tampered | LOG; ONGOING;

LOG; ONGOING;

When; 27 March; Wednesday; (mid-late?) Afternoon!
Rating; G - PG
Characters; Esther {

sandmullet}
Summary; One determined nun thought to hit the books re: seeking an exit! Unfortunately for her, the lone productive post on the network caught the eye of a crabby insomniac. Or as Ruxi put it: "Redheaded radicalists running rampant!"
Log;

Learning the trick of the library had been annoying. A verbal explanation of its idiosyncrasies failed to compare to the actual task of navigating the stacks, and even hours later, even with Gaara’s not inconsiderable focus, he would find himself staring at a row of books like America Loves Chocolate!, Calming the Rage Within in Seven Easy Steps, and even Sixty-Nine Ways to Impress Your Lover! And to anticipate convenient books laid out on the subject of escape or dishing the secrets of the city was to be a fool.

In short, it was an irritating task, demanding a considerable amount of patience. But Gaara could be patient for this. … Mostly. With a dismissive grunt, Gaara shut the cover of his current book of perusal a bit harder than necessary, dust leaping from the pages.

“Useless.” Pushing back the chair, he stood to first settle his gourd onto his back, and second to gather a pile of discarded books to return to the shelves before the pile became large enough to obstruct their working space. It wasn’t, necessarily, that he anticipated an attack in a library, but years of assassination attempts had made the ninja disinclined to walk without his effective second skin in a foreign place. As he felt little obligation to keep this library clean, he would have simply shoved them onto another table and left them be, but as he intended to get a few more, killing two men with one fist made enough sense.

He didn’t say I’ll be right back or anything like it as he turned away – he thought that was obvious.

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Gaara made no attempt to put her at ease. He had discerned that she was uncomfortable, even flustered - her reddened cheeks, hastened actions and changed pitch, and the look of her smile all told him. But he simply looked at her.

He didn't even blink. "Leave them," he did command in regard to the books, as their lack of real success had left the library even more out of his favor.

"Meat," he then answered, and specified with a tinge of skepticism in his tone, as the waffle curse had indicated to him that most citizens had bad taste. "Gizzard, and tongue."

Watching her, his arms now crossed, Gaara had an urge to tell her to stop fidgeting. But it was interesting enough to observe, had yet to become properly annoying, and so he suppressed it.

Like everything else about the young man, his reply was anything but anticipated--but then again, at least he'd offered one, and it was something with which Esther could use to her advantage somehow, she was sure. If nothing else, it was a piece of information to tuck away and keep in mind; if used correctly, perhaps she could work her way into his good graces by cooking--it seemed to work on most men, after all.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I have some tongue back at the apartment that I could grill, if you'd like," Esther offered, finally able to pull her hand away from the books and clasp both behind her back. "No gizzard though, unfortunately. And I hope you don't mind green beans...? I need to make sure that my, er, roommate stays healthy."

And she was rambling again. Esther felt a twinge of embarrassment send yet another shade of blush to her cheeks as she played with her fingers behind her back.

"Shall we... go, then?"

It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. He hadn't expected her to actually have tongue. The thought of actually having something remotely appetizing made his temper with the Academy abate somewhat, and her mention of vegetables was reminiscent of both Sakura and (more importantly) Temari.

"I don't mind green beans," he offered, with something close to a smile.

Rather than giving verbal assent past that, Gaara packed his scroll into his side bag, reaffirmed the hold of his gourd's strapps, and began walking to the exit. He would, of course, allow her to take the lead once they reached the City proper, as he didn't know which building was hers.

Edited 2008-03-29 08:27 (UTC)

Esther felt her breath catch for a moment at the boy's expression, almost able to sense something change below the surface, somewhat reminiscent of a certain robotic priest she knew back in her home world. It filled her chest with a deep sort of satisfaction, expanding from within and manifesting in a broad grin on her face, and she nodded to him at his words.

"I'm glad!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands briefly before gathering up her few belongings and rushing to catch up with the other redhead, heels clicking on the ground as she ran. Once they had gotten closer to the apartment complexes, Esther stepped up the pace slightly in order to walk in front of him, turning to look over her shoulder every now and then, and slightly concerned over seeing such a small boy carry something so large on his back.

"If you don't mind my asking," Esther hesitantly began, before pointing at the object, "what is... that?"

