Chapter Thirteen – Trigger

"Fetch us some refreshments. Hurry up!"

The barked order cracked like a whip, jolting the nearby servants to life, ignited by the burning rush of fear. Hasty in their subservience lest they be punished, the servants gave low bows before scampering like frightened mice to the set of double doors. The ostentatious craft of the ornate doors were lost on their frantic eyes, blinded with need to follow their master's orders as if their very lives depended on it.

It should have been a quick trip to the storage room. For the most part, it was since the hallways were conveniently empty, free from the suffocating presence of the menacing guards. The servants were allowed to breathe comfortably, even as they rushed to get refreshments. Simply to have their own space for a short period of time was relieving, acting as a breeze of fresh air in spite of their stranglehold choke of servitude.

What little semblance of peace they managed to attain died the moment they rounded the corner leading to the main hallway. Malevolence barred their way, swathed in layers of darkness, emanating a chilling intensity that made the guards pale in comparison. Shades of colour seemed to stain their cloaks rather than appear woven in the drapery, as though the red clouds were splatters of blood while outlines, ghostly white, matched the paleness of their complexions.

But as menacing as they appeared, wearing the cloaks of death, it was their eyes that were truly haunting. They glowed unnervingly within the shadows of where the spectres hovered; every now and then they would catch the flickers of fire from lanterns, highlighting the predatory intent lurking in their eyes. All the servants glimpsed was the swirling red kaleidoscope before darkness descended upon their vision – their world.

Itachi moved in the blink of an eye, executing swift, precise strikes to the servants' pressure points. He caught the container of sake just as it fell with deft hands, heaving it on the nearby table; meanwhile, his foot slowed and therefore muffled the servants crumpling to the ground, ensuring their presence went unnoticed. They were sure to cause a ruckus later with their plan but for now, it was imperative that things were quiet.

A slither of movement caught his eye, signalling the Sannin moving; sure enough, Orochimaru came to his side. As always, his partner stood close; often he never quite touched at first, but was certainly within distance of doing so. It was borderline, a deliberate tease since they had touched numerous times before, usually with Orochimaru initiating physical contact out of his own whimsical amusement.

How did Orochimaru phrase it? Ah, yes; Itachi remembered the words, mostly because they were thought-provoking – the driving force propelling the windmill.

"Such precision in hitting their pressure points," came Orochimaru's smooth, silken voice as he examined the unconscious servants. "Your eyes are keener than I thought."

The compliment was duplicitous, just like the nature of their partnership; it was warm to stroke his ego yet laced with underlying intent in how Orochimaru was gazing deeply into his eyes. Itachi found it rather disconcerting with how those serpentine eyes were unblinking, fixated on his own. Nonetheless, he appeared outwardly unaffected, allowing the undeserving praise to sail by.

"Anyone can emulate what I just did with proper application of knowledge about pressure points," Itachi pointed out stoically, willing the Sharingan to swirl out of existence in emphasis.

Orochimaru raised a fine eyebrow at such an unfeeling reply. "Such modesty. And here I thought the heir to the Uchiha Clan loved to bask in praise." A smile curved his mouth, fuelled by his growing curiosity and respect for Itachi – a young man surely something else in his own league, deviating from the archetypical criminals that were boring with their predictability. "Clearly, I misjudged you."

"It was a simple feat, nothing more," Itachi said, brushing off the topic once more, making it clear that there was nothing else to it. "Besides," he pinned the Sannin with a hard stare, both a warning and deterrence through challenge, should his words of wisdom fall on deaf ears, "it is not wise to judge others based on your own preconceptions and by their appearances."

Offense was not taken in the slightest. Orochimaru was above it for he smiled mysteriously.

The response Itachi received was underwhelming at first, until he realised that such unpredictability was to be expected. The truth of his words applied to the Sannin. In spite of what he had heard about Orochimaru in passing – most of it unpleasant – he actually knew nothing about him, save for the intricate layers he had peeled. He was wary of Orochimaru, but he was cautious by nature, careful in everything he did, able to see how his actions affected the greater picture.

How intriguing that the picture before him was in fact moving, far from static.

Itachi watched Orochimaru move, noting the fluidity of his movements, exuding an ease of confidence that came with age and quiet authority. His eyes were drawn to the way slender fingers smoothed over the surface of the sake container to feel the design at first, testing its sturdiness, teasing, before palming the lid. Although unassuming in size, Orochimaru's hands were strong, made deadly as a weapon in their own right with his long, sharp nails.

