Hypen Abuse [EDITED: 8.25.07]
About a month later...
Oh my, I actually know where this story is going. (A plot? No way!)
Then again, I don't really consider character-development stories to have real plots.
Senbonzakura is really difficult to write in character. It's just so much easier to write a Whiny, Superiority-Complex-ed, Mary Sue.
Anywho:
Title: Royal Affairs
Author: bmw_remixed
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Byakuya, Senbonzakura (Mentioning of Byakuya/Hisana, Byakuya/Rukia. Other characters in passing.)
Summary: Senbonzakura was less of a weapon and more of a conscience. You know, the nagging little voice in the back of your head?
Two: Political Union [For the Sake of Duty]
Sixteen years, four months and twenty-five days after their first encounter (she was the one who counted, not him) and also three days after he was promoted to the Eleventh Seat of his division (his Captain counted this one), he was assigned his first Menos Grande mission.
It was a joint assignment, split between his and the division’s Seventh Seat; the original intent being he was to immobilize the large hollow with his Hadou and his superior would finish it off with his fire-based Zanpakutou - rumored to be quite impressive.
The opposite could be said of the wielder of the sword unless one was talking in terms of size. Giten Mushuken was a big burly man who held one of the two positions of the Seventh Seat and had a rough, uncivilized nature. Any conversation with him was met with guffawing laughter comments that would put a sailor’s vocabulary to shame. Shaggy hair mixed with an even shaggier beard to frame his face; the sleeves of his shuhakusho rolled up and secured at his shoulders to reveal grotesquely hairy arms riddled with veins and bulging muscles. A cigarette ever present betweens his lips, perfuming his words with the acrid smell of smoke
Byakuya wondered how such a revolting specimen of humanity could obtain a higher rank that he.
Luckily for him, it wouldn’t be a problem for long.
The pouring rain and apocalyptic winds of the monsoon assaulted them relentlessly as they arrived in the real world. Unfazed, Giten sauntered out of the portal.
The look on his face just oozed overconfidence. A smug grin fixed on his face, one stubby finger fervently rubbing his scraggly chin.
“Just stand back, Pretty-boy. There’s no need to get your fucking high and mighty robes dirty over this one.” He laughed, and rubbed his nose, the cartilage cracking unpleasantly. “That ugly motherfucker doesn’t stand a chance against me. Watch, this’ll be over before you can say shyunpo.”
With a shout, he wrenched his blade from its sheath.
“Lash!”
Byakuya braced himself for the overwhelming rush of energy that accompanied a Shikai release - there was no way he’d let such a cretin’s anything catch him off guard -- but it never came. He glanced at Giten, only to see him holding the skeleton of a sword, the hilt tangling bladeless, face blank with disbelief.
“Aw, fuck.”
The rain.
A little insignificant thing like rain had rendered him weaponless, defenseless, and utterly useless.
“Goddamn it, I’m not letting this shitty weather costing me my seat to that bitch Moira,” he growled to himself, the cigarette twitching in his annoyance.
Turning to Byakuya, he gestured at the distant Hollow, “That fucking Menos is mine. Got it? It’s gonna prove to the Cap’n I’m better than any 4th division transfer.”
He plucked the cigarette from between his lips and dropped it to the ground, forgetting about it as soon as it left his hand.
“So don’t you worry about getting your hair messed up, pretty-boy, your ass is gonna stay right where it is while I take care of that ugly motherfucker.”
Before Byakuya could say anything to dissuade him, Giten had run ahead, screaming out a Hadou spell as he approached the creature. The resulting explosion only seemed to make the winds more vehement in their rage, roaring through the trees and flinging Byakuya’s hair into his eyes uncomfortably.
The Menos was unaffected.
It looked down stupidly, the masked face searching for the source of the intrusion to its destructive feeding.
It saw Giten.
