Chapter Five: Shrinking World
No one was prepared for Lady Nonomura to vomit on Byakuya Kuchiki in the Withering Willow room. Least of all the attendants, whose response is pure panic.
It happened shortly after the lady's arrival and before Hisana was out of the servant's passageway. Otherwise, she would not have felt obliged to help. She was tempted not to help as it was, but, when the lady ran out of the room and was promptly struck down by another wave of sickness, the lordling's attendants were stuck alongside the lady's attendants, tending to the understandably distraught Lady Nonomura.
So, here Hisana stands in the Withering Willow room with cleaning supplies in hand.
The lordling looks perplexed as he shrugs off his haori and hands it to Hisana.
She bundles the coat up, careful to fold the soiled fabric onto itself, keeping the contents contained. "Here." She offers him a clean wet rag, which he grimly accepts.
"You keep this room as well?" he asks, dabbing the collar of his royal blue kosode.
Hisana opens her mouth, but, before she can reply, a howling scream pierces the room. It's the lady. She sounds like she's about to die.
Both Hisana and the lordling stare at the silhouettes skittering across the fusuma. By the looks of it, the lady has crumpled to the floor. The attendants declare that she has collapsed, but Hisana thinks it looks more like the lady threw herself to the ground in a fit of rage. Her arms and legs are flailing. No one knows what to do. A great deal of silliness ensues.
"I take it that she isn't going to make it to the next round," says Hisana, drily.
The lordling loosens a sigh. "Disqualifying behavior for certain."
"Maybe someone poisoned her," teases Hisana.
The lordling shoots her a skeptical look.
"No, seriously. The women seem competitive enough. Just a little bit of ipecac would've done the trick."
The lordling's brows pull together, and his lips part. He looks disturbed by this observation, but Hisana can't decide if he's disturbed by the possibility that the women vying for his favor would resort to poisoning one another or that Hisana knows the effects of ipecac. Maybe it's both. Either way, Hisana considers this a win. Rarely is the lordling rendered speechless. Or disturbed. She's managed both in a single go.
Victory, however, is short-lived.
"Are you admitting to eavesdropping on my meetings?" He sounds vaguely amused at this possibility.
Hisana chuckles as she scrubs the floor. "Not in the slightest." This is true. She would rather eat her dirty rags than stay to listen to the self-important prattling of two noble children. "But, maybe you shouldn't completely write off Lady Nobusuke."
"Nonomura," he corrects.
Hisana grins. "Although," she begins slyly, "if eavesdropping is disqualifying behavior that will get me out of this room assignment, then eavesdropping is my passion."
The lordling smirks at her in a way that makes her stomach flip. She's going to be stuck with this room until the lordling takes a wife. She can just feel it.
"The tatami is ruined. Dispose of it. Dispose of the haori as well," he instructs, cooly.
Hisana can't tell if Byakuya is annoyed at watching her struggle to lessen the stain on the floor or if he's trying to be helpful.
"Yes, milord," she says, back straightening.
She will need to tell Ms. Yoshisaburō, who will likely call upon one of the male servants to replace the mat since she hasn't the tools for such a job. Just as she is ordering the steps that will need to be taken, she glances up to find the lordling peeling back his kosode.
Her heart slams against her chest. "Whoa, whoa, whoa-what are you—" she sputters.
"It's soiled," he says, looking at her like she's the one who has lost their mind.
"I can call your attendant," she says, flailing a little, as if wildly gesturing might convey her unease better than words can.
The lordling glances back at the fusuma. The commotion is ongoing. Perhaps even worsening, somehow. His attendants are so trapped by the gravity of Lady Nonomura's hysterics that a bomb could go off and they wouldn't be able to budge.
"I didn't take you for a prude," he says, shooting her a sideways stare.
Truth is, she isn't. Privacy comes at a premium among the peasantry. Also, communal baths are one of the few ways to relax without blowing all of your money. However, she isn't in Rukongai, peasant-ing it up at the communal bath. She's in House Kuchiki with the little lord, and she's 100% sure that if someone walked in on them while he was disrobing in front of her that being fired from this job would be the least of her worries.
Ignoring her, the lordling pulls off the kosode to reveal another layer of heavy silk over his under-robe.
Hisana eeks out a long, grateful breath before catching the dirtied garment he tosses her way.
