"What is it like?"
He grunted. The crude gesture was almost enough to stop her pen, and she nearly paused mid-stroke, but a quick glance revealed his leering eyes burning in her direction. There was some fascination in dissecting his expressions, extracting emotions the God Robe couldn't possibly convey with words. It was far from easy, given the limited presence of recognizable features, but she uncovered small discoveries with her piecemeal investigations. The twitch of his scarf betrayed irritation, the flutter of his skirt exposed distress, a swish of his epaulettes revealed shock, so many minute motions that built a language she was only beginning to understand. But his eyes were an open book, and she could read his agitation from the wrinkles that gathered around them.
Satsuki continued writing.
The gentle scrape of her pen scratched out an uneven rhythm as her question lingered. Junketsu maintained his glare, caught between her words and stubborn pride. Minutes vanished beneath the steady march of quiet ticks from a gilt clock, and she began to reconsider her approach when he finally broke.
"Be more specific."
Her shoulders relaxed. "My blood. What is your opinion on its qualities?"
He answered with a stare devoid of anything but scorn. At least, she assumed the gaze was meant to convey his dissatisfaction. It was hard to tell if the slant of his brows were a product of design, or if he was just constantly angry. Satsuki suspected both in equal measure.
Silence swallowed them until, from his seat across the desk, Junketsu growled. "The qualities of blood are irrelevant so long as it sustains me."
She focussed on the dark lines gradually beginning to clog her paper, aware of his gaze doing its very best burn right through her. The room was at a pleasant seventy degrees so she had little fear of spontaneous combustion, no matter how hard he tried.
"Why do you care?"
Satsuki looked up from her desk, pen carefully poised to avoid bleeding ink. A part of her knew it was a bid to twist their stilted conversation back on her, but another part didn't care. He was capitalizing on her curiosity, and she could appreciate the shrewd maneuver.
"It is not often a parasite is capable of sharing its perspective," she supplied, and stifled the smirk that threatened to shatter her composure.
Junketsu fumed, his eyes wide enough to stretch seams before the outburst quickly folded in on itself beneath placid layers of contempt. Attacking his confidence as a superior lifeform was the most obvious barb in her arsenal of cutting remarks, but he had yet to properly anticipate them, riling him every time.
"I will not be drawn into your petty discourse over my method of acquiring sustenance, which, it should be noted, is no indication of relative position within evolutionary hierarchies."
Her comparing him to a mosquito still stung apparently.
"Answering my question properly would be a good way to avoid going down that same path."
Of course, she didn't expect a satisfying response now that she had upset him. At best, he would string together a list of descriptions into some semblance of an insult, at worst, he wouldn't speak at all.
"Rich," he droned. "And sharp."
Satsuki couldn't help the slow curl of a brow as it pushed upwards. If he noticed her surprise, Junketsu was hiding it under a blank facade, features smooth as though freshly ironed.
The words tumbled in her head, and as she picked them apart she put together meaning. If he intended to criticize her inheritance, it was a weak effort. All the money in the world meant nothing it if wasn't used, and she had found an austere lifestyle more suited to her tastes, certain pleasures excused. What funding she did take went to a cause higher than any personal vice she might indulge. And if he was calling attention to her curt demeanor, well, she wouldn't deny it. Someone needed to maintain discipline, even at the expense familiarity.
"There is strength, in your blood, that bites the senses. It is. . . difficult to ignore," he continued, voice dipping lower. "Piercing, how it soaks my fibers, to the core. The more I take, the more bitter it becomes."
Her thoughts were drained completely as he finished. It seemed he was full of surprises at the moment. Somehow, perhaps it was shock warping her perception, his eyes looked softer, lacking the vitriol he so commonly spit at the drop of a hat.
Junketsu blinked, his skirt fluttering. "A fine stock to be savored. I would deeply enjoy having reserves on hand." He lifted a sleeve and gave it a shake. "In a manner of speaking."
And like that, condescension crept back into his voice. The sudden edge to his attitude fueled Satsuki's impression that his words were sincere, in some capacity. It was the most honesty she had ever drawn from him that wasn't dipped in spite.
A knock disrupted their solitude.
With timing that could not be more impeccable, Soroi walked in with a tray held firmly in his gloved hands. A pot steamed at its center flanked by a pair of cups sitting on spotless saucers.
"Tea, Miss Satsuki."
He circled around her, balancing the tray in one hand to unfold a wooden stand. She gave her thanks as he filled a cup and passed it to her without slowing. Steam curled towards her nose as she breathed in its faintly bitter aroma. Past the porcelain rim she could see Junketsu staring at the pristine pot, his eyes reflected back as a milky gold.
"What is it like?"
Satsuki lifted the cup to hide her smile.