[As the "sun" had set, Kisame had fully intended to make his way back home. Old habits died hard--while there was no real reason to be turning in so promptly anymore, and they had often pushed past sunset if they had needed to, he and Itachi traveling so much had always made it imperative to make the most of all the daylight hours they had, and attempt to find a secure, defensible area to spend the night as soon as possible once visibility decreased.
It made him surprised to see a warm, flickering glow on his way out of the gardens. Firelight, out here? Was someone camping? He slipped silently to the edge of the path to watch, watching the display of grace and skill. He'd never seen anything quite like this before..... As beautiful as Itachi could be fighting, part of the elegance of his style lay in its incredible economy of motion and precision. Not a single move was wasted, nothing lacked purpose, nothing didn't bring him closer to his goals somehow. But this?
This looked more like art. This treaded closer to Sasori's domain, form and function tangling around each other until it was difficult to tell what was aesthetic and what was utilitarian. It looked like he was executing katas under those flames..... There was as much admiration as there was analysis in his critical gaze, studying the display as much to weigh the danger in the dance as the dance in the danger. Just because his own form could so often fall short of artistic, after all, didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it in others when he saw it.]