"I think you can make an escape out on the servants' porch." She tips her head in the direction of one of the blind corridor entrances. "It's my prime eavesdropping location," she teases with a wide grin.
Byakuya nods. "Thank you."
Hisana swears that she sees a piece of his soul die as soon as he says the words. "Wouldn't want you to ruin any more silk," she says sardonically as her gaze flits back to the fusuma.
The drama of Lady Nonomura continues.
Sharing her gaze, he lets out a small snort. "Good evening, Hisana," he says, stepping into the darkened passageway.
She bows her head slightly and watches him leave.
Unit 505. Unit 505. Unit 505.
It's all Hisana wants to ask anyone about. But, she doesn't. Because it's desperate. And, while she is desperate, she doesn't need questions, which turn into suspicions, which turn into her being fired when she's been doing this stupid job for almost a fucking season.
Basically, Hisana hates sunk costs. And, right now, all she has is sunk costs because of this job. She's sunk her time, her sanity, and her zanpakutō.
What the hell was she thinking when she accepted this assignment? Is she mad? Has surviving the shittiness that is Soul Society for almost 50 years made her insane?
Probably.
How else to go about getting more intel on storage unit 505? Someone, surely, must be in charge of cleaning such places. No way the Kuchiki are dumb enough to hire contractors to do it, either. But, who?
It doesn't appear to be the maids. Hisana has been snooping for months now to see what rooms or places are available to the maids. There's the women's quarters, the West Wing, the East Wing, the small cabins that house various other family members and guests, and the training dojos.
Attendants are assigned to people, not places. So, it's not them.
Then, there are the handymen and groundskeepers. Neither appears to be a great fit, either.
Is there a curator? Surely, if the Kuchiki family has a sizeable art collection, they must hire a curator to find and purchase the art. It's not like the Captain or Lieutenant are schlepping large pieces to the manor themselves. They would also need to hire people to preserve the art, care for it, and clean it properly without damaging it.
Where the fuck are those people?
"You look perturbed, Hisana," says Yona between bites of rice.
Hisana jolts up straighter. Her hand is still wrapped around her own bowl of rice and pickled mackerel. "No, I was just wondering-"
"Wondering what?" asks Shimo, her voice surly.
Maybe Hisana only imagines Shimo's surliness. She can't help but feel guilty for "stealing" the lordling's room from her. This is a "steal" that Hisana would gladly return if she had any decision over the matter.
"The fusuma in the Herons Standing room looks a little dingy. Who repairs the House's art?" Hisana tries her best to keep her voice breezy, conversational.
"Lady Sejima is who the House uses for restoration services. But, she won't be back until summer, I'm afraid," says Yona.
Hisana blinks. "Summer?"
Yona nods. "Yes. The House moves the art it isn't using to an arid climate when the wet seasons hit. Lady Sejima uses this downtime to preserve and restore any pieces that need it. Seems dreadfully tedious."
It is. At least, that's what Hisana recalls based on her memories of visiting her father at the University. He would be poring over some important piece of art with strange goggles over his eyes. He seemed to love it, even though the chemicals were eating the linings of his lungs.
Her heart squeezes like a fist in her chest.
Painful realization, however, crashes down on her shortly after. Her client wasn't wrong to put Hisana in place before the art returned. Maybe if Hisana had been quicker to pick up the clues, she could've snatched it before winter. But, alas, she cannot reel back the wheel of time. She must wait.
At least she has food and shelter.
Cold comfort, but still….
"The fusuma in the Heron Standing room will go nowhere." Ms. Yoshisaburō's strong alto breaks Hisana from her desolation. Hisana's gaze chases down the table to find the Housekeeper. "The singe at the left-hand corner is of sentimental value."
"It is?" asks Shimo.
Ms. Yoshisaburō grins, an expression that Hisana previously thought the woman incapable of. "The former Lady of the House singed it while pregnant with the Lord. Apparently, he was a very active child, even then. His Lord Captain was thrilled at the prospect that his son would be gifted, and ordered the fusuma to be left unaltered in that regard."
"Was the Lady also a Shinigami?" asks Hisana.
"Oh, no, dear. Ladies of good birth never prostitute themselves in such ways. Their time and skill are cultivated only for their lords' pleasure, as is proper."
The other maids' heads bob in unison, as if Ms. Yoshisaburō had spoken some sort of universal truth.
