Random Sentence Memes (Sickness Edition)

"Have you seen you?" "You look terrible." "When was the last time you ate?" "Are you sure you can handle that on your own?" "Do I look sick to you?" "Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick." "Are you sure that was supposed to make me feel better?" "Since when do you have medical training?" "I refuse to accept that diagnosis." "You look perfectly fine to me." "I think you might be a hypochondriac." "Well maybe if you actually bothered to go see someone about it this wouldn’t keep happening." "We’re going to the hospital." "Are you afraid of needles?" "You need more blood or something." "Just try not to die, okay?"

                          Oh how nice it must be…..

                                          To truly have a family.

                             One that you can call your own…one that gives definition and meaning to the word

                                                Home.

@kabuuto: Another Test Subject

Those precise, measured footsteps could only be Kabuto’s. And so they were, and here he was, keen eyes hidden in the glare of the surgical lamp reflected on his glasses. 

Relatively painless, eh? If nothing else, Karin could always count on Kabuto to be honest. 

She couldn’t tell if it was the new scars on her arms that elicited a look of barely repressed pleasure on his face, as his eyes were hidden in the glare of the lamp, but she assumed as much. The expression quickly faded, however, into something more like solemnity. Could it be that he felt sorry for her? Surely not.

Now he approached her with a scalpel in hand, steady and unwavering as always. Karin had hoped that today would be a syringe day. She couldn’t help it, though she fought it with all her might - she began to weep openly, hot tears streaming down her cheeks to drip from the bottom of a chin that she was too proud to allow to tremble. 

“Why do you do these things? With that same hand, you could heal me. You are one of the strongest shinobi I have ever met, and you choose to stick me full of poison and pick apart my flesh.”

It was true. Not that she had seen many strong shinobi in her day, being from a village devoid of true ninja, but he must be powerful if he served under Orochimaru. 

//You’re a great writer. Give yourself some credit. :]

"Really now, must you make a scene? For a shinobi to behave in such a way is... unbecoming. As for why I'm doing this, I'm sure you're all too aware of Orochimaru-sama's goals. I simply serve to make those ideals into a reality. These appointments are necassary if we are to understand the true extent of your abilities, surely a shinobi of your intelligence can understand that?" Kabuto pressed the scalpel blade to her marred flesh, its razor sharp edge drawing blood at even the lightest touch. Lingering there for a moment, he turned to face Karin, a thought growing in his eyes. Perhaps there was a more effective way of doing this, a mere scalpel to the flesh did seem rather crude, and he did have far more advanced tools at his disposal. He supressed another smirk, turning his attention to the scalpel poised to carve deep into the girl's arm, not wanting her get wind of his new plan. Karin was sharp, he knew that. Despite this momentary weakness, letting her emotions get the better of her, Kabuto wasn't one to underestimate her. After all, Orochimaru-sama only displayed such an interest in those who would be of true worth to him.

Abruptly, he lifted the blade from her skin, grip on her wrist loosening as he turned it in the dull light, a sheen of blood glistening on the cool metal. Without a word, Kabuto walked briskly to the sink, washing a jet of steaming water over the sullied instrument. He watched in silence as the blood flowed away in small waves, leaving the blade pristine once more, the only sound of the running water and Karin's muffled sobs behind him. It was unlike her, but he supposed being the victim of such relentless experimentation could take its toll on even the hardest of shinobi. If she was like this now...  He turned off the water with a subtle creak, replacing the scalpel in it's rightful container and returning it to the cabinet. Kabuto was always so meticulous about such things, maintaining one's tools was key if one was to work with true efficiency.

He turned his attention to Karin once more, her crimson eyes moist and swollen from the tears that still flowed so freely. It was regrettable, but if Kabuto was to extract the desired information about her body, this girl was in for far more of an ordeal than she had expected. He sighed softly, an almost ominous tone to his voice as he stepped past Karin and opened the laboratory door. "I'm afraid there's been a change of plan. If you could follow me..."

@kabuuto: Another Test Subject

Karin sat in the examination room, fidgeting nervously with the strings of her hospital gown. Kabuto had told her that this would be a routine check-up for the most part and that they would only be taking a little of her blood this time. 

She looked at her arms and shuddered. Karin tried her best to avoid looking at them, to keep them out of sight if she could. She never wore short sleeves. But the hospital gown had no sleeves, so she bore the increasing number of bite marks on her arms for all to see. Well, just Kabuto. But it didn’t matter. She hated looking at them, and found them unsightly. Here, the swift, clean puncture wound of some fanged creature, probably one of the many Cursed Seal bearers who had sucked up some of her potent chakra. There, a jagged wound, where one of those creatures had handled her more roughly. It wasn’t just that these scars were ugly, they were also reminders of pain, and fear, and subjection. She couldn’t stand being a test subject. But more than that, she couldn’t stand being powerless. 

In any case, the only way for her to assert herself at present was by gritting her teeth and hiding her tears. She lay down on the cold slab that served as this particular hideout’s examination table, and waited for Kabuto to enter the small cavern in which she now anticipated she would experience even more pain, fear, and subjection.

