Kaleidoscope

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Rose Red



It took Renji exactly two weeks to find and get in contact with Kuchiki Byakuya. Not that he was a difficult man to find, because he wasn’t -- so were the lives of famous people who bought million dollar mansions and were dubbed hot pieces that everyone wanted to know everything about; no privacy to call their own. Yes, Renji knew exactly where he lived after some minimal research. And now that he was checking, he noticed that Byakuya showed up a lot in the papers and on the television. Amazing how he never noticed him before especially given the man’s imposing presence.

He was man that could not go unnoticed unless you walked around with your eyes shut, if one wanted it to be put bluntly.

A full seven days was spent procrastinating. Should he, shouldn’t he?

He didn’t really need help did he? Just what the hell did he go to school for?! Was there anything he could be taught at this stage? Surely there weren’t any new colours like, money-making mauve or billion-dollar blue or something that he had yet to discover that explained why he was missing out?

Rukia assured him that it would most likely be something along the lines of a technique that he would maybe learn.

What, there was more than one way to apply paint to canvas? Maybe he needed an expensive shirt and one of those puffy napkin-looking things to paint something nice. He snorted every time he saw Kuchiki wearing the stupid things (his favorite next to gloves, apparently).

Three more days was the amount of time he spent inside his bed, withdrawn, too depressed to even fix himself something to eat or to take a shower. It was one of those periods of dark self- loathing that sometimes gripped him like a vice and held him. His only acquaintances in those times were bottles of water – stacked and kept beside him so he wouldn’t have to do the menial task of moving to fetch one – and over-the-counter medication that worked almost as well as a doctor’s prescription only they made him see purple fish dancing on his eyelids when they were closed and of course they took a couple of days to work.

After that, Grimmjow –bless his soul – finally realized that what Renji gave him was not rent, but a hundred dollar bill neatly folded over sheets of notepad paper. Having already kicked the door down the prior week, he simply stormed right in kicked Renji out of his bed three o’clock in the morning, spewing obscenities and threats.

Renji was still doped up on cheap anti-depressants and couldn’t catch the basic gist of what Grimmjow was saying (shouting). Something about a sneaky son-of-a-bitch putting up a tent. Did he mean him?? What tent?

He connected the dots when he was out on his ass with a bag packed with the bare minimum clothes, some paintbrushes, a few pouches of paint and the stupid unfinished hunk of a clay project. Later he’d look back and wonder what the fuck he was thinking. Taking that shit instead of his only remaining money! And even later, he’d be glad he took it.

He then crashed at Rukia’s for a few days but he wasn’t altogether comfortable with it. It wasn’t a big deal. He’d decided to sleep on the couch, but that was after he’d declined her offer to share her bed – she said it’d be no big deal. The disappointment in her eyes was too clear when he said no.

This living arrangement would not work out.

He pretended to sulk for a few days about his bad review until Rukia brought up Kuchiki again. This was exactly what he wanted; an excuse to leave without it seeming like he was trying to escape. Because she was his dear friend and he loved her, but it would be uncomfortable if he stayed there and he didn’t want that for neither of them.

He had to borrow train fare (because he would need to catch two! to get to Kuchiki’s secluded mansion) in promise that he would repay her. It didn’t surprise him that she refused the repayment, but he still would when his hands landed on a coil.

He took his few possessions along. It would be too long a commute if he was accepted and was still staying with her. She was worried, but he promised her it would work out even though he wasn’t sure himself.

If worst came to worst and Kuchiki didn’t accept him, he dint think he could face her. He didn’t even have a plan for if that happened. Finding a job wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It was a pain in the ass, especially for someone who only knew how to paint and cook a half decent meal. And being a chef again did not appeal to him, even if it was to just pay the bills.

He opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh, having closed them to get moment of peace and block out the blurring landscape rushing by the train window giving him a headache.

Was he still even in Japan?

When the train screeched to a halt at his stop, Renji was hesitant to get off when he saw all of the forestry and greenery and…nothingness. These kinds of places were where people usually got killed and never seen again in movies.

Why the hell did Kuchiki live out in the middle of nowhere anyway? What was the point? Everyone still knew where he lived.

