It was an otherwise pleasant, tranquil afternoon, and the day marked a whole month since the woman's last rendezvous with her former Captain. Just thirty-one days ago, she had joined Malik at his division for tea, as they'd done every two fortnights for almost a millennium, even though she'd since failed to attend many of these social gatherings; no longer did she look forward to them, and Kurisuna wondered, perhaps hopelessly, when Malik would grow tired of being in her scathing companionship.

The scene was set outside, with the pale, red-haired Shinigami seated at a table all but eclipsed in fine cuisine and dinnerware brought by the hapless unseated. Although she knew of her Soutaichou's aversion to fish, she'd made it a prominent part of almost every course; salmon, tuna, eel, all were there, tailored for consumption, though she didn't doubt Malik would not partake in any such dish, which, for all intents and purposes, was the point.

As she waited for her guest, Kurisuna crossed one leg on top of the other and partially unsheathed her katana. She angled the blade to and fro, watching as the lustrous metal glistened and flashed under the reflected sunlight. She hoped he would arrive shortly, or better yet, not at all.

[bgcolor=000000]Alas for poor, poor Kurisuna she would have to endure Malik's splendid company yet again, for you see he was a creature of habit. Yes, he would tell you otherwise but it was true. For many a year Malik's daily routine on particular days were the same (for the most part) and were such things around, you could set a watch by him on most occasions. This day, this private get together, was no different.

Exactly three minutes early Malik ventured into the Third Division grounds, more to the point the section outdoors in which Kurisuna had informed him their lunch date would take place. He stopped and hid behind a tree, tucking away his pipe and splashing a bit of smelling waters under his pits and the base of his neck to rid himself of the smell of which she loathed so much. He then straightened his haori and went about his way toward his eldest friend and comrade.

"Good day Kurisuna-Taicho, what a bright happy day it is indeed, hm?" He called out, announcing himself before she looked up from the glistening blade upon her lap. No one was more aware (not quite true, many were) than he was to her radical change the past few centuries. And who could blame her, really? He knew if he had been brought similar news about his girls he would be lost in a world of darkness and pain, much as she. Though, he had to admit having Chie under Kurisuna's direct command did comfort him a bit, he highly doubted she would put an old friend's daughter in harm's way.

Whether or not Kurisuna would avert her eyes from her comrade upon her lap, Malik would smile bright and offer a saluted wave before he would spot the fish atop her table. His nose would then catch a whiff of the foul creatures people called food, and were it capable of doing so it would retreat into his skull. Alas, all it could do was wrinkle a tad.

"Oh boy.." He began, moving toward his assigned seat. "Lunch looks, uh, great." Oh, if only he could have said what he was really thinking. Well, he could have but it would be most rude. Most rude indeed.

Always the complaisant and well-mannered host, Kurisuna did not lift her gaze from the sword upon her lap as Malik made his timely arrival. Truth be told, she'd expected him to be early, but the prospect of a visit paid by her Soutaichou was simply too daunting; she'd clung to the possibility of him, perhaps, being ailed by some mysterious sickness, although she would have to settle for the likelihood that copious amounts of fish, at the very least, ought to make him nauseous.

''Good morning, Tanaka-san,'' she nonetheless told him. Although she did not raise her head, Kurisuna did glance at Malik, and allowed for a mildly sinister smirk to tug at her lips as she noted his grimace. The man was not daft; he had to know she'd arranged the menu in such a manner on purpose, and Kurisuna patiently awaited some sort of remark. Of course, none came--he was much too courteous for that. But she wasn't.

''You're lying.'' Now, she looked up. Kurisuna appeared neither cross, nor jesting: only numb and apathetic. ''You hate fish. You...'' There was the mild anger in her voice as she gritted her teeth. ''Are supposed to, anyway.'' And then she gave a smile, a convincing fake, albeit one she knew would most likely not fool him. ''But please, take a seat.''

[bgcolor=000000]"Lying?! Oooh Kurisuna-Taicho your words are sharper than that sword which captures the light so beautifully." He pulled out his chair, forced his nose to cease its wrinkling and sat down, still smiling. "One does not have to enjoy something to admire the beauty of a perfectly set table. While it is true I dislike, hate is such a strong word, fish you have outdone yourself with your fine setting.

"So, no lie has passed these lips old friend." He did indeed notice the tone of anger in her voice and what more that sinister smirk that crossed her features. Well my dear, two can play at this game. Pawn to b3.

Leaning forward slightly, Malik would lift the lid from the top of the tea pot, and sniff as it's own smells flowed out. Not his preferred choice, but it would do all the same. Placing the topper back down, he would lift up the pot and pour, first for Kurisuna his host and then for himself. Now, this gesture was unusual for the man, it was typical that he would wait for the host to pour, as he did so he was asserting himself. A small move of annoyance he hoped, but he would add more icing to the cake as time progressed.

Fish?! Really.. Ugh,

"I do not suppose you have any honey?"

