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Rose Attack: Thank you for your compliments! I like the idea of a gentle Hisana as a songstress, and I really hope it will work out for you as well!
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Renji liked music. Back in Soul Society, there had been occasional performances sponsored by small, low-standing noble families during festive occasions, and the vocal exhibitions had always been opened to the public eye as its audience. Renji had naturally passed by along the crowded streets, and had often enjoyed listening along with his friends to the simple, melodious ballads sung sweetly by the songstresses.
This day, however, marked the first time where he finally got to truly experience firsthand the heart-stirring, hair-raising impact brought on by an incredible singer, and the chilling sentiment passionately expressed through the song she was performing.
For Daffodil was all about moments. She created them, right within the four enclosed walls of this lavish hall, and not just through her breathtaking, airy vocals.
From the very moment when she opened her mouth, Renji began to realize just why the petite female was a renowned songstress in this area, and why so many of the patrons in the Sakura Resort had been so wildly enthusiastic about her upon merely hearing her name.
She was good. Renji wasn't an expert or professional musically, but he at least knew that. He watched as the petite female gently grasped the microphone with slender, tiny fingers, her enchantingly large violet eyes half-lidded as she drawled out the mourning tones of a chilly, sad ballad, the haunting lyrics regarding a lover who had used her for his own selfish purposes.
She sang- and she sang as if she was the song itself.
Renji was now staring blankly at her, overwhelmed with awe. Who knew that someone who resembled Rukia so much could actually be so... feminine, quite unlike the tomboyish latter?
''Wow,'' he absently let out a soft reverent murmur, more to himself than anything, his black eyes admiringly taking in the parted red lips, and then the demure, clothed mounds of her breasts and the slight inward curves of her small waist. It was-
The red-haired male suddenly stiffened by his position on the tatami mat, his mind snapping back into abrupt focus. He had initially been of the opinion that nothing could distract him from the musical performance of this delightful, alluring female, but clearly he had been wrong. The suddenly dangerous, intimidating presence beside him finally registered his numbed senses and ripped him right out of his reverie. And then, a sudden surge of cold fear ran up his throat from literally nowhere.
He knew what was wrong, even before he found out.
Quietly Renji turned his head with slight hesitation, and instantly flinched as he caught sight of his captain, who was still seated with soundless grace beside him on the tatami mat. The raven-haired aristocrat was not looking fully at him, but rather was giving him an icy side-glance. That alone did the job, however. Renji felt his blood curdling at the frightening coldness reflected in the exquisitely narrow slate eyes- which was obviously directed at him.
Byakuya's silent displeasure was clear.
Silently the redhead cursed himself, the insides of his stomach constricting in humiliation and fear. Whatever that was going on here, the fact remained that this female looked just like the Captain's late wife, and here Renji was, openly ogling at her in front of said captain. This was not the first time Renji had accidentally ogled at women right in front of his superior (much to his everlasting embarrassment when he had finally noticed Byakuya's discerning glance on him), but this was definitely the first time he dearly regretted it so much.
Fuck. He had chosen to look at the wrong woman today.
Quickly the male went back to watching the performance, making sure this time that his gaze did not at all stray to any... inappropriate parts on Daffodil's gorgeous body. Being discreet wouldn't do him any good, he knew, for his captain was so perceptive that it was terrifyingly uncanny . In any case, it seemed the short song was already drawing to a close; the singer was now belting out the last few notes of the brief ballad with a sinking finality, the black mic tilted almost dramatically within her pretty pink-nailed fingers.
Renji's eyes widened slightly when her scarlet lips abruptly broke into a small gentle, almost shy smile at the fluttering rounds of applause echoing across the hall. The gesture was so familiar that it briefly took him aback, for Daffodil's now tender yet distant smiling expression was the exact replica of the unspoken woman's face that he had glimpsed from the oil portraits belonging to Captain Kuchiki in his quarters. And just like that, while currently trying to avoid looking at Byakuya's quiet figure beside him, without doubt, Renji knew.
And he realized that if he knew, then his acute, unfathomable captain definitely knew as well, despite the unnerving, unreadable silence between them.
Hisana Kuchiki had been reincarnated.
Abarai Renji silently slid the shoji doors open and peered somewhat hesitantly into his superior's quarters. The pair currently resided in separate rooms of the Emperor Suite, although the large space was parted by a simple few walls.
