#at first i thot saya was in her sasuke arc. now she's in her itachi arc.

[scarredsands]

Slowly, Saya had started picking up where she left off. While she didn't like being at home still for long, she was at least beginning to steadily clean the place up following her absence. Long expired and rotten food had been thrown out of the fridge and freezer, and furniture and other appliances were cleaned and dusted the best she could. This was her house now - she'd still rather have her grandpa back than be a homeowner, but these were the cards she was dealt.

As she worked on dusting off the furniture in the living room, a knock at the door made her stop. Her hand hovered over her knife in its holster at her left thigh, unable to see too clearly through the peephole. Grime and dirt obscured part of it - something else she'd need to clean, she noted.

She'd open the door, and any words rising in her throat died immediately. A dark-haired man stood before her, and crimson eyes met her own. The same ring seen around her own pupils was around his as well. A spitting image of him, she was.

Her father.

She hadn't seen him since she was ten. Though he walked out on her when she was a baby along with her mother, leaving her in her grandfather's care, there was moments where he would visit them over the years. No attempt was ever made to salvage their relationship from him, and Saya wasn't about to extend her hand either. She never understood why he visited in the first place.

"Saya," he says, before she can break from her stupor, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"

Her blood runs cold. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. It felt weird to stare back into eyes that mirrored her own. She hated it, she hated him. Saya's eyes narrowed a bit, hand still resting over the knife at her thigh.

"What're y'doin' here? Wasn't expectin' a visit from Mr. Deadbeat himself." The desert rose poison that coated the blade of her knife didn't hold a candle to the acidic tone of her voice.

He seemed taken aback by her vitriol, lips set in a line before he spoke again. "I heard about what happened." The man pauses, looking off to the side, before looking back down at his daughter. "I was wondering about the will. Best to get that squared away, don't you think?"

All she could do was stare on in disbelief. Saya, for a moment, had to wonder if she was in some fucked up nightmare. Surely this wasn't real, was it? After all that time, after all these years... all he cared about was the money?

It was funny. Her earliest memory of her father coming back was when she was four. He visited their home in The Under, and all he did was complain. 'It's so dark here,' 'This place is horrible,' 'You don't have anything to block out that neon light?' Her grandpa was always quick to shut him down. "Well, if ya don't like it, ya don't have t'stay here. No one invited ya anyways, door's right there."

Of course it was about the money. Of course it was. He never gave a shit about her or his own father. He never tried to get to know her or rebuild the bridge he burnt. He was selfish - so, so selfish. Maybe that's where she got it from. Maybe that's why it made her so angry.

"Th'... will?" She repeats, a tiny laugh leaving her. Saya can feel it. She can feel that white hot rage snaking through her veins, choking her heart. It's been festering there ever since she lost her grandfather, waiting and biding its time.

"I'll be dead in th'fuckin' ground too before y'ever see a damn cent of anythin'!" Her entire being feels like a supernova, exploding and burning in a catastrophe. All there is, and ever has been, is anger. "Y'don't deserve nothin' after th'shit ya've pulled. I don't even give a damn that y'walked out on me. Built m'character real nice, taught m'how t'work hard n' earn m'keep. Yer a shit father, a shit son. No kid should ever have t'console their drunken grandpa when he's wonderin' where he went wrong raisin' his boy. Wonderin' why his own son is such a HORRIBLE PERSON."

She takes her knife out of the holster, closing the distance between them before he could blink. Poison glints on the blade as she presses it to his neck, beads of deep red already dotting the metal.

"I COULD KILL YA RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW. I COULD GET AWAY WITH IT TOO - DUMP YER BODY IN TH'DESERT WHERE NO ONE'LL EVER FIND IT. NO ONE'LL EVER COME LOOKIN' FER YA, 'CAUSE NO ONE'LL MISS YA." She was yelling, but she didn't care. "THERE AIN'T NO LAW 'ROUND THESE PARTS. Y'KNOW WHO CONTROLS TH'LAW? THOSE WITH TH'MONEY... N'I GOT PLENTY OF IT NOW." The thudding of Mojave and Agave behind her falls on deaf ears. Her own voice sounds muffled and far away.

"YA WANNA FIND OUT WHY THEY CALL ME ORRE'S DESERT ROSE? I'LL LEARN YA REAL DAMN FAST." Her pokemon tower behind her, receptive to Saya's anger. They, too, look anything but pleased.

Her chest heaves, breath quick and erratic as she pushes the knife in further. Her father's hand moves up towards hers, but stops after a growl of warning from the large Aggron.

"You have an attitude like your mother... and you wonder why I left."

Oh.... Oh. That's funny. Within her very soul itself, Saya feels something snap. It snaps like the stem of a flower, careening down to the ground and scattering petals in its wake. Oh - it's so, so funny.

It's about goddamn time.

She lunges without a thought, and Agave and Mojave move just as fast. There's screams that echo through her street, but her neighbors know better than to even look at what might be happening.

Oh it's so funny, it's all so funny - if only she was laughing.