Hisana holds her breath, hoping it will freeze her face in place. "Thank you, ma'am," she says, her voice stiff and high, "that explains so much."
"You really should review your handbook more, Maid. It contains this sort of basic information." Ms. Yoshisaburō's piercing stare drifts from Hisana to all of the women at the table. "All of you should be consulting the handbook daily. It should be the first thing you read in the morning and the last thing you read at night."
Hisana would rather throw herself off a ledge than consult her handbook.
But, when the other maids signal their approval of the idea, she gives in and forces a miserable-sounding, "Yes, ma'am," with them.
Yona bumps Hisana's arm with the point of her elbow. "Don't look so sour," she says. "You did a good thing last night."
"Oh, yes, you did, Maid," says Ms. Yoshisaburō.
Hisana's eyes widen. Is she hallucinating? Ms. Yoshisaburō rarely provides any feedback that isn't scathing criticism.
With eyes locked on Hisana, Ms. Yoshisaburō scowls before saying in a voice that booms, "Wipe that stupid look off your face, Maid. I'm about to give you praise."
Hisana's spine goes ramrod straight, she knots her hands in her lap and lowers her head. "Yes, ma'am."
"Better." Ms. Yoshisaburō's brown eyes sweep over the breakfast table. "This young maid was kind enough to stay and help with a rather delicate matter last night affecting the Young Master."
In an instant, the air pressure plummets to fuel the gasps of several scandalized maids.
"Minds out of the gutter, young ladies! It was not that sort of delicate situation," chastises Ms. Yoshisaburō. "One of the Ladies with whom the Young Master is seeing fell ill, and this young maid worked diligently in her off-duty time to ensure that the room and the Young Master were taken care of when the Young Master's own personal attendants failed him."
Heat stings Hisana's cheeks. "It was nothing," she says, defensively, wishing now more than ever that she had followed her instincts and ignored the kerfuffle that night.
Ms. Yoshisaburō sucks air through her teeth and grumbles. "It was yet another reminder that for professional servants, there are no on- or off-duty hours. There is only the duty we owe to our lords and ladies."
"Here, here," comes a choir of cheers.
Hisana looks on in horror. Has she unwittingly joined a cult?
"The Young Master was greatly pleased and gave his recommendation to the young maid."
It takes every shred of restraint in her body for Hisana not to flinch because she knows—deep down in her gut—that this praise is mere preamble for some new form of torture that the lordling has devised.
"The Young Master has even requested—"
There it is.She knew it.
"—that the maids tending this room will stay after preparing it for the evening. Just in case something like this happens again. Because he trusts our service and dedication to the House that much."
Hisana manages a tight-lipped smile. Anything else and a hoarse laugh would've escaped. She can just imagine the little lording going to Nobutsune or Ms. Yoshisaburō and sweetly furthering his case for why she should be inconvenienced every Wednesday night.
Maybe she should've just forced herself to keep up with the poetry. Would that have avoided this situation?
"Will we all have our chance to tend to the room, then, ma'am?" The sweet silvery sounds of hope braid Shimo's voice.
"The Young Master prefers the schedule as it currently stands. But, in the young maid's absence, her replacement shall stand and wait outside the room."
"Outside the room?" Hisana's brows fly up and her lips purse together.
The fuck you say?
Winter's chill lessens each day, but there is still snow on the ground. And, it's still cold as hell at night.
"Yes. On the servant's porch."
"But—"
Before Hisana can protest, Ms. Yoshisaburō lifts a hand and shoots her a blistering stare. "Do not worry, young maid. We will ensure your comfort until spring—"
"I'm happy to take the assignment if Hisana finds it objectionable," interrupts Shimo.
This offer sets off a chorus of similar ones.
"I would love the chance to prove myself!" cries one girl.
"I've never even managed a room that the Primary Family uses!"
"Me, either!"
"Me, too!"
"Please, can we rotate, Ms. Yoshisaburō? Please?"
Again, Hisana would love nothing more than for one of the other maids to take this room. Hell, take all her rooms. Give her all the random nooks and sitting corners. She'd take a dojo or two, if need be.
"I think it's only fair since Hisana took one of my rooms." Shimo fixes the Housekeeper with a stare that would reduce lesser beings to ash. "It's unfair for the newest maid to care after two rooms that the Family uses."
"In the spirit of camaraderie, I would not object to this trade," Hisana throws in before Ms. Yoshisaburō has the chance to dash all the maids' hopes, hers included.
