[attr="class","monbody2"]Heat tickles the surface of dried lips, urging his approach. Throwing him a hint of the liquid’s contents. Kizua rules it earthy, sweet — rich, even. But one glance to the side rules him wrong.
From the corner of a narrowing, subtle gaze, eyes curiosity. A roguish look that settles on the motley pair;
one elderly man, one lively, young boy hoisting a wooden box on each shoulder.
Although fatigue paints them, the two adorn expressions full of vigor. Passion — a term that falls short of Kizua. He wouldn’t instantly recognize it as such — not until the young man (presumably the grandson) would bark a few words, settle the weighty crates down, and shift to tend to the umpteenth shinobi. Words such as;
“you feelin’ better, Aki-san? Here, I brought some fresh bandages. Let me replace yours!”
A lone eye lowers, clips to the attire of the young man.
Filthy, worn. Poor — unlike the smell that engulfs Kizua’s tea.
(And, following a sip, the taste no less.)
And then —
“Ah! Welcome, welcome!” says the old innkeeper, springs from a table to step elsewhere, bellowing for the newly-entered guest to enter further in.
Kizua’s head doesn’t perk. Not even when the fabric of Noren curtains wrestles gently behind him.
Ruby eyes crease in mirth at the bellowing welcome, lips easing themselves upwards into a curve. Zori sandals settle onto the worn wooden floors, the faint groan of protest at being used. White hair duck under Noren curtains, an arm lazily only creating so much room to walk under. A gentle chuckle came from the man's lips at the owner barreling towards them to greet them, bowing profusely as they gestured for the Jonin to enter.[break][break]
❛ One cup of tea and two small bowls of tea. ❜ the white-haired man requests, two ninken flanking on either side of him. The large, wolfish-looking Ninken stared with a stern look upon his orange and white features. The smaller white dog instantly laid itself down, black eyes barely visible under the amount of fluffy white fur surrounding its medium-sized frame. Settling his kimono-covered hand along his waist, ruby eyes scan the vicinity with faint scrutiny disguised under a friendly gaze. The scent of blood was present in the air and it tickled the Jonin's nostrils. Breathing in, a sense of energy began to fill his body from the scent.[break][break]
As the Innkeeper began shuttling away to take the man's order, the white-haired Inuzuka made his way over towards the dark-haired man sitting by his lonesome self. Already easing himself into the seat across, the Jonin offers a friendly fanged bared smile in greeting. [break][break]
❛ Mind if I join you? ❜ he inquires as a throwaway thought, his ninken already settling themselves at his feet looking outwards. The white-haired one collapses instantly at the feet of the Kumogakure shinobi, becoming nothing more than a pile of white floof. The wolfish ninken with the pelt of a fox settles into a sitting position, amber gaze watching the recovering shinobi with faint interest. Before the dull man could really argue against if he wished, the Inuzuka was already making himself comfortable. Easing his uncovered arm to rest inside of his half-worn kimono, leaning onto his other arm that was propped up by the elbow on the table. His cheek was settled into the palm of his hand, ruby eyes watched the other with keen interest. A smile present upon his features as he studies the man across from him. What beautifully dead eyes.
[attr="class","monbody2"]The pause draws out — settles comfortably between disinterested blacks and opposingly, interested reds. Or so paints the canvas.
And only when the brim of the cup has brought itself to Kizua’s lips again, angled, and reanimated his lungs with a common, burning warmth, does the younger man survey a response. Force himself to one.
(Long too slow to truly answer the question, he says;)
“your scent.”
Or perhaps the dogs. Either way, he means to add it’s disgusting.
What comes out instead is;
“It’s powerful — ” worded with such eerily quiet mannerisms that it could come off as a compliment. At least to a fool.
Kizua sips.
And he ponders, practices the stillness of his skin and fuels it in the gaze that slowly follows upward — underneath skulking eyelashes — to seek the fellow pairs across. And there’s another pause, one where his digits are curled around the cup before his mouth. (Almost covering it). But Kizua discovers no hint for an answer at his own curiously burning question;
why the hell has this dog-man invited himself to Kizua's table?
A white eyebrow rose as the man across from him began to speak. The pause in between and then the final execution of the man's thought only causes the other eyebrow to meet with his other. The fanged bared smile never lever his face as he glances down at himself, his arm coming out of his kimono to pull up a piece of the fabric to pull towards his nose. He gives it a quick whiff, savoring the scent for a moment before looking down at his two ninken.[break][break]
He let out a deep rumble of a laugh, looking towards the 'enthusiastic' man seated before him.[break][break]
❛ That's one way to put it. ❜ he teases out, not unaware of the meaning behind the polite words given to him and yet he didn't seem insulted by it. Bright ruby eyes settle into skulking black ones, the friendly smile at the Inuzuka's lips still remaining. Eventually, ruby hues drop to the cup, a curious lean into the palm of his hand as a hum emanates from his chest.[break][break]
❛ Good tea? ❜ he questions lightly, shifting his ruby gaze back up to the man's features. [break][break]
[attr="class","monbody2"]It wasn't gentle; this ringing noise that rattled the throat of the other. It practiced no manners, no virtue, and yet — despite lacking so much — it strayed nowhere near a feeling of disgrace that the Chi pictured. In fact, his expression twisted and Kizua could only read it for confidence. Excessive confidence.
