Dream Weaver

continuation from here

@desk-work-expert

Shutara nods.  There are very few people alive who have been in here.  Some are in the guard, a couple are current captains, but pretty much everyone else is in a grave.  

“Yes,” she says.  “This…is where I grew up.  It’s why the 2nds grounds are where they are.”  

Shutara works her best to steady Nanao.  To edge her on just a little quicker, she puts one of Nanao’s arms over her shoulder, and she wraps her natural arm around her waist. Not needing them, she lets her prosthetic arms disintegrate.  This is her land.  She does not need to battle, and she wants to show Nanao that she is allowing her more intimacy than more than most have ever known.  She keeps her scent relatively strong, not overpowering, but enough to relax, comfort, entice.  As much as her blood calls to take, she is trying her hardest to meet somewhere in the middle.

They cross the threshold, and even though Shutara knows that no one will be able to make it through the walls, she still locks the complex lock behind her before continuing on.  

She is so close to being able to relieve herself; she grits her teeth as she finds herself starting to sink back into a more feral state.  As much as she is hit with the niggling feeling that she’d have not needed caution right now should she have taken the omega, the logical part of her that’s been forced aside makes her vaguely aware that she owes Nanao and she clings as if to driftwood to the vestiges of her rationality that she can grasp.

They walk down the hallway, into the vestibule that houses a gigantic loom, and then through to the quarters beyond it.  Just like her home in the royal realm, this room too has a fireplace in the wall, an easy way to stay warm when small.  A platform bed with lush fabrics is in the center of the room, and the rest of everything is minimalist—she’s always kept it blank so that when she rests, she’s not visually overstimulated.

She guides Nanao to sit down, and the closeness just makes her yearn for more.  So she starts slowly, doing the things that she knows will speak to the sensual haze that the pheromones cause.  She kneels beside her; it makes them more equal in height, and she brushes her thumb along the side of her cheekbone.  She presses herself against her side; possessive yes, powerful yes, but still soft as her body still has curve over top of her strength. She may be small, but right now, her presence fills the room.

@serpiente-silenciosa

Shutara packs light.  Most things that make her comfortable, she can recreate immediately, in a flurry of hands that moves faster than the eye can see. Her loom is really the only thing she needs; after all, without one, what can a weaver even be?  It’s well engineered, collapsible.  It is engineered to be carried, and then when she finds a space, it expands tenfold.  

She no longer dons the uniform she wore for thousands of years—she’s clad in crimson.  No, that life is gone.  And while she still has the key in her bones and likely will for a while, she understands why her host feels the way she does about the corpse enshrined in the sky.  

It is a tacit approval of sorts.  Shutara gains freedom, so long as she sticks to the shifting sands.  A few batches of uniforms, a few reports on the state of the hollow kingdom, and other than that she’s free.  The shark queen took her in, and for that she’s relieved.  She’ll find a way to pay her back later, but for now, she’ll reside in her rooms and create a new life, worth dying and living again for.

But she unfolds her loom now in her empty white palace room.  It’s time to make this new house a home.  Threads and raw materials take her little time to form and she creates her first piece of cloth for decoration.  It’s silken, green brocade and she hangs that over the plain bed, and looking at this little splash of color relaxes her.  

Then she notices something—a beautiful pair of eyes watching her from the doorway.  

Shutara recognizes her right away as one of the fraccion of her host, but they’ve never met properly, not when her correspondences were with Halibel herself.

@medicine-for-the-brain

The last thing that she remembers is that she can’t remember a thing.  Cold, cold eyes, feeling like nearly hundreds staring back at her, predicting every move, every possibility.  Even she, master of illusions and strings was seen right through in the end, him humoring her for a little bit, letting her feel like she’d scored some gastly blows, but in the end, it was a ruse and to be that thoroughly was an experience, humbling, that she’ll never forget in her life.  

Three had fallen, one beheaded, another skewered, a third in a pool of his own blood.  Kirio was thin and would not last long with the rate that she was burning, supporting them both.  But then…after that, she can’t recall.

