Shunsui Kyoraku - Sake
@among-the-twinkling-stars As we discussed. ;)
Choosing sake is a delicate affair. There are many types, some finer than others, some sweeter, some designed to be served hot, room temperature, or chilled. Generally, the finer the sake, the cooler the temperature it ought to be drunk. Naturally, the purer the brew, the more the cost skyrockets.
You rubbed your thumb across your lower lip, eyes roving back and forth over the rustic wooden shelves. This particular sake brewer was little known, but his prices were enough to make a Kuchiki blink.
‘You sure you haven’t accidentally put the decimal in the wrong place, Kokori-san?’ you called to the wizened old man standing stooped behind the counter.
He gave a rusty laugh, used to your candour. You’d already spent a good hour in his shop, browsing and chatting. It was nice, he thought, having a pretty young woman in his shop, even if she haggled like a dog with a bone.
'My eyesight hasn’t failed me yet, young lady,’ he retorted. 'When it does, you might be able to pull one over on me. 'Til then, my prices are my prices.’
'If you’re charging so much, why is your brewery out in the middle of nowhere?’
'The land here produces a fine rice,’ Kokori said, straightening as though about to deliver a lecture he’d had to give many times. 'My prices are high because my blends are exclusive. How did you even discover me, hm?’
'Oh, well, a little birdie told me.’
Your little birdie had also managed to offload a week’s worth of paperwork onto you and got you to cover three of her shifts next week for the information. That, combined with the two hour rickshaw ride out here into the Rukongai countryside, meant that this sake better be brewed from rainbows and Tsukuyomi’s piss.
Kokori gave a long, rattling hum. 'Hmrph. Then you must know that we only produce the finest blends, using traditional, labour-intensive methods. We even use a fune to press the rice solids-’
You held up your hands in warding-off gesture to stop the coming justification of his outrageous prices. He probably had to explain it often, but you didn’t need to hear it.
One particular bottle caught your eye. Kokori stored his sake in round-bottomed bottles, stoppered up with cork and wax. This one had flowers etched into the white ceramic, and a red wax stopper. You picked up the paper label, tied to the neck with a length of twine. In Kokori’s spidery kanji, read the words Junmai Daiginjo-shu.
The price made your eyes water. Worth it. It’s worth it, to make the right impression.
'I’ll take a bottle of this one.’
Kokori shuffled out from behind his desk to inspect your choice. His wrinkled hands were steady as they drew the bottle down from the shelf, turning it over to inspect the date scratched into the bottom. He made a wordless noise of approval, nodding to himself, and carried it back to the counter.
'Someone must mean a lot to you,’ he commented idly, wrapping the bottle in a twist of brown paper and twine. He gave you a shrewd look, eyes twinkling. 'A lover?’
You gave him a half-smirk. 'Hopefully.’
Kokori chuckled as he melted candle wax over the knot of twine and pressed his personal seal into it. 'I know my own sake, young lady. Invite me to the wedding, yes?’
Somehow, you laughed as you handed over a month’s wages.
Even a man with over a thousand year’s worth of tactical knowledge could only dodge paperwork for so long.
He’d put it off for three days, with the pressure of Nanao’s glare growing more and more potent. Honestly, the woman could’ve rivalled old man Yama for her killing intent. He finally relented when it seemed like his niece was going to turn feral and drive a pen into the back of his neck. The growling noises in the back of her throat were downright terrifying.
He doffed his straw hat as he entered the office, kneading his knuckles into the back of his neck. He’d been enjoying a nap in the sun, but his ponytail had wedged his head at an odd angle, leaving him with a crick in the neck.
'I’m getting old,’ he muttered to himself.
He approached his desk, a slow sense of horror dawning at the oppressively neat stacks of paperwork. They looked as though they’d been straightened with a ruler. Nanao-chan is making a point, I see.
He could feel the rest of the afternoon slipping away in a haze of boredom, wrist cramp, and papercuts. If he was extra unlucky, Nanao would dig up more documents he needed to sign, and he’d miss his dinner with Ukitake, too.
