[ He measures the silence of this house, as he has measured the silence of everything since Natsu's death, in weeks. Isamu counts them, six weeks ago he returned from the far corners of Soul Society without her and was, understandably, let go from his position, working for the Hayashi family which his family has done for generations. You served us well, Natsu's father said to him, Isamu lying face down in front of his feet, expecting to be cut, until you didn't. Take this, a piece of paper was thrown before his head, and go to the Kuchiki Manor, they'll make sure you don't die of hunger. That was how his life ended, six weeks ago.
Now, he works at the Kuchiki Manor, he does laundry for the guest houses, working under the supervision of a man who corrects his grip constantly. Wrong, Isamu. Not like that. He has learned how to lift kimono more expensive than his entire existence, and Isamu does it automatically now, trying not to think of last time he lifted a kimono as valuable as these. And what he did with it.
Usually he works at the steam tubs, his face an ugly red after a full day in the heat, but today is tub cleaning day and they've run out of lye. Isamu, being the most recent transfer, has been sent to fetch more. He does so gladly, work is his only distraction, but the hallways all look alike, as do the doors, and he quickly loses his way, ending in a part of the house he isn't even certain he's allowed to enter.
Still, although the doors are slid shut and someone's in there, the sound of feet againt mats, clothes rustling, Isamu halts by the entrance to the next room, thinking that in this household, at least, they will cut him as a consequence, and slides one door slightly open. It is a sign of resignation, the way he bows low, then kneeling to emphasise his rank, trying not to look too obviously, to stare. The Kuchiki family is a family of soldiers. This could be anyone. And no one. He minds his manners regardless. Keeps his eyes on the floor. ]
My apologies. I'm new. [ Nothing connects the two sentences. He is not making excuses. This is unforgivable, yet... ] Forgive me for disturbing you.
[ Whether it is some Kuchiki cousin or his supervisor who sees him failing like this, it will undoubtedly come to the same. ]
no subject
Now, he works at the Kuchiki Manor, he does laundry for the guest houses, working under the supervision of a man who corrects his grip constantly. Wrong, Isamu. Not like that. He has learned how to lift kimono more expensive than his entire existence, and Isamu does it automatically now, trying not to think of last time he lifted a kimono as valuable as these. And what he did with it.
Usually he works at the steam tubs, his face an ugly red after a full day in the heat, but today is tub cleaning day and they've run out of lye. Isamu, being the most recent transfer, has been sent to fetch more. He does so gladly, work is his only distraction, but the hallways all look alike, as do the doors, and he quickly loses his way, ending in a part of the house he isn't even certain he's allowed to enter.
Still, although the doors are slid shut and someone's in there, the sound of feet againt mats, clothes rustling, Isamu halts by the entrance to the next room, thinking that in this household, at least, they will cut him as a consequence, and slides one door slightly open. It is a sign of resignation, the way he bows low, then kneeling to emphasise his rank, trying not to look too obviously, to stare. The Kuchiki family is a family of soldiers. This could be anyone. And no one. He minds his manners regardless. Keeps his eyes on the floor. ]
My apologies. I'm new. [ Nothing connects the two sentences. He is not making excuses. This is unforgivable, yet... ] Forgive me for disturbing you.
[ Whether it is some Kuchiki cousin or his supervisor who sees him failing like this, it will undoubtedly come to the same. ]