"Do you know me, girl?" Kalon asked, turning away from his listening post at one of the large windows and taking a seat before the kneeling servant.
They were in the parlor room of his apartments, a spacious, wide area able to accommodate up to twenty people with space for the servants to move about. There were windows strategically placed around the parlor so that at any point during the daytime, the room was well-lit with natural light. It wasn't a full moon yet, but should he be here for that event, Kalon has no doubts that it will be a splendor in itself just to sit without candles in the parlor, watching it bathe in silver under the attention of the moon's glow.
"I do not, sir." The girl answered a bit too haughtily for a servant. She looked up for the first time since Isamu put her on her knees where they met the floorboards; light brown eyes penetrating forest-green.
Despite a smattering of freckles across her small nose and the frumpy uniform Byakuya insisted his female staff wear, the girl's charms were undeniable: a slim face, a graceful creamy neck, and dark long hair ruled into a thick bun sheltering under a wimple. And her form? Kalon had to bite the inside of his bottom lip to stifle the noise of appreciation racing up his throat.
Though the uniform ballooned around other female servants he's seen at the estate, over this girl, it came alive. Her hips were shapely, her bosom, an inviting feast to explore with every means a man has at his disposal. Her slim form was all the more alluring because she matches everything that's ever attracted Kalon to a woman. She had lips like a dream, and her youthful eyes could inspire men to go to war for her. All in all, Kalon thought she was lovely. A vision.
By his estimation, the girl was in her first century, but the level of arrogance he saw in the instant that their eyes met—common-born servants can't mimic that kind of arrogance, even if they had the will to integrate it into their psychology. Such potency has to be cultivated from infancy, fed constantly, and watered with prestige, entitlement, and pride. Kalon stopped himself from smiling, choosing to raise an eyebrow at her temerity instead, at which point her eyes returned to studiously studying the politics of the floorboards and the lines between them.
"I am Kalon Kuchiki," Kalon said with deliberation, introducing himself properly. It might seem strange for a noble to introduce himself to a servant employed at his family manor, but education comes before the whip, as one of his masters likes to say. "Son of High Elder Kaito Kuchiki and first cousin to Byakuya Kuchiki, the person, no doubt." He reached down and took up the wax-sealed paper off the low table designated for tea and parchment and waved it around in the space between them. "This letter was intended before I intercepted you. Explain yourself, girl, and your motivations."
He didn't hear her gasp or feel her spirit tense when he mentioned either his name or his blood ties.
Odd for a servant working at the manor with my name on it to not know who I am. Is she an assassin? And if so, who is she here to strike down? Kalon couldn't help but wonder at this.
When you're a noble, and one that has survived as long as he has, you can't ask mundane questions. That will see a knife at your throat if the assassin is feeling so inclined. In the Game of Whispers, a 'steel kiss' in the back is a consistency among the noble peerage and more honorable than poisoning.
"Who are you, really?" Kalon's tone was measured after allowing a stretch of silence to continue for a minute; it was almost offputting, by design, intent on lowering the girl's guard to make her compliant.
"I work in the kitchens as a scullery maid," the girl finally replied, her act a hair's breadth away from being perfect enough to convince him that she is who she is trying to be. Kalon noted that she was yet to introduce herself; the bare minimum of hospitality that a servant should have imprinted on their minds. "I'm but a humble servant, sir."
"A humble servant?" Kalon repeated, amused. "Perhaps, but I don't believe you," he told the girl guilelessly.
"How so, sir?" The maid asked mildly, with not even a trace of fear in her voice. "I swear by Heaven's grace, I am a servant employed at the kitchens by the head maid, Aniko Otori."
Kalon scoffed. A servant bantering with a lord? Not even novices make that mistake.
It did not escape his notice that she kept calling him 'sir' and not 'my lord, not even by his name, seeing that he'd taken the first step to introduce himself. From the look on Samu's face, the older man was ready to flog the girl for her transgression. A signal the girl did not see to his manservant stayed the older man's hand.
"I'm familiar with Aniko," Kalon said, "she doesn't like me very much." He chuckled wryly. "Even so, she didn't hire you because you're not a servant. My Gods!" He exhaled a breath. "By heaven's grace, you say? These days, heaven seems to be sleeping on the job for letting people like you, my dear, use its grace so blasphemously."
