IchiRuki theme drabbles
i'm back with more offerings of IchiRuki fanfiction!
i posted about it earlier, but "Bleach::Hacked" is now complete if you're in the need for a sit-down read.
Bleach::Hacked
AU. Trading in Zanpakuto for computers, convicted hacker Ichigo has to outsmart Aizen to solve the mystery behind a deadly virus and clear his friends of police accusations. Getting the girl in the meantime also proves a fun challenge. rated M for language and now including IchiRuki smut! haha.
i'm also starting work on the list of IchiRuki 100 Themes.
A Brand New Day will be updated at my fanfiction.net profile, but i wanted to post the first 2 chapters here as a preview to my writing style. it takes place during Rukia's imprisonment during the Soul Society Arc, and she is the storyteller, giving Hanatarou a new story every time he visits her in the cell, so there is a bit of continuity as a twist to the drabbles. rated T for mild curing.
Chapter One
all the world's a stage
An actress.
If I have the chance to stay in the living world, if I am permitted to make Karakura Town my permanent post, I would love to pass myself off as an actress. Even from that first night, I picked up human mannerisms quite easily, if I can say so. I am always able to adapt easily to any and every new situation. That skill is probably what saved me when I lived in Rukongai all of those years with Renji and the guys.
Ah, Renji.
He's supposed to come here and brief me on my legal situation. If I know him as well as I do, he'll probably barge in here without regards to any kind of formalities or presenting himself as the highly-regarded new Lieutenant of the 6th Division, and just yell at me. Maybe that's how I could stand Ichigo all of this time; I'm used to some idiot, testosterone-drivin male trying to impose his will upon me, as if they're trying to match the level of their voices with their stupidity.
But that's the difference between Renji and me; I can sit here, stare at the wall, imagine exactly how he'll stomp in here...but Renji can never guess my next move or how I will react to something. He'll never do it, even if his life depended on it. And Renji is too hesitant, too cautious, too aware of himself to even try.
Maybe that's why I'm sitting here in a cell, and Renji is performing his duties as a righteous Shinigami, no matter how much of a loud-mouth idiot he really can be under those black robes and fancy arm band.
Maybe that's why I'd be such a great actress. I would keep you on your toes, excited to see what would happen next, make you too flustered to even take an ounce of attention away to guess the next scene. No one can ever guess a noble would act so out of line for a human and end up in jail for high treason, let alone guess it could be someone from the Kuchiki household.
Personally, I never thought I would end up on the bad side of Soul Society, but hey, even actresses can surprise themselves. That means you're good, right?
I sigh, the cold air tickling my lungs. Although the Fifth Division cell is much larger than what I've been accustomed to in recent months, I would trade the difference in size to be back in the warmth and familiarity of Ichigo's closet any day. My stomach grumbles for a tiny bite of Yuzu's delicious cooking. My fist longs to take out my frustrations on Kon, but I know of all the things I want, I don't deserve any of them. The image of Ichigo laying in the street, soaked in a concoction of blood and the rain, flashes in my mind. It took all of my will to not start crying -well maybe not cry, that kind of needless emotions stopped after Kaien-dono- but it's hitting a sensitive nerve. My hands start to hurt from clenching them so hard, but luckily, a noise catches my attention, and I feel a new presence right outside of my cell. It waits there for a bit instead of approaching me.
"You shouldn't wait for my permission to enter," I say casually, not bothering to turn around from my seat facing the stone wall. "I am the prisoner, and you are the unaccused, after all."
I hear the click of the lock, and the metal door swings open.
What is this person scared of?
The reiatsu isn't familiar to me; it feels small, very unremarkable, but at the same time, humble, sincere...and absolutely terrified at the moment. The person shuffles around my cell, and while I try to go back to my usual thoughts of days past, deep soul searching, what movies I would've loved to star in (I think action movies), I am unsuccessful. I hear the other person moving around, their movements echoing throughout my cell, but they don't seem to be stopping anytime soon and they're not addressing me in any way. What's the deal? I turn my head sideways, finally able to look at a small male Shinigami with dark hair and matching dark circles under his eyes. I'm pretty sure I'm not scowling, but as I look him down, he stares back, downright pitiful.
His frightened expression sort of boosts my ego, since someone is actually intimidated by me instead of commenting on my small stature.
Fucking Ichigo.
The Shinigami opens his mouth to stutter something when a rough presence brawls through the room. Renji is slightly tardy for his cue, but he still manages to appear like I predicted.
"Yo Yamada, get out of here. I want to talk to the prisoner," he grunts, his words coming out more like mush instead of coherent dialog. Of course Renji talks more with his body than words, like any testosterone-driven man. The Sixth Division fuku-taichou grips one of my cell bars with his right hand while coolly leaning against my cell and propping his left hand on his hip, as if flexing his arm in an effort to intimidate me. It never worked, and memories of a toothpick-thin Renji-kun pops into my head, easing my thoughts. "Rukia."
