[in progress]
Title: Art comes in more then one form.
Characters: Itachi (fan_of_red_dawn, indigo) and Black Jack (kazama_kuroo, black)
Rating: PG-13...to be safe.
Location: Art Room
Summary: It's an art room, no one said it was for painting and such.
Date/Time: Day nine, 11h00 (Continuation)
He hadn't played since he left home for school. He missed the smooth wooden instrument cradled gently under his pale chin, and long, pale, slender fingers curled around the long cherry wood neck. Itachi missed the way the notes quivered in the air as he pulled the bow across the strings, and the melody arose swiftly and smoothly with crescendos, and decrescendos.
He moved the bow gently across the strings, tuning the instrument that he had so very long been neglecting. No, he didn't want to, it was just life that had gotten in the way, and he hadn't enough time to play properly.
Once he fully tuned the strings, he placed his fingers in position, and pulled the bow over the strings. The notes grew into a song, and his body rocked with the movements.
Oh, how Itachi had missed playing, listening to the sweet music. It felt almost that a part of him had been returned with that delicate instrument in his hands.
The world must be falling apart, the doctor mockingly thought to himself, striding down the hall. Nothing was happening. Now he felt at peace enough to feel like doing something... creative. Not that he was ever a Picasso or any names of the sort, but there was just something about paint that would, on occassion, help him out of his stress.
Or that could be the oil paints' fumes talking...
He turned to where he last remembered seeing his target, the Art Room. Yes, right there. But as he walked closer, he stopped for a moment when he noticed something unusual.
Music? Specifically, the rather lovely sounds of a violin? He wasn't lost and found himself at some music room or something, did he?
Curiosity got the better of himself, and, slowly, he took a peek inside.
What he saw was a man seemingly lost in his own world, playing the wooden instrument quite well, if he had to say so himself. He rather liked it, and stood there listening contentedly for now, forgetting why he had gone to the room in the first place.
He had closed his eyes, hiding his onyx eyes, loosing himself in his music, traveling up the scale, holding out a quivering high note that rang through out the room.
He lowered the bow, adjusting one of the strings that just a hair off, ignoring the other person standing in the door way.
He dragged the bow across the strings again, creating an eerie sound as he did so.
Dark eyes flickered up, looking at the figure in the door way. There was only the dim light from the windows lighting the room so who ever it was appeared to be a shadow, but still he stared.
Who was this person? Why was he here? Well that was a stupid question, as he knew the answer. Anyone would want to investigate the music sounding from this room.
"You might as well come in. No use standing in the door way," he said as he dragged out a long, low cord.
It had been... a very long time since he last heard music, music not from the metallic sound systems or trendy headphones. Music in one of its purest states. And to hear it in a place like this was even more surprising.
His presence acknowledged by the other man, he slowly stepped into the room, continuing to observe and listen to him play. It was a nice break from the scribbles and splatters of paint that adorned the room like framed masterpieces in a museum.
He shifted the pace of his music, playing something slow, but with continuous building, something that would probably be played in one of today’s horror movies to create tension. Building faster, and faster, until it suddenly. Just. Stopped.
Itachi lowered the delicate wooden instrument in his lap, laying the bow along side it, his gaze once again flickering back up to the man who had entered the room.
"From the looks of it, you are not a patient, so that would make you one of my co-workers, correct?"
He tilted his head to the side. Now that the door was closed, he could get a better look at the man. He was unique, to say the least.
"My name is Itachi Uchiha, and may I have the pleasure of the name of the person I just played for?"
A few seconds after the man abruptly finished playing, he clapped as how a gentleman would, a slight smile finding its way to his lips.
"Yes, that's right." He took a polite, ever-so-slight bow, almost half-jesting. Frankly, he was in a good mood. He had enjoyed the man's performance that much.
"My name is Black Jack."
He tossed a long, thick strand of hair over his shoulder, standing to replace the violin back in its case that rested on the nearby table, his back turned to the man for a moment.
"That is a unique name, is it your real one?"
Itachi leaned against the table, his arms crossed slightly over his chest, his head tilted to the side with interest.
