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[gorinto]

quirofiliac​:

His tone annoys Kira. There’s nothing else to say.

Simply put, it’s already put him in… somewhat of a bad mood. It wasn’t enough to crawl under his skin (over the years, he’s managed to build layers upon layers of skin, thickening and toughening it over time.) but it feels akin to that of something trying to, anyway. There was an unnecessary itchiness that cascaded over his skin – not enough to create goosebumps but enough to give off the temptation – that felt like a hard, steady stream from a shower. 

In one moment, it hits him at all once but in the very next? It’s all over, quietly rolling off of his body like rain… exactly like rain.

He takes his time in responding (because he doesn’t why he ought to respond in the first place other than for sake “social niceties”.) without, yet, engaging. Back remained turned towards him, leaving him feeling eerily naked and almost alone (but it’s a feeling that doesn’t go unwelcomed. it’s familiar, calming; he feels better alone.) without a chance to cover up. A twitch of the finger was all that he’s given in form of acknowledgement, lazy and almost subconscious.

Whether it was out of need to raise both of his arms in order to cross them over his chest, grasping onto his biceps in a makeshift hug would remain to be seen. There were other urges (to wrap his fingers around his throat, to see if the tips of his fingers could meet the tip of his thumb before squeezing. to squeeze as hard as he could, all in name of driving out that oh-so tantalizing crack he yearns for each and every time.) that negged him, egging him on almost physically. It was as if he was being pelted with literal eggs, pushing him to do something that he thinks that he should regret but knows that he won’t later on.

His attention remained upon the tombstone before him, a name on it that he feels that he should remember (it’s a typical shape, rounded at the top edges with the deceased’s name etched in print with a repeat under in cursive.) but doesn’t bother to do so. At the “foot” of the gravestone lay a small bouquet of flowers– an intermixing of red roses and white lilies. Kira doesn’t make any mention whether they were from him or not.

Upon the stone, It’s a name (her name was marcia garlowich, an aspiring model from overseas.) that’s best suited for the newspaper. It’s a name (and she was a hand model, apparently. she came to japan because of an opportunity, she told kira.) that’s best suited to be given a double take by the natives, mumbling under their breath, “What a strange name…” before turning to the next page. It’s a name (she laughed, and it’s an ugly sound, whilst wondering out loud, “why people need hand models beats me!” and kira only smiles at her.) that only her parents would recognize, ignorance showing in how they waited for their little girl’s big break on the billboards back home.

The billboards remained the same. It’s been a month, now. 

Her birthday’s tomorrow, too.

His head lifts after a few moments, eyes still peering down at the etching before him (he followed her back to her hotel, because she asked him to. she said he made her feel safe.) with a mild squint. Cursive was so gaudy… so garish… it would forever escape him as to why people would choose such a thing for their graves. It’s not like they would be around (they couldn’t find the body.) to see the finished product, after all.

“Thank you for the offer.”

Words come out a little soft, because he doesn’t want to force anything. For whatever reason this man decided to approach him, would remain to be seen, and Kira wasn’t fully motivated to find out why. He would much rather head back home (he thinks he needs a little more time to prep dinner… he decided to try something a little more “hearty” tonight for him and rohan– steak.) and pretend like none of this happened.

"I don’t think I’m in need of anything…”

“…although, I must look a little lost–” a small joke, though Kira doesn’t smile, “–for you to assume that.”

Why, indeed, would he sometimes choose to approach one particular soul lingering in the cemetery longer than one would expect? Why, indeed, when there are those around that worked for him, that would move for him, that arranged this or that outcome for him? At times, there are only a few margins left between his interest and someone's apparent "loss of personality", as much as only one would want to proclaim it as such. At times, there were only inklings between himself and a 'customer' that should never truly have been one. Alas, for this one? It had been more of a - lucky 'coincidence'.     " Most of those that come here appear lost. "    And he says it with little to no discernable tone in it all. 

A habitual thing, a little thing. Something learned and rehearsed and picked up over hundreds and hundreds of years engaging with the bereaved that were so human, and even those that never had been, would they not act and behave like it once having lost something so - precious - as a life? 