Ms. Yoshisaburō sighs. "And, this is why I never give praise. Because none of you can handle the ramifications of a job well done. The Young Master requested this because the young maid impressed him. It would be against my code to deny him this specific request."
"He requested Hisana, specifically?" Now, Shimo looks stricken.
"By name."
Hisana wants nothing more than to slip between the floorboards. She's skinny enough. It could happen.
But it doesn't. She remains very much in that room. Gazes floating between her and the Housekeeper.
"If you want this sort of recognition, then you all need to earn it," announces Ms. Yoshisaburō, who then shoves up to her feet with surprising nimbleness for a woman so sturdy. "And, Hisana," she says, the lines of her face deepening, "do not disappoint me or the other maids of this house. Do you understand?"
Got it. Hisana accidentally joined a cult. And, this is her life until summer.
"Yes, ma'am," she says, stare latching onto her bowl of barely-eaten rice and mackerel.
"All of you are dismissed. Go. Tend to your duties." Ms. Yoshisaburō voice brooks no dissension.
"That is amazing, Hisana!" calls Yona.
With a sigh on her lips, Hisana pauses, glancing back at the maid. "I know." Her agreement rings hollow.
"What happened?" Yona closes the space between them, her voice a whisper.
"One of the Ladies sort of-"
Hisana runs through a list of nouns that sound genteel before giving up with a chuckle.
"—threw up all over the Young Master."
Yona's eyes widen to the size of saucers. "What?"
Hisana nods. "Just everywhere. It was a mess."
"Was he furious?"
"No."
"Really? I heard he has a temper."
Hisana lifts a shoulder. "He seemed more confused than anything else."
"Where were his attendants?"
"Oh, yeah." That part. "Well, the lady apparently dashed out of the Withering Willow room only to vomit all over the corridor. It was a whole thing."
"Was the Lord nice to you when you came into help?"
"No." This is Byakuya Kuchiki. He wouldn't know where to begin if nice was required of him.
Yona straightens a little at this. "You just said—"
"I said he wasn't furious. He's still an—" Hisana's brain kicks on in time to remind her that she's in a cult, one that probably won't take kindly to calling one of its leaders, "an asshole."
"Prickly?" supplies Yona, helpfully.
"Yes. Prickly. Although, maybe not even that. He's just… direct?" Yeah, that feels right. Or entitled. An entitled asshole. Again, none of these are thoughts she can share freely. "He threw his soiled coat at me and told me to toss the ruined mats." Hisana decides to leave off the part about him partially disrobing in front of her. "I showed him a way to escape the chaos. I think that was it, really. I think he was grateful to be able to escape the awkwardness of the moment."
"That's so perceptive of you." Yona bumps her shoulder into Hisana's. "I would've panicked."
"You would've been in good company, then. All the attendants sort of fluttered around the sick lady."
"It's good that the Young Master has found a staff member he can trust to take care of him."
"What?"
"Yeah," says Yona. "He's had a few attendants and maids. They've mostly retired or died."
"Died?"
"They were older. Like really old," laughs Yona. "He didn't kill them or anything."
"Oh."
"Yeah. I think Ms. Yoshisaburō and Mr. Nobutsune have been really looking to match him with staff that he'll take a liking to." She shrugs. "So far, it's been misses. It's really important, though. For the Family to bond with their staff. It creates a nice flow." Yona demonstrates this idea by rolling her hand like a wave. "Flow is important. It promotes clarity and harmony in the House."
"I take it there hasn't been a lot of flow lately, then?"
Yona shakes her head. "We all try, but I think the Young Master is just prickly. He's lost a lot of people recently."
Hisana really wishes she could move this conversation to its conclusion, but she waits. Politely. Outside the Herons Standing room. Holding back so many sighs. "Oh, he has." Statement, not question.
Yona continues. "Yes. His mother died when he was young. Then, the Lord Lieutenant took ill. One of his closest mentors disappeared and is presumed dead. And, a lot of the staff he grew up with have passed or retired. He's sort of alone."
"That all sounds very sad." Hisana, however, would rather die a death by a million cuts than give a kind thought to a noble… let alone this noble.
"It is. Let me know if you need any help with your other rooms. Watching after the Primary Family looks daunting, but I think you can do it."