Ironically, Gaara's only probable reaction to being compared to a machine might have been to point out that he wasn't one. Ironic, perhaps, for the similarity his response might be to that of the actual robot.

She was very enthusiastic, expressing her emotional state with constant movement. In that she was like Uzumaki Naruto, that and her stubborn optimism, and neither of those traits alone irritated him. As he moved only deliberately, the difference was often interesting enough to watch, something that took longer to grate than did other things.

"A gourd," he replied, bluntly and without pause, as he didn't mind the question (or most questions), and had no patience with hesitation. Gaara also possessed enough foresight to anticipate a possible second, and answered the probable query:

"It holds and is composed of sand."

As he spoke, he walked and kept aware of the route. It was nearing dusk, and Gaara had not yet acclimated to the weather here, more similar to Leaf than Sand, no blinding heat in the day no deep chill in the night. The water didn't reek of preservatives, though he had yet to wean himself of rationing it.

Edited 2008-03-29 10:07 (UTC)

Lip pursing out of curiosity, Esther took a brief pause to step back and examine the surface of the gourd; at a close enough distance, it indeed became evident that it was formed out of tightly packed sand, granules creating an almost sandpaper-like texture that Esther was tempted to touch. She thought better of it soon enough, and ran ahead once more, opening the door to her building and holding it open for the young man.

"It must be quite heavy," Esther remarked, once again stating what was probably the obvious. If nothing else, it helped to fill up the time and the silence, both of which left Esther feeling terribly self-conscious, and distractions were thus all too welcome. "And how strange, to tote a gourd of sand around the City..."

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, wondering what kind of uses the man might have for such a large quantity of sand, but her mind quickly drew a blank, and she mentally shrugged. There were stranger things in the City, after all--perhaps she didn't need to question everything. She began to climb the stairs, not paying very close attention to whether the man was following--although she was sure that he was--and continuing to ponder regardless. Perhaps he had a fondness for sandboxes...?

It did not occur to Gaara to thank Esther for holding the door as he walked through its framing, in some small part because his time as Kazekage had more than acclimated him to such courtesies.

As it was the obvious, Gaara simply looked at her. It was heavy, but he had long since become used to its weight. As she obviously had a desire for conversation, he put forth enough effort. As he followed her up the stairs, he answered, stooping slightly - though his posture had long since been ruined from perfection, thanks to the current topic.

"Its benefits by far exceed the inconvenience of its weight. And I've worn it for so long I'm used to it. The sand is a weapon; only a fool would walk this place defenseless."

It was better this way, Esther having her questions answered preemptively, not needing to worry about whether or not she had offended his sensibilities--whatever those happened to be--or had been rude in an off-putting way. Unfortunately, at the same time, it piqued her interest as well, imagination running wild as she tried to figure out just how sand could be used as a weapon. An alternative for mace, perhaps? Fistfuls of sand thrown in an opponent's face could be quite distracting, Esther imagined. Or perhaps the sand was for shoving down one's back, for slipping into one's shoes--putting it anywhere where it was difficult to remove and all the more prone to irritate.

"I guess it's true enough that the City can be quite dangerous," Esther mused quietly, finally reaching the apartment and fumbling for her keys to unlock the door. "Although I'm not sure if I'd be willing to start carrying around a shotgun in order to protect myself--it just seems to be a bit much. Sand, however, would seem much more outwardly innocuous..."

Absentmindedly, Esther pushed the door open and entered, holding it for Gaara as she glanced around the apartment--was Abel home?

"Shotgun?" came the question; despite the other modernlike technology in his world, despite fireworks and other such explosive powder prompted things, there were no guns. The underestimation of sand wasn't typical in Gaara's experience, having lived in a desert and when in other localities, all too often given the opportunity to display its dangers.

But he felt little need to to boast about the abilities of sand. She was a civilian; he would need to learn to expect such things from the majority of the city.

Entering her apartment, before he took in its decor he stepped to the side so to remove his sandals. Bending, his fingers eased the leather from his heels. When inevitable sand shook from his sandals to her floor, he jerked an index finger. The grains slid obediently through the air, pressing into the gourd. Though they would lack the same speed as the rest of the blood and chakra soaked sand, he knew better than to dirty her apartment if it could be avoided.