She didn’t see herself where she’d fallen, arms disintegrated into dust, lunar crown shattered, white robes stained red with thick and viscous venous blood.  Nor does she see how it smears behind her when she’s unceremoniously dragged.  Death does that to people, you know.  She bled further onto the pallet she was hoisted on and brought into recovery, and from the time and heat she’d lain there, the smell is rancid, noxious and somehow stale.

She certainly didn’t see the body of the man lying in the cot next to her.  And given that a dead person gives off no reiatsu…he probably didn’t notice her either, just another one of the corpses…and perhaps given his recent penchant for reanimating them, maybe that was for the best that he wasn’t in good shape either.

But then, off in another room, someone else is restored, someone with a power that she now loathes, even though it will revive her in every sense of the word.

Her name is spoken. Her true one.  Not the title of Senjumaru that she’s masqueraded under for the past few thousand years, but the real one that nobody’s said to her face, probably not since her parents were last alive.  And with that, life comes flooding back, garnet eyes flash wide open as her heart restarts, and thus reiatsu begins to flow again, and without her consciousness to regulate it, it blasts in all directions.

It’s painful, and she yells, more of a growl mixed with a scream, an unearthly sound.  Circulation being restored to nerves that now scream from damage, lungs re-inflating against broken ribs, every bruise pulsing, along with the splitting headache from the swelling delicate tissues.  Grasping for the side of her pallet that’s been laid upon a cot, she weakly tilts herself just in time to vomit hours old bile and acid and blood that’s collected into a free-flowing stomach with relaxed sphincters on either side onto the floor beside her, with a violence that she didn’t realize her shaking, flimsy muscles were capable of.  And then, when she is certain that she is several wretches past the point of having no more left to heave, she lies back to gather strength.

It’s only then that she’s aware of who’s beside her.  She’s been so distracted by the matters of her own suvival that she’s forgotten to do the first thing that any assassin does when she enters a room--take stock of her surroundings.  So, she does the only thing that is truly befitting of a moment like this.

Shutara laughs.  

If there is anything in this world that Shutara knows, it is that though this universe is steered by an uninterested clockmaker…but still, there is a sense of humor that colors everything, and to her, no matter how many times she’s revived, the absurdity of the world she protects will never get old.

She glances to the side. They’re both vain creatures, and she wonders who looks worse now, him or her.  Her gaze is warm.  Deep care oozing from her soul for a pet project.  The one thing that will save her and let her walk free in the end.  Well...if he makes it through every trial.

On Shutara

@medicine-for-the-brain

Resurrection/healing thread Terror of the 2nd thread (if I get around to it)

@serpiente-silenciosa answer Snake thread Moving in with Halibel thread

@i-am-the-kenpachi wrap up Scared Stiff and continue in that universe canonical young Kenny thread

@hope-is-the-best-medicine Domme thread.  Yaaaaas.  

@desk-work-expert Post-canon thread

@the-actual-last-quincy HDM commandeering the Ishida home thread

(I’ll find a place in her theme to put this later...but I need to put these here)

Wishlist

Widow verse Gods I want guard threads.  But considering that she is the only guard in group right now…sigh.  There’s things that I want to learn about her that can really only be unlocked with the people who’ve been there with her…like pre-Gotei before.  What I wouldn’t give for an Oetsu to work with right now in figuring out her Zan bullshit.

Royal Verse TBTPish stuff I want her shenanigans with people the last time the guard came down pre TBTP and took Hikifune up with them.  People who were captains at the time.  Her checking up on where people ended up after musical captains from where she ascended previously.   YWBW stuff If you take on sternritter muses….there are things I want….  Some of these things are really fucking dark

Second Life I want people around for her resurrection. I want it to be ugly and gritty and full of nasty truths. I want people dealing with a poor tempered Shutara while she heals along with the TYBW wounded. I want people helping her deal with the fact that she literally can’t permanently die while everyone else does.

