Wheat from the Chaff [Closed - Watari]

His hands were wrapped, banded together with tape and security pins. Within a short span of time, he was involved with a scuffle with the beast girl from fifth squad, and then a few days later, a hollow incursion rumoured to be manipulated by unknown forces. He was ordered by his superior to partake in a lighter role until his wounds were fully healed.

This irritates him. How can he remain idly by as the injustice continued to roam? Could he rely on his comrades? Unlike him, they could not keep up with his gruelling work ethics, his thirst for law being upheld. He was alone, no one to hold hands and a room that allowed him to be left alone in his devices. The thought stirred him, his face scrunched and sniffed sharply as he separated the paper from the big pile into the smaller piles after a cursory glance.

The office was spacious, filled with files and papers in an organised matter. The desk was in front of him and he was found sitting on a wooden chair, a tool fitting for a man of lowly stature. His eyes slowly trace through the lines, digesting each word for him to repeat with such verbiage, tone of the pleading in guise to tug his decision. It was night and the candle within the lantern settled on the table by the wall was the only source of luminance. His long fingers reached out for the pile of papers only to be parted to a smaller pile for later.

Today, he had been fixated on one particular subject, a subject that he was forbidden to venture not because he was ordered to by his superior, but it was not deemed his place to investigate but as the piles of rumours had begun to grow, his brow burrows deeper. Even the gentle air was filled with his concern.

"What is this?" More and more rumours from various papers, words of citizens and eyewitnesses converted to scribe moved over to the ever growing pile.

"Suddenly ill? never seen again?" he flicked through the pile as fast as he could, diving into the unseated shinigami's unofficial reports, "Not seen, not seen, possibly ill?" It was chilling, was there an incident that was left unfounded? The report grew enough for him to feel sick: not because all these reports seem to correlate with one another, but he felt it was left unchecked…

"I should investigate," he mumbled, he bit his lips. Even when his canine sunken deep into his lower lips he retreated against the spine of his chair. Never so much has he felt a dilemma over something so vague. An old agahe ringed out to him from his pilgrimage, 'When there's smoke, there fire,' but who would've thought that so much smoke billowing from each district.

He leaned forward, sinking into the pile separating the wheat from the chaff, still uncertain which is which.

Watari stood by torchlight, was it just his imagination or was the smoke reaching towards him? Bezaliel called. It demanded “communion” but Watari wasn’t ready. There were a few things left to do, a few more things to prepare. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Shaking hands made for the familiar places he kept cigarettes but they weren’t there. The pockets he’d once had packets sewn into were empty. Yuki. Soul King be damned if he got his hand around her throat again he’d . . .


The Head of the Suzumei reached a hand into his jacket and pulled a juice box out of his coat pocket. He cracked the straw and stuck it through the little top and took a sip. Grape. Goddammit. Watari sighed and continued sipping the juice while he checked the time. Would it work? Who knew? He was after all Watari Suzumei, but lately . . . something had been off. There was just a little voice in his head that said something was missing.

Cigarettes?

No it wasn’t cigarettes.

What was wrong with him?

Watari had been so off stride since that meeting with Yuki. He’d let too much out, too much free. There was an eerie feeling in the pit of his soul but he couldn’t fix it. He discarded the juice box onto the ground - apparently littering was a bad habit - he really needed to stop doing that . . . thanks Oshime.

Bezaliel’s voice crept through the hall leading him onwards. He was in the Sixth Squad barracks, it had taken a few weeks to set this up, a message to Hatayama and a few words to his compatriot Sixths and this wing of the barracks was all but empty. Torches dimly lit the corridors as Watari began to make his way down the wooden halls.


Bezaliel stood at the end of the corridor in front a door. It’s red robes and vertical horns protruding from its hood were distinctive from here, as he came closer it’s pale translucent skin and grim yellow toothed smile glinted in the torchlight.