"I'm sorry if my performance was bad. It's been a while since I played, even longer since I played for anyone else."
"It would be interesting if that were the case, wouldn't it?" he answered with a small chuckle.
"Not at all. You are quite talented, if I may say so myself."
Looking down at the case, Itachi set the bow to the side and picked up the instrument once again, holding it delicately in his hands. Walking over to the man, dubbed 'Black Jack', Itachi held out the instrument.
"It's a great instrument, of one of the finest qualities. Do have a look at it if you wish."
At once Itachi noticed the height difference, a little uncomfortable, but none then less hid it from the other male.
"I took me quite a bit of savings to finally purchase it. It immediately became my favorite and I've taken extreme great care of it since the day I brought it home."
He blinked some. Most of the time, people didn't trust him enough to even be within a foot's reach of him.
Taking the violin with a small nod, he carefully examined the instrument in his hands, noting it's fine make and quality. This man had an eye for only the best, he thought.
"It is in good shape. I can tell you have taken the utmost care with it."
He looked up from the object to take a better look at his co-worker.
"How long have you been playing, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Yes, it is one of the few things I am very, extremely careful with."
There was a question he'd have to think about. It had been so long since he'd started playing, he'd almost forgotten exactly when he did.
"I think I started when I was eight, so that would be about twelve years ago?"
Itachi placed one hand on his hip and his other hand was brought up to his mouth, his index finger resting thoughtfully on his lips.
"Twelve years?" He found himself smirking, looking at the violin with an odd, reminiscing look. "I've heard people who've been playing for longer who can't even make one good note."
When he was finished, he handed the instrument back to its owner.
"You definitely should keep it up. It's quite the blessing."
"Yes, I practiced many long hours to become as good as I am today."
He took the delicate instrument back, walking back over to its case, gently placing it back in the velvet lined box.
"I intend to. It is one of my passions in life. Anyways, what brings you here? To the art room, I mean."
"Of course," he said, smiling bemusedly. "One needs almost endless practice to in order to be a master of their art..."
He blinked. Right. He was in the art room for...
"No real reason, really. I thought it would be a nice change to maybe sneak in here and... see why the patients like this room so much." He eyed the materials on one side of the room. "I hear it's truly relaxing for most of them."
"Which is what I do."
He hummed the tune he had been playing, watching the other man with stoic eyes.
"Yes, of course. Many people would say that art, in any form, is relaxing. Hence why I am here. I have not been here at Malaise long, but I find that being so far from home isn't as pleasing as it originally seemed."
Black Jack raised a brow at his co-worker's comment. Speaking of home...
"Oh?" His small reply was genuinely curious to possibly know a little bit about this man's background, but it was accented with a slight hint of sarcasm at the same time. Who wouldn't be pleased, if one had to stay in this crazy place?
With great care, Itachi closed the case, snapping the latches closed, turning back to the other man.
"Yes. I'm afraid that I really never knew that I'd miss being home. That is until I actually left."
He sighed, sitting on the stool he had previously sat while he was playing. Itachi crossed his legs, one slender limb over the other, resting laced fingers over his knee.
Black Jack smirked slightly, moving towards the shelf where a couple of art materials were placed. There was color splashed everywhere: paint on the brush handles, glitter on every conceivable surface. Taking two brushes in his hand, he scooped up small tubes of paint in the other, then walked towards the nearest blank canvas, which happened to be only a few feet away from the other man.
"We never know what we have until we lose it," he said in an almost practiced tone, the type that counsellors on television used, except laced with cynicalism. He casually scraped off some dried paint from the handle of one brush, watching the paper-thin flakes of red and blue and every other color of the rainbow fall to the floor, little by little, until there was none left.
"That's what they all say, anyway," he finished, handing the now clean brush to his co-worker for whatever reason.
Yes. He was quite an interesting man, with an equally interesting name. Although his words sounded cliche, and a bit stereotypical, Itachi nodded and smiled softly.
"Yes, that's what they say. I suppose it's true then." He sighed lightly. "Oh well, I'm sure I'll see my family soon enough."
