Disclaimer --- Naruto don't own it
He opened the door to his private chamber, and as expected it was cold, dark, and immaculate. Even his toy was in the same position. Light from the hallway allowed him to analyze the being, chained and bound to the wall. Its blood had dried in the pattern he wanted. Bold stripes adorn the left side of the face, accenting high cheek bones, while rusted droplets cover the eyelid where the flow had slowed to a trickle. But this simple configuration was not the real testament of his work.
Crossing the threshold he slams the door, looking for a reaction. However, it was not movement that betrayed the consciousness of the fettered body; a halted breath is all the indication he needs to know, that it is playing opossum.
He turns on the light, giving the Spartan room a dull glow. He had time to kill before his meeting, so he allowed his eyes to savory the results of his handiwork. It was picturesque; a unique collage of black and blue on a cream background, extending to the edge of each limb. The flesh had been struck with such precision that he knew how each burst of color would appear
Red eyes course upward to the face, again. Battered, but not broken, at least not yet. He flaked away some the dried rust from her chin, then ran a finger over parched and cracked lips. Though its eyes are closed he rewards his toy with a callous smirk.
It was inspiring. Its long black hair lay matted and tucked behind a pinned ear. Perfect, down to the lattice of finger prints that encircled the neck.
How long had it taken to get these results? Hours? Days? It did not matter; his toy was exactly the way he wanted it to look. Committing the scene to memory he called it 'Acquiescence', it had fought so hard at first. It was always so amusing to watch his toy flail against him at the beginning of their session. Another session would be somewhat enjoyable, but there was the matter of his meeting, and the unfortunate fact that his last mission had exhausted him. And he was in not mood to waste the last of his reserves. However, he could make use of his other doll.
"Woman" ,he says in a smooth monochromatic tone. A voice he knows It wants to hear.
The being hangs dormant relishing the sound. He expects this and promptly strikes the side of its face, ending It's private musings.
"Heal you're self, and have my bath ready when I return"
The toy was awake now. He had drown new blood, such a trifle when you are a living punching bag. The short-lived pain means nothing; the slap may as well have been a kiss. It was no surprise when half lidded violet eyes stare defiantly into the Sharingan, "So glad you're home, Master Itachi"