"Sharper than this sword… That's quite something," Kurisuna reckoned mostly as an afterthought, for Malik had, by then, gone on to talk of aptly set dinnerware as if it were a work of art. To the 3rd Division's Taichou, it was just a table—nothing more, nothing less, and if anyone had invited her personally, only to serve her least favourite dishes on purpose out of what was most likely spite, she would have hurt them. A lot.

Ever the saint, it appeared Malik had not lied, after all. Kurisuna eyed the male flatly as he took his seat and served the both of them himself. A bold move, she thought. Very bold.

Yes, two could play this game.

''We had honey,'' started Kurisuna as she reached for the minuscule handle of a small, cylindrical glass, before tossing it over her right shoulder, honey spoon and all. It spun through the air, plunging two dozen feet behind her, into a shrub. She made a point to neither break eye contact, nor so much as blink. ''But I'm afraid we're all out.''

[bgcolor=000000]"Oh.." He replied, watching the honey fly through the air until it suddenly landed in the shrub, with a slight pang of pity for the poor bees whom worked so hard on making it. Such a waste. "Well that is unfortunate. Oh well I shall just make due." A smile, before he brought up the cup to his lips, without his precious honey, and took a swig. Swallowing it he let out a happy sigh. "Aaah, that was worth skipping my morning cup for.

"As is your always charming company." A smile again as he set his cup down atop the saucer it came with, his eyes flicking away from her's toward the exposed blade edge. Dare he? Yes, the game was afoot after all. And he did so enjoy this game. "Yes indeed, your words can and sometimes do cut quite deep. Much like that sword of yours used to when you were my Fukutaicho, remember?

"Perhaps you need to sharpen it's edge more to match your wit?" He reached into a pouch of his belt and revealed a wet stone and smirked himself, while it wasn't as sinister as the one Kurisuna bore (not that he could possibly match such an expression), it served its purpose he thought. That being. "I'm joking don't gut me!"

That said he had been wrong before.

A gentle rumble set through the Third Division, a sort of tremble that defined the approach of an energetic thing; the shudder would be barely registered even by the tea-cups upon the table, the liquid within hardly quivering even a touch as they began, but within the span of a few heartbeats, that would change to an obvious tremor on the liquid's surface, a raise in the center of the cup that would give way to a series of concentric circles running to the cup-edge. A call sounded, though it couldn't be made out in it's entirety

"-choooo!" came the termination of the call, a high-rise after the bulk was made in a deeper intonation. Shortly thereafter came a loud bang, followed again by another, stronger tremor. Something to the tea party came, an Alice unbound, rocketing toward the Hatter and Hare. "-ka-taichoooo!" The call came again, more clear this time than before, though not by much. Another sound could be heard as the tremors gave way to an audible crashing, the constant bombardment of feet trampling flooring underneath as the source of the crying approached ever-closer.

"KIBA-TAICHO THAT ISN'T A DOO-" A final massive crash signaled Kiba's exit from the actual Third Division Building and entrance to the yard where the fancy tea-party was being held; the approaching Taicho gave a cry of 'I can fix that!' before trundling over and through the hedges that enclosed the tea-partying duo, a ridiculous smile plastered all over the Taicho's face. "Kukuka-Taichoo, I found you!"

First and foremost, Kiba was wet - rather, he was soaked in total, his shihakusho and haori drenched through and through, as was the utterly massive burlap sack he clutched in his hands at his right side, which itself was pulsing and quaking with the most disgusting of wet, slimy sounds.

"Some of your little unseated kids told me you needed fish for a party or something, so I brought you some!" And thus was the sack let free of his grip, pouring to the ground beside the Taicho a torrent of fish, splendorous in their varied colors, glistening heroically in the sunlight. Of course, still flopping, there was the very real chance they'd land up on the tea-party table, as Kiba hadn't had the thought to keep his distance, and the stench... but still, Kiba struck a proud pose.

"Will this be enough, Kukuka-Taichoo?" He asked with a mighty grin, waiting to be told he'd done well. Of course, around this time he saw Malik sitting across from Kurisuna, and offered him a small bob of his head. "Tanaka-Taicho."

As Malik took a sip from his cup, Kurisuna, too, began serving herself, pinching the sides of half the nigiri sushi displayed upon the table one at a time between a pair of ivory chopsticks. She deposited each upon a rectangular plate, sighing lightly as he spoke, for she'd failed to come up with anything worth sharing. The woman eyed a sliver of octopus topping a bed of rice dejectedly, jabbed it a few times, and then slipped it between her lips.

When the Soutaichou spoke again, prattling with what was, to her, venomous sarcasm concerning her attitude, Kurisuna looked up from her plate with a bored, unimpressed scowl; he was not about to gain the upper hand with such petty pleasantries! But then, Malik went on to mention their distant past, and the olden days did not constitute a time she wished to recall for whatever purpose, for reasons she was not entirely clear on herself. Kurisuna was knowledgeable on the history of many things, but her own was elusive, fragmented, and at times plainly nonexistent, a figment her memory failed to recollect. One hand balled into a loose fist upon the tabletop, but she nonetheless told him: ''Yes, I remember.''

