Captain Shunsui was consulting with his sixth seated officer.
Actually, this wasn't true. He was thinking about his new vice-captain, and his sixth was talking over his head.
Sixth was a tough, stocky woman with iron-gray hair that belied the youthfulness of her face. She'd been the sixth-seat for most of a century, and nobody could actually remember her real name. Shunsui had offered to promote her any number of times, but she generally refused on the grounds that she was Sixth, everybody was clear on that, and if she suddenly became Third, there'd be a lot of confusion and she'd have to get all her monogrammed towels redone.
She'd survived in the Eighth a lot longer than most of the other female officers by virtue of having no interest in men in general or Shunsui in particular, which he respected. They worked together very well, not least because they had similar tastes in women.
"You've got two staff meetings this week. One of them you can blow off, the other you'd better make time for."
"Mark it on my calendar." He propped his chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded. It had been a pure aesthetic pleasure to watch Nanao fight, all elegance, not a movement wasted. She was like a perfect haiku. With pointy bits. That threw fire.
"Our patrol schedule's up."
"Great." She'd been particularly lovely on that last encounter, sweat slicking her skin, hair falling loose, and still with her eyes the color of arctic ice. He could feel the coolness radiating off her, like a stream fed by snow-melt, cold even in midsummer.
"We're taking the far watch next week."
"Mmph. Suppose it's our turn again." He wondered what it would take to shake that coolness. The ice had cracked twice—once when he'd nearly taken her head off, and he saw an almost feral satisfaction in her eyes at his alarm, and once before in his office, all pride and terror.
"Next, the sake bill is coming due again."
"Pay it." Mind you, he didn't much care for the terror. Shunsui was not a man who liked to see fear in women's eyes. Still, it wasn't like she didn't have a good excuse. If he'd been serving under Gin for that long, he'd probably be a little 'round the bend himself. A few years in the Eighth, she'll be as cavalier as the rest of us.
Probably.
He had to admit, he was having a hard time imagining Ise Nanao being cavalier about anything. Still.
"And the heating bill…"
"Sake bill first. We can wear sweaters." Her ability to keep calm, even under such provocation, meant she was probably excellent officer material, even if it did make him want to aggravate her just to see what lay underneath. Such desires had always been one of his personal failings.
"As usual…Finally," said Sixth, "your new Vice-Captain has a number of requirements."
She did, didn't she? Kissing was definitely required. Often enough and passionately enough that the fear faded and she thawed and melted against him like ice in the sun….
"Sir? About the Vice-Captain?" Sixth leaned over and snapped her fingers in front of her captain's face. "Sir?"
"Mmmm….have her dipped in chocolate and sent to my quarters…" Shunsui said dreamily, his eyes lidding over completely.
Sixth's lips twitched. "Sorry, Captain, I really don't have the authority, much as I sympathize with the sentiment."
"Lord, I know. It's the eyes."
"She has very nice eyes, sir. If a bit…frosty."
"Mmmm…." A horrible thought stuck him. "Err—Sixth—you don't think—" He made a vague hand gesture that conveyed a great deal without actually indicating anything in specific.
"Don't I wish." Sixth rolled her eyes. "No, she doesn't give off the vibe. I don't think she likes women. I'm just not sure she's that interested in men, either."
"You have an astonishing capacity to raise my hopes and then destroy them in a single sentence, Sixth."
"I live to serve, Captain."
Shunsui pushed the fantasy away with a regretful sigh. "What is she requiring, anyway?"
"It's the Vice-Captain's quarters, sir."
"What? What's wrong with them?"
"Nothing, sir…except that you annexed them about twenty years ago to hold your art collection, book collection, and the overflow from your wardrobe."
"Oh….right…" He stood up, sighing. "Call somebody in with some boxes. I'll go get it sorted out."
Nanao knelt in the center of what were supposed to be her new quarters, and reached for calm.
Calm did not particularly want to come. Nanao wiped her palms across her thighs and reached for it again.
I am stillness. I am water. I am stone. I am nothingness.
I am calm.
I am calm.
I will proceed calmly.
I am going to calmly wring my new Captain's pervy goddamn neck…
Shunsui had a hell of an art collection…for a given value of art. Apparently he was an aficionado of shunga. That particular art form was not something one wanted to walk into a room and come face to face with, if one wasn't prepared. She'd entered the room, gotten an eyeful, yelped, looked immediately away, gotten another eyeful on the opposite wall, and jerked her gaze to the rafters. That, at least, was safe. He apparently hadn't thought to extend the art collection to the ceiling.