Straightening, his hands moved to the gourd's strappings as his eyes traversed what he could see of the interior. He hadn't yet explored most apartments; the guides noted they could be changed according to taste.

Edited 2008-03-30 07:33 (UTC)

"A-ah, a shotgun is... well, a weapon which can certainly be used to ward people off, and... I'm not so sure if it'd be wise to elaborate further," Esther mused, looking the redhead up and down again; he couldn't have been any older than herself, and children weren't meant to know what guns were, and instead needed to be sheltered and taken care of. One way in which, perhaps, the way Esther treated him would be immensely different than how she treated Father Tres, on the whole. "Suffice it to say that it usually acts as quite the effective deterrent against attacks."

Seeing the young man remove his shoes, Esther cleared her throat to speak up, ready to tell him that it really wasn't necessary for him to do so, that Esther more often than not wore her heels around the common areas as well--until a vague movement called her attention to the ground, and Esther watched, wide-eyed, as grains of sand flew through the air, and suddenly--

"T-telekinesis?" Esther exclaimed, amazed.

Unable to see a reason for Esther's skittering around a proper explanation of what a shotgun was, Gaara came to two immediate conclusions: 1) he would need to visit a weapons shop and 2) she was either dumb or underestimating him. He looked back at her, expectant and a little irritated.

His intention to ask her why she would not elaborate on guns was deterred by her reaction to the sand.

"What?" then: "No."

That was enough of an explanation, as far as he was concerned. Uninvited, he advanced farther into the apartment, taking in the decor. It was bizarre; something he might attribute to a daimyo or other rich civilian, though Gaara had not often been on the inside of such a place. Either this girl had delusions of grandeur, or she was accustomed to finery.

With a pout, Esther blinked again before quickly following the boy into the apartment, curiosity not at all satisfied and feeling perhaps rather disappointed at finding out that the movement was not, in fact, accomplished through telekinesis. She'd hoped it was, if for no other reason than the fact that telekinesis seemed like something that could come in handy for her, and perhaps she could practice... after all, the Methuselah had powers that were similar.

She was just about to prod him again, asking more questions--they wouldn't stop pestering her mentally--but she paused as he looked around the room, a quick flush rising to her cheeks.

"A-ah, about the decor, it's not... the Cardinal, she... before she left the City, ah. Well."

It was unclear, really, why Esther even felt compelled to apologize; it wasn't as though she had any reason to make excuses, and people in the City were free to use their fortune however they wanted. But somehow, there was a quality in the man which almost made her feel ashamed of frivolity.

Not exactly something she needed in her life, but she wasn't going to complain.

The current object of his focus was a sofa, though its design was far from practical. Dark wood had ornate carving, and the backing was uneven, encouraging one person's lazy lounge over two or three people comfortably sitting. She began to make excuses for it, and he pulled his gaze from the couch to her.

Gaara stared at Esther for a few seconds of silence. He then looked away and began to loosen the gourd's straps. It wasn't that Gaara felt comfortable with keeping it off his person, but he had already dismissed Esther as a civilian. He doubted it would prove to be a mistake, never mind a fatal one.

And yes, he had no response to her babbling about the furniture.

"Where can I put this?" he asked, his head inclining back to indicate his gourd.

It was excruciating, maintaining her gaze as the man held his own on her, eyes somehow staring blankly and penetratingly, all at once. Esther wished that he'd say something, anything, or wished at least that she'd find out his name, not that a name meant much in the long run. Once again, she released a breath which she hadn't realized she'd been holding once his gaze broke away, one small hand resting on her chest, where she could feel her heart beating rapidly.

She needed to get acclimated to him soon, lest she lose years of her life over such a small thing.

When he took off his gourd, Esther blinked for a few moments, wondering where she could put it so that it would be the least... suspicious, perhaps, to Abel. After tilting her head, she gestured over to a large armoire which stood relatively close to the couch; hopefully it was tall enough to support the gourd's weight.

"Over there should be fine," she replied, lips tentatively pulling into a shy smile.

"Okay." Gaara maneuvered through the living area, around a table, so to set down the tightly packed sand. He turned then, somewhat smaller without its ever present bulk on his back, though of course he hadn't work it while seated and flipping pages. His posture was imperfect, his shoulders and upper-back slightly stooped from the weight - not enough to be more than a slouch.

