Kaleidoscope

A/N: It seems I always have to apologize for the wait for chapters -_-" Forgive me and please enjoy even though I'm not sure about this chap. Kay~



Chapter 3




He was swimming upstream, against a current of silky smooth liquid. It put up quite the fight. His legs were growing tired and his arms had stopped completely. Don’t give in… a voice said. But he was about to. It was useless to struggle, so he should just lay back and be enveloped, right? He relaxed his body, intending to do just that, when something shot out and grabbed him, pulling him up. Out. No! He struggled to stay but whatever it was that held him, did so with meaning.

He fought but lost, and woke up.

His eyes fluttered open, taking in the white canopy above his head. The softness was still there, sucking him in. Could a bed be this soft? No, should a bed be this soft? He entertained himself with ridiculous thoughts of things it could be stuffed with.

Marsh mellows.

Clouds.

Babies.

Fat.
This kept him amused for about an hour or so before he remembered why he was in such a bed in the first place.

This was his chance! He didn’t want to make an even worse impression by coming across as lazy, but damn he could sleep the day away… his eyes were closing… on this warm, heavenly soft… No! Eyes open, Renji.
Okay. Yeah. That was what he needed, a motivational pep talk to keep him alert. Wake up, Renji! Get up out of this bed! Move your ass you useless sack of shit. You’re poor! You smell!

Considering these were all being repeated in his head, his lack of actual motivation was not surprising. He pulled the covers back over his head. The sun wasn’t that high, five minutes more wouldn’t hurt.

Two minutes – or two seconds? – later, the sheet was yanked off him in one swift motion that made him jump.

“What the—”

“Pleasant morning to you, Abarai-kun.” Ayasegawa-san stood above Renji’s bed, the sheet bunched up in a gloved hand while the other hand balanced a breakfast platter with practiced perfection.

Renji, a little embarrassed, as a spur of the moment decision and the longing to feel the highest degree of softness the bed could offer had led to his decision to sleep nude, tried to cover his bits with his hands.

Ayasegawa-san smiled calmly. “Don’t you think it’s time you got up? Today is a very busy day for you.”

Dropping the sheet to the floor, he went about laying out Renji’s breakfast on a table by the window.

“Was just about ta,” Renji grumbled, retrieving his pants from beside his bed and throwing them on. Ayasegawa didn’t look bothered either way. Renji decided not to be offended by this, and chose instead to believe that it was in Ayasegawa-san’s nature and that he would act this way had it been anyone sleeping stark naked.

He took a quick peep over his meal and noted the eggs were runny (not the way he liked them). The tea was in a fancy little cup. Should he tell them that he hated tea? And the overall presentation was lacking. Maybe he was just being picky. Maybe.

“Excited?”

“No,” he replied automatically, still grimacing over his food and trying to find a polite way to refuse it.

“You should be. Starting from today you’ve been given the chance to be somebody.”

“As opposed to…”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Renji didn’t have to think that hard about it.

“Best of luck to you, Abarai –kun. I have already laid out your supplies for you in the other room.” He gestured to a door connected to Renji’s guest room and exited with a respectful bow so forced you’d think you’d asked him to bow to a pig.

Renji was not to be put off by a rude man servant. The room which held his supplies – much like his bedroom – was stark white. The plush chairs, the carpet, even the china. A canvas was laid out for him along with paints, an array of brushes, pencils and everything he could or might need.

This efficiency of the man servant annoyed him.

While drinking a mixture of his eggs and his tea, he pondered something that could be missing from the supplies.

Running a bath and then immersing in the fragrant bubbly water, he wracked his brain for anything ridiculous that he could call for that wasn’t there.

In the end, nothing came to mind so he set his overworked brain cells to the task at hand; painting a masterpiece for Kuchiki.

Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to bring his camera. He took pictures of the rose bush for those, you know, professional touches, little microscopic details, every variation of colour that he could re-create. It had to be an exact copy down to the minute grain, of the object he was given.

Next, the mixture of the paint.

This sounded easy but in fact took him three days to do. Red didn’t just cut it. It had to be the perfect red. The right shade that matched the flowers flawlessly and nothing less would do. He mixed batch after batch, lightening it by adding white, brightening it by adding orange or blending it with yellow.

During these days, he was surprised by the tolerable behavior of the man servant. Not only did he not bother Renji, ask how the painting was coming along nor condescend his ability, but he brought him food dutifully. How long would this continue till Kuchiki-san get tired and throw him out? He didn’t want to ask.

He was shocked to one day find Ayasegawa-san sitting outside his door quite calmly. A poufy settee with cushions cut out in hearts. He’d just opened the door and had one foot out, ready to march into the hallway for a change of scenery and a break from the pressure.

