[He doesn't delay in sending a response, then. If it's important enough to warrant a direct message, there's no time to sit around asking why.
He was out in the Shadowlands earlier; a return trip doesn't take long. Knowing the terrain as well as he does by now, Sasuke cuts a path straight toward the mausoleum, figure soon dashing into sight, silhouette sharp in the hazy fog of their eerie surroundings.]
ļ¼ once she feels the spark of the familiar chakra, she orients herself in that direction. she won't see him coming unless he wants her too, of course, but unless he's being generally cagey there isn't much reason to avoid her.
once he's visible, and the fog releases its hold on him, she gives him a nod. she's clearly on edge, there's no friendly smile or outpouring of her normal adoration, there's tension in the set of her shoulders and in the ridigity of her spine, and she's sitting perched on a piece of crumbling stone with her hands twisted into a knot in her lap. ļ¼
I'm worried about Naruto.
ļ¼ it's a bit bluntly said. there's no point beating around the bush. ļ¼
He's avoiding me for some reason — which tells me he's hiding something I'd notice if I saw him — and with the way he's focused on doing everything himself here... I think there's a high likelihood he's going to put himself in unnecessary danger trying to figure out how to return us home.
[He can sense the mood as soon as he's near, and it reflects his own, although that isn't much of a deviation from his usual dour mind. Dressed in a dark blue shirt with an open collar, the left sleeve is knotted off and he's without his cloak; a glance-over would tell Sakura that he's been out and about in the wild, exerting himself, given the unkempt state of his appearance in general.
There's also a new sword at his waist. The blade is straight, undecorated. Not dissimilar from the one he used to carry back home.]
He's avoiding me too. He keeps making excuses when there's any chance that we might see each other. So I went to look for him, and he ran away. He was angrier than he should have been. [Sasuke turns his head, gaze pointed toward the direction he knows his own door lies. With reflection, he wishes he hadn't lashed out in return.] I think he's hiding in that place behind his door.
ļ¼ the sword gets a look. she knows, too well now, just what it takes to make a lasting blade, but she isn't going to say anything about it. she can recognize that utility requires sacrifice, even if she disagrees with how that sacrifice occurs.
naruto will see it differently, but she has a series of soulforged glass bottles that she's using to store blood. there was no other choice unless she wanted them to degrade to uselessness almost immediately. so she understands why sasuke would make such a choice, and can't condemn it. ļ¼
He's doing the same with me.
ļ¼ bleak confirmation. ļ¼
And yes, he did tell me — but even if he hadn't — it's Naruto. Of course he's going to believe he can get us all home if he just tries hard enough. I've seen what happens when he's willing to tear himself apart for a goal, and I don't think that ends well here.
ļ¼ her shoulders hunch a little in misery as she pulls herself in nearer her center, like she's trying to fold into nothing, head resting briefly on her drawn-up knees. it's a moment of self-soothing, and then she consciously exhales. flattens out her shoulders, and stands up. ļ¼
I'm going to see if I can get an audience with the Hierarchy.
ļ¼ there are any number of reasons she chooses to do this via text. mostly, though, it's because she is concerned she will absolutely blow up on him if she has to speak aloud. it's easier to curate the written word. ļ¼
Please see Doctor McCoy about the progression of your Hanahaki disease. He works primarily in Hale.
[The reaction to her message is fully physical ā fear, then a fury, like a trapped animal pacing a cage. He tries to press it down with every grain of his willpower, slowing the sudden roar of his pulse.
Does she know what it means? Has she figured it out?]
Of course it's relevant. I'm not being stubborn; there's nothing that person can do for me that will make any difference. It's a curse from this world, beholden to the logic of this place alone.
ļ¼ hard to tell at this distance — his sensory abilities have never been great. could it have been that quincy bastard? he was pretty sure grimmjow had opted against a direct confrontation, not to mention the fact that ichigo can tell he walked away from the fight.
then again, if the quincy's reiatsu had been knocked out in the fight, it would have been pretty one-sided... shit.
he isn't in the habit of sharing his business with other people, especially near-strangers, but the circumstances of his knowing uchiha have been weird from the word go. and he clearly considers himself at least on par with grimmjow after their fight. there's a chance that if he learns about the quincy, he'll seek him out on purpose too just like he did with ichigo. except that ichigo can't guarantee the guy wouldn't just straight up kill him. ļ¼
there's another person from my world it could be, but he's one of my enemies. said his name was ļ¼ uh. what was it again? ichigo types out several guesses, deleting each one in turn and then: ļ¼ jugo, i think. tall guy, long blonde hair, german. kind of an austere prick.