Homecoming Verse Haha…I would low key love to see Soifon’s having to deal with the fact that she’s residing in the 2nd…and probably knows more about the territory itself than she does given that she grew up there. I want to see disorder in the 1st because she careens between being a driven worker and a wild rebel with Shunsui happy to have a freewheeling spirit around and Nanao being a combination of starstruck and horrified. I want to see her exerting power because she can not because she should.   I want the shinigami of the younger generations to be in awe of her…until they realize how really freaking weird she is, trying to nope the fuck out while she pulls them along.

Unraveled Verse Shutara trying to blend into the living world and half-assing it. Shutara wandering Hueco Mundo trying to shape that world after she’s left her post.

Crouching Tigress Lmao anything.  I love writing her with her daemon.  

Pack Mentality Anything with Shu pursuing a male omega. YESSSSSS.  Lets write super weird stuff!!!!! And lowkey anything.

Sophomoric Anything.  I’m very interested to see how she unfolds in this universe.

Okay…so things are being planned and picked up.  

@i-am-the-kenpachi We can finish the one thing since I’ve already told you how it ends.  I’ll set that up first, and then since I’ve fully fleshed her out in that universe and am offering it as a full AU, we can continue with whatever he decides to do with her “gift”.

I’m totally game for setting up something in her Black Widow verse.  I can see her gathering information on him for Yachiru/Retsu anyway given what she does.  And depending on how he handles her since she’ll probably approach him in an intelligence role rather than that of a fighter in that guise, it will either be fascinating…or she’s just going to sew himself…to himself…and just fucking leave him there.  XD

And I mean you know where to find me when I’m in late-nite clinic hell.  =_=

@ambivilant-quincy It’s up to you whether or not you want to continue the bar thread or go forward in time, given that they’re further in their relationship now.  

And we should probably pull out something for their HDM world.  Could actually be fun to do somewhat established relationship in this one that we can pull Uryuu into. I figure I can always write him into her entries just because I handle them both. Dysfunctional families are A+ and dysfunctional do-what-I-say-not-what-I-do asshole families are even better.

@desk-work-expert Furtive Glances I just reread from beginning to end and I’m 100% all about this since we’re fast speeding into that holiday anyway.  Full-speed ahead ship captain!

Minded of course is a go now that I’ve written more about the universe for the verse page.  And I’m 100% amused that my education in cognitive science and animal behavior is being used for A/B/O dynamic RP…oh if Dr. Kay Holekamp could see her hyena research now….  

@playkinshara We will get to She-wolf.  I’m genuinely curious to see what she’ll do with him, lol.  Especially since she can exert power that Szayel never would because of the savagery that’s inherent to that side of him.

@hope-is-the-best-medicine Ugh…we need to figure out where we want to go. There’s just soooooo much stuff and universes upon universes.  Like...it’s both exciting and overwhelming.  WOWOWOWOW.

Perhaps a thread on Shun would be a good idea with her too?  

Maybe one day she and Shinji will be able to be in the same room without World War III erupting…probably with Szayel there to start with.

@reign-over-the-frosted-heavens

I know we had a thread at one point, but it’s been your turn for a while.  I don’t know if you wanted to do something else since both of our character concepts have evolved since then.

@lying-prophet …we need to plan something, I’ll look and see if we had any random ideas.  Sorry I’ve been out of touch

Other stuff I am tentatively dropping though I can be convinced otherwise on pretty much anything. I’d love to write with her with anyone on pretty much any topic.  Especially now that I know her so much better than I did when I originally picked her up.

Updated Verses page.  Finally.  After like 5 years...nearly 6 of having her.

11  how long does your muse have to know someone before they decide to ask them out?

Haha.  Like 5 seconds.  But she’s subtle about it.  She casts her marks very deliberately, but always always always she decides early on whether or not she’s interested.

