There are no thrones, no wolves [ closed ]
Characters: Momo Hinamori peachesnotplums, Sousuke Aizen gazeintothesun
Content: Dealing with the aftermaths of crises. --Or maybe just tea.
Setting: The Silvana, Aizen's office/quarters.
Time: After the exorcism, while cleanup is still ongoing.
Warnings: None. No, really. Would this face lie to you?
It had been a while, hadn't it?
Sousuke Aizen leaned back in his chair, the creak of its joints a counterpoint to a soft exhalation of breath, and curled his fingers under his chin, thinking. The balance he had kept so far in his dealings with Momo, skimming the edge between old familiarity and present circumstance, had sufficed so far. Certainly it had kept her more or less stable, or as stable as one such as a girl who had once been his assistant could be; but perhaps it was time to tip that balance one way or the other. Gently. To prepare her.
Perhaps. Either way it would be an enjoyment he had not lately had time for -- and the edges of his mouth curled up in a smile -- to have a little conversation over cups of tea. To talk of things that did not matter except when they did: these hairline cracks in a construct built equally of truth and doubt. If Momo Hinamori was to be a tool, a piece in this elaborate game that was finally passing its opening, let her serve as a pleasant way to pass the time while her final use was still being perfected.
He stood, shelved some papers and arranged others in a stack, and set about returning his room to a semblance of order.
Content: Dealing with the aftermaths of crises. --Or maybe just tea.
Setting: The Silvana, Aizen's office/quarters.
Time: After the exorcism, while cleanup is still ongoing.
Warnings: None. No, really. Would this face lie to you?
It had been a while, hadn't it?
Sousuke Aizen leaned back in his chair, the creak of its joints a counterpoint to a soft exhalation of breath, and curled his fingers under his chin, thinking. The balance he had kept so far in his dealings with Momo, skimming the edge between old familiarity and present circumstance, had sufficed so far. Certainly it had kept her more or less stable, or as stable as one such as a girl who had once been his assistant could be; but perhaps it was time to tip that balance one way or the other. Gently. To prepare her.
Perhaps. Either way it would be an enjoyment he had not lately had time for -- and the edges of his mouth curled up in a smile -- to have a little conversation over cups of tea. To talk of things that did not matter except when they did: these hairline cracks in a construct built equally of truth and doubt. If Momo Hinamori was to be a tool, a piece in this elaborate game that was finally passing its opening, let her serve as a pleasant way to pass the time while her final use was still being perfected.
He stood, shelved some papers and arranged others in a stack, and set about returning his room to a semblance of order.