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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"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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