From where he stood, he heard the screams - unnaturally high pitched for such a burly man , felt the cracking of the bones in the core of his soul, and reached out for the spiritual pressure which suddenly dissipated around him.
Over the treetops, the Menos was calmly ripping his ex-superior’s body into pieces with its teeth.
Now alone, Byakuya stared down at the creature, a permanent grin set in bone on its face, the characteristic imp-like nose, and the eyes that had stared at him with hunger. Its foreign reiatsu doubled as it absorbed his late superior’s powers, painfully prodding him from all sides.
His shyunpo carried him towards its feet, barely avoiding exposed roots and branches that seek to block his path. Twigs dragged at his skin and clothes, and the rain soaked the ground, turning the once solid forest floor into a swamp.
His sword bounced off its body harmlessly, an unpleasant surprise in an even more unpleasant situation. He began to throw every Demon Arts Spell he knew at the beast, binding, destruction, explosion; nothing seemed to work.
Well, this is quite the predicament.
Her voice was irritatingly light for compared to the gravity of the situation.
“If you do not intend to help, then please be quiet.”
Do you know why your blade does not cut? Again the sing-song lilt in her voice.
“The hierro,” he answered flatly; it was an obvious answer.
Is this why you keep showering it with words and fire? That didn’t seem to work well for that brute who called himself a Shinigami. Really, I would ex-
Before she could finish her thought, the Menos suddenly stopped moving. It stared stupidly ahead, focused on the pulsating reiatsu signature that was Byakuya. It opened its gaping maw, and began to gather its energy in front of it. Small points of light shot towards its mouth, gathering together and intensifying in power and brightness until the air seemed to fry with its deadly attack.
It launched the Cero, which fanned across the area in a wide beam, towards Byakuya. He turned and began to shyunpo out of the path of the beam, which was incinerating everything in its reach.
As he ran, he heard her sigh dramatically. In the back of his mind, he saw her shake her head condescendingly.
Always doing what you are taught to do. Running when threatened, relying on your Zanpakutou spirit without aptly developing the self first. Attack when told, defend when ordered. How did you get so far without thinking for yourself? Is Soul Society raising an army of mindless slaves again? I’d expect they learned their lesson with the whole Mod-Soul fiasco.
I suppose that is one of the faults of the system.
He was used to such words like those from her. Ranting monologues criticizing his character, his skills, his physical attributes were the norm. He was starting to think she just liked to hear herself talk.
He drowned her out; there were more urgent matters to deal with.
Flashing farther and farther from the Menos, not resting until he reached a clearing in the nearby woods. Pressing himself against the rough bark of the nearest tree, he reached towards his earpiece.
What do you think you’re doing? The question was almost hissed.
“Requesting back-up.”
Why?
Not bothering to suppress an annoyed sigh - she would’ve sense it anyway - he answered, “To fight the Menos Grande by myself would be suicide.”
Mirroring his annoyed sigh - albeit a bit exaggerated, she began to explain, drawing out each syllable like she was talking to a child.
You know, it’s not the hierro of the Menos that dulls your blade.
There was something in her voice, something behind the sarcasm, that urged him to listen this time.
It's uncertainty.
She sniffed loftily.
You haven’t needed my assistance; you are a ranked officer seat, accomplishments you have done by yourself. You are more powerful without your sword that most Shinigami will ever be with their sword. You have turned a deaf ear to the snide comments uttered about the absence of a Shikai at your side. You have shown no regard for the opinions of others in their presence. Why do you abide to the rules now when you are alone against this monster?
“Because -“
‘Because it is expected’, he had almost said, but realizing that she had proven her point.
You are born of the elite -- above the rules!
Now start acting like it.
Silence again.
As the Cero faded behind him, he turned reluctantly towards the hulking beast, which seemed to be more preoccupied with testing its own strength than its hunger. Channeling his spiritual energy into his blade, he charged - flashing easily through thick branches and gnarled roots which threatened to trip him.
I want you to completely obliterate it.
