Night 48: Grand Ballroom
[[from here]]
The only place in the Institute Sasuke was truly uncomfortable navigating was the basement. He'd walked the halls of the structure aboveground enough days and nights by now to know the layout like the back of his hands; he used the hand that was beginning to grow slightly callused from nights of following the walls as a secondary reminder of location. The basement, however ...
The basement was another matter. Here, he was much more dependent on the other two than he was elsewhere, and the recognition of that and the discomfort of not knowing the expanse of the space at the bottom of the stairs (at the very least) sank tension into the line of his back. His grip on both the silver sword and his own weapon tightened as they descended, muscles instinctively tensed for a fluid defence if necessary.
Still, he couldn't regret the destruction of Itachi's eyes.
He shook the memory out of mind (memory without sight was more visceral than with it, the recollection of touch far too immediate) as his bare foot stepped out and found level ground, marking the end of the stairs. This was the last stretch where he could afford to take point.
The only place in the Institute Sasuke was truly uncomfortable navigating was the basement. He'd walked the halls of the structure aboveground enough days and nights by now to know the layout like the back of his hands; he used the hand that was beginning to grow slightly callused from nights of following the walls as a secondary reminder of location. The basement, however ...
The basement was another matter. Here, he was much more dependent on the other two than he was elsewhere, and the recognition of that and the discomfort of not knowing the expanse of the space at the bottom of the stairs (at the very least) sank tension into the line of his back. His grip on both the silver sword and his own weapon tightened as they descended, muscles instinctively tensed for a fluid defence if necessary.
Still, he couldn't regret the destruction of Itachi's eyes.
He shook the memory out of mind (memory without sight was more visceral than with it, the recollection of touch far too immediate) as his bare foot stepped out and found level ground, marking the end of the stairs. This was the last stretch where he could afford to take point.