Title: Starcross'd
Warnings: Violence, gore, heavy sexual content.
Rating: M
.o()o.
Part One
Deathmark'd
'o()o'
.
Chapter One
.
She was calling.
So he ran.
But it was more like falling. More like the world dropping out from beneath his feet. Tugged and yanked, he always moved toward her. Pulled forward by invisible strings. She plucked his heart at will. Sent reverberations through his head and limbs and straight down to his soul.
Deep like gravity. Her gravity. Her.
There was no choice. It wasn't a decision he'd made. It'd never mattered if he wanted to go, he had to.
Had to find sunlit copper curls and eyes like crushed ash.
She was calling.
Her screams echoed through the stone chambers, louder than his own swift feet beating the ground, louder than the blood rushing in his ears. Marble hallways were mazes and closing walls, but he'd always been faster and stronger than the others.
It didn't matter, he wasn't racing them.
And he could feel fate tighten around his neck, chocking and binding.
Then he broke free into fire.
His world became fire. It became the flames reflected in silver eyes.
It turned them violet. An impossible shade, and he couldn't look away. Couldn't move as her hair wavered with the wind, billowing in the firestorm surrounding her, then caught fire. He watched her face twist, agony clawing behind her eyes, mouth parted to scream. And even then, even then, she was so beautiful it hurt.
Like a knife lodged under his ribs, piercing everything vital.
And at last, he was free, cut from the paralysis holding him as fear crashed down.
No. No.
No.
As soon as it registered, he rejected it. She couldn't go like this. Not like his family. She was all he had left. She was his family. There was no world for him that didn't have her in it. How would he'd ever find her again?
He was before her in the next breath. And he saw it then— what his eyes didn't want to show him. Her skin… burned away, the delicate muscles and bones of her arms born to sight.
He choked on smoke.
His eyes blurred, and screaming, he plunged into the fire.
Flames licked at his skin, searing and burning hair and flesh as though it were paper, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting her free, and the chains broke under his strength. He didn't even feel the heat any longer, strength bleeding away with the tattered remains of his clothing. He staggered back, clutching her, calling her name as her head lolled.
Her lips formed his name, breathed it over him, and he broke.
Eyes flit between the wounds marring her perfect face and down her body. Hands hovered over cherished flesh, uncertain. There wasn't any place to touch that wouldn't lead to more suffering.
He tore at orange strands, cried out again, unaware of it until she found his lips with small fingers and silenced him.
His eyes widened and his breath stopped when charred tips grazed over his cheek then fell away as she coughed blood.
For a moment, for a few stolen seconds, he just looked.
Then she smiled, flayed him with more fury than a thousand burning suns, twisting broken dreams through his core and strangling his heart.
Her lashes fluttered, settled against pale cheeks, and she lay still.
And everything he was died with her.
-o-
Pitching into a sitting position, Ichigo gasped.
His eyes darted from corner to corner, searching for flames and enemies and a blood covered female who's name he'd screamed more times than he could count, but never remembered.
Around him, there was nothing but darkness. Shadows and the stylish taupe walls his mother had painted last spring.
But no fire. No girl.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking and panting, trying to stop his heart hammering against the wall of his chest, and keep his stomach from leading a violent revolt.
That… That fucking dream.
One hand clinched deep into orange bangs, scraping over the cold sweat on his forehead. He tugged, let the pain pull him further into awareness. The other hand had curled into a fist. His fingers tightened, and even as he brought it up to his face and stared at it, he'd almost swear he could still feel what had been clutched there in the dream.
It was always the same.
Whatever it was, it was so important. Small and hard enough to cut with the force of his grip. He could feel it. Even now. He should know what it was. Like a word that stuck on the tip of his tongue, but with a memory instead.
"Fuck."
Ichigo gave a harsh sigh and fell back to his pillow, releasing bangs to let his hand drag over his face.
He was soaked in icy sweat, and the next second, he'd flung the thick, down covers off. He felt the need to move, but was far too exhausted to crawl from the large four-poster bed as he stared at the cloth canopy and tried to recapture his breath.
Slowly, Ichigo brought his closed fist back to his face. Narrowing his eyes, he opened one finger at a time to reveal nothing but empty palm.
-o-
Orihime Inoue huddled in the far corner of her late brother's library, eyes wide as she stared at the page of her book.