The bloodthirsty cries of his sword echoed in his mind, urging him on. He could feel her excitement, tremors running up and down and length of the blade. Byakuya gripped the handle tighter, but the vibrations only came more violently.
He did his best to ignore it, and continued closing the space between him and the overgrown Hollow. Arriving at its feet, he was dwarfed by its massive size and its massive reiatsu. The white mask towered stories above his head, and its claws alone were twice his height.
Byakuya faltered; the rhythm in his steps interrupted. The blade in his hand was trembling even more fiercely now - a combination of her anticipation and his nervousness, and he could hear her impatience in his mind, yelling at him to keep moving. She wanted out.
Eyes burning and head swimming against the oppressive spiritual energy of the large Hollow, he was pushing blindly. His normally precise control over his spiritual power wavered, bursts of energy erratically spouting off from him.
The metal impacted on the hierro with a sharp smack, his hand numbing from the force of the blow. Still, the blow made no visible mar on the Menos, perhaps even less effective as before from the inexplicable trembling from the sword. Eyes widening in a combination of exasperation, confusion and panic, his grip on the weapon tightened, willing to shear through its inky dark skin.
The Menos knocked him away effortlessly.
He was sent crashing through the trees and smacked against the trunk of an elderly oak. The force of the impact stunned him, dropped him into the muddy ground. The Kenseikan had been broken in the fall, its ceramic shards gouging into his scalp and releasing rivulets of blood down his face.
Get up.
There was blood in his hair and blood on his face - a voice in his head, bloodthirsty and impatient - mud on his uniform, mud in his wounds - dark red mixed with black, the color of decay -- and a wound in his pride.
I told you to get up.
When there was no response, she let out a hiss of annoyance.
Pathetic.
Without warning, he convulsed violently. He could feel her. She surged through him - icy and raw and oh so deliciously violating -- reaching out to the trembling blade.
As if lifted by invisible strings, he felt his body rise.
The sword was now shaking violently, sending tremors down his arm, muscles straining to control.
Let go.
“But it will -“
Probably.
A smug grin expressed with his own lips.
Go ahead, you know what to do.
Byakuya blinked - the strange thing was, he did know.
Then set me free!
It was so obvious, so there all along - how did he miss it?
“Scatter --”
Yes!
In a vibrant flash of color, the blade disappeared.
As the last of the shockwaves from the rip in the dimensions dissipated, Byakuya found himself exhausted. His limbs felt like lead and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. He fell on the ground, no longer caring about his clothes being immaculate.
With impeccable timing, she materialized, standing above his prone from, halting his descent into blessed oblivion. Byakuya blinked at the sudden intrusion in his vision and the sudden infusion of flowery perfume that wafted over him.
“You’ve managed to defeat the Hollow.”
“It escaped.”
“An admirable accomplishment anyway.”
Her compliment hung awkwardly in the space between them.
Craning his neck to look at her, he blinked in surprise.
She - no, there was a name to go with the face now (he had was so used to associating her with the third person - something he’ll never really break out of) - had looked strangely docile in the moonlight; an uncharacteristic smile devoid of any malice or trickery alighting on her face. It unnerved him more than her vicious moods would have.
She bent down and reached one slim hands towards him. Instinctively, he recoiled.
A smirk ghosted over her porcelain face.
“I’m hurt, Byakuya. And here I though we had gotten so much closer.”
He stiffened at the feel of her fingers grazing against his forehead to brush back his damp, sweat soaked hair. Her fingers tips were unnaturally warm and calloused - he had always associated her with the pampered life of a noblewoman, but seeing how she spent so much time scraping in the dirt, it made sense too. She continued sitting there, content with straightening out her wielder’s long hair.
“I don’t think it’ll be as long now,” she breathed, “but the end of the journey is still over the horizon.”
The contact between her fingers and his skin registered as a violation of his personal space. He stared elsewhere, but the muted glitter of the stars in the night sky through her form kept his thoughts from drifting off.