He rose from his chair, towering over the servant. "If you're going to pose as a maid," Kalon lectured, "at least learn the basics of how to act like one in the company of your betters, my lady."
Light brown eyes remove their interest from the floorboards to glare up at the nobleman. If there was ever such a thing as kneeling in defiance, Kalon was looking at it now. He scoffed again, indicating to his men with a look that they should leave the room. One by one, they silently made their exit, with only Samu giving him a questioning look. When Kalon nodded his head once at the older man, his faithful retainer hesitated for one more second, glanced at the girl, then nodded in response before he followed the rest, sliding the screen door behind him shut.
"My betters?" The girl questioned this statement with vitriol of the highest potency, effortlessly slipping out of character as soon as the screen door wood touched the frame and they were alone in the vast parlor.
Kalon removed his outer robe. The coolness of the morning was already dissipating in the heat of the summer air. For comfort, his silken sleep attire would have to do for the rest of his unexpected audience.
By now, the girl realized her mistake, and a new awkward silence was born between them as if it were trying to turn back time's fingers to erase her mistake. "Now, a servant wouldn't dare question me like that." Kalon pointed out. "Why would they? They know their place in the world. Someone didn't do their homework properly." He clucked his tongue at her rudely.
"You have me, sir," the noblewoman said proudly, squaring her shoulders. Kalon tilted his head, thinking her attitude was out of context with her still on her knees before him, looking up at him with even more defiance now that her rouse had been exposed.
Why is she still kneeling? If he were in her situation, Kalon would at least have the grace to look a little sheepish after being called out. Is she taking the 'wrong and strong' position here?
Most nobles do, but that's an approach one takes with servants and those of lesser stations. It's seen as self-serving and ungraceful in its execution, however, to take that stance with a fellow noble.
"No, my lady, I do not have you. Believe me, you would feel it if I did." Before a blush could spread over her freckled nose at his words in righteous indignation, Kalon stooped, suddenly getting closer to the woman, who involuntarily pulled back from his invasion of her personal space. In a whispered breath, he sneered while staring into her eyes, "But apparently you want my cousin to have you; isn't that right, milady?"
The tone of his voice turned the last word into a derogation, eliciting a miffed gasp. Kalon knew what was going to come next as he watched the girl's eyes widen, but he was prepared for it. It was the go-to first response for all high-born women—a slap to the face, which told him everything he needed to know about this noblewoman in disguise.
So, not an assassin.
Some noble houses trained their members in the art regardless of their sex. Some houses were so proficient that many of their members were in the Punishment Squad of the Goeti 13 or in the employ of a master in need of their skills, like the ones Byakuya has on his personal staff. Kneeling before Kalon is a lady of noble birth and station, used to getting her way by trading on her name and title alone. He doubts she's held a blade in her life.
He caught her wrist in mid-arch, and then the other, which sprang up almost immediately when her first strike was obstructed. Kalon stared at the slip of a girl as she fruitlessly tried to get free of his grip. It was foresightful and fortunate for her that Kalon had told his servants to wait outside before he started having this conversation in earnest. A lady's dignity must be preserved, as propriety demands, even if the lady is doing a piss poor job of displaying that vaunted attribute at the moment. He is a member of the nobility, and discretion must be applied in matters big and small as courtesy requires. No matter how disproportionate a strain it puts on a male trying his best to be a gentleman.
Kalon exhaled softly through his nose, thinking. This again!
In the Seireitei, when one deals with entitled, snobbish nobility, one must tread carefully; an imagined slight or a misspoken word at the wrong time can see you up to your waist in deep waters with a powerful family or a petty noble looking to elevate their station through exaggeration. Especially if your last name is Kuchiki. Every bloody moment for anyone outside of the clan is a naked opportunity to either extort a favor from you, manipulate you, or humiliate you. Sometimes—most times!—it's not even you, personally, that they're after; it's the Kuchiki Clan's honor as a whole that they're looking to smudge. Because as a Kuchiki, you are the representative of the entire clan every day of your existence.
The weapon of duplicity for the typical noblewoman is propriety, where the odds are always in their favor unless they are caught in a scandalous activity. Then propriety turns its fangs on them viciously and burns their reputation to a crisp, irrecoverable level.
"You're ambidextrous," Kalon commented brusquely. "What small, smooth, soft hands you have for a servant, my lady!" He grinned impishly at her.
"Release me, sir," The pretending maid protested, red-faced with what Kalon hoped was sufficient embarrassment. "You have made your point," she snapped.
