"It will be instructive to see how my cousin manufactures order out of this chaos," Kalon observed aloud, looking out the window of his temporary abode, where Byakuya had grudgingly housed him and his retinue until their business was concluded here. This is his second morning at Kuchiki Manor, on the southwest wing of the estates, 30bloody miles by horseback from the Main House, where the Lord of the Manor resides. Kalon read the subtle insult from Byakuya as clearly as a book page, but he didn't let it bother him. His cousin could sulk all he wanted; it wouldn't stop Kalon from getting what he wanted. Although, that being said, this latest obstruction might succeed where his cousin falls short.
As he continues to survey the ever-increasing and colorfully adorned army (for lack of a better way of putting it), arriving by various means—flash steps, horses, carriages, buggies, and wanes—seemingly preparing for siege just outside the walls of the manor—if they didn't push their way through the poultry guard line at the gates first, armed only with pointy sticks and mean expressions, Kalon had only one thought on his mind swimming in sarcasm.
My dear cousin caused all of this with the slightest shift in his personal agenda? The man possesses a devastating power all on his own.
Normally, Kuchiki Manor outfits its mundane security force with 3 to 6 well-muscled guards adept at sticking unwanted visitors with the pointy end of their spears. There are four main gates aligned at perpendicular points around the manor, mimicking compass points: north, south, east, and west, where the guard shift rotates every 12 hours. Thanks to the vantage from his apartment windows, Kalon could make out some of Byakuya's shadow soldiers in the lineup, bolstering support for their fellow, less-paid colleagues. They were distinguishable by the nimble way they moved and their less bulky physiques. There weren't many of them, as they were not there to subdue the angry, dispossessed, not to mentioned thoroughly deluded tarts; only prevent them from considering attempting anything too bold.
Perhaps the most significant threat the Soul Society will ever face is not a horde of hollows or the treachery of rogue soul reapers, but the displeasure of its femininity.
"My Gods!" Kalon said quietly, halfway between disgust and awe. "Complexity is the enemy of progress. Who's bright idea was this?" He asked no one.
It starts with a whisper, as these things often do. A spark falling on the dry kindling accumulating over decades just at the right moment, fed little by little with the oxygen of gossip, growing in the retelling until it could no longer be accommodated through the veins that germinated the heat in the first place. Wisping flames fanned into a firestorm within hours, and now it was burning its way steadily to all four iron-guarded gates of Kuchiki Manor, demanding to see the Lord of the Clan with a special fervor.
Following the gossip, it didn't take long for the letters to start arriving at the Main Branch House. First in tricklings in the early stages of the news, then the floodgates burst soon after, culminating into a river of parchment, but the manor saw a swelling, however, particularly after yesterday's meeting of the Gotei 13 at Squad 1. Black on white rice paper, they kept coming like a cavalry charge, bouldering over any other business unfortunate enough to get in their way that the clan had planned to tackle this day.
Not bloody likely for the foreseeable future. Kalon thought expansively, shaking his head, then sighing.
Not with every office of the manor becoming infested with inked-hurt feelings from every noblewoman in the Soul Society, sealed in wax with the ring insignias of their prominent houses, and effectively dooming any chance (if there was ever any) of their intended looking favorably in their direction after this fiasco concludes. But maybe that was the point.
There is something about meetings and secrecy that doesn't mix well together in the Seireitei. Kalon reflexed.
No doubt Byakuya is doing what any sensible man would do in such a unique crisis: hiding from the onslaught of hurt feelings in pretty kimonos. Not in his quarters, of course; they would find him easily in there using any clout their noble lineage afforded them by accident of birth. There was no way he would be able to get to his barracks now. As much a master of flash steps as Byakuya is, Kalon spied more than one house in the traffic of carriages passing familiar with the military techniques of the Goeti 13. Running is one strategy, but no matter how far one runs, you'll have to come to rest at a destination. The best thing Byakuya can do for his sanity is stay put in the relative safety of his fortress, wherever he was on the manor grounds at the moment. Not even Kalon's adept spies in his retinue could coax any detail on the whereabouts of Lord Flat-Headedness at present, neither by the delicate art of bribery nor using his pedigree as his cousin as had worked for him with the guards at the main gates a couple of days ago.
