@asaraltu sent: ❛ why are you helping me ? ❜ for kakuzu pls-- :>
The question had been expected. He’d been waiting for it, actually, wondering how long it would take before his motives were questioned. After all, he made no attempt to hide the symbol of his village former village from sight, and despite the obvious, angry scar through its face, it still marked him as an outsider. An enemy, perhaps, under different circumstances. But not for the moment, it seemed.
“Because you looked like shit.” Dual-coloured eyes did not lift from his task, his hands carefully cleaning blood from the wound along one arm. His words were muffled by the cloth that covered his lips - covered the state of his face, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. “Hold still.” He commanded, his voice taking on a stricter, harder edge as his fingers closed tightly on the man’s arm to prevent him from shifting too much and disrupting his work.
A single thread looped itself from his forearm, calmly snaking its way along his wrist, his hand, until it met the paler skin of his patient. It sought the open gash in his arm, thankfully no longer bleeding. “This will hurt.” He warned, mere seconds before the tip of the thread plunged into skin and began to neatly sew the wound closed. Kakuzu kept his gaze down, watching and waiting, until the thread had completed its task. As it severed itself and slithered back to his arm, Kakuzu inspected its work.
Satisfied, he gave a single nod, and sat back. “Try not to move too much, or the threads might loosen and I’ll have to start over.” The hint of impatience in his tone suggested that it was not something he would be pleased to repeat. Now, at last, he lifted his gaze to look the other in the eye - or, at least, as close to as he dared. He knew who this was. He’d known it from the moment he saw him. How could he not? He was just as infamous as the Senju. So why had he helped him, truly? He was not a man who operated on pity, or compassion. Well, not any more. Maybe he might have done, once, but that was before.
His head would fetch a pretty price, of course, if he had the means to take it. But, if his intentions were for profit, he wouldn’t have bothered stitching him up first. Only his head needed to be in one piece, after all. “I won’t ask how the other guy looks.” Better to avoid giving a real answer until he knew for certain what the answer would be.
