Chapter Text
The night is young, and Daiki would like nothing more than for his watch to end. He needs to freshen up to meet Kishi in the market. One look at the moon’s position in the sky, however, reveals that his shift is nowhere close to ending.
He frowns.
“Still seeing that pretty little thing from town?” asks Hayate from the guard’s station a few feet beyond the gate.
Daiki glances back. He might be able to make out his friend’s face if not for the stupidly large Shihōin crest bolted to the gate. “Yeah.”
“She’s nice. Are you gonna finally confess to her?”
Daiki braces his back against the iron bars and sighs. “Maybe.” The problem is he isn’t much of a poet, and anything that he has come up with so far is… well… bad. It’s the sort of bad that may convince Kishi to never see him again.
“What’re you gonna say?”
“Your eyes are like moons and your skin like starlight.”
Silence.
“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Hayate digresses rather loudly.
“Was it that bad?”
More silence.
“What’s that?” asks Hayate. “It’s coming from the southwest corner.”
“You know I can’t see your radar screen.” Which is probably for the best, Daiki thinks. The findings are rarely interesting. “It’s probably a big raccoon. Nothing interesting ever happens out here in the First District.”
“Yeah,” says Hayate. “You’re right.”
Daiki hears the static of Hayate’s communicator and his low voice directing the patrols on the east and west sides of the compound to the south gate.
Must be big, Daiki thinks.
Last time something pinged as big, though, it was a wolf. Isamu had almost gotten his hand bitten off. Idiot.
“How big?”
“Not big, but there are a few hits.”
“So, like a pack of raccoons,” teases Daiki.
Hayate chuckles. “That will keep the boys busy at least. Earn their keep.”
“Yeah, hopefully Isamu—” Daiki lips snap shut the moment he sees a couple stagger toward him down the main road. Looks to be a man and a woman. The woman is petite but appears to be bracing the man as they stumble up to the gate.
“Hey!” he calls out. “You two are a long way from town.”
“We are?” asks the woman, her words slurring into each other. She reeks of alcohol when she nears him. The cheap stuff.
“What is it, Daiki?” calls Hayate.
“Nothing. Just two drunk kids.”
“Could you--” whispers the woman before stopping short, seemingly losing her train of thought.
Vaguely, Daiki hears the static of Hayate’s communicator. He can’t make out all the words, but it sounds like Hayate is asking for a status update. The crackling of a dead wire, however, is the only response back.
“I’m getting nothing,” says Hayate. “I’m going to check on the southwest corner. You good?” He jerks his chin in the direction of the two drunkards.
Daiki nods and watches Hayate leave, turning into a blur of motion the moment he steps out from the guard station.
“Could you—” the woman begins again.
Daiki cuts her off with a gruff, “Listen, lady, get your ass back on the path before I—”
Before Daiki has the chance to reach for his baton, the woman trips forward. Reflexively, he reaches out and grabs ahold of her. His fingers sink into her shoulders, and that’s when he realizes his mistake.
The moment their eyes meet, he sees that she is, in fact, very much sober. And he is, indeed, very much f*cked.
His thoughts run slow. He thinks he hears her give a command, or was it an incantation? Either way, he feels like he got hit by a supply wagon. His chest tightens. He can barely breathe, and his body feels like it’s turned to lead.
Nothing in his head makes sense. He feels numbed and unable to thinkas if any attempt he makes at executive function gets overridden. All he can do is follow her directions. What those directions are? He has no idea. He just does as she says. Just picks up his communicator. Just parrots back the words she tells him to say. Just lays down. Just sleep.
Darkness.
Nothing about this job inspires confidence in Hisana, from her client, Lady Y, to the target being inconveniently located in a storage unit owned by the Shihōin Family.
Breaching the First District was a chore, but, at least, she had experience and intel on how to accomplish such a feat. Hisana, however, could glean precious little information about the Shihōin compound. Fitting for the family closely associated with the Onmitsukidō, but a real pain in the ass for purposes of this job.
The only intel that she and her crew managed to find was a blueprint of the compound and community conjecture about how well the Shihōin guards surveil the grounds. The blueprints look to be a few decades old, and community conjecture, even from purported former guards of the facility, is most likely complete bullsh*t.
So, they’re going in blind.
Blind-ish.
At least the gate is open, and the guards are diverted.
That much has gone to plan.
She and Hachirō enter the compound, careful to stick to the shadows. According to her client’s directions and the blueprints, the storage unit is located on the far left corner of the property from the entrance.
It isn’t a long trek until they reach the leftmost corner. What they find isn’t so much of a storage unit—something that Hisana ordinarily associates with corrugated steel and slipshod dimensions—as it is a monument. Two jaguars forged from marble greet them. The marble is so well-burnished that it glistens, as if wet. A relief hangs above the door depicting the gates of hell and the souls trapped therein, screaming with terror and disdain.
