Disclaimer: Bleach is Kubo Tite's work. Borrowing.
Resolution
September 30: Exeunt omnes
Bleach / Ichimaru Gin / drabble / GinRan
092705 14:15
A pillar of death-rendering light, erupting from the earth, emblazoned the multitude of stunned faces into a weirdly rendered, ghost-still memory in his head. The image seared in his brain and the story that, having previously risen in the traditional path of crescendo, took on Shunpou-speed the past few days and rhapsodized to climax with a sensory overloading twang. The moment of exhilarating high was sustained in that few shocked seconds of instantaneous life-preserving reactions, an intoxicating discordant chord that held over the stupendous tableau there were locked in.
A note cracked. It was over.
The characters were riven apart as the Menos tore open the sky in their pre-arranged, well-executed grand entrance. (Ah, much love to the director, yes.) The main player/star actor/bohemian director/twisted writer was ascending to heaven with well-deserved pomp and a bad-ass OST. Everything else was falling into denouement.
Regret was a bitter libation to celebrate with. Gin, laidback bearing withstanding, threw the proverbial drink down his gullet, and smiled his usual smile of jolly sinister. It was disappointing when chapters and volumes ended when they had to, but the story always resumed another day. Nonetheless, he stole a split second to record the sensation of her slim, pincer-strong hand closed around his wrist, the sheen of the blade floating inches from his jugular, the softness of her pressed against his decidedly bony back.
He pulled his arm away easily, and told her he would have loved to stay ensnared but couldn't. And perhaps, his smile was not the usual smile, because she looked back at him in shock and a definite destabilization somewhere in her system that blunted her enthusiasm in chasing after him.
Free from her clutches, Ichimaru Gin abandoned the set without a backward glance.
----
A foot note: Gin didn't lie entirely. (He had never lied outright, really. The mixture of truth and falsehood was always the potent sustenance of plot movement.) He didn't really want to stay, even if he could, only that--if she had allowed it--he would have taken her with him as he exited the stage because, as he said, it really wasn't so bad being in her clutches.
end
14:36 092705