It hissed at him with it’s sightless eyes but Watari paid it no heed, by the time he reached the door, the Spirit had vanished. Bezaliel was growing stronger and his memories of his brothers were becoming more prominent. He remembered playing noughts and crosses with the youngest on the floorboards of his room, he remembered -

Watari’s knuckles rapped against a wooden door.

There's always a time when you gaze upon the wrongdoing for so long, the back of your mind begins to sink deeper into the rabbit hole. Rei's strong emotional sense kept him from free falling, but his eyes twitching back and forth, the pile of rumours were disruptive for him to continue with the main work. His inquisitive thought so profound, his brain failed to mention the bit lip drew blood. A moment he tasted the iron was his moment of retreat. Chair slid back and he stood upright with haste.

"What on earth is going on?" His thought spoke out of turn, it was unlike him to be unsettled over a pile of matching rumours. Sabitsura Rei was a man who left things unchecked. Rei strived to be perfect, he wanted to be the example that all fresh shinigami strive to look up to. He admitted that Soul Society had seen better days but to be an unseated prospect to be captain was too salivating to consider. He slowly ripped his mind off the pile of rumours when all the sudden…

His wooden door was disturbed, a repeated tap demanding his attention; and he obliged. With his lower lip sunk into his mouth and darted towards the door. His hand reached out to the handle, only to be rebuked from his own gut feeling. Twice now his body telling him that this was wrong.

Twice now that he had been hesitant.

His bandaged hand found the deep indent and with a light gulp, he slowly moved it out of consideration for others. His eyes peered out and a glint of his spectacles and a presence of unkempt hair, it was Watari, his fellow compatriot.

"Good evening Watari," he hushed, his shoulders slumped out of relaxation. It was good to see another sixth squad member, but why does he still feel unnerved?

“Ah, Sabitsura-san, a pleasure this fine evening” Watari answered, opening the door and letting himself into the room before closing it neatly behind him. What a quaint little office, of course the Shinigami in front of him was yet to achieve Shikai so the comparison to his own office was insignificant. Watari tilted his head in the direction of the man, he really wished he hadn’t tasted that juicebox, his breath smelt of grapes. Fantastic.

“I am here to discuss matters that regard noble security. I trust you heard about the terrible events that happened a few weeks ago?” Of course he had, Watari could see the papers in front of him. They only had made it to his pile because of the expert administration skills of Zenji Hatayama and his comrades, but Watari only needed to pull a few leads - he could’ve just made them vanish. But that was no fun wasn’t it? You had to make sure there were no loose ends and this was the final of them.

“As a Head of the Noble Families it has been brought to my attention some concerning reports regarding your proximity that night . . . while a lot of us were drinking there were apparently some survivors, survivors who could swear by their lives they saw you there” Watari took a few steps closer to the man’s desk. His Zanpakuto lay horizontally across his back, a preference of Watari’s inside the sheath were the documents - all forged mind you - false accounts - testaments and everything but they were more than enough to completely seal the man as being the mass murderer the nobility craved.

Watari placed his left hand on the desk and drummed it thoughtfully as he watched the man’s eyes. What did he see in them? Shock? Horror? Defiance. Ah, poor Sabitsura Rei, he had made some unfortunate choices hadn’t he. Fighting Yuki Kameko had put him on the radar, following that up with meeting him during the Hollow Bait event . . . . well . . . now he was on the board wasn’t he?

To be better . . . you had to resolve the past.

It was a loose end.

Yuki would understand.

BA-DUM

BA-DUM

BA-DUM

“Sabitsura-san, I will be open with you. We are both men of law. Did you kill the nobility?”

Who was Watari Suzumei? The spectacles wearing, facial hair sporting mess of an infantry, a Shinigami of great import, a noble and more importantly, an unseated member of the sixth squad. He let out a masked smile - hidden by his own sleeves - allowing him access to his humble office.