Kabuto's sharp footsteps cut like knives through the silence as he walked down the darkened hallway, eyes hidden by the flickering candlelight that danced on the surface of his round lenses. This girl certainly possessed some interesting talents. Not only her powerful sensory abilities, but also that strange, almost twisted method of healing others. Yes, how fortunate it was that Orochimaru-sama had stumbled upon such an asset, Karin was proving to be quite useful. And oh, she was so interesting to study.

He stopped outside a large, wooden door, hand hovering for a moment before opening it with a loud creak. Instantly, his eyes flickered to the girl already lying on the examination table, frozen there like a frightened rabbit. Not bothering with something so casual as a greeting, he simply got to the matter at hand. "You needn't look so worried. Today's examination will be relatively  painless, I assure you." A sly smirk tugged at Kabuto's lips as he spoke, expression hinting that his soothing words were far from a reflection of his true intentions.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, the medic turned to study his patient. There was a sadistic glint in his eyes as he scanned the girl's body, taking in the numerous scars and bite marks. They had multiplied sufficiently since the last time she had been here, Kabuto was sure of that. Why, there was barely a clear patch of skin on what flesh was visible, all of it marred by jagged scarring. He laughed softly to himself, cruel and dark, tone deceptively kind as he spoke. "My, you have been busy. Perhaps you should be a little more careful, Orochimaru-sama would be so disappointed to lose a subordinate as valuable as yourself." His expression softened as his gaze fell to Karin's face, noticing her tear-stained cheeks. There was no denying the sadistic pleasure he felt at having such control over his victims, but the medic wasn't fond of forcing people to do things against their will. Perhaps he would be a little more gentle than he had originally intended.

Walking over to a cabinet stocked with various medical supplies, Kabuto's hand hovered over a large syringe before instead reaching for a scalpel, it's razor sharp bade glinting in the dull light. He stood with his back to Karin for a moment, not allowing her to witness the sadistic grin distorting his features. His expression was once again stoic as he turned to face the girl, tone as comforting as he could muster. "But first, I'm afraid we require a... Well, just think of it as a skin sample.  You must understand, your abilities are so unique, a mere blood sample just won't suffice if we are to study them further." Instinctively turning the scalpel in his fingers, he reached for the kunoichi's arm, "Now then, please do try not to move..."

@thewanderingmiko

Nonou preferred the life of a civilian to that of a spy. It was comforting to be rid of Root and its filthy ways; she was satisfied healing the poor and the injured as the unremarkable Natsumo. As Danzou chastised, she couldn’t rid herself of the emotions considered improper for a shinobi, nor did she want to compromise her humanity for her government. And even still, she missed her sons and daughters, remembered every name and face, for it would be unforgivable for a mother to forget her child.

Unforgivable. One name stood out among the others in her restless thoughts and her nightly prayers: Kabuto, the orphan with a forgotten identity. He was such a good boy, bright, compassionate, grateful, and skilled in medical ninjutsu far beyond his years. And then Danzou stole him away- no. To say Kabuto was stolen would undermine his sacrifice. 

And in Nonou’s own struggles to free her son from Root and see him again, she became blinded to its tricks. She tried to assassinate Kabuto, and when she failed, she was left staring into the eyes of a boy she’d deemed a stranger. The guilt from that encounter weighed on her like a balls-and-chain she couldn’t unlock. How deeply she must have hurt him; he won the battle physically, left her clinging to her life, but she couldn’t unsee his expression. 

No matter how many wounds she mended, nor friends her false name made, nor thanks she received, Nonou was still plagued by the memories of her great mistake, and she didn’t know if any good deed could clean her slate completely. She missed the orphanage sorely and kept her children locked in photographs in the folds of her unworn clothing.

Even a decade after she’d been forced to flee Konoha, Nonou still glanced over her shoulder every so often and looked at Leaf shinobi with hidden suspicion. She wanted nothing more to do with the military, and when word of the war encompassing the continent reached Takigakure, she swore to ignore the news. It wasn’t until the name “Kabuto” began to flit about that she paid attention. She pressed for more information whenever she could without looking suspicious, and it didn’t take long for her to piece together Kabuto’s role in the war. It was terrifying to realize he was one of the men at the heart of the ordeal, that he’d secured a vast forbidden power and was using it to force loved ones to fight each other and the resting dead to kill the people they cared about. At first, Nonou was desperate not to believe it- though she’d yearned for some information on her son for so long, kept him safe in her thoughts, this must have been a mistake, but eventually, she couldn’t deny the facts. Kabuto, her son, Kabuto Yakushi, fought against the allied shinobi world for staggering stakes. 

The knowledge was like a confirmation of all Nonou’s fears about what had become of her son. Her heart sunk as she imagined that it might have been her fault. Had she really hurt him that much? Any way she looked at it, Nonou came to the decision that she had to get involved. There was no turning away and ignoring this. She’d speak to Kabuto, and their meeting would end fruitfully or in blood and tears. At the very least, she had to try. 