Kalon released her and then straightened to his full height before offering the lady his hand. She took it, albeit grudgingly and with a great deal of weariness, as if it would bite her on contact. "That I have, Lady Kobayashi."
Lady Kobayashi snatched her hand away from him and almost fell on her rump out of shock. Kalon returned to his seat, not bothering to gesture for her to take the seat opposite him. This was such a typical reaction among all noblewomen that Kalon felt a wave of disinterest wash over him.
"How did you know who I am?" Lady Kobayashi was still stunned, her voice growing annoyingly squeaky in his ears. "Have you been spying on me?"
He gave her the look her question deserved. "Do you jest?" Kalon rolled his eyes at her as her butt found the chair opposite his, her brown eyes wide, staring at him. He saw her jaw drop at his discourteousness, but he didn't care what she thought of him. Call it a deficit in his personality, but Kalon's interest wanes easily once a plot, scheme, rouse, or mystery is unraveled before his keen eyes. "I made you out as a noble from the moment you entered this room by the rhythm of your walk alone."
"But how did you know that I am Lady Kobayashi?" the noblewoman insisted, her voice returning to a tolerable octave.
"Oh, yes." Kalon said, taking up the letter again: "Your insignia gave you away. The crest of House Kobayashi is very distinctive. Now," Kalon began instructively, "You could not be Lady Aoi Kobayashi, as she's the eldest of the three daughters of your aging sire and, by all reports, a lady of the shyest continence when it comes to matters of social events such as these." Kalon said diplomatically. "A wallflower if there was ever one in polite Seireitei society. And when you thought to punish me for my temerity," He smirked at her. "You used your palm instead of a dagger and with no technique at that, which means you're not your second older sister, Fumiko Kobayashi, who's in the Goeti 13's Officer Core of Squad 2. That boils down to the fact that you must be Lady Emiko Kobayashi, the youngest of the three daughters of House Kobayashi. An elementary deduction, really, my lady." He concluded before he pivoted in the conversation with a sharp question: "What was the point of all this, Lady Emiko Kobayashi?" He waved in the direction of the commotion outside. "I'm assuming, given your presence here, that you can enlighten me about the reason behind all this and what you hope to achieve here today." He inquired politely with a practiced smile.
Again, she was caught off guard by hearing her first name casually on the lips of this stranger. Emiko Kobayashi stared at him, transfixed.
Like an idiot child. Kalon thought.
Kalon didn't like the idea of Rukia, the commoner turned noble, but she was more cunning than this girl, he had to admit. The evidence speaks loudly. The fact that he was being forced into a marriage with her out of duty and loyalty to his house sours his stomach, but by all accounts, with Emiko as an example here staring at him with an idiotic look on her face, if Rukia had conducted herself in any way or form like this within Byakuya's scope of influence—and his bat ears hear everything thanks to his Captain-level Reishi content—there was no way under the influence of the sun that his cousin would have put up with nonsense like this for over 50 years. Byakuya is not known for his patience with many things, and watered-down sagacity is not something the Lord of the Kuchiki Clan would abid for a week, much less 50 years in his adopted sister. Byakuya would beat it into Rukia with a lash if he was determined enough rather than suffer her as an embarrassment to his clan, or he would send her away, but he wouldn't allow her to live with him on his estate no matter how big it is.
"So you were spying on me," Emiko concluded with finality, her tone between appalled and flattery.
Uh oh! It's that tone. Not a hope in hell of convincing her otherwise now. Why are all noble women such zealots? Kalon sighed, but mentally he was cringing, though his words were smooth as he spoke them: "My lady, you're not that interesting to warrant a spy from my house, and two minutes into this conversation strongly indicates that you're not terribly bright either."
Emiko wasn't even listening to him. Three fingers from her right hand covered her lips in a flashy display of self-aggrandizement, which had Kalon lifting a brow in irritation.
"A member of the Kuchiki Clan spies on Emiko Kobayashi," the young woman said in a voice that told Kalon how colored her perspectives were and how vain she is. Like a madwoman, Emiko started a new conversation with herself, blithely ignoring her host as if he had not spoken a word. She was looking away from Kalon, her face to the sunlit windows, and the activities outside, so she didn't witness the look of unmistakable spite on his face. "It's only natural," the girl continued in her self-assessment as if it were holy law. "For a man of your caliber to do something so common as to spy on a lady like myself," She lectured him disapprovingly, buying into her own delusion.
