Brought To Light [Closed, Kiriko]

Time was becoming tedious, an onward slog of sand trickling through her fingers. No matter how tightly she clenched her hands she could not pause the sun in its path across the sky nor freeze the lengthening shadows in their tracks, and this was a limitation that Chinda Kiriko would not accept gracefully. She was no longer human, no longer Shinigami, no longer weak and spineless and complacent. Things such as time should cease to bother a being of her power. And yet the more she glowered at the sundial through her office window the further that sliver of darkness seemed to trek forward, time escaping her over and over.

The galling part was not so much her inability to compel the hours to lengthen to her precise wishes as much as it was the way that tendril of flame within the empty cavity of her chest burbled and seared no matter how much work she got done. She could feel whatever was left of her heart crumbling like ash in a forgotten fireplace, the spark dancing and spitting its way through her innards with nary a concern for nighttime or even the grandest of accomplishments. And it was with that carried agony that Kiriko knew her time was running short. Her plans were masterfully crafted, and yet none of that would matter if she had not the correct tools at her disposal.

None of that would matter if Ine and Fujikagi and that damned spawn from the Fourth continued to steal away her toys. She needed men, and unlike in the past she needed loyalty above and beyond any particular competence. Fujikagi had been a mistake on her part, Houmaru a grave digression. She had learned from those stumbling blocks, learned that the only people she could trust were the ones who had no room to slip away from her grip. It wasn't enough to threaten death, to pander to the weakest of emotions, to ensnare the minds of her soldiers – it wasn't enough anymore. Never really had been.

And so she had concocted her most recent plan, something that had been raising a few discrete eyebrows along the way she was sure. Though no one in the Second had the discretionary power to even realize what she was doing right now, and Ine didn't seem to care so long as she held up her side of their bargain. All that was to say that it was something like custom to find herself once more in the dank lower levels of the Maggot's Nest staring at what could only be described as a pitiful creature.

Some small part of her found the irony in releasing hardened criminals and inserting them into the Second. An even smaller part of her couldn't stop laughing at her dreamlike memory of Tsukimiya-taichou's own acquittal. Would she too end up here one day? A prisoner in her own castle? Or would she be dead, like the forgotten Golden King. 

Time might be tedious, but despite the ticking clock she couldn't muster up enough energy to properly care about the insubordination of her newest choice prey. Something must have shown in her eyes though, dead and blank and utterly unamused, for the criminal eventually ceased his hoarse laughter and turned a focused eye in her direction. His little outburst was long enough to gauge what she needed, long enough to know that he could be hers with little real effort. This was a sword looking for a sheath and she knew just how to handle such men.

Flicking a lock of long black hair over her shoulder, her movements deft and so perfectly controlled that the air seemed to hum with her focus, Kiriko slid her gaze up and down before finally staring directly into those wild eyes. Her lips twitched, pulling back to reveal a razor sharp smirk that promised to deliver pain and to make you beg for it first. “If you want a cook, you're a year too late. Tsukimiya-taichou is already gone, as are any remnants of whoever threw you in here, I'm afraid.” Her voice, when she spoke, was flat and unadorned, echoing like the breath of the grave in this tiny cage.

Whatever joke had been folded up into that introduction was summarily tossed away as Kiriko's face sharpened and she gestured the guards at her side to depart. Ametsuchi had been doing his job in here if this wretch didn't even know the most simple of events that had gone on without him in the outside world. It should have reminded her of her favorite subordinate's skill, instead it served to make her nerves tingle with barely masked rage as she realized this would require a bit more finesse to enact.

“Become my sword and I will pardon you. It's a simple contract really. You can stay in here and waste away, or you can follow me into the light and die on my terms. Either way I own your life, I suppose the only choice you have is how you want to go out.” She peered at him, coal-dark eyes flaying skin and flesh until she was staring at his very soul. Judging and evaluating all that existed therein.

She had no time to play games or answer foolish questions. If he said no she would ensure his death was slow and painful and if he said yes... well, she had a need for useful men. 

WC: 900 | GP: 18 | Total GP: 18

Silence; the type that ensued in the presence of any powerful and independent woman, fell upon this particular hellhole as the two sized one another up. He was amused to find that she had some slight sense of humor as a smirk danced across her lips, even if it vanished in an instant and solemnity overtook her expression once more. The sheer intensity of her gaze caused his spine to tingle and every finite hair on his arms stand on end. It was clear to him that her mind would be made up in the next few seconds, whether he replied or not. And so the prisoner effortlessly rose to his feet and stepped toward the bars that separated the young woman and himself. As he had nearly a foot in height over her, Siri stared down with a somewhat dignified expression once the smirk had been stricken away by her ultimatum.