“What’re you doing?” asked a very stunned Renji.

“What are you doing, Abarai- kun.”

“A-Are you spying on me?” Renji asked incredulously. He knew he was a couple days late but shit.

“Heavens, no.”

“Then why’re you outside my door?”

“Making sure you don’t come out.”

“Why?”

Renji honestly had begun to question this odd behavior when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Kuchiki. He didn’t look all that suspicious; after all he was walking around in his own home, but there was something about the look on his face when he pushed open an inconspicuous looking door at the end of the hallway that made Renji shiver involuntarily. It was clearly a look that conveyed something uncomfortable. And even with that holier than thou expression on his face, he was clearly sneaking around! Albeit this was in fact his home and he may have easily have been simply going about his business.

At this point Ayasegawa-san moved to stand directly in front of Renji to block his path.

“Isn’t there something you should be doing?” Renji asked, annoyed that he couldn’t follow Kuchiki with his eyes to see what sneaky-ness he was getting up to.

“I should ask you the same thing,” he said pointedly.

They had a glaring match for about ten seconds before Renji remembered that he was a guest and closed the door, thus politely letting the argument be won. He was curious but not entirely stupid.

He would resurface again four days later, after refusing all manner of food except juice and water. He really didn’t have time to eat; he had to get this done. Plus he didn’t quite have a taste for the food. Not that he could let them know. Did being a chef make him into an arrogant prick when it came to food? Nah, he just had specific tastes.

Bedraggled and sleep deprived, spending a full ten days on a project he was supposed to present in two, he opened his door, somehow knowing he would find Ayasegawa-san there, and told him he was finished with a triumphant laugh and a mal-nourished stumble.

It was fairly late in the night – or early in the morning, the sky was already blending orange dawn into the pale blue sky – so had he been expecting to be told to get some sleep and then present his work to Kuchiki tomorrow?

No such thing.

He was to present it now. No time to change the clothes he’d been wearing for days. And yes, he had to carry the heavy easel all the way down the hall to the sitting room where he’d first arrived, by himself though it was delivered to him in the first place.

The expiration of patience perhaps? The worn out welcome? Ah well.

Kuchiki wasn’t there yet.

Renji covered the canvas with a white cloth – not rag! Heavens no in Ayasegawa frilly tone – but a clean cloth thank you.

He ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed down his shirt. The clothes were given to him by Kuchiki-san he assumed, but they didn’t match his style in the least. They didn’t look le things someone like him would wear and they weren’t his size. Did they belong to someone in the house?

The t-shirt fitted Renji like a corset and the jeans were far too big and sagged off his hips. It was held in place by the band he used to tie his hair up so his hair was not so artistically wrapped around and pushed under in an inelegant knot. But who cared? He gave his shirt a quick sniff before Kuchiki came in.

He strode in, nose in the air, hair sleek and restrained, suit to rigid perfection. His cold blue eyes appraised Renji’s appearance. He had the knack for always making Renji feel inferior or … dirty. Renji thought it was just his first impression and that he may have been wrong, but Kuchiki still wore the same expression when he saw him; of cold disdain.

“Um, so I know that you said two days…” He trailed off but Kuchiki said nothing, his legs lapped and his hands on his knees.

“S-Sorry I took so long. I just wanted it to be perfect.”

Kuchiki gave the tiniest of nods and Renji felt his stomach tighten. He was confident. He’d spent a long time on this piece and he found himself putting more effort into it to impress Kuchiki rather than to improve his skills.

He tentatively revealed the product of his hard work, pulling away the cloth slowly as if unveiling a priceless treasure, proud that he managed to accentuate his most striking talent. He always had an eye for colour and if there was anything he was praised for, it was that. He pulled out all the stops, brought out the vibrancy of the flowers to the extreme. The roses, the tulips, the bluebells. He did quite a good job if he did say so himself. He couldn’t stop the self-satisfied smirk from crossing his lips.

Did he expect Kuchiki to look happy? No.

Did he expect him to praise him straight out for his excellent job? No.

Did he expect him to not even conjure an expression of some sort? Well, yeah. A normal person would wouldn’t they.

Renji felt as if he was standing on needles, Kuchiki wasn’t moving, just staring and not at the painting, but at him.

“Um—”

“What is this?”

“It certainly isn’t the start of a pleasant conversation,” Renji mumbled unconsciously, releasing a nervous breath.

There was an awkward silence swelling, or just awkward for him. Renji averted his eyes to the ground. He could feel the shame painting his face the shade of his roses.

