Concerto D'Atumno
Tiny spines raked their way down her scalp – catching in the tangles of her hair and yanking her head backwards. Pulled off kilter, Hisana did the only thing she could think of -- clamp onto the sides of her sitting mat.
"Ugf." She tried to muffle the yelp, but the prickly sensation of pain fluttering across her skull proved too much to bear.
"Sh." A harsh voice washed over her in response – sending a shiver down her vertebrae.
"I'm sorry."
It was a dreadful dance, really. Comb, comb, snag, yank, yank, rinse and repeat. It felt like a tango with all the headsnaps; although, one with half the passion or intrigue.
Hisana was beginning to wonder why in the world she had agreed to such torture.
'Because your husband asked you to…' her brain was quick to remind her.
'Oh, yeah…'
Feeling the pain subside, Hisana turned her gaze to the mirror. Byakuya's steward was looming behind her. An elaborate looking comb dangled from the corner of his mouth as he tried to tease her hair into place.
He appeared pensive if not utterly frustrated. Every movement, no matter how cautious, was eventually thwarted. A stubborn clump of hair would inevitably escape his or the clip's grasp and fall in a fashion that was entirely unflattering for a court lady.
"What did your stylist cut your hair with? A dagger?" She thought she had heard him mutter under his breath.
'Well, actually, yeah…'
She had to repress the urge to laugh in fear of the consequences for such taunting. The steward was already flustered and angry. And, Hisana was fairly certain that it would only take the smallest amount of provocation for him to drive a spare pin into her neck – effectively silencing her in one blow.
Again, she had to stifle a giggle. For some odd reason she was thoroughly amused by the idea of being killed by a hair pin. She was pretty sure that Byakuya's steward would be the first to throw a party upon the announcement of her death. The way the man looked at her was so… menacing. It was hardly the most vivid adjective to describe the breed of contempt he managed to muster with each passing glance in her direction, but at the time it was the only one she could think of considering he held her in a virtual headlock.
"Mr. Kishu," her voice wavered under the strain of her head being yanked back again.
"What?" He addressed her as if she was an indolent child trying to skirt her chores.
"I – I- um…" She winced as the question appeared boldly in her thoughts. "I – um – wanted to know… I wanted to – I was wondering if…"
"Spit it out!" he growled, obviously frustrated by the task at hand.
"I wanted to know if… who… what…"
He inhaled a deep breath and released it dramatically. "The December snow will have covered the birches by the time you yammer out your question."
"Did you serve the former heads of the Kuchiki family?"
The moment the question sounded the man ceased his attack on her hair.
'Oh no…' her thoughts screamed inside her head.
Instinctively, Hisana tightly closed her eyes and prepared for the prick of a well placed pin.
"Are you mocking me?" he growled.
Her eyes immediately snapped open, and her gaze shot up to the mirror. The steward was looking at her reflection with such intensity – the kind of stare that emitted heat. In fact, she was rather positive that if looks could set one on fire, she would have been ablaze.
"No. No, sir. I was… I was…" she stammered, to no avail.
"Do I look like a young man?" he hissed.
"No, sir." Hearing the words sear through the already thick air, Hisana cringed. "I mean – you look nice, but I wasn't sure if you had served… I was just curious to know…"
"To know what?"
Hisana again glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. He was watching her with the most ruthless gaze – even by his standards.
"I wanted to know more about my husband."
The steward's features softened at the thought of his master.
The expression, however, was a fleeting thing.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" he spat before busying himself with her hair.
"Because I was worried that such a question may be seen as insensitive."
Clearly alarmed that the girl had continued despite his reluctance, the steward lifted his head and directed his gaze to the mirror. She appeared rather confident – disturbingly so considering the previous verbal barrage of insults.
"Yes, I served under the former heads of the Kuchiki clan."
"What were they like?"
His eyelids drooped at the question. "They were my masters…"
"Obviously, but what were they like?"
"They were noble."
Hisana pressed her lips together. 'Of course they were… But that tells me virtually nothing about them,' she thought bitterly to herself.
She wanted to sigh. She would have asked her handmaiden if only Murasaki had been in residence at the time. The most she had been able to garner from Murasaki was nothing more than hearsay. According to which, the former Kuchiki mistress kept mostly to herself… and was, perhaps, slightly mad.
"Forget it," she murmured, punctuating her disappointment with a small wave of her hand.
A brief silence fell between the two as he continued the dance of torture.
"They loved each other very much," the steward added rather reluctantly. "Their love is what probably drove milord to…"
'Madness,' the more cynical part of Hisana's brain conjectured.
"… to find a love befitting his parent's legacy."
She couldn't believe her ears.'A compliment?Almost.'
"The former Lady was of noble birth, no?"
"Of course!" he exclaimed, as if it was the most absurd question ever posited in his presence.
Hisana smiled – a small lugubrious smile at his enthusiasm.
"What ever happened to them?"
"They died."
Hisana waited for a few moments to pass before articulating her next question. "Was he young at the time?"
"Fairly. It was a little less than 50 years ago, around the same time their plans for an arranged marriage fell through..."