12  what is your muse’s love language?Gifts!  As someone who’s been isolated in the royal realm for most of her life, a lot of what she clings to is momentos that are well chosen.  She likes to carry around things that remind her of people who are important to her.  If someone gives her something truly insightful, she tends to feel deeply humbled that someone took the time to understand her, and if she can keep it on her person...its a plus.  Quality time is probably second, as she so rarely got it in the guard.  Time is sacred to her.

2  what sort of things does your muse look for in a partner?Most of all she likes people who are true to themselves.  She likes people who are honest and don’t suck up to her.  She likes people who aren’t afraid to be who they want to be, even if its unpopular.

If she’s noticed his reaction to her explanation then she’s impressively discreet about it. Ryuekn assumes that she has regardless of outward expression; she’s sharp and he knows, it’s the kind of thing he’d noticed if he hadn’t had so much to drink.  Her face remains pleasantly neutral, never hinting at what might be going through her head. Ryuken tries to follow suit; she doesn’t get more than the slight widening of the eyes from him. Although that doesn’t mean he’s without thought. Far from it in fact; these latest pieces of her puzzle, give him even more to wonder and speculate over. He sticks to his guns though; the long game seems to be playing off and Ryuken is loath to deviate when he’s given little in return and information continues, slowly but surely, to come his way.

He reaches for a second cigarette, flicking the lighter’s mechanism; once, twice, thrice, until flame rears up  and the rich familiar scent of his brand begins to mix with her peach smoke. He sees her watching again and tries to stare her down a little. He wonders why she finds this so interesting; what element of this mundanity could be so fascinating she feels compelled to observe. Most other people wouldn’t even give it a glance, let alone watch it play out like some form of entertainment.

It’s another puzzle that will go unanswered for now however. He takes a draw, exhales and answers her question. He says his piece and she listens; taking a moment to think before offering her retort. It almost surprises him to learn she doesn’t seek control. Almost. He’s quickly learning that to assume anything about her probably isn’t the wisest idea. Besides, she has a point; defiance makes a statement but only if used occasionally and well. She smiles, he remains neutral; prepared to absorb for now, while she continues to talk. He can understand the need for subtly. He’s always thought that it’s far better to stay silent and win the day, than it is to show your hand early and wind up at a disadvantage. It appears it’s an approach she favours too.

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch. Isn’t that what they say?”

She falls quiet, then ploughs on, suggesting in being here; bowing to the convention of not being a lone woman drinking by herself, she’s doing every one a favour. He hadn’t thought about it like that before; that breaking the mould causes a butterfly effect that neither of them could put a stop to. It’s a level of concern for others that surpasses even his and again he wonders why. She’s a Shinigami, there is nothing for her to gain in taking an interest in the living. Although, he considers, if she intends to make this realm her home for the time being, perhaps she has more reason than most of her kind to ensure those around her aren’t affected by her actions.

“So, for the sake of unintended consequences, you make the sacrifice and spend your time with the likes of me”

He brings his hand away from his pocket, giving her the freedom to do as she will with her card while he watches. For some it might have felt emasculating to suddenly have the tab picked up by a near stranger, but not for him. He’s proud beyond a shadow of a doubt, but not when it comes to such standards like these. She has money and it’s not as if he’s unable to pay should she change her mind. Does it really matter who picks up what? His silence at the card seems to relax her. She sits back as she hears him laugh, but part of him thinks he picks up a slight edge of tension at the question. Eloquence has never been his strongest suite when it comes to conversation, though he’s gotten better over the years and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d ploughed unwittingly into difficult territory. He’s blunt and knows she wouldn’t be the first to comment on it; if he’s genuinely offended her.  She, however, laughs. It’s a sweet sound; lilting and feminine, suspiciously polite compared to the edge of tension she holds, he thinks. With someone he knows so little about, it’s hard to tell whether this is a show of politeness or not.

“You approached me” he counters, on the backfoot again as, deep down, he realises she’s probably right “the responsibility lies with you to introduce yourself.”