Pieces of auburn bangs fell free from the pair of jeweled, blue hairpins that adorned her temples as her lips moved with the words. Her breathing was quick, feet pulled up into the chair under her.
Eyes wide, she flipped another page.
The heat burning her cheeks intensified a degree as she read, pausing to lick her lips at the evocative sentence.
How had a book like this even come to be in Sora's library? Orihime almost giggled at the thought of her brother purchasing such a scandalous story. Flipping it over, she looked at the cover before going back to her paragraph. And this was supposed to be a historical account? It read more like one of Chizuru's tirades on the horrors of the male gender. Except with an entire race.
She laughed, but stifled it by biting her lip.
When she'd found it, the title was what captured her interest. For it wasn't often one chanced across a volume covering such a taboo subject. But as she read, it began to fascinate her in other ways.
The author alluded quite openly to bedroom matters, something forbidden any young woman with a conventional upbringing. Ainoko would throw a tantrum if she knew something like this existed in the house.
Orihime, however, was fascinated.
The wall clock over the writing desk chimed, but she couldn't be bothered to check the hour. It was late. She already knew it was, because to her awareness, she was the only person in the house not tucked away into bed. But reading had always been a passion of hers, and even though it lit her cheeks and twisted her stomach with embarrassment to browse this sort of a… carnal tale, she wasn't quite prepared to leave it.
It called to something inside her. Something tucked deep in her soul. Like a toy hidden under a blanket, she could make out the shape… She could almost see it… But it was elusive all the same.
Like all children, she'd been educated in their history. Or the basics. What women were told, she supposed. The empire had strict rules about that. Patriotism started with loyalty to the king, and knowing what he'd done for them all, was the first thing taught. But it seemed there was more. Things that no self-respecting governess would ever teach her pupil.
Orihime had never heard of such acts as these creatures committed. Stealing into a victims' rooms in the night, carrying off virgin captives, never mind their dietary staple... If she met such a creature, what would it do to her?
A wicked thrill flit through her stomach and she curled bare toes. Visions of a forbidden rendezvous danced in her mind.
The book hinted at a mystery she'd never given much thought— although she was almost a grown woman— and now that she'd started, she couldn't stop. Within a few short months, she'd likely be married off to some stranger.
The days ticked ever closer to her eighteenth birthday, and her stepmother preened her more and more. She felt like the prize livestock in the market being prettied up for show. And if what Chizuru said could be trusted, soon, she'd be thrown into a man's bedroom and ravished. Enslaved for life. He'd fall on her like some wild animal and have his way— whatever that meant.
It sounded frightening. But, maybe just a little, it was also exciting. Or it would be if she just knew what to be excited about. Maybe she was only excited about the thought of an adventure.
What would happen to her? What did a husband demand of a wife? She'd no idea, and when she asked, Ainoko chided her. But how did they expect her to know what to do if she wasn't told? It was as if some secret existed that everyone was in on except her…
Orihime was starting to have some considerable doubts about the whole affair.
Not that anyone would listen.
Flipping the book closed, Orihime sighed, squishing down the naughty voice that whispered for her to finish the volume.
Whether she found sleep or not, it'd be best to go back to bed. If her stepmother learnt she'd been sneaking to the library after twilight, she'd be punished. Ainoko already tried her hardest to deter Orihime's reading. The privilege might be lost altogether if she were discovered. And if the subject of her newest fascination were chanced upon—
Standing, Orihime padded to the far corner and examined the bookcases along the walls, looking for a place out of the way before she slipped the book onto a low shelf, pressing it just a bit farther back so that it wasn't within the direct line of sight.
That would have to do. She couldn't hide it in her things. Her possessions were so few, Ainoko would find it in a single afternoon.
Dusting her hands, she straightened with a smile, taking a lamp and making her way back to her rooms.
She passed along the myriad of portraits that lined the stairs. Where in a normal house, they might have been relatives or ancestors of the lineage, here they were merely faces, paintings acquired by her stepmother to give the appearance of heritage without any such merit. There were entire days when Orihime suspected Ainoko was trying to recreate the family she'd never had.
Oh, how she missed her brother…
When he'd lived and she'd been under his care, things were happier. They practiced truth, not secrets. He'd explained any subject she'd ever been curious about with scrupulous detail, going so far as to teach her math and sciences, literature from faraway places. Orihime even knew how to read a map, much to her delight and her stepmother's horror.
