Naruto - Living Canvas

With a steady breath, she sliced a red line over the span of her palm, the blood pooling to the surface like a rush. And with little thought, Tenten quickly squeezed all that she could into the ink mixture before the wound healed. Just a few drops were necessary for the technique to work, but more would certainly solidify its success. Only when the familiar sting began to settle in did she pull her hand away. And before she could even reach for the bandages, Sasuke was already cleaning off the excess blood and dressing the cut.

"...Thanks," she murmured.

There was no response in return, but Tenten had expected no less. Uchiha Sasuke was not exactly known for his social skills. And just because he had been tolerant of her for these past few months -- nearly a year -- did not entitle the kunoichi to any show of favor... unless one knew where and how to look for the signs. And it was with that thought in mind that she cast a glance at his larger hands meticulously roving around her smaller ones in muted silence. The three-toned blend of color between his pale skin, her darker skin, and the starch white of the gauze creating an interesting contrast to one another. He certainly would not have done such if she were dying on the battlefield. Because if someone was so poorly trained and foolish enough to let themselves get that injured, they did not deserve a second chance at life or failure.

Such was the principle that was taught in the Sound Village.

And perhaps that was another element that separated Tenten from the rest. She was not a shinobi of Sound. Never would be, no matter how long she resided within its walls or worked with Sasuke -- and the Village's leader by association. Tenten did not possess the true heart of a Sound-nin.

None of that mattered though as he quickly finished binding the cut. She did not need to join the ranks of mindless followers. Not when she had already managed to gain his attention. Perhaps not is trust, but Tenten suspected that it would come with time. Meanwhile, she had something he wanted, and that alone would ensure a level of respect. At least for now.

Ignoring the way his fingers seemed to linger around her wrist -- perhaps in uncertainty or a moment of doubt -- the kunoichi tentatively flexed her fingers. Tested the tight restraint of the bandages around her palm and deeming them adequate enough before quickly bringing all attention back to the ink mix. If the blood congealed now, the process would have to start over from the beginning. Sasuke's skepticism was expected. Understood, considering what would be required in the marking. But he had already agreed. And until the first stroke was made, the young shinobi would have every opportunity to back down and turn away. Tenten knew that he would not, though. It was not in his nature.

"Explain to me again why this is necessary," his deeper voice sounded, a darker echo of his former self from what she could remember of their younger days.

"Because," the kunoichi responded while she stirred the mixture, "It'll allow me to access the weapons sealed in the tattoo as well."

There was no need to physically look at him to see the question lingering in the Uchiha's eyes, swirling just on the surface of the Sharingan bloodline. The dark intent and questionable suspicion -- the thick tension -- could be easily felt from every corner of the room. And her own tattoos practically burned under the scrutiny. He didn't believe her, of that Tenten could be sure. And he was very much valid in his disbelief. Not many people understood let alone could master the art of sealing. Even objects as small and insignificant as weapons. In a world where creating and showing mastery in the various jutsu was more impressive, there was no allure or interest in sealing marks. But on that principle alone was where their plan came into play.

The skill was overlooked and unexpected. Much like her. And thus, it would become their trump card.

"We didn't do it with mine because you're too prideful to seek help from anyone, not when you view yourself better than them," Tenten replied to his unspoken question, "And we both know I have no problems asking for your help."

Here, Tenten paused from her work to turn and fully face him, drawing the young man's attention as the senbon needled twirled effortlessly -- idly -- between her fingers. "Besides, considering where my tattoos are, I doubt you'll want to even on the off chance that you would accept my help."

And despite the hard exterior and the distant cruelty of his reputation, Sasuke gave the slightest smirk in amusement, knowing her words to be tru. But it only lasted for a moment as more pressing and influential matters urged them forward. Already Tenten was preparing the senbon needle and holding out her gauze-wrapped palm to him. A moment of hesitation -- a moment of unforgivable weakness -- and she felt the smooth skin of the shinobi's forearm glide easily into her hand. Without the arm guards, Tenten could see the blue lines of veins underneath the creamy vanilla skin. Pulsing with life. Inches away form potential death. Any sort of mis-step, any mistake in judgment, and it could very well mean the end for the young Uchiha. And strange though it was, she took comfort in that knowledge, Because Sasuke was willing to place his life in her hands.

"Last chance," she murmured, the point of the needle poised and hovering just over his wrist.

"Just do it," was his evened response.

And after another calming breath, she eased the ink-tipped senbon into the thin surface of his pale flesh, painting over the light canvas of his skin and letting it taste the fresh blood of he of the last Uchiha left alive in this plane of existence.