“Ominous,” Hachirō says under his breath.
“Yep.” If they weren’t paying her, she wouldn’t want to go through those doors.
Hachirō tugs on the doorhandle. When it doesn’t budge, he shoves the door back with his shoulder.
“This is why I keep you around,” says Hisana, grinning up at him.
“That it, huh?” he asks, giving her a wolfish onceover.
A blast of stale, musty air hits her, and she frowns. Probably been sealed up like a tomb, which in theory is good. It means that they are unlikely to encounter guards inside. She just hopes there are no remains. She did not sign up for body snatching.
In they go.
There is a heavy emptiness to this place that carves its way into your bones. It’s the feeling Hisana always gets when she is forced to infiltrate the abandoned, treacherous places. Large columns made of once-glossy slabs of stone now look so desolate, so fragile after weathering years of negligence. Cobwebs and dust gather in the nooks and crannies of this place. The pieces of art stored in the various rooms and leaned against the walls of the halls are mostly covered. Large gray tarps veil them, keeping them safe from water and exposure.
It's sad.
Hisana imagines that the art must get lonely. It has a soul, too. That’s why it’s here in this undead place. It was alive once before it wasn’t. Just like her. Just like Hachirō.
Now, it’s forgotten. Not just by its creators, but by the world, locked away in this abandoned place with no one to love it.
“Here it is,” she says, reaching the middle display room.
The loot is a clay soldier standing eight feet tall. He’s a heavy boy for sure. Hisana pulls the tarp off and grins. The paint is pristine. A rare thing to behold.
“Want me—” begins Hachirō, but she cuts him off with a raised hand.
“It’s spellbound.”
He steps back. “This is why I keep you around.”
Yeah, Hachirō is good at lifting heavy objects. He’s not much good at sensing trouble. At least, not trouble of the magical variety.
Hisana cracks her knuckles and rolls her shoulders back. Time for work.
She is decidedly not great at lifting heavy objects, but she does know how to break a seal without triggering attention. Not an easy thing to do this close to Seireitei.
It’s an intricate spell, one with many trips and traps to fall into. She’s going to need a little help from her friend, she thinks, hand wrapping around the hilt of her zanpakutō.
With a quiet word, she calls forth its power. Her heart races when the reiatsu weaving through the spell lights up buttery yellow, like molten gold moving through a vein. Energy flows through the tangles and knots of the spell, exposing each little nuance with startling clarity.
It is beautiful.
Almost as beautiful as the sculpture.
Hisana peers over her shoulder at Hachirō, who stares blankly ahead.
“Complicated?” he asks.
She grins. “I always like a challenge.”
And, a challenge it most certainly is. It takes her nearly an hour before the last strand of the spell is broken. But, she can’t deny the feeling of achievement at her success.
Straightening, she turns to search Hachirō’s face only to find her comrade slumped, unconscious against the wall. Hisana wheels back to the statue, only to be confronted by the tip of her own blade raised against her.
Hisana’s attacker appears to be a woman. The woman’s face is covered except for her eyes. Her very clever amber-colored eyes.
Before Hisana can reach for the dagger she keeps hidden in her sleeve, the woman unleashes a binding spell, trapping Hisana in ropes of spiritual energy. The spell is weak enough that Hisana thinks she could break it with a blast of her reiatsu, but that’s probably a trap.
Her opponent did manage to get the drop on her well enough to pick the sword from her sheath.
“That was impressive for a thief,” says the woman as she kicks a chair over to Hisana.
Hisana shuffles to sit, as primly as she can manage. “Lady Y, I presume?”
The woman tips her head back. “How could you tell?”
“You don’t seem that interested in the art and this place is abandoned. Also, you didn’t kill my companion.” Hisana’s eyes slide to the heap of Hachirō still slumbering against the wall. “This was a test, I take it?”
Lady Y pulls down the scarf covering the bottom half of her face, and she grins. “That transparent, I see?”
“You’re not the first,” Hisana says dimly and glances away. “The answer is no.”
She hates it when her client resorts to these tactics. The second request always has terrible odds and is never something she would’ve consented to in the first place. Sunk costs be damned.
Lady Y slides the naked blade through her obi and folds her arms over her chest. “What if I make it worth your time?"
“No. The trust between us is broken.”
“There’s no trust among thieves.”
“There’s no honor among thieves. We do have occasion to trust one another. Also, you’re not a thief.” Hisana glances the woman over. She does wear a black bodysuit well. So maybe she’s wrong. “One presumes.”
“One presumes too much, then.” Lady Y’s grin lengthens.
“Still a no from me, lady.”
“What if I can give you something others can’t?”
“What would that be?” sighs Hisana. The woman looks entirely too smug for her tastes. “Mansions. Mountains of money. A clean background check?”