But those times were gone. Her brother had been dead for over two years, and she'd been taken in by her stepfather and his new wife, Ainoko. Adopted even, and soon, she would be married.
-o-
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez stood on the steps of a club called The Silver Dagger, standing over the gambling pit below him, hunting for his next victim. There were so many of the fuckin' fools to pick from, he almost couldn't choose.
Plenty of easy targets waiting to be parted from their money.
His lips curled from his teeth. He hated places like this.
The floor bustled with the city's wealthiest gentlemen cutting loose from society and the strict norms that governed daylight hours. Whores and gambling. It was the height of entertainment among the affluent male aristocracy. If a person had the money to drop and the connections to get in, it was the single best place in the city to find something to eat, fight, or fuck. Since he'd already done the fucking, Grimm didn't much care which came next— as long as it came on someone else's dime.
A wide grin curved his lips and caused the other men descending the stairs around him to squish to either side in an attempt to avoid his notice.
With good reason, too.
Most of them knew his reputation. Had heard of his slightly crazed sense of what a good time entailed. And if the indignant mutterings were any indication, they'd managed to hear a bit of it for themselves upstairs. Not that he gave one good goddamn for any of their estimations of him. He'd always cut sideways across the grain of society and he liked it that way.
The clock to his right over the bar gave two strikes and he took another few steps down.
Agile movement and dark hair caught his eye from the side, and he looked to see Tsukishima drifting through the din. Their eyes touched for a brief second before the man disappeared back into the crowd.
He growled, but he made no attempt to engage the unsettling prick. Blood or not, he gave Grimmjow the creeps.
There was a rustle of fabric and a man stopped coming down the stairs behind him, fixing his clothing back into place and shaking him from his thoughts. Grimmjow almost recoiled at the smell of sex that lingered, trying his best to ignore the man as he cleared his throat and attempted to strike up a conversation.
"That was quite the commotion going on upstairs."
Grimmjow said nothing. If this guy heard all that and was still taking a stab at speaking to him, he didn't know who he was dealing with.
"Nearly lost my… resolve."
Reconsidering the impulse to walk away, Grimmjow continued his perusal, lips twitching from disgust into a lopsided smirk. He never got tired of this. "Was it?"
Below, the crowd cheered and clapped a small, black-haired male while he laughed and raked up his winnings from the table. The damned fool shoved them straight into his pockets, scattering loose coins as he wound an arm around a house prostitute, his drink sloshing from the other.
The man beside him scoffed at his answer. "Didn't you hear the poor girl? Sounded like she was being beaten with a whip."
"Hn. Just a crop."
"I… I beg your pardon?"
Grimmjow's smile grew, showing teeth as he tilted his head back to look at his newest annoyance from the corner of his eye. He enunciated the words. "A crop."
The man paused, leaning away and studying him before holding out his hand. "Sora Inoue."
Grimm raised a brow at the well-known name, but the man only gave a wry smirk back.
"Not the one you're thinking, I'm afraid. The Lord SoraInouewas my son."
The man let his hand fall when Grimmjow made no move to take it, but didn't seem discouraged as he sipped from his drink. Cognac or whiskey, Grimm couldn't tell.
"Disconcerting for me as well, I'll admit. I can hardly introduce myself anywhere without having to make a show of it." He gave a conspiratorial smile and tapped his nose. "Actually, I've taken to going by Sorame, instead. Less undesirable explanations that way."
Grimm gave another grunt, wondering which misfortunate act on his part had caused this man to decide he liked him enough to continue talking. He didn't take to most people on good days, but this guy seemed undeterable. But maybe he was just stupid.
Blue eyes dropped, taking in Sorame head to toe.
On the surface, he was nothing impressive. Forgettable even. Typical straight, shoulder length black hair and matching eyes, fine cut clothes, and manicured nails. The rigid posture of a board. A little past middle aged if Grimm was guessing. But he knew another predator when he saw one. This man was not only hunting, but the fool had started a conversation with him for a reason.
That was a mistake. He didn't let people fuck with him and walk away unscathed.
He narrowed his eyes. "Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."
Sorame raked his memory for the name.
It sounded somewhat familiar. He knew most of the city's political families and their crests, but this man didn't wear any such defining marks. Not that it was any matter. He'd find that out later. He had a good feeling about this one. What with this Grimmjow's unusually bright hair and eyes... Sorame wasn't a heavy gambler himself, but he was willing to bet his own money this young, blue-haired noble was just the sort of man he wanted.
