As with most challenges in his life, this one was accepted with the blunt calm of unstrapping a (in this case metaphorical) glock and leveling at the face of the person standing in his way.
It took half a second to seal his lips, click his tongue against the back for his teeth and make his mind forcibly shift into a more calculated tone of voice. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. For the sort of life you're clearly intending to live," he gestured slightly toward the boy before him, a less-than-critical brow arching slightly, "you'll need to drag yourself farther to keep yourself afloat. This isn't the market to be throwing yourself on the whim of eccentric collectors."
True, Zetsu wasn't completely sure what Deidara intended to do with his art. That didn't mean, kind and thoughtful dean that he was, that he wouldn't make his best effort to save yet another starving artist from the edge. Particularly such a well-connected one as this.
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