[It shouldn't surprise him, that difficulty in communication, like steeping one arm in a miry trench of legacy and tradition and digging around for sense with only bloodied, bare-knuckled fingers. Itachi only ever chose to answer the questions he wanted. Even then he'd need his back to the wall, or an assured way out, to deem those answers necessary. It's not that Sasuke came here expecting otherwise, but as he stares at the proffered cup he has to fight down the petulant refusal that rises in his throat.
He's not a child. Throwing a tantrum won't earn him any favors.]
How long have you been here? [Again he looks Itachi over, still bothered by an awareness that something is off. And to see whether there are clues that might mark the passage of time in his brother's immutable face.] Not recent. I can tell that much.
[Finally, after stewing in his own reluctance, his hand accepts the cup. He doesn't even want tea right now — but rejecting such a mild, meager effort on his brother's part was never really an option.]
no subject
He's not a child. Throwing a tantrum won't earn him any favors.]
How long have you been here? [Again he looks Itachi over, still bothered by an awareness that something is off. And to see whether there are clues that might mark the passage of time in his brother's immutable face.] Not recent. I can tell that much.
[Finally, after stewing in his own reluctance, his hand accepts the cup. He doesn't even want tea right now — but rejecting such a mild, meager effort on his brother's part was never really an option.]