It wouldn't hurt to dangle the bait.
"A pleasure." He reached into his coat and handed him a calling card. "It so happens, I'm also the proprietor of my stepdaughter's estate, the Lady Orihime Inoue… You've heard of her?"
When Grimmjow made no affirmative, he took it as a no, the beginnings of irritation forming. The blue-haired man wasn't making any of the standard polite concessions. Sorame was half-tempted to move on and cut this Grimmjow fellow out of his financial proposition, but he held his impatience in check.
"Yes, well, her seventeenth birthday was last month, and she's finally entering into the courting games."
Grimmjow took the card, glancing over it before handing it back.
"Son's a Lord. Your daughter's a Lady. No titles for you?"
Sorame felt his neck stiffen at the slight, but he continued smiling. This fool had no idea the trouble he was courting. His wild youth didn't stand a snowball's chance against a man of the law. "Stepdaughter. And no, unfortunately. Titles only travel down, Jaegerjaquez-san, not up. My son was granted his seat at court for services to the king. When he died, the title passed to his step-sister. His last will and testament upheld at the king's behest."
He'd almost succeeded at keeping the heat from his voice as he raised his glass.
Grimmjow didn't seem to care either way. He snorted and started down the steps, forcing Sorame to trail after or else be left behind. Clearly, he hadn't managed to capture the man's interest. Perhaps he wasn't in the financial strains Sorame supposed.
He pressed his lips in displeasure before he followed Grimmjow's gaze, smiling when he noticed the unfortunate lad it had landed upon. Bright blue eyes palmed over the sack of gold the lad was trying to cram back into his coat pocket. And there was more than a small amount of hunger in that stare. Like a stalking animal sizing up its dinner.
Sorame sneered. He knew it. He wasn't the only one out looking for some poor sod tonight.
Exasperating or not, this Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was just the… eccentric type that would no doubt appeal to Orihime.
Orihime.
Damnation, even thinking about the girl caused his gut to twist.
If it weren't for the vast fortune and title she'd inherited from his dead son, he would've thrown her into an orphanage long ago. But Sora had left everything to her. Everything. All of it written off to his illegitimate step-sister and not a single gold coin to his own father. And worse, that devastating will he'd left held up in the courts, drawing notice and forcing Sorame to take over Orihime's guardianship and finances, lest he be the one out on the street.
As if his wife needed more reason to condemn him.
Ainoko gave him her clear opinion on her views of him as a provider before he'd left the house, sitting by her bedside, dragging a brush through unnaturally dark hair.
"Sorame, you know how I hate to criticize. But once again, your Orihime has passed up an invitation from a gentleman only to lock herself away in the library with those appalling books. All of that study can't be healthy. She's already hard enough to manage as it is, I don't need those books stuffing her delicate mind with fanciful ideas. I think we should get rid of the library. Perhaps turn it into a sitting room."
He glanced up from his letter at the word "your". It was a not-so-subtle reminder that Orihime was his baggage. His fingers tightened on his communiqué as he observed Ainoko tying her hair back before she secured it under a cloth wrap. Her fingers found the neck to her shirt making sure it still buttoned up to the top.
When she turned, his mouth pinched.
On an otherwise beautiful woman, the only exposed skin was from chin to forehead. Just as well. It was her way of telling him not to hope for the kind of marital favors a man might expect during the night. Sins of the flesh stood at the top of Ainoko's list of taboos.
Not that she'd ever had the beauty of Orihime's birth mother. That woman had turned men's heads from across the room. In fact, she'd been so good at it, that she'd been turning them regularly on the side.
Not only had that whore had the gall to have affairs, but she'd also the audacity to keep the wretched child that resulted. Sorame wasn't stupid. The child was a bribery tool. Her way of keeping him in check lest the secret slip out.
He'd tried everything in his power to get her to take the medicine that would rid them both of the unsavory complication. However, in the end, he'd been forced to acknowledge Orihime as his own or admit that his wife had crawled into another man's bed. But the name on the certificate of birth was blank, and after his son's death, he'd quietly signed the paperwork adopting her as his stepdaughter, putting her fortune into his capable stewardship.
Sorame took a deep breath and reminded himself that his previous wife had been buried for ten years. She'd been strangled in her sleep by what the constable concluded to be a random act of violence.