All it took to open the cask was the digging pierce of his nails to pry the lid off. It was just that effortless for the Sannin who proceeded to set out two cups. They were cleaned lazily, almost leisurely, matching the lidded cast to serpentine eyes. Once they were filled, Orochimaru picked them up, keeping one to himself while generously offering the other to Itachi.

"Why don't you drown your sorrows, Itachi-kun?" Pale fingers caressed the side of the cup enticingly. "I insist."

How many times had Orochimaru offered something to which he declined? Like the offered scroll, the given drink equivocated something else. Drinking with the intent of drowning his sorrows would be futile anyway; the shallow depth of alcohol could never encompass his pain. Itachi refused as he always did, murmuring, "You should know my answer by now."

"Oh, I do but I simply do not care." In spite of his blatant disregard, an affront veiled as a challenge, Orochimaru was smiling sweetly. "Perhaps I'll keep asking until the day comes when you finally say yes."

The Sannin was persistent, living up to his snake moniker. Itachi had to admit that it was quite tempting to play the game and, perhaps, go deeper beyond it despite his aversion to alcohol. Unfortunately they still had a mission to complete so he remained firm, unwavering in his conviction before dark temptation. "That would be pointless because my answer will never change."

"Life itself is pointless unless you breathe meaning into it," Orochimaru countered, a hushed sort of quiet softening his voice. "Perhaps perseverance is my wind. Who knows, Itachi-kun?" As if had switch had been flicked, his demeanour changed; the softness overtaking his countenance faded away, melting to become smouldering, burning with promise. "One day I might just sweep you off your feet and blow you away."

Itachi had nothing to say in response to such an ambiguous statement, therefore he merely watched Orochimaru down the two cups. The sake left a glistening trail over the other man's lips, making them appear softer with a dusted pink hue. At times like this, glimpsing very human qualities in the person that was notoriously reputed to resemble a monster, Itachi could only stare, captivated in the sense of seeing something new and liking it.

The complex layers he had peeled were mostly vague concepts – abstract words that, when connected together, carried meaning through the allusion of something human like the snake shedding skin of painful memories. But no matter how significant they seemed, they were nothing like this, lacking the physical existence of being. The colour spreading warmth to Orochimaru's cheeks and lips from the sake was very real, able to be touched.

Itachi wondered what it would be like to touch those lips before mentally berating himself. The boundaries of their partnership existed for a reason; crossing it and delving into the unknown would make things complicated. All that was required of him was to uncover Orochimaru's secrets to be better equipped to protect Sasuke and Konoha. It was acceptable to acquire those secrets using intimacy, provided his intentions were in line of his duty.

Keeping that in the forefront of his mind, Itachi focussed on the Sannin. The timing could not have been more perfect, for it was convenient with how Orochimaru was criticising the sake.

"What a poor choice of sake," Orochimaru was saying, grimacing slightly at the taste lingering on his tongue. "It has been aged for far too long such that it has lost the subtleties that make chilled sake so divine."

The etiquette of fine drinking was new to Itachi who preferred tea. Most brewed tea was harmless without negative side-effects. Regardless of his preferences, he was somewhat interested in the Sannin's words for they were reminiscent of a connoisseur, mildly commenting, "You seem to know your liquor."

Orochimaru tossed the empty cups to the nearby table with a smirk. "I'm a man of refined tastes to put it delicately," he stated, flicking his hair in a charismatic, arrogant toss. "Discerning quality is one of my many areas of expertise." Amber eyes burned into a cold, black gaze, seeing more than just a blank canvas, instead picturing the roses beneath. "Perhaps my eyes rival yours in that regard even though they are ordinary."

'Ordinary' was the last word Itachi would associate with Orochimaru. There was nothing remotely ordinary about the Sannin, from his strikingly androgynous appearance, to his deadly repertoire of snake-related jutsu.

Then, there were those eyes. How could he forget those eyes?

"Your eyes are as special as mine," Itachi said vaguely, neither critical nor overtly approving. The only thing he liked about praise was that it kept him grounded; although his upbringing was considered privileged, he never let it nor his noble lineage cloud his vision. The illusion of perception had its uses; if Orochimaru perceived his words as complimentary, then so be it. At the very least, it would make the compliment connected to go both ways so that they were on equal footing.