The suites' lightly coloured upholstery was elegant and tasteful, and the tall wooden walls surrounding the room were intricately designed. While the furniture was scarce, the refined pieces of wardrobes, tables, and silk futon were no doubt expensive and impeccable, and also more than enough to suit the occupant's needs. Renji was certain that there was a jacuzzi in the round, white bathtub too.
Set in the old Japanese traditional fashion (in other words, similar to the Soul Society's environment, except no doubt more opulent and glamorous), the large papery shoji doors of the individual, posh suite could easily be pulled open to expose the fresh, crisp air and gorgeously earthen scenery of the crowded resort outside- consisting of willowy bamboo trees and man-made gurgling fountains. The refreshing, beautiful view of the tranquil blue sea by the packed vast, sandy beach a far distance nearby was also more than visible.
It was an incredible, yet peaceful suite. Despite that, however, Renji could not find it in himself to enjoy it, which was unfortunate, as opportunities for him to stay in such lavish places were rare. But honestly, what was he supposed to say, knowing that his captain's late wife was not truly gone, but had rather been reborn into a new life and was actually currently residing in the place they were staying at?
This simply brought coincidences to a new level. And perplexity, as well.
What was he supposed to say to his captain? He didn't even know how Kuchiki-Taichou was presently feeling; the dark-haired male had, as usual, been absolutely unfathomable throughout the end of the performance when the stage curtains had finally closed over Daffodil's figure. This, after all, was him seeing his wife for the first time in fifty years since her passing, and Renji knew the captain had to be masking quite a lot of emotion there. It had to be.
The reasons were simple.
For within the fifty years of becoming a widower, Kuchiki Byakuya had not shown the slightest trace of romantic inclinations towards any other female, despite many's blatant interest in him. He had never been a romantic being, period. And yet his wife's portraits were situated in many places; in his private quarters in the Sixth Division, in his shrine within the Mansion and also in what Renji suspected to be many other concealed places. The noble's remaining faithfulness and devotion to his deceased spouse had often somewhat astonished Renji; the idea of his stoic superior being sentimental was not something he could wrap around his head.
It was also hence the reason why he was feeling so awkward right then as he hesitantly peered at the motionless, robed back facing him at where his captain currently sat calmly by a low night table. The silky mane of raven hair flowing across the powerful shoulders spoke nothing of what Byakuya could be thinking, nor could he see the older male's face. The fact that he was sitting behind the enigmatic noble gladdened and scared him at the same time.
''Um... Taichou,'' Renji finally forced out, still situated respectfully at the shoji door. ''About our mission...''
Byakuya's tall back remained straightly still. It was then that the flame-haired male noticed that his captain's robed arm was stirring in small graceful motions over the low night table, and that slender, long nimble pale fingers were currently curled over a thin black calligraphy brush across paper.
Stroke. Stroke. The bristles of the brush drifted skillfully and audibly along the sheet.
And then Byakuya broke the hush, his rich baritone quietly calm. ''You wished to say something, Renji?''
''Ah, yes!'' The lieutenant said hastily, not realizing he had trailed off mid-sentence. ''About our mission, sir, what shall we do to begin?''
There was a short pause.
''It is late,'' Byakuya answered evenly, his large, adroit hand still slanted elegantly over his moving brush. ''Await my instructions tomorrow. You may retire for the day.''
Renji didn't know whether to whoop in joy or cringe. The truth was that it wasn't really that late; it was only nearing evening, and in all honesty there was plenty of time for them to begin investigating should they decide to. They would eventually have to be looking through the crime scenes of the fallen victims as reported by the Twelfth Division. Basically the lieutenant was being given by his superior an 'off-day' here in the luxurious resort, and somehow that delighted him and frustrated him at the same time. And the worst part was that he didn't know why.
''Understood, Taichou,'' he said obediently, lowering his spiky head. The man reached out and began closing the shoji door, only to pause once more, his tattooed hands tightening hesitantly over the papery material. ''Anou... Taichou...''
His dark-haired captain remained silent, the calligraphy brush still gracefully streaking across the expensive paper with the whisper of a breeze.
It was now or never.
Renji ploughed on bravely. ''About the singer just now, Daffodil... What did you think about her?''
