desolate minds

ii. words can be weapons

Once Sasori began to attend the Ninja Academy, I started to see less of him at home. It wasn't because he wasn't there— it was more of an issue with our differing schedules. Due to my two-year-old body, I just wasn't able to make it through the day without at least one nap. Add on the fact that I went to sleep at a ridiculously early time... So, it wasn't really a surprise when I always managed to miss Sasori. The only time I really got to see him was in the morning when he was getting ready to leave for the Academy.  He came home for lunch, but I was usually taking a nap at that time— and once his classes were over, Sasori would go off to train.

In short, I was beginning to really miss spending time with my brother. Maybe his absence wouldn't make me ache so badly if Chiyo was around more too. Instead, the old woman seemed just as busy as my six-year-old brother. Honestly, I saw more of her than I did Sasori though. Our Kage had recently admonished Chiyo for taking missions when she was supposed to be retired. The woman had been ranting about the meeting all day once she had returned home, going on about how the man threatened to put her back on active duty if she wanted to do ninja work so badly. I was pretty sure that the only reason she had been taking missions in the first place was so that she wouldn't have to apply for a 'boring civilian' job.

Either way, both of my precious family members were always busy with something. Their schedules had been busy for a time, but they had only really picked up once mother and father died. A part of me assumed this was their way of coping, and another considered that it was just a coincidence. Truth be told I didn't really care— not right now anyway. Definitely not right now. If those two assholes were actually home for once, I wouldn't need an annoying babysitter that couldn't leave me alone for a second to work on my chakra training.

After I turned two, Chiyo ceased hiring genin teams to watch me— instead, she enlisted the help of civilians (whose prices were extremely cheaper). Having three little genin watch over me was no problem, because they were ninja and didn't fret over every little thing, or care if I wandered off on my own for a bit. They did their own thing while I did mine, knowing that if anything was wrong they'd be able to sense it (either by my distressed cry or my unstable chakra). Now with a civilian? Things were completely different.

My usual babysitter was a civilian girl named Ruri Akishita. She had a plain and dull appearance, as did most people in Suna. I probably looked just as boring, but I'm pretty sure my adorable features made up for it. Her hair was long and pinpoint straight, taking on a dark brown color that could have looked better on her if it weren't for her sunburned scalp (I recoiled often when she got too close, wanting to be as far away as I could from the flakes that were shedding off into her hair). Ruri's eyes were just as bland, as they matched her hair color to a T. Not only did she look boring, but she acted boring as well. Her mannerisms, personality, and even voice were all parallel to each other and it drove me mad.

"Kyojin!" As if the stupid girl had heard my thoughts, she rounded the corner and entered Sasori's room (which was acting as today's hiding spot; obviously it didn't work so well). Ruri gave me a disapproving look as she hefted me up into her arms, "What did I tell you about running off like that! You're supposed to stay in my sight at all times— Hey, and is that one of your brother's books?" She lightly kicked at the large book that I had just been reading a second ago, obvious distaste on her features when she caught sight of the title: History of Sunagakure.

I grunted, not even bothering to voice a response. Ruri sighed loudly and trudged out of Sasori's room, continuing her rant as she walked through the house. "Honestly, what were you doing in there anyway? There's no way you were reading that big boring book, so what gives?" Blah, blah, blah. The girl could go on for hours, jumping from one topic to the next. She'd start off scolding me and then end the conversation with a praise.