And it was true. Fundamentally, they were equals in spite of his ulterior motives because they were partners. It was a new experience since he usually operated alone, and an interesting one at that. Itachi kept this in mind when he glanced over his shoulder, sending Orochimaru a prompting look, one of inclusion when, in the past, he would have quietly ventured ahead as a lone shadow. "We should continue with our mission."

Orochimaru was disappointed the moment had passed but smiled all the same. "Indeed." His smile widened maliciously, morphing into a wide grin, the sharpness of his teeth giving him a sinister quality that matched the edge of his prominent cheekbones. "We ought to give our dear friends the courtesy they deserve," he remarked coolly, narrowing his eyes for what was to come. "Let's put on a stellar performance, shall we?"

The Sannin had such a dry sense of humour, even if it was a bit twisted at times. Itachi suppressed a smile, feeling the sardonic words strike a chord within. The urge to laugh seemed so distant with Konoha behind him, nearly forgotten in this new chapter of his life, but now he was feeling it again.

The owner of the estate glanced idly at the two servants edging discretely into the room. With a scoff, he returned to his attention back to his guest who spoke, suddenly all businesslike.

"It's a damn shame we couldn't get our hands on that shipment of weapons."

"Don't worry." He grinned smugly at his guest, twirling his goatee in a carefree manner that spoke volumes of his confidence. "I've taken care of that thorn in our side."

"Good. Ever since Akatsuki has made their mark, they've been dominating the field of hired muscle. But when you hired them to retrieve the shipment they failed."

Cheap labour, the owner thought sourly, visibly displeased at Akatsuki undercutting everyone else. Worse was the audacity to fail the mission they were tasked with! If Akatsuki was so damn good, then what had gone wrong? It was a conspiracy as far as he was concerned. "As I mentioned earlier," he began, once again grinning at the ingenuity of his orchestrated plan, "I've pruned that thorn."

"How did you go about it? Hire mercenaries to take care of mercenaries?"

Angry red splotches coloured the host's face at the query. Indeed, that had been his first thought to teach Akatsuki a lesson but he had quickly shot it down. "That would have been too simple for mercenaries of their calibre. Instead, I hired them."

"You hired them again? What for?"

"To bait them into stealing a scroll for us as a suicide mission. The traps in the building should have killed them. If not, the poisonous trap would have done the job."

The guest considered the words before bursting into fits of laughter. What a great turn of events! Destroying Akatsuki before they garnered greater power early on would be useful in the end. The prospect was pleasing, however it was short-lived when his throat, parched from the heat, croaked from excessive laughing. "This heat is really stifling. I could really use a drink."

"Where are the refreshments?" The host, who had been laughing along with his guest, stopped abruptly to address the servants. At the sight of them merely sitting near the foot of the stairs empty-handed, disobeying his order of fetching refreshments, something inside him snapped. He hunkered down the stairs and raised his hand in a gesture that he was all too familiar in using. "I will have you punished for your incompetence!"

The host's hand descended as he intended, but for the wrong reasons; the cry of pain from his punishing wrath instead escaped his own lips. One of the servants had grasped his arm with bruising strength, effectively halting the vicious blow. The incredulity of a servant standing up to him was not as painful through pride as the sickening crack of his arm snapping, twisting until bones broke, falling to dangle lifelessly from his elbow joint.

"Did you really think poison could kill me?" Orochimaru chuckled mirthfully at the ridiculous thought. How insulting. He was a master of the art, verse in the intricate delicacy of poison, and spared no kindness in telling the foolish man so in a biting, scathing hiss. "I am poison."

In his pained, disoriented state, the host did the first thing that came to mind.

He spat in Orochimaru's face.

Maybe it was the transformation jutsu Orochimaru used that ultimately drove the man to insanity. After all, he was virtually unrecognisable, wearing the form of another such that his malevolence didn't instill fear as it would have, coupled with the host's pain that clouded his vision. People tended to panic in dire situations, making drastic decisions under stress. Really, excuses were just that, though – unacceptable and disappointing.

Itachi narrowed his eyes at the sight of the spit hitting Orochimaru's cheek. Moments before, he had disliked that Orochimaru was perhaps relishing in their suffering to the point of sadism but now such sentiments burned to irrelevancy. These people were clearly in a league of their own criminality, incapable of proper respect, cruel to their subordinates, and violent, immediately resorting to physical blows from a simple case of misconstrued orders.