Watching, his head tilted to the side, Itachi followed the small flecks of dried paint down to the floor, following them only with his dark, onyx eyes.
He sat up straight, looking at the paint brush being held out before him, taking it with gentle fingers.
Family. Black Jack looked down for a moment, staring at the paint chippings that now covered the floor.
"I'm sure you will."
The doctor opened the small tubes of paint, squeezing the substance from their containers, preparing his small palette, looking toward the other man as he did.
"Care to join me?"
He twirled the delicate looking brush in equally delicate looking fingers, running his thumb over the soft bristles. Itachi had never been one for visual arts -such as painting, drawing, sculpting- for his parents always said it was a waste of time. Although Sasuke was allowed to continue with his drawings, Itachi was never allowed. Itachi was their shining child, and there was no room for dilly-dally.
"Yes, I suppose so."
He watched, with mild interest as the taller man squeezed the paints out onto the palette, blinking at the vivid colors. The red attracted his eyes the most, Itachi had always considered the pretty crimson on of his favorites.
"I shall."
Reaching forward, Itachi dipped the tip of his brush in the red paint, lifting the brush, and painting a thin red line down Black Jack's cheek.
Itachi chuckled lightly, holding the brush poised to perhaps repeat his actions. Oh course it was a childish thing to do, but the older man just looked so....serious.
Black Jack flinched slightly from the cold of the paint, after which blinking once or twice seemed to be the natural option for this situation. He surely did not expect this, from a co-worker of all people.
But who said he couldn't play along?
Dipping his brush in black paint, he painted what seemed to be an (on-purpose) stick figure of his current companion, smiling to himself in the process.
He followed the doctors movements with his eyes, still snickering as the taller man proceeded to paint on him in return.
He grinned widely as he took the brush and painted a line down his other cheek, dragging it down and accidently to the man's shirt.
"Oops."
Itachi acted as though he was sorry for his actions for all of a few seconds, then he proceeded to break out into soft chuckles.
Black Jack did his best not to react to the paint on his other cheek, wondering if he looked like a disfigured amazon warrior or something like it, when he felt the liquid on his clothes.
Red on black. Hm. Well, at least he had taste.
He reached into his coat to take a small white handkerchief, wiping the paint off his shirt... what he could, anyway.
"This suit cost me plenty, you do realize..."
Dipping his brush into whatever color paint it got to first (he got yellow, delightfully enough), he painted a happy little sun on Itachi's forehead, smirking.
"You looked like you needed a little sunshine in your life."
Looking up, as far as he could, watching the man's brush move up above between his brows. He couldn't tell what was painted on his forehead, but from what Black Jack had said, Itachi assumed that it was a sun.
Immediately moving to dip his brush in the green paint, Itachi painted a horizontal zigzag on the mans opposite shoulder, much like a child would draw-or in this case paint- grass.
"Well, the grass is always greener on the other side."
Black Jack watched the other man's quick reflexes, wondering at first what in the world he was painting, before he cleared it up himself. Grass, it seemed.
"What makes you say that?"
Loading his weapon - that is to say, his brush - with light blue paint, he painted on the other man's shoulders in return, cute little clouds now filling up the black cloth. He thought of saying another cliche'd quote, but decided against it. Instead, he lightly chuckled.
He blinked. Why did he say that? Itachi isn't sure, but he though it was some silly little pun to accompany the color he was using.
"Well, isn't it true. People always seem to think that others have it better."
Then he blinked again, looking down at the clouds that were being painted on his shirt. His silk shirt. Oh well. He guessed it was fair, he had painted on Black Jack's shirt. Twice.
"Trying to say I have my head in the clouds?"
Wiping the tip of his brush off on his already ruined shirt, Itachi then dipped the brush in the black paint, and proceeded to pain a french-style mustache on the taller man's face. He smirked.
"It suits you doctor."
He thought back to all the people who've asked him to conduct plastic surgery on them, then answered thoughtfully. "That isn't far from the truth."
Black Jack resisted the urge to flinch when he felt the brush's bristles on his face yet again. By the location he assumed it was that old mustache joke.
