#benosuke

@benosuke.   ♡ byakuya hehehehe.

      𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘅𝗶𝗼𝗻,   the air fleetingly reminiscent against the hollow of his spine.   it had beckoned to him unhurriedly,   an open invitation   ——   closer   &   closer   &   closer,   as if it had wished to draw him into the waiting arms that now rested upon his tall silhouette.   the weight buried into his shoulders,   as if it was meant to be as soothing as the tip of a dagger.   his conscious overruled.   it was ever present as kuchiki byakuya vanished from the sight of miyamoto musashi,   akin to smoke eluding hands.   a vision of arrogance that only the noble knew to display with such refined ease.

      ❛      you are slow.      ❜      𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗯𝗲𝗲,   thunderous in its unmoving silence   ——   the reprimand was a contradiction on its own,   an expression having fallen in place that told nothing of the depths of his mind.   insouciance ruled his composure,   slate grey hues enigmatic.   for an illusionary period of time,   he had wondered if her insistence to be trained by the hands of the head of the kuchiki clan was one carved in virtuous intentions.   refusal had been in the sleight of his fingers.   it would have been folly to think otherwise on the likes of musashi.

      𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘆 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁.   as if she were a moth to a flame,   musashi had returned anew as a constant presence   ——   until the decay of time between her visits had become as negligent as her sheer will to rebuff his decision.   as the courtyard surrounding them held its breath,   byakuya spoke up once more,   the pristine white of his haori billowing against a sea of green.   his cadence revealed nought.      ❛      even in a futile game of tag,   your shunpo is no equal to mine.      ❜

❝ eheh.. heh… ❞

caught red-handed, so to speak. in amongst the fallen figures that laid sprawled along the ground was the vagabond stood in the middle, attempting to feign innocence while being beckoned for and questioned so sternly.

❝ I, uh … ❞

quick, musashi, think !! her mind raced for a few moments, attempting to stall and conjure up falsities that were believable. however, musashi was not particularly the best liar. she cleared her throat once, twice, and then a third to prompt a makeshift coughing fit while glancing away, blood-laden hands kept behind the womans back.

❝ They … Attacked me first …. ?? ❞

    One second.     He took his eyes off of her for one second.

    “Yeah, uh… Sure.”

    He believes her as much as he believes that Sougo wasn’t the one who sabotaged his drink last night. Which, needless to say, wasn’t by much. Is he surprised by how she was able to take on all those men without even a scratch? Hardly. He’s witnessed her spars with Sougo. He’s seen Sougo hand his ass to her more than a hundred, no–thousands of times. It comes to no surprise that she was able to hold her own. No, what surprises him was the fact he didn’t hear a thing. Or rather, the fact that it damaged his pride. A whole lot, he might add.

    “This was supposed to be a secret investigation.”

    Emphasis on the word secret because that detail was already too far out the window. It’s second nature by this point, how he reaches inside his breast pocket and lights up a cig. His ritual for when life gets tough, or he feels a raging headache on his way. Either or. The latter being the most common reasoning behind his ever-shortening lifespan with every inhale and exhale of nicotine. With or without his bad habits, he’s long since come to terms with the fact that he was going to die young.

    Well, death was the least concern of his at the moment.

     takes a seat on the floor, legs crossed and hands resting carefully on his knees. meditation is about to begin. he takes a deep breath in and holds it, before letting the air escape through parted open lips. he feels someone is approaching, but doesn’t move an inch. 

He looks over the sea to the islands, dotting the horizon biting back the urge to sigh; storm clouds are lingering just beyond them swirling more violently than ever, and he even hears the winds starting to howl. They wouldn’t reach the shore, but it’s an unpleasant reminder whenever he sees them. Some of that sentiment fades when he hears footsteps coming from behind him, a set of heavy ones accompanied by a shallow set. From his perch, he only turns his head to greet them but presents himself befittingly. His back straight while his hands fold themselves into his lap. He looks over their faces, drawing his conclusion. “As many times as I insist you stay away from the barracks, you tend to wander there quite a bit.” She’s a warrior herself, so he expects nothing less, but there was nothing to find there. None of them could dream of competing with her without a century of experience under their belts. They didn’t need to worry about active duty outside of patrolling Inodal when their time came. He lets them sit on the lapels of sacrifices others made because that’s how the world works. 

Between the two guards, she looks so much small by comparison, but beneath their armor, he senses their hostility bleeding towards her. He’ll smooth over their egos when he finds the time, but there were more important things on his mind, and they could wait several days or so. Dismissing them with a wave of his hand, he watches them march down the hall until they turned out of sight. “I know it’s hard to resist a fight with them considering how much they love to boast, but they’re all green,” he admits, “But being part of the ‘Empire’ means they’re the best.” Thane knows them all too well; it’s a sense of pride just from belonging to something great. Her threat to them is outside of death. A shattered blade is easy to repair, but a shattered ego is nearly impossible. The greatest smith in the world couldn’t mend something so fragile. 

“You’re either stubborn, or you’re planning to earn my ire until I draw my blade against you.” He drew his knee into his chest, wrapping his arms around it. His words were fangless; there wasn’t any inflection in his tone or aggression behind his voice but instead a sense of detachment. “Which is fine with me, but then I wouldn’t be able to expunge all that debt you piled up before we met.”