I have no memory of 'being' dead, if that eases your mind. Whether the Orb made its offer in the last gasp of my consciousness or not I cannot say. I woke in the infirmary — perhaps it is possible they were able to resuscitate me from that brink.
๏ผ he reclaims his chair, crosses his legs at the ankle. he looks — leisurely like this, perfectly at ease, commanding in a way that speaks to the upbringing of one expected, once upon a time, to lead armies. ๏ผ
However, there was a man here briefly — Shikamaru Nara, from my own world — who confirmed it.
๏ผ it is something of a lie — shikamaru said no such thing directly, but it is easy to arrange the context of their conversations such that the inference exists. he had been out of chakra, his failing heart a stutter in his chest, more blinded than not by the cruel rigors of the mangekyล, bloody from a half-dozen wounds and burns and the drain of susano'o on his life. if he was not dead when sasuke's face slipped from his sight, he does not doubt his brother would have slit his throat to ensure it. it was the only way that fight could ever have ended. ๏ผ
[ That had been some time ago ... not even long since he'd joined the Ximilia crew. ]
I met him once, in the sunlight room. We didn't talk for that long but I didn't know he was from your world.
[ But it is something of a reassurance to know that the memory of dying or being dead isn't what Itachi came to the station with, especially when that could have easily been him too had things gone really badly back home.
And there were some pretty close calls.
More than that, he genuinely does hope for the best for his friend. Because after a year slowly getting to know him, to fight alongside him, and to share in each of these missions together, they are friends. Shang-chi wouldn't even say he's got many of those. ]
It was not something either of us were inclined to advertise.
๏ผ itachi has never seen the point in being particularly secretive about what he is, and the barest amounts of what he can do. but then — he is accustomed to a certain level of notoriety. when one's face, name and life story are spilled across the pages of a bingo book, accompanied by a considerable reward for kill or capture, one learns very quickly that privacy is a tool to be wielded like any other, and discarded when it ceases to suit you. his reputation's preceding him allowed him to avoid situations that would have otherwise lead to a fight. few people want to face the sharingan, and fewer still a man so ruthless as to have murdered his own kin.
ximilia is, in point of fact, the first time in a decade that people only know what he has told them.
it's a strange, ephemeral sort of freedom. one that is still new enough to be precious to him. ๏ผ
He was from a point some three years after my death. Though he was not aboard the Ximilia long — I was grateful to learn what followed.
๏ผ whatever else happened. kakashi's war, the destruction of konoha, all the deaths — sasuke lives until at least nineteen. ๏ผ
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๏ผ he reclaims his chair, crosses his legs at the ankle. he looks — leisurely like this, perfectly at ease, commanding in a way that speaks to the upbringing of one expected, once upon a time, to lead armies. ๏ผ
However, there was a man here briefly — Shikamaru Nara, from my own world — who confirmed it.
๏ผ it is something of a lie — shikamaru said no such thing directly, but it is easy to arrange the context of their conversations such that the inference exists. he had been out of chakra, his failing heart a stutter in his chest, more blinded than not by the cruel rigors of the mangekyล, bloody from a half-dozen wounds and burns and the drain of susano'o on his life. if he was not dead when sasuke's face slipped from his sight, he does not doubt his brother would have slit his throat to ensure it. it was the only way that fight could ever have ended. ๏ผ
no subject
[ That had been some time ago ... not even long since he'd joined the Ximilia crew. ]
I met him once, in the sunlight room. We didn't talk for that long but I didn't know he was from your world.
[ But it is something of a reassurance to know that the memory of dying or being dead isn't what Itachi came to the station with, especially when that could have easily been him too had things gone really badly back home.
And there were some pretty close calls.
More than that, he genuinely does hope for the best for his friend. Because after a year slowly getting to know him, to fight alongside him, and to share in each of these missions together, they are friends. Shang-chi wouldn't even say he's got many of those. ]
no subject
๏ผ itachi has never seen the point in being particularly secretive about what he is, and the barest amounts of what he can do. but then — he is accustomed to a certain level of notoriety. when one's face, name and life story are spilled across the pages of a bingo book, accompanied by a considerable reward for kill or capture, one learns very quickly that privacy is a tool to be wielded like any other, and discarded when it ceases to suit you. his reputation's preceding him allowed him to avoid situations that would have otherwise lead to a fight. few people want to face the sharingan, and fewer still a man so ruthless as to have murdered his own kin.
ximilia is, in point of fact, the first time in a decade that people only know what he has told them.
it's a strange, ephemeral sort of freedom. one that is still new enough to be precious to him. ๏ผ
He was from a point some three years after my death. Though he was not aboard the Ximilia long — I was grateful to learn what followed.
๏ผ whatever else happened. kakashi's war, the destruction of konoha, all the deaths — sasuke lives until at least nineteen. ๏ผ