He looked around the dilapidated bus stop, with nothing but moss and ants for company and thoroughly wished to be back in bed or couch or whatever the hell he could find that was soft warm so he wouldn’t be freezing his ass off.

Winter chill was already creeping its way into the September air.

Renji followed a dirt trail through the forest and wished dearly that he would not get lost and eaten by some evolved form of rare animal yet to be discovered in this damn wilderness.

After half an hour or so of trekking, he came upon a clearing with, the largest, most imposing wrought-iron gate he’d ever seen in his entire life. Beyond it more trees, but orderly. A groomed driveway.

He wrapped his hand around one of the black metal bars and pulled. Nothing happened, the gate didn’t budge.

The notion of shouting his lungs out till it reached someone occurred to him but he was saved the trouble by a crackling voice coming from a small box at the edge of the gate.

“Name and business please.”

Surprised, he just blinked.

“Name and business please,” it repeated, pronouncing each word as slowly as possible.

“What?”

“Please state your name and business here,” the voice said slower, obviously drawing patience to deal with him. Renji scowled, walking over to it bending lower so his mouth was as close to it as humanly possible without touching it. Upon closer inspection he saw a camera embedded within the surface above the speaker.

“What do you want?” The voice had changed from politely formal to irritated.

“Er, I’m here ta see Kuchiki-san.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“N-No.”

What is he, a doctor? Appointment? Renji snorted internally and rolled his eyes at the procedure that was needed to enter a damn house.

“Then I can’t permit you in,” it sung happily. “Have a nice day.” There was a click, like the intercom being switched off.

The wind ruffled the trees, and Renji blinked again.




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The wind got colder as evening drew closer. Renji was huddled in on himself beneath a large tree. The voice did not return, and though he kept shouting into the speaker, there was no answer from anyone.

He felt hopeless at that moment. He’d wasted his chance; he could’ve at least begged or something, groveled, tried to negotiate.

Rukia wasn’t there so he smacked his head in her place.

He was about to crawl back to her house, defeated and humiliated, when he saw a black limo pulling in. Hope renewed in the lifeless brown eyes, he decided to be impulsive without really thinking.

Do impulsive acts require some measure of thought?

The car wasn’t driving very fast so he shouldn’t have been in any immediate danger, was what he what he thought. The fact is that when he flung himself in front of the moving vehicle, waving his hands above his head, the driver, for some unexplained reason, increased speed and nearly plowed him down.

He rolled out of the road just in time before he became the latest lobster on the menu. The car stopped just short of the gate, and Renji, not to be put off, got up and knocked rapidly at the driver’s window. It did not roll down, he was being ignored but he would persist this time because he was sure this was Kuchiki.

“Kuchiki-san! Kuchiki-san!”

Still no answer.

He went around the back and knocked on the window, tinted so he couldn’t see inside. After he was tired knocking, banging, shouting and barely resisting the urge to kick, the driver got out and came around the back, subtly pushing him away by opening the door.

A polished black shoe came first, the type Renji only looked at in the fashion magazines he nicked from Rukia when he went to the bathroom. There was a glint on the tip of those shoes Renji was sure no ordinary polish could achieve. Then, out stepped the body said foot was attached to. It could be a spare mirror if one was needed.

Kuchiki Byakuya was no less imposing than he was on television. His ocean blue suit was steamed to such a degree that unless he just left home minutes ago, it would have to be made with some sort of iron in order for it to stay that meticulous for a whole day. It clung to his body only a tailor-made one from the best in the business could.

His neck-tie napkin thingy was stuffed into his shirt as expected, and his gloved hands were folded. Sleek, black hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of his head, a few stray strands that fell into his eyes the only thing out of place on him. And judging by the look on his face when he swept them away behind his ear, they were going to be brushed into oblivion and back in place in a couple of hours at the most.

He reeked of an aristocrat, eyes bored with looking at the unworthy world, body drawn in as if in scorn of touching anything poor.

Renji decided right off the bat that he wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Didn’t ya see me trying to stop ya? Ya coulda killed me!” he barked in the man’s face. He looked tall on television but in person, he was the same height as Renji and he felt glad. It made it easier to talk to him without feeling too fearful.

“I know.”

“They why’d you speed up?”