But what details a display upon the dog-man's face strings little to nothing on Kizua's own.
"Earthy," he echoes, the soft noise between the bottom of his cup and the wooden table sounding next.
"Can't imagine your mutts will be keen of it."
And it poises like an opinion but Kizua voices it with question.
[attr="class","pwfbody"] The rumble of a pleased sound came from the Inuzuka's chest, interested by the sound of the tea. At the mention of his ninken, the smile never leaves his lips. He chuckles in response, keeping his ruby gaze settled on the man before him. As the Innkeeper finally came to settle a teacup onto the table and then hesitantly place two bowls of tea down near the ninken, the white-haired man formed two fingers together that lightly tapped on the table in response. An unspoken thanks for the tea.[break][break]
Bare hand grabbed at the teacup, lifting it to the man's nose to smell before taking a measured small taste. Eyes crease and then the cup is settled back gently against the wooden table. The orange ninken leans down to gently lap at the liquid lined within the bowl, the white floof letting out a weary wheeze before shuffling to lazily lap at the tea. Both seem unbothered by the flavour. A testament to the silence bore by the white-haired man.[break][break]
❛ I find events like these so fascinating. ❜ the man eases out gently, finger coasting along the rim of the teacup.[break][break]
❛ You get the chance to meet people you otherwise might not have. ❜
[attr="class","monbody2"]It settles ever so gently; curves and crevices upon untouched features. The eye that previously focuses elsewhere, now, cracks upward. Meeting the fiery ones in an attempt to dissect them. And when it still doesn't come out — a word of thanks — Kizua's brows knit further together.
How arrogant.
But it hardly lasts long enough to suggest anything.
"A social setting."
The lashes bat back downward, and Kizua's thrown back onto the luxury of his drink.
"Is it what you see in this?" the words escape him as a murmur would.
[attr="class","pwfbody"] A cup rises to meet with lips, measured sips relinquishing the contents. The smooth surface of the cup remains at the man's downward lips, ruby eyes fixated on the individual before them. They look thoughtful, momentarily searching the other's black hues before lighting up with interest. The Inuzuka's lips curl, a single fang peeking out from the small smile. The cup finds itself gently placed upon the wooden surface, nary a sound coming from the contact. A bare hand moves to push white locks aside, gently tussling along the yellow kimono resting at the man's shoulder.[break][break]
❛ An experience. ❜ he rumbles out the answer with mirth laced in his words. Long fingers curl around the dark green porcelain, lifting it up to takes another measured sip from it. The man savours the drink, allowing the flavor to mingle on his tongue before letting it slide down his throat. Pulling away from the propped-up arm, ruby eyes cast themselves downward towards the orange ninken lapping up his tea. At sensing his partner's shifting gaze, it lifts its head to look upwards towards the Inuzuka. The man smiles gently, placing a hand along the top of its head. Amber eyes closing to enjoy the gentle touch.[break][break]
❛ Whether through words or actions, each moment is an experience. Ones you'll never experience again, save through your memories. ❜ he gently puts out, smoothing orange fur back before pulling his hand away. Ruby eyes shift to settle on the masked individual, returning his propped elbow to settle his cheek into that hand. That friendly smile at his lips once more, fanged teeth peeking out from under the curl of his lips. Ruby eyes gleamed with interest as he smoothly spoke. ❛ And I find you fascinating, an enjoyable experience. ❜[break][break]
"I see," he says instead, the feeling automatically lacing itself onto the quiet words.
But then the man goes on, and Kizua realizes he's now practicing pure patience, for the scoff remains at the tip of his throat, threatening to escape his lips would this senseless rambling go on any longer. Arrogance plays a brilliant role in these shinobi that only speak to speak. He realizes this. And yet, something brims inside — forces his own hand to retreat to the safety of his lap.
The way his melody takes with his own confidence, the blatant display of fangs — traditionally considered a weapon — it all provokes something. Causes shrouded fingers to flinch. Knuckles to tighten.
Kizua quickly rules it for a memory. One of a similar man.
"Forgive me."
A sharp eye rises to face the reds.
"I fail to see what you mean with enjoyable experience. After all, we've hardly finished our tea and yet you treat me as if I were a courtesan you'd just spent the night with."
And then they flutter shut, and his next words are softer;
"Though I suppose you dog-persons love to play senseless games."
