#(handrubs like a goblin)

[keikakudori]

                                     how easily those eyes lingered upon the small blonde, his height no lessened for the fact that his posture was relaxed, confident. a hundred years had gone by from when his shoulders had been perhaps one of the largest things about him, his body filling out from whippet thin youth into the height of maturity. a fast growth, but the muscle had taken time to come in. how he smiled, though, as if to reassure.

                                     or, perhaps, it was merely the calm before a potential storm.

                                     still, he was not truly bothered by the way that izuru seemed to stumble over his own answer to the simple question; why are you here?

                                     so he listened, waiting with that considerable patience that had seen him through the decades between the night which had seen his captain and others entering exile before a haori marked with three slashes of black had settled upon thin shoulders. and moreover, that patience had seen him through more than a hundred years of carefully meticulous work.

                                     thus it was that he waited for the answer, considering, watching - but never pressing. the blonde would speak in his own time, after all, and it gave the tea time to cool. even while he waited, those large hands moved, adding a bit of honey to the dark-toned choice of the day and stirring it in slowly before a smile touched his mouth once the answer emerged into the air. ah. how charming, really.

                                     ❝ you just moved, is it? what a fascinating notion. i can say, after all, that you are truly an exemplary man, kira-kun. you are the true model of a lieutenant; brave, loyal, and unwilling to see abuse aimed towards your captain. ❞

                                     was that a compliment? a proclamation that he was well aware of how izuru had stepped in between gin and momo? both?

                                     or perhaps it remained a reminder too that, no matter how brief a time it had been, izuru had been part of his own division.

                                     or maybe aizen was just screwing with him.

                                     he had left the handling of izuru up to gin, not stepping into that situation, and had been aware that izuru had led toshiro and rangiku both away though the boy had returned quickly enough. he had commented on it to gin; hitsugaya-taichou's returned earlier and in better shape than expected. the flippant reply of how gin had overestimated the effectiveness of his diversion on the other hand ... it was something to wonder about.

                                     still, his gaze took izuru in now, mouth still curled into a smile --- those eyes still probing, intent and intense alike, still ready to swallow him up.

                                     to be beneath the scrutiny of aizen sousuke was a heady, potent thing; the man who remained the source of that focus could perhaps speak on it later, if he were to know, and aizen had little doubt that gin was lurking nearby or observing through one of the surveillance systems. but no, there was little for the viper to worry about. not really.

                                     it was, however, a situation where aizen did want answers.

                                     up came the cup and he sipped at the tea, that unblinking gaze still upon the almost delicate features of the young man who sat across from him. the white was deliberate; against the monochrome surroundings, colors flashed bright. but then, were not the stands and sky outside also of singular palettes themselves? better questions to ask might be of how long it had taken for this place to be constructed, of the plans drawn up, of when it was that aizen had chosen to place the seat of his power here instead of at another locale in this realm.

                                     perhaps they would get to those questions, eventually.

                                     ❝ still -- i find it curious that your response was to show up and throw yourself into following us here. ❞

                                     now was when the smile faded and the auguring stare of those shades of mahogany seemed to sharpen even further, if that were possible --- yet possible it was as the traces of good humor faded into something far more serious while aizen partook of what he saw in izuru here and now.

                                     ❝ you see -- i am trying to decide on what should be done with you. i certainly won't send you back to the seireitei; not with what you've seen here so far. ❞ a dreadful hint of what might've been perhaps best to dispose of you almost seemed to skirt the edges of the conversation. ❝ your presence is an unknown factor. i know how well your loyalty to gin stands, given you were willing to step in to stop hinamori-kun from attacking him, but... ❞

                                     a tap of a finger against the mug he held.

                                     ❝ the situation, you see, raises all sorts of questions in my mind --- and makes me wonder how far your loyalty goes. if you are willing to follow him here -- then how far are you willing to walk down the path after him? if you are loyal to gin, then by extension, that means you are loyal to me too, after all. or do you disagree with that notion? ❞

                                     how dark those eyes were as he beheld izuru, the faint smile displaced in favor of a sternness that had been quite familiar in his time serving as a captain. truthfulness was the best bet; deception was not possible beneath that stare. not for someone like izuru.

     Aizen’s voice goes down warm like a shot of whiskey, amber and rich and intoxicating. As it has ever been. Izuru has never had this man’s attention so fixed on him before, but now, standing under the proverbial spotlight with Aizen as like his ‘ captive audience ‘, he thinks that he can see how such focus must have lured others in. Like insects to a honey-laced trap.

     If Izuru doesn’t watch his step, he will be ensnared. There are so many ways that Aizen could kill him; he has already seen what monstrous means the man will go to dispose of anyone who has lost their ‘ usefulness’ to him. Izuru cannot even imagine what would become of him if he somehow managed to invoke Aizen’s ire, or confirm whatever suspicions he has of the former lieutenant. Maybe Izuru’s already dead and he hasn’t realized it yet.

     What else can he do but what he’s told? Somehow, despite the tunnel-vision blinkering him to all but Aizen, Izuru’s hand manages to find the back of the chair and pull it out for him to take its seat.

     ❝ I’m here… ❞

     A false start. Is he here, though? His mind stalls. His mouth is dry and the words stick to its insides like sharp burrs.

     He just doesn’t…have an answer. His gaze slides off from Aizen’s and falls to the pristine surface of the table between them. Everything about this place────Las Noches, was it?────feels so…sterile. Nothing can hide in the blinding white.

     ❝ I don’t really know why, ❞ he admits. ❝ I just…moved. ❞