He rounded the desk, and paused.
A brown paper package sat precisely in the middle of his desk, the shape of a bottle obvious. Is Nanao trying to bribe me? he wondered, reaching out to pick up the bottle. He turned it toward him. At the wax seal, his eyebrows shot toward his hairline.
A small, folded card sat underneath the bottle. With the weight gone, it lifted open, revealing a small, handwritten note inside. Intrigued, Shunsui picked it up. It seemed laughably delicate in his large hand. The note was written in a distinctly feminine hand, though the strokes were decisive and confident. He read, and his mood improved with every word.
Some sake is too good not to be shared. If you’d like some company with your drink, I’ll be waiting under the dogwood tree in the Kyochi ornamental gardens.
There was no name, no indication of who it was. They’d simply signed off ’Yours’, as though they were actually his, if he chose. Shunsui smiled, putting down the bottle to stroke his finger and thumb over his facial hair, dark grey eyes twinkling.
'Maa, little minx,’ he said, tucking the note into an internal pocket in his white haori. 'Let’s see what you brought me, hm?’
Carefully, he peeled away the wax seal, untied the twine, and unwrapped the bottle. The ceramic was cool against his fingers. He let out a deep-voiced hum of approval when he saw exactly which sake had been left for him. Someone was definitely trying to get his attention.
He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out two of his finest sake dishes. He tucked those into the pocket along with the note.
Sorry, Nanao-chan, he thought as he flash-stepped from the office. You can scold me later.
An hour had slipped past almost unnoticed. The dogwood tree spread its branches protectively over where you sat, shielding you from the sun with waxy, star-shaped white blossoms and frill-edged, dark green leaves.
You didn’t know Kyoraku-taicho’s schedule well enough to be worried. He would likely go back to his office sometime this afternoon and discover the surprise you’d left for him.
Leaning back against the bole of the tree, you flipped a page in the novel you were reading. The words swam and squiggled around each other. The unsettled, buzzing sensation in your stomach made it impossible to concentrate.
Calm down. It’s a no-lose situation. If he found the sake but wasn’t interested, he’d just drink it and you wouldn’t lose any face. If he saw you from a distance and wasn’t interested, he’d turn around and leave, no harm done. And if he was interested…
You buried your face in the book, breathing in the scent of paper and ink to calm yourself. If you were a teenage girl, you’d be rolling around in the grass and squealing.
It took guts, really, to throw a line to the sotaicho like that. The man was a known flirt, but when was the last time someone had made the effort to win his attention, instead of the other way around? You hoped the combination of intrigue, appreciation, and fucking good sake would lure him out and give you a chance to charm him.
Something brushed against your ear.
You stiffened. Soft, wavy brown hair slid against your cheek. The deep voice rumbled through you like a distant thunderstorm. Slowly, the control he’d held over his reiatsu released, and it rolled out to blanket the area like a balmy summer night, prickling deliciously across your skin.
The sotaicho leaned back, those full lips pulled into a sultry smirk. Those lips had just spoken right against your ear. You stared, blinked, then shut your book with a slap of the covers.
He’d snuck up on you, using every scrap of stealth he possessed to take a seat at your side.
'That’s me,’ he said. 'Mystery woman?’
'That’s me,’ you agreed, trying and failing to keep the purr out of your voice.
Kami, the things I’d do to him.
'You’re going to get me killed, you know,’ he said, expert hands working to remove the wax stopper and the cork from the neck of the sake bottle.
He pulled two thin, green porcelain dishes from inside his haori. He poured the first one, then leaned and pressed the lip of the sake dish to your lips. His eyes were dark, his smile warm.
'I chose you over my paperwork,’ he said as he tipped the light, fragrant liquor between your lips. He watched you lick them clean, a glint in his eyes.
'Ah. Ise-fukutaicho. An efficient way to die.’
'Indeed,’ Kyoraku said, pouring his own sake and tasting it with a rumbling hum of pleasure. 'At least I get to pass my last hours with such good sake, and such…appealing company.’
You laughed, and Kyoraku poured another drink.
