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The Lava Hashira, Konkuro Maruki, chose the anniversary of his arrival to present a brooding Zohakuten with something special.
“Mitsuri prefers mochi and honey pancakes for birthdays," Maruki started, "But seeing as you are not so fond of that, I have prepared a delicacy which you might not hate as much.”
On a wooden tray lie four fat dumplings filled with pork blood and raw muscle, sweetened with a glistening outer shell of malt rice syrup, mizuame.
“This is something the shrine priests would serve on matsuri. In my case, however, it would have been cooked… but I figured you would prefer it raw. If you do not wish to eat them,” Maruki looked down at the dough treats, “They will not go to waste.”
“No,” Zohakuten hissed. “Do not present me with any more of your human folly. I do not care for such things.”
Maruki gave a soft sigh, though she had fully expected him to react in this way. For her, it was the attempt that mattered the most, because for every gift or food item offered to this demon, the woman would know what to do with the inevitable rejection. With Zohakuten, one learns not to be disappointed when a suggestion is met with swift disapproval or a routine verbal lashing of vitriol.
“Alright," she whispered. "Then they will not go to waste.”
After giving Zohakuten one last chance to take at least one of the dumplings, which he immediately averted his gaze from, the Hashira bowed her head and moved away. Zohakuten followed her with his eyes, watching her back retreat from him while she still held the tray of those... infernal... things. The demon told himself, he had no such need for human food… but raw pork, it was the nearest equivalent to human flesh. The consideration was almost an insult to his nature. She was tempting him, he thought. Mocking him, he thought. Just as all birthdays were, they were a mockery of one’s birth – a disgustingly trivial thing humans celebrate for reasons that have long since escaped the demon.
Aye… but the temptation seemed to win out when Maruki set the tray down on the wooden surface separating the kitchen from the main room. Zohakuten shifted. Making absolutely sure that the woman would not see or hear him approach, he waited until she had been gone from the room before snatching one of the dumplings from the tray and immediately returned to his seated position.
He bit into it, half expecting the thing to bite back.
Ah… it was… not unpleasant.
...But he would never admit that out loud, lest he die from the humiliation of it. Cursed Hashira for making him not hate these things. It was offensive... and utterly despicably considerate.