The office, though difficult to detail due to the singular lit light from the side of the room, their shadows became striking as they took the center stage. Rei shut the door and spoke, "It is a good evening," The sound of a distant wind interacting with the foliage provided a provoking ambience, but even still; no sound is louder than uncertainty. Watari's presence in his room was amplified with the smell of grape escaping from his breath, his eyes glanced over to his desk, filled with paperworks.

"Sorry," he hushed. As though the visitor is a noble, Rei cared little of their birthright, he is a shinigami, just like Sabitsura Rei, a wandering spirit on a pilgrimage seeking for an answer to a long forgotten question. His footsteps muffled with great consideration to his neighbours, gliding over to his desk, making himself busy as the unsettling visitor provided further dialogue to a once sterile room.

One of which made him stop to look up. He flashed a smile, and replied, "I've been hearing it here and there, just not in full detail," he hated lying, it ungainly and a mark of a corruptible character, but he chose to scribe his words carefully - trouble afoot. He lowered his head, stacking files into one neat pile, enough for the noble to spy a spot of cleanliness. Watari continued.

and continued.

and continued.

His hand tremble as the noble's words, incense with grape, the held file quakes, the inquisitive noble could tell its edges trembles. Just before Watari had finished delivering his words of witness painting his presence by the scene of crime, he dropped the files and shot a adamant glare. Snapped instinctively and defiantly; his restless arm found its place by his side with hand on hip.

Of course not! These witnesses profiled must be mistaken!

"They must be mistaken!" He raised his voice a tone higher, but no higher than that of the confident noble, "This must be a clear case of mistaken identity,"

What day was this? I must know!

He found himself diving into the pile of rumours, he scarcely knew what happened, did Watari say a few weeks? How?! How does he not know? He didn't even notice the approach of Law, bearing down on the megre five foot four. If he was being made small, the accusation would accost him away like a paper plane.

His darting eyes found sharply at the paper when the needle was dropped. The sound so unsettling, that even the man who prided himself as a model Shinigami, the most righteous to jerk up and snapped with a quivering yelp.

"No!"

He did not kill those people, he did not. His green eyes were visible through the night, their shadows warped, displaying a painted scene. One hunched over, a prey with little means to escape while the Inquisitive noble stood tall, if the candle ever flicker twice more, it looked as if it was about to consume.

"I did not kill those nobles!" He hushed, his face was a brick wall, refusing to cave. Despite all these soul destroying words, he maintained his mindfulness and consideration for his neighbours. If the drums of Watari's fingers cease, he could just hear the faint cracklings of Rei's heart, slowly accepting the gravity of the situation, his mind refusing to yield!

"No!" he cried affirmatively. He took a few deep breaths, resting his fingers onto the desk upon his third intake of breath, he hissed, "Get out!"

“Ah Sabisura-san, don’t be so cliche. That is what they all say after all” Watari said with a small sly smile. It was the greatest trap wasn’t it? I didn’t do it! But what else would you say if you did? It was a simple mind game, but it was sufficient. Sabitsura had no way to prove his innocence because his innocence had already been tied up and hauled away from him. Much like a rat in a cup in the middle of an ocean, he was taking on water and it wouldn’t take long before he drowned.

BA-DUM

BA-DUM

BA-DUM

Watari slid a hand cooly back into his pocket as it began to shake, unnoticeable to Zenji but noticeable enough to Watari who usually would be completely composed in situations like this. It was just another game, another game in a long line of them that inevitably he’d win. He always did.


The noble shrugged, tilting his head to the side and turned walking to the door. That was the funny thing about offices, they had locks you could turn on the inside - it was to keep people out. The fun for Watari, was locks like this could keep people in.

CLICK.

“Tell me Sabitsura-san, how it could not have been you?” Watari said, turning around slowly and carefully. Keep it together. Execute the performance. This is your stage and you are performing for the audience. Imagine it’s the noble party all over again, imagine that all those people are dying and their faces filled with horror are now in front of you as you explain to them how they are going to atone for their crimes in excruciating detail.