This morning found every desk and filing cabinet of every member of staff employed at Kuchiki Manor, regardless of rank or station, overflowing with sealed letters. It could be the master of privy operations and septics; it mattered not. They would be delivered, and in the minds of the vapid noblewomen—bless their insane little hearts—each letter would be read personally by the 28th head of the clan, as they've built up Byakuya's image in their imagination to be that noble. As if anyone had the time not to mention the budget to allocate to a candle spending spree regardless of the heaviness of their purse for something this trivial.
It's an interesting curiosity on the part of the ladies who believe (mind and soul), despite ample evidence to the contrary, that if they could just see the Lord of the Clan and if he were to be in their presence and listen to their earnest feelings for him, then he would surely realize how erroneous the Elders of his clan are being and come to consider their troths instead. How they can conveniently forget all the decades of celibacy the young Lord Kuchiki Sama has chosen to exist in after the death of his wife, despite the plethora of pretty shirts from the nobility hoping and praying for the scantest glance from the 28th Head of the Kuchiki Clan in their direction, is beyond Kalon's ability to fathom.
But issues of passion are like that. Where logic and reason may provide clairvoyance on a circumstance or a series of circumstances, matters of the heart tend to poke their victims in both eyes while making them feel resolute in their cause, like a drug destroying the body while simultaneously giving bliss to the mind, until reality slams their expectations to the ground-hard.
From what the legion of servants at Kuchiki Manor were grumbling about after being pressed into service to contend with this crisis happening before breakfast, several letters came from the same noble families from different members of note, expressing their heated rejection of this match with emotionally charged vocabulary. Often more than not, promoting between its irate lines, why 'Lady So and So' or 'Mistress Who is Who' will make a more suitable companion for the Lord of the Kuchiki Clan. Naked threats were fired off in the vernacular about what will happen if this wedding is not called off with immediate effect.
Many others eloquently suggested (strongly) withdrawing their support from the Kuchiki Clan from this prominent house or that clan over there if this course of action by the Main Branch House persists. Blah, blah, blah; tears, tears; sorrows, longings, and regrets; threats and warnings; and a series of impressive invectives from what Kalon was able to ascertain through his network of spies within minutes—yes, minutes. That goes to show just how much this campaign by the 'ladies' has disturbed Byakuya's perfect system that Kalon was able to get access to information like that as easily as bribing a hungry peasant with day-old bread.
There was even a flurry of suicide notes in the mix (his spies reported while he was still in his bedchamber this morning). The letters elaborated, in expansive detail, on how the writers would off-themselves if Byakuya marries anyone but Ladies Who's It, or this or that maiden of impeccable virtue. Blah, blah, blah, Etc. Etc.
But if there was any man who loathed spectacle or the disruption of his schedule more than Byakuya Kuchiki, he is yet to be born in this world. This is the same man who embodies noble principles, someone who actually takes his responsibilities (the mountain loads of them from every one of his offices, both military and political) very seriously and whose daily To-Dos barely have anything looking like personal time set aside with the exception of personal hygiene and meal times, which are the actual rules he had to have set for himself lest he neglected such basic needed thanks to how much duty has purchased his attention. The man is a workaholic.
Kalon's day had already begun before the sun rose, and already a situation in conjunction with what was happening outside stood before him. Well, more accurately, it was kneeling after getting caught red-handed by a member of his entourage. Except for his personal aid, a middle-aged man he's known since his youth, and a bodyguard here and there, the spacious sitting room was left to Kalon and his unhappy-looking guest. Kalon could hate Byakuya for slighting him with these out-of-the-way apartments all he wanted to (later), but even he had to admit to himself that the man didn't skimp when it came to construction contracts. The place was bigger than many of his manor homes, with a separate wing is dedicated to the servants' quarters. As large as Kalon's retinue was that he brought with him, he didn't have nearly enough servants in his party to fill up the servant's quarters here.
