[11th/13th] Week 285: Paradise of Knaves

[Wayne]

3,866
Paradise of Knaves
Wayne | Ketch​

Near the outskirts of the northern districts, passing a series of grain and cotton fields, lay the brunt of the area’s more perfidious ward. Garnished as the closest red light district to the Seireitei, the place was endowed with a certain level of infamy, scrutinized by many of the White City’s more conservative, clean-minded nobles. While in no way as barbaric as the wasteland of Zaraki, the district was a den of depravities nonetheless, driven by the carnal, intrinsic nature of those residing within its confines. It was fitting in some ways that Kyuketsu was found walking amidst its streets.

The naked eye was presented with lies, however, as his objective was aimed elsewhere. The captain had little time for the vices and debaucheries lurking about. Instead, he was in search of someone whom could answer the lingering questions that, for quite some time now, scratched the back of his mind.

Step by step, carried by a veil of sharp, penetrating silence, he found himself in front of a brothel nestled in the busiest part of the commune. Though he still wore a coat of immaculate white, its length draping over his shihakushou, he opted on leaving his haori behind. As far as he was concerned, this was all personal business, nothing of the sort connected to his profession.

Both hands resting snugly inside his pockets, he took one step inside.

The Eleventh division captain was greeted by a peculiar melody of soft chimes and distorted percussion tones that held the buoyant rhythm of something akin to a child skipping. Even quainter was the pitched and incoherent voice of the woman singing the song, standing at the stage across the space. Her voice was like the whisper of a seductress, one that made you listen to her even though there were in reality no real words in her lyrics. Even from afar, Kyuketsu could feel the woman subtly reaching out to him.

In an evident way, however, the song fit the atmosphere.

The brothel was a large, dimly lit space. At the four corners of the ceiling were low blue and purple lights that edged the walls all the way around the room. There were other lights like it lining the undersides of the tables and couches spread throughout the room. The small stages for the dancers and performers projected the light upward, painting their skin with cerulean UV-A’s. The bar was right next to the stage on the other side of the room, a young female standing in as the bartender for the day. Even though the twilight hour was far from imminent, there were still a good bit of occupants within, each being entertained by a roster of undeniably alluring women. The establishment was known for its selection—which is why the man Reijuu was searching for had found himself there.

How these women had come to find themselves employed there was neither probed nor pondered.

To his right was a pudgy gentleman, likely the proprietor of the prurient establishment, standing behind the welcome desk, a wide and toothy smile stretched across the man’s corpulent mug.

“Hello, sir,” he said, hands cupped together as he bowed. “How may I help you this evening?”

The proprietor’s welcome was met with a stalwart, almost commanding gaze from the captain. Kyuketsu returned the man’s gesture, nodding his head just so slightly as to not break eye contact. There was a subliminal, though lasting virulence which emanated from the Eleventh’s king, wrapping and contorting its presence around the establishment’s whole.

“One of your regulars,” he said, passing a brief glance at one of the girls close by, “Kagetoki, a shinigami. Lead me to where he is.”

The indifference felt from the captain brought a bead of sweat down the heavyset man and a noticeable edge of timidity to his tone.

“Ah,” he answered finally. “Y-Yes, Kagetoki-dono. Of... of course.” From then on, any eye contact between the two was ceased as he turned his back to Reijuu, walking forward. “Right this, uh... this way, s-sir.”

The captain was lead into the salacious den of mistresses and alcohol. Between stages of performers and past groups of lustful men driveling over them, he was lead. Each woman he walked nonchalantly by paid him more than an alluring glance; some reached out, but didn’t touch him, beckoning the man with a curled finger. Swinging around the glimmering metal poles lodged from the ceiling to their individual stages, the women whirled around them with quaint grace.

Tugging at the hems of their scant garbs, pulling the collar of their bras down over their shoulder, each attempted to test the man’s devotion to Fuko.

