#boy izuru you should really reconsider how you say things

[keikakudori]

                               Good faith or not, the praise was genuine no matter what the younger man might believe of him at this point in time. It was true, however, that none of those who were loyal to the Seireitei had foreseen that day when he had pulled Kuchiki Rukia along upon Sokyoku Hill to drive his hand, changed by a simple gadget that paired with the gigai in question, into her chest to retrieve the Hogyoku created by Urahara Kisuke. It had felt quite odd, that brief transformative effect, but not enough to deter him from what he sought.

                               How her champion had screamed from where he laid on the ground.

                               Of course, it was not his place to try changing whatever perceptions of him that Izuru carried about him now. He had been every ounce that kind captain, though he imagined Izuru didn't wish to hear that at this point in time. How much of it had been a lie? How much had been truth? That was only for himself, Gin, and Kaname to know at this point in time.

                               Still, an unknown factor Izuru remained, and that was enough to make Aizen consider him with this scrutiny, an almost severe state of mind in evidence. Yes, the smile sank out of view, but it did not fully remove itself. A stern countenance presented to the younger Shinigami in this moment was how things were to be handled, the same countenance that had ever been there when he would sit and carefully critique the lines of writing in reply to the calligraphy classes he taught.

                               Aizen had ever been quick to point out ways one could improve in that art; he had never been harsh, but he would be stern, aiming to guide his students to doing their best work.

                               Imagine however Izuru wished, the truth of the matter was that Aizen did indeed have the patience to watch a pot boil and so he sipped at that tea, gaze never dropping from the almost delicate visage presented to him.

                               He had made his choices where those three had been concerned; Renji had been the first to be removed from the Gobantai, ushered into the Eleventh where he had grown in skill with his fighting prowess. For himself, he had kept Hinamori Momo, that doe-eyed girl that had blushed rosy hues when he had touched her cheek gently.

                               And to Gin had gone this one, the one most capable and skilled, the one who would be most versatile.

                               Izuru's loyalty to his captain was something which remained freely given. If Gin had worked to manipulate it into him, then it had been without Aizen noticing it occurring. No, he would truthfully say that it was simply natural.

                               Gin had been a beloved captain; he had earned that loyalty fairly.

                               But the sudden shift in demeanor from the younger man made one eyebrow raise ever so slightly while those eyes of brown narrowed with the words so hissed in his direction, but irritation didn't show until those last words were spat out so quickly. What welled up within Aizen was not irritation but a flash of sharp, genuine anger.

                               The response was immediate.

                               Reiatsu was quick to suddenly coil itself about the younger man's throat, squeezing tight even as Aizen brought the tea upwards for another slow sip. More dreadful still was how dark those eyes had grown in the wake of that name. If Izuru had been uncertain before of how things stood, then those eyes were suddenly every ounce the predator's gaze, promising that the focus so emplaced upon him was not going to waver whatsoever.

                               This was not the captain of the Fifth Division now; this was the man who was King and God in this realm of Hollows, the beast that made them kneel for he was without fear.

                               ❝ That is Ichimaru-sama to you, Kira-kun, ❞ came the purr in that dulcet overture. ❝ You would do well to remember that. Do not grow overfamiliar in this moment with me. I will not say that again. ❞

                               That reiatsu squeezed tighter for a second, nearly choking the young man. It was not killing intent; that might've been enough to burst the young chickadee's heart. But it was an instant display of chastisement aimed directly at that answer he'd received, leaving Aizen to regard him through the fragrant steam still rising from the surface of his tea.

                               ❝ If you are loyal to Gin, then by extension, you are loyal to me. Whatever orders I have for you will shall be passed to you directly by me if I see fit to carry that out. At this point in time, that loyalty to Gin which ensures your placement here is the only thing which protects you. Remember that the next time that you think to raise your voice to me. I do not tolerate bad manners, Kira-kun. I never will. ❞

                               How strange for him to say that when, by this point, surely those blue eyes had been left to behold how his own captain teased and taunted the brunet that ruled in this domain. What was treated with fond exasperation from the silver-haired traitor was coldly and rather harshly cut short here and now while Aizen's gaze remained focused upon Izuru.

                               ❝ As for Hinamori-kun... ❞ Yes, that would have come up at some point in time. ❝ Yes, I did hurt her. I admit that freely. My purposes for her were simple; she aided in my plans once the ryoka boy and his friends arrived to rescue Kuchiki Rukia. However-- ❞

                               He shifted then. It was not a grand move, not over-exaggerated nor an obvious statement of motion. It did, however, convey the simple readiness of fangs and claws sliding into view, a willingness to draw blood while those dark eyes rested still upon Izuru's features as he was held by that reiatsu, immobilized and Aizen's hand lowered the cup of tea once more to the table. There was something dreadful in those movements, something coldly unsettling and liable to make the hairs on one's neck stand on end.

                               This was the man who was aiming his blade at the Soul King.

                               Monster, Izuru named him. Aizen Sousuke was more than monster; those eyes were akin to the swelling hunger of a black hole, discs of infinite darkness seeming ready to trap him inside their depthless state. This man was more than merely Shinigami. This man was something infinitely worse. And how that great ambition burned like cold fire within his chest. More than monster. More than beast. Whatever he was, monster seemed almost too paltry a term for whatever the traitor WAS.

                               ❝ If you deem me a monster, then you  best take care, Kira-kun. Monsters are dangerous. And I am not the only monster in this realm. ❞

                               Then, suddenly, the pressure was released from that throat and those eyes were again the warm brown they had been as he smiled almost indulgently at the younger man.

                               ❝ Now - as for the role you'll have while you're here ... I suppose I must take time to figure out what niche you'll be fit into. Perhaps you shall continue as an aide for Gin. ❞

     Whatever the intent behind Aizen’s ’ praise ’ may be, Izuru does not take it in good faith; at this point, he’d be ashamed to have Aizen’s approval, and stupid to believe a single word that comes out of his mouth.

     Once, Izuru admired Aizen. Who didn’t, really? He was powerful, but kind. How sharply did that fondness take a turn; a fruit so sweet that has gone to rot, a pool of spilled ink that stains the poem. To Izuru, knowing what he knows now, that genteel facade might as well be the wolf baring its teeth. And when Aizen’s smile sinks, he’s almost relieved…Izuru is not particularly good at lying, he is not a spy nor a double agent, there is no one pulling his strings and there are no ulterior motives up his sleeve. Still, there is a misplaced sense of triumph, to be this grand schemer’s unknown factor.

     It is far too soon to be celebrating anything, however.

     Not with that thinly-veiled threat now looming over the conversation like a storm cloud, heavy and dark.

     Izuru’s throat feels tight. He can hardly breathe. Every little movement feels like a powerplay: Aizen can do whatever he wants, natural and free, while Izuru is bound and chained by the anxiety of being beneath that scrutinizing gaze. All he can do is sit there and listen to the other man conjecture about him, unable to get a word in edgewise.

     Haven’t you heard that a watched pot never boils, Aizen? Neither of them can sit here forever, but Aizen may come to see it beneath his contempt to carry on the silence and pass the interrogation of the lieutenant over to someone less patient. No, that scenario does not escape Izuru’s imagination.

     And then, something very specific that Aizen says drastically changes the mood.

     ❝ You hurt Momo, ❞ he seethes ❝ and for what? To prove a point? To send a message? I almost don’t care what your goals are; you’re just a monster, and I’d never be loyal to something like that. ❞

     ❝ My loyalty will begin and end with Gin. If you have orders for me, then you pass them on through him. ❞