Hisana forces a smile because Yona is nice. And, while Hisana hasn't a lot of kindness to offer others, she can occasionally manage not being a total bitch for a few minutes.
"Thanks, Yona."
Yona bows politely then is off.
When Wednesday rolls around, Hisana stands, miserably, in a heavy hanten and oversized boots that one of the groundskeepers lent her. She looks ridiculous. She feels even more ridiculous.
But, she is here on the servants' porch, trying futilely to find a position that avoids the lashing winter's wind while holding her "dinner," a singular apple.
The wind appears to be blowing northbound, which means, if she keeps her back to the garden, she might be able to weather the icy blasts. So, she levers herself on the banister and faces the house. It works. Kind of.
It's the best she's found so far. So….
Defeated, Hisana bites down on the apple. Juice sprays in a fine mist before running down her hand. Thoughtlessly, she chases the trail of juice with her tongue.
"Impeccable manners as always," enters a familiar voice.
Ah, the little lordling.
"Master Kuchiki," she greets instead with a strained smile.
His brows knit together. "You're on the porch?"
"Yeah, in accordance with your request."
"I didn't make any such request."
She glares at him. "That's what I was told."
"It's cold."
"I'm aware!" Hisana flings an arm out as if to show off her very threadbare, very stained hanten.
"That's dreadful."
She laughs. "Less dreadful than sitting out here in the dead of winter waiting on you to make up your mind on a wife."
He grins at her for a long moment before stiffly shifting his attention to the garden.
Hisana crunches down on her apple and chews. Noisily. Hoping the sounds will scare him away.
He ignores her. He is very good at that. It's one of the things she hates most about him.
"On that note, don't you have some gussied-up lady to be romancing?" she asks.
He scowls, shoulders drooping a little, but his attention remains locked on the snow-covered garden.
She takes another bite of her apple and arches her neck to glimpse into the room. From the gap in the door, she sees the lady crossing the floor to her pillow. She must've excused herself for a brief spell.
From what Hisana can tell, these meetings seem pretty calculated from the ladies' perspectives. They come with teams of servants. Any whiff of imperfection is quickly countered by the lady taking a short leave and returning, likely after having received committee approval on her appearance and next steps.
It all seems very tiresome.
"She's pretty," says Hisana, part of her hoping that making small talk might chase the lordling away. "Shiny long hair. You two could bond over beauty routines."
Instead of running back into the room, he scoffs at her. "She is tedious and completely unfit for what the position of lady entails."
"Boring, you mean?"
His shoulders shift uncomfortably.
"You know, you just met her. Maybe she—"
"She doesn't have an appreciation of Bashō, and she thought the Five Rings a name of a jewelry store."
Hisana chokes on her apple. The ensuing spluttering and wheezing force his attention back to her.
His expression eases in intensity, and she wonders if it's because she's laughing or because she's in distress, hacking up half-chewed pulp.
Probably the latter.
Nobles are assholes like that.
Swallowing thickly, Hisana keeps the grin off her lips when she says, "Did you think to ask her what she's interested in? People don't like being interrogated about classical literature-"
"It's not classical," he interjects, reaching a level of haughtiness that must have taken years of practice to achieve, "it is foundational literature."
Her lips stretch into a wide grin. He sounds like her mom. She, too, was a bona fide snob.
"And it's not just her lack of education," he says with a sigh. "Look at her." He jerks his chin in the direction of the door.
The only potential flaw that Hisana finds on second glance is that maybe the lady's red shitage clashes with her green and blue kimono. "She likes mixing it up. What's wrong with that?" She's seen worse color palettes worn by members of House Kuchiki.
Then, it hits her like a brick to the face.
Oh, shit.
She looks again and chuckles. "On second thought, you might have a point," she says and pushes off the banister.
He straightens. "What do you mean?"
Clearly, he was expecting an argument, and, for some strange reason, Hisana finds this amusing.
"She's color-blind," she replies, stepping past him on her way to the servants' quarters. "Worse yet, she's probably cruel."
His eyes burn hot and demanding as if he is offended that she is leaving him even though he told her that he never asked for her to be on the porch. "Why do you say that?"
Hisana pauses for a moment. "Her handmaidens helped her dress, right?"
A knowing glance passes between them. The unspoken implication is an irresistible one: The lady's handmaidens did not intervene, or, worse, they actively set her up for failure.
He stirs behind her as she draws back the door to the manor.