Her mouth gaped as if to add onto what she'd said, but a light tremor caught her attention more so than the sharpening stone Malik had kept on his person. Propping her elbow beside her plate, Kurisuna put cheek to palm and gave a knowing groan as she felt a mild headache develop; she did not so much as shift to better regard the tumult's origin as it rapidly approached, the quaking intensifying, until Kiba finally burst out and barrelled toward the pair in all his waterlogged splendour. For a moment, there was no reaction from her; she sat still, unshakably stoic, even as her fellow Taichou neared the table and released from his burlap sack a deluge of fish. One of them had thrown itself a little too close, and a little too high—roughly level with the table, and Kiba's abdomen.

Kurisuna bolted from her seat. She spun, drawing back her left foot, fingers clasped around the hilt. Then, bending lightly at the knees, she unsheathed her katana in a singular Nuki-uchi, and sliced the creature from head to tail tip. Had Kiba remained motionless, the bladed edge would've no doubt swept quite close; a foot or so from his midsection, which, alas, would remain disastrously unscathed. ''Oh... oh, god, I'm so sorry,'' Kurisuna exclaimed with mock concern as things seemed to dawn on her, at least until she spoke again, this time in a bland monotone. ''I eviscerated the wrong animal.''

[bgcolor=000000]He had meant to toss her the stone, he had meant to take another drink of his tea. He had meant to ask her if there was any of those fluffy pastries to eat, so he wouldn't have to eat the god awful fish. Sadly, he did not get the chance to do any of this due to the noisy arrival of another council member.

Whilst pocketing the sharpening tool, Malik's eyes shifted toward the source of the racket and once he saw who it was and more so the state he was in, a small laugh escaped his lips (the man was indeed a sight), however it quickly came to a halt when he saw what was over the man's shoulder. What in the world? He quirked a brow and leaned back into his chair, watching as the contents of the bag seemed to squirm. Curiosity started to get the best of him as the soggy bottomed Taicho ventured closer, however that curious feeling departed when his nose picked up a smell. Oh n- his thought was interrupted as Kiba spoke, announcing what he had brought, pouring the contents out onto the ground and, a little bit, onto the table.

Malik sat completely still, he watched as Kurisuna split a fish from head to tail fin in one easy flourish of her blade, coming quite close to Kiba, how close he could not gauge as his eyes quickly averted elsewhere. The sight of the creature's innards leaking out, plus the ungodly smell turned Malik's pale features grey.

He brought his left hand up to his mouth and wiped it gingerly, the feeling of liquid rising in the back of his throat, he tried to swallow it down as best he could. "Tanaka-Taicho." Malik's gaze shifted toward the Taicho, the motion caused the slightest breeze which in turn forced all the more of the terrible, terrible smell to flutter up his nose. He gulped as he went from grey to a light green.

From here he meant to simply respond a greeting to Kiba, he also meant to ask to be excused. Neither of these things happened, at least not verbally or physically. In his head Malik was pleading his body to work the way he wished, but sadly this was not the case as the shade of green turned into that of what a famous Frog's might be.

And then he vomited.

As his general gaze was in the direction of Kiba, the projectile of sick complied mostly of tea and the bit of breakfast he injected many hours before would no doubt cover the man from his chest, down. Unless of course he was a fancy Dan and was able to get out of dodge before the eruption took place. It was over and quickly as it began, and through glistening eyes Malik wiped his mouth, whispered an apology and then.. "It's Soutaicho, by the way."

Kiba blinked, nonplussed, as Kurisuna's blade flashed through the air, bisecting the flopping fishy and simultaneously splattering the Taicho in fishy gore; at her quip, however, he grinned, flashing his teeth, strong from copious amounts of milk ingestion. "Oh, Kukuka-Taichoo, you make the best jo-"

And then hyurk.

The grin honestly faltered as Kiba's soaked-through Shihakusho came under assault by Malik's lunch, but it didn't totally fail. Instead, Kiba simply shook his head and removed his haori.

"Honestly, Tanaka-Taicho, why would you attend a fish-party if you're just gonna throw it up?" Chuckling and shaking his head still, Kiba wiped mightily at the vile Taicho-bile on his clothes, grunting in approval as the mess came away after only three or four swipes; the haori, next, was tossed to the ground beside the burlap sack, to be collected as Kiba left - later.

Instead, reeking of fish, vomit and fish gore, Kiba leaned over the table, found a particularly sizable wad of rice, and flicked the terrible fishy terribleness off the top before picking the ball up between his soaked fingers and popping it into his mouth. "So, Kukuka-Taichoo, what's the occasion we're celebrating?"