I should probably be grateful he didn't install mirrors on it.
She'd staggered out of the antechamber, holding a hand in front of her face to shield herself from the art, and discovered that her bedroom had also been invaded. Her futon was buried under a pile of haoris in a dozen shades (all of them related to pink, except for one rather nice sage green one near the bottom.) The closet was likewise full. Books filled the corners of the room. That would have been acceptable, but after her encounter with the art, she didn't really want to inquire too closely as to his reading tastes.
There were footsteps in the hall. Nanao opened her eyes, calm only barely attained, and watched her new Captain waltz into the room.
"Nanao-chan!" He beamed.
She looked from him, to the art, to more of the art, to him, to something that could only be called art if you were exceedingly open-minded, and back to him. She didn't quite trust herself to speak.
Apparently her expression spoke volumes, even so.
"But Nanao-chan…it's art!" he said, hurt.
"Sir." It was astonishing how much disapproval Nanao could pack into a single syllable. She rose to her feet and took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly.
"Some of these are very rare! Only ten of that one were ever made!" He gestured to one. Nanao turned her head, got an eye-searing look—what was that couple doing? Was that even anatomically possible?—and carefully turned her head away again.
Actually, I rather like that one, mistress.
You're an animate sword, Shotozuku. Human pornography should not interest you.
I like the colors.
Nanao wondered when exactly her life had gotten out of hand.
"Don't tell me that my new Vice-Captain is a Philistine," said Shunsui.
That stung her pride. Nanao's chin came up. "Sir. I can tell you that it's a Hokusai—"
"They're all Hokusais, actually."
"—and the composition is excellent," Nanao continued doggedly. "And that your print of The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife appears to be a first edition and would be better suited to a museum. However, I do not wish to live with either in my quarters. Sir."
He grinned. "So what kind of art do you like?"
She gazed at the ceiling and prayed for strength.
"I bet my lovely Nanao-chan is a minimalist…"
"Yet again," said Nanao, staring grimly through him, "I must ask you to discontinue this disrespectful form of address. Sir."
"You're so cute when you're standing on protocol."
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. She plowed ahead. "Your wardrobe also seems to be stored in the bedroom, sir."
"Right, right…I'll get that moved."
"Finally, sir, there is the matter of the door…"
"Door?" He glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong with it?"
"Not that door, sir. The one that appears to be connecting our quarters." She extended a hand and pointed into the bedroom. Shunsui ducked his head around a screen, saw the door in the wall, and winced. "Oh…right…that door. I had that added awhile back…my wardrobe was in here, and I thought it would be better not to have to duck out into the hallway to get dressed…"
"Doubtless wise, sir," said Nanao. She rubbed a hand over her face. "Sir," she said finally, aware of the strain in her voice, "you seem to be settled here. If you can just find me some other quarters, I don't wish to inconvenience you." The gods only know how long I'll actually be here.
"Nonsense, Nanao-chan." He waved a hand. "These are the Vice-Captain's quarters. If the Eighth is going to have a Vice-Captain again, they'll need to be cleaned out." He dropped a hand on her shoulder. She waited as stoically as a martyr facing torture. "Go and have some lunch. Gather up your things from Third. The place will be cleaned out before you get back."
"Sir," she said, and fled.
Shunga is a classical Japanese erotic art form from the 16th century onward that...well...I don't suggest googling for it at work, anyway. Primarily woodblock prints, or ukiyo-e, shunga was extremely popular and often incredibly graphic. In defense of our hero's artistic tastes, it was considered a perfectly legitimate art form of the time, and many of the greatest ukiyo-e artists turned their hand to it. Many examples of shunga, particularly by masters like Katsushika Hokusai, are really quite gorgeous artistically--they're genuinely beautiful pieces, they're just not for the faint of heart. (There's actually quite an interesting cultural history about shunga, the acceptance thereof, attempts at censorship, and whatnot. S'worth reading.)
The 1820 piece, The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife by Hokusaiis notable for being both a nifty example of ukiyo-e work, and quite possibly the first example of tentacle porn in human history.
See, I told you there'd be random art history...