Sasuke's glower only ticked up from the ground in front of him upon address; he'd kept his eyes low to avoid making contact with the hedonists around him. Now, though, they widened just a little, irises giving the slightest twitch on their own. Dammit. It was disconcerting, getting used to not having the Sharingan. But with or without, he knew the cloak, remembered the sugegasa from long ago. The bell jogged unpleasant things in his memory, and his gut twisted. The frown deepened, cautious.

He scanned through his memory, sizing up Sasori by height and build, testing the other's voice in his ear. No familiarity at all sprung up, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Nor you, Akatsuki," he responded quietly. A conversational acknowledgment of at least partial recognition.