Unit 294 was glad to hear that she was content to respect his boundaries. In truth, he likely wouldn't have put up too much of a fight if she'd insisted--she was a trusted member of Sunagakure, after all, and if anybody had to be messing with his insides, someone who specialized in the field would be an appropriate candidate. Besides, even if he was of the highest caliber a shinobi could achieve in their lifetime, he held no significant position within the village and there was little he could do to reject a commandment made of him. Even if it wasn't a Chikamatsu, Unit 294 was compelled to obedience.
Shimako returned briefly from where she'd left him, some supplies in hand. To begin with, she suggested that Unit 294 clean the blood off of him properly. While Tsuneo had suggested covering himself in sand to mask it from sight--since humans tended to get squeamish around figures covered in blood--that simply wouldn't suffice for the task at hand. And so, the puppet would nod in understanding. It would seem to him that they also wished to work on his clothing--whether mending the kimono he already wore, or constructing him something new entirely.
Deciding that she could likely work on that while he washed himself off, the shippai stripped to his draws before taking the wash cloth and dampening it in water.
In truth, he wasn't really certain. It was apparent to him, by the way the woman was dressed and presented herself, that she had a high taste for fashion. He didn't care to be the center of attention, and the puppet valued practicality above anything else. But, still, he wasn't entirely opposed to something new, either. Truly, he didn't care one way or another. He could be in nice garb or dressed in--well, rags--and it would make little difference. It was nice to look presentable, but he didn't want to worry about upsetting her should any of her work get damaged while in battle. Though, that also presented the question of whether or not he'd be fighting much, to begin with.
Upon his return to Sunagakure, he wasn't certain if he'd be sent on endless missions of assassinations, anymore. Twenty years had passed, and while he was certain there would always be threats that needed elimination--would he be tasked to carry them all out? And would it be any real trouble for him? He'd managed to keep himself in this condition, so far, the chances of being faced with any real opposition that could cause room for worry was actually quite slim, he supposed. And, even less so if he ended up being locked up in some storage unit for the next thirty years, or however long it might be before he was next needed.
"Whatever you think is best," he decided, giving them free reign instead. Since he held such little preference, perhaps it was better to just let her decide after all.
It wouldn't take him too long to properly wash the blood, sand, and dirt off of his artificial skin. There would be some effort, but his vessel was mostly resistant to any serious staining to begin with.
SAs Active:
Unflagging Endurance
Armored Bodies
Titanic Speed
Enhanced Sensory
Enhanced Reflexes