（ absolutely not. no self-love in this house, thank u.
still — he is there as he stated he would be, dressed very simply in dark, careworn clothing. his hair is damp and is pinned up in a bun, and while he is favoring his right side to a practiced eye, it does not seem to be hindering him overmuch.
most notably, his eyes are the brilliant cinnabar red of the sharingan, faintly luminescent, like a flickering candle behind stained glass. he may be making an effort with the new arrivals, but he is not so incautious as to meet one without his greatest weapon close at hand. he has taken care to cultivate the sharingan as what is 'normal' for him here.
he seems exacting as a cook — all the ingredients are measured out and placed in small bowls upon the counter. there is currently a small pan where tofu is turning golden in frying oil. the ximilia rarely has the exact ingredients he requires, so he is using tapioca starch rather than the more traditional potato, but it will still yield a passable result. daishi stock simmers nearby. the kitchen smells like grated ginger and chives, and the hot sear of oil.
when he becomes aware he is no longer alone, he points to one of two small clay cups on the counter without turning, as he is currently occupied by tending the tofu. ）
no subject
still — he is there as he stated he would be, dressed very simply in dark, careworn clothing. his hair is damp and is pinned up in a bun, and while he is favoring his right side to a practiced eye, it does not seem to be hindering him overmuch.
most notably, his eyes are the brilliant cinnabar red of the sharingan, faintly luminescent, like a flickering candle behind stained glass. he may be making an effort with the new arrivals, but he is not so incautious as to meet one without his greatest weapon close at hand. he has taken care to cultivate the sharingan as what is 'normal' for him here.
he seems exacting as a cook — all the ingredients are measured out and placed in small bowls upon the counter. there is currently a small pan where tofu is turning golden in frying oil. the ximilia rarely has the exact ingredients he requires, so he is using tapioca starch rather than the more traditional potato, but it will still yield a passable result. daishi stock simmers nearby. the kitchen smells like grated ginger and chives, and the hot sear of oil.
when he becomes aware he is no longer alone, he points to one of two small clay cups on the counter without turning, as he is currently occupied by tending the tofu. ）
Tea, if you drink such a thing.