He glances at her hair as she speaks, casually wondering what it might look like up and why, if this woman is a seamstress in peacetime, just what happened to warrant semi-retirement. She seems fearless in the face of injury and accident too. That much is clear as she speaks of her work and just what happens to the careless who don’t take proper precautions when quick work is required. Maybe that’s the reason, he thinks, her talk of battle certainly suggests a women who’s more than familiar with the art of combat and the ugliness of conflict. The up close and personal method she speaks of is a far cry from the rare spates of combat he’s experienced.

“The Quincy way tends to ensure you don’t get close enough to the opponent to risk being stuck with the pointy end of their blade” he replies, drily, drawing on knowledge he’d rather forget “It’s the advantage of ranged weaponry”

She raises a hand, calls the bar tender and orders. Ryuken recognises the brand. Not cheap but then again, she’s not exactly short of money. The instructions he’s given seems to imply he should order something of similar quality. Whiskey he knows well, in fact he prides himself on being a consignor; there’s little he hasn’t tried. It is his drink of choice though and with the more expensive blends clearly on offer right now, he decides to pick strategically; making the most of what’s offered while fulfilling her criteria and not taking advantage. It’s a delicate balance but all in all, Ryuken thinks he does well.

“A Yamazaki as well, please. On the rocks. If not, some of the Akashi will suffice”

He shoots her a look, half expecting a comment, then offers a nod of thanks. His eyes follow the bartender; waits for them to get to work before he turns his attention back to her and addresses an earlier point.

“So, if we wish to adhere to convention, I believe you owe me your name”

She nods with understanding in her eyes as he mentions the aphorism.  They are both the same here.  It is why she’s drawn to him, as few people have the same qualities that she prizes about herself and seeks to surround herself with.

“Yes.  If I remember right, and it could be wrong, as it’s not my expertise…but there is some bit of scripture out there in the living world. ‘The meek shall inherit the earth,’ I believe it is.”  Her smile is relaxed, slight now.  “Given that it seems to be a general truth, strange that more people don’t harness its elegance.”

He listens to her talk, walking through the gates of hitsuzen.  She doesn’t need him to be impressed.  She doesn’t need to impress anyone as nobody needs to validate her but herself.  She does, however, want understanding of her deep concern and careful, methodical nature. He’s an intelligent man, and she can see him breaking apart everything.  Even though he’s hard edged and puts forward his ideas bluntly, he’s still receptive in character, willing to learn, and to her amazement, under the harsh exterior, extremely slow to truly judge.

“Partly,” she answers. “As much as I do think about those things, unfortunately I cannot claim to be wholly altruistic.  Anyone who claims otherwise about their own actions is either a liar or naïve.”  

She plays with her pipe.

“I serve myself when I follow my curiosity.  I step on your wishes for the sake of myself and all of those other possible lives I touch when I disturb your solitude.  But I also attempt to offer you something in return rather than being truly forceful.  If company tires you, perhaps a drink will do.  If a drink is mundane, perhaps conversation and new knowledge is a good enough payment for any discomfort I’ve caused.  And if there is something else in my power, within reason, that I can give to soothe any irritation, I’m not so hung up in myself that I won’t listen to what you need.  If I’m to stay in this world, I figure that I might as well get to know the famous figures who dwell within it.  So it’s true that it’s all deeply meaningful, as well as a whim, but most things are dual in character.”  

There are other things on the table that she can exchange, but she doesn’t mention them.  She doesn’t know exactly what kind of man he is, nor does she want to insinuate, lest it cast an unsavory light on her instead. In the Royal Realm, she’s spent centuries alone, and yet coming here, surrounded by far more people than the other four captains with whom she shared her world, she’s far more lonely than she ever thought she’d be.  

