[ It had been a task issued out of curiosity. Cutting is Rokurou's favorite thing—normally he wouldn't share even a little bit of chopping with someone else. However, directly asking if Sasuke has been one-handed since birth or a recent amputee doesn't feel like the best approach with someone introverted like this. Thus the sacrifice of sweet, sweet cutting to observe how the other man handles it.

He nods, huffing a little at the confirmation that Sasuke's likewise lost his weapons. It doesn't end up making him feel any better about the loss of his longsword, but that sword ... it isn't for use now, anyway. A knife like the one in his hand, cutting swiftly through potato after potato, is all he needs to kill. ]

You know, I thought the same about you. That's what first drew my attention. It's a style that I don't see much outside of my clan, [ saw, he supposes, a mental drawl as he continues alone, ] so I thought you were interesting.

[ The chopped potatoes are now a small hill. Swiping juice off the knife with a small towel, the daemon switches gears to washing the meat and slapping it down onto the cutting board to cut. His slices are precise, each piece of meat the same kind of perfectly cut cube. Someone's having fun with this. ]

This place is nothing like what I'm used to. I've never seen half of what's here before. I still don't know what this thing is, either. [ he stops in his chopping to pull the cellphone out of his sash, dropping it unceremoniously onto the counter where it can't get in the way of cooking, ] It's the only strange thing I woke up with. It was making noise so I hit it a few times, and it hasn't done much since.