Two belated vignettes for Byakuya's birthday.
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite is the creator of Bleach.
Wrong Heaven
by Laurie Bunter
"It's not a matter for my tombstone."
Byakuya traced the chiseled letters, well pleased. The smooth obsidian was like a huge mirror that reflected a dim image of himself in its inky depths. The small markings broke the perfect surface, making the letters flicker in the sunlight. There was just enough space for a name and a date.
"It will do," he said, giving his approval. "Send the bill to the Kuchiki mansion and you will be compensated well. If you give your name to my vice-captain, other orders from Sereitei will follow." A ghost of a smile graced the corners of his mouth. "Ukitake should be most interested."
The old man was astonished. "My lord, you do me honor, but…" he shuffled his feet, and coughed. How was he supposed to broach this topic? One did not go around denying any Shinigami of his work, but really, these customers that descended upon his shabby workshop were unexpected.
The captain of the sixth eyed the aging artisan warily. "I will not haggle with you if you seek to put up the price due to my rank," he reminded the man. "I pay well for quality work, but I have no patience for fools who seek to fleece me."
"It's not that, sir," the old man insisted. Looking at the vice-captain at the captain's elbow – who vaguely resembled a red-headed riffraff that used to run wild in the district – the old man took courage. Perhaps the proud captain would understand since he had to work with men from Rukongai. "This marker was not made for you. We in Rukongai believe it's bad luck, sir, to pick out your own headstone. Besides…" he faltered. Withholding the truth from such a piercing gaze was not possible. "This is not for sale. I made this for myself."
Byakuya was silent. He could feel his vice-captain fidgeting in the background, still trying to fix his broken sandal strap that stopped them from shunpoing back to the division barracks. Byakuya would not have waited for Abrarai if the gleam of jet black on the ground had not teased his eyes into a full stop. He could sense the garble of apologies that were caught between his subordinate's lips and throat.
Abrarai wouldn't dare apologize for being the unwitting cause of this awkward situation, not in front of him. But he sure was thinking it.
Byakuya himself wondered what was the best course of action, to save face for them all. He disliked the idea of having this artisan beg to keep his own work. He knew about the grumbling against the nobility in these outskirts, and such a small incident will make a great deal of talk. He already read the reports of the mobile secret force, of certain disgruntled souls in Rukongai who wished to support the traitors if they could offer a better life than the one they already had. As if Hueco Mundo would be any kinder than Soul Society to those without spiritual power, but…
Fools, Byakuya thought. In the end, there is only death and the cycle.
It was several moments before Byakuya spoke with a tone of reluctant rebuke. "It is strange of you to lecture me on the nature of bad luck, old man, seeing as you wish to incur some of it by the completion of this masterpiece. I suppose you are trying to court your own death by making this." The old man swallowed and stopped himself from agreeing.
Byakuya then drove it home, making an offer no one in his right mind would refuse. "Let me give you something to live for. If you last long enough to finish a second piece, a twin to this one, I will be willing to pay handsomely for the cost of both. There should be no greater honor, knowing that your own marker will mirror that of the head of the Kuchiki clan."
The old man was astonished. The captain's face gave nothing away and his tone was just as haughty, but his mouth seemed to soften with the last words.
No, the old man decided, perhaps my eyesight is fading as well. "It is very generous of you, sir. I'm near the end of my days here and I always fancied myself lying in a rich man's grave. Yet this was my only piece of pure black obsidian. Would my lord be happy with one that is flecked with white? It is called snowflake obsidian, and is sought after by ladies of high birth."
Byakuya nodded. The old man could not have known that he wanted this to grace his courtyard, where a lady of common birth already rested near the shade of her favorite cherry blossom tree.
"That will do, old man, as long as the level of workmanship is the same. We will be hearing from you."
"My lord? And the epigraph?"
"A parting poem?" Byakuya swallowed his smile, as if remembering a private joke not meant to be shared with anyone. "Why insist?"
He then turned and walked away.
Byakuya was happy to dispense with the other formalities that might have been said. Let Abrarai deal with the nitty-gritty details and any drivel of gratitude. Suddenly Byakuya no longer felt in the mood for social discourse. As soon as he was far enough from any stray souls, Byakuya kicked up his speed and flash stepped it back to the division headquarters.
As the dust of Rukongai receded to make way for the clean cobblestones of Seireitei, it occurred to Byakuya it was not the first time he didn't get exactly what he wanted, anyway.
Author's Note:
Byakuya's a snob. He quoted a real death poem:
Life's as we
Find it – death too.
A parting poem?
Why insist?
- Daie-Soko (1089-1163) in The Penguin Book of Zen Poetry