People made mistakes all the time; it was part of human nature with inherent fallibility. There was no need to become violent from what could have been, were they actually servants, an innocuously forgotten order from the slip of the mind. But this was not a mistake, rather a goad; if anything, it was a tragic seal of the host's demise.

Orochimaru gingerly touched his dirtied cheek, well and truly coming to terms with such rudeness. There were only a handful of things in the world that truly aggravated him; as such, getting a rise of out him was near impossible. But if there was one thing he abhorred, it was impoliteness – people lacking the tact he doted upon. Everything had been all fun and games until such hideous rudeness came into play.

The transformation jutsu was cancelled, revealing his true appearance in all of his wraith-like, petrifying form, eliciting two gasps.

"How rude," Orochimaru hissed, his repressed fury transforming his silken voice into something else, a mere rasp of sound grating against fluctuating nerves. "You seem to have dirt in your mouth to spew such filth. Here, let me help you with that."

Oh-so graciously, as though doing the host a great favour, he did exactly that. He backhanded the man into oblivion, cleaning up the filth in his mouth by replacing it with blood. "Oh dear, now look at what you've made me do," were his disappointed words saturated with sarcasm. "I've gone and made a mess of things."

The mess was, in fact, blood coming from the man who was sent sprawling to the ground with a rough shove. It gushed out of the man's nose and mouth in crimson streams, staining the floor as a growing pool of blood, running freely as the consequences of sparking Orochimaru's temper. The blood trickled down the stairs, dirtying the bottom of Orochimaru's soles who, upon noticing it from hearing his shoes squelch when he moved, made several tutting sounds with his tongue.

"These blood stains will be taxing to remove but I suppose I should be appreciative." Had Orochimaru not viciously backhanded the man, the warmth softening his guttural rasp would have sounded real, almost pleasant with his next humming words. "A dash of spice, a splash of colour."

In a matter of seconds, Orochimaru was back to his usual smiling self. The only vestige of his cruelty were the bloody footprints he left behind as he headed for the set of double doors, each step bringing him closer to the fruition of their plan.

Upon nearing his partner, he drew close and whispered, "Rendezvous on the outskirts of the village," in Itachi's ear before breezing past in his nonchalant gait.

Itachi ignored the heat licking his skin where Orochimaru touched, instead facing the bloody scene before him. To think that the Sannin was infuriated by rudeness of all things... Well, it certainly made sense, tying in with his liking for the finer things in life, and it was interesting to know. There was no denying that Orochimaru was every bit malicious as the rumours crafted him to be, however this facet was something new, stripping away as another intricate layer.

He would have mused over the matter longer if not for the rustle of clothing. With Orochimaru gone to retrieve money for Akatsuki, the guest seemed to have garnered the confidence to act. He rose unsteadily at first, still a bit shaken at how his associate had been brutally slapped, before hardening his body and resolve – which was to eliminate Itachi.

It was only natural that the guest was misled to believe that Itachi could be easily killed. The transformation jutsu was still in place so he retained the appearance of a lowly servant, nonthreatening and a convenient outlet for the guest to unleash his anger at the fate of his associate. Even without the alteration, Itachi's actual appearance was relatively harmless; the only intense feature were his eyes, tempered by the things he had seen.

With a loud inhale, the guest cracked his knuckles, roared, then charged at Itachi. He waited until the guest was within close quarters to release the transformation jutsu to his advantage. The release of white smoke was blinding yet ephemeral, soon dissipating into nothingness, but it was something he could work with. Itachi was quick on the uptake at making something out of ostensibly nothing, using the obscuring smoke against his opponent.

The Sharingan saw the guest clearly, reading him like a telltale book. Movements were slow, sluggish, rather predictable; they were nothing short of an untrained civilian who only realised his mistake after he had been outmanoeuvered. Itachi had the guest subdued in a flash, positioning a kunai under his throat in a simple yet effective position of dominance where there was little left to the imagination of how things could go wrong.

All it would take was the slightest wrong move, the flimsiest reason.

Itachi did not particularly like threatening others, much less bloodshed, but sacrifices had to be made. He knew this to be necessary, putting aside his discomfort of extorting the man in his palm for information. Briefly, he thought of Orochimaru's words about true power, and grimly accepted the truth of them.

"Associating with Akatsuki is a dangerous game," he intoned, flexing his fingers around his kunai threateningly. "You should have played your cards better." When the guest firmly shut his eyes, terrified to even look, Itachi pressed on for information. "Tell me something. What did the shipment look like?"

