#koi-nin

Nothing quite ruined a good day like finding your home broken into. Umi had been so focused on mentally sorting the trinkets he'd scavenged that he'd walked right inside to find someone else already there. Immediately his heart was in his throat, but there was no reaching for the knife at his waist, no lunge to deal with the intruder. Those instincts had never been hammered into him, and it took a second for the order to be heard through the panicked thoughts. The sack was gingerly set on the table by the door before he carefully made his way closer to the stranger, both empty hands open as he raised them to tie the makeshift sling. Once he was finished, he quickly backed away again, silently scanning the stranger for any other injuries... of which he had many, a few of which looked like they'd been reopened. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before returning to the table for a notepad and pencil. You're hurt. I can help, said the note that he showed to the stranger.

Every move was watched with prejudice, one wrong one to result in an ugly end for this unfortunate victim of home invasion. Slow movements did well to stay Zabuza's hand. And when the stranger did as instructed, he even gave him the grace to venture to his table and... write?

A hand moved silently to grip the handle of the kunai from the sheathe on his back. But he waited, something about the read on this stranger did not alert his intrinsic fight or flight. And when he read the note, he stared, blankly. incredulous.

"No shit." He grumbled, still brooding on the second bit. His near death experience had left him in a state he had only felt once before; and that had become the catalyst for his hellbent drive to assassinate the Fourth Mizukage. It was not a feeling that begat kindness nor safety.

What an idiot, to throw himself into the maw of a wild animal that could so easily snap his frail little neck. But as it stood, Zabuza was in no condition to not consider the offer. Although he did not take his eyes from off the sea whelp, an adolescent child slept in what was assumingly this stranger's bed, unmoving... Presently, Zabuza could hardly move his arms, one immobile, the other only marginally better off, put to use only by sheer force of will and without regard for consequences the future might bring.ore than enough to kill this unfortunate stranger if he misstepped even a little.