"Where are you going?" he asks, finally.
"You said you didn't request that I stay out here on the porch. That means I can go inside and wait."
"I didn't dismiss—"
Before he can finish, she is gone.
Hisana knows the next morning that she will get an earful from Ms. Yoshisaburō. To this end, she is not disappointed. Before she can even fill a bowl of rice for her breakfast, the Housekeeper is on her, laser-focused.
"Come here, Hisana," rasps the woman. Her large hand encircles the top of Hisana's arm like a shackle, and the Housekeeper forces her into a small side room. "What did I say about not disappointing me?"
Hisana stares at her, nonplussed. "Not to do that?"
Rage burns white-hot in the Housekeeper's eyes. "You are an impertinent little girl, you know that?"
"What did I do wrong?" Hisana never refuses an opportunity to play the fool.
"You were supposed to wait on the porch, as instructed."
"It was freezing."
"You had a coat and boots."
"The Young Master said he never gave that instruction."
"Well, he is giving that instruction now. You do not leave the porch unless formally dismissed by him. Do you understand?"
Hisana glares at the woman.
"Do you understand?" Ms. Yoshisaburō enunciates each word, turning them into their own sentence.
"Yes, ma'am. I understand."
And thus begins the uncomfortable Wednesday night tradition of duty chaining Hisana to the servant's porch so that the lordling may more easily menace her.
Usually, the topic of menacing is related to the parade of women that he is seeing, like tonight.
"How are you and Lady Murasaki?" Hisana makes it a point to never get their names right. It's her small defiance against whatever this is.
"Lady Kamehime," he corrects her, as is custom.
"That's like, what? The third new lady you've entertained this month? You must be tired."
"It's an omiai," he says, voice sounding tangled and unsteady as if she had just implied something scandalous.
She stares at him, willing the light from her eyes. "With three people in one month?"
"It's not like—" He pauses, cheeks flushing and eyes wide. "It's not like we are intimate." The quietness with which he speaks the last word betrays his inexperience with intimacy.
"Not my meaning. But, interesting to know, nonetheless." She grins slyly at this. Not that she knows a hell of a lot about real intimacy, either. "It's just I thought omiai were, you know, a one-and-done type thing."
"What would you know of an omiai?"
Here they go.
She sighs. "We had that custom in the World of the Living, too."
"Even for peasants?"
"Even for peasants."
"Well, the calculus must be different for peasants."
She lifts a brow. "I think the calculus is pretty much always 'find a spouse.'"
"That's the solution."
His tone is so imperious that she just wants to slug him real hard in the face. Her fingers curl into her hands. The prick of her nails against the meat of her palms convinces her to let this go. For now.
"The considerations that go into a successful match are vastly different depending on one's social position," he continues.
She rolls her eyes. "Do go on." She loves to hear it.
"How could you possibly—" he stops short, exasperated.
What the hell does he have to be exasperated about?
She folds her arms against her chest and stares blankly at him. "How could I possibly, what?"
"Think that a peasant family's concerns could mirror that of my family? The gravity of this decision is vastly more consequential, not just for my family but for—"
"Oh, my goodness." She wants to gag. "Do not say Soul Society. Don't."
His lips part.
"Don't say it." Her voice warns him.
"Soul Society," he says, jaw set, eyes cold and distant.
Shaking her head, she turns to face the door, her back to him. "Get over yourself, Byakuya Kuchiki."
With that, she moves to leave, but he stops her. His hand finds her arm, and he yanks her back. "I didn't dismiss you," he snaps.
His arrogance steals the breath from her lungs, and she is left gasping. "Dismiss me?"
The fury burning bright in his eyes dims as he looks at her. He looks a little stricken at what he has done, and the grip on her arm loosens.
Hisana, however, doesn't do forgiveness. Not easily, anyway. And, right now, there is nothing more that she wants than to carve that look of prideful scorn from his face.
Since that option isn't available to her, she settles on hissing through gritted teeth, "You know what I think? What I really think, Byakuya Kuchiki?"
His eyes narrow, but he waits for her to finish.
"I think you know that all these ladies and their families are truly awful, terrible people, and you don't like who you are or what your family wants you to become, and you're afraid."
"Afraid?" Venom infuses his words, and the gleam in his eye grows sharp enough to kill a lesser man.
"Yes, you're afraid," she says, unafraid to meet his stare and keep it.