“Imagine it - our names legend through the afterlife… ”
Her voice had drifted off, becoming musing in nature.
Suddenly, she snapped to attention and caught his gaze, nearly grinning with glee.
“You don’t understand how depressing it is to be unnoticed. But I’m not worried anymore… If you keep doing what I tell you, soon everyone will know our names.” The hand in his hair tightened its grip in her fervor. “And you’ll have your little captain cloak and your posh little office with hoards of adoring fans, which will make mommy proud - that is what you want, right? - And I’ll get the recognition as one of the most powerful Zanpaktous in the Seireitei I deserve after all these years.”
Her stare bore into his skull, pinning him down into the grass.
“But that won’t be possible until you give yourself to me -“ The hand released his hair, trailing down towards his chest. “- in mind, spirit, and body…”
He drew in a heavy breath, unnerved by the foreign turn she had steered their relationship (could it even be called that?) into.
“…Senbonzakura.” The weight of the word still felt strange on his tongue.
Reveling in the terseness of the situation, she teased airily, “Were you expecting something different?”
“No. It’s just as ridiculously pompous as I expected.”
She smirked - back on familiar territory once again.
“I believe that’s what - how do they say it - the pot calling the kettle black.”
“It’s unfair.” He muttered indignantly. “You didn’t actually tell me your name.”
A carefully plucked eyebrow raised in amusement.
“What made you think I was going to in the first place?”
Withdrawing her hand and straightening up, she gave one last disdainful look at his exhausted form before disappearing.
“Don’t get comfortable. We begin training once you’ve recovered.”
Start:4.3.07
End: 5.7.07
Word Count: 2,510
(Chapter One: The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen)
My Layout's back to an LJ-default again. Although if anyone could tell me how to change JUST the header background image without re-writing the entirety of the CSS, that would be amazing.
I can change the background image on the Custom CSS field, but the header-bg refuses to be overwritten >__<
*sigh* My field trip just got canceled.
Oh my, I actually know where this story is going. (A plot? No way!)
Then again, I don't really consider character-development stories to have real plots.
Senbonzakura is really difficult to write in character. It's just so much easier to write a Whiny, Superiority-Complex-ed, Mary Sue.
Anywho:
Title: Royal Affairs
Author: bmw_remixed
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Byakuya, Senbonzakura (Mentioning of Byakuya/Hisana, Byakuya/Rukia. Other characters in passing.)
Summary: Senbonzakura was less of a weapon and more of a conscience. You know, the nagging little voice in the back of your head?
Two: Political Union [For the Sake of Duty]
Sixteen years, four months and twenty-five days after their first encounter (she was the one who counted, not him) and also three days after he was promoted to the Eleventh Seat of his division (his Captain counted this one), he was assigned his first Menos Grande mission.
It was a joint assignment, split between his and the division’s Seventh Seat; the original intent being he was to immobilize the large hollow with his Hadou and his superior would finish it off with his fire-based Zanpakutou - rumored to be quite impressive.
The opposite could be said of the wielder of the sword unless one was talking in terms of size. Giten Mushuken was a big burly man who held one of the two positions of the Seventh Seat and had a rough, uncivilized nature. Any conversation with him was met with guffawing laughter comments that would put a sailor’s vocabulary to shame. Shaggy hair mixed with an even shaggier beard to frame his face; the sleeves of his shuhakusho rolled up and secured at his shoulders to reveal grotesquely hairy arms riddled with veins and bulging muscles. A cigarette ever present betweens his lips, perfuming his words with the acrid smell of smoke
Byakuya wondered how such a revolting specimen of humanity could obtain a higher rank that he.
Luckily for him, it wouldn’t be a problem for long.
The pouring rain and apocalyptic winds of the monsoon assaulted them relentlessly as they arrived in the real world. Unfazed, Giten sauntered out of the portal.