She lowered her sword, blood soaked at its centre, equidistant from hilt and tip. A few minutes. That's all it had taken. Well, not quite; the Captain hadn't needed more than one to lay waste to their reunion, unbidden and as thoroughly saturated as he'd been. He was always around; always frequenting her Fukutaichou. To Kurisuna, it seemed he all but monopolized whatever free time Sumie had at her disposition. No, that wasn't right—Kiba visited the woman even when she wasn't available, shouldn't have been. He was a menace to the integrity of her Division—much like she, although they, for the most part, did not realize it—and equally as significant a threat to her relationship with her Lieutenant. No, this had to stop, she had tolerated it for too long.

Her blade was in her hand. The urge tore at every fiber of her being. But she couldn't, the repercussions for assault, for murder, were too severe. Malik would stop her, and Sumie would never forgive her. She could lose everything. ''Your indefinite leave from my division,'' she said tensely, body language hinting at some admirable feat of forbearance, neither the innards, nor the disgorged contents of Malik's stomach fazing her. ''You've done too much damage, Shuchiku-Taichou, and I can no longer endure your company...'' She couldn't. These sorts of antics deteriorated her health, wore down at her psyche. Kurisuna wondered if that was the point, the motivation behind such conduct. She cast a markedly brief, accusatory glance toward Malik, and then flicked her dagger-like glare back unto Kiba.

[bgcolor=000000]He wiped his mouth gingerly again, glancing this way and that as he did so. He was feeling a little better now that he had yaked, but the shade of grey was still upon his face. Why did it have to be fish? Why couldn't Kiba have brought something good, like boar or salted beef. But no, it had, just HAD TO BE FISH!! "Aiyaaaah.."

To make matters worse, Kiba the stinky sight of a man not only wiped the vomit from himself with his haori of all things, the symbol of his spot upon the Council (a great insult, fyi) but then leaned over to get some food from the table! The smell of the man nearly made Malik sick again, but he kept his composure this time. He simply grabbed his cup of tea, which somehow evaded the spew of sick, and took a swig of it. Were he to be sick again, he would rather have something on his stomach and not just heave dryly.

"Shuchiku-Taicho, I think you have been misin-" And then Kurisuna spoke, cutting him off, while he would usually be annoyed by such a thing in this case he was simply surprisefd and kept his mouth firmly shut. The master of this 'house' had spoken and it was not his place to argue or even to continue a conversation with the man. Not when she had requested him to leave in such a manner.

Malik had to admit to himself, he would not want to be in Kiba's shoes right now. And not just because of the sloppy mess he was. No, no.. Kurisuna was scary when mad.

There was a pause after Kurisuna's proclamation, a stillness settling over Kiba that he couldn't quite place. He'd known fear in his lifetime; of course he had! He'd never admit it, no, but Shuchiku Kiba was beset by fear quite often - fear of apathy, fear of lost friends, and once upon a time, fear of stronger men. This, however, was not fear; with the Soutaicho in the garden, and the assurance he had in his own strength, Kiba did not have true fear for Kurisuna at this time, in this instance, because deep down, he knew she'd not put at risk everything in order to settle a matter with him. Indeed, few would put much at risk for the sake of teaching Kiba anything - he knew well how he was perceived by Soul Society at large, how much work people presumed would go into actively punishing the Taicho.

This was, for all that, not fear. Perhaps instead, it was Kiba's usually mild demeanor reacting to the overtly cold sensations put to him by the taller of the present Taicho - though he could never claim Kurisuna had been friendly with him, Kiba would as soon lay claim that he'd never really evoked such a response from the female, to the point where, for a moment, he wondered if for once he hadn't really crossed some imaginary line? Ah, so there it was, then; Kiba didn't fear, but instead felt the stillness of true contemplation, the contemplation of his actions to this point, Kurisuna's response, and the possibilities laid before him. For several long, slow heartbeats, Kiba's usually grinning face had been supplanted by one that lacked any of his standard 'warm' emotion - his mouth was downturned slightly in thought, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at Kurisuna, his jaw flexing slightly as his tongue ran over his teeth, his body otherwise still.

The stillness was broken by his right hand, shifting upward from his waistline to press the balls of his fingers against his right cheek, his palm pressing in as the hand slid upward, covering his right eye before sliding into and through his hair; this motion was accompanied by a low sigh, so slow it seemed rather that Kiba had begun to deflate himself with a long exhalation. His right hand cradling the back of his head, Kiba then rolled his shoulders back and closed his eyes, his lips now turning upward in a slight smile; the chuckle came next, parting his lips to show his teeth before his right eye cracked open, leveling a mirth-fueled gaze toward Kurisuna.

"That was a good one, Kukuka-Taichoo; really had me going. Almost hurt my feelings! But I know you'd never kick me out; I'm the only interesting thing that happens around here!" And that wasn't too far from the truth, he supposed; Kiba could often be described as much an event as a person. Still, the brutish Taicho knew well when he wasn't wanted, and with a slight nod turned his back to the partying duo and their fish-covered table. "I'll be back in the morning to fix the hole in your wall, Kukuka-Taichoo. I'll use the good wood and everything!"