“To kill you.”

“W-What?” Renji asked, incredulous that the man said this rude thing so calmly.

“Are you a reporter?” Kuchiki asked softly, his eyes darting to Renji’s hair which he now felt self conscious about. In fact he was starting to feel self conscious about his whole appearance. His wrinkly t-shirt and equally wrinkly jeans spoke volumes about his knack for sleeping in. Not a very good first impression.

“Are you a reporter?” he repeated.

“No—”

“Then what do you want?”

“I’m er… here to see you.” An altogether simple explanation, but it was truth.

Kuchiki raised an eyebrow in question. Renji felt a bit awkward about asking out here, not to mention he was cold and he found out by experience that it was harder for people to actually kick you out or deny you when you were in their home.

“About?”

“It’s … cold out here. Could we maybe talk inside?”

Kuchiki didn’t bother with a response. He stepped back into his car and closed the door. The gates opened loudly with the sound of the metal scraping the concrete, and the driver glided the car in easily.

When they didn’t immediately close after, and the car stopped for a moment before continuing up, Renji took that as the indication that his request to speak indoors had been granted.

Wanting to knock the bastard’s indifferent face in, he resisted, and was instead grateful that he was allowed an audience.

He jogged behind the car, admiring the trees—withering, or changing their colors with the onset of autumn— and ostentatiously distracting topiary, flanking the very long, long driveway.

If he thought the property was impressive, the house was in a league of its own. A sprawling western style estate which could easily be estimated to have over twenty rooms at first glance. Muted colors of navy blue trimmed with white made it seem elegant and refined, very fitting with his general impression of its owner.

Once again, Kuchiki exited the car and Renji watched it drive around the house and disappear. He guessed the chauffer had probably gone to park it with the other nine.

Even without being further invited, Renji followed him all the way up to his big, gleaming, white front doors, framed by two enormous pillars on each side.

This guy sure knew how to make a statement.

Someone opened the door for him from the inside; apparently he was to touch nothing. Or was that merely Renji’s imagination?

Dressed in butler’s attire, holding the door open by the brass door knob, was a lean, leathery man with a red and yellow feather sticking out from the edge of his right eye and above his eyebrow. Renji swallowed a laugh.

“Good evening, Kuchiki-shi.”

Ah! That voice from before.

“Ayasegawa.”

“And who may I ask is this… interesting looking person. A guest?”

“We’re soon to find out.”

Kuchiki walked in briskly, Renji trailing behind like a lost child. The inside was just as grand as the outside if not more, with a spiraling staircase the first thing to greet any entering person. The lights and many chandeliers were reflected off the white marble floors that gleamed under his feet, the ornate pictures frames filled with what Renji could only assume were Kuchiki’s art, and the many priceless looking figurines and decorations.

Kuchiki didn’t take the stairs. He weaved his way around it to a sitting room. High ceilings, large windows, expensive pieces of furniture either beige or white – offset by a large red rug (the only piece of color), exotic items here and there. Renji was having a brain meltdown.

Kuchiki settled into an arm chair and Renji was about to do the same but froze when Kuchiki gave him the nastiest look his carefully arranged expression could manage.

Renji knew right away that he was not to sit on the furniture.

Don’t worry. I’m house broken. Prick.

Ayasegawa handed Kuchiki a drink he’d been busy pouring and then stood behind the chair, ever present and curious, both of them waiting expectantly for what Renji would entertain them with. Each moment he stayed here threatened to make him change his mind and just leave. He didn’t need this kind of humiliation but he did need money and training. So when it came right down to it, it was either his pocket or his pride.

The latter couldn’t pay his bills or feed him so…

“Er actually, I came ta talk to you about, being your apprentice,” he said quickly, almost forgetting that he wasn’t just barging in but replying to Kuchiki’s request in the newspaper.

Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow in amusement while Kuchiki remained unmoved.

“Kuchiki-shi doesn’t just take anyone off the street,” Ayasegawa pointed out, a little condescending smile flashing across his lips.

“I know that,” Renji was quick to inform him. Did he look like just anyone off the street?! Well… maybe but that was still a rude thing to say even if it was true.

Renji, intent on negotiating with the person he meant instead of his butler he looked to Kuchiki, to find the man looking at him very oddly.