The look on his face just oozed overconfidence. A smug grin fixed on his face, one stubby finger fervently rubbing his scraggly chin.
“Just stand back, Pretty-boy. There’s no need to get your fucking high and mighty robes dirty over this one.” He laughed, and rubbed his nose, the cartilage cracking unpleasantly. “That ugly motherfucker doesn’t stand a chance against me. Watch, this’ll be over before you can say shyunpo.”
With a shout, he wrenched his blade from its sheath.
“Lash!”
Byakuya braced himself for the overwhelming rush of energy that accompanied a Shikai release - there was no way he’d let such a cretin’s anything catch him off guard -- but it never came. He glanced at Giten, only to see him holding the skeleton of a sword, the hilt tangling bladeless, face blank with disbelief.
“Aw, fuck.”
The rain.
A little insignificant thing like rain had rendered him weaponless, defenseless, and utterly useless.
“Goddamn it, I’m not letting this shitty weather costing me my seat to that bitch Moira,” he growled to himself, the cigarette twitching in his annoyance.
Turning to Byakuya, he gestured at the distant Hollow, “That fucking Menos is mine. Got it? It’s gonna prove to the Cap’n I’m better than any 4th division transfer.”
He plucked the cigarette from between his lips and dropped it to the ground, forgetting about it as soon as it left his hand.
“So don’t you worry about getting your hair messed up, pretty-boy, your ass is gonna stay right where it is while I take care of that ugly motherfucker.”
Before Byakuya could say anything to dissuade him, Giten had run ahead, screaming out a Hadou spell as he approached the creature. The resulting explosion only seemed to make the winds more vehement in their rage, roaring through the trees and flinging Byakuya’s hair into his eyes uncomfortably.
The Menos was unaffected.
It looked down stupidly, the masked face searching for the source of the intrusion to its destructive feeding.
It saw Giten.
From where he stood, he heard the screams - unnaturally high pitched for such a burly man , felt the cracking of the bones in the core of his soul, and reached out for the spiritual pressure which suddenly dissipated around him.
Over the treetops, the Menos was calmly ripping his ex-superior’s body into pieces with its teeth.
Now alone, Byakuya stared down at the creature, a permanent grin set in bone on its face, the characteristic imp-like nose, and the eyes that had stared at him with hunger. Its foreign reiatsu doubled as it absorbed his late superior’s powers, painfully prodding him from all sides.
His shyunpo carried him towards its feet, barely avoiding exposed roots and branches that seek to block his path. Twigs dragged at his skin and clothes, and the rain soaked the ground, turning the once solid forest floor into a swamp.
His sword bounced off its body harmlessly, an unpleasant surprise in an even more unpleasant situation. He began to throw every Demon Arts Spell he knew at the beast, binding, destruction, explosion; nothing seemed to work.
Well, this is quite the predicament.
Her voice was irritatingly light for compared to the gravity of the situation.
“If you do not intend to help, then please be quiet.”
Do you know why your blade does not cut? Again the sing-song lilt in her voice.
“The hierro,” he answered flatly; it was an obvious answer.
Is this why you keep showering it with words and fire? That didn’t seem to work well for that brute who called himself a Shinigami. Really, I would ex-
Before she could finish her thought, the Menos suddenly stopped moving. It stared stupidly ahead, focused on the pulsating reiatsu signature that was Byakuya. It opened its gaping maw, and began to gather its energy in front of it. Small points of light shot towards its mouth, gathering together and intensifying in power and brightness until the air seemed to fry with its deadly attack.
It launched the Cero, which fanned across the area in a wide beam, towards Byakuya. He turned and began to shyunpo out of the path of the beam, which was incinerating everything in its reach.
As he ran, he heard her sigh dramatically. In the back of his mind, he saw her shake her head condescendingly.
