ENCHANTABLE'S EASY GUIDE TO LOOKING AT FANART

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I don't organize my fanart past putting it one folder so there's stuff there for a bunch of stories. The fanart for this piece is the first one there entitled "Welcome to Kishobu". Its of the Pirates as Vizards


"Presenting his most Royal Highness, Prince Byakuya, Head of the House of Kuchiki, Duke of the Province of Roku and Second in Command of the King's Armies."

All eyes turned as Byakuya Kuchiki strode into the war council. A handful of others were already gathered for the meeting but nothing like it would be if this was a sanctioned event. Technically past one violet eyed ambassador, Soul Society had nothing to do with the attack in Las Noches. Naturally that was not the case but, then again, lies and diplomacy had always gone hand in hand. The heavy robes he wore were made of the finest damask silk, the dark ruby of the fabric startling against his pale skin while the gold embroidery that decorated the edges of his robes reminded everyone who might have forgot that though Yamamoto was the King, without the support of the Kuchiki House that would not be the case.

Byakuya swept into the room and walked over to his place at the right hand of the King. Yoruichi's place was vacant, a reminder of her failure. Well, no matter. Byakuya had seen many people fall and many people rise. It was clear in his mind that nothing was permanent, not war, not peace, not friendship and certainly not love. Loyalty was hard won and harder still to keep for however long one could possess it. Perhaps that was why he was so inclined to continue traditions. When all wa said and done the past was all someone had. There was comfort in that, comfort in the familiar and though he was used to discomfort he could not help but crave the comforts of the world, however odd they may be.

"Your sister feels that Prince Kurosaki is not fit to lead his own people, much less the three of our Kingdoms," King Yamamoto rumbled looking at Byakuya.

"I am inclined to agree," he said cooly, "the Princes had repeatedly proven himself to be less than up to the task of completing anything that does not involve a direct physical confrontation. Empires are won on the edges of blades but they are not ruled by them."

King Yamamoto nodded. He too was inclined to agree with Rukia's message, though he would prefer to be optimistic about the Prince. With time and training he could possibly become a great ruler. The King knew that the greatest rulers in history were not born rulers, they were made that way. All Prince Kurosaki needed was a bit of shaping. Of course Prince Byakuya would not see it that way but, then again, it had been many many years since Prince Byakuya had been optimistic about anything really. Sometimes it was good to have a pessimist so close, sometimes it was annoying but if the King wanted to listen to himself talk he would not have called his closest advisors together.

"I say we give the boy a chance."

All eyes swung to the flamboyantly dressed man leaning back in his chair. The Duke of Yatsu was known for his adoration of beauty, women and alcohol, two of which were currently waiting in his quarters. He was dressed in a loose white shirt and black pants as fashion was preferring these days but around his shoulders was a robe of pink, embroidered heavily with flowers. His dark eyes glimmered with amusement, as if this meeting was nothing more than a formality. But, then again, Shunsui, Head of the House of Kyoraku had never really cared for meetings, only for actions.

"And you?" Yamamoto turned his head.

"Though I value and trust Ambassador Kuchiki's opinion," the white haired man spoke, "I am inclined to agree with the Duke of Yatsu."

As opposed to his flamboyant friend, the Duke of Jusan was a far more subtle character--on the outside at least. His hair was a pale white and pulled into a tail at the base of his skull. He was dressed far more simply than anyone else gathered at the table, though his Nobility was more than most of theirs. When he spoke, though his voice rarely rose, all were inclined to listen. While he too did not care of these meetings, he at least kept the dislike off his face. It was hard not to like jushiro, Head of the House of Ukitake.

"Very well," the King rumbled standing up, "your opinions are valued and have been noted," he looked at them, "our priority is containment of the situation at hand. We have fought too many times with the Kingdom of Las Noches. They must be stopped before we face another great war on our hands. Too many were lost in those battles and I will not see the fields of our homeland run red once more. We must find and contain the Princess Orihime Inoue, before she finds the Wizard."

"Why?" all eyes turned to Byakuya at his question, "one Princess who has been trained to do nothing but sew and look pretty? it seems foolish that we are so obsessed with this."

"That I agree with," Shunsui spoke up, "so why don't you tell us why we're really trying to find this Princess?"

The King looked at them. Byakuya looked at the King before he turned his gaze back to the assembled people. He was curious as well but in his opinion even they should have known better than to question the King. His own slip up, his admittance of such curiosity was abhorrent. Yamamoto looked at them before he turned his gaze to the men.

"That is not important," he said, "what is is that the Princess remains ineligible for the throne and unaware of her abilities. We must keep her from reaching the Wizard but if that fails, we must prevent her from getting on the throne."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

After what felt like endless hours even to Bykauya they were released from the war room. The men all departed to the rooms they were staying in for their duration of time in the capital. Byakuya walked to his own set of rooms, frustration and anger weighing heavily internally on the Prince, though his features remained cool and aloof as always. Reaching his rooms he opened them and stepped inside, his eyes raising to see that he was not alone.