Kiba's grin was nearly audible, his teeth now showing openly as he began to stride toward the hole in the wall, and in turn again toward the bushes meant to separate the party area from the rest of the Division grounds; it seemed Kiba meant to leave as he had entered, another reminder of his sometimes irrational - or dull, depending on who was asked - demeanor, as certainly there were quicker ways of leaving, now that he'd found his way back outside. The massive pile of fish, the soaked-through bundle of burlap sack, and the vomit-coated haori were left in the wake of the Taicho, perhaps as symbols of his presence in the same way a tornado would leave destruction strewn about as it passed, the Taicho chuckling lowly as he passed through the makeshift exit he'd knocked into Kurisuna's Division Grounds.

"Have a nice day Kukuka-Taichoo, Malik-Taichou." Kiba called over his shoulder as he vanished into the Division building, perhaps to hunt down his old friend Sumie, perhaps simply to disappear to his own hobbies - the decision was his to make, and he hadn't got around to that part yet.

[Exit]

As Kiba regarded her with a sort of vapid level-headedness that deviated so steeply from his norm, Kurisuna felt herself swell, triumphant if only by her flightiest of standards, which could—and would—make do with something as mere as an atypical reaction from the Taichou's part. Oh, it had been brief, lapsing as quickly as it had surfaced, and to anyone on the outside, she wouldn't have looked any less cross; no, the female was positively furious, wracked with a domestic ire, familiar and all-encompassing.

Still great fun, really.

''Shuchiku-Taichou is quite intrepid, isn't he,'' remarked Kurisuna as she watched him depart whence he came. ''If I didn't know any better—and perhaps I don't, after all—I'd say he considers this establishment his own division. Why shouldn't he?'' She produced a curt, hysterical laugh, raised her arms in the air exasperatedly, Zanpakutou included, and turned to face Malik. ''He's in here more often than not! He spends as much, if not more time with my Lieutenant than I do! This is my goddamn building!''

Ah, she was done. Nearly. Thrusting her weapon at some of the staff peering 'round the gap in the wall, Kurisuna shouted, ''Someone throw these fucking fish into the pond!''

[bgcolor=000000]And so there he sat, in silence as Kiba regarded Kurisuna's words as no more than playful banter, though still taking the hint to vacate the building right smartly. He wasn't sure if this was because he had actually taken the comment seriously and was putting on a show to annoy the woman, or by sheer dumb luck.

Regardless with him gone, Kurisuna went into a short rant about the man. He couldn't really see any point in arguing with her one way or another, from what he could see, she had a point. Though her flailing her weapon this way and that did raise a few mental alarms.

"Intrepid, yes that is a good way of putting it. Perhaps at the next council meeting some guidelines should be set if you'd rather not have him at your doorstep on a regular basis. Though from what I could see he is simply oblivious to the obvious, and let us face it, that is something the 'young' tend to be." True, Kiba was no spring chicken, but the two Taicho here were twice his age plus some so they could get away with still calling him a pup.

"And perhaps you should have a word with your Fukutaicho. Tell her to set some guidelines with Shuchiku -Taicho as well. The two of them cannot do their duty if they're constantly at one another's hip." Was it young love? He could not imagine anyone falling for the mess in which had just left here. And if she had, Sumie was a hell of a woman.

The peons in which Kurisuna had barked at had gone right to work, clearing away the flopping, gasping for air, fish and tossing them into the pond. He could not be more grateful and as such thanked each one in turn as they carted off arm full after arm full of the slimy, stinky creatures. Once that was finished, he regarded Kurisuna with a satisfied look and smirked.

"I don't suppose you're going to sit back down and eat something? Unless you'd like to continue to flail and poke someone's eye out with that sword of yours."

Obliviousness… For too long, Kurisuna had, as well, believed it the culprit among a slew of contrastingly offensive traits Kiba (and others) may or may not have possessed. Perhaps they did not realize she no longer tolerated, let alone participated in extravagant, but otherwise ''friendly'' stunts such as the one so boldly executed by none other than Seireitei’s 4th Taichou. Conversely, perhaps they did, and sought to ''reach out'' to her instead, or trusted that, just maybe, eventually, she would snap out of her psychotic haze and—the notion summoned a bout of nausea off its own power—join them.

No, this had been a devious ploy dedicated to ruining her get-together with Malik, as inexcusable as it had been deliberate! The Soutaichou was right, as much as she resented admitting it; confronting Sumie or laying down some boundaries were, short of murder, the most promising methods of going at it. ''I'll... discuss it with her,'' Kurisuna hesitated, unsure of how her Lieutenant would treat this sensitive subject.