"Your Sword?" He repeated in a slight whisper, as if to give the illusion of weighing his options to make it seem a bit more like his own idea. Reaching out slowly, his boney fingers wrapped around the bars of his cell as he inched closer to her. His chin now rested lightly against his right forearm as he stared at the wall beside him, admiring the thousands of tally marks that had accumulated over the many years. Of course it was a cliche, though it had been the only way for the man to keep what little he had left of his sanity, keeping track of time the best he could to give him some vague estimation of how long he had spent rotting in this pit. After several moments, he exhaled with a mildly disheartened sigh before shifting his eyes back to her "I think I can live with that.."

The same stillness that had spread throughout the Maggot's nest now overtook the prisoner's body as his gaze remained locked with the intimidating being before him. He had hoped to remain reticent in moments like this, but since his absence from the world that surrounded this prison he feared that she may be able to read him like a sloppily formatted children's book; half-assed pictures colored barely within the lines and all. At the same time he attempted to see past her rough outward demeanor to read anything that pulsed beneath the surface. What game was she playing? What purpose did she have for setting him free after all this time? Furthermore, how was it that she found him, of all people, buried within the tons of lunatics that took up residence in the Maggot's nest? Questions like these continued to cycle in the prisoner's mind before he eventually thought; Fuck all, and vocalized his curiosity. "So tell me, Captain, how should I address you?" Per usual, the first thing that came to his mind, Siri blurted out before tilting his head to one side, allowing his thoughts to fall more toward the matter on point. "More importantly, what's your end-game? You rounding up all the loonies to stage some sort of coup d’état?" That was, of course aside from a few other various nonsensical phrases, the extent of Siri's knowledge of the French language, though he would play it off as if he spoke it fluently, among other things.

A thin eyebrow arched high, significant in comparison to his otherwise stern expression as he hoped for the young Captain to devulge her entire scheme to him right there in the depths of hell. Then again, just because she saw him as a useful tool didn't mean she trusted him enough to throw him that big of a bone. No, he was most likely one out of a dozen grueling attack dogs she had at her beck and call for whatever reasons. Even so, she made him anxious. Just standing there, observing his every mood, which is precisely why he began to shift his weight from one heel to the other, his body twisting left to right, though his head remained perfectly still, observing her right back.

The fire in the pit of her chest licked upward, searing at her flesh and sending rivers of red coursing through her body. She felt the rage coil inward, a tightly knit ball of flame, flickering in the darkness that was her soul. Ever so daintily Kiriko stepped forward, feet feather-light on the packed stone floor as her hand ghosted upward to press cool fingertips against that yearning face behind the bars. Trailing the very pads of her fingers along the plane of Sirius' cheekbone, she leaned in alongside him, close enough to whisper into his hair, “Can you feel it, Wakahisa-san?”

Her voice was a tender caress, the soft blush of secrets whispered between two lovers. Pulling back an inch, so that her lips were beside the man's ear, she let her fingers crawl further down his face as her nails traced a fragile line between pressure and pain. “Can you feel the power disparity between the two of us? Even shrouded in sekiseki stone, can you feel how my spirit towers above your own?” Her voice was a heady murmur, shrouded in midnight clouds as the power flowed through her touch.

“Does it scare you? To be so outclassed? Or maybe... maybe it makes you angry. Makes you wish for strength yourself... The strength to defeat your enemies and take what is yours.”

“Too bad for you that you're destined to be nothing but a sword. A tool in another's hands. No strength but for that which others allow you. You know it in your heart, that is why you were thrown in here. Not because of your crimes, but because of what could be done with you. What others could make you into. They were afraid of who you would cleave to, afraid of who would own your bladed edge.” Her fingers curled, digging harshly into his cheek now with enough force to draw blood even as she pulled back so that their eyes could lock, pinning him in place with the hypnotizing swirl of power that echoed in her eyes.

Her voice was not soft when next she spoke, nor was it genteel, but a harsh guttural whisper that lashed at the poor excuse for a man in front of her. “You are nothing but a blade waiting for a master, isn't that right, Wakahisa-san? So what does it matter what I plan to do, so long as I promise to use you well? Isn't that all that you've ever wanted, all that you've ever asked for?” She spoke truth to the weaknesses of his heart, careless of whatever pain it might cause him, or what illusions he might have obscured his own self-image with. To make this man useful, she had to scourge away his sense of self. Nothing but the very metal of the blade was of use to her, and that would be all she would free from this prison of stone.

