#yuukiwaa

[decayed-moon]

yuukiwaa:

Drops by his mansion, finding where the master of the house’s home office was after being directed there by Jeeves, the Kuchiki butler. She had nothing better to do and wanted to offer a little gift after discovering his fondness for this particular Yatsuhashi sweet which in all honesty did not do much at all for her sense of aesthetics as the wagashi she was very much fond of did. After a curt knock and hearing the call to enter, she quietly slid the door and stood right behind it for a while her gaze falling on his back as he sat clearly busy with some calligraphy. “I bring a peace offering.” 

       Byakuya had paused to consider kanji that painted themselves on the scroll before him — lines manifesting in an almost hesitant sousho script that seemed barely familiar to the noble.

         友        達        甲        斐

       True friendship; something he was still discovering in his own heart but as the ink soaked into the parchment, so they did into his soul. Others he could rely on for more than duty, that sought nothing from him but himself. A year go he would have dismissed it as a poor joke. After all, what more could a noble expect than allegiances made to better one’s own standing — what more could a captain than someone wanting to get close to a power they might never touch themselves? Nothing but a selfish lie that was now a falsehood in itself.

       So many had proved that to him and the experience was humbling.

       Thought broken by the quiet, firm tap on shouji, the Kuchiki set his brush aside and spoke out to admit his visitor with a idea for whom it might be. Familiar enough now with his guest, he simply turned to greet Aya with a seated bow rather than rising. The smell of spicy cinnamon wafting over had the hint of a smile on Byakuya’s lips as he gestured for the noblewoman to the zaisu beside his own.

       “I don’t recall us being at war, Shimaoka-san, but your consideration is most appreciated regardless.”

[kiizoku]

+ yuukiwaa

█▒♚; The lady pauses for moment--                   --a presence draws near and CURIOSITY ignites.                       It seems she knows whom to have yet to show face.

❝  ------Shimaoka-san, it's rather rude to               linger in shadows for an               extended period of time. ❞

[delusivefox-archived-blog]

"Is that blood behind your ear?"

"Ano-…" His hand went up and touched his neck, long fingers brushing over a few flecks of dry blood that he had missed in his haste. Of course, it wasn’t his own. Ah, how careless!  The look she gave him reminded him sharply of someone in particular and like that someone in particular, it was apparent that very little got past her notice. Without missing a beat he gave her a congenial smile, despite being thoroughly exhausted from yet another night without sleep.

"So there is~!" he said lightly, bowing politely as he tucked his hands deep into the sleeves of his shihakusho. " Ah, forgive me. A shinigami is no tidy business, Shimaoka-sama, but I assure you it ain’t anything to cause concern~!" 

[decayed-moon]

‘Ensadame’ / Yuukiwaa

       It’s your duty as the future head of the clan.

       You must uphold the clan’s honor, especially in this.

       You are the only heir.

       She has to be suitable for someone of your birth.

       Your father came to love the wife that was chosen for him.

       It’s your duty.

       The solemn fourth-seat knew his purpose —the words of his grandfather echoing in his mind— but the thought was no less foreign to him. Marriage. He had little want for a wife, still young enough to want to shirk the idea of being tied to one person when his focus was with the squad and his sword. Still Byakuya was a man now and Ginrei was the Kuchiki patriarch. And the Sixth’s captain’s word was as good as the laws he upheld.

       It was expected of him to bow to the older man’s will. Although, in truth, the budding arrangement was not as chaining as the heir feared. What he’d seen of the girl (little more than photographs and assurances) showed that she was not the onigiri-faced creature a certain troublesome friend had joked about; instead he’s found gentle eyes and a soft smile that gave away nothing. A perfectly-poised noblewoman, even close to his own age. Ojii-ue had matched wisely for his grandson: a marriage between two great nobility wouldn’t stir or favour any of the greedier houses below them and paid no disservice to either party’s bloodline.

       Love never even entered such a well-balanced equation. It was only a fortunate bonus for the couple involved and their children.

       Byakuya had no right to refuse, and perhaps that was what had steered him towards the estate’s training field with both bokutou and Senbonzakura in hand. With his grandfather acting as nakodo, there was little need for his presence while he sipped tea and discussed terms and the young pair's future with Shimaoka Aya and her parents. The time was better spent training than dwelling on a future he couldn’t control. Better to make apologies for his absence than to stew as he sat in silence. So instead, the shinigami tied back his sleeves and long hair then unsheathed his zanpakutou.

       Singing softly, the blade flashed and twirled around its counterpart in a steady rhythm of steps and twists. It was a dance the pair had long since mastered —something taught in the academy for those skilled enough— and lean muscles warmed rapidly as they worked through the kata drilled into them. Every day the same routine, slow pattern before working his way up to an almost furious pace that blurred steel and cloth around him until his body screamed to stop. And then he did only for a minute, long enough to catch his breath.

       Next was strikes, but he was long past keeping his feet planted and facing off against a rolled tatami. Now, it was leaves blown from the autumn trees at a pace that nearly rivalled his captain’s. Slicing maples as he stepped past until they remained impaled on his katana even after he halted or challenging how finely he could dissect pine needles.

       But for the moment: kata. Breathing in time. Becoming nothing but the weapon in his hand. No marriage, no titles, no expectations not his own. Simply one move at a time.