Hope You've Guessed My Name. [Yaksha/Rukia]

Finally. The world was aligning in his favor, giving him everything he needed to get the ball rolling. He had been furious in the immediate aftermath of his tussle with Rodolfo, ready to do something very reckless. After all, such flashy, brute displays weren't in any way his style. After all, he was a man of words and concepts, not brute force and childish tantrums. He was somewhat mollified by the necessity of the act, but only barely; had he truly been competent enough, he never would've needed to get Rodolfo out of this room to convince him that battle wasn't in his best interests.

And none of that mattered anymore, the moment he got the note delivered to him room. It had been pure white, but Yaksha's sharp eyes had been able to note, with his hands moreso than his eyes, the faint feel of difference in certain spots; at first it had been a curious little confusion, until he'd read it. Then the intent was clear. White on white; snow, in a swirling maelstrom. Something intended to blind and obfuscate, or perhaps simply to impress. Either way, the writing itself was quite clear. Yaksha was to have guests, and quite soon.

This wasn't the first time he'd had guests, obviously! He'd had many a person come back to his suite with him, and a few who had simply dropped in. But this was the first time someone had the good taste to send him advance notice. And who was it that was coming to visit, on such short notice? To speak to him, and seek his sage wisdom? Why none other than a captain of the Gotei! And such an occasion called for a real welcoming presence. Yaksha had spent the first few hours simply pulling up every single scrap and tidbit of information he could find, cross-referencing and reading between the lines and extrapolating to get to the inevitable conclusion.

There couldn't possibly have been a better captain coming to visit him. Yaksha could turn this into a golden goose within mere moments. Someone so powerful and influential, yet simultaneously so very open and receptive? Such a circumstance was such a rare treat, Yaksha almost found it hard to stop laughing and humming to himself, as he procured ingredients. Some of them were obscure, some near extinct, and some so illegal that he nearly laughed himself sick at the notion of allowing someone such as this to partake of them with him. But then again, didn't shinigami by necessity consider themselves above the laws of petty mortals?

The simmering of pots, the faint clink of cutlery, and the gentle, melodic humming of a man who was truly in his element filled the air of his flat, leaving it feeling like one had just stumbled into a professional kitchen. The number of dishes Yaksha was already envisioning was staggering; a goal of such staggering intensity that it would hardly leave room for rest, or leaving his room, or anything else. At least, that was the plan. Yaksha had, in recent times, found it particularly pleasing to set before himself hopelessly impossible tasks. He already had one, in convincing his current guest that he could be a wartime asset. Why not throw on cooking a seven-course meal, each of which would be so exorbitant as to drive a man to yank his hair out in frustration, on top?

Goddamn, it was always such a spectacular thrill, pitting his mind and will against the essential forces of the universe. Any sane man would simply tell themselves there wasn't enough time in the universe, to cram this much effort into 48 hours. But Yaksha wasn't exactly sane, and he'd long ago learned to weaponize the worst features of his madness. He'd make this work, if it meant growing additional limbs, or finding a way to be in two places at once.