Tenderly she wiped at the streak of blood on his cheek, pulling her fingers back through the bars and releasing him from her paralyzing stare. Twisting her hand this way and that Kiriko admired the smudge of red before lifting her hand to wipe it off casually on Sirius' tattered shirt. “But I don't think you really needed an answer, Wakahisa-san. Did you ever have one before, I wonder, with those men who used you like a cheap katana?” A smirk carved its way across her face, cruel and cutting before it softened incrementally. “But this, this is different now. I know you can feel it. I am no petty criminal, no assassin in the dark. My plans work outside the constraints of time or the power structure you believe you understand. If you follow me, I will change this world, and I will allow you to be there while it happens. To witness the rebirth. If you agree, I will give you a purpose to hone yourself for, a cause to fight for, and I will not let your talents be wasted.”

Skipping a half step backward, her long kimono skirts swirling around her like a crimson cloud, Kiriko's expression went slack as she resumed her business tone. “That is what I am offering, Wakahisa-san. You will only ever be a broken tool. I and I alone can ensure that you actually do something worthwhile with that meager life of yours.”

She flicked a speck of dirt off the river of fabric that made up her sleeve, expression bored as she glanced down the hall as if surveying the other prisoners. “If you truly accept, knowing that what I've just told you will likely be the extent of your understanding, then I will introduce myself to you.” Her shoulders rose in a facsimile of a shrug as if to let him know just how easily she would slip from his memory were he to refuse. There were so very many broken souls in this place, she could find another to replace him. It wouldn't even take effort really. Perhaps it was the only shred of compassion she still held within her that had carried her to his cell first before all others. After all, Chinda Kiriko could be merciful if she wished to be. But only to those who made it worth her while.  

WC: 884 | GP: 17 | Total GP: 35

The swinging of his arms came to an immediate halt while gazing upon her suspicious form as her hand glided between the bars and her finger tips brushed against his cheek. His skin prickled under her cold touch, though his eyes remained locked on hers as she spoke, her voice causing shivers down his spine from the seriousness of her tone. It was true, his spirit had diminished over the decades he had spent rotting away in this tomb, though he would never admit to being inferior to another no matter the reality of that fact. As her touch quickly shifted to a vicious grip on his face, her nails breaking the skin, causing a few drops of blood to seep out of the open wound, his eyes did not waver nor did he flinch in the slightest. Pain had become a cruel reality for him. The pain of hunger had long become a tedious, yet insignificant reminder of the life he had once had, and as for physical pain; it had been so long since he had experienced it that he wasn't quite sure how to react. Instead he continued to watch her in silence as she wiped the blood from his cheek and seemingly admired it before wiping it clean on his tattered shirt and leaping back away from his cell. His eyes glanced down at the new stain before drifting up her form to meet her gaze once more. It was clear to him that he meant nothing to her but his usefulness as a tool, as she so plainly stated, but as she continued on with what he took as a mildly unnecessary spiel and ultimately overly dramatic show, a small smirk grew in the corner of his lips once more.

His tongue slowly slithered out from behind his lips and licked at the blood that had trickled down to his jawline before curling and receding back behind a crooked smile. Taking a step forward, Siri wrapped his boney fingers around the vertical bars before placing his chin upon the horizontal one that intersected them. His head fell lazily to one side as he examined her person once more before he inhaled deeply, his cheeks puffing up in an immature fashion before he exhaled slowly. "So... is there like a ritual... or perhaps a creed I have to recite to assure that I am truly committed to you?" Yet again his words passed his lips with a slight sense of childish sarcasm, though he caught himself quickly this time and continued after clearing his throat. "By that, I mean I can assume I am not the first you have persuaded into joining your cause. If a specific protocol does not exist.." Siri paused once more, taking a step back and placing his arms at his sides, his amused expression fading to a more serious, composed look out of respect for his savior. His form bowed at his waist, his head down, level to the floor for a few moments before he looked back up at her, though his submissive posture remained. He admired her confidence for a moment longer before bowing his head and continuing. "I pledge myself to you, My Captain. I shall be a blade under your sovereignty, a dirk for you to guide into the hearts of your enemies and once my usefulness to you has diminished to nothing, I shall honor your bidding and drive my blade into my own." Though silence fell upon the pair, he dare not rise until she showed the slightest bit of approval of his words.
 
It wasn't uncommon of Siri to exaggerate his words when the ears they were meant for belonged to a being of high stature. In other words, there was a high chance that he may be over-exaggerating the slightest bit in what he had told her, though one fact remained; if she would free him from this place and return him to a place of power, Siri would serve her for a time equal to that of his imprisonment. Did his allegiance to her outweigh what he believed the value of his own life was? No. Did he trust her? Certainly not. It was obvious to him that his only use to her was to strike down those whose deaths would benefit her as well as grant her more power and standing in the Soul Society, if not on a Global scale. Even so, the thought of gaining power through her ascension appealed to him and it couldn't hurt to follow her for the time being. In fact, just the thought of sleeping in a bed made from anything but stone was enough for him to align with her. She was certainly a being of certainty; sure of what she wanted and what her means of achieving her goals were and that was a trait he admired in her. And so he did not regret his somewhat rash decision, especially considering that she did not seem like an overly patient individual and most likely required a swift answer from him or she would leave him here to rot like the Shinigami before her.
 