The mortician had merely learned that facts with the sing-song of his voice brought forth would be easier accepted [ swallowed? ] than sheer play pretence.    " Especially standing in front of an empty grave. "    This should not be a surprise. This was not meant to be a surprise. For the way he just had introduced himself made sure that particular knowledge of all graves could be found in his mind. A minor disturbance, eyes idly wandering from the 'guest' back to the gravestone, to the name, to the dates, to the flowers, as if, contrary to former thoughts, not having any knowledge about it at all and needing to perceive every little bit of it as apparent news when it was none at all.    " Why would you choose this one? "    Why would he ask that? With being here. Being so truly picture perfect, the epitome of mourning someone, or mayhap it is just the oddness of the name that rung so alien in their surrounding? 

So he does, as if rehearsed in his play he would lean down, squat down next to the grave, slightly leaning above it as well, in sole means to rearrange the flowers brought as a gesture, into a better, a more open shape and form. Meanings to tell where there was no story to behold beyond what he had spoken about mere seconds ago. Reaching out, picking up a piece one by one, the intermingling of red and white colours to be brought to full view within an easy rounded form now placed on perfectly sculpted earth. A flat surface with nothing else but the fine and parallel strokes of a rake, reminiscent of the idle drawings in a Japanese zen garden. One of his employees had done so. 

There was a reason behind it. 

There was a reason why this grave had been mostly left as devoid of decoration as it had been left empty in its core. 

Usually, his rules would forbid to permit this from happening. From a place and shape taken on these grounds where no one would come to mourn, where no body had been laid to rest [ it had to be at least one or the other? ]. The order of such would find disregard and disapproval from the Funeral Director, if only appearances to be upheld were a deliberate want and need in this current society. Here, he had made an exception to this rule [ were there others around just the same? ], had agreed to the police's demands where they had near grovelled at his feet to have it fulfilled. For it would not change or disperse, no one would want to approach him wrongfully - or unneeded. Thus with all of this in mind, he had finished his little silent work and had brought forth the form of a circle on the grave, intertwined the flowers and a few left over from the grand form, now neatly arranged in a six-point growth from the inside out. It was an odd idea, but - surely one that could be found here and there if one were to have time overlooking the graves of thousands and thousands. 

It was a pastime for many people, after all.     " You are--- "    He stand straight again, a mere smile etched on his lips that were as clear-cut a farce as this whole engagement would ring hollow. After all, the Undertaker only did his god-given work---    " ---the first person coming here since the mock funeral has taken place. "    Soft and low. While he does not move past the tilt of his head, arms and legs appear like nought but from doll's strings moved and now left to limber.    " I am merely curious as to why you chose this one~ "

[gorinto]

holyfated​:

   TO THINK THE GRANDMASTER WAS SPEAKING TO…   this person; an entity and being that held some similarities to those shinigamis, but a power vastly superior to even those of captains. her green eyes linger, until they widen with a hint of morbid curiosity when he called to her. ( she was known to excel hiding in the shadow, as her master had taught her well. ) gita makes herself known to him as he so wished, seeing it as even ground between she and… whoever this entity was. ( the killer of the cat was always the damning curiosity after all. ) the mention of her kind allowed her to know master haschwalth was speaking to such a power of their own.

   he was not stupid… he wouldn’t speak of them so freely after so much had occurred. the young woman steps forward more into the light, green eyes firmly on his own. 

   “i live in the shadows.” came her reply, polite despite the rather distant tone beneath her words.

   “i’m not use to being noticed from them; … so that’s why i followed him here and found you both here. how do you know him? of us?”

" He is alive, because of me. "    Not a lie, a mere statement, put forth within the simplest of terms, the simplest of explanations, as nothing else would matter if questions falling from her lips were discardable at best. Following someone here that did not want to be followed, that had all but fulfilled an errand before returning to his current place of residency [ and had he not for years been there? ]. All brushed off and away, like a mere annoyance in form of an insect while his attention would be momentarily on her. For all that it was worth, he cared little about her so-called powers.

" Do you think he is not aware that you followed? That you stayed behind? That would be an oversight on your side. "    What does he even mean by that? Puppet's play, trying to tug and pull on certain strings to see what little arm or little leg could be moved, could be entangled, what could all come out of it, if he tried to make the strings snap.     " Alas, you ask too many questions. "    Tilts his head to the side, enough so as if any more, it might break right off due to the angle at which he now held it.     " How I know the likes of you, your kind, your secrets, is unimportant for you at best. "

Thus, he moves, closes the distance.