Hisana's brows shot up. "What?"
The steward's hands had become soft in her hair, and his features less strict. Thinking better of responding, he shook his head. "Nothing." He sighed wistfully to himself at the guarded memory of dashed possibilities.
Feeling the curtain of silence come down upon the pair, Hisana closed her eyes. She only retained the faintest of memories of her family from the Material World. She was sent to the Spirit World as a youth with a baby in tow and no parental figure to direct her efforts…
Falling prey to a whirl of thoughts, Hisana drew further inside herself… until an abrupt clap of the door sliding back disrupted her most private of musings. Instinctively, she turned her head, much to the chagrin of the steward.
"Ah!" he groaned, seeing all of his hard work unravel in front of him.
"I'm so sorry, Kishu." It was Murasaki who appeared, kneeling submissively behind the threshold of the room. "But, milord is growing impatient. He fears arriving late for the festival, all things considered. He wishes to know how long you intend on torturing his wife."
The steward looked appalled by her choice of words. "Torturing his wife?"
"His words, Kishu. Not my own."
Hisana smiled at her handmaiden. "Thank you, Murasaki. Perhaps, Mr. Kishu will finally realize that my hair has bested him."
Murasaki giggled. "Ah, but you underestimate a servant's stubborn desire to please his master."
He cleared his throat in response. "You do know that I'm still sitting here."
Placing a hand to her mouth, Hisana released a soft chuckle. "Thank you, Murasaki. Tell Lord Kuchiki that his wife will be joining him in a few minutes."
Murasaki nodded her head approvingly before sliding the door shut in front of her.
"A few minutes," the steward scoffed in protest. "You expect me to work a miracle in the span of a few minutes."
"Any longer and I don't expect there to be a single hair left on my head." She laughed.
'A laugh like bells,' Kishu observed in spite of himself.
Brushing the observation aside, he lifted his head arrogantly. "It is imperative that you look your best for this event, Lady Kuchiki," he fussed, still attempting to work his "magic".
Hisana lifted her brows quizzically. "Really?" she said; her voice laden with sarcasm.
She wouldn't have guessed by his frantic efforts at taming her wild tresses.
"Yesss," he hissed. "The Festival of Color is annually put on by one of the Thirteen Divisions. This year it is being hosted by the Thirteenth."
"Is there anything significant about it being held by the Thirteenth Division as opposed to the other twelve?"
Her question was quickly met by a sharp yank which swiftly brought her head back far enough for her eyes to view the dismayed look etched into the servant's features. His lips were curved downwards; although, upside down he appeared to be smiling… a feat Hisana fancied impossible for the old steward.
"The Thirteenth is headed by Captain Jūshirō Ukitake."
Hisana blinked.
The name did sound vaguely familiar, she had to admit. But, there were so many Captains, Vice Captains, and numbered seats that, without an actual flow chart or visual reference, all of the names just sort of melded together. She knew the shinigami from her husband's stories better under her own system of epithets -- relative to her husband's position, of course (i.e., His-Former-Captain; His-Vice-Captain; Captain-So-and-So's-Former-Fourth-Who-Was-His-Third-But-Died-Horrid-and-Miserable-Death; etc.).
"Captain Ukitake is one of the oldest, most honorable captains of the Thirteen."
With baited breath, Hisana narrowed her eyes skeptically. The steward never got this riled over anything unless it carried some sort of importance with relation to his master.
"And," she sighed, waiting for the proverbial axe to fall.
"And?" he echoed, stricken by the girl's ignorance. "He was the very man Lord Kuchiki served under! He was one of Master's mentors!"
Recognition immediately lit her eyes. "Oh, yes, now I remember. Lord Byakuya served as Captain Ukitake's Vice-Captain."
Satisfied by the fact that his mistress wasn't a complete idiot, the steward released his iron grip on her hair, thereby allowing her to resume proper seiza position.
It was scarce three minutes later when the familiar wooden sound of the door being drawn back echoed throughout the room. This time, however, Hisana remained perfectly statuesque as the ever-frustrated Kishu continued putting the "finishing touches" on her hair.
Managing a sidelong gaze, Hisana's stillness broke once her eyes met his. She immediately took to her feet – her face brightly lit by a smile and glistening eyes. "Lord Byakuya." She greeted him with the glee one ordinarily reserves for a savior.
"I am now abducting my wife, Kishu," he informed the elderly steward with an air of indifference.
The poor steward, however, sat with his mouth agape and hands still rigidly placed where they had been in her hair. He looked completely mortified. His mistress had pulled away just as he was about to place the last ornament in her hair.
Hisana observed the man's expression and turned her attention to her husband. A small smile curved her lips upward. Byakuya lowered his head in response, and shared in his wife's reaction.
"Thank you, Mr. Kishu!" She offered him a deep bow of gratitude before turning on her heels.
Placing a tender hand on Hisana's shoulder, Byakuya gently guided his wife through the doorway and into the corridor.
"Fate, how terribly cruel of you!" the steward whimpered once certain of his aloneness.
He had come so close…
So dreadfully close...