Not inclined (or, fairly, able) to be self-conscious in the same way, he failed to realize how his attire clashed with the decor - his long dark coat, pants, and the vest, and now with bare-feet. He was anything but Victorian, nor could he have defined the word.

Without the gourd to focus on, Gaara moved to the next obvious focus, having little else to do. He glanced at the girl, actually able to look down if not by much, though height had never had an influence in his attitude toward others.

"You have to cook the tongue." As in, still correct? As in, it was not yet ready.

This had become a habit of sorts, now, the young man offering directions to her and Esther simply following along, his robotic nature almost rubbing off on her, somehow. It wasn't that she needed to be prodded in order to take the initiative, really, but instead that the boy was simply always two steps ahead of her, and Esther had difficulty stumbling along without worded instructions. That meant, however, that everything was coupled with a distinct sense of frustration, an infant being taught how to walk yet never able to without a guardian's support--it was something she, perhaps, hadn't experienced nearly enough in her life.

But she needed some sort of foresight and felt compelled to at least show in some manner that she wasn't completely oblivious. That she could think on her feet.

How to be a good hostess, how indeed...

"A-ah, yes," she laughed nervously, smoothing down her skirt unconsciously. "I'll... get right on that, sir. If you'd like, you can take a seat on the couch, and... would you like anything to drink? Or to listen to the radio? Or perhaps you've had enough of academia today..."

Gaara turned his attention to the couch. It looked more comfortable than most furniture in Sand, though its design was clearly not optimal for comfort. Having his life in a bizarre mismatch when it came to the level of service he received, there was nothing abnormal about his waiting to be fed. He could sit on the couch and wait, perhaps have a glass of water, strange in that he could waste it without consequence, and suffer through the radio which would be more noise.

Most of the programs that had come from the capital of Wind Country had been terrible. He doubted this city had an improved selection.

It wasn't something he was used to doing, or considering, but it was worth a try. His black-ringed eyes returned to her, pausing briefly on where her hands had pressed at her skirt. He rarely if ever wasted movement.

"I'll help," he said, what was meant to be an offer expressed more as a command, and he didn't spare much of a thought to the possibility that he would be in the way.

Esther jumped again--it must have been the millionth time since she had met him--and blinked in surprise. It was certainly a kind offer, although Esther required no help in the kitchen, but refusing seemed... out of the question, somehow. A small voice in the back of her head warned that getting so complacent around anyone could prove to be troublesome later, but Esther shook it aside--cooking just this once couldn't hurt, right?

Then again, she never would've suspected Dietrich of anything strange, nor Abel when she had first met him.

But life wasn't meant to be lived while expecting things to go awry.

"O-okay," she smiled, nervously, before turning to her into the kitchen, cheeks flushing radiantly as soon as she'd turned away. "You know how to cook, sir?"

She was very colorful. The observation was irresistible, though it didn't serve to long distract him from her question.

Gaara had watched many people cook, from Yashamaru to servants to Temari. As a result, though lacking more than a little practical experience, he was more than confident of his ability to put one and two together and summon three, and he stared at her with just such an expression.

His next words, however, went some way toward undermining it: "You apply heat."

For a moment, Esther simply stared, before finally she felt the laugh slip out from between her lips, loud but not overbearing--the Bishop never would have approved, after all--face turning even redder with amusement as she hunched over slightly.

"W-well yes, you apply heat," she giggled, finally straightening and turning around to look at him properly, feeling perhaps a little bad for the sudden outburst. "It's... a little more complicated than that, but I'm sure that with the two of us, we can manage?"

... She was laughing at him.

Though Gaara could at least discern that much, it was only the fact that no one had ever, really laughed at him, that made him unsure of how to react. Not like this, anyway, with only simple, sincere good humor and nothing beneath it (fear, jeering, doomed arrogance, something more complicated).

Once he would have killed her for it. Now he only looked confused, and that painfully obvious on his features; his brow furrowed, eyes uncertain and fixed on her curved back, and his mouth settling into a grimacing frown. It didn't last long, though his arms crossed as his stern stoicism returned, not without a stronger undercurrent of irritation.

"... If one person can handle it normally, then of course we can together."