How can one man make me hate him so much? But the elites of the nobility are undeniably talented like that.
Interestingly enough, Kalon found that he was perplexed by the ruckus going on outside. By all accounts, he should find it extremely uproarious that his cousin's physical attributes have come back to bite him in the ass so hard in one of the strangest ways anyone could ever imagine. But in truth, he was sickeningly annoyed by the commotion caused by the noblewomen. And not for the reasons he should be.
By all reports- what Kalon could scrounge from those closest to his cousin- the Lord of the Manor was nearing Bankai when his eyes greeted the morning this day. Alright, not literally. Even the Kuchiki Clan would suffer an irrecoverable blow to its reputation if its Lord decided to arbitrarily slice and dice every daughter from its politically supportive houses and allies like fruit. But Byakuya is steaming over this; that is unmistakable, though he was governing his emotional constitution, Kalon surmised, lest his spiritual pressure leak like a painted sign telling all where to find him.
At the risk of a peel of thunder cracking the sky like an egg at the thought, Kalon had to agree with Byakuya on this one because what was going on outside the gates of Kuchiki Manor, clogging up the avenue, and generally bombarding the business of the manor, was beyond ridiculous. But he had to look at this situation from all sides, too. Because here's the reason why the nobility were protesting.
For centuries, Byakuya Kuchiki has forever remained unobtainable to any woman plighting her troth in his vicinity, hoping to catch his eye, much to every woman's constant disappointment. But that's the thing about noble women and nobles in general: the more something is outside the purview of their clutches, the more they crave obtaining it. Why?
The thrill of the chase, perhaps. Nobles are not used to having a 'NO' obstruct their will. It's not a word in our dictionary, so why respect it?
Even after he made that atrocious mistake (according to any noble of worth) by marrying that peasant half-dead wench, overlooking greener, more fertile pastures of proper breeding, Byakuya is still the undisputed standard by which all men (Kalon was loath to admit it) are judged first and foremost in the many sewing circles of noblewomen across the Seireitei. And when he refused to take another wife after Hisana's death because of the love and respect he still bore for her memory even in the depths of mourning and grief's aftermath, when many a sane man would have sought out comfort from willing skirts (a supply his cousin is never short of, though he lets them rot) to ebb his loneliness, not Byakuya Kuchiki! That all but cemented him romantically in the minds of all noblewomen, and some men, as the finest specimen among common-stock nobility, even as they continued to actively resent the peasant responsible for their aching longing decades after she took Death's embrace.
As a result, before a woman considers a courtship, the sublime, preternatural traits of the 28th flat-head of the Kuchiki Clan are used as the proto-measuring stick for any man hoping for a lady's hand in marriage or even a chased kiss. Which Kalon thought was an absolutely unfair and unrealistic demand from the Needle Community. Because no man can measure up to Byakuya's handsome attributes. His cousin was no longer a "pretty boy," with age and time indiscriminately touching us all, but this bastard ages like the finest vintage as he came into his maturity.
He must use the Kenkeisen to cover up a bald spot. Kalon hoped enviously. His hair is always in the same style.
A man not only had to be noble, a natural leader, handsome, brave, tall, and set apart as much as was within his ability from others, so said the Embroidery Committee, but he also had to be a distinguished scholar—someone with high intellect.
It is ironic that this list was compiled by the 'Ladies in Siege' outside. Intellect doesn't seem to be a strength of theirs.
He must have wealth, station, and power at his command and be devoted 100% to her (whoever 'her' is). And still, it is not enough. Because no matter how many of these mentionable traits a nobleman might possess in the pocket of their personality or way of inheritance (or fake it until they get up the skirts of their target), they will always remain lacking because none can come close to Byakuya Kuchiki in perfection in the eyes of all women. He has it all, and no one woman should have access to him exclusively. That must never happen. The sewing circles said so.