"A man of my caliber?" Kalon said curiously, not bothering to correct this crazy woman. "Do explain your meaning."
"Come now, sir." Emiko chided him with a delicate snort. "You said your name was Kalon Kuchiki," the young woman continued in a tone that told the nobleman that she didn't believe him one jot. "But I have never heard of you." She said it like it was a fact of nature.
"Ah!" Kalon nodded with practiced patience. "So I'm a nobody if you haven't heard of me, even though I'm a member of the clan you're aspiring to be the Lady of, someday, and I'm sitting right here before you?" He spoke conversationally.
"You understood it admirably," Emiko mocked. "Well done," she said condescendingly.
Kalon smiled with a thick layer of indulgence he's learned to inject into his persona over the years as a diplomat. The one thing you don't want to do when dealing with nobles is show your true hand. Don't get emotional, whatever happens. They're like sharks at the faintest hint of blood. He took a five-second breath to settle himself before responding. "But what if I am who I say I am?" Kalon asked; the tight rein on his emotions redoubled. "What then?"
Kalon hated, with a special fervor, this sort of behavior from nobles. Because he didn't have the name Byakuya before his family name, does that make him lesser? A nobody! After two centuries of toil, building up his reputation as a diplomat for his house and an administrator, he's had to take so much shit that his father threw at him just to keep what he'd built up. Even after Kaito finally acknowledged him as his legit heir and son, it was done begrudgingly in the face of irrefutable evidence. It's galling to hear someone as insignificant as this little twit dismiss him so easily. By 7 Hells, that stings! Of course, as the sun rises in the east, predictably, they'll change their tune when they confirm his pedigree and try to extract favors from him to get close to Byakuya.
Wrong tree, shallow bastards.
"Please, sir." Emiko smiled at Kalon coldly, giving him a look of superiority from under her long lashes. "Anyone with eyes can see that you are no more a Kuchiki than I am a bird," she laughed scornfully.
Kalon didn't strike her, though he was tempted mightily to slap some sense into the petty little girl laughing in his face and disrespecting him. A noble gentleman is even-tempered and rational. That's what the rules of propriety say. The rules needed a thorough drowning in the lava pits of all 13 hells.
Though he has his long hair up in a sensible bun given the heat of the time, unlike what most Kuchikis thought was fashionable, emulating Byakuya's signature hairstyle by leaving their thick, dark hair down even in the sultry heat of summer, Kalon did not agree. His face, while not as handsome as his dear cousin's, has the Kuchiki family stamp on it, with high, sharp cheekbones set in an angular face with a graceful jawline meeting at a smooth, slightly pointed chin. Thankfully, he got most of his features from his mother, while his father contributed to his height, build, and, of course, his forest green eyes. People often say that Kalon resembles his cousin more when his hair is down, which is why Kalon wears his hair in a ponytail at the back of his head more often than not. He's Kalon Kuchiki by 13 Hells; he will not be mistaken for anyone else, especially not Byakuya.
Before anything more could be said, there was a knock at the door, and his aid, Isamu, announced himself.
"What is it?" Kalon called.
"Just a gentle reminder, my Lord." His aging servant's creaking voice responded through the shoji screen, "You'll need to leave soon if you are to have breakfast with your honorable uncle, Lord Ginrei Kuchiki-Sama. You know he's a stickler for punctuality."
"I'm almost done. We wouldn't want to keep Uncle Ginrei waiting." Then, under his breath, "That man still scares me."
Lady Kobayashi perked up at the mention of his uncle's name. "Did your servant really mean the Ginrei Kuchiki, grandfather to my Lord Byakuya?" A look of wonder glazed over the woman's eyes, and that had Kalon walking away. "My future grandfather, Ginrei-Oji-Sama?" She squealed with horrible, mad delight.
"Oh, dear gods," Kalon said under his breath with more than a little trepidation. It was time to end this audience. Turning away from the girl proper, he called to Isamu in as even a tone as he could manage, as if it were an afterthought, "Oh, and Samu."
"My lord?"
"Please see the lady out; our conversations are at a close," Kalon instructed his manservant as he strode towards his bed chambers. "I'll be dressing alone; no need to call in the maids," He instructed over his shoulder as soon as Samu entered the parlor, ready to execute his duties with immediate effect.