Edited 2008-04-03 08:30 (UTC)

It was as though he functioned on some type of program, two and two coming together to make four, and beyond the fact that Esther was tempted to let Gaara know that life didn't always come together so flawlessly--although, somehow his behavior seemed to imply that indeed, Gaara probably knew this was the case--Esther was also incredibly amused, the expression on his face probably his version of a pout.

She couldn't help thinking how nice it was to see that type of expression again without the weight of the world lurking in the background. They were... just cooking. Not fighting, not trying to discern what the meaning of sin was. Just getting ready to grill the tongue.

So maybe her laughter was a little strained. Maybe she was indeed tired.

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Esther rushed ahead to wrap her arms around the young man in a somewhat awkward embrace, not expecting him to do anything in return but just glad for the company, glad to have someone who didn't judge--as far as she could tell--and was finally giving her an excuse to keep her mind off of other things.

In his turn, he was unaccustomed to making such expressions, to not having the weight of the world as it was defined in relation to its importance to him. First she had laughed at him, and now, when he had only just recovered, she moved toward him.

Though she was close, her speed was sluggish in comparison to most ninja even without channeling chakra to their feet, and the gourd had been propped not a foot away. Gaara blinked, his eyes widening, but before he could react in any other way, before her arms could encircle him or instinct suggested he move (not that his instincts in anyway still functioned so, given the shield), sand had flowed swiftly, instantaneously, to intercept her and shape an uneven, gritty wall at his front.

After a pause, he looked at her around the sand.

"... What were you doing?"

When the sand entered her range of vision, Esther immediately let out a small yelp, unable to stop her momentum before she hit the wall--not with a great amount of force, but enough so that her cheek scraped rather uncomfortably against the surface of it, almost sandpapery, but slightly more rough. It certainly brought a whole new level to the concept of a personal bubble, and even though Esther was used to precautionary tactics, even though he hadn't really done anything out of line, the surprise was coupled with a large degree of disappointment.

She had gotten too... comfortable.

Immediately backing up, eyes scaling the wall and briefly glancing in the young man's direction before quickly averting, Esther fumbled around for words.

"I-- I just-- sorry," Esther stammered, face flushing with embarrassment--perhaps even humiliation. "I was just... going to hug you, really, but I must've imposed-- I'm sorry, if such things make you feel uncomfortable. I won't... do it again."

Hug?

The worlds of a civilian and even the standard shinobi were far, far apart. Gaara knew that, but he hadn't interacted with many civilians outside of the city, and with her, it was becoming glaring. Gaara stared at her as his hands moved and the sand returned to his gourd, at ease in the absence of further "attack".

"Are you stupid?" He asked, of all the questions stirred in his impatient mind, that being the first to receive voice. His arms had crossed again, stern and unyielding, and his tone was taut, condemning.

"You've known me for less than twelve hours. You don't know my name. But you invited me back to your home and tried to hug me?"

Gaara shook his head, trying to find the words that would describe precisely how many things were wrong with that, but words were inadequate and he was left frustrated. Beneath his aggravation with her lingered the inability to comprehend her willingness to do it; logically, she had no way of knowing what Sand Village had. But no one touched Gaara, even now, even his siblings, not so flippantly.

It there was one thing that Esther always afforded Terrans--although, now that she thought about it, she wasn't even sure if the young man was one--it was trust. Perhaps it had something to do with her upbringing, with believing there to be redeeming qualities in every person, an innocent until proven guilty, and even then sometimes deserving of the benefit of the doubt sort of mentality, but the type of discretion the boy alluded to was less than familiar. What kind of life would it be to doubt every person she came across? To anticipate the worst?

Then again, and Esther began to feel her chest tightening at the thought, how many times had she been hurt thanks to this behavior? Even Dietrich, who she'd known for years, who had been her best friend and confidante-- he'd nearly... nearly killed her. Not to mention the bishop from her very own hometown.

And of course, there was Abel to consider. All the things he'd done... and yet, she couldn't find herself holding it against him when he sat next to her at the dining table, dropping cube after cube of sugar into his cup.

Too trusting, perhaps. A hand rose to grasp at the rosary which hung around her neck, gripping it tightly.

"I..."

She took a slow breath. Slightly wavering.

"I'm sorry. I just thought..."

Belatedly, Esther realized that she didn't really have words prepared to finish the sentence.