Only it had happened 50 years ago—proving the sewing circles wrong in spectacular fashion—when he married Hisana, and now he was about to marry her slut of a sister, Rukia. The indignity must be too much for the vain, vapid little idiots of the nobility.
To say that the members of the Seireitei's upper echelon were upset over the upcoming nuptials of Lord Byakuya Kuchiki to his adopted sister is an understatement the likes of which have not been uttered in many centuries. In the wake of the announcement (for announcement it has become despite its original clandestine nature), reports are circulating of epic tantrums being thrown by many ladies of noble bearing—some leveling parts of their estates with their terrible reiatsus over the insult of getting beaten out by "that peasant slut!"
While fathers and other male counterparts of respectable families were practically foaming at the mouth in seething sessions of rage, contesting that this is a scandalous stain on the noble community Seireitei-wide, it is important to note that the majority of the loudest protesters were the first to push their daughters (some, at the time, before their Age of Maturity hit) into the Kuchiki spotlight before Byakuya's wife's body was even cold, offering by whatever plot, scheme, or coercion to warm his bed. But scandal is in the eye of the beholder, and it's all a matter of perspective when it comes to the naked opportunism of nobility, isn't it?
For half a century, the noble houses of the Seireitei's Elite have been waiting for a whiff of a chance to present their well-educated daughters to the handsome Lord Kuchiki—a chance that was not only pregnant with political power, prestige, alliances, and no small wealth, but marriage to the man that is the centerpiece of every woman's steamiest fantasy has bragging rights for millennia or three to come for the lucky woman; the greenest envy extracted from all her shallow, scheming girlfriends is the way to a girl's heart, of course.
After waiting half a century for the Lord of the Kuchiki Clan to get his head out of the metaphorical hindquarters of grief and seek out a new wife (even if he is being compelled to do so), only to have that same man turn around and marry the sister of his late wife (the former peasant and First Lady of the noble house Kuchiki), has to be a hard sting to one's honor. And the nobility fed their pride on a steady diet of honor. It's reasonable why the ladies' wrath bearing down on Kuchiki Manor in a parade of colorful, extravagant carriages is so impressive—and not in a favorable light for them. To Kalon's keen eyes, if anything, the collective of femininity parked outside the gates of the Main Branch House was narrowing his cousin's options should he seriously consider being married again. Plus, there's a rumor slowly spreading among the servants that Rukia doesn't want this marriage either. That had Kalon perplexed after the whisper fluttered to his ears.
Whether out of respect for her late sister (whom she never knew about) or because of her ongoing relationship with that human of hers, Rukia Kuchiki was not a Byakuya sycophant.
His research shows all evidence to the contrary that the ladies of the nobility were using as their battle cry for staging this uprising of female disapproval. Despite his cousin's vaunted masculinity, handsome features, and noble bearing that made Kalon feel girly in comparison in the past, his adopted sister did not, by all accounts, find Byakuya attractive. The rumors of her promiscuity nature aside, everything that he's researched about Rukia Kuchiki for a year now says nothing to present a strong case that she and Byakuya had ever had a secret liaison of any kind.
Kalon found that puzzling. Maybe her human has a bigger sword than my cousin possesses under his Shihakusho. He had mused to himself while in the depths of his research.
This is a problem for Kalon, considering that he was here to get married to Rukia Kuchiki. And honestly, how hard can that be with her reputation? was his initial assessment. But what if everything the world knows about Rukia Kuchiki is wrong? A girl possessed with an immense curiosity of the male form and the pleasure she can find in such company as Rukia's often painted by the wagging tongues of the nobility, should have at least put some effort into making a pass at the man responsible for the devastation that turned the political landscape of the Seireitei's nobility into this hot mess within days over one strongly suggested tweaking to Byakuya's personal life.
Empty cups have nothing to offer. But a bottle left untapped is always brimming with possibility.
That thought inspired another factor in Kalon's scheme that he was hard-pressed to contemplate. If this exodus by the fairer sex is happening out in the open, what's happening in The Game of Whispers?