And then Malik shot her this... look, and the red-head spent a solid moment determining whether he was simply glad to be rid of the fish, or teasing her. Both? Kurisuna couldn't fathom him wanting to sit back down after all but ejecting his bowels through his mouth so... spectacularly. ''Maybe I do want to poke someone's eye out with my sword,'' she muttered defiantly, looking away, her Zanpakutou poised to slide back into its scabbard.

[bgcolor=000000]"Someone's?" He questioned placing his hands upon his lap, just in case things turned in the direction he thought they were turning. Were that the case he would certainly not mind, it had been ages after all since they last had a play date. Actually, might some even say they never had (but not let's go there shall we). "Well we can't have that now can we? Perhaps you should give me your sword for now before someone gets hurt."

That ought to do it. If memory served correctly, which in this case he hoped it was, Kurisuna did not allow anyone to touch her zanpakuto. It was one of the few things she still had an attachment to in this world, the poor soul, and this push from Malik might be just what she needed to blow off some much needed steam.

"Come now, hand it over like a good girl." He only hoped his plan wouldn't back fire terribly, which it very well could. Though even if it did work, he could still end up in a medical wing for a week or two at the least. Oh the joys of befriending a swords woman with issues. "Or I could take it from you.. All depends on how you want to play it."

Kurisuna's face sharpened like the edge of a blade, her sword frozen where it hung below her chest, angled from the saya gripped needlessly tight within her opposite hand. ''Is this any way to talk to a lady, let alone your elder?'' she scoffed, a thin smirk playing at a curve of the lips. Although Malik could not normally be defined as unpredictable, Kurisuna had to consent he had his moments where she could scarcely read him at all.

''Forget Shuchiku-Taichou,'' insisted the Captain resolutely as she contoured Malik, circling him like a raptorial bird of prey. ''You're exceptionally bold today. I would expect nothing less from Seireitei's ''fearless'' commander.'' When she stopped, feet spread at shoulder's length with the left ahead of the other, Kurisuna coolly raised her Zanpakutou overhead, poised as if to deliver an executioner's strike. ''However... I think I'll have you strike me down first.''

[bgcolor=000000]As of yet he had not moved, the look in his eyes not faltering. He dare not show a sign of weakness right now, it would be his undoing in more way than one. No instead he simply smiled, not an arrogant smile nor a threatening one. No, it was a simple, warm hearted smile. "Elder, perhaps if only by a little. But you're still but a girl in many ways, some times.

"And I would never dream of cutting you down, nor do I think I could. You were always the sword to my shield after all." Still not attempting to make a move from his seat, still smiling and all the while using a very calm voice, Malik's fingers began to twitch. "However, I do think if necessary I could disarm you."

His eyes suddenly took on a wild look as they widened, his smile turning into a grin matching one of Kurisuna's earlier. He had a part to play after all, this woman was a loose cannon he knew at times and the only way to keep her 'under control' was to let her blow off some steam now and then. Who better to have that steam directed at than himself? "Only one way to find out, don't you agree?"

And then, he was on his feet, hands upon his swords. The chair tumbling back behind him, the table screeching forward, Malik's grin never leaving his lips, but his eyes had once again changed. They were serious eyes now. He had to be serious, and careful. A slip up now would cost him a limb.. Or more.

"Indeed, I am a woman," confessed Kurisuna, frowning irritably. "Such keen perceptive skills are wasted in the 1st. You ought to transfer."

Malik would not budge from his seat, despite his apparent proximity to a brandished sword positioned to cleave into his skull. No, he was much too preoccupied boasting a certain proficiency in Kenjutsu, adequate enough to disarm, and even defeat her. Who was she to take the bait, to be upset over such an audacious claim?

If one had to describe the way she regarded Malik, they would probably summon adjectives such as ''glacial'' and ''unfaltering.'' Much like her adversary, however, she did not aspire to intimidate him and treat their bout as a friendly spar. If either got hurt, it was on the other's head. ''Don't be daft. Draw your swords,'' she told him, dipping her own roughly parallel to both herself and the ground, pointed for Malik's throat and leveled with the shoulder closest to the front; her left, now that she'd rotated her hips and swung the respective foot forward. ''You are a practitioner of Nitōjutsu, are you not? Do you expect to unsheathe your katana and wakizashi in time to mount a miraculous countermove? Don't waste my time with your amateurism. Unsheathe the shoto and the daito.''

[bgcolor=000000]He smiled brightly and laughed aloud, adjusting his stance as his legs parted, his knees bent lowering his frame down near a foot. His left leg slipped half a foot backward, twisting his lower body slightly, making Malik a slightly smaller target. "You read me like a book, as always Kurisuna. Well, almost. You know me too well, too well indeed."

His left hand drew first, the shorter of the two blades in a reverse draw, the wakizashi. His right quickly followed drawing the full length katana which he pointed toward his adversary, while the left remained tucked back for defensive purposes. "As you so pointed out, you're a woman and as a gentleman I give you the first move."