[attr="class","pwfbody"] An amused hum comes from the man's lips, red hues shimmering with humour as they connect with dark, sharp eyes. The dark persona's words do little to squash the smile at the Inuzuka's lips. In fact, it causes the man's lips to pull even more up to display his fangs even more. Kegawa rises up in his seat, placing both of his forearms onto the table as he leans forward.[break][break]
❛ Nothing shameful about being a courtesan. Are you saying I should pay for your time now? ❜ he inquires with a faint cant of his head, cheeky in his reply. A chuckle escapes from his lips as he pulls away to wave a dismissive hand. He cracks his neck settling his arms into his lap comfortably. ❛ If anyone is playing senseless games, it'd be you. If you have something to say, you should just say it. No point in attempting to sound polite when you reak of displeasure. ❜[break][break]
The Inuzuka reaches to grab his teacup as he wrinkles his nose with a lopsided smile, pulling it up to his lips as he stares the other down while drinking his tea.
[attr="class","monbody2"]A lone blink and then Kizua's frozen in place. Unmoving when a face invades his side of the table.
"That's... not what I was implying."
Good, his voice doesn't waver. (And yet) —
eyes fluttering back shut, he then moves to mimic the other, grabbing at his nearly-empty cup and sipping. It is the brightest example of an attempted display, shoving nerves back while trying to keep the cool that sways at the finger of his tips.
It is all such a heavy reminder, and Kizua doesn't understand why.
But those words —
no point in attempting to sound polite when you reek of displeasure —
why do they sway him so? Penetrate walls and upset his, now, hesitating digits? He's got this under control, right? He's got this —
CRASH
shards of ceramic explode onto the table. Kizua's breath catches in his throat.
"Sor... sorry," he says out of habit.
"Young man, are you alright?" asks the innkeeper, and his voice doesn't feign upset, it doesn't tremble and ring with frustration.
So why isn't the widened gaze rising from the table?
[attr="class","pwfbody"] ❛ better. ❜ ruby eyes remained steady on the other, watching silently as the man before him unraveled and then attempted to cocoon all over again. no movement is made at the shattering ceramic, merely a small sip before the teacup finds itself back to the table. the ninken raise their gaze up at the man before returning to their staring match at the door, seemingly unconcerned by the nonchalant nature of their partner. at the sound of the innkeeper approaching with concern, the inuzuka places a warm smile at his face and pinches his brows together. he rises from his spot and offers a deep bow towards the man.[break][break]
❛ my humblest of apologies. my friend got a little too excited. may we get another cup of tea? i'll be sure to clean this all up, may i get a wet towel? ❜ he smoothly states with an apologetic ring to his tone. he rises back to his full height, towering over the innkeeper with a pleasant smile on his lips. though the innkeeper seemed uncertain, the confident aura of the man seemed to cause the other to slowly make their way back to the kitchen. letting out a faint sigh, the inuzuka glances over towards kizua and smiles warmly at them. lithe fingers gingerly picking at the larger piece of ceramic on the table.[break][break]
❛ be mindful of the broken ceramic, it has sharper edges than it looks. ❜ he lightly states, slowly setting each large piece to the side as he awaits for the wet towel.
[attr="class","monbody2"]Kizua decides right there and then that he despises this man.
And the thought isn't rational, brings no flavor to the situation, and — as his father would say — doesn't matter. But he decides this regardless.
(As if a meek decision shackled behind his spiraling mind holds any weight in this situation.)
If his voice reigns any power by this point, Kizua's saying this;
"then please let me pick them up myself."
Manners, manners, manners —
"after all, I was the one who — "
clink
and the air cuts in half;
Kegawa would see a single line zip in front of him. Behind the piece of shard; Kizua's twisted, wide expression as he attempts to slice the Inuzuka's face horizontally.
But his grip is hesitant, driven by panic. The stranger would have all the time to stop it, or...
[attr="class","pwfbody"] a white brow raises, the humoured smile still at the inuzuka's lips at the offer from the fascinating individual. a sniff and then the man lets go of his ceramic piece to allow the other to care for the broken teacup. curiously watching the other behind white-lashes that hovered halfway over ruby hues.[break][break]
lithe fingers strike upwards to stop the incoming attack at his face, pressing along the wrist of the man's arm. fingers move to curl around the wrist, hoping to hold it firmly. fangs peeking from under curled lips, ruby eyes shining with energy and life behind them. a growl emanated from down below, the ninken rising from its spot to lower itself into a haunched form. fanged teeth bearing under their risen lips, amber eyes watching the man closely.[break][break]
❛ now now, don't get so excited. you haven't even taken me out to eat yet~ ❜ the smooths words came from the man's lips, tongue licking at his upper lip as he raises his chin ever so slightly upwards.[break][break]
[attr="class","monbody2"]It comes to him first; the urge to click his tongue, feel the gratifying emotion of irritation, and — maybe, possibly — let it show.
No such thing happens. Dread eats at his skin the moment Kizua's wrist is caught in the air.
(And would Kegawa look in time, he'd even catch a flinch.)
"How arrogant."
His words are soft, unlike the relentless sharp that settles upon his eyes.
"How — "
impervious.
"... let.... let go of me. I don't want your filth rubbing off on me."
"Let go or else."
"Is everything alright?" rings a gentle voice to the side. A heavy towel sits in the hands of the old man.
It suddenly settles like a holy prayer;
please look away, please look to the distressed expression behind you, look away, look away, look away —