She can’t exactly tell him that in seeing him and knowing what she does about him, he represents her best chance for someone understanding what she’s been through and why after all of this time and all of this responsibility, this is her final decision.  That’s far too much pressure, both for him, and for her too.  And truly, she didn’t even realize that that was her heart’s desire until she’d walked downstairs for a drink and noticed the quality of his soul, completely by surprise, without planning, and without any idea that deep down, she felt this way.  He doesn’t know this, and even if they became the best of friends after a night of sharing drinks, she doubts that she would let on just what he’s shouldering for her tonight. Perhaps a man like him is stronger than her.  Maybe feeling a sense of kindred isn’t something he needs.  But maybe, just maybe he seeks it too, and he’s been denied so long that at the mere thought of it, he cuts it off and pushes it aside before it wounds him as well.

Card on the counter and far more relaxed, she tenses slightly again as she can hear the slightly defensive tone in his voice about asking her name.  That wasn’t what she’d intended, even if she was correct.  She’s caught him unaware and not in the way she meant to, she’d meant to be good natured and not threatening at all.  She waves a hand in apology, but she refuses to show regret.  “Ah, I suppose you’re right about that,” she says.  “And the fact that I already knew yours perhaps is a little unfair, rude and disconcerting.  It was not my intention.”

He looks her up and down and he’s thinking again.  He makes an enjoyable companion for the fact that he does quietly sift through thoughts. She can’t help a wry smile as he mentions the key difference between fighting as an archer and as she does.

“That is very true,” she says.  “I’ve trained with a regular bow as was tradition in my family, but the shape of my soul takes bladed form.  Though I am a lucky one who lives a bit between the two worlds of combat.  I am a polearm specialist, naginata in particular, so while I do fight hand to hand, there is usually a meter or more of space between me and any opponent.”  She looks down at herself for a moment.  “As you can tell, I’m very small, so a good part of what keeps me alive is staying out of rage and relying on a weapon with more reach and force, as opposed to inviting someone truly close.”

Bartender summoned, she gives her order and he gives his.  She can see him looking at her, almost expectantly, but she waits until the bartender is busy before she says anything.

“Good taste,” she says. “Though I hope that by the end of the night that I can offer you something truly exquisite.”  She knows that it’s not always easy to accept gifts, from someone you know, or someone you don’t.  But with more alcohol comes loosened tongues and feelings and the conventions are easier, so when it’s that time, he’ll simply appreciate a gift and not fret.

Then he asks the question.

“Yes, I do,” she says. “I am Senjumaru Shutara.  In official documentation, I am also referred to as the 4th Officer General of the North and the Oorigami—the Great Weave Guard.  But just Shutara is fine.  I gave up my first name long ago, and if I’m to drink with you, I’m not going to have you use my title.  It would be a little more apt if I wasn’t sealed…as like this, you will only see me possesses two hands, though I can still sew almost as quickly as when I have them all.”

He’s mis-stepping more than a little, not that he really realises that. The workings of soul society are not really his forte. Despite his dislike of both quincy and soul society, he’s been smart enough to keep up where he can over the years – leaning on Kisuke from time to time when it seemed beneficial, and picking up other snatches here and there. He knows more than most, but even that just skims the surface compared to someone who may well have lived that life for many, many centuries. There’s an advantage at play here and it certainly isn’t his.

She has the good grace to explain, leaving Ryuken even more certain he’s dealing with a captain and a high ranking one at that. He doubts that a mere lieutenant would be able to bring people to their knees by simply removing this so-called seal. He frowns,  a show of understanding even if he doesn’t quite know what to say to this claim of immense power. He’s known since he was little that the power levels of some ranks would outstrip those held by the most powerful of the Quincies he was raised with. It’s a power that even the most logical person would struggle to contemplate – and his drink soaked, smoke soothed brain isn’t sure it can process it right now. His eyes widen, although it’s a change in expression only noticeable by the observant. Ryuken suspects she could be counted among them from what he’s observed so far. There’s a certain class to the way she speaks and he rather likes that.