"On the contrary..."
He dipped his brush into the by-now-abused black paint and painted a little goatee on the other man's face.
"You look like quite the gentleman, yourself."
He laughed, softly, setting his brush off to the side.
"Yes, perhaps I appear to be one, but we are both being quite childish. Ah, but you must admit it is quite fun to let your inner child out to play every once in a while."
As Itachi spoke, his began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. He brought the crumpled material up to his face, attempting to wipe away the pain on his face.
Black Jack nodded, taking his handkerchief and wiping off the paint from his face.
"Having to do only work and no play is quite stressing, don't you think?"
He watched the other try to clean himself up.
"Though I'm not sure if seeing the dry-cleaning bill for our clothes would be relaxing either..."
He laughed softly against the material of his shirt, nodding.
"Agreed."
After finally wiping the rest -or what he thought was the rest- of the paint of, Itachi lowered the shirt in one hand to his side.
"Yes. Although I am pretty sure the dry-cleaning wouldn't be so bad. It is an asylum, right? The paints should be washable. Right?"
Black Jack laughed.
"Of course. Washable and non-toxic. I wouldn't be surprised if they went as far as purchasing the fruit-scented sorts that little kids like."
The doctor played with one of the paint tubes, absentmindedly rolling it around in his hand.
"...wonder if they'll notice one missing?" he jokingly said with a grin.
He smiled softly, a finger running over his chin, lightly rubbing at whatever paint might still be left.
"Yes, that would make sense. Although scentless paint make it less likely that someone would want eat it."
Itachi's head tilted to the side, watching, listening to Black Jack about the paint.
"I don't see why they would, but why would you wish to take it with you?"
He couldn't help the ridiculous mental images he had of patients eating some paint while screaming something about astronaut food, and he did his best not to laugh.
"You do have a point. Oh well. Knowing the paranoia here, the paint's probably edible."
He closed his hand around the tube and chuckled.
"I don't know. Maybe if I fancied visiting a fellow staff member and decided they'd look better in say, pink..."
Characters: Itachi (fan_of_red_dawn, indigo) and Black Jack (kazama_kuroo, black)
Rating: PG-13...to be safe.
Location: Art Room
Summary: It's an art room, no one said it was for painting and such.
Date/Time: Day nine, 11h00 (Continuation)
He hadn't played since he left home for school. He missed the smooth wooden instrument cradled gently under his pale chin, and long, pale, slender fingers curled around the long cherry wood neck. Itachi missed the way the notes quivered in the air as he pulled the bow across the strings, and the melody arose swiftly and smoothly with crescendos, and decrescendos.
He moved the bow gently across the strings, tuning the instrument that he had so very long been neglecting. No, he didn't want to, it was just life that had gotten in the way, and he hadn't enough time to play properly.
Once he fully tuned the strings, he placed his fingers in position, and pulled the bow over the strings. The notes grew into a song, and his body rocked with the movements.
Oh, how Itachi had missed playing, listening to the sweet music. It felt almost that a part of him had been returned with that delicate instrument in his hands.
The world must be falling apart, the doctor mockingly thought to himself, striding down the hall. Nothing was happening. Now he felt at peace enough to feel like doing something... creative. Not that he was ever a Picasso or any names of the sort, but there was just something about paint that would, on occassion, help him out of his stress.
Or that could be the oil paints' fumes talking...
He turned to where he last remembered seeing his target, the Art Room. Yes, right there. But as he walked closer, he stopped for a moment when he noticed something unusual.
Music? Specifically, the rather lovely sounds of a violin? He wasn't lost and found himself at some music room or something, did he?
Curiosity got the better of himself, and, slowly, he took a peek inside.
What he saw was a man seemingly lost in his own world, playing the wooden instrument quite well, if he had to say so himself. He rather liked it, and stood there listening contentedly for now, forgetting why he had gone to the room in the first place.
He had closed his eyes, hiding his onyx eyes, loosing himself in his music, traveling up the scale, holding out a quivering high note that rang through out the room.
