[The sudden approach alarms Itachi. All of the bells in his mind ring at once, tension solidifying in his body as he takes one quick step back in the expectation of another attack.
One that never comes.
There he freezes, eyes slightly wider than their usual narrow-slitted scrutiny, willing the rush of instinctive adrenaline to drain out of his system. It takes several moments. The concern on the other man's face is disorienting, confusing, far more than the improvised swipe of earlier's claws at his back. A doctor, he's forced to remind himself. And yet the strangeness of that worry being shined his way is difficult to shake. Not even as a child, when he was first practicing the arts of shinobi - the rare occasions he'd skin his knees or fall during a failed routine - had he experienced that sort of reaction from someone else. Mostly because he had trained alone, or with Shisui, who was as much an opponent (and as much an Uchiha) as he was a friend.
Get up, do better.
And of course, since those early years, he'd learned to conceal weaknesses whether it be on the battlefield or in the privacy of his bedroom. That was simply survival.
It takes Itachi a minute of silence to form a reply, at which point he's managed to fall back out of that readied pose of defense. He affords one glance over his shoulder, then turns to reveal the torn fabric, even though that feels like a misstep, comes hesitant and slow, as though he's showing his throat to an enemy by baring his back.]
That isn't necessary. There was no damage to my skin. [So... awkward... Easier to turn his mind back to the commentary on combat.] ... You should rely on your reflexes. If well trained, they may one day save your life.
no subject
One that never comes.
There he freezes, eyes slightly wider than their usual narrow-slitted scrutiny, willing the rush of instinctive adrenaline to drain out of his system. It takes several moments. The concern on the other man's face is disorienting, confusing, far more than the improvised swipe of earlier's claws at his back. A doctor, he's forced to remind himself. And yet the strangeness of that worry being shined his way is difficult to shake. Not even as a child, when he was first practicing the arts of shinobi - the rare occasions he'd skin his knees or fall during a failed routine - had he experienced that sort of reaction from someone else. Mostly because he had trained alone, or with Shisui, who was as much an opponent (and as much an Uchiha) as he was a friend.
Get up, do better.
And of course, since those early years, he'd learned to conceal weaknesses whether it be on the battlefield or in the privacy of his bedroom. That was simply survival.
It takes Itachi a minute of silence to form a reply, at which point he's managed to fall back out of that readied pose of defense. He affords one glance over his shoulder, then turns to reveal the torn fabric, even though that feels like a misstep, comes hesitant and slow, as though he's showing his throat to an enemy by baring his back.]
That isn't necessary. There was no damage to my skin. [So... awkward... Easier to turn his mind back to the commentary on combat.] ... You should rely on your reflexes. If well trained, they may one day save your life.