[Concern spikes, recalling his conversation with Sakura not long ago. I can get stronger, too. It is hypocritical of him to consider frustration when he's never communicated any of his own encounters or battles here, even seeking out the fraught lands outside Stygia. But still.]
Jugo. [His mind goes to his own Jugo, far away from this place.] Your description is familiar, I encountered someone like that briefly.
[what is german tho]
There's another from my world as well. I'll check on her. [...] I don't like the idea of her fighting Grimmjow.
grimmjow's an asshole most of the time, but he's not a bad person, and he isn't going to kill anyone. if they fought, he would have left your friend alive.
ļ¼ but it is a technicality. just because he wouldn't have killed her directly necessarily mean there were wounds someone might succumb to later... even if he thinks it would be done more out of ignorance than deliberation. grimmjow wouldn't derive any satisfaction from someone dying of their wounds.
he needs to put that idiot on a leash, stg.
as for the rest, well. he's already committed. he's explained that he's powerful, and there's no point hiding the specifics of what he is. if nothing else, uchiha is going to see tensa zangetsu at some point. pre-empting any questions that might later arise will be one avenue of trust between them. ļ¼
first, you probably need some context. i'm a shinigami. he's something called a quincy, a race of living humans with reiatsu — that energy you sensed in me — that was nearly eradicated in a war a millennia ago.
quincy have been at odds with shinigami well before that war. both shinigami and quincy can see spirits. shinigami can perform a ritual that sends spirits to the afterlife, cleansing corrupted spirits and permitting them to return to their place in the reincarnation cycle.
quincy destroy them.
ļ¼ he's pretty sure he doesn't have to describe the specifics to someone from a culture that aligns with his own. why that's as horrifying as it is. ļ¼
the shinigami aren't blameless. they tried to commit genocide, and almost succeeded. it was way before my time, but that sin is part of my heritage. ļ¼ on both sides. shinigami and quincy both. he thinks of his mother, who he'd known so little and holds so few precious memories of, and wonders what she might have thought of her son fighting against the quincy's king. his jaw tightens faintly, and then he continues typing: ļ¼ until a few months ago i didn't know there were more than a few surviving quincy. but he's part of an army that was amassed to destroy the barriers between the realms of the dead and the living. shinigami are called balancers. we make sure the realms are in check. without those checks... my world will consume itself.
jago or whatever is the right hand man of the quincy king, yhwach. we've agreed to a ceasefire here, but i don't trust him. he'd probably say the same of me. you can believe whatever you want or ask him. i don't think he'd lie, but we see things differently.
this serious tag about genocide and ichigo just like "jugo" "jago" "jello"
[He's not a bad person carries more weight than Ichigo implies. As much as he dislikes Grimmjow on principle of being obnoxious to deal with, in addition to the bloodlust that reminds him of defeated shinobi in his past ā he'll take Ichigo's word for this now. And check on Sakura himself.
It also doesn't escape Sasuke's notice how much is revealed in the process of what he's then told.]
Quincy and Shinigami. [The latter is familiar, as well as that cultural reference to souls. Of course it's distasteful; Sasuke, unseen, is frowning. He doesn't comment further on the reference to genocide, even if it feels sore to hear.] I understand carrying that sort of heritage, but...
Why would they want to tear down the divide between those realms? What is the purpose?
[ laurent shows up to the midwinter banquet looking decidedly less severe than normal ā he's shed his dark jacket and wears only a creamy white shirt that matches his porcelain skin, a ruffle of lace at his throat and cuffs. his knee-high boots are perfectly polished, his dark trousers fitted tight over his hips, not a crease in sight. draped over his shoulders is sasuke's cloak, pinned in place with a golden clasp bearing a glittering starburst crest. if he's nervous about being in the same room as the man who very nearly took his life, he doesn't show it.
he holds a mask in his hand, dangling from the strap ā the face of a golden serpent. laurent's hair is gathered into a loose braid and pulled over one shoulder, the striking yellow strands picking up the glow of candlelight as he enters the lavish room and surveys its contents. the mask bounces on a plush chaise as he discards it, walking past a table laden with drinks and ignoring his reflection in a large, silvery mirror mounted on the wall. he pulls open the balcony doors to reveal the glittering pool, the moon high in a cloudy sky ā and there stands sasuke, waiting as promised.