He lowered the bow, adjusting one of the strings that just a hair off, ignoring the other person standing in the door way.
He dragged the bow across the strings again, creating an eerie sound as he did so.
Dark eyes flickered up, looking at the figure in the door way. There was only the dim light from the windows lighting the room so who ever it was appeared to be a shadow, but still he stared.
Who was this person? Why was he here? Well that was a stupid question, as he knew the answer. Anyone would want to investigate the music sounding from this room.
"You might as well come in. No use standing in the door way," he said as he dragged out a long, low cord.
It had been... a very long time since he last heard music, music not from the metallic sound systems or trendy headphones. Music in one of its purest states. And to hear it in a place like this was even more surprising.
His presence acknowledged by the other man, he slowly stepped into the room, continuing to observe and listen to him play. It was a nice break from the scribbles and splatters of paint that adorned the room like framed masterpieces in a museum.
He shifted the pace of his music, playing something slow, but with continuous building, something that would probably be played in one of today’s horror movies to create tension. Building faster, and faster, until it suddenly. Just. Stopped.
Itachi lowered the delicate wooden instrument in his lap, laying the bow along side it, his gaze once again flickering back up to the man who had entered the room.
"From the looks of it, you are not a patient, so that would make you one of my co-workers, correct?"
He tilted his head to the side. Now that the door was closed, he could get a better look at the man. He was unique, to say the least.
"My name is Itachi Uchiha, and may I have the pleasure of the name of the person I just played for?"
A few seconds after the man abruptly finished playing, he clapped as how a gentleman would, a slight smile finding its way to his lips.
"Yes, that's right." He took a polite, ever-so-slight bow, almost half-jesting. Frankly, he was in a good mood. He had enjoyed the man's performance that much.
"My name is Black Jack."
He tossed a long, thick strand of hair over his shoulder, standing to replace the violin back in its case that rested on the nearby table, his back turned to the man for a moment.
"That is a unique name, is it your real one?"
Itachi leaned against the table, his arms crossed slightly over his chest, his head tilted to the side with interest.
"I'm sorry if my performance was bad. It's been a while since I played, even longer since I played for anyone else."
"It would be interesting if that were the case, wouldn't it?" he answered with a small chuckle.
"Not at all. You are quite talented, if I may say so myself."
Looking down at the case, Itachi set the bow to the side and picked up the instrument once again, holding it delicately in his hands. Walking over to the man, dubbed 'Black Jack', Itachi held out the instrument.
"It's a great instrument, of one of the finest qualities. Do have a look at it if you wish."
At once Itachi noticed the height difference, a little uncomfortable, but none then less hid it from the other male.
"I took me quite a bit of savings to finally purchase it. It immediately became my favorite and I've taken extreme great care of it since the day I brought it home."
He blinked some. Most of the time, people didn't trust him enough to even be within a foot's reach of him.
Taking the violin with a small nod, he carefully examined the instrument in his hands, noting it's fine make and quality. This man had an eye for only the best, he thought.
"It is in good shape. I can tell you have taken the utmost care with it."
He looked up from the object to take a better look at his co-worker.
"How long have you been playing, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Yes, it is one of the few things I am very, extremely careful with."
There was a question he'd have to think about. It had been so long since he'd started playing, he'd almost forgotten exactly when he did.
"I think I started when I was eight, so that would be about twelve years ago?"
Itachi placed one hand on his hip and his other hand was brought up to his mouth, his index finger resting thoughtfully on his lips.
"Twelve years?" He found himself smirking, looking at the violin with an odd, reminiscing look. "I've heard people who've been playing for longer who can't even make one good note."
When he was finished, he handed the instrument back to its owner.
"You definitely should keep it up. It's quite the blessing."
"Yes, I practiced many long hours to become as good as I am today."
He took the delicate instrument back, walking back over to its case, gently placing it back in the velvet lined box.
"I intend to. It is one of my passions in life. Anyways, what brings you here? To the art room, I mean."
"Of course," he said, smiling bemusedly. "One needs almost endless practice to in order to be a master of their art..."
