[The blade of red through the dark has his immediate, singular attention. It is trained into him, no more apart from his skills as a shinobi—this ability to sense power, rife with familiarity even if it is not exactly another Sharingan staring back at him now. The feeling might be unsettling under other circumstances; instead it just burns into him with an intensity he's tempted to relish for the sake of nostalgia alone. He wonders if he will ever see another set of Sharingan again.
Itachi feels the flutter of those childlike emotions, simple as if being robbed of a toy or entertainment. It almost startles him. He cannot recall the last time he's felt it, or if he ever had.]
Not well.
[He can hear in the darkness, can perceive the bustling movement of the staff clear as bells. Finely honed senses don't rob him of an almost preternatural awareness of his surroundings. That said, he doesn't possess night vision, regardless of whatever else his eyes might give him. Seeing the board between them would be difficult.
Yet the offer still takes him aback. Itachi stares hard, searching the daemon's face, shadowed except for that glittering point of scarlet.] ... What about the game? [Reluctance is, as always, a heavy anchor inside him. Rokurou has pinned that well: this is an excuse to disengage and retreat.] Do you mean to continue it there?
[ Vision isn't necessary to feel the weight of Itachi's stare needling through the darkness. The heightened senses of a Yaksha haven't failed him yet—though he doesn't stare back, mismatched eyes downcast onto the board in contemplation, every other sense narrows in on the ninja's presence. Cool fingers. Low voice. Tremor across Synchrony.
—no, but not scent. Most people have a definitive one, which is usually distinguishable for a daemon when sitting this close—yet there's a distinct lack. With only the faint aroma of blood, he would be a difficult man to track. ]
Or start over, though I may be able to carry the board all the way without jostling the pieces. Even if the electricity is out I know I have candles.
[ There's the weight of expectation in his gaze when he finally looks back up at Itachi from beneath his lashes. Red is a constant hue, glow of that eye unwavering against dark backdrop. ]
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Itachi feels the flutter of those childlike emotions, simple as if being robbed of a toy or entertainment. It almost startles him. He cannot recall the last time he's felt it, or if he ever had.]
Not well.
[He can hear in the darkness, can perceive the bustling movement of the staff clear as bells. Finely honed senses don't rob him of an almost preternatural awareness of his surroundings. That said, he doesn't possess night vision, regardless of whatever else his eyes might give him. Seeing the board between them would be difficult.
Yet the offer still takes him aback. Itachi stares hard, searching the daemon's face, shadowed except for that glittering point of scarlet.] ... What about the game? [Reluctance is, as always, a heavy anchor inside him. Rokurou has pinned that well: this is an excuse to disengage and retreat.] Do you mean to continue it there?
no subject
[ Vision isn't necessary to feel the weight of Itachi's stare needling through the darkness. The heightened senses of a Yaksha haven't failed him yet—though he doesn't stare back, mismatched eyes downcast onto the board in contemplation, every other sense narrows in on the ninja's presence. Cool fingers. Low voice. Tremor across Synchrony.
—no, but not scent. Most people have a definitive one, which is usually distinguishable for a daemon when sitting this close—yet there's a distinct lack. With only the faint aroma of blood, he would be a difficult man to track. ]
Or start over, though I may be able to carry the board all the way without jostling the pieces. Even if the electricity is out I know I have candles.
[ There's the weight of expectation in his gaze when he finally looks back up at Itachi from beneath his lashes. Red is a constant hue, glow of that eye unwavering against dark backdrop. ]