Gaara slowly lowered himself onto the Kazekage chair.
It felt kind of . . . awkward.
He'd only been on the job for six days.
Truth be told, there wasn't much to do. He'd just fold paper airplanes in his office all day until some poor, but brave, soul came crying to him for some village grievance. He'd nod and pretend to listen, in the meanwhie turning up the volume on his portable media player to drown out the bothersome noise. After all, his stoic poker-face never failed to deliver. He always only referred them to the village council, anyways.
He was only a figurehead, after all.
Then came February 14th.
That's when things started getting . . . strange. Odd. Bad.
He was sitting at his desk, chewing loudly on gum and reading over chuunin mission reports.
There was a knock at his door.
"Come in," he responded automatically, putting the paper down.
A girl with big, blue eyes and auburn hair poked her head in meekly. She turned red. Gaara hoped her head wasn't about to explode in his office and get her blood all over his new carpet.
"Yes?"
"Umm . . . !" She played with the hem of her skirt, lowering her eyes. "Morning, Kazekage!" she greeted him breathlessly.
"Hi."
Her bright, happy smile faltered at his depressing tone.
Gaara couldn't help if it he sounded like he'd rather be dead. He always talked like that.
"Umm, here, I got you something," she mumbled in a rush, dropping a small parcel of chocolate on his desk before scurrying back toward the door, looking at him hopefully.
He raised a non-existent brow at her.
"H-h-happy . . . um . . . happy . . . um . . . bye!" She ran quickly out of the room, flushing various shades of red.
'Probably scared I would eat her,' Gaara mused, watching the door close violently. He examined the box of chocolate with a thoughful frown. He tossed it aside; he wasn't a big fan.
He went back to reading his reports.
A knock again.
Gaara sighed. "Come in."
A horde of teenage girls pushed and shoved and giggled and blushed their way in. Gaara stared passively. They all prostrated themselves before him humbly, a silly grin plastered to their faces, nudging each other suggestively.
"May I help you?" he inquired skeptically.
"We just wanted to give you this!" a blonde chimed boisteriously, leaving an elaborately decorated fruit basket on his desk. Gaara drew back, giving them strange looks.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Kazekage!" they sang. They suddenly clamored out of the room again, shutting the door behind them noisily.
Gaara leaned forward to investigate the red and pink ribbons strewn over the basket overflowing with fresh fruit. Then, he heard muffled giggles come from behind his door. He raised an inquisitive brow.
"No, you do it, Hana."
"No, you, Sasaki!"
"N-no way! You--Suda, you do it!"
A small tussle.
Suddenly, his door banged open, making Gaara flinch in surprise. In the next instant, a girl's lips were pressed against his cheek.
There was a flurry of conspiratorial whispers from outside his door, and series of giggles.
"Look at him!"
"He's so cute!"
"I can't believe she actually did it!"
The daring girl gave a little laugh of triumph and ran back out the door, leaving Gaara rather dumbfounded.
After the events registered, Gaara wiped his cheek in revulsion, feeling violated. 'Kankuro was right. Girls are psychotic.' He fumbled with his desk's right-side drawer, trying to get a tissue. They had cooties, right? That was bad.
The drawer slid open, and Gaara nearly tumbled back in surprise.
Once he gathered himself, he characteristically narrowed his eyes at the sealed envelopes tucked neatly away there.
They were pink.
Gaara's eyes roved the room before hesitantly picking one of the smoking bombs in trepidation.
Gaara stuck his thumb under the fold and flipped the sealed envelope open. A pungent and overwhelming odor permeated the fancy, thick stationary and instantly assaulted his unprotected nostrils.
His eyes exploded in waterworks. His head was swimming in nausea.
"MY GODS, WHAT THE H_LL?" Gaara gagged, crashing out of his armchair and stumbling blindly to the nearby trash can for fear of the welling sensation in the pit of his gut.
Gaara retched into the rectangular canister, to no avail. He just had to wait off his episode of discomfiture. Once he had gathered himself from his rather . . . embarrassing reaction, he approached the abandoned letter with utmost caution.
'Someone's trying to kill me again,' snarled Gaara, distrust and hatred spilling over his seafoam eyes. 'Who's sending assassins after me, this time?' He snatched the offensive paper from his desk and examined it for clues.
'No doubt, an attempt at poisoning me . . .' he observed. His eyes scanned the contents of the page.
And, to his horror, this it read:
Father keeps the key
But neither of them
Can keep precious Gaara away from me
Remember the robin
Remember the dove
Remember the day
We fell in love
Meet me tonight
Hold me tight
Give me a kiss
And say goodnight
Down by the sand dunes
Written on a rock
Three little words
Forget me not
I wish you were a tea cup
In which I take my tea
And everytime I take a sip
It means a kiss from me
Kisses in the kitchen
Kisses in the hall
Kisses in the bedroom
Are the sweetest ones of all
Tell your mother to hold her tongue
For she had a guy when she was young
Tell your father to do the same
For he took your mother and changed her name
♥♥Your Secret Admirer ;)"
Gaara stared with disbelief branded on his face.