Until in a blink, he was right before what could only be called a little thing. A tiny annoyance.     " Following someone without telling them is rude~ One would think your Master did train you better~ "

[gorinto]

Was it not always about the Quincy? At times he wondered if it had been a well-thought-out notion to hand over what was, effectively, a replacement to fill the hole in someone's aching heart. Had pondered about what would happen, what could happen, and what could have been the idealised outcomes. All rummaging brought down towards nought at all because, of course: it had been the best result possible out of them all. Nevertheless, there was the sound of a staged sigh. As if being so truly unwilling to engage in the topic of another's freedom---

--- " And what is it about with him? " Endless drawls. Ongoing tales. At times the mortician was so truly uninterested in stories that were not yet finished and would still decide to turn the page of the book one more time. Whatever she wanted to tell him, it was highly unlikely that it was something new. So without further waiting, with each click of mechanical parts being loosened and coming undone, he might as well continue the sentence yet not written. " Does he make his anger, his hatred, still known? Do you want to know how to quell it? How to make him stop? How to make him love you? " As if a solution to all these claims would be an easy one to find. " You treat him like a toy, like a pretty little doll, do you truly think there are solutions to your cocky queries? "

’ YOU CAN SAY THAT. ’ shutara found herself admitting to the elder, for it was useless to deny or lie about anything. [ he always found a way to discover anyway, so hiding would be pointless. ] her multiple arms moved to press against her spine, beginning the process removing the limbs but not completely. not yet.

’ perhaps clear my head for a moment. ’ shutara found herself saying to undertaker, despite the fact many looked at him in fear and rightfully so shutara still found an air of comfort in his presence, even as a young woman. ’ it is about jugram. ’

[gorinto]

" Oho~ " Near a too perfectly placed sound of surprise, light and airy, swimming between the feeling of calculus and honestly, minute-worth before it was gone again. It was rare for him to appear in this place, was even rarer that he had been requested to come here by one of the Warden's, due to an interesting want and need to have one of the inmates be assessed to figure out what might lay behind that facade that could be crafted, could be genuine. Who would really know~ [ does it truly matter? ]? Getting him to come here was always a grand spectacle for how little he wanted to truly show of himself. All alone carried with aura and the hidden promise of buried power, an idea that would not only make a few of those around stagger and heave a deeper breath.

Not this one, so much he knew.

Forgoing idle thoughts and implications, knowing very well that the Nest, how it was, was nought else but a created theatre to have broken minds and broken thoughts roam free, set on a stage, and the stage itself it was, with how hestood in front of a cell, barred and kept away from his target of the current inquiry by a few metres at most. He tilts his head to the side and waits for an unneeded time for he can see and feel the other's attention already. " Good Evening~ " It is unnecessary politeness. Something that was always off about the former inhabitant of Soul Society, now only here for obscure reasons, at best. Would he play by the rules or not? Who could really tell? " I would like to talk to you for a while. I am sure you have nothing against it, now do you~? " @chernozemic ♡

[gorinto]

     " You do not seem like you need a mortician~ "     Or? Assumptions were only that. Requests made to the mind to figure out the truth behind kept facade, If he was right? Perfect! If not? Adjustments would be made. Yet, for one reason or another, most people would come to visit a cemetery for the sake of rites and rituals - or a stark and eerie calm to be found.

     " Alas, who am I to judge that~? Please feel free to walk around~ "

     To have a look. To have a claim. To have an interest in what there was to see in the rest of someone's long-lost fame.      " And tell me, if you need anything~ "     Of course, facades, as they were, were all the more important to keep up - for either of them [ and he knows ].      " I am the funeral director of these grounds, after all ~ "      @quirofiliac​ ♡

[gorinto]

     " Oh~ A Quincy. "    And his eyes had found the presence so soon. Wandering the premises after whoever had formerly frequented them, had left already, returned to where they came from, allowing that he would divide his attention anew. 

     He was taking his time to just look. A tilt of his head followed soon after, meticulously, calculated [ a puppet led on strings ], before a hand raised to cradle his chin in deep thought. But only for a few seconds it would last.     " It is rude to hide and stare. I know you are there, come on out. "     With how his voice had a tone laced with something else. What a peculiar incident, and one that was so surely bothersome---

     ---should he care to elaborate for this or that person.

     " What is it with your kind and unannounced visits~? How impolite~ "     @holyfated​ ♡

[gorinto]

NEWS

• Illustration by Yana Toboso for the bluray & dvd release of Kuroshitsuji Book of the Atlantic movie Japan edition. •

[gorinto]

     He had known about this presence. Watched them without much regard, and ushered his own staff off and away once they had raised questions and concerns, needless to his own ears. The presence, as it was, had wandered the extensive graveyard premises, looked at this and that, moved to pick up an item here and there, just for it to be either discarded or thought worth keeping, a child's play, if he really had to find a term to attach to this behaviour.