Their glasses drain while Ryuken’s cigarette burns slowly down to the filter. He savours what he can of it, bringing it to his lips and sucking down what’s left before it’s too late. She follows suite and, usually, he has to fight the urge to light another and chain smoke. He may have his vices but normally in moderation. But then again, he doesn’t normally allow himself into situations where drinks with others, let alone smokes. His hands fidget discreetly, humming and harring over the choice, until craving wins over and he draws another from the packet, brings it to his lips and picks up the lighter, still listening closely to the talk.

He notices their glasses are both dry at round about the same time as he accepts she’s here for the long haul. It’s then she speaks as if she feels the need to defend her presence and actions now that she has his attention. It’s a fairly defensive question despite her consistent show of quiet confidence, but one he can understand. If the situation was reversed no-one would bat an eyelid. Now, even though, no-one’s looking, this could cause a raised eyebrow or two, even if Ryuken would necessarily describe her as at his mercy.

“Perhaps so” he answers, watching a fresh plume of smoke swirl through the air into the already smoky atmosphere “but, if you truly cared, do you think you’d actually still be here talking to me? Convention only holds power over you if you choose to let it”

The aforementioned social conventions kick in, and he makes to summon the bartender, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, when she acts again, the click of the clasp and what’s drawn out, masking that slight moment of hesitation. A card is procured then pushed across the wood of the bar. Ryuken simply nods, never once taking his eyes from it; putting two and two together in an instant. He knows what it means. Anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows what it means; deep down knowing what he’s letting himself in for, even if he won’t realise it until a lot later on. This is a woman with more money than him to throw around, perhaps infinitely more. He goes to raise his hand and summon the bar tender but holds back, without even realising he’s doing it. He’s not the one paying now, even if he’s more than capable of doing so. Right now, she holds the better hand though, and Ryuken’s content to go with it, even if it’s just to see if this is no empty gesture.

He lets out a dry bark of sound at her next words. Not quite a laugh, but definitely not a sound of disapproval either.

“Is that so? And just what have you faced that’s more risky than unknown encounters with the kinds of people who like to drink alone in bars?”

Shutara knows that he’s likely still not going to understand the depth and breadth of her powers.  But this is still closer.  She’s easing him into things.  There is no desire to scare or threaten.  She merely is what she is and she will never apologize for it.  She can see his eyes widen as the little tasty tidbit of information hits its mark, but she only looks at him neutrally in return. If he is smart he will know that she noticed, but that she tends not to draw attention to anything unless it really is necessary to be commented upon.  Or at least, until they know one another better and he can handle the more biting side of her humor.

Glasses empty, now his cigarette is burned down too.  Her pipe is a much slower burn than his choice of smoke.  She is a reader of many things, a skill that has kept her alive more times than she can count.  He wants another, she can recognize that tension between the lizard brain and the human one that duke it out in following a vice.  She watches it play out, and to her amusement vice wins.  This is the first of one.  It is a game and she’ll keep score.  She keeps that to herself, though perhaps later, not today though, she’ll tell him about it, and he’ll be quietly amused.

He speaks his piece and she admits that he has a very fair point.  “I can see why that might be the assumption you’d make,” she says.  “But I’m not seeking power over the convention.” Her thoughts are sharp and weave together intricately, one thread that pulls on another, and another, and while if someone with less practice had tried, it might form a snarl, but this is an artform.  

“When you openly defy something, you are making a statement.  And in doing so, you open some doors and shut others.  If you continuously defy convention, it starts to lose its meaning, not only to you, but to onlookers.  Even if it’s something strong and something that you wanted to say in a loud voice from the rooftops, every time you do it, it become a little less meaningful and then becomes normal.”  

Shutara smiles, this time, with just a little twinge of whimsy.  “There is power in being able to be subtle to get what you need, let alone what you want.”  

Pausing, but lightly, she thinks for a moment.  

“And actually, if I sit alone and drink, that can be an invitation to others, as why would a woman like me be drinking alone?  I give off context clues—I’m not haggard and rundown like I do this every night, so I’m safe to approach.  But then, suddenly I’m saddled with unwanted company, that may even be predatory in nature, as some men look at scenes like that with opportunity.”  