He blinked. Right. He was in the art room for...
"No real reason, really. I thought it would be a nice change to maybe sneak in here and... see why the patients like this room so much." He eyed the materials on one side of the room. "I hear it's truly relaxing for most of them."
"Which is what I do."
He hummed the tune he had been playing, watching the other man with stoic eyes.
"Yes, of course. Many people would say that art, in any form, is relaxing. Hence why I am here. I have not been here at Malaise long, but I find that being so far from home isn't as pleasing as it originally seemed."
Black Jack raised a brow at his co-worker's comment. Speaking of home...
"Oh?" His small reply was genuinely curious to possibly know a little bit about this man's background, but it was accented with a slight hint of sarcasm at the same time. Who wouldn't be pleased, if one had to stay in this crazy place?
With great care, Itachi closed the case, snapping the latches closed, turning back to the other man.
"Yes. I'm afraid that I really never knew that I'd miss being home. That is until I actually left."
He sighed, sitting on the stool he had previously sat while he was playing. Itachi crossed his legs, one slender limb over the other, resting laced fingers over his knee.
Black Jack smirked slightly, moving towards the shelf where a couple of art materials were placed. There was color splashed everywhere: paint on the brush handles, glitter on every conceivable surface. Taking two brushes in his hand, he scooped up small tubes of paint in the other, then walked towards the nearest blank canvas, which happened to be only a few feet away from the other man.
"We never know what we have until we lose it," he said in an almost practiced tone, the type that counsellors on television used, except laced with cynicalism. He casually scraped off some dried paint from the handle of one brush, watching the paper-thin flakes of red and blue and every other color of the rainbow fall to the floor, little by little, until there was none left.
"That's what they all say, anyway," he finished, handing the now clean brush to his co-worker for whatever reason.
Yes. He was quite an interesting man, with an equally interesting name. Although his words sounded cliche, and a bit stereotypical, Itachi nodded and smiled softly.
"Yes, that's what they say. I suppose it's true then." He sighed lightly. "Oh well, I'm sure I'll see my family soon enough."
Watching, his head tilted to the side, Itachi followed the small flecks of dried paint down to the floor, following them only with his dark, onyx eyes.
He sat up straight, looking at the paint brush being held out before him, taking it with gentle fingers.
Family. Black Jack looked down for a moment, staring at the paint chippings that now covered the floor.
"I'm sure you will."
The doctor opened the small tubes of paint, squeezing the substance from their containers, preparing his small palette, looking toward the other man as he did.
"Care to join me?"
He twirled the delicate looking brush in equally delicate looking fingers, running his thumb over the soft bristles. Itachi had never been one for visual arts -such as painting, drawing, sculpting- for his parents always said it was a waste of time. Although Sasuke was allowed to continue with his drawings, Itachi was never allowed. Itachi was their shining child, and there was no room for dilly-dally.
"Yes, I suppose so."
He watched, with mild interest as the taller man squeezed the paints out onto the palette, blinking at the vivid colors. The red attracted his eyes the most, Itachi had always considered the pretty crimson on of his favorites.
"I shall."
Reaching forward, Itachi dipped the tip of his brush in the red paint, lifting the brush, and painting a thin red line down Black Jack's cheek.
Itachi chuckled lightly, holding the brush poised to perhaps repeat his actions. Oh course it was a childish thing to do, but the older man just looked so....serious.
Black Jack flinched slightly from the cold of the paint, after which blinking once or twice seemed to be the natural option for this situation. He surely did not expect this, from a co-worker of all people.
But who said he couldn't play along?
Dipping his brush in black paint, he painted what seemed to be an (on-purpose) stick figure of his current companion, smiling to himself in the process.
He followed the doctors movements with his eyes, still snickering as the taller man proceeded to paint on him in return.
He grinned widely as he took the brush and painted a line down his other cheek, dragging it down and accidently to the man's shirt.
"Oops."
Itachi acted as though he was sorry for his actions for all of a few seconds, then he proceeded to break out into soft chuckles.
