Delusion: (Psychology) An erroneous belief that is held in the face of evidence to the contrary.
Delusions can be mellifluous to the ear and captivating to the point of novelty emotion in the mind of the beholder. The unbridled, meandering human mind may steer itself into the peak of the most gorgeous of dreams or the abyss of the most egregious nightmare. They may bring tears to our eyes, tears of joy accompanied by beaming smiles or tears of lament that bring us to our nears. Delusions may prove as intricately complex as the grandest symphonies or as simple as the minds of many people we often wish earnestly to avoid. To some people, delusions are palpable and compose the world. To some people, they are the world. We may tangle ourselves in them, as a beggar would enthrall the wonders of immersing himself in linens of the finest silk. In the minds of the mentally ill, this is reality; it is a personalized version of Tantalus's unattainable water in Tartarus, something that will never be tangible but will always be in sight.
The dilemma lies in the way that Schizophrenia may perform an identical service.
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Byakuya was certainly not a man of superfluous self-expression. To put it simply, he was not a silly man. It was as if he was not born with that capacity. He did not grow up with love or displays of such affections, so he did not find it in his heart to be a loving person. All his heart existed for was pumping blood. Perhaps its solitary function explains why he was commonly told he had a cold heart. But that didn't vex him in the least.
All the same, Kuchiki Byakuya stood upright and showed no weakness. He was capable of darkening a doorway when he so desired, standing to his full height and towering over the rest of the room's occupants. Always dressed impressively, every detail was exhaustively perfect down to the aglets of his non-frayed shoelaces. An aura of both wealth and dignity seemed to emanate off him and hang like smog around wherever he found it fit to grace the atmosphere with his presence. There was almost a gleam to him, barely detectable to the eye. He radiated majesty like the sun radiates light, and all those whom he conquered knew it. Predominantly, mass intimidation was both his method and his pastime.
Not only did he reek of seemingly noble dignity, but everything about him screamed for respect. He made even the most half-witted masses feel both veneration and the urge to obey him. This was what made him fit for his position in the Yakuza.
Within the ranks of his dishonest profession, Kuchiki Byakuya held a formidable reputation. Among members of the Shinigami-gumi, he was not the best hustler or the most impressively skilled at wielding weaponry. All the same, he'd made a name for himself. He resented the nickname 'Imperial Intimidator', but people still attached it to his face anyway when they spoke of him amongst themselves.
For this reason, the organization enjoyed sending him off to complete tasks or missions involving meetings with enemy parties. More than anyone else, he seemed consistently able to cajole ('cajole' here meaning 'intimidate') his targets out of their comfort zones and into the hands-on control of his Yakuza clan. Many called it a sort of gift from down below, but he referred to it as work. Thanks to the unfaltering power of contempt and thickly lain consternation, Kuchiki was able to obtain all he could have wanted—and more. Always more.
Then again, prowess alone could not have elevated Kuchiki Byakuya to his status or erected his tall pillar of formidable power and bountiful material possession. What allowed him to exist as he was, you ask? The psyche of his heart and mind aided him greatly.
Kuchiki's typical assignment based itself upon one thing: the skillful and effective infliction of horror (sometimes referred to as 'negotiation') upon the ill-omened representatives of the opposing group. The Shinigami-guchi would plan a meeting with rival groups and send the Imperial Intimidator to execute plans and necessary advancements.
Byakuya would be chauffeured in a glossy, black Toyota Century* to the site of assemblage, be it an empty warehouse or in a top-floor office of a cutting-edge skyscraper. The driver would wait attentively outside, the car remaining revved and never turned off. Byakuya would then emerge from the sleek, black automobile, clad in a pressed pinstripe suit, unnaturally lustrous shoes, and his infamous, bleach-white scarf. Some may have believed he was a modern aristocrat emerging from an expensive modern chariot, or perhaps the menacing-looking CEO of a well-to-do company. Either way, everyone coincidentally veered away from the rich-looking man on a mission as he took the few steps needed to reach the entrance of his destination. He could always find a clear path.
Once he entered the rendez-vous point, he had always already captured much attention and more than a few eyes. He would not purposely make a dramatic entrance. All the same, all other parties present would be able to imagine cued thunder, a flash of light, and the drastic effects of a smoke machine the instant the very tip of his toe entered the room. He was a natural, simply that kind of a man with that kind of an enervating, commanding presence. One could say it was his best quality, just as many claim that his scarf was the perfect trademark—but that is an entirely different tale in and of itself.
Easily enough to believe, the second Kuchiki Byakuya graced the room with his near-divine presence, the undivided attention of every individual present would be offered up to him like hors-d'oevres at a fancy gathering. The thickest of imaginably tense atmospheres would be cast and present in the taut muscles and forced poker faces of every last one of the members of his quarry.