I don't bother to face him right away since the smile hasn't subsided yet. I try to put on my best poker face, using Ichigo as my inspiration. Showtime for this actress. Renji clears his throat again, the deep grumblings rattling the cage of my cell. "How long do you plan on torturing everyone like this? You got some poor messenger from the Fourth shaking in his robes, their chef making delicious food which you don't even touch. You need to take care of yourself Rukia."
"Why? So I can be in top form when they execute me?"
He scoffs. "That's not that I mean."
I shift in my seat, turning enough so I can look at my childhood friend from over my shoulder. I don't hint to him that I'm glad to see what he achieved for himself, but deep down, I am happy. Although I can't say the same for my current situation, I am pretty damn proud of Renji, and I know somewhere, there is a higher power laughing at me because I was never blessed the cards that could've granted me Renji as my older brother instead of the successor of the Kuchiki noble clan. Not that I don't appreciate Nii-sama and all he has done for me, but I think he'd be better off with someone who doesn't have to stand on her tippy-toes so her nose can turn up above everyone else. I suppose me trying to fit into the Kuchiki clan is my greatest work as an actress.
"I'm not torturing myself, I'm just not hungry," I say quietly. I don't mean for my voice to come out so soft, but my thoughts distracted me with simpler days. Lucky for me, Renji is easily agitated. "Abarai-fuku-taichou...dono."
Renji grips the cell bars with both of his hands now, a flush on his face almost matching his red hair. He looks kind of like a sunburned tourist at the moment; instead of the black standards every Shinigami wears, Renji decks himself out in a casual white and orange yukata, and I can't help but wonder what the occasion is. I'm almost jealous that I can't be apart of the apparent festivities, since it must be something big if Renji isn't wearing his robes. To him, Shinigami robes represent the struggles they overcame in their afterlife, not to mention, he thinks he looks more intimidating in black. From my point of view, Renji's flustered expression looks like he's the imprisoned one as he rattles the bars to get my attention.
Whoops, I usually get too preoccupied making fun of him in my mind.
"What's wrong with with me being the fukutaichou? You gotta problem with it?!" he bellows.
"No, of course not, fukutaichou-dono!" I reply in my human-voice. I know it agitated Ichigo to no end when I used it, and Renji is no different, except maybe he's too thick-headed to perceive that I'm making fun of him. But it's always fun to watch it hit Renji like an avalanche barreling over him. "You are the the only appropriate person to take up the reigns as fukutaichou. Your tattooed eyebrows are incredibly intimidating for any new recruit, fukutaichou-dono, so painful to look at. Your muscles are so massive that wearing your badge must be so restricting, fukutaichou-dono. Sixth Division hair is the best of all, fukutaichou-dono!"
Renji narrows his eyes at me. "Now you're just making fun of me."
About time.
I'm not sure if I say that aloud, but Renji is rattling my cell like an earthquake. "I'll kill you! Get out of there, and I'll do it myself right NOW!"
"But Abarai-fukutaichou, I haven't eaten and my body is feeling fatigued. It wouldn't be fair."
Renji grumbles more incomprehensible things I'm pretty sure had more cussing than actual words, and I turn completely away from him to hide my smile, which makes him raise his voice and beat against the metal bars harder. But I know he has a soft spot for me.
"Renji," I say quiet enough that he has to stop the ruckus. "Do you think I'm really going to be executed?"
Not because it is my life on the line, I do think the pending punishment is a bit excessive. I am, after all, only an actress. A noble. But who am I kidding?
I hear a deep grunt from my friend. He's still flustered. "OF COURSE you are, dumb-ass! They'd probably chop your ass up right in that cell if they were here in my place."
Whoops, he's still mad. There's no talking to him at the moment. "Yes...you probably are right."
"Come on Kuchiki, it was a joke! A JOKE, get it?!"
"For a fukutaichou, you sure don't know what's going on," I throw at him over my shoulder. Renji's getting my snootiest, most noble-like expression I can muster.
Where Ichigo hates my acting voice, Renji hates my facial expressions. A girl never wins with these two. He resumes rattling my cell. "Shut up! I know what's going on. Kuchiki-taichou is submitting his report as we speak." I don't bother to look at him anymore, so I hear Renji prop himself up against the bars. His voice instantly becomes distant. "He's your big brother, Rukia. There's no way he's going to stand by and let you die."
I can't stifle my snort at his comment. There are things I know, trivial, unimportant skills like acting and provoking best friends, and there are things I know. Renji may be slow at detecting my true intentions when I put on my acting skills, but Kuchiki Byakuya certainly does not dabble in the frivolous like I do, the imposter Kuchiki. The icy cold he naturally emits is not an act. The blank, yet piercing stare he uses to analyze you when you're face to face is not an act. His commitment to upholding the prestige of a noble clan is definitely not an act.
My ability to act is the epitome of what I've been trying to do all my life: just trying to get by.
I turn just a little, and I can't help but be surprised when