Black Jack did his best not to react to the paint on his other cheek, wondering if he looked like a disfigured amazon warrior or something like it, when he felt the liquid on his clothes.
Red on black. Hm. Well, at least he had taste.
He reached into his coat to take a small white handkerchief, wiping the paint off his shirt... what he could, anyway.
"This suit cost me plenty, you do realize..."
Dipping his brush into whatever color paint it got to first (he got yellow, delightfully enough), he painted a happy little sun on Itachi's forehead, smirking.
"You looked like you needed a little sunshine in your life."
Looking up, as far as he could, watching the man's brush move up above between his brows. He couldn't tell what was painted on his forehead, but from what Black Jack had said, Itachi assumed that it was a sun.
Immediately moving to dip his brush in the green paint, Itachi painted a horizontal zigzag on the mans opposite shoulder, much like a child would draw-or in this case paint- grass.
"Well, the grass is always greener on the other side."
Black Jack watched the other man's quick reflexes, wondering at first what in the world he was painting, before he cleared it up himself. Grass, it seemed.
"What makes you say that?"
Loading his weapon - that is to say, his brush - with light blue paint, he painted on the other man's shoulders in return, cute little clouds now filling up the black cloth. He thought of saying another cliche'd quote, but decided against it. Instead, he lightly chuckled.
He blinked. Why did he say that? Itachi isn't sure, but he though it was some silly little pun to accompany the color he was using.
"Well, isn't it true. People always seem to think that others have it better."
Then he blinked again, looking down at the clouds that were being painted on his shirt. His silk shirt. Oh well. He guessed it was fair, he had painted on Black Jack's shirt. Twice.
"Trying to say I have my head in the clouds?"
Wiping the tip of his brush off on his already ruined shirt, Itachi then dipped the brush in the black paint, and proceeded to pain a french-style mustache on the taller man's face. He smirked.
"It suits you doctor."
He thought back to all the people who've asked him to conduct plastic surgery on them, then answered thoughtfully. "That isn't far from the truth."
Black Jack resisted the urge to flinch when he felt the brush's bristles on his face yet again. By the location he assumed it was that old mustache joke.
"On the contrary..."
He dipped his brush into the by-now-abused black paint and painted a little goatee on the other man's face.
"You look like quite the gentleman, yourself."
He laughed, softly, setting his brush off to the side.
"Yes, perhaps I appear to be one, but we are both being quite childish. Ah, but you must admit it is quite fun to let your inner child out to play every once in a while."
As Itachi spoke, his began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. He brought the crumpled material up to his face, attempting to wipe away the pain on his face.
Black Jack nodded, taking his handkerchief and wiping off the paint from his face.
"Having to do only work and no play is quite stressing, don't you think?"
He watched the other try to clean himself up.
"Though I'm not sure if seeing the dry-cleaning bill for our clothes would be relaxing either..."
He laughed softly against the material of his shirt, nodding.
"Agreed."
After finally wiping the rest -or what he thought was the rest- of the paint of, Itachi lowered the shirt in one hand to his side.
"Yes. Although I am pretty sure the dry-cleaning wouldn't be so bad. It is an asylum, right? The paints should be washable. Right?"
Black Jack laughed.
"Of course. Washable and non-toxic. I wouldn't be surprised if they went as far as purchasing the fruit-scented sorts that little kids like."
The doctor played with one of the paint tubes, absentmindedly rolling it around in his hand.
"...wonder if they'll notice one missing?" he jokingly said with a grin.
He smiled softly, a finger running over his chin, lightly rubbing at whatever paint might still be left.
"Yes, that would make sense. Although scentless paint make it less likely that someone would want eat it."
Itachi's head tilted to the side, watching, listening to Black Jack about the paint.
"I don't see why they would, but why would you wish to take it with you?"
He couldn't help the ridiculous mental images he had of patients eating some paint while screaming something about astronaut food, and he did his best not to laugh.
"You do have a point. Oh well. Knowing the paranoia here, the paint's probably edible."
He closed his hand around the tube and chuckled.
"I don't know. Maybe if I fancied visiting a fellow staff member and decided they'd look better in say, pink..."