Yet at the same time, Byakuya would feel no mental intensity. It was as if the capacity for such amounts of any sort of emotion had left him a number of years ago. He would stand as imposingly tall as he always did, not using enough substance in his facial expression to do so much as smirk.
With the ambiance set precisely as Kuchiki preferred it, the Yakuza recruit would proceed to stand in the most authorative-looking spot in the place. He would not bother to sit, as standing would permit his hapless opposing party to be reminded of his formidable stature and contrabass-like height. In dog packs, the dominant canine stands the tallest and talks the lowest. Byakuya head learned quickly that this was also true among illegal operators and criminals.
After this stage in the process, all the stoic-faced man would need was to prod the people along like sheep until they bent to his clan's whims. He would surely leave with both his dignity and the outcome his oyabun** wanted from him.
On the infrequent occasion that things went wrong, however, the meetings would conclude in a drastically different manner.
There was, to only the slightest bit of Kuchiki's annoyance, occasionally an instance where the opposing party would not negotiate or bend to his adamant persuasion. He thought of them as rigid, brick towers versus the more nimble, steel-structured ones. The rigid ones are always more susceptible to the devastating shock of earthquakes and disaster in the way that they that they crumble and shatter to bits. The more flexible of his assigned people would survive his earthquake; the others would not.
Knives are indeed interesting things. In a way, they are similar to people. They have names, come in many varieties, and can serve many purposes as well as do many, many things. Culinary, construction, violence, artistry, you name it. However, unlike humans, knives serve only one function: tearing things apart.
The Imperial Intimidator had a knife dubbed 'Senbonzakura'. It was unlike any other knife simply in its being and it even became a sort of trademark, trumped of course by the snowy white scarf. But like all knives, its reason was cutting into things. Violence was its trade, its reason for existence in the universe. His targets knew it, especially those who would remain rigid and refuse to bend in response to the will of the puissant Shinigami-guchi.
Regrettably, there were rigid clients on occasion. On these occasions, when things began to slide downhill, the hilt of Kuchiki's knife would gradually appear, peeking out bit by bit from the pocket of an expensive suit like the sun over the morning horizon. The more impromptu and argumentative the transaction became, the more of the knife made itself visible to the inauspicious client. Within the first few minutes of exposure to the knife, the clients would always become very detectably on edge. It was like a talent; some people can produce pleasing sounds with acoustic instruments, and Kuchiki Byakuya was exceptionally talented in the matter of nonchalantly stimulating others' nerves with fear.
Still, there had been those few clients who did not submit to Byakuya. These were the few who were able to see of the glint of the knife's blade barely submerged from the pocket of his expensive designer pants.
All the same, everyone who saw the knife shared the same exanimate fate and a similar prognosis of an end. Those cowardly many who began to bargain into uncomfortable waters and standards believed they could save themselves. Everyone who had a weapon of his or her own attempted to think positive thoughts and formulated a chimerical plan on how to take down this daunting adversary. All of these escapists were gravely mistaken; because they had seen the knife, they could not and would not save themselves.
On these occasions when everything went terribly wrong, the knife made its appearance. Once the knife made itself visible from the linen lip of his pocket, it would always come out of said pocket and serve its solely violent purpose. Kuchiki Byakuya would take on the darker role of his profession. At this point in his duties, there was no reasoning that said he was anything than a bravo. Because rumors of armed messengers should never depart from enemy lips, these enemies were decimated. He was as impressive of an assailant as he was skilled in intimidation.
After the deed was done and the meeting concluded, the finish humane or not, Kuchiki would glide away. The knife, either left untouched or drenched in dark scarlet blood and sheathed by a paper bag, was hidden from view. The attentive chauffer was prepared for instantaneous departure. He would slither away the moment his cargo had returned to and was seated upon the tasteful, black leather back seat. They would have already long since disappeared in the occasion that a commotion arose in Kuchiki's wake. The method was flawless and exhibited a straight record of successes and they could visualize no change over the horizon.
There was one reason why Kuchiki Byakuya's Senbonzakura did not become his greatest trademark, and one reason only. Unlike his ever-present, perfectly achromatic scarf, all who had seen it except Byakuya himself were dead.
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A/N: I've had this in one of my handwritten written journals for a long time and I've had it typed up, too. I just haven't posted it. -.- I haven't finished it, either. I'm just afraid that I won't be able to post quickly because of my schedule. O.o
But for now, I'm posting what I have in segments. I'll see how many chapters I can squeeze out of what I have already (I'm thinking six or seven?) and post them probably over the next week. Or I'll spread them out a little bit. Or something. I don't know.
Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Lots more to come. I'm thinking 20-30,000 words at least.
And now that I've published more words, I can be a beta! Yay. Just look into my beta preferences—I really like happening across fanfiction from lots of things, so if you're having trouble finding a beta to read your story, just ask me if I could look into it. I could find lots of new media that way. =) Just one thing—I don't do M-rated stories. Sorry about that.
Comments appreciated! Me likes comments.