“You see, I have caricatures of your face. I have people who swore they saw you there. I even had independent investigators search your rooms. The evidence is damning. So I am here Sabitsura-san, to show you a Suzumei Mercy” the Head of the Suzumei clan placed his hand gently on Bezaliel and unsheathed the weapon about half way before pausing and stopping. He placed his finger on his lip for a moment as if pondering a thought.

“Ah, unless”

His thoughts and feelings in overdrive; did this really happen? Someone killed those nobles and he has become the fall guy. Quick. Hurry. Seek out these answers before worse fate befall him. Rei's gaze looms onto the indifferent noble. Watari commands the scene with ease, cooly patting himself and reaching for something at the back pocket. He said something, but no matter...

He won, as much as the innocent plea for reason, Watari Suzumei, head of the Suzumei family, has won.

His expression sharpened into a scowl. It took him a while but now he understood, he was being framed. If that was the case, his impulse to tell him to leave was pointless. How do you get the hungry dog out of the room when there's a wounded prey right before it? A defiant audible tut grown from the lips of one Sabitsura Rei.

"If you are so convinced," he spoke with renewed fervour. "Report to Kunieda - no. This is much more grave, report to the captain. Go on, do it!" He felt the momentum surging through him, rapping his desk and points at the door. His fingers tremble, his brief confidence dissipating through the pores of his skin when he hears the click. His inspired confidence shook when it dawned on him that the accuser had locked the door.

"This is it,"

"I wonder," he responded to the caricature's remark. his heavy breathing was apparent, he has never been pushed this far, not even delivering the law and order to the most unruly of miscreants. The air around him has heated, his hot blooded currenting through his body at a quickened pace.

Though stressful circumstances, fight or survive bloom. Something within the Sixth squad stirs, keeping him stand upright from the intense pressure. Instil him this feeling of injustice!

Sabitsura Rei is not scared. He is angry. The fact that he yielded his opportunity of victory to a match that he did not consent to, it is a cheat of a century, this foul man who claimed to be a noble - conniving and filthy. This disgrace of a Shinigami pulls his sword half way, claiming that it is a mercy…

No.

Watari stopped. Rei's act of profane was met with severe restraint. His hands firmly gripped against the edges of the desk, his eyes piercing through the noble with disgust. If his sleeves are not exposed, all who lay eyes on him could see his arms flex and relax.

"Speak your mind, knave." He growled. Still maintaining his mindfulness for others, though that too, soon to snap.

“Kunieda will be dead in twenty four hours. I’m challenging her for her seat. The reports are currently being filed away in first division - I do hope she gets the missive in time. As far as the captain goes, of course I have a file on the way to him, why wouldn’t I? Especially since we found a vial of the same poison in your rooms” Watari flicked his hand and a small glass vial filled with green liquid fell into his palm and he calmly rolled it across the desk in front of Sabitsura Rei.

How naive did he think Watari Suzumei was? Sure he’d been thrown off his game a bit by Yuki Kameko but that didn’t mean everything he had previously said wasn’t true. The evidence was damning and Sabitsura’s desire to not go with the current was threatening to swallow up his wee rat boat and the strangled pathetic thing in it. Did Sabitsura Rei really think he was going to make it out of this room without some sort of chain? How pathetic.

“Do not call me knave,” Watari whispered. His spiritual pressure suddenly uncoiled like many serpents in a jar. Many reaching tendrils of reiatsu would unfurl from Watari and slowly lick their way across the room tainting everything. Ah how beautifully defiant Sabitsura Rei was? How beautifully innocent to the world he was! A long time ago now he’d spoken to a student trying to pass his Zanjutsu exam, he’d asked the student why he fought and that student had told him that it was to kill hollows.

That same self-serving justice was what painted the mannequin of Sabitsura Rei.

Pathetic.

This child wasn’t a Shinigami, he was barely fit to call himself a judge.