Though the voice in his head suggested it would be better not to, Siri glanced up at her once more with a cocky, optimistic smile before asking in an equally cocky tone, "So, when can we blow this extremely depressing Popsicle stand? They only have Orange, which between you and I, doesn't seem to be a very popular flavor." He gave her a small wink before straightening his posture and staring down at her with eager eyes. Hopefully he did not offend her by rising too quickly, but as he pondered this thought, the world certainly could have advanced far beyond his comprehension over the years. So it was quite possible that the formalities he just extended to her were lost to beings of this century and may seem strange and feudal in comparison to how people addressed one another now. Either way, he felt it best to remain silent now, as one wrong word could seal his fate, no matter how useful he could be to her.

Meetings like this were so tedious. Sometimes she wondered why it was necessary, these secret blades. Did she not have enough loyal soldiers in the Second already? Did she not have her plants in the rest of the divisions? What use was it trying to force these pitiful souls into the right configuration when they resisted so spectacularly? She might be a master molder, but dealing with iron instead of clay made the task all the harder.
 
And yet, one look at those eyes that refused to balk, at the stiff back and the whisper-quiet power of Wakahisa's soul even after years of deadening imprisonment, and that was all it took to remind her the reason why. She might play out the role, stretching the words on and on, but swords had many uses. Not just to be empty metal, but more often than not it was the flash of fire in them that allowed them to cut all the sharper. She hadn't gained his respect quite yet, nor his undying loyalty, but Kiriko had achieved what she'd come here to win. Fear and admiration mixed together in equal measure were exactly the type of goads she liked to work with.

And Wakahisa was a perfect canvas for what she had planned. Hidden amidst that never ending paperwork sprawl she had so carefully concocted for Ine, no one would ever realize just how many men the Captain of the Second had quietly released into her division's ranks these last few months. And when the time came to finally rule this crumbling castle of Shinigami, no one would ever be able to find her fingerprints on people like this, little lost soldiers all covered in cobweb and shadow as they lay forgotten.
She merely quirked an eyebrow as he straightened, that hot-headed rush of adrenaline something she could almost spot in the way he swallowed and the pitch of his voice as he approached mockery without quite crossing the line. Falling into place so swiftly that she could almost forgive the second-earlier lapse in protocol, Kiriko felt another tickle of irony as this backwaters Shinigami evoked some rather ancient oath-swearing etiquette. It was bad enough that it was so familiar to her, having spent a lifetime in antiquity before becoming a Shinigami herself. Still, the flowery language was evocative, if not entirely sincere.

Smiling faintly, she waved one hand languorously through the dusty air as he rose, “No. There's nothing that will make me believe in your commitment. Rather, I would hope that you could trust that were you to betray me I would destroy you. I find that simple relationships work the best, you see, and there is nothing wrong with being honest about your reality. You will do as I say, through your own willful obedience or otherwise, or else I will put you back in here. That is the oath we two can share,” she stared at him, quiet and solemn in the encroaching darkness.

She couldn't trust him beyond that threat, just as he couldn't trust her beyond it either. And so being open about the repercussions of this fealty was all that would elicit true obedience. She cared little whether Wakahisa actually believed in her cause, whether he thought her right or just. Only that he did what she asked with enough skill that it was still useful to her plans. With time his conscious loyalty might built, as it did with so many of her tools, but it wasn't a necessary ingredient.

Stepping forward, she lay one hand along the small square panel to the right of the door. There were of course a set of keys that the current warden held that would have unlocked this cell, but procuring them would leave a trail she didn't wish to bother with erasing. Letting her reiatsu flow down her arm, tickling at her fingers with a healthy glow of Shunko-amethyst, she pushed the reishi into the receptive material and watched as the lock snapped free. Even prison cells had regrets, and doors had long since learned to fall in line when she demanded their submission.

Giving him space to feel the swish of new air as the door swung wide, she turned back to the otherwise silent hallway with a calculated gaze. “It is time for us to go now. We can speak more in my office, but I think you will appreciate your new life irregardless of what duties we agree upon.”

Striding away, having given him the few seconds she saw necessary to absorb his newfound freedom, Kiriko glanced back only once. “Ah, I almost forgot. I did promise, after all. My name is Chinda Kiriko, current Captain of the Second Division. If you need a whole reel of titles and accomplishments I'm sure you can find someone later to oblige you. I put little stock in the past.”

With that the two glided out of the darkness and back into a world of light. 
 
WC: 831 | GP: 16 | Total GP: 51