#; threads.

          Well, shit. This lazyass gatekeeper’s got some bite in him after all! Kokutō threw back his head to laugh before the guy could even finish his sentences with their direct quotations and questioning citations — Damn, that’s comedic as hell!           He figured he’d fuck around with the guy and return the favor by asking the same loaded question to him, but this gatekeeper with his raised brows and confuzzled as shit expression was genuinely trying to have a conversation and decipher what might as well be something more like petty retribution.

          Seriously! Kokutō just wanted to tease him a lil to pass the time shootin’ the shit while kickin’ the dog when it’s already down, right down in the inferno thanks to his shinigami nakama or whatever, but now he’s curious, ‘cos the guy entertained him. Props to ya, gatekeeper!

綱彌代 -- “What’s this I spy over yonder with this eye of mine? What is it?” Jun hummed to himself as he swung his loosely-crossed legs to and fro, seated upon a wall that surrounded one of the many Tsunayashiro courtyards. “No, no, who is it?”

          From the outskirts beyond the estate’s immediate vicinity, a very, very peculiar energy had manifested itself to catch his eye. Yes, yes, he’s been tracking this particular signature for quite some time now, gauging its fluctuations and mapping its traces and whatnot. Frivolous, little details; so completely unimportant and dull that he could yaaaaawn!           What held the most significance was the origin of such energy, not the means he utilized to measure and anticipate it. Yes, this individual was one he’s been observing and devising methods to better analyze.  — Here laid divinity in the flesh, as they proclaimed! What was this being doing here of all locations? Simply paying his dearly beloved baby cousin Tokinada-kun yet another visit?

          “O Hōgyoku-sama~!” Jun called, fingers curled ‘round his eye to mimic a telescope device as he cupped his other hand ‘round his mouth to amplify his words. “Tokinada-kun is attending an assembly of the courts elsewhere and cannot receive you! Would you like me to keep you company in his stead?”

綱彌代 -- Oh-ho-oho, there’s a certain individual following very closely behind him! Should he be terrified by that familiar face: make a scene of clutching at his cloak and yelping out in fright? Or should he simply keep walking, without acknowledging anything? Hm-hm, decisions, decisions... 

          “I see you, Mayuri-kun!” Jun exclaimed, twirling on his heel to strike a silly goose-like pose with his fingers curled ‘round his eye as he made an exaggerated expression of astonishment. “Whatever could the captain want with little ol’ me~? — Is funding low again? Is this finally the day you fall to your knees and ask me for Tsunayashiro coins? What can I do for my taicho, I must know!”

綱彌代 -- “Pardon me, pardon me~ Oh! Ah, no, no, pardon me,” Jun dismissed cheerfully, the chime of his voice ringing out with alacrity as he shifted and shuffled his way through the crowd.

          Goodness him, this ‘Shinigami Research and Development Institute’ was new in itself, so did that newcomer of a captain Urahara Kisuke need to rearrange the structure of the division’s barracks as well? Miscellaneous machinery ticking away here, faceless white lab coats tinkering there, a terrible absence of properly prim lighting everywhere — How was he supposed to locate anyone and anything around here, much less his own head?            Hikifune-chan wouldn’t have allowed such a mess and scene of things, oh no, not at all. Ahhhh, what a shame she wasn’t here anymore. Jun could be optimistic that she hadn’t witnessed the reconstruction of her quarters and the destruction of the warmth it held, but, alas, he felt like he swallowed a mouthful of bitter melon tea. Tut-tut. 

          Drinking the rest of the pot was accepting the acknowledgement that his sentiments were equivalent to the feelings of the others that had been left behind. Sip-sip-tut-tut. How bitter! 

          “There you are!” he exclaimed to himself upon detecting a familiar, albeit uncharacteristically yet understandably somber, reiatsu lurking within a seemingly uninhabited room. Swiftly, Jun cleared the distance, manifesting in the doorway and clutching the wood of it as he leaned forth with papers in hand. “Fukutaichō-chan! Come, come, I plan to send word to Hikifune-chan, in the Soul King Palace above. Here, write your letter and I shall send it with mine.”

          The first hit always felt fuckin’ good, whether Kokutō was the one to throw it or not couldn’t matter less to him, ‘cos hits being thrown at all in the first place meant fighting, or the possibility of it. And he’d say without a doubt there’s no ‘god’ to him other than fighting, if he ever needed to do something as pointless as naming a god in the first place when only devils reigned. 

          “Cut the bullshit!” he retaliated, even if he’s laughing his goddamn head off. “A lanky guy like you should start worryin’ about bein’ snapped in half himself before makin’ threats like that. Put your money where your mouth is, yeah??” 

          Damn! — His heart’s hammering in his chest like a grenade about to detonate, its pin like a last straw laying uselessly on the ground as the dust kicked up thick from Gilga’s swift block; and Kokutō’s already lunging into the next attack, because it didn’t matter if he couldn’t see shit clearly as long as he’s fighting. He moved like a flying spark, carried by reckless abandon, adrenaline, instinct, devil-may-care, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. His second hit, a wide slash of his blade directed toward Santa Teresa to hook at the double-crescent sword’s rings the moment Gilga caught its hilt, carried those nameless sentiments; not like you ever needed that useless shit in battle. Then came the third hit: a grappling fist aimed to snatch the Arrancar’s sneer but making off with the fabric across his hollow eye instead to strip it bare, and Kokuto’s grinning like mad, like a beast born for this, ‘cos he knew they saw eye to eye.

          Language only came back to his memory once he lost count of the hits and found enough satisfaction in the violence already dealt out like cards at a casino, eager for the violence to come and placing his bets on the prospect of it being even better as he gambled for more: 

             ❛ are you trying to tell me you love me, aspen? ❜

             "ah, pardon, ma'am. i believe you dropped                something?"