“Are you some kind of artist?” Kuchiki’s first question to him was unexpected.

“What kinds are there?” He intended to lighten the heavy atmosphere. It failed and only made him look stupid.

“Yes. There are the ones with talent and then there are the… others.”

“I suppose I’m one of the others depending on who you ask. A-And that’s why I’m here, ta learn from… someone better.” It didn’t take much off him to say it. It was pretty easy in fact. But something told him that this was not a man who was moved by praise or flattery, but would more likely become offended by it.

Kuchiki, as predicted didn’t look the least bit happy and Renji figured his smooth talk wasn’t worth a loaf of bread to this person.

For the second time that day, he caught Kuchiki staring at his hair briefly. Was there a bird or some shit trapped in there that he wasn’t aware of? He ruffled it out of reflex.

“What do you think of art?” he then asked, fixing Renji with a hard look, and Renji felt himself tremble a bit.

A trick question.

In this situation, it was best not to stutter, so he took his time and for once, gave thought to what he should say.

What did he think of it? What the hell kind of a question was that?

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He was an artist. What was art to him? What did it mean to him? Why did he paint and draw?

“Art is emotion… thoughts… and… wordless notions… brought to life with colour.”

Renji blinked. Did that slew of intelligent words just come out of his mouth? Ayasegawa stared opened mouthed, apparently shocked that he spoke human words instead of a series of barks, and then looked to Kuchiki, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Renji, penetrating him with that scrutinizing stare.

“Well- that’s um,” Renji started to mumble incoherently, Kuchiki’s lack of reaction making him nervous and feeling he’d said something wrong.

“Then you should know that there isn’t much that can be taught?” Kuchiki said.

It was a rhetorical question, and backed Renji completely into a corner. He had already made it so that it could only have one answer.

“Y-Yeah.” It was a habit of his to lower his head whenever he felt dejected. Maybe that’s why Kuchiki decided to take pity on him, or maybe it was because he looked about at the end of his rope and visibly starved for something.

“It will not be easy.”

“Yeah…”

“I have little tolerance for mistakes and imbecilic tendencies.”

“Huh?” Wait, was he missing something?

Kuchiki got up and went to stand by one of the many floor to ceiling windows, looking outside –thoughtfully? maybe.

He then looked at Renji meaningfully and Renji got the impression that he was calling him. Don’t ask how he knew, he just did.

He went to stand beside him— not directly next to him of course, but next to him while allowing space to make a sudden escape should Kuchiki spontaneously decide to introduce his face to the glass by way of a hand to the back of the head, or should he whip out a ruler and further embarrass him by telling him exactly how close he was allowed to stand.

You could never tell with these types. Awfully misleading they were and hard as fuck to interpret. One minute they’re sipping wine on the patio and donating money to charities and the next their dumping their spouses’ bodies in the nearest river under the cover of night.

He looked back outside, encouraging Renji to do the same. There was a garden. Renji couldn’t see it before because of where he was standing but it was beautiful. A littering of flowers of all colors and designs, more than he’d seen in his lifetime, most he couldn’t name.

“The red roses in the center, you are to give me your impression of them.”

He was referring to a rose bush in front of the garden, clustered within a mass of colors.

“O-Okay.” And just for kicks, he decided to throw in a stupid question. “Does that mean that y-you’re taking me as a student?”

Kuchiki – for the most part – didn’t glare or give Renji a nasty look. He did the next best if not worse thing; he ignored him completely and moved to go upstairs followed by the efficient Ayasegawa.

“Umm…”

“Ayasegawa will show you to your temporary lodging. Supplies will be provided should you need them.”

Temporary? How long was that? A day? Two days? Till he was finished?

“I’ll be viewing your work in two days, be sure to be finished by then. This will show me the minimal skill you have, if any.”

Renji’s smile must’ve stretched clean off his face. Forget that he was being insulted plainly, he was also being accepted and that outweighed any anger.

“Yes sir! Kuchiki-taicho!” He jokingly saluted the man barking out orders and looking at him only from the corner of his eye. In reality and actuality this man was saving his life, helping him of his own fee will and good nature.

Or so he thought at first.




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TBC