[fic] [naruto] my companion | Sasuke, Kusanagi |
Two quick Sasuke + Kusanagi drabbles. Uhm, I don't know. >: Roughly based on the concept of Weapons With Personalities, inspired by BLEACH.
-
There are still nights when he lay awake, staring upward into the darkness; his windows bolted shut, door locked and secure so that it is only he and his blade, side by side and touching as if they were the only inhabitants of their world.
He feels that it is best this way and has long since become accustomed to the smooth feel of it's surface, the rough, but firm hold of it's intricate hilt and the way it cuts through the air during his training, as if pulling him into a strange, but beautiful dance.
"Trust me," whispers the blade, though many would think him mad for listening to any of the voices he's heard. His brother's taunting, his father's disapproving grunts, his mother's coos of sympathy and her old, sweet lullabies that he yearns for every night have all driven him mad at some point or another, but the gentle whisper of his blade is all but maddening, and he succumbs to it; feels it, bows to it, weilds it, serves it, trusts it.
-
I am not meant to pierce the wind.
I know.
The wind is a spiteful thing. Sasuke--Darling boy, you know just how very ruthless it gets.
Yes, I do.
Then, you must understand. I am a murderer.
I understand.
You are a murderer.
Yes.
Sleep. We have much to do tommorow.
Thank you.
-
There are still nights when he lay awake, staring upward into the darkness; his windows bolted shut, door locked and secure so that it is only he and his blade, side by side and touching as if they were the only inhabitants of their world.
He feels that it is best this way and has long since become accustomed to the smooth feel of it's surface, the rough, but firm hold of it's intricate hilt and the way it cuts through the air during his training, as if pulling him into a strange, but beautiful dance.
"Trust me," whispers the blade, though many would think him mad for listening to any of the voices he's heard. His brother's taunting, his father's disapproving grunts, his mother's coos of sympathy and her old, sweet lullabies that he yearns for every night have all driven him mad at some point or another, but the gentle whisper of his blade is all but maddening, and he succumbs to it; feels it, bows to it, weilds it, serves it, trusts it.
-
I am not meant to pierce the wind.
I know.
The wind is a spiteful thing. Sasuke--Darling boy, you know just how very ruthless it gets.
Yes, I do.
Then, you must understand. I am a murderer.
I understand.
You are a murderer.
Yes.
Sleep. We have much to do tommorow.
Thank you.