"Black crate!" was the immediate cry in response. "They were encased in a black crate!"

The information was processed quickly with Itachi making mental notes to look out for a black crate. If his earlier suspicions were correct – that Orochimaru was stealing from Akatsuki – then he could potentially use it as leverage. Based on his observations, Orochimaru seemed to have found the botched mission with Sasori amusing. Of course, the Sannin found practically everything amusing, but it was still worth noting.

Itachi, foremost a spy for Konoha, could care less about Akatsuki as a disloyal member; in actuality, he would prefer to see the organisation burn given the choice. Unfortunately, he was not at the liberty to take such drastic courses of action with his plan involving Sasuke in mind, so the leverage would purely be over Orochimaru. It was a game of duplicity, but he was no stranger to the art of deception.

"Wait a second, I know you!"

The remark caught Itachi's attention, compelling him to stare at the guest, his mask firmly in place. With the short exchange, the guest had decided that it was safe to open his eyes, and was surprised to see the legendary Sharingan.

"You're that guy that murdered his entire clan!"

Itachi gave no indication he particularly cared, flatly saying, "I see you're well-informed."

"You bet I'm informed." The guest had been terrified before, but upon seeing something familiar to latch onto, the confidence was back in full, evil form. Besides, he was going to die anyway, wasn't he? He would surely soon join his associate so why play nicely to some pretty boy? He recalled the recent hot gossip, hurling them out like weapons of his own. "Stuff like that gets around, like how you killed them – all except for one."

Now Itachi cared, the muscles in his lean body becoming taut, tightening in anticipation of where this was going. Comments about the Uchiha Clan Massacre were to be expected, however he was wary of the guest's tone, not liking it one bit. It was far too silky for his liking, much more accustomed to hearing Orochimaru's velvety voice that bordered on sounding amused. But there was nothing amusing about the way the guest hinted at Sasuke, considering the violent company he associated with.

"What was his name? Oh, now I remember. Sasuke. How about I–"

The implications were obvious from the dark intentions lurking in the guest's eyes. Itachi knew that the guest harboured ill intentions towards his brother, and with a slash of his kunai, he regretted that his actions became necessary.

"Working overtime I see."

The resident cook was startled at the voice echoing in the kitchen. She wiped the sweat from her brow and looked over her shoulder, momentarily faltering in her intention of scolding the unwelcome visitor. A tall man she had never seen before was leaning comfortably against the door frame. She never had visitors in the kitchen! What was more surprising was the way he looked directly at her – not simply through her, or idly at her direction, like the others did in the estate.

But all too soon she remembered where she was; the reality of her predicament sank in heavily, burdening her shoulders. Perhaps her weariness was making her see things. "I don't know who you are, but you had better leave!" she hissed urgently, flicking her eyes to the other door in case anyone was nearby. "Please, I have things to do."

The owner of the estate was currently entertaining a guest. All of the dishes had been prepared already, so it was just this last platter that needed to be finished. The dessert had to be perfect otherwise there would be hell to pay, and she was still suffering from the punishment she had received the previous day. The guards had an unhealthy penchant for beating. Her limbs were sore, aching from the strenuousness of her busy day, protesting with every slight movement she made.

A heavy tread of footsteps signalled someone was coming. She didn't have time to shoo away the stranger because the door to the kitchen banged open. One of the guards, a burly man with a chiselled face to match his body, stepped over the threshold with a grunt.

"Hey, is the platter ready for–who the fuck are you?" His tone changed from impatient to aggressive at the sight of a stranger in the kitchen.

Orochimaru eyed the guard with contempt, thinning his lips in displeasure. Was it really so hard to be civil? "Such language. I see your manners are as impressive as your overcompensating appearance." To drive the insult further, he made an imperious gesture to the guard.

Seething, the guard switched his attention to the cook, demanding in a growl, "You invited this guy here, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't I swear–"

But the guard didn't care, completely disregarding her words in a rush of anger. It looked like another beating, and so she reacted as she usually did by closing her eyes as instincts kicked in, ready to take the brunt of punishment. Strangely enough, though, nothing happened other than a loud thud.

Gripped by anxiety, she tentatively opened her eyes, only for them to widen dramatically at the sight of the mysterious man standing in front of her. A peek over the man's narrow shoulder revealed the guard to be unconscious on the floor. It was the guard that had beaten her the previous day for her incompetence, but she was more dumbfounded at how the stranger, graced with a thinner and weaker frame, had managed to knock someone dwarfing his size out cold.