Always doing what you are taught to do. Running when threatened, relying on your Zanpakutou spirit without aptly developing the self first. Attack when told, defend when ordered. How did you get so far without thinking for yourself? Is Soul Society raising an army of mindless slaves again? I’d expect they learned their lesson with the whole Mod-Soul fiasco.
I suppose that is one of the faults of the system.
He was used to such words like those from her. Ranting monologues criticizing his character, his skills, his physical attributes were the norm. He was starting to think she just liked to hear herself talk.
He drowned her out; there were more urgent matters to deal with.
Flashing farther and farther from the Menos, not resting until he reached a clearing in the nearby woods. Pressing himself against the rough bark of the nearest tree, he reached towards his earpiece.
What do you think you’re doing? The question was almost hissed.
“Requesting back-up.”
Why?
Not bothering to suppress an annoyed sigh - she would’ve sense it anyway - he answered, “To fight the Menos Grande by myself would be suicide.”
Mirroring his annoyed sigh - albeit a bit exaggerated, she began to explain, drawing out each syllable like she was talking to a child.
You know, it’s not the hierro of the Menos that dulls your blade.
There was something in her voice, something behind the sarcasm, that urged him to listen this time.
It's uncertainty.
She sniffed loftily.
You haven’t needed my assistance; you are a ranked officer seat, accomplishments you have done by yourself. You are more powerful without your sword that most Shinigami will ever be with their sword. You have turned a deaf ear to the snide comments uttered about the absence of a Shikai at your side. You have shown no regard for the opinions of others in their presence. Why do you abide to the rules now when you are alone against this monster?
“Because -“
‘Because it is expected’, he had almost said, but realizing that she had proven her point.
You are born of the elite -- above the rules!
Now start acting like it.
Silence again.
As the Cero faded behind him, he turned reluctantly towards the hulking beast, which seemed to be more preoccupied with testing its own strength than its hunger. Channeling his spiritual energy into his blade, he charged - flashing easily through thick branches and gnarled roots which threatened to trip him.
I want you to completely obliterate it.
The bloodthirsty cries of his sword echoed in his mind, urging him on. He could feel her excitement, tremors running up and down and length of the blade. Byakuya gripped the handle tighter, but the vibrations only came more violently.
He did his best to ignore it, and continued closing the space between him and the overgrown Hollow. Arriving at its feet, he was dwarfed by its massive size and its massive reiatsu. The white mask towered stories above his head, and its claws alone were twice his height.
Byakuya faltered; the rhythm in his steps interrupted. The blade in his hand was trembling even more fiercely now - a combination of her anticipation and his nervousness, and he could hear her impatience in his mind, yelling at him to keep moving. She wanted out.
Eyes burning and head swimming against the oppressive spiritual energy of the large Hollow, he was pushing blindly. His normally precise control over his spiritual power wavered, bursts of energy erratically spouting off from him.
The metal impacted on the hierro with a sharp smack, his hand numbing from the force of the blow. Still, the blow made no visible mar on the Menos, perhaps even less effective as before from the inexplicable trembling from the sword. Eyes widening in a combination of exasperation, confusion and panic, his grip on the weapon tightened, willing to shear through its inky dark skin.
The Menos knocked him away effortlessly.
He was sent crashing through the trees and smacked against the trunk of an elderly oak. The force of the impact stunned him, dropped him into the muddy ground. The Kenseikan had been broken in the fall, its ceramic shards gouging into his scalp and releasing rivulets of blood down his face.
Get up.
There was blood in his hair and blood on his face - a voice in his head, bloodthirsty and impatient - mud on his uniform, mud in his wounds - dark red mixed with black, the color of decay -- and a wound in his pride.
I told you to get up.
When there was no response, she let out a hiss of annoyance.
Pathetic.
Without warning, he convulsed violently. He could feel her. She surged through him - icy and raw and oh so deliciously violating -- reaching out to the trembling blade.
As if lifted by invisible strings, he felt his body rise.
The sword was now shaking violently, sending tremors down his arm, muscles straining to control.