Seething. He is seething, and, vaguely, she wonders if perhaps he might strangle her to death if she continues. It doesn't matter. Hisana's constitution will not allow her to back down, even as she imagines what it might feel like when his hand wraps around her neck and squeezes the final breath from her.
And so, she says without batting an eye, "I think you're afraid of marrying one of these bloodless creatures. I think you're afraid because you know what happens next. After the planning, and the wedding, and the festivities, you know that your true bride—the only bride who will have you—is misery. And that any hope of you finding peace will be forsaken."
His hand flies away from her arm as if she has burned him. Seizing on this weakness, she pulls away and leaves.
Consequences be damned.
Thinking 'consequences be damned' always seems like a fine position to take in the heat of the moment. The next morning, however? The wisdom of that conclusion becomes decidedly less clear, a fact with which Hisana is now grappling.
Bitter realization already had its way with her when she woke up, realizing that she told one of the lords of the House-in no uncertain terms-to go fuck himself. Which, on review, was a bit extreme.
What can she say? She was stupid. So stupid. What the fuck was she even thinking?
How could she let some prissy-ass silk-wearing dandy get the best of her? Is she eight years old? No. She's pushing fifty. Which, oddly, seems to mean less in Soul Society than the World of the Living, but them the breaks.
Hisana chews on her bottom lip and stares ahead, mortified at what comes next. Her heart drums a quick, but unsteady beat. And her thoughts are everywhere and all at once.
She feels like she is drowning. Drowning in her own stupidity. Drowning in overbearing lords. Drowning in a million different protocols.
When the door to that tiny room slides open, she is expecting to see the familiar lines of an enraged Ms. Yoshisaburō, which, fair. If Hisana had to deal with the kinds of insane expectations from a bunch of undead super-nobles that Yoshisaburō has to countenance on the daily, then she'd be raving mad, too.
Ms. Yoshisaburō, however, is very much not the person who peers into the room. No, the person staring back at her is Nobutsune. The urge to vanish has never been stronger than when their eyes meet.
She must have fucked up beyond recognition.
"Miss Hisana," he says evenly, sliding the door shut behind him.
"Mr. Nobutsune." She bows, low.
"It seems that there has been an issue."
Her lips press together, and she sucks in a quick breath. Seems that way.
"Between you and the young lord," he continues.
"It was all my fault. I am immensely sorry. I don't know what came over me. He just—" She then makes the mistake of glancing up to find Nobutsune watching her with this mild expression that sort of reminds her of when her parents would scold her, and all the breath rushes out of her, and she begins to strangle, and—
"The young lord tends to have that effect," he says, gently.
"Is he terribly mad?"
"He was."
"Was?"
"Less so now. He argued for your immediate termination to the Lord then to the Lord Captain last night."
"The Lord Captain?" Fear enters her.
Nobutsune grins at this. "Yes, the Lord Captain was terribly confused as to how a simple maid could have such an effect on the young lord."
"Am I—"
Nobutsune shakes his head. "The Lord would not hear it, and the Lord Captain defers to the Lord on decisions regarding the staff."
"I am so sorry."
"Understood," he says, the lines of his face deepening into a look of consolation. "The Lord, however, wishes your rooms to be reassigned for the time being."
"Of course." Hisana is careful not to sound too relieved at this development.
"The Withering Willow room and the young lord's rooms will go to Shimo."
Hisana nods, wordless in her gratitude.
"And, as a concession to the young lord, you will no longer be able to visit the library at night."
She nods again, this time careful to keep the sting of disappointment from her face. "Of course."
"As a concession to you, you may choose your replacement rooms."
"The dojos," she blurts out upon realizing that without her nightly jaunts to the library to break the lordling's seals, she might go months without training.
"The dojos?" His brows pinch together as if he was expecting her to make another selection. A better selection.
Are there better selections?
Not from what Hisana can tell.
"Yes," she says, eagerly, "first years at the Academy get a lot of experience handling and cleaning the equipment."
"I see," he says, knowingly. "These will have to be the women's dojos, then."
Hisana nods. Sure. Whatever floats his boat. It's not like the bokken are gendered.
"Does anyone ever use the women's dojo?" she thinks to ask before he leaves.
Nobutsune's grin lengthens, and his eyes gleam with amusement. "Not in the last two centuries."
Oh, she is so good at picking rooms.