Nonou wore a simple, nostalgic outfit as she left Takigakure and headed for the battlefield: the black-and-white nun’s dress she’d worn in Konoha’s orphanage rather than appropriate shinobi garb. She took cues, asked for directions, listened to the sounds of battle and the changing winds and for half a week, she simply traveled. Eventually, her search brought her to a quiet forest away from the battlefield, where she could feel the subtlest tinglings of chakra- two chakras in the same body, each signature of two men she’d known in her life.  

When Nonou stepped out in front of Kabuto Yakushi, no tricks up her sleeve, only lightly armed and undisguised, she saw why, and a chill shook her. She gazed at a hooded man with white, scaly skin and piercing slit pupils, an anomaly with the features of her son. Even his eyes weren’t the same; they were foreign, and she recalled being unsettled by them when they belonged to one of Danzo’s right-hand men. He’d always looked at her son with an unmistakable hunger. 

But this was Kabuto, and as much as Nonou wanted to be mistaken, she couldn’t deny her son the simplest right of being recognized. Not again. “Kabuto.” She spoke in a steady voice, still as she stood feet away from him, far less changed by the decade that had parted them than he’d been. 

It wasn't until the energy was almost upon him that Kabuto felt the strangely familiar chakra signature just a few feet ahead. His body stiffened, eyes boring through the undergrowth, poised to attack at any moment as he scanned the trees for any sign of life. He couldn't quite place the chakra at first. It was familiar, he knew, but significant in a way that his mind refused to recognize. 

Kabuto's heart skipped a beat as the heavily robed woman stepped out from a small cluster of trees. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes unblinking as he stared into her all too familiar face. Time stopped in that moment, all of his achievements, his unfathomable new power fading into insignificance as he felt his entire world crashing down around him. What he knew to be true and real and just suddenly called into question by the ghost that stood before him.

Kabuto's breathing was shallow, laboured, as he took in her features, a sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin. Dusky blonde hair framed her face, accented by thick, oval-rimmed glasses. They were the same, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that these were the glasses he had gifted to her as a child. This woman was his mother. 

With numerous enemies after his head, it should come as no surprise that one of them might be capable of such a chilling form of jutsu, a psychological threat much like his own Edo Tensei army. Yet as Kabuto stood there, staring brokenly into the face of the only person he had ever truly loved, of the devoted mother who he had killed with his own two hands, he found himself in an immobilised state of shock. This woman, whomever she claimed to be, could not possibly be his mother. He had watched her die from the very wounds he had so unwittingly inflicted, grieved, mourned her loss in a way that only Kabuto himself would ever know the true extent of. He felt his mind begin to shut down, to give in to the torturous emotions that screamed beneath his stoic shell. It took everything he had to fight against it, to will himself to believe that this couldn't be happening, for his proud mind to listen to reason. 

He caught his breath, his usual cold logic gradually winning the war that had raged in his mind.  Of course. This woman was just an illusion, at best a mere transformation of sorts. There was no possible way he could perceive for her to truly be his mother. Forcing his usual smug mask back to his face, he let out an amused chuckle. It was forced, unnatural, so much so that even Kabuto himself felt as though he was falling victim to his own deception. He had to commend the user's efforts, their sickening choice of jutsu technique. Why, it had almost had him fooled for a moment, more so than he would care to admit. That is, of course, until the logical part of his mind had regained some control.

Regrettably, even after overcoming the initial onslaught of emotion that had surged through him upon seeing such a familiar face, he couldn't deny the part of himself, a part growing with every passing moment, that both hoped and dreaded that this could truly be real. Since the day of her passing, that dreadful day that had altered Kabuto's life in ways beyond comprehension, he had longed to see his mother again, if only for a moment. To see her gentle, smiling face looking down at him, feel the warmth of her embrace. Of course, he had convinced himself that such feelings were pitiful, a hardening shell forming around his memories of her, and around the almost physical pain that came with them. But ever present in the far corners of Kabuto's mind that he fought so hard to ignore, was the child who had left the safety of his home, left warmth and comfort and love, for the sake of the only family he had. For the woman who he had loved more than anything else in the world, and, though he did not care to admit it, still did. Those distant corners of his mind that wanted only to return home, to be welcomed as a brother and a son in a family that no longer existed. The feelings had grown less potent as he aged, replaced by a deep bitterness towards the village who had so cruely taken everything from him. But, try as he might, the longing still lingered, an insatiable desire to find the one place he could truly belong, where he could be the man that he was yet to become. And as he stood there, confronted by this ghost from the past, Kabuto was suddenly a child again. The lost, abandoned orphan who had been found on the battlefield all those years ago, searching only for a warm hand that would pull him from the depths of despair.

He shook off the overwhelming sensation, albeit with great difficulty, focusing only on the task at hand. This woman had to be an imposter, a servant of the enemy sent to throw him off his guard, and Kabuto wasn't about to let such a heinous crime go unpunished. In spite of his steely expression, his serpentine eyes swam with a conflicted agony. Voice hoarse and choked, his gut twisted as he echoed the words this very woman had uttered to him all those years ago. "Who are you?"