Her words fell incomplete; a silence rose. Gaara had rarely if ever had to explain himself, curiosity regarding his techniques was permitted an explanation only should the cat be witnessing them, and then, it was one of his siblings doing the talking.

Stare unwavering, after spread of indefinable time, Gaara tilted his head back, sounding in his throat a harsh tch.

"Two and a half years ago," he began, looking at her even as he raised one hand, fingers moving into a seal. His arm moved, and sand pulled from the gourd, snaking around the leg of the couch.

"I would have killed you." His hand closed, fingers curling into a fist. The sand compacted, crushing the wood with ease, like egg shells. The sound was both sharp and dull, a crunching, swift and yet dragging as the sand loosened and chips of wood fell to the floor, and the couch shuddered as it followed.

"You are a civilian, but you should know by now that there are monsters here. ...You can't survive that stupid."

Edited 2008-04-04 08:35 (UTC)

Esther flinched slightly at the sound of the wood, less out of fear than out of surprise; she didn't really have an attachment to the couch anyway--after all, it was... Caterina's, and even if Esther was staying in the apartment, nothing of the cardinal's felt comfortable enough for her to really use freely--and she'd seen much worse in her time besides, had watched the flow of blood through the air, thrumming with energy, seeping into his body.

The word 'monster' echoed in her mind, lips trembling, almost as though to form it again, memories that she'd tried to forget every single day, but ultimately failed in doing so.

But, death threat aside, she knew he wasn't one, wasn't a monster--Esther had been so desensitized to the idea of people being after her life that it was no longer a factor in humanity; people had their reasons, regardless of whether they were right or wrong.

And he'd changed, after all. Strange, really, how many resemblances he bore to those Esther held dear, and gradually she began to feel a calm within herself at the thought--this was nothing new, in the long run.

"Then I suppose I should simply thank the Lord for having blessed me so," Esther slowly began, words quiet and calm. "Because I've been able to survive like this so far, and tonight I've still been left unharmed."

She paused, looking down at the floor, toe tracing along the grain of the wood.

"You're not a monster, sir--after all, you haven't killed me, right? And there are no monsters here in the City, really, despite how some people continue to take lives. People can be... misguided, but there is always a chance for redemption, and I firmly believe that," she continued, voice slowly growing more firm. "Believe me, I've lived life through a veil of doubt before, where I took firm actions in the name of protecting myself and others, valuing my own life more than my supposed enemy's, and it's... not worth it, in the long run."

Gaara could have told her that he had long ago lost count of the men he had slaughtered, of the blood that had soaked his sand time and time again. Her flinch was an inadequate display of the expected fear; he was tiring of attempting to make her understand.

"..."

But he had no intention of pushing a point of his own monstrosity. That he had resolved to leave behind him, to defy his name. He would have told her that she could not rely on her Lord to give her such luck forever; she would need to wise up. He would have told her that she was too optimistic, and too forgiving. Even if he agreed, surprisingly, to some of the sentiment, having to, as it had been all he had.

Instead he remained silent until not a grain of sand remained separate from the gourd, and his arms remained still at his sides as his mouth quirked in slight enough a way as to barely, barely be a smirk.

"My name's Gaara. It means the monster that loves only itself. The sand ... does that on its own when my body is threatened. But I wouldn't have let you hug me. Are we going to cook the tongue?"

He had felt threatened, Esther finally gathered, and for a moment she looked at her hands, pale and practically white--but they hadn't always been so untarnished, and slowly but surely there were callouses developing on her index fingers from all the shooting she'd done recently. Oh, her hands had their fair share of experiences, just as Gaara's sand had--it wasn't a bad thing, necessarily, for him to have protected himself against her.

Which wasn't to say that she didn't hope that the two of them could work past such uncertainties, eventually. There were so many familiar traits that she saw in him, his lack of trust, his apparent emotionless state, deep-seated issues brought on probably in early childhood, which had persisted. A history of violence, halted for one reason or another.

She bowed her head slightly, digesting it all, every reaction.

"A pleasure, Mr. Gaara," she stammered, uncertain. "My name is Sister Esther Blanchett, but you can call me Esther. It means 'star.' And... I'd like to cook the tongue, yes."

A slight pause.

"Together with you, of course, should you not mind."

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