Let go.
“But it will -“
Probably.
A smug grin expressed with his own lips.
Go ahead, you know what to do.
Byakuya blinked - the strange thing was, he did know.
Then set me free!
It was so obvious, so there all along - how did he miss it?
“Scatter --”
Yes!
In a vibrant flash of color, the blade disappeared.
As the last of the shockwaves from the rip in the dimensions dissipated, Byakuya found himself exhausted. His limbs felt like lead and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. He fell on the ground, no longer caring about his clothes being immaculate.
With impeccable timing, she materialized, standing above his prone from, halting his descent into blessed oblivion. Byakuya blinked at the sudden intrusion in his vision and the sudden infusion of flowery perfume that wafted over him.
“You’ve managed to defeat the Hollow.”
“It escaped.”
“An admirable accomplishment anyway.”
Her compliment hung awkwardly in the space between them.
Craning his neck to look at her, he blinked in surprise.
She - no, there was a name to go with the face now (he had was so used to associating her with the third person - something he’ll never really break out of) - had looked strangely docile in the moonlight; an uncharacteristic smile devoid of any malice or trickery alighting on her face. It unnerved him more than her vicious moods would have.
She bent down and reached one slim hands towards him. Instinctively, he recoiled.
A smirk ghosted over her porcelain face.
“I’m hurt, Byakuya. And here I though we had gotten so much closer.”
He stiffened at the feel of her fingers grazing against his forehead to brush back his damp, sweat soaked hair. Her fingers tips were unnaturally warm and calloused - he had always associated her with the pampered life of a noblewoman, but seeing how she spent so much time scraping in the dirt, it made sense too. She continued sitting there, content with straightening out her wielder’s long hair.
“I don’t think it’ll be as long now,” she breathed, “but the end of the journey is still over the horizon.”
The contact between her fingers and his skin registered as a violation of his personal space. He stared elsewhere, but the muted glitter of the stars in the night sky through her form kept his thoughts from drifting off.
“Imagine it - our names legend through the afterlife… ”
Her voice had drifted off, becoming musing in nature.
Suddenly, she snapped to attention and caught his gaze, nearly grinning with glee.
“You don’t understand how depressing it is to be unnoticed. But I’m not worried anymore… If you keep doing what I tell you, soon everyone will know our names.” The hand in his hair tightened its grip in her fervor. “And you’ll have your little captain cloak and your posh little office with hoards of adoring fans, which will make mommy proud - that is what you want, right? - And I’ll get the recognition as one of the most powerful Zanpaktous in the Seireitei I deserve after all these years.”
Her stare bore into his skull, pinning him down into the grass.
“But that won’t be possible until you give yourself to me -“ The hand released his hair, trailing down towards his chest. “- in mind, spirit, and body…”
He drew in a heavy breath, unnerved by the foreign turn she had steered their relationship (could it even be called that?) into.
“…Senbonzakura.” The weight of the word still felt strange on his tongue.
Reveling in the terseness of the situation, she teased airily, “Were you expecting something different?”
“No. It’s just as ridiculously pompous as I expected.”
She smirked - back on familiar territory once again.
“I believe that’s what - how do they say it - the pot calling the kettle black.”
“It’s unfair.” He muttered indignantly. “You didn’t actually tell me your name.”
A carefully plucked eyebrow raised in amusement.
“What made you think I was going to in the first place?”
Withdrawing her hand and straightening up, she gave one last disdainful look at his exhausted form before disappearing.
“Don’t get comfortable. We begin training once you’ve recovered.”
Start:4.3.07
End: 5.7.07
Word Count: 2,510
(Chapter One: The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen)
My Layout's back to an LJ-default again. Although if anyone could tell me how to change JUST the header background image without re-writing the entirety of the CSS, that would be amazing.
I can change the background image on the Custom CSS field, but the header-bg refuses to be overwritten >__<
*sigh* My field trip just got canceled.