“There he is, sir,” the proprietor said, bowed over fully with both arms directing Reijuu toward the dim corner of the room where a familiar raven-haired denizen was seated.

He reached into his pocket, snagging a small knotted pouch barely the size of his fist. Cool and controlled, he tossed its entirety over to the brothel’s owner, the metallic clinking inside sounding off amidst the muffled moaning and giggling seeping all throughout the building.

“Leave us,” continued Kyuketsu, never again giving any sort of visual acknowledgement to the old bag of bones.

Locking down on Manzou lounging over by a private booth, he advanced forward, unconcerned whether or not the soul reaper was able to sense his attendance. Given from what Kyuketsu already knew of the former Blitzkrieger, a bordello wasn’t too much of a twist. While many preferred the comforts of a bar or a simple tea house, even shinigami were prone, nevertheless, to their more ‘salacious’ urges.

Towering over the reclined officer, the captain scoffed—the meaning behind its execution uncertain to all.

“What would Amaterasu say if she saw this, I wonder,” he poked fun quite coldly. “Or are you under Inori’s shadow now?”

With torpid stupor, the man’s head turned slightly to Reijuu, listless onyx eyes rolling up in their sockets to meet the distant amber orbs judging him. How long he had been there, and how much alcohol was surging through his veins and kidneys was written all over his face. Both eyes were faintly reddened, his eyelids ridden with wrinkles of sleeplessness. Though his breath wasn’t heavily sour, the smell of alcohol fuming from the bottles lying on the short table in front of him was pungent.

After a moment, his features changed as if it had taken him those handful seconds to register the captain’s words and the indignation in his semblance. Manzou turned his attention back to the long-haired, curvy woman in front of him, putting his sakazuki to his lips.

“Didn’t you know, captain Reijuu.” The emphasis on the man’s title was delivered through an impartial laugh. “I’m under everyone’s shadow.”

In a rapacious, invasive swoop, Kyuketsu took hold of the woman’s shoulder, seizing her from the peacekeeper’s side. Forcing the ‘escort’ to her feet, he kept her within inches from his face, fully and exclusively arresting her attention away from her previous client. The captain leaned closer, nearing his lips by her ear, whispering in hushed tones.

As he reeled back, noticing the coy, yet nervous smile on the girl’s face, he continued, “Now why don’t you get me a drink too.”

She bowed apprehensively, making no hesitation to turn back and oblige the captain’s request.

Boldly, as if further grinding salt into the wounds, Kyuketsu settled himself on the seat opposite to Manzou. Back resting against the cushion, he crossed his legs.

“And now you’re under mine. Scary, isn’t it?”

The tanked unseated arbitrator and diplomat watched the woman walk away, the dolor within evident in his features and the heavy sigh that followed, before turning back to the captain. Rolling his eyes and downing the last of his saké in one gulp, he leaned over and poured himself another serving. He set the gourd down poignantly, as if to wordlessly tell Reijuu he wasn’t going to share—a frivolous bit of revenge for the man sending his woman away.

“That’s what I meant...”

Manzou laughed under his breath, eyes staring blankly into the pool of sake in his cup. He looked over his shoulder, searching the room for the girl, and then back to Reijuu. A skeptical brow was risen and, after a moment, he simply hummed to himself. Reclining on the couch a bit, he took a small sip of sake before speaking again.

“I don’t believe I know enough about you to know if you’re scary or not.” The cup pinched between his teeth, he chuckled once to himself. “Unless I’m just going by your rank—But!” He wagged the finger on the other hand, a queer smirk on his face. “Between the two of us, I’ve got—” He made a circle with his free hand, placing it over his eye like telescope and staring at Reijuu. “zero to lose. You, captain, on the other hand...

“You’ve got a lot of shit to lose...” Looking on the pallid-haired swordsman, his listless expression gained a certain yet faint—and sloppy—edge of cunning. “So... who’s really the scary one here?”