laurent's pulse stirs uncomfortably at the sight, hesitating only a brief moment before he steps out onto the marble floors, the crystalline waters almost as blue as his own eyes. his wrist is healed thanks to sakura. his shoulder is healed thanks to time. everything else is better than before but not quite at a hundred percent just yet ā he's sore still from the damage taken from sasuke's lightning strike, lingering bruises still marring parts of his skin. if he breathes too deeply or turns too sharply, he aches.
he shows none of this now, his crest glittering in the moonlight, his gaze steady. his boots click neatly against the marble as he steps to the edge of the pool. ]
Take your clothes off. [ the layout is not unlike that of the bathing pools in vere, though not as warm or sweet-smelling. ] You will bathe.
[Time was not specified, and so Sasuke is here at the setting of the sun, alone on the balcony with only the lace of stars and twin moons for light. It is enough; the sky is clear, and the moons are nearly full, washing everything in a pale gleam that only contributes to Radiance's decorated beauty. He is dressed simply in a dark shirt with an open V collar, left sleeve loose and hanging, dark trousers, and dark shoes. To his surroundings he looks an anomaly, almost a shadow, misplaced where it stands among that white marble terrace in the night. The purple of his left eye is offset by the black of his right, unarmed of the Sharingan. There is no sword at his waist. There's a mask set aside on the rim of the pool, silver, feathered like a bird.
Laurent appears suddenly, footsteps quick across the ground as the first warning of his approach. Eyes take him in, recognizing with familiarity the sight of his cloak now pinned by a gold clasp. Another symbol of Vere, then, like the one on the handkerchief he still owns. Perhaps it is an even trade.
He sighs, warm breath misting in the air.] I've already agreed to do so. I won't be a threat to you here. [Then Sasuke brusquely turns his back and begins to disrobe without hesitation. He had lost any modesty he once possessed beneath Orochimaru's tutelage, when he had first begun to forge his body into a better weapon.
The shirt is shed, tossed onto the marble, revealing an upper torso sculpted of muscle and a pale network of scars. His left arm is the most visually striking ā limb ending suddenly in a knot of scar tissue just above the elbow where it was severed. Normally it is bandaged from sight; tonight it is not. The other marks are more subtle on his skin, healed through medical ninjutsu where possible. Shoes are slipped off next, heel first, then the black socks, then the belt around his waist is sent clattering to the ground. His right hand unbuttons trousers and pushes them down, along with a pair of fitted, spartan undergarments, all at once. There are garters on his calves that once held weapons, but they are empty and stripped off easily.
Sasuke moves toward the pool fully undressed now, body corded with muscle such that it does not belie his living, feeling the cold marble beneath bare feet but ignoring it as he climbs the embankment.]
[ it's merely insurance, a safety precaution to keep sasuke's shadow from running rampant as before, but something curls inside of him, an indescribable concoction of anger and distaste and basic carnality, unwelcome. sasuke is built like the best of the prince's guard, save for one obvious flaw. for a man who has never fucked a living thing in his life, he shows no humility in disrobing. ]
Who took your arm? [ laurent points the tip of his chin to the pool, as if directing a dog. he would prefer a dog. ] Get in.
[ to his credit, sasuke's movements are precise, quiet. the water ripples as he breaks the surface, glittering in the light. laurent watches with the most impassive of gazes, revealing nothing of the churn in his stomach or his rapidly fluttering pulse. revenge floats easily to the forefront of his mind, of sasuke bound to the balustrade and whipped past rational thought, of his head held beneath the water until his body goes as still as the night. a rush of hatred tightens his brow, his own shadow pressing heavy upon him. ]
[Those eyes, equally as pale and cold as the rest of Laurent, are burning into his skin. He holds no modesty but it isnāt as if he does this casually. No one has seen him in such a vulnerable state since those days of experimentation and training in kind, or else undone on the battlefieldāeven then holding a different kind of dignityāand Laurent is not a helpless damsel. Perhaps heās brought himself a dagger to plunge into a waiting back.
Sliding into the pool, chill water submerges his lower body up to the narrow curve of hip bones. Itās frigid, clean and scentless, rippling like glass. The effects are immediate. His mind is cleared for the first time in days, weeks, scooped out of dark and misery; Sasukeās shoulders relax and he sinks deeper in, head turning to watch at a tilt.]
