanity, yet another idea stolen from his enemy-idol, but it soothes at least a little of the hurt.]
[Temari rides in his scrolls as well, but he doesn't bring her out here; he'll save their sister the sight of Gaara's grave. He already dug down to the coffin within, years back -- to no avail. Instead, he just chats quietly with the puppet, nudging his shoulder against its, pretending with all his heart that this figure, eternally trapped in adolescence, now more easily taken for his son than his brother, lives and speaks with him still, a quiet, singsong murmur, trying to recapture the days that felt so much more innocent, even when they were fighting for their lives.]
[Wherever You Choose]
[Kankuro's been in the Tower for 20 years; he's now 38, and bitter. Still wears facepaint, still plays with puppets, but he looks like he may be down an eye now, and he's taken to being somewhat reckless in facing danger. After all, it doesn't really matter, now does it? You always come back afterward, if not quite as good as new. So he can be found on pretty much any floor, facing the tower with a jaded sort of defiance.]
Setting: Restaurant, Graveyard, and Anywhere Else
Format: Starting with action, will switch to prose if you prefer
Summary: Kankuro is a 38-year-old ninja who's been here too long to give a shit. May be pushing the edge of alcoholism. Definitely more than a little nuts.
Warnings: Will add as needed.
[Restaurant]
[Kankuro's sitting back in a table at the restaurant, a bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass in his hand. Between the paint he still wears, the new scars slicing down one side of his face, the eyepatch the years have given him, and the way he's managed to find the dimmest corner of the place, it's hard to say if there are any of the visual cues of drunkenness on his face. His hand certainly seems steady enough, his voice unaffected, but he speaks expansively.]
Here's to twenty years in this hellhole! [And he raises the glass in an ironic toast.] And no doubt twenty more to come -- on and on till there's nothing left but dust and bones. Not like there's a way out, nothing that'll take -- there's no getting off this ride. They say the only certain thing is death -- to hell with that. It's not death, it's bullshit.
So here's to that, then.
[And he tosses down the drink, then pours a couple fingers more in his glass.]
[Graveyard]
[Kankuro's sitting at one of the graves -- the place where he's spent the majority of his waking hours for the last twenty years. His fingers brush over the engraved characters, spelling out the one name he least wishes to see.]
Sabaku no Gaara
Godaime Kazekage.
[Beside him, anyone would see his brother sitting -- but the figure is unnaturally still, and there is no life energy to it. A puppet. Lovingly crafted, perfected over years of labor in the so-dangerous workshop, the puppet is a work of art, but there is no spark of life save what Kankuro gives it. An illusion of humanity, yet another idea stolen from his enemy-idol, but it soothes at least a little of the hurt.]
[Temari rides in his scrolls as well, but he doesn't bring her out here; he'll save their sister the sight of Gaara's grave. He already dug down to the coffin within, years back -- to no avail. Instead, he just chats quietly with the puppet, nudging his shoulder against its, pretending with all his heart that this figure, eternally trapped in adolescence, now more easily taken for his son than his brother, lives and speaks with him still, a quiet, singsong murmur, trying to recapture the days that felt so much more innocent, even when they were fighting for their lives.]
[Wherever You Choose]
[Kankuro's been in the Tower for 20 years; he's now 38, and bitter. Still wears facepaint, still plays with puppets, but he looks like he may be down an eye now, and he's taken to being somewhat reckless in facing danger. After all, it doesn't really matter, now does it? You always come back afterward, if not quite as good as new. So he can be found on pretty much any floor, facing the tower with a jaded sort of defiance.]
no subject
Gotta wonder, you know. How much we're accomplishing, at the end of the day. 'S not like anything's changed.
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[She tilted her head and took another drink.] It do no be mattering what they think, only what you do be thinking. If you do be thinking of yourself as nothing but a plaything then that do be all you can be.
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It doesn't matter what you think of yourself. It matters what you actually accomplish. Otherwise - there are people who live their entire lives in self-deception. They think they're doing STUFF when they're actually not.
I've been here too long to think that just by telling myself I'm not going to be a toy, I gain even a little ability to change more.
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[She shrugs, it's how she get along, telling herself she is more than just a toy. Just like she told herself she was more than just a tool of Elena's and Lotte's. Perhaps it was deception, but it was how she survived.]
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That can't really be helped, shit as it is. Unless we can find a way to threaten them directly, they've got no reason to see us as anything else.
no subject