He snorted, doing his best to hold back a derisive, if not utterly consumptive cackle. The drunkenness displayed by Manzou was evident, and the man was nothing if not ‘proper’ in his sober state. The aggression was, to some extent, forgivable... but still something he wouldn’t dare ignore. Kyuketsu found that people’s mentalities were easier to read if they were inebriated. Unless such a person was forged of iron will, their inhibitions lessened dramatically once alcohol was involved. Manzou was no exception.

“Pretty certain it’s still me.” The captain shrugged. “I have only one thing to lose, as you put it, and I do believe it’s a far more potent incentive than anything else. Compared to people who have nothing and everything, when you have only one, the drive becomes so much more intense. So much more personal, explicit... cutthroat. And the subsequent onset, should that ‘one thing’ be lost, would be so utterly, indescribably horrific. So much so that heaven itself would burn.”

There was cold, malignant viciousness in his voice, rallied by the coruscating passion wrought by hundreds of years of bloodshed and conflict. Kyuketsu’s eyes were brimming with the golden shadow that clawed at the very vacuum of space looming between him and Manzou. There, underneath the captain’s all-encompassing, all-consuming maw, his presence... his intent was but a breath away from gaining corporeal form.

Then came the laughter. A frivolous, juvenile burst which nearly drove the captain to tears.

“But I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” he said, still chuckling in between syllables. “It’s not like you’re going to remember any of this once you’re sober anyway.”

The raven-haired man’s smile had faded, long since absorbing the words of the man across from him, knowing—feeling—what he spoke of more so than Reijuu likely could’ve ever known. Beyond all of the liters of liquor, beyond the hunger in his stomach and those blank, languid eyes gained a certain solidity, though they merely roamed over the chest of the captain, his awareness lapsing inward as the memories of how he had found himself here came flooding in. Even in his drunken state, he was still able to compartmentalize his thoughts, still able to separate the fact and fiction of some two hundred and forty-odd years of his life.

What he wasn’t able to help, however, was the apathy that began to line his eyes.

Ignorant of the difference in skill between the two of them and just how piqued the captain was, all Manzou could think to say to him was how foolish he was, how grievously he was underestimating just how much losing everything meant, how fortunate he was to have anything at all. Looking on Reijuu, the unseated saw in the man everything he hated about being a soldier, about the privileged souls behind the walls that barred the many unfortunates left to rot here, and how little that the wealthy did for those they claimed to be protecting.

And even greater pain cut him deep, as harsh as a blade through the heart, as her face flashed through the theatre of his mind. Soft, onyx eyes and a warming smile gave him life for a moment. And, just as quickly, those same features jolted him—immaculate beauty tainted by hatred.

A hatred meant solely for him.

Instead, Manzou belched, loud and raw. Cutting his eyes to the side and frowning, he let his head recline back and sighed.

“What was it you came here for?” He gestured with a thumb behind him, pointing in the general direction of another of the dancers. “Since it doesn’t look like you’re here for them...”

Kyuketsu said nothing at first. Instead, his gaze was attached to the stewardess coming straight for them. Leaning into their table with blatantly forced promiscuity, the courtesan placed a bottle of liquor in front of the captain.

“Enjoy~” she giggled, flirting eyes practically smothering the white-haired swordsman.

As she made off, Kyuketsu held the bottle in one hand, popping off its cork before taking a quick sip.

“Exactly right. I came here for you.” He calmed himself down, reverting to a steady, commanding stare which shot through the Peacekeeper. “I’ve been made aware that you have a special... ‘acquaintance’ of sorts. Past friend, enemy, whatever you consider him to be nowadays. I don’t care about that.”

He slammed the glass phial against the table, barely shattering it into pieces as its contents splashed about. Eyes still poised at Manzou, the captain continued, “But what I do care about is the specifics leading up to his... current state. Yoshinaga Gorou. He became a vizard right in the middle of the Gotei’s standoff with the scions. Do not spare me any details, Kagetoki. How?”