Naruto. [It shouldnāt be a surprise. He says it flatly and with no intent to lie or conceal, not when Laurent already knows so much.] Iāll use the Sharingan. You only need to look me in the eye, and I can give you the memory Iāve stored within it. It will feel as though youāre experiencing it for yourself, because it belongs to me.
[Sasuke turns more fully, fluidly, wading on his knees in the pool. The cold has turned his skin angry pink but he shows no discomfort otherwise as his right hand finds the edge of the embankment to brace against.]
The Sharingan is this. [His right eye changes, bleeding bright and luminous red.] Itās part of my bloodline. A tool for battle.
[ it shouldn't come as a surprise, and yet for a wound as gruesome as that ā it does. he tries to imagine the violence that must have transpired between them, somehow diverging into a bond so deep he can't understand it. there's that pull he always gets ā auguste, damen, the unforgivable blood spilled, a force of nature chained like a lion beside him ā then an uncomfortable tightening in his throat at how sasuke feels the very same, like an untamed creature that needs a leash. laurent looks down at him, unmoving, as sasuke wades closer. ]
It's unsightly. [ the red is a shade off from the richness of akielon royalty. it's the regent's color. he doesn't know if the sudden heat that fills him is from this knowledge or because of the casual way that sasuke commands him.
laurent doesn't move, imagining his booted foot grinding into the soft flesh of sasuke's face. after a weighted moment, he flicks the back of the cloak out of the way and crouches, one pale hand reaching out to ghost his fingers along the line of sasuke's jaw, lifting his chin so that his sharingan catches the light, a bloody gem. ]
You take liberties. [ a soft murmur. laurent's face has only the shadow of bruising along the sharp line of his cheekbone, otherwise fine-boned and elegant like a prince from the pages of a weathered storybook. his thumb travels along sasuke's cheek, stroking tenderly beneath his red eye in rapt examination, his fingers cool and soft.
he removes his hand quickly, one fingernail sharply nicking at sasuke's cheekbone. the thinnest line of red appears, slowly welling with a drop of blood. laurent sets his wrist primly on his knee, his hand somehow clean. ] How clumsy of me. You look so much like a slave I thought you might want to play the part.
[ he unclasps the golden pin, letting the cloak slide from his shoulders. his white shirt and pale skin seem to glow beneath the moonlight, his hair like threads of yellow gold. setting the clasp down atop the fallen cloak, he holds a hand out, wrist up, to reveal a complicated line of tight laces. ] Attend me. Then you can share your memory.
[In the pool, submerged nearly to his throat, a lassitude claims him after weeks of volatile struggle. He shows no reaction to the criticism; in fact, he finds it intuitive of Laurent to say so when he is still ignorant of the Sharingan's history and extent of capability. If there is context behind the remark, Sasuke doesn't know it.
What shocks him back to rigidity is the touch. It skims the tender skin beneath his eye, perilously close to delicate eyelids and dark lashes, which flicker in reflex to the proximity. Fear ribbons through him, soon calmed ā a learned response he's forced to control with effort. He is so rarely touched, and even rarer there, that it leaves a knot in his throat. The sharp sting of a cut is almost relieving, as a distraction, and he lifts his hand to wipe it clean with cold water.
His heart continues its quickened pace, an uptick of surprise not so easily schooled. Now more prominently conscious of Laurent before him, given what he is asked moments later; he has no thoughts for slaves, but he remembers what he was told of an alien world.]
You won't find me so obedient. Anything I choose to do is of my own will, whether or not it disappoints you. [With this he reaches out to grasp Laurent's slender wrist, wet fingers dampening cream fabric. The hold is strong. A tug pulls Laurent closer until he is pressed to the marble edge of the pool, as if imprisoned to it.] How many slaves did you keep?
[His head bends at the question, and white teeth find the knot of the laces, bypassing the difficulty of using only one hand as he had their first meeting. Tugging at string until it becomes loose, dexterous fingertips begin their unraveling and soon reveal the pale stripe of Laurent's skin.]
Give me your other wrist.
Edited (sorry i wanted to add smth i forgotā¦.) 2023-01-01 22:11 (UTC)
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text āŖ un: 012601
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[Obviously the reason Sakura's contacting him out of the blue.]
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I'm in the Shadowlands, near the mausoleum.