There is even more in what she considers, threads upon threads, and she lets herself spin.  

“And of course while I would be safe, when I turn him down at best or physically fight him at worst…what’s to say that a man with wounded pride doesn’t then turn his attention to a weaker mark who will not say no or take out frustrations on someone does have power over due to the face that he was bested by me?  So in sitting here I could be defending myself against that future, in the same breath I’ve cared for someone else’s.  Had I wanted to make a statement by being alone, the message gets muddled, and I’ve caused more problems than I have personal triumphs.  There are many futures and realities that are interconnected, and every little thing has an influence, even if it only keeps the status quo.  What you plan isn’t always what you get, so it pays to have a backup, or at least think everything through the first time, and then be willing to adapt.”

She sees him go for his wallet but stop, and she realizes that he hasn’t picked up on her slight hesitation.  That makes her feel a little better.  She’s not aiming for a show of strength, but she does want to be graceful in how she handles this.  He watches her hand as she slides the card to its resting place on the bar.   The tacit understanding in his eyes is there, in that nod, and she knows that her actions have been approved.  

She sits back a little at the bark of amusement, now much less on edge that before, when she’d offered the card, and she is relieved.  Though at his question, though friendly and well meaning it takes every fiber of her being to not blanche at it, millennia of training giving control over the expression of emotion kicking in.  She was a good assassin.  In fact, almost all assassins are good…because if they’re not, they’re usually dead.

Yhwach, she wants to say. That is what is far more risky than unknown encounters with handsome men in bars.  It’s something that he would know.  It’s something that would elucidate brightly the truth that she’s tried so skillfully to lead him towards about her level of power, that she once stood on equal footing with the Quincy Emperor, while he was far away having left that duty to his son.  Truly, it’s almost unfair what she must know to survive that he does not, even if much of it has been gleaned postmortem.  But they drew that lot in life as well.  He publicly turned his back on his side…and now that the world is safe, she has finally gotten the freedom and much sought peace to do the exact same.  

She laughs in return. It’s beautiful, feminine, joyful, like the tinkling of bells, rather than the crashing of dishes that usually happens when she’s found something truly hilarious.  Maybe he’ll pick up on that if he shows true wit later on, though she knows that most people aren’t as delicately tuned and honed to view everything as a threat just as she has and will interpret both as the same, if he even remembers the first.  He’s just a man who wants to unwind, and for now, perhaps she ought to respect that. Maybe she needs to let this world change her a little more before she can actually find her happiness.  And this...this will be a start.

“More risky than buying a drink for a man who does not know your name?”  They’ve spoken of convention, and yet he’s still forgotten a very important one.  “Well, perhaps that’s just scandalous and not risky,” she jokes lightheartedly.  “But I must say…it’s a treat to wear much of my hair down while I go about my days here.  In the past I spent much of my time working at a loom.  I still do, but only for a fraction of the time now.  Wearing it loose is an invitation for an accident when you work at faster than industrial speed.  If it tangles in the warp or weft while you work and you move too fast, or tangles with the shuttle, you can end up tearing out a chunk of your scalp and it hurts like something you cannot imagine,” she says.  “And that devilish work is what I do during peacetime. When I have to fight..at least it’s a little more straightforward.  You know, avoid the pointy end of your opponent’s sword or projectile, point yours at the bad guy and stick it to them first.  Not so much risk as skill.  Sure, it’s annoying if a little bit of hair gets out of place when you’re fighting...but if you’re weaving, it’s a much bigger problem, and thus when I’m working it’s usually completely up and secured with combs.”

She raises a hand and calls over the bartender now.  She had seen him wish to call it, but again, he cares about those conventions, so she will take care of him.  She is a caretaker of all things, in the past, now, and in the future whether she wants it or not.  No...she will always want it, it’s just that sometimes she needs to care at her own speed.