“This is a failure,” Kuchiki stated calmly.

Renji blinked and stupidly looked at the painting like someone had switched it with something hideous when he wasn’t looking. He tried not to be in the act of self praising, but this was some of his best work here! “What’s wrong with it?” he demanded.

“Anything could paint this.”

Renji took note of what he said. Anything not anyone?

“If anything could paint it I doubt there would be a need for artists.” And there he was, resorting to being rude when he felt insulted. He couldn’t keep his temper in check. He worked too fucking hard on this! He put too much effort into this and he wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. Not by this prick and his haughty attitude.

“There is nothing wrong with my painting.” Renji gritted his teeth to keep himself from yelling but.

“I can’t feel it.”

Renji was cold, he was trembling with fury and misery, his fists were quaking at his sides.

“Wha-”

Kuchiki looked at him impassively for a minute before raising a gloved hand and gesturing for Ayasegawa-san whose presence somehow escaped Renji up until that moment. He stepped outside a door and returned carrying a canvas, turned so that Renji couldn’t see what was on it.

“Kuchiki-shi also painted the rose bush, although he finished it in the said two days.”

Renji was surprised to hear this – the part where Kuchiki painted it as well, not that he had in the designated time – and also chose to ignore the little jab at his lateness.

He was taking his time!

Ayasegawa turned it around in slow, dramatic fashion.

Yes, it was a rosebush as was Renji’s, but it was completely different.

Where Renji focused on drawing out every single colour in its entirety to the roses and surrounding flowers, Kuchiki muted all those colours except for his main focus.

The background was a blur, like the rolling landscapes that he passed outside the train window with one solitary rose being the stationary focal point, tinted in a beautiful interpretation of the light at dawn, droplets of dew nestled on the petals and the ones that wilted lay on the ground like a bed of blood.

It was not how the rose bush looked exactly and Renji realized immediately that that was the point of this little exercise.

“Art is not simply to re-create, but to emphasize or bend its perception to your will. You have not done that with this verbatim…”

And he could see how Kuchiki was right. The more he stared at it, the more it became clear. There was something distinctly… sad about it. The distorted background emphasizing the wilting of a beautiful red flower. He could feel it.

A colourful empty shell. That’s what his was. He knew this now, but there was also something empty and bitter about Kuchiki’s work.

Cold but beautiful.

And Renji’s couldn’t compare, in no forms or fashions.

So this was what he meant about feeling art. Renji could feel the sweeping sadness and also an odd, eerie foreboding.

It sent a different kind of chill running down his spine as Kuchiki’s eyes locked on his.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The next two days were bad in every sense of the word.

The headache for rejecting food had caught up to him and floored him. Literally. The lack of food coupled with the dismissal of his masterpiece made him woozy. He made it back to his bedroom but the bed was out of reach. He collapsed on the floor in a heap and stayed there until Ayasegawa, who was staked out outside his door but apparently not for his well being, came in to change the linen and saw his sprawled out form. He informed the other maids and they – excluding Ayasegawa – helped him to the bed.

He ate some soup like thing that had enough garlic to take out two fully grown and unsuspecting vampires should they consume it, and bread that was probably too stale to feed to birds, pigs or any animal which chewed food, so… a snake maybe.

If the rejection of his very being from Kuchiki didn’t kill him, starvation or depression would beat it to the punch.

He couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think.

What was he doing?

Could he really call himself an artist?

Could he really say he could create art for a living with the state that he was in? Was he over thinking it? Underestimating it? Wasting his time?

His cell phone vibrated beside him on the nightstand. He ignored it. It vibrated again. If possible he would have liked it to spontaneously combust. A voice at the back of his mind told him to check it just in case it was an emergency. He hated to be interrupted while wallowing in self-pity.

He’d received text messages. Seven to be precise. Six from Rukia all telling him to do his best and cheering him on, boosting his confidence up the best she could.

And one, surprisingly from Grimmjow, so eloquently put, heard you were trainin, maybe now you’ll be good. Don’t slack off. I’m expectin my rent money.

They were all rooting for him, expecting great things from him

Renji couldn’t describe the feeling clawing up his chest but he had the sudden thought that maybe he wouldn’t have failed if he could have painted it.

Maybe that was the secret to it. Painting emotions instead of objects. Come to think of it, isn’t that what he told Kuchiki-san he thought art was. How stupid to not take his own advice.

He hadn’t been kicked out and he was still being held prisoner so he guessed that meant Kuchiki still wanted to teach him. Maybe he had the wrong idea about the guy. He wasn’t so bad after all. Or so Renji thought at first.


TBC