Although, Sora hadn't been as easily persuaded. The damn boy had always had his suspicions. At least, until he also met his end in an unfortunate accident. But what had Sorame gotten from it? Nothing.
He'd thought of a hundred schemes to separate Orihime from her inheritance, but she was so intelligent that only the shrewdest plans slid under her notice. Sorame had to be careful for fear she'd discover his intentions before he was successful.
Turning away, he tucked the letter into the drawer of his standing chest.
Sora's collection of books was worth a small fortune. It'd be easy enough to sell off, and even easier to deposit the funds into his personal accounts. It was his due, after all, for what he'd been forced to endure.
He nodded. "I agree. It's a poor influence. I'll get rid of it."
"I don't know what Sora was thinking. Taking the girl under his wing after their mother passed was one thing, but educating her? Seriously, Sorame, it's hardly proper. What if it gets into the public ear? We'll never have her married off." She shook her head. "And I am forced to impress upon Orihime, again, that she must hide her education at all costs."
With another huffed sigh, Sorame shrugged from his jacket.
Ainoko stiffened, turning to look at him. "You're coming to bed?"
He almost smiled at the panic in her voice. If his first wife had been a whore, Ainoko was the exact opposite. She was a prude and a bitch, but at least, she was a smart bitch.
"No. I have business to attend. I'll be out late."
They both knew it was a lie. The only business he had was with an experienced house prostitute and a glass of cognac. She nodded though, and reassured that he wouldn't be satisfying his needs with her body, she slipped beneath the sheets, keeping her floor-length dressing gown covering her ankles until she settled into place.
Shaking himself back to the present, Sorame watched from the sidelines as Grimmjow moved away, inserting himself into a crowd, easily talking his way to food and drink at someone else's expense. When he left, his arm was slung over a man's shoulders. Sorame guessed it was a ruse to part him from the rest of his funds, and who knew what else.
He smiled after them.
This Grimmjow character was a man after his own heart.
-o-
Goddamn it...
Tossing his pen down, Ichigo pushed back from his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging his thumb up to scrub at the tense muscles in his forehead. He'd just signed the same missive twice. That made the third one this morning.
He snatched it up and flung it into the growing pile of documents that would need to be redrafted before frowning at them.
He'd had that dream again.
The one that always haunted him for days afterwards.
Ichigo sighed and rested his head between his thumb and forefingers, turning toward the window. His chest was tight just from thinking of it.
Something was wrong with him. He knew it. He'd known for years that it was strange to have dreams about a person he'd never even met, but it wasn't like he was able to control them. When he was inside the dream, it was as if he was someone else.
And then there was her.
The girl with the hair the color of twisting fire.
She was always there. The center of his focus.
And the dreams weren't all bad. Most were pleasant enough, enjoyable enough. In one, she was weaving through underbrush, running, trying to keep up. In another, she waded into a bath. In another, tears dripped down to her chin. But in most of them— almost all of them— she was smiling. The simplest thing, but so powerful it devastated him. Because he knew she smiled for him.
Ichigo sighed again, closing his eyes and trying to conjure up her face. But like always, it was blurry, just flashes of silver eyes and heavy lashes, the vague notion of soft, pink lips. Never anything concrete.
And that was fine. Ridiculous as it sounded, he'd accepted it. Had long since stopped fighting it. He even enjoyed them. Usually.
Then there were the times he had the dream that haunted him.
The one where he found her bound, chained to a post and caught in a torrent of fire that made her hair a living torch. And he's paralyzed for what seems like forever, seeing every tongue of flame licking across soft, white flesh. And as the fire burns, it eats away at the cloth over her mouth. She screams—
Ichigo stood.
This was stupid. They were just dreams. A stupid dream that never happened. He would know if he met a girl like that. She was attractive, but it wasn't just looks or some fake sense of beauty that women seemed intent on capturing. She was beautiful from the inside out. Something that came from the heart, and dammit… Why was he even doing this?
She is not real.
The swift fall of footsteps reached his ears, and Ichigo didn't need to turn to see who it was.
He unclenched his fists, but didn't move to face his guest, still looking through the window. Grimm could read him like a child's school book. Something that annoyed him the times when it wasn't also damned convenient.
But it went both ways. Growing up together had its perks after all.