There was a short pause in the wake of Reijuu’s words, no movement coming from either party. With his head sloped back, eyes fixed loosely on the dark ceiling overhead, his thoughts wandered back to that day, the face of his closest counterpart appearing vaguely in his scattered consciousness. The moment that he had tried to drown beneath an ocean of alcohol came just as easily, a swift and merciless reminder of that which he couldn’t bear to accept. His own subconsciousness mocked him, laughing at his attempts to run from what he himself had thrust upon his own shoulders.

A faint, humored grin surfaced on his visage, the irony of it all gnawing almost palpably at his heart.

“And why do you want to know?”

Kyuketsu raised an eyebrow, his countenance appearing to bear an offended and very much perplexed expression. With a single extended index finger, he began to absentmindedly trace the liquor bottle’s opening, going about in circles over its contour.

“The Eleventh and I are spearheading an investigation in regards to the Vasto Lorde’s creations,” he explained bluntly. “The so-called scions, all twenty-three of them, are fragments of the Dread Lord. Their threat to us needs to be reevaluated, especially after hearing some troubling rumors in regards to a certain former shinigami.”

His grin slowly disappeared. “...What rumors?”

“Rumors which whisper why your dear friend Gorou isn’t here with us today.” He swayed his head sideways, maintaining the inquisitorial nature of his tone. “Think about it. He was sent off to fight in the World of the Living, and soon thereafter he’s no longer one of us. Now why is that, exactly?”

Just as quickly, that smirk reappeared and the unseated arbitrator chuckled to himself, head still reclined to the ceiling. A particular woman’s face flashed in his head, lighting the smallest spark in the pit of his stomach. Retaining at least a bit of his compunction, Manzou forewent deriding the woman into the ground, especially in front of her captain.

“That woman... Alexia. She told you, didn’t she?”

“Not necessarily. I’ve conducted my own investigation, sifted through reports and data over the past few months,” he replied flatly.

Manzou’s grin was not alone, as with his careless revelation came yet another outlet in which the captain could focus his attention. Kyuketsu wasn’t aware of Alexia’s involvement with Yoshinaga, and while there came some talk of her encountering a few half-breeds in the World of the Living, noteworthy ones were never explicitly stated. As half a smile crept over the swordmaster’s features, he brought the bottle up to his lips, moving for a brisk swig.

“But... I do appreciate the heads up concerning my nineteenth seat. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her.” The captain motioned with both eyebrows. “And as for my question...?”

“Ha!” He reeled his head back down, a wider smile there now. “Nineteenth...”

Manzou leaned forward finally, reached straight for the glass in front of the captain, and casually pulled it from under his fingertip as if he had seen the man pour it. Though it wouldn’t have been a stretch to briefly postulate the man had, in the past few months, developed a sixth sense for sake. In one sitting, the sakazuki was emptied and lightly placed on the fractured table.

The moment it touched, the surface gave way and everything clattered loudly to the floor.

Everyone other than the two officers were jolted by the commotion, glancing cautiously at the pair before poignantly deciding to remain on the outside, looking in.

“How about...” Manzou paused there, looking thoughtfully to the side. “...some give-and-take then?”

The captain scooped up an arm, waving it halfway forward to the drunkard.

“I never took you for the shrewd-type, Kagetoki.” Kyuketsu closed his eyes, veering his head back to lean over the cushion’s spine. “So long as what you want is equivalent in price, I have no qualms with an exchange. Now what is it that you want me to ‘give’?”

The man raised his chin slightly, as if nodding halfway. “I give you want you want... and you owe me a favor.” He shrugged, honestly. “An equal favor...” His head turned to the side, wryly. “With no questions asked...”

Kyuketsu rolled his eyes, peeved by the man’s redundancy.

“Out with it already.”

Manzou laughed quietly to himself through his nose, no satisfied smile to show his appeasement apparent, though. “Later...”

