#raioken

SONG OF ACHILLES STARTERS. | @raioken

Smoke rises from the end of Kisuke’s pipe in lazily arcing ribbons as the tobacco smolders on, forgotten. The body laid out on the lab table commands all of his attention; a gigai that looks no different from the countless others that have passed through his hands, but beneath the delicate fretwork of sinew and muscle, the hogyoku shivers. Kisuke’s lips twitch into a frown that creases his brow.

The casualties keep piling up at his feet—captains and lieutenants burdened with an awful power they never sought, his closest friends exiled and chained to the shadows in the world of the living by the execution orders that hang over them all, and now, Kuchiki Rukia. Lure or sacrifice. Either way, a tool in his hands.

Yoruichi’s declaration drapes over him like a warm blanket. The line of his tensed shoulders slackens, and his heavy sigh sends the smoke from his pipe into a frenzy.

“that's ungenerous.”

the stitches pull. if his new heart spilled out of his chest and fell at her feet, askin would, at the very least, attempt to laugh. neither is pleased to meet each other again, if this can be called meeting—they were ill-matched enemies, and would still be, though the woman makes no attempt to reprise their little sparring session. the quincy is thankful for that. he would probably die for good, the notion appealing to some darker pit in his gut that'd get him to tear his stitches with his bare nails and feel the blood ooze out, but he would not die effortlessly. and he feels way too weak to even fight an ant. a pained whimper escapes him as he slumps into a chair.

“i just happen to be very good at not dying.” the smile he directs at her is slant and droopy, as if he just woke up from a dream. as if pulling the butt of a joke he doesn't remember. things may not be over, but they will be different, askin thinks. yoruichi shihōin might kill him now—it would be a fitting end, if a little underwhelming. but she is not a woman that leaves loose threats unchecked, especially if she has experienced them firsthand. but the quincy can't bring himself to care. “with a little extra help this time.”

he throws his head back, and waits for the blow.

           “I say,  why let a man start anything at all!”  Mirko agreed with the sentiment of course,  there were many times she finished a job she didn’t start but there were plenty she had started and finished of her own accord as well.  She hadn’t become the Number Five Pro-Hero only by cleaning up after others.  She grins at the other woman,  a gloved hand firmly planted on her hip.  She liked her attitude!