“Watari, are we going to take them from him?”

“He’s blind Bezaliel, blind to his own justice”

“I don’t need to kill you Sabitsura Rei, I don’t want your blood on my Zanpakuto I’m not interested, I came here today to offer you a deal” Watari unsheathed Bezaliel and looked into the man’s eyes, those green orbs so filled with defiance and a faux facade of ‘justice’. Oh he thought he knew did he? Sabitsura Rei thought he saw the truth?

Well then . . .

“Bezaliel, pluck out their eyes”

Just how far did he go? Just how far did this charade progress? Kunieda to be killed, reports sent to his captain, vial been found in his room. This is a lie, all lies. Rei has nothing to do with these nobles, there's no motive, even the vial of poison rolled across the desk musters nothing that could stir his seemingly visceral memory. He bit his tongue as the nobleman further drove his falsity to his office.

"I do not lie," His rebuttal to the whisper was met with the intensity of the noble's reiatsu. The pale pressure, he was stubborn in keeping himself rooted, but he was not ready for what comes next. He offered him a deal, but how could he accept it? His action was something completely unjustified, "Fine, let me listen to your deal."

What comes next is a sight to behold.

The smoke billowed from the blade as wooden grip melted into folded steel, the metal twisted and dulled as wicks burst from the surface and lit themselves, to produce more of the thick pungent fog that spewed to the far reaches of the room. Watari’s head swam, as Bezaliel’s shrill layered screaming began to stack over thought and idea. The Head of the Suzumei still wasn’t used to his Zanpakuto spirit and it’s cacophonic scream that seemed to be a combination of many tortured souls layered over one another, but he could cope.

The use of Bezaliel was simple, it isolated the world trapping it in pocket dimensions of sorts that could be entered freely. From within the dome nothing could be felt from the outside, and from the outside nothing could be felt or seen within. It was the ultimate meeting room, a place where no voice could escape, where no murder could be sensed and where Watari flourished.

“The vial was in your room Sabitsura Rei, there are detailed accounts of many Shinigami Investigators searching your room based on a tip and discovering them there. It would seem that you poisoned the nobility out of some twisted sense of justice. What did those innocent lives do to you?” Watari held Bezaliel loosely in one hand, the wicks burning away would cause a drifting smoke to slowly disperse itself across the far reaches of the room. His spiritual pressure oozed like it usually did, much like the howling in his brain, smokey hands conjured from his reiatsu would attempt to grasp any surface they encountered only to be blown away with the slightest gesture or motion.

Those same hands would carry with them an asphyxiating spiritual pressure as they tried to wrap around the other Shinigami’s limbs and touch his face, grasp for his eyes and attempt to open his mouth. Just let them in Sabitsura, they would touch and prod and beacon, just let us in and we’ll do the rest. Let us in. Let us in. Let us in.

“Actually I’ve already painted the picture - I know your type Sabitsura-san, born in a poorer district of the Rukongai, learned to loathe the nobility and what they stood for. So you thought being in the Sixth Squad made you better than them? That their lives were nothing?” Watari had no doubt that his words would resonate in Sabitsura’s core, it was a common feeling amongst every denizen of the Rukongai who did not understand why people were better than they were. They learnt to resent, and even if Sabitsura didn’t actually want to kill anybody, his hatred of the nobility? That was a very real seed to nurture.

“But I am an honest man Sabitsura-san and now we can talk in private” he would nod and point to the smoky dome-like walls that sheltered them from listening ears. Oh this was delicious, he could almost see the suspense on the man’s face! See Yuki? I am being better! I could’ve killed him and framed him! But I haven’t.

“I know it wasn’t you”

Watari would then pull out the report on Sabitsura Rei, the same report that held all the damning evidence - a copy of course - and chuck it onto the man’s desk.

“You’ve been framed”

Startled by Watari's shikai, and expressed minor annoyance that he had achieved it before he did. He began to unravel the potential of his power by figuring out precisely how it functions. The blackness filled his office, he could not see the door of which his unruly guest had locked.