Leaning back in his chair again, the man took another sip of his beverage, licking his numbing lips as he looked away, thoughtfully. Though his memory wasn’t clouded by the alcohol in his veins, he wasn’t exactly sure how crucial what he knew was. He wasn’t sure how Gorou had been infected. It wasn’t as if he had known beforehand, before the sanguine-haired recluse had beckoned him to his side on Earth all those moons ago.

But if he had to guess, it must’ve been then...

“She used a lance,” he said, rubbing his chin, pensively. “The arrancar... she used a lance. Made of her blood.” He shifted again, eyes squinting as he tried to piece what he knew together. “That’s, uh...” And, just like that, his thoughts fell through. “That’s really it...” Manzou shrugged again, putting his cup to his lips to drink just as he finished. “I don’t think she touched him beyond that. But when it did, it ran him...cleanly through.”

Kyuketsu, without the slightest bit of hesitation, raised an eyebrow in disappointment. Though somewhat intrigued, his expression instantly turned sour, still left quite hungry by what he had just learned.

“What, they’re fucking vampires now?” he commented, snorting dismissively.

He was expecting something else entirely. Having a shinigami’s open wound come in contact with Hollow blood was by no means anything new. It had happened hundreds and thousands of times in the past, and even to Kyuketsu himself. Not in the Gotei’s history, as far the Duelist captain was aware of, did such a thing as Hollowfication occur simply because tainted blood made its way inside a soldier’s system. Then again, the creature in question was born from Prometheus, one of the older, purer breed of monsters in existence. For his creations to harbor such a feat wouldn’t have been surprising... though noteworthy nonetheless.

“You may be lying, you may be not. Either way, I’ve heard answers... which I sincerely hope are true.” Kyuketsu shrugged. “Because if they aren’t... well, let’s just say I have a nasty habit of not keeping promises.”

Manzou nodded his head, a droll look there in his glossy eyes. “I could be...”

There was a noticeable—or rather perceived—lack of understanding, or perhaps fear of, the consequences of his words. Whether his words were tainted in lies and that sour aroma, or absolute truth, was more or less unclear. In the less throttled recesses of his mind, he recognized that, registered the bit of enmity in Reijuu’s tone and the heated air between the two of them. More prevalently, however, was the urge to dismiss any and all concern about the man and his investigation.

Regardless, the safety and anonymity of his friend came before any loyalties to the man before him.

“I could be misleading you.” His eyes remained there on the amber orbs adjacent, a sort of wide and still cast presented to the captain. “I could be harboring a man that’s a danger to himself and others, the same man that I fought with, through hell and back. I could be putting that one man before my duty as a ‘protector.’

“I could be lying to you—right to your face, captain...”

Manzou paused, not moving, assaying silently the character of the master swordsman beyond the fallacious words he had spoken moments ago.

“But... I trust you’re a smarter man than that, Reijuu.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” warned the captain, scoffing. “As I said, I have only one thing to lose, and that fact by itself is worth taking into great consideration when dealing with a person such as myself.”

Kyuketsu stood up, his gaze instantly breaking away from the Peacekeeper. “Besides, I’m not exactly the type who cares if people lie to me or ‘tarnish my reputation’ or whatever. I can cut most people’s heads off before they could even blink... and at the end of the day, isn’t that what really matters?”

Tossing a coin as a tip for their waitress, the Duelist captain made off, not giving any rther gestures to Manzou. He had gotten what he came for, so there was no other reason for him to stay and lollygag. If an infection via a scion’s blood was what truly turned Yoshinaga Gorou into a vizard, then it would seem Kyuketsu found himself a new lead to go by with his... ‘investigation.’

“When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

Manzou laughed low, though it likely reached the ears of the pallid-haired man walking away. He assumed the man’s last words were ones of consent. It was an uncertain victory, but even with Reijuu, he was still far from finished. Three other faces in particular came to mind, the surmisal of the conversation with a particularly frigid woman eliciting a deep sigh.

Spotting the coin on the table, one hand was waved aloofly overhead.

“Goodnight, captain...”