Kisuke is glad he was invited, and glad he came. Although he makes a pointed effort to avoid Kuchiki Rukia, for her sake, more than his own. He knows better than to think he's made it off a shinigami's shit-list quite so quickly, especially if that shinigami happens to be a Kucchiki in spirit and name.
He's never been to a wedding quite like this one. A western one. He'd attended hundreds in Soul Society, many of them for people of great social standing. Now that he's here, he finds he likes it. The lack of formality, the casual friendliness. The terrible food.
It's not too pretty or too precious or too planned, but it has all of the love and human vulnerability and joie de vivre that it needs.
He brought a special gift for the two grooms. He'll hand it over later, in quiet. For the time being, he lets himself socialize. And drink too much.
He watches everyone during a short break, butt seated on the surface of a table set temporarily out for the party, as he noshes on what may very well be the last slice of watermelon he has until the next summer.
no subject
He's never been to a wedding quite like this one. A western one. He'd attended hundreds in Soul Society, many of them for people of great social standing. Now that he's here, he finds he likes it. The lack of formality, the casual friendliness. The terrible food.
It's not too pretty or too precious or too planned, but it has all of the love and human vulnerability and joie de vivre that it needs.
He brought a special gift for the two grooms. He'll hand it over later, in quiet. For the time being, he lets himself socialize. And drink too much.
He watches everyone during a short break, butt seated on the surface of a table set temporarily out for the party, as he noshes on what may very well be the last slice of watermelon he has until the next summer.