Standing in his rooms, half cloaked in shadows was a man with chocolate hair and dark eyes the color of fresh blood. He was dressed in cloths that would not draw attention to his person, no visible weapons anywhere on his body--in fact, if Byakuya had to bet money he would say that the man had no weapons on him at all. It did not matter, he could kill him before Byakuya's hands were able to draw the sword through the heavy layers of silk. But that was equally irrelevant, the man would never raise a hand against him. Not out of loyalty to Byakuya but out of loyalty to Byakuya's late wife.

"This secrecy is intolerable," Byakuya stated cooly looking at him, "I want to know what is going on but my presence is required here."

"And Rukia?" his voice was cool, smooth but clearly distrusting of Byakuya.

"No harm will befall my sister--unless this council continues to exist in the foolish blindness the King has thrust us into," he said, "then I fear for us all."

The man gave the barest incline of his head but did not move.

"They were last seen near Kishobu," Byakuya said, stepping into the next room to disrobe.

The man and any evidence of his existence was gone before the servants arrived to help the Kuchiki Duke undress.


Soifon dropped her saddlebag in the center of the room, her eyes surveying their meager surroundings with the barest hint of disdain. She had stayed in much worse places--though not quite with such unfortunate company. Despite the fact that he was pale and damp with sweat Grimmjow managed to remain upright, his hands not grabbing his chest in a failed attempt at comfort. Soifon's eyes narrowed. She had heard stories of Grimmjow's abilities, he was a very good fighter, or he had been once upon a time. Now though as he walked to his own room it was clear that was not the case anymore.

Inside the safety of his own room Grimmjow let himself double over, his breath escaping in a harsh gasp that only served to send painful spasms through his lungs. He barely made it to the bed, his knees striking the ground as his hands fisted in the cotton sheets. Someone rapped on the door and though the words to tell them to leave were on his tongue, his teeth were clenched far too tightly to force them past it. The door opened anyway. Soifon's eyes widened at the sight of the obvious weakness he had done a moderately good job in hiding. Immediately she vanished from the doorway. A heartbeat later she appeared, a leather satchel in her hand. She closed the door behind her.

"You're useless to me dead," she said walking over to him, "what's wrong with you? Why haven't you been healed?"

"W-what? You people don't trade war stories?" he got out through gritted teeth.

"My people also have healers--just like yours. The Harusaki don't care where you're from, just--" she stopped looking down at him coldly.

"Just who you are," he finished.

Soifon looked down at him, well aware of just who he was. There had been many sacrifices in the war, the multitude of men under his command paled in comparison to the number lost. Though they had been defeated and though they died they died warriors deaths. They died honorable deaths--if there was truly any honor to be found in death. Soifon herself had buried many on the battlefield but she did not mourn for them. There was no sense in it and Grimmjow Jeagerjaques did not seem like an emotional man. Even so he seemed to be tortured by the men he had lost, or perhaps it was the physical agony. Her own wounds had been healed many times over but his had only been healed by human hands, hardly comparable to the magic possessed by the Harusaki.

"They refused to heal you," she said. He glared as though that was the most obvious thing in the world, "why? Your men died, it was not your fault--"

"Yes," he said coldly, straitening as much as pride would let him, "it was. I went chasing after that asshole of a Prince, I left them without a leader, without any chance of winning the fight," he snorted and shook his head, the gesture stiff with pain, "all I cared about was running that bastard through," he sat down on the bed with a groan, "I guess the ending is obvious by now."

"Your useless to me like this," Soifon said coldly, "sit there, take your shirt off and hold still."

Grimmjow forced himself to listen to her. He undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off, his movements anything but graceful. He sat down on the bed as she opened up the salve. If she hadn't said he was useless to her she would have refused to even considering barely such a vulnerable spot to her. Unfortunately the fact of the matter was that however useless he was to her, he was ten times more useless to his King and to himself. The healers had managed to save his life but healers in Las Noches were not at the forefront of the world.

"What are you going to--holy fuck that's cold!"

Soifon glared, well aware that the salve she was spreading on that exit wound on his back was cold, that was the point of it. It was a numbing salve to help a warrior function with the wound and prevent further damage. It wouldn't heal anything but it would help to keep it from worsening. The salve was made by a healer in Soul Society. Las Noches was excellent in terms of fighting and killing but healing, healing was not something that the land specialized in. Fortunately Soul Society was more than capable of such a feat as creating a salve to help in the healing of wounds. Soifon had a handkerchief on her hand to protect her skin, keeping the numbing, healing salve to ensure that she retained sensation.

"Be quiet," she said with a snort, "your hair attracts enough attention, we need to work on you keeping your mouth shut."

"The only thing that we need to focus on is getting to Kishobu," Grimmjow snapped hotly.