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He was out in the Shadowlands earlier; a return trip doesn't take long. Knowing the terrain as well as he does by now, Sasuke cuts a path straight toward the mausoleum, figure soon dashing into sight, silhouette sharp in the hazy fog of their eerie surroundings.]
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once he's visible, and the fog releases its hold on him, she gives him a nod. she's clearly on edge, there's no friendly smile or outpouring of her normal adoration, there's tension in the set of her shoulders and in the ridigity of her spine, and she's sitting perched on a piece of crumbling stone with her hands twisted into a knot in her lap. ļ¼
I'm worried about Naruto.
ļ¼ it's a bit bluntly said. there's no point beating around the bush. ļ¼
He's avoiding me for some reason — which tells me he's hiding something I'd notice if I saw him — and with the way he's focused on doing everything himself here... I think there's a high likelihood he's going to put himself in unnecessary danger trying to figure out how to return us home.
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There's also a new sword at his waist. The blade is straight, undecorated. Not dissimilar from the one he used to carry back home.]
He's avoiding me too. He keeps making excuses when there's any chance that we might see each other. So I went to look for him, and he ran away. He was angrier than he should have been. [Sasuke turns his head, gaze pointed toward the direction he knows his own door lies. With reflection, he wishes he hadn't lashed out in return.] I think he's hiding in that place behind his door.
Has he told you he's looking for a way back?
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naruto will see it differently, but she has a series of soulforged glass bottles that she's using to store blood. there was no other choice unless she wanted them to degrade to uselessness almost immediately. so she understands why sasuke would make such a choice, and can't condemn it. ļ¼
He's doing the same with me.
ļ¼ bleak confirmation. ļ¼
And yes, he did tell me — but even if he hadn't — it's Naruto. Of course he's going to believe he can get us all home if he just tries hard enough. I've seen what happens when he's willing to tear himself apart for a goal, and I don't think that ends well here.
ļ¼ her shoulders hunch a little in misery as she pulls herself in nearer her center, like she's trying to fold into nothing, head resting briefly on her drawn-up knees. it's a moment of self-soothing, and then she consciously exhales. flattens out her shoulders, and stands up. ļ¼
I'm going to see if I can get an audience with the Hierarchy.
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ash pls accept my handwaved unanswered sasuke texts to naruto
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text āŖ un: 012601
Please see Doctor McCoy about the progression of your Hanahaki disease. He works primarily in Hale.
I've told him to expect you.
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Does she know what it means? Has she figured it out?]
I don't need help. I'm handling it.
Who told you?
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How I know isn't relevant.
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Was it Laurent?
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It should have been you.
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You've had enough to deal with. I'm not the only one affected.
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text āŖ un: åäŗ
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ļ¼ hard to tell at this distance — his sensory abilities have never been great. could it have been that quincy bastard? he was pretty sure grimmjow had opted against a direct confrontation, not to mention the fact that ichigo can tell he walked away from the fight.
then again, if the quincy's reiatsu had been knocked out in the fight, it would have been pretty one-sided... shit.
he isn't in the habit of sharing his business with other people, especially near-strangers, but the circumstances of his knowing uchiha have been weird from the word go. and he clearly considers himself at least on par with grimmjow after their fight. there's a chance that if he learns about the quincy, he'll seek him out on purpose too just like he did with ichigo. except that ichigo can't guarantee the guy wouldn't just straight up kill him. ļ¼
there's another person from my world it could be, but he's one of my enemies. said his name was ļ¼ uh. what was it again? ichigo types out several guesses, deleting each one in turn and then: ļ¼ jugo, i think. tall guy, long blonde hair, german. kind of an austere prick.
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Jugo. [His mind goes to his own Jugo, far away from this place.] Your description is familiar, I encountered someone like that briefly.
[what is german tho]
There's another from my world as well. I'll check on her. [...] I don't like the idea of her fighting Grimmjow.
Why is that man your enemy?
cw: genocide refs
ļ¼ but it is a technicality. just because he wouldn't have killed her directly necessarily mean there were wounds someone might succumb to later... even if he thinks it would be done more out of ignorance than deliberation. grimmjow wouldn't derive any satisfaction from someone dying of their wounds.
he needs to put that idiot on a leash, stg.
as for the rest, well. he's already committed. he's explained that he's powerful, and there's no point hiding the specifics of what he is. if nothing else, uchiha is going to see tensa zangetsu at some point. pre-empting any questions that might later arise will be one avenue of trust between them. ļ¼
first, you probably need some context. i'm a shinigami. he's something called a quincy, a race of living humans with reiatsu — that energy you sensed in me — that was nearly eradicated in a war a millennia ago.
quincy have been at odds with shinigami well before that war. both shinigami and quincy can see spirits. shinigami can perform a ritual that sends spirits to the afterlife, cleansing corrupted spirits and permitting them to return to their place in the reincarnation cycle.
quincy destroy them.