“Information on your sister.”
Hisana’s gaze snaps to the woman, fast and firm.
“I see I have your attention now,” purrs the lady. With a little flourish, she produces a bowling-ball-sized orb from the satchel slung across her body. She places it on the ground and taps it. Once. Twice. Three times. “You in there?” she asks.
Hisana tenses. What the hell is that thing?
Suddenly, the orb glows, and the image of a man appears. He is pale with a shock of blond hair, and a sharp jawline, and a bucket hat sits atop his head. He looks like a derelict.
“Is this the moment?” he asks, voice excited.
“Yeah. This is the moment.”
“Okay, let me pull it up. Inuzuri, right?”
Lady Y’s grin disappears into a scowl. “Yes. We discussed this. Multiple times.”
The orb dims.
“Can you see it?” he asks.
“No. It’s gone dark again.”
“What about now?”
“Still nothing.”
“What about—”
Hisana rolls her eyes, heaves a breath, and stares into the darkness of the room. This is bad. Comically bad. And, she’s stuck.
“Here, look!” Lady Y’s voice yanks her attention back to the orb.
Hisana’s eyes widen. Her heart stops. It can’t be. She scoots to the edge of her seat, eyes narrow, breath sharp in her chest.
“Your sister, alive.”
The girl in the orb looks like Hisana’s spitting image: dark hair, wide blue eyes, and petite. “Why?” asks Hisana, searching the woman. “How—”
“I need a thief. A good one. You’re the best they say. And,” the woman glances down at Hisana’s zanpakutō threaded through her obi, “I can see why.”
“What are the terms?”
“Simple: You infiltrate House Kuchiki and steal a priceless painting for me. And, I give you back your blade, give you the cash you agreed upon to complete this job, and we will give you information on your sister’s last whereabouts.”
“House Kuchiki is in the Seireitei. I don’t have access—”
“Oh, but you do now.” The woman shoots Hisana a clever look and produces a file from her satchel.
“How?”
“You made it easy for me. Being a former student at the Academy and all.”
“Thirty years ago!” protests Hisana. “I didn’t even graduate.”
“Not a problem for someone like me.” Lady Y waves her hand, breaking Hisana’s binds, and tosses the file her way. “Here’s the dossier. Everything you need. Your cover story. Your resume. Where you’re going tonight and tomorrow. What you’re going to wear.”
“Resume?” Is she applying for a job?
“Yeah. The family has a need for a maid.”
“A maid?” Hisana would rather jump off a cliffthan play-pretend as a supplicant to a group of rich people.
“A maid. Where you will wait in place until the time comes to steal the art.”
“What art?”
“It’s a painting of oblivion.”
“I’ve never—”
“It isn’t particularly famous.”
“What does it look like?”
Lady Y tilts her head to the side.
She doesn’t know. Hisana can just feel this inconvenient truth. The ensuing silence confirms her suspicion.
“You don’t know.”
“I’ve never seen it,” the woman admits. “I’m told it uses the darkest black anyone has ever managed. And it’s of oblivion or what oblivion feels like.”
“So not a portrait.”
“Not a portrait. Not a landscape.”
Hisana throws her weight into the back of the chair. “You said I'd have to wait in place?”
“Yeah. Chances are the art has been moved offsite. But, it is scheduled to come back in a few months. It’ll be easier to have someone in place when the transition happens.”
“You can’t do this yourself, milady?”
The woman’s shoulders shift uncomfortably. “No. Too risky for me.”
“What’s my cover story?”
“You just left the Academy and need employment. Feel free to improvise. In the file is everything you need to give a convincing performance. Your interview is tomorrow morning.”
“Anything I should know about the position or the people in House Kuchiki?”
Lady Y snorts under her breath. “The position is a maid for the main family, of which there are three important members. Stay away from the Head of the Family and Captain of the Sixth, Ginrei Kuchiki, like your life depends upon it. He demands perfection and can spot a contradiction a mile away.
“The second in command is Sōjun Kuchiki, the heir apparent of the Family and Lieutenant of the Sixth. He is good, decent, even. Last, is Byakuya Kuchiki, Sōjun’s son. He’s a brat, but, ultimately, harmless.
“The manager of the house is Nobutsune Seike, who has been with the family for centuries. He’s very professional, very knowledgeable, and, if you win him over, you probably can get all the information you need to complete the job.
“It’s not hard. I just need someone reliable, and who stands a chance to be hired on as staff, which you possess.” Lady Y knowingly pats the hilt of Hisana’s zanpakutō.
“What does that mean?”
“In order to infiltrate the staff at House Kuchiki, you either need to be a noble or have attended the Academy. Not a lot of thieves in the Rukon fit either of those categories.”
Hisana glances down at the file.
“So, do we have a deal?” asks the lady.
“Deal," says Hisana, already regretting this decision.
