Things about his family- strong, powerful, yet graceful and delicate. Perfect in the Dance of Battle, in the Art of War they tended to reign supreem, untouched by the enemy, with an inpenitrable defense.
He doesnt quite remember, though, who or what killed his family, his clan. In Art and Dance they were perfect, so was it someone from the inside? Someone like this..Uchiha Itachi, Master Orochimaru would snarl so hatefully about?
He knew about Itachi. One of the Black, a shinobi of the darkness whos mental skill surpassed far others by so much, like a vulture to a hummingbird. In Genjutsu, he could not loose.
Kimimaro knew about him.
An S-rank nukenin in the Bingo Book- as one of Otogakure's Five, Kimimaro knew him. Not personally, perhaps, but through stories and words, they abounded around him mercilessly.
The look in Orochimaru's eye ment he was always comparing them.
Like comparing Black and White, the Raven to the Dove, Evil against Good, although Kimimaro couldnt say he was a good, white dove at all. More like an emotionless grey pidgon, who loved to fight and fought to live, currently struggling with an illness he wasnt sure he could surpass.
Kabuto said he was sick. He supposed he could be, but he wasnt too sure. The power of suggestion was a power indeed. And it was surely a power Kabuto, the child of live steel, had mastery over.
The power of suggestion could make you think you were a five year old child again, playing with older siblings, watching and listening to your parents on music night, half drunk grandparents shouting and stringing together half slurred sentances to get another cup of Saki.
The power of suggestion was like a spoken genjutsu that required no chakra- you just needed to look and sound convencing. Kabuto certantly looked that way.
Itachi, though..was renound. He was a Uchiha. And they were ronound.
And he had that Mangekyou Sharingan..the Kaleidoscope Copy Wheel Eyes... like pinwheels, Orochimaru had once said. Curved pinwheels.
Uchiha Itachi was nothing like Kaguya Kimimaro. Kimimaro was the last one. Itachi was one of two. HE wasnt as rare. HE wasnt as perfect.
HE wasnt battling a life-threatening illness, only blindness.
Itachi needed glasses. Large ones with circles..spirals. Like a hypnotic wheel. The thought made Kimimaro smile, if only on the inside, because his body wouldnt react to him too much.
In Sound, Kimimaro had powers and freedoms no others had. He could smile, laugh, and dance...granted not with his body, but his mind and imagination were still young enough. And he didnt have to go on missions, eather.
Or rather, he couldnt go. He couldnt get out of bed, wires and contraptions hooked onto his body made him itchy and uncomfortable, but he was..happy, he supposed, with what he was doing.
Orochimaru wanted it done.
And given Orochimaru was his only maternal or faternal figure, he would willingly give him everything.
Even resign to being a container, although when he'd been deemed ill, that objection in life had been scrapped.
Yes, why did Orochimaru compare him and Itachi?
Itachi wasnt dying, and he wouldnt throw his life away for the wishes of a serpant and his precious house maid, the child of live steel wouldnt tell him he was sick, wouldnt tell him he would die. Wouldnt tell him he had only a few months to live.
Kimimaro was, and would, and had.
An S-class traitor from Konohagakure, ranked in the bingo book for assassinating all but one family member- yes, the dove knew the raven, knew him not in person, but by stories and words that haunted him, abounded around him.
And he was NOT a dove.
He was nothing.
Nothing but a pidgon.