     " Those are sotoba~ "

     The first words spoken in a time that could only be amounted to an hour at best [ at most ], while the other’s curious eyes had wandered and thought to comprehend the long, wooden columns hemming roads in the back area of his cemetery.      " If you want one, I can give it to you. "    A particular comment noted to what could be seen by others as 'thievery' his 'guest' had committed, but for the mortician it meant nought.    " Alas, I would not know what you wanted with them~ Or are you mainly here to look~? "     @pwophet​​ ♡

[gorinto]

     " What is it today~? "      His acknowledgement had been spoken into the air before him, not turning around to the woman's presence, too 'busy' engaging in whatever he had to fulfil right now. Papers, documents, the recently deceased - after all - needed caring for and would be a priority tended to unless broken out of it. Alas, at the very least he could offer some idle conversation. 

     She would not come here to disturb him for no reason at all. 

     " Something bothering you with your arm? I might be able to help you with maintenance, once I am done here~ "     To make sure she knew that waiting patiently would be a needed virtue on her side. Alas.     " Or is it something else you want~?"        @wovenguard​ ♡

[gorinto]

standing behind him, solf would place a special, glimmering necklace around the older shinigami. he is careful to delicate trace the scars of revealed skin once the thing was clasped gently together, kissing the back of his husband's neck with tenderness so unlike him ( but solely for undertaker's liking ) before whispering against his skin. "it reminded me of you, but can't compare to you. truth be told, i believe it's better placed on you; maybe then it can be brighten up your day, my death."          @bloodlicked​ ♡

     How deceptively gentle, one might want to say, was he with these kindnesses bestowed upon his person while thoughts had been so fleeting, carrying him so far away, wandering to an unknown place before being drawn back by subtle touches and tender pulls. The ease of a hum as his first reply. Followed by the light turns and shifts of his head to the side wherever touch may be bestowed upon marred skin, pristine and light, like a doll's cracked open porcelain surface.

     He never really cared all too much for worldly possessions [ they are replaceable, possible to be remade ] and yet would not speak out against them offered to him by the man he called his own for uncountable years and years.      " How flattering~ "      Within the tease of a response a peal of laughter followed. Lightness in his response beyond expectations, when nought his fingertips would find the fine and glittering material now resting against his neck, but the hands, touching and tracing what should, usually, stay hidden from prying eyes [ all but his own? ].

     " Tsk, tsk~ Is this all you are willing to give~? "      Beyond the promises, the expectations, the wills and wants of their togetherness shared, beyond all that he could grasp for and hold and still was he so greedy, would expect more and more brought forth as a veiled demand with velvet tones. And yet he finds no desire to wait for an answer. Allows no moment for a response to be found as soon as he twists and turns in the other man's grasp till facing him was a craving well and completely fulfilled. Smiling, smiling, nothing else but the togetherness shared that was as exciting as it was countless days, weeks, months, and years ago.      " Do not keep me waiting~ "     Waiting for the reward of closeness.

     When the Shinigami's arms had wound around his partner's neck, pulling him closer and closer, enjoying the feel of the inquisitive touch that had traced scarring along his neck and back to slowly glide down clothed form. As if exploring something that should stay so obviously hidden [ for is it not a fact that they are both so greedy? ] feeling whatever Solf was in need to reach. He would let him take what he desired. Take that kiss in return with the mild tilt of his head, with the breath exhaled to be tasted by his lover to full when he nought but wanted more and more and would only give them both as much as they deserved. After all, their game had only suitably begun a few heartbeats prior with steps announced.

     With thoughts thundering.

     With wishes brought forth.

     With the knowledge of an engagement that would go beyond the glory and glimmer of earthly possessions, tingling, chiming, gently in all its intricacies against his skin. How quaint, when all he wanted right now, was the obvious obsession drawn over his skin, dragged and turned at each curve to find a place to rest and sit, wherever it may be. When all he wanted was that taste of a softened sound of desire to spill forth and onto his tongue. Oh, he could appreciate whatever thought had run through his husband's mind. Could adore it deeply, yet---

     ---it had always been him, that he chose.

[gorinto]

Independent UNDERTAKER from Kuroshitsuji, Written by Ramona

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