"It's in the drawer of the hallway table."
The feet stopped halfway to his desk before Grimmjow laughed. "What makes ya think I need money?"
"Don't you?"
"Yeah, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna be the first thing outta my mouth."
Ichigo slanted him a look over his shoulder.
"Oh, sorry. First, you were going to ask how Court went— as if you give a damn. Then you'd ask if I'd eaten yet, ask me if I got laid last night or something equally annoying. Then you'd get around to money." He turned back to the window. "Look how much trouble I saved you."
"Well, you're sure's hell in a pissy mood. What happened? Mommy Kurosaki send another letter?"
Ichigo clicked his tongue.
His mother. He wasn't even starting with that.
To think that he'd once looked forward to her communications. Now every time he opened them it was question after question about his health and the state of his hair. Was he getting enough to eat in the city? What was he doing, who was he meeting? Was he going to settle down soon? And why couldn't he just come back home and marry the nice girl she'd met in the market today…?
Ichigo almost groaned. He'd forgotten he still had to respond to that.
Grimmjow snorted and threw himself into one of the wingback chairs across from the desk. "What then? Ya dream about that girl?"
"Fuck you."
"Hn, whaddya know. I guessed it."
Ichigo didn't bother to respond, it'd just encourage the bastard.
He turned, dropped back into his desk chair and snatched up his pen, scrawling his name across a sheet before moving on to the next. "I'm not talking about it."
"Like it matters. Shit's all over your face. Ya need to get out more. Forget about the girl that lives in yer head, an' stop clinging to mommy's skirts."
Ichigo's hand tightened on his pen, but he kept his tongue locked between his teeth.
"Ya know… I could find a bitch ta fuck ya in a heartbeat. Bet I wouldn't even have to pay her. They go for that broody shit ya got goin' on. So long as ya leave that girly jewelry of yours behind—"
"It is not−" Ichigo grit his teeth. "Girly jewelry. It's a fucking family heirloom. And you know that, you son of a bitch."
Grimmjow grinned, planting a foot on the side of Ichigo's desk as leverage to rock his chair back. "Whatever. I'm just glad your dad was born before mine, otherwise I'd be the one stuck wearin' it and signin' all those papers." He snorted again. "A fuckin' flower. Kind'a men were our ancestors? Can't blame ya for hidin' it under yer shirt."
Ichigo's grip tightened as his pen jumped on the paper, glaring at the foot mounted in front of him before finishing his scrawl. He wanted to punch that smile off that smug face, but just as he considered throwing his pen back down, there was a knock on the door and he looked up to see Tsukishima.
He entered without waiting for an invitation, pretty much just like everyone else Ichigo knew.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."
Tsukishima gave a ghost of a smile but it held no real geniality. One brown eye hid behind a curtain of waved black hair that fell just short of his shoulders and his hands lodged into his pockets. Like most of the men in their family, he was tall, but Tsukishima had always lacked the lean-muscled build the rest of them had.
"I have someone around here that's supposed to watch the door. What do you people do, just walk in?" Ichigo went back to his work, signing off on another paper. "It's in the drawer of the hallway table."
Tsukishima didn't bother mincing words. They'd never been close anyway and neither saw the need to fake it. He turned on his heel and walked back out the door without so much as a farewell.
Ichigo was used to it.
While he was in Seireitei, this was a necessary evil. Who knew what his cousins would be up to if left to their own devices. But once Court adjourned for the season, Ichigo would be headed back to Karakura, thank god, and his grating family responsibilities would once again go back to being his old man's problem.
Grimmjow curled his lip. "Might be related, but that guy gives me the fuckin' creeps."
Actually, there was debate about how true the bloodlines were on that side of the family. Ichigo didn't bother to add that kind of fuel to Grimmjow's fire as he pitched another paper into the finished stack.
"You know he's probably taking your money too, don't you?"
There was a pause. "Motherf—"
Grimmjow spat a string of curses, up and out of the chair, sailing through the door and leaving only the sound of his dashing footfalls. There was a crash in the front hall— probably his table. Then bare seconds later, Ichigo heard the main entrance slamming closed as Grimmjow took off after his money.
Ichigo snorted, signed another sheet, and tossed it into the pile.
-o-
She was selfish?
Orihime frowned, rolling her stepmother's words around her mind before deciding she didn't like them.