It was . . . a lust letter?
As Gaara's eyes rested on the last stanza, his expression hardened and his mouth pressed itself into a thin line. Gaara didn't appreciate references to his parents. Both were dead, and both never loved him. It was sick to read this; insulting, even.
With contemptuous disgust, Gaara discarded the drivel of some depraved, female
And now Gaara had sparkly, gold glitter in his toes. Gaara did not appreciate glitter in his toes.
With a throaty snarl, Gaara scooped the rest from his floor and dumped them, without ceremony, into the trash bin. If those dear prospective lovers had seen this horrifying transgression of their unrequited love, a never-ending dirge would have engulfed all of Sunagakure.
'What is going on here?' Gaara mentally scoured his brain for answers. 'Is it 'Irk Gaara Day,' or something? 'Cause, d_mn . . .' he growled, trying to flick off a particularly uncomfortable sequin wedged between his sandal and pinky toe.
The way this nightmare was going, Gaara would gladly have endured a few years more of assassination attempts ("attempts," being the key word here
No wonder Shikamaru was a misogynist. Gaara contemplated converting.
Gaara scoffed. And to think Kankuro was irrevocably enamored of those squabbling Amazons. Boy, did he have a messed-up family.
After suffering a full shift of dreary work, Gaara chose to head home. Half of the paperwork he had encountered today were either confessions of gushing, hormone-driven lust, caustic--often sugar-coated--poems, or downright proposals. Holy matrimony, literally. One young
Gaara turned the key in the lock. He listened in satisfaction as the tumblers fell into place. None of those banshees were going to break in again tonight. Desecrating his office like that, honestly. He turned from his office door and headed down the short hallway and down the steps, all the while his mind active in contemplation.
Had today's
Well, whatever the motives for this horrific day, and its equally horrifying surprises, Gaara would not absolve that sadistic, unearthly force so easily.
Gaara held grudges. Gaara did not smile. Gaara did not dance in the flowers. Gaara did not forgive. Simple as that.
Little did our little Kazekage know, what Fate had in store for the obstinate dignitary. Fate had a way of being very persuasive. Very vengeful.
Gaara descended the stairs in his usual sour, grumpy mood, determined not to exonerate whomever had set this misfortune upon him.
Once he left the safety of the sand edifice, however, it became sorely apparent . . . that Fate was not done with him yet.
"OHHMAAAHGOOOODS!"
"IT'S GAARAAAAA!!!"
"EEEE!!"
But these were not typical screams of terror and shrieks of cowardice, as Gaara was soon to find out.
The Sabaku residence allowed a rather haggard-looking individual into its large, elegant dwelling. The door slammed shut again, and an expectant silence ensued.
Gaara tramped to the kitchen, where his two siblings resided.
The familiar chopping motion of Temari's kitchen knife was abruptly halted. She visibly gaped at the emaciated figure of her youngest brother, hanging to the edge of the doorway as if onto dear life. Her teal eyes went wide at his appearance.
Gaara's clothes were mere shreds hanging onto the pale expanses of his skin, as if ravenous beasts had wanted to expose as much of it as possible. He was bent over from exhaustion, but when he lifted his face to see them, it was apparent he was not assaulted in the conventional definition of the term. A glut of red-hued smears besmirched his usually untouched face.
Rose Red #15, Pink Petal Crush #3, Bruised Plum #27, Tender Neutral #9, Kiss-It-Bold Crimson #18, Red Candy Apple #17 . . .
Lipstick.
Kankuro dropped his sandwich, and stuffed a fist in his mouth to refrain from openly guffawing at the poor and eternally scarred state of his kid brother.
It was painful.
♥→→
Yes, I like to indulge myself in pure, unadulterated crack on occasions. This can't wait until the next Valentine's, so I'll use the
The
This is an old work of mine. You can tell from the discrepancies in style (because I'm really not sure I write like that anymore). I just did a little editing and posted it. =D Because I thought we all deserved a little laughter
Wish I could watch plotless, happy-ending movies and watch the clouds trail across the sky all day; wish to appreciate the sunset and oversleep half the day; wish things didn't have to be complicated; wish I could go back to the simple days. :)
Remember to have a wonderful day, and please excuse the obvious
Have a picture. Also discovered by BuffinMuddeh, the queen of hearts. ;x; She's too sweet. GAHHH. *dies from sweetness overload*
Picture perfect.