He had a funny feeling this would not go well in his favor, he had just been sick after all. His body was slightly weakened because of that, so he would need to concentrate his own efforts on tiring her out with using a little of his own energy as possible. Sounded easily enough in theory but in practice... No, he was boned.

Kurisuna, too, laughed, cruel and sarcastic. Malik's stance was off, underplaying the pros of his peculiar style of swordplay in favor of the cons. For a moment, she thought she'd correct him, a by-product of two whole millennia as a mentor. Oh, but that would be spoiling the hilarity of it all, the opportune moment for slicing, piercing, and wounding not a mere man, but the Soutaichou, Malik, her friend for nearly three-thousand goddamn years. Beholding one's comrades in pain was so, so much more intoxicating...

No, focus. His sword was drawn, improperly extended toward her. ''Very well.''

She slipped out of her stance, too passive for the circumstances. His shoto retracted and his daito stretched out invitingly, Kurisuna assumed the stance most Shinigami were taught; sword held at the center, gripped with both right and left, lending to defense as evenly as offense. She intended to draw him out like this, make him see the ways of his folly.

His katana held in a single hand, she stepped in, and went to whack the weapon with her own to knock it aside and assess his reaction. That was a valid first move, right?

[bgcolor=000000]A ploy, that was what he was trying, would it work? Only the fates knew. He knew (had known for quite awhile actually) that his former Fukutaicho was the better with the sword. This hadn't bothered him as it might have others, but inspired him to improve. He would have to admit he had been quite lax in his exercises as of late, spending too much time sitting on his hind end and signing document after document. So, he had to be far more devious than rely on skill alone to attempt to hold his own against her now.

And that is why he assumed a completely improper stance.

He waited, waited patiently until she moved. Which she did, slashing in on his left hand side aiming for his all to inviting blade. The swing was nothing he could not deal with, at least in terms of speed of strength, so he assumed. However, he knew what she was capable of and like a viper her lunge could snap in another direction at any given time.

His right arm dropped, with it his sword, in this he would attempt to make her opening swing a wild one. Additionally he would spring forward, launching himself with his right foot as his left arm sprang up like a spring to slash at her exposed side. A reverse bladed thrust, to those whom knew him, this wasn't uncommon coming from his shorter blade.

If his ploy and counter attack was a success, he aimed to no more than give Kurisuna's exposed shoulder a thin, not deep, cut from top to bottom. Nothing serious, just a few layers of skin shredded to allow lose of blood. Anything to help him along. Little did he know that she might actually enjoy it.

Had his ploy worked? Depending on what Malik had hoped to elicit, perhaps it had. It did surprise her, though his shortcomings could never be her bane; how could they, when she'd seen almost all maneuvers, both viable and impractical? As a race born with a katana in their hands, a certain degree of skill seemed almost mandatory. That hadn’t stopped a select few, of course, from neglecting the way of the sword, partial to less efficient martial arts, but Malik was not part of their ''special'' bunch: he must've known how to wield his own blades.

Nevertheless, to brandish his daito as he had was undoubtedly a mistake, as was yielding to hers. By lowering his Zanpakutou, Malik had recklessly exposed his wrist and limb, the shoto obsolete in its inability to stave off her blade and bare the delicate flesh all swords were made to split. The moment his katana was let down, Kurisuna cut for his vulnerable forearm; provided he stepped back, she would place pressure upon his daito instead, lest he insist on closing in to deliver a scratch with the limited reach of his wakizashi, in which case she would strike that wrist.

SPOILER: Click to show

That feel when typo.

[bgcolor=000000]Well, that didn't work. At least not like he planned. Certainly, the Soutaicho was far more rusty than he thought and a hell of a lot more than he would admit. The realization of this as he seemingly watched things befall him in slow motion was a sickening punch in his gut, worse than when he was actually sick. He had little choice of how to respond without having a wound before he planned on it.

He moved backward, pulling himself away from the strike, but not like Kurisuna might have thought, and not nearly quick enough. His image vanished and a moment later reappeared five meters from where he had been, a fresh wound, albeit just a scratch, lay upon his right forearm. "Well." He stated aloud, glancing at the cut which seemingly started to trickle blood the moment his eyes fell upon it. "You have certainly not lost your touch.

"I can't say the same." He forced a laugh, a short curt one before assuming a far more aggressive form. Slipping his right leg forward, he bent his knee, additionally he raised his right arm up so that his elbow was nearly level with his shoulder, and flexed his arm so that his zanpakuto's blade tip was behind him. As for the left arm he held that before him (but roughly 7 inches below his right elbow), also flexed, in a 90 degree arc, blade point down. "Again."

His eyes narrowed as the fingers on his left appendage went to work, flipping the blade in said hand about in a flash, turning it upright, blade edge pointing toward his fellow Taicho. This wasn't going to be easy, but truly nothing ever is (that's worth doing), now is it?