Her arms circled the post she was gripping tighter as the dressing room attendant gave a violent yank on the strings of the corset. It sucked in at the middle and Orihime whooshed out air with a strangled gasp, wondering if that was a thread popping or a rib she'd just heard crack.
If they squished her any tighter, she'd pass out…
"Ah! Please… I can't breathe!"
Ainoko pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. "Orihime, I've told you. These are the trials a young woman stepping into society must endure. Now stop fighting the woman and bear it."
Orihime chewed her lip, trying to stop herself from crying out and further exasperating her stepmother. If this was the price for being placed on the marriage market, she highly doubted her chances of success.
She turned her head to the side and regarded her reflection in the dressing room mirror. She didn't even look like the same person. Her hips had been mashed into a straight line with her waist, her chest squashed flat—
The attendant tightened it further and Orihime tried to gasp only to find that she couldn't.
"There!" The woman stepped back.
Her stepmother nodded her approval.
The blood drained from Orihime's face as she sank into a chair, lightheaded. "I… I can't move. I like the other one better. The one that let me breathe."
"The other corset didn't offer sufficient support. This is the one you need."
"But my… breasts are… are flat as pancakes." Orihime panted, tugging at the vice-like contraption while her stomach grumbled at the mention of food.
"Orihime, language. A lady does not use such words."
She picked at another string, nearly breaking a nail before looking up. "Pancakes?"
Holding up a hand, her stepmother closed her eyes. "I do not find that amusing. I can see you're going to force me to be indelicate. Fine. The first garment did not offer enough support for a young lady of your considerable, upper proportions. It would allow your bosom to…" She took a deep breath, pronouncing the word as if it were a foreign object she didn't recognize. "Jiggle."
Ainoko adjusted her skirts and sniffed.
"Furthermore, I'll not let Lady Shihōin see you in such a state. Now, hurry up and dress. We need to make certain your new gown suits. She'll be at the house for your first meeting within the hour and if you are acceptable to her, she shall be instructing you in all the things you'll need to learn before you are introduced into society."
Orihime allowed the attendant to help her dress, since she couldn't manage on her own, and followed her stepmother out, pulling up the hooded cloak that concealed her bright, copper-colored hair before she could be chastised for leaving it exposed.
She hated that she had to cover it. What should it matter if someone mistook her heritage? The so-called "death gods" were keepers of the law, a highly distinguished position, and everyone knew there were no more full-blooded vampires. They had all been annihilated before the king took his thrown and the Court of Pure Souls was rebuilt. The only thing left were the myths passed around the small bonfires that were used to keep the destitute warm at night.
Well, that and the visored.
Speaking of which…
Orihime peered out the window of their carriage, hoping to catch sight of Shinji or Hachi and the others as they drove by the market district, but she frowned when didn't see them, heart sinking.
Just as well, it wasn't as if she'd be allowed to wave or stop to speak with them. If Ainoko knew she'd been seeing them again, her stepmother would lock her in her room until her next birthday. Like the rest of the city, she believed they should be shunned for their questionable heritage. Whether or not that treatment had been earned seemed to be of little consequence−
"Orihime! Pull your head in this instant," Ainoko hissed. "The wind is ruffling your cloak open. Someone will see."
Orihime pulled her head back inside, flushing with guilt at her stepmother's tone. She sighed and drew her hood farther over her hair.
"I think you are purposefully trying to exacerbate my illness. Look at me. Look at my hands shake. Do I have to remind you, again, what would happen if you don't obey the rules governing someone of your abnormal coloring? You'd be ostracized by polite society and me along with you. Is that what you want?"
Orihime shook her head, but said nothing, which was always the safest answer when dealing with Ainoko. It seemed everything she did upset her. At least if she had lessons with Lady Shihōin, she'd get to be outside the house for a few precious hours. That would be something.
But as they arrived home and she saw her new instructor, her hopes fell.
Lady Shihōin glided through the entrance into their drawing room like a ship, tall and majestic, but rigidly encased, chest to thigh, in the same unforgiving contraption as Orihime. Her hair was an acceptable black and swept up high on top of her head in a severe twist that looked every bit as painful as the corset.
Orihime blinked up, trying not to stare as she wondered what shade it had been that the woman had to cover it. But in the face of not one but two imposing authority figures, Orihime didn't have the courage to ask.
Her stepmother nodded, a smile gracing her lips. She approved of the woman on sight.