His annoyance shifted to concern, mild hatred as Watari's words escaped from his lips, "not true." He slowly stopped protesting for his innocence as the pitch blackness around him reminded him of the victim's words that he had condemned in the past. Were they really innocent? Was their proof irrefutable? If they were, then why could he see these same proof beyond all reasonable doubt placed before him. These are falsity, but only in his own two eyes; if presented to another, it would be a certain death for Sabitsura Rei.

His reasonable and soft eyes touched up, staring further at the files before him, through the mind's eye and the mind of the innocent: it was all there. Every key evidence that would mark him. All but one.

Motive.

He listened to his soon to be superior, itching to escape to warn Kunieda, wise Kunieda, he was certain that she could shatter this bind that he unwillingly found himself. This folly of a nobleman pointing fingers alone in the world. That's right, he was alone. "this isn't right…"

The sinking feeling hardened his heart, like wet concrete drenched over the area, slow and insidious it slithers outward, sticking to whatever surface it can see, waiting til the time it hardens. Break it, snap out of it, Rei did no such thing. He found himself staring intensely to the knave before him.

This man. This superior. He thinks he had it all plotted out, he thinks he knows who Sabitsura Rei was. You fool, Watari Suzumei. You shouldn't be playing with your food.

"Didn't anyone tell you that you are a terrible artist?" his tone shifted. It became hardened, bitter. Sabitsura Rei was a sore loser. There's nothing in existence that he hated more than to lose, he was a winner. He must win at all costs.

He wanted to win, but his opponent revealed another card: he knew. He knew that it wasn't him, does he care? Probably not.

Unless…

It dawned on him. Even after his facade dropped, his heart became solid, all the light and energy that gave him from the goodness of people had dimmed. He had faith in them to do the right thing. This man, this delusional fool bared his fangs in his own little safe space. His eyes narrow and stare at Suzumei.

"It was you," he hissed.

Watari met his eyes with pure denial, pure disgust and pure degradation. How dare he! Insolent little commoner worm! He was a noble, a pure and proud family of the Gotei 6 how dare he ever suggest that Watari Suzumei Head of the Family would ever frame somebody how dare he. Watari’s eyes narrowed, his mouth grew taut, all those little noble quirks and intricacies that he had practiced in the mirror as a child.

“Me? You know Sabitsura Rei, I knew you were slow but I didn’t see you as an idiot. What gain would I have from killing the nobility? Some of those men and women were my strongest allies and now they are no more” the grip on his Zanpakuto was hard now, firm as he slowly straightened it out towards the Shinigami across from him. Watari could kill him where he stood! Nobody would know, a corpse would just miraculously emerge from the center of the room and nobody would know who did it.

“Don’t you ever say such treasonous words again” Watari really had to sell it, it was paramount really to the plan at hand. The smoke that was running off Bezaliel was comforting in this most stressful of times, if he broke even a lil the illusion would be gone. Everything he’d planned for! Everything he’d thought of would fail in a moment. He could almost feel his spirit in the corner of his mind, it was driven closer to him by the release of the Shikai - it wanted him to open the door.

And there in the corner of the room, he could see it, a shadowy door formed from the smoke open and waiting. It wanted him to come towards it, to enter it to explore what was beyond. But Watari couldn’t not yet. There . . . was . . . . still . . . .time. . . .

“Soul King’s Eye, I took you as at least a competent member of our staff not some blathering imbecile. Really man, you think I’m going to close off this area so nobody can spy to just . . . to just. . . admit it was me?” really, who did he think Watari Suzumei was? Some sort of pompous noble? No Watari was grand and whether Sabitsura wanted or not already he spun within the web, the spiders ready to suck him dry of all he had left.

Watari lowered his Zanpakuto.

“However there are members of the nobility who had everything to gain from it” Watari added.