Impressive reflexes, Kurisuna noted, feeling the faintest resistance against her blade vanish, melt into the earth, before reappearing six yards farther. A self-satisfied grin parted her lips as she observed that, yes, she had scratched him, though the cut was mediocre at best; still, what was she to expect from a clash several seconds long against the Soutaichou? Well, much more, really, but it would hold the fort for now. It did not surprise her that Malik would resort to Shunpo; indeed, nowhere had it been said that their duel would be exclusively one of Kenjutsu.

''No excuses,'' crooned Kurisuna as she presented her right arm, fingers uncoiled from the handle of her katana, now gripped singularly within her left hand. She pressed the blade against her limb, rending bare flesh, skin and brawn, the narrow groove a toned down reconstruction of what could've been on Malik's own appendage; not enough that she would bleed out in the near future or sustain long-lasting trauma, but a vivid image, slit in the same location as his blemish. ''But if you wish to continue, let's even the playing field.''

Her hand found the hilt of her sword, auburn eyes narrowed with glee as the laceration oozed ruby red. Could Malik replicate such a wound? Hopefully, yes!

[bgcolor=000000]He said nothing as she slipped her blade against her skin, nor did he visually respond, though mentally he flinched. He had heard rumors of this behavior, but this was the first time he had actually seen it. With anyone else he would show a sign of remorse, perhaps pity. But not her, no doing so would only edge her on more to inflict harm to her person. No, he would remain stone faced.

The moment she finished speaking, he moved in a even trot toward her. He did not enjoy going on the offense and was unsure if she would charge to meet him, but whatever the situation when the gap created between the two was closed, he would lash out.

His right arm would snap out and around (behind his right shoulder, a 270 degree slash in a horizontal pattern), his left elbow dropping slightly to allow the kanata's blade to zip before Malik's upper chest and toward the female captain's. He assumed she would do one of two things, block the strike or duck, he assumed the latter due to his second blade. As such, he was prepared to mount a defensive block with his shorter weapon and was ready to have his full sized sword snap back like a snake to aim for her left hip.

SPOILER: Click to show

Tweaked to fix an error on my part, to make it less confusing

It isn't much fun when they don't react accordingly by reprimanding her, Kurisuna realized. As impassive and unmoved as Malik looked, he seemed almost imperturbable, even callous. Naturally, eliciting concern was a poor incentive for self-destructive behavior; pain was an independent driving force, but she still didn't like his face.

Malik wished to fight her seriously, and so she would, uncurbed by prospects of landing a lethal cut. She wondered, in the time it took the Shinigami to close the distance between them, whether he would resort to Kidou; she was confident that he could not match her Kenjutsu, but he must've had his own bag of tricks, the old goat.

His wakizashi raised and tipped to the rear, Kurisuna opted to lurch forward as Malik started to bring his katana back... way back. His shoto elevated and the longest of the two swords on its way to reach that 270 degree mark, both at (or heading to) his right flank/right shoulder, the woman thrust her blade, already primed to sink into Malik's bowels. It wouldn't have far to travel, considering how he'd approached with the intention of putting her in the range of his own swing; additionally, Kurisuna struck low to ensure his wakizashi, which shouldn't have been reared back in the first place, could not come down and parry.

[bgcolor=000000]This was not going in Malik's favor, though why would it? He was outmatched, clearly. Her skills with a sword outmatched his ten to one it seemed, and since he had two that was a little embarrassing. He had little choice in what he had to do to avoid being disemboweled.

He forced himself sideways and fell.

Tripping over his own feet on purpose, he narrowly missed the blade as she stabbed it forward, albeit his own blade swung all willy nilly, cutting naught but air and then the ground as he hit the grass. However, as I stated Malik narrowly missed being gutted like a pig, so narrowly in fact Kurisuna's blade sliced a few layers of skin across his left rib cage and tore his attire all to hell as he fell.

"Omph." He turned, onto his back as quickly as possible and kicked at Kurisuna's knees with his own, in an almost reverse, donkey kick style. What would this accomplish? Well if successful he would knock Kurinsuna down and quite possibly render her out of the fight. And also from a more amusing point, she could possibly end up on top of him.

Oh mai~

Thump, and he was down. Prone. Oh-so delectably vulnerable.

Pulling back as he tumbled unceremoniously into the soft grass, Kurisuna grinned wide, her expression devilish, lost in the heat of a battle still so young. She loomed above him as he flipped onto his rear, missing the opportunity to lash out a second time for his unprotected back as her tongue swept across her upper lip. Then, his leg wound back, and...

Her grip tensed as she dipped the blade down, down, down. Again, she moved concurrently to him as Malik's foot sprung for its intended target, gaze tapered to slits out of sheer delight as she made to slice into Malik's extended calf (or his thigh, depending on how he'd stretched his leg) with a low thrust, knees bent and spread to accommodate the downward cut and secure her footing should he nonetheless strike true.