"Lady Shihōin, this is Lady Orihime Inoue, my stepdaughter. She is in need of your services. Her first social year has begun and I find she needs a sterner hand than I'm able to give. But I warn you, her etiquette is deplorable."
Orihime's breath caught when the woman's sharp, golden eyes met hers and she nearly took a step back. They were beautiful, but frightening, and it seemed they missed nothing as they surveyed Orihime from her still cloak-covered head to her delicate calf-skin slippers and up again.
"Well," Ainoko said. "I'll leave you to get acquainted. I am certain that my stepdaughter will be safe in your most capable hands, Lady Shihōin."
Orihime's last glimpse of freedom disappeared as her stepmother shut the drawing room doors. Fists clenching into her skirts, she turned back to her future tutor, as the woman circled her, surveying Orihime like an interesting morsel of food. The way the woman held herself, Orihime wondered if she should attempt to scurry away and hide in a mouse hole. Lady Shihōin smiled and Orihime shivered.
"So this is the heiress of the Inoue fortune. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your stepmother says your manners are deplorable. What do you think of her assessment?"
"I… I think I'd have an easier time learning the rules if they made sense."
Lady Shihōin paused. "Go on."
Encouraged by the lack of reprimand, Orihime licked her lips and forged ahead. "I cover my hair when everyone already knows what color it is. I'm forbidden to have intelligent conversations, then tied into a garment that smashes me flat as a board and keeps me from getting a good breath."
Orihime waited for an explosive reaction, and hesitated when she received nothing but a raised eyebrow.
Yoruichi regarded her. And… was that amusement?
"You have a restless soul," she said in the same tone of voice the visoreds used when reading fortunes to foreign tourists on the street. Then she smiled again, and Orihime swore she saw a sharp tooth peeking from inside her mouth, but the thought fluttered away the next second. "I think, Lady Inoue, you and I will get along. I accept you under my tutelage."
Orihime blinked then felt a smile forming as hope resurfaced.
"You will come to my studio Tuesdays and Thursdays at noon, and we will begin your lessons. Maybe I'll be able to make something of you yet."
-o-
The bell sounded at the front door, and Ainoko nearly spilled her tea in her excitement. She met her husband's eye over the roast lamb and other delicacies adorning the polished surface of the dining table. A covert smile brushed her lips before it was pushed away again.
She thought to give her husband parting instruction, but decided against it. For Sorame's many faults, as a man of law, this type of negotiation was the one place he had experience and the home field advantage.
Setting her cup and saucer down, she rose, making her way from the room, efficient with her movements, but maintaining grace. Dignity was one of the few things a woman of any social standing could afford, and she would not be rushed even for something as this.
No sooner had she stepped behind the elaborate screen that divided the dining area from the patio, than the guest was announced. Ainoko watched from her place, knowing the texture of the screen would hide her presence.
Sorame stood from his chair, offering his hand as a blue-haired male stepped into sight.
Her eyes widened from her concealed corner.
He was certainly a handsome one. Well-built and muscled in ways current male fashion trends had strayed from in the last decade.
Ainoko let her gaze travel up his long legs and the form-fitting pants, over a lean but substantial torso and then up to his face.
She scrutinized his frowning and bored demeanor, but narrowed on his hair. Even as comely as he was, if it weren't for the Kurosaki name associated with his, that outrageous yet striking coloring would never be acceptable. However, when wealth or influence was involved, one managed to find a certain degree of leeway within the customary rules of etiquette.
Sorame had done well.
Taking her chance, Ainoko stole through the patio doors while Sorame engaged this Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Soon he would strike up a bargain with the man and present her with the results. And if all proceeded smoothly, they would begin the steps to make Orihime's fortune theirs.
A/N
Well, okay. It's been a while since I put anything out, and so I was pretty nervous about this. I don't know if it makes sense andI feel the need to warn you, this story has a lot,lotof elements, so if you're feeling any confusion at this point, that's to be expected. But hey, feel free to tell me about it, maybe you'll save me an unfortunate plot hole :)
Oh, and this story will be long. Very long. Somewhere around thirty-five to forty chapters depending on how long I make them. I'd like to update about once a week, but we'll see. Anyway, I'm going to be writing on this as fast as I can, so there might be some rough places. If something doesn't make sense, please tell me. None of this is beta'ed, so yeah C: Enjoy.
~Ash