Author/Artist: Gali
Pairing: None, really.
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don’t own Bleach, sadly.
Summary: Just a little drabble with Byakuya and his son.
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Shiraku picks at the deep, cerulean blue silk of his kimono, eyeing it with distaste. It wasn’t because of the color, or because he disliked the kimono, but it was because he was forced into it on a day he would have much rather had to his own leisure and devices.
“Do I have to do this, Otou-sama?” he asks again, frowning as his hair is freed once again from its hairstyle and rearranged with a different ornament. Really, the servants like playing with his hair too much. His father, similarly dressed to impress, turns his head and eyes his son. Shiraku manages a pout automatically.
“Yes,” Byakuya responds simply, smoothing the much paler blue-grey silk of his own kimono. It is a sort of gossamer fabric, and Shiraku can’t help but admire how well his father can wear such things. “If you think I enjoy it any more than you - ”
“Then let’s cancel!” Shiraku pleads, blue gaze meeting his father’s plantively. “Please? I’m already ‘courting’ a girl, I don’t need to visit and meet five more - ”
“Of course you don’t, but welcome to proper etiquette among nobles,” the elder Kuchiki cuts him off, permitting a slow sigh as Shiraku pouts again. “I am quite aware of how tedious it is, Shiraku. Just think - at your age, I was ‘courting’ about ten women at one time. Aren’t you glad I did not force you to go through that?”
“… Yes,” the redhead grudgingly allows, then sinks back into his chair with his arms crossed, much to the chagrin of the servants busying themselves with the mass of his hair. “I hate noblewomen - ”
“Shiraku - ”
” - if they only had as many braincells as they had strands of reiatsu, perhaps they would be more likeable,” Shiraku finishes wryly. Byakuya tries not to laugh. Desperately.
“Nevertheless,” Byakuya manages with a chuckle, “we have to be polite. Even if I am not making you ‘court’ them, for all purposes, you still must entertain them - ”
“I know, I know,” Shiraku sighs, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Wasn’t he pale enough without that layer of makeup? He feels like a geisha.
“One of these days, you will learn to find this amusing and inwardly laugh at how foolish these women are, rather than resent having to deal with them,” his father tells him conspiratorially, and Shiraku smirks in return, glad to know that he was not the only one that enjoyed laughing at the slights of noble households.