ļ¼ he's pretty sure he doesn't have to describe the specifics to someone from a culture that aligns with his own. why that's as horrifying as it is. ļ¼
the shinigami aren't blameless. they tried to commit genocide, and almost succeeded. it was way before my time, but that sin is part of my heritage. ļ¼ on both sides. shinigami and quincy both. he thinks of his mother, who he'd known so little and holds so few precious memories of, and wonders what she might have thought of her son fighting against the quincy's king. his jaw tightens faintly, and then he continues typing: ļ¼ until a few months ago i didn't know there were more than a few surviving quincy. but he's part of an army that was amassed to destroy the barriers between the realms of the dead and the living. shinigami are called balancers. we make sure the realms are in check. without those checks... my world will consume itself.
jago or whatever is the right hand man of the quincy king, yhwach. we've agreed to a ceasefire here, but i don't trust him. he'd probably say the same of me. you can believe whatever you want or ask him. i don't think he'd lie, but we see things differently.
this serious tag about genocide and ichigo just like "jugo" "jago" "jello"
It also doesn't escape Sasuke's notice how much is revealed in the process of what he's then told.]
Quincy and Shinigami. [The latter is familiar, as well as that cultural reference to souls. Of course it's distasteful; Sasuke, unseen, is frowning. He doesn't comment further on the reference to genocide, even if it feels sore to hear.] I understand carrying that sort of heritage, but...
Why would they want to tear down the divide between those realms? What is the purpose?
he's calling him jello next mark my words
good
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he holds a mask in his hand, dangling from the strap ā the face of a golden serpent. laurent's hair is gathered into a loose braid and pulled over one shoulder, the striking yellow strands picking up the glow of candlelight as he enters the lavish room and surveys its contents. the mask bounces on a plush chaise as he discards it, walking past a table laden with drinks and ignoring his reflection in a large, silvery mirror mounted on the wall. he pulls open the balcony doors to reveal the glittering pool, the moon high in a cloudy sky ā and there stands sasuke, waiting as promised.
laurent's pulse stirs uncomfortably at the sight, hesitating only a brief moment before he steps out onto the marble floors, the crystalline waters almost as blue as his own eyes. his wrist is healed thanks to sakura. his shoulder is healed thanks to time. everything else is better than before but not quite at a hundred percent just yet ā he's sore still from the damage taken from sasuke's lightning strike, lingering bruises still marring parts of his skin. if he breathes too deeply or turns too sharply, he aches.
he shows none of this now, his crest glittering in the moonlight, his gaze steady. his boots click neatly against the marble as he steps to the edge of the pool. ]
Take your clothes off. [ the layout is not unlike that of the bathing pools in vere, though not as warm or sweet-smelling. ] You will bathe.
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Laurent appears suddenly, footsteps quick across the ground as the first warning of his approach. Eyes take him in, recognizing with familiarity the sight of his cloak now pinned by a gold clasp. Another symbol of Vere, then, like the one on the handkerchief he still owns. Perhaps it is an even trade.
He sighs, warm breath misting in the air.] I've already agreed to do so. I won't be a threat to you here. [Then Sasuke brusquely turns his back and begins to disrobe without hesitation. He had lost any modesty he once possessed beneath Orochimaru's tutelage, when he had first begun to forge his body into a better weapon.
The shirt is shed, tossed onto the marble, revealing an upper torso sculpted of muscle and a pale network of scars. His left arm is the most visually striking ā limb ending suddenly in a knot of scar tissue just above the elbow where it was severed. Normally it is bandaged from sight; tonight it is not. The other marks are more subtle on his skin, healed through medical ninjutsu where possible. Shoes are slipped off next, heel first, then the black socks, then the belt around his waist is sent clattering to the ground. His right hand unbuttons trousers and pushes them down, along with a pair of fitted, spartan undergarments, all at once. There are garters on his calves that once held weapons, but they are empty and stripped off easily.