"Why did you do that?" she blurted out, shocked beyond belief that someone had stood up for her. "You could have just let me get hit. Why..."

Orochimaru plastered a smile as he turned around to face her. "I give kindness to those who are worthy." Still smiling, he reached behind her shoulder over the kitchen sink to the pot of flowers he had noticed earlier, sitting on the windowsill. "You, my dear, are deserving of it."

Worthy? Deserving? The woman shook her head, wondering if this was just a dream, that it was all made up in her head by her tired state. "I'm just a cook," she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness, her shoulders heavy with resignation at her bleak fate. "Nothing more than a servant."

"Nothing more than a servant?" Orochimaru's tone was mild. "I think not."

Unsure of what to say, the woman wordlessly watched Orochimaru remove the pot from windowsill. Something inside her warmed at the sight of another soul taking interest in her hobby, and a very appreciative one at that, judging by the care and gentleness of his fingers handling it.

Flowers made her happy as the vibrant colours and sweet fragrance of them were in stark contrast to her gloomy life as a servant. No one could possibly understand how much brightness they added to her life, and on the chance that people would discover it and try to take it away from her, she grew them under the guise of cultivating herbs.

"It takes a certain amount of care to grow such beautiful flowers," Orochimaru said, sending the woman a look of approval. Manipulation or not, she had indeed done a wonderful job of nurturing them in such appalling conditions. "Part of that care entails the right proportion of sunlight and water. Another part is appreciation of the flowers themselves, realising that they are actually blossoming."

The flowers she had grown had indeed blossomed, emitting the sweet fragrance of honey that tingled his senses. My, how lovely. "These people who keep you here..." Orochimaru used his sharp nails to make a perfect cut on one of the stems, removing a white flower carefully without the need to yank. "They plucked you, cut you from the safe garden you once called home."

Experienced in the world, from shinobi and political matters to civilian life, Orochimaru had seen it all so there was an element of truth to his words. No one would willingly continue being a servant when mistreated. Young women often were taken from their homes under the deception of a better life. By the time they realised where they going, it was far too late to turn back, condemned to a fate worse than death where the end seemed nonexistent.

Orochimaru knew that this woman would have it better. This was all purely for manipulative purposes, however she most certainly would blossom, so he told her, whispering the very thing she longed to hear of understanding. "But the real tragedy is that they never realised you were blossoming." He tucked the flower in her hair. "How tragic that a rare flower with your beauty has wilted."

Tears sprang to the woman's eyes as she was overcome with emotion.

Orochimaru soothingly wiped her tears away, musing over how much a little kindness went a long way. "The estate is going to burn," he informed her, setting the scene just before she was in the palm of his hand. "If you want to truly blossom with a better life," he held out his hand, "come with me."

She moved to take it, thinking that if the man wanted to kill her, he would have allowed her to be beaten senseless by the guard. "Thank you," she breathed, clinging to her saviour warmly, almost shyly. "I won't forget you."

The last thing she heard was a dry, "I hope not," before a force struck her neck, causing darkness to swallow her world.

Orochimaru caught the woman as she fell, gathering her in his arms. The irony of Itachi hitting the same pressure points on the servants earlier struck him, drawing a smile. Itachi was good, he had to admit, but he was far better in understanding the human body through his experiments. There was also the matter of psychology, applying to this woman who he had saved. She would never forget him which would work to his advantage.

With the woman in tow, there was no reason to linger inside the building. The money of compensation he was supposed to retrieve would never see the light of day, away from Kakuzu's greedy hands and, by extension, that of Akatsuki, hindering their goal of economic domination. Orochimaru headed for the outdoors, exiting the kitchen using the rear door different to the one he had entered to avoid possibly running into Itachi.

The night was cool, a bit too chilly for his liking but at least it was windy. He went to the opposite side of his rendezvous point with Itachi, stopping at a suitable spot away from the estate but otherwise still in distance of it. Very gently, he lowered the unconscious woman to the ground, surging to his feet once he was done. Indeed, she was a very pretty flower, sure to catch a certain white-haired man's attention if he were to be there in the area when she woke up in a frenzy.

All that remained was to create a reason – one that burned from afar, rising into the air in thick black fumes of smoke.

Speaking of which, Itachi was no doubt waiting for him so he had to make haste; it would be uncharacteristically rude of him to make his partner wait. Orochimaru despised rudeness, after all.