Outside in the rain, Kishobu was also on the mind of another person.

"I am never going to Kishobu again!"

Nel had come to the conclusion that the universe held some sort of grudge towards her. Between her horse being taken over and her being forced to ride at breakneck pace for the past day or so, being charged to find someone who she had to work with and the fact that rain was steadily falling around her she was sure the world was probably out to effectively slap her. The thing was, Nel couldn't figure out why. A quick mental calculation led her to conclude that she had done nothing truly horrible in the past few days and, barring a fight with Halibel, the past few weeks. In short she had no idea why things were the way they were but she was going to have to make the best of a bad situation.

If there was such a thing.

"Decided to listen to me again, have you?" Nel demanded looking down at the horse who finally slowed, "good," she looked at her stomach, "I'm hungry," she muttered trying to turn the horse around. It did not obey her. Sighing Nel allowed him to continue forward as her eyes scanned for the nearest inn, "come on," he muttered turning him towards the nearest inn, "there's food in there, nice yummy food--" the horse turned at her command, as long as she did not go in the other direction, "good boy!" she cried overjoyed as the horse turned.

She finally arrived at the inn and jumped off, tying the horse up and hurrying inside the inn. She was glad her leather had been treated to keep it from being damaged by only thing that was horribly wet was her hair but it was in a tight coil--though it would probably be very oddly shaped once she dried off a bit more. Oh well, it was not as though there was anyone to look attractive for anyway. Besides the less attractive she looked the easier it would be to find this man with the story on his skin. Nel sighed and glanced around the tavern. All there were were a rag tag group of people divided between long picnic tables, each vying for a bit of privacy. She figured the shady figure with his hood up would, at the very least, leave her alone.

Nel sat at the table and waited as a barmaid came over. When she had given her order she glanced one more around the room. She was so happy to be eating quickly she didn't even look around the room. She kept the shady figure in the sight of the corner of her eye and the one at her back she remained aware of but she didn't look ahead which was a crucial mistake. Or, at least, she did not look ahead until she saw something odd. Out of the corner of her lowered eyes she saw the man raise his cup. When he did the sleeve of his robe pulled back, revealing ink kissed skin. cheeks still full of meat Nel stared at the designs and raised her eyes to see a man with long red hair.

Man with a story on his skin

"Oh crap," she muttered.

She found him.

The man with the story on his skin.

That man just happened to be Renji Abarai, a former high ranking member of Soul Society and, to the rest of the world, a man who had been killed by the Prince Byakuya Kuchiki a very long time ago.


While the rain fell outside, inside the cave it was relatively warm thanks to the shelter and the fire going. The camp was divided, one one side sat Ishida and Tatsuki while Sado tended the horses. On the other side were Ulquiorra and Orihime.

Ulquiorra stared at the unconscious woman laying on the bedroll, his riding coat over her body. Sunset hair spilled across her shoulders, one hand curled near her face as she slept, unaware of the world around her. They had retreated to the caves in one of the cliffs, the one the giant man Sado had come out of. Ulquiorra had managed to wipe the blood off his cheeks but whether the two darkened lines of skin would be permanent or not he had no idea. It was irrelevant anyhow considering what was going on. He already had many scars, those on his face would only be annoying because they would be more distinct, harder to cover up than the others on his body. But he could worry about that later.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp and cold, "what ritual did I interrupt and why would the Harusaki have one that would put themselves in such danger?"

"I'm from Karakura," Tatsuki spoke up, "he's from Soul Society and that one's from Las Noches," she continued as Ishida and Sado made identical sounds of disgust, as though being associated with such places was the most despicable thing in the world, "anyway," Tatuski continued, "we and any other guards you see associated with the Harusaki have to travel in threes--there can be no loyalty and, by the same token, they have to be loyal to everyone."

"Why is she like this?" he questioned, obviously not caring what Tatsuki was saying.

"Because she is of the Harusaki," Tatsuki said looking at her.

"No," Ishida said, 'its more than that, "she's not just a Harsuaki," he looked at the girl, "she is the personification of them, the perfect embodiment of everything they stand for," he looked at Ulquiorra, "and you are the darkness that grounds her to this world."


Okay and we are moving along!

We'll be back in Kishobu soon and we get to see Ulquiorra watch someone flirt with his I-don't-love-you-but-I-do-Princess!

More of Renji's story is going to come along and we'll find out exactly what the conflict with Byakuya was. Also you'll learn more about the crimson eyed man who was mentioned as being loyal to his late wife. He'll be a minor character (if there is such a thing in my fics) but I adore the character none the less.

Oh and while a couple of crazy ship's have been worked in I'm not going to guarentee anything in terms of the Byakuya-ship a bunch of you have asked about. You might just have to make due with Arcana where, I swear, they're going to interact soon and then, uh, get it on.

Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.

Please review! It makes me write faster.