Though he was bound to find out soon enough as outrage brews over this unacceptable situation, stretching over both the noble and the military community at large like a pall to every nook and cranny of the Seireitei, the unstated question is: can his plans afford 'soon enough'?
The fairer flowers of the Soul Society had their thorns out by the dozens, no doubt tipped with poisons of the deadliest variety. Plots and assassins are commonplace as veins are to the heart of the shadow play implicit in the Game of Whispers. Kalon wouldn't be surprised if assassins weren't already on Rukia's trail to the World of the Living, sent by any number of the owners in those colorful, innocent-looking carriages in hopes that Rukia's excursion in the World of the Living turns into a one-way trip.
That must not happen.
As much as he hated to think about it, his father was right. The only way for him to be in the lineup for the 29th head of the Kuchiki Clan is by marrying her. Hence, why he was perplexed. He didn't want to marry Rukia Kuchiki. From his memory of the girl, it was disturbing to think about having intercourse with her. Rukia wasn't pretty; she was scrawny and short with boy-cropped hair. Kalon's preference for female creatures places emphasis on curvy hips, long dark hair he can twine his fist in, a sweet ass to hold, and full, perky breasts. They didn't have to be exceedingly tall, but he did like it when a woman's long legs were wrapped around his head or his waist, as he felt her body trembling under the power of his sway. Rukia possesses none of these attributes from his memory of her. Of course, time and the kitchens at Kuchiki Manor might have changed the girl's physique and filled out those ribs that were peeking through her robes at the time, but he couldn't get that first image of her out of his head. He doubted he could rise to the occasion in their marital bed. He shivered involuntarily at the thought.
Kalon was only half listening to the snippets of argument from the ladies in their carriages carried to his window as his cousin made certain to house him and his retinue in the leg of the manor closest to the road and as far away from his abode as possible. He wasn't a Captain of the Goeti 13, but age comes with benefits for a soul. And with wealth and favors, doors open quicker to the nobility than to men of lesser stations.
The general consensus was the same throughout the noble carriages, many of whom blamed Rukia Kuchiki in one unsavory extreme or another for this unwelcome change in their otherwise mundane continuity of pinning after a man who will never want them, especially after today's showcase of their character.
"That slut dares to seek a marriage with my Lord Byakuya-sama?" One carriage occupant was saying with acid in her tone. Her carriage looked as if a drunk rainbow vomited all over the top, then allowed the nasty paint to drip over the sides unpleasantly. It was such a multi-colored travesty.
"By what authority does that bitch believe that she can just push her way into the peerage and marry the most desired bachelor in the entire Soul Society, and one of such noble bearing?" This carriage looked like it was coming from a morgue; it was black from roof to wheels, and even the horses were black. Even for a soul reaper, that was too much black.
"How much longer are we to wait out here in the heat of the sun?" Another female snapped at a patient servant, doing her best to fan her fussy mistress. Kalon could barely make out the lady, who not only brought with her a parasol for this epoch-making event but also a table adorned with what looked like snacks and cakes, complete with a tablecloth and a chair, this early in the morning.
And those were the tamed varieties. Other ladies or their servants were screaming or pushing at the guards and simultaneously being repelled, even as they relentlessly peppered the unfortunate guardsmen who reported for duty at the Main Branch house early this morning expecting normalcy but instead walked into this manure.
Kalon didn't care about the guardsmen and their burdens, but he will have to do something about this Rukia situation sooner rather than later. Right now, he had his own manure to scrape off his metaphorical shoes, which brought him back to the girl kneeling before him. He didn't have a sword at her neck yet, but he was still stressed out after meeting with his cousin two days before; perhaps she could be instrumental in relieving his tension.
That depends on the level of her desperation. Kalon eyed the girl on her knees before his chair.
Her livery told her out as a scullery maid from the kitchens, perhaps newly come to work for the manor and ignorant of the nobility in general. The fact that her freckled face showed no sign of recognition when his personal guards placed her on her knees in his presence after confiscating a letter from her told Kalon that the girl likely didn't know who he was.