As soon as the words left his mouth he instantly regretted it. He had never felt so stupid; it was the most awkward and random question he had ever asked anyone in his life. And yet the male could not seem to help himself. He wanted to know - had to know - what his superior was thinking.
There was a long silence, one filled with unspoken words and subtle tension. And then-
The large, elegant hand finally stilled above the paper.
''She was very skillful,'' Byakuya stated levelly, his deep, indecipherable voice somewhat softer than usual as he at last paused in the midst of his calligraphy. The aristocrat's head turned slightly towards his subordinate, revealing impenetrable slanted dark eyes. ''And you are dismissed, Renji.''
The redhead hastily bowed, before quietly closing the door fully this time. He recognized the cool finality in Kuchiki Byakuya's voice all too well.
Daffodil, as was her stage name, quietly slid into the cubicle of her shower. There were no traces of a smile on her subdued features now that she was enjoying some privacy; her expression was silent and pensive. She allowed the shower water to cascade down her bare, slender body in warm, comforting waves, her dark head tilted back against the cold wall of her bathroom.
She was troubled. Even more so than usual.
The veteran songstress happened to have a customary way with how she normally performed. The moment she stepped onto the stage- the same routine always ensued; she would gradually but steadily become lost in the song she was performing and fall headfirst into her own private, mesmerizing little world onstage. The faces of the audience would naturally melt away from her vision, and she would become oblivious to almost everything except for the performance.
As an entertainer who had been carrying out her line of work for almost a decade, Daffodil had swiftly gotten past her fear of public performing, despite her introverted preferences. She had learnt to do one thing best: to tune her audience out and simply focus on her singing.
Music was always one of the few beautiful experiences in the world, after all, even for someone as ugly like her.
Only today, during her afternoon performance, she had stumbled across the shocking inability to consume herself into the melodies of her ballad. She was unable to tune her surroundings out; unable to concentrate.
It had terrified her. This anomaly had never occurred for the past years of her life as a disciplined performer, and she simply could not fathom its sudden existence. The main reason she could currently think of was the audience.
The audience. They had not been much of an issue to her in a long while; she had long learnt to view them as a sea of countless, similar heads that were nothing to be too troubled about, and also were increasingly insignificant in her eyes. Only today, it had not been so.
She had been watched.
Naturally, one would say, as an audience why shouldn't she be watched? That was what they were for. To watch her.
Yet it was at that very moment that the female had genuinely comprehended a whole new meaning of being watched by the audience; to feel a particular gaze so penetrating that it scorched her skin and electrified her nerves while she stood onstage. She had felt goosebumps erupt along her pale flesh, and as perturbing as it was, she couldn't say she had felt... violated either. Because she hadn't.
It had just been so very strange.
And all of a sudden, she was feeling self-conscious for what seemed like the first time in years, and had offhandedly chosen to draw the song to a close sooner than it was meant to be. The musicians had been bewildered, having to suddenly conform to her change of pace, and had confronted her afterwards backstage, to which she had apologized profusely.
In the end, she hadn't dared to even look properly at her audience, and Daffodil did not even know why. Was she terrified at what she would find?
The woman sighed frustratedly against the soft gushing of bathwater. Was she going crazy?
Desperate to distract herself from the peculiar yet troubling turbulence of thoughts swirling within her, the female hastily increased the swirling volume of warm water gently pelting her tiny body, allowing the heat to rise through her veins. Her eyes lowered at the beginning tinges of arousal forming in her pelvis, and her breath escaped her pink lips in tiny puffs.
Unconsciously her fingers quietly approached the opening of her delicate womanhood, going past the small thatch of dark curls before prodding the soft, sensitive skin there. She closed her eyes and allowed her experienced fingertips to explore the now pulsating walls of her opening, feeling the expected moisture there. Quickly she searched for her clit, not wanting to drag this out.
It didn't take her long to bring herself to a brief orgasm; she let out a little delighted cry and screwed up the delicate features of her face as her back arched. Slight liquid squirted onto her trembling fingers from her throbbing womanhood, and she gasped at the pleasure running through her body.
She had been so stressed lately, and this had been her guilty pleasure for a long time since to deal with it. Tiredly the woman now slumped to the wet ground, the water from the shower falling onto her face. It riveted down her flushed cheeks, almost like the trickling of tears.