Sasuke moves toward the pool fully undressed now, body corded with muscle such that it does not belie his living, feeling the cold marble beneath bare feet but ignoring it as he climbs the embankment.]
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Who took your arm? [ laurent points the tip of his chin to the pool, as if directing a dog. he would prefer a dog. ] Get in.
[ to his credit, sasuke's movements are precise, quiet. the water ripples as he breaks the surface, glittering in the light. laurent watches with the most impassive of gazes, revealing nothing of the churn in his stomach or his rapidly fluttering pulse. revenge floats easily to the forefront of his mind, of sasuke bound to the balustrade and whipped past rational thought, of his head held beneath the water until his body goes as still as the night. a rush of hatred tightens his brow, his own shadow pressing heavy upon him. ]
How will it work? Your eyes.
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Sliding into the pool, chill water submerges his lower body up to the narrow curve of hip bones. Itās frigid, clean and scentless, rippling like glass. The effects are immediate. His mind is cleared for the first time in days, weeks, scooped out of dark and misery; Sasukeās shoulders relax and he sinks deeper in, head turning to watch at a tilt.]
Naruto. [It shouldnāt be a surprise. He says it flatly and with no intent to lie or conceal, not when Laurent already knows so much.] Iāll use the Sharingan. You only need to look me in the eye, and I can give you the memory Iāve stored within it. It will feel as though youāre experiencing it for yourself, because it belongs to me.
[Sasuke turns more fully, fluidly, wading on his knees in the pool. The cold has turned his skin angry pink but he shows no discomfort otherwise as his right hand finds the edge of the embankment to brace against.]
The Sharingan is this. [His right eye changes, bleeding bright and luminous red.] Itās part of my bloodline. A tool for battle.
Come closer.
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It's unsightly. [ the red is a shade off from the richness of akielon royalty. it's the regent's color. he doesn't know if the sudden heat that fills him is from this knowledge or because of the casual way that sasuke commands him.
laurent doesn't move, imagining his booted foot grinding into the soft flesh of sasuke's face. after a weighted moment, he flicks the back of the cloak out of the way and crouches, one pale hand reaching out to ghost his fingers along the line of sasuke's jaw, lifting his chin so that his sharingan catches the light, a bloody gem. ]
You take liberties. [ a soft murmur. laurent's face has only the shadow of bruising along the sharp line of his cheekbone, otherwise fine-boned and elegant like a prince from the pages of a weathered storybook. his thumb travels along sasuke's cheek, stroking tenderly beneath his red eye in rapt examination, his fingers cool and soft.
he removes his hand quickly, one fingernail sharply nicking at sasuke's cheekbone. the thinnest line of red appears, slowly welling with a drop of blood. laurent sets his wrist primly on his knee, his hand somehow clean. ] How clumsy of me. You look so much like a slave I thought you might want to play the part.
[ he unclasps the golden pin, letting the cloak slide from his shoulders. his white shirt and pale skin seem to glow beneath the moonlight, his hair like threads of yellow gold. setting the clasp down atop the fallen cloak, he holds a hand out, wrist up, to reveal a complicated line of tight laces. ] Attend me. Then you can share your memory.
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What shocks him back to rigidity is the touch. It skims the tender skin beneath his eye, perilously close to delicate eyelids and dark lashes, which flicker in reflex to the proximity. Fear ribbons through him, soon calmed ā a learned response he's forced to control with effort. He is so rarely touched, and even rarer there, that it leaves a knot in his throat. The sharp sting of a cut is almost relieving, as a distraction, and he lifts his hand to wipe it clean with cold water.
His heart continues its quickened pace, an uptick of surprise not so easily schooled. Now more prominently conscious of Laurent before him, given what he is asked moments later; he has no thoughts for slaves, but he remembers what he was told of an alien world.]
You won't find me so obedient. Anything I choose to do is of my own will, whether or not it disappoints you. [With this he reaches out to grasp Laurent's slender wrist, wet fingers dampening cream fabric. The hold is strong. A tug pulls Laurent closer until he is pressed to the marble edge of the pool, as if imprisoned to it.] How many slaves did you keep?
[His head bends at the question, and white teeth find the knot of the laces, bypassing the difficulty of using only one hand as he had their first meeting. Tugging at string until it becomes loose, dexterous fingertips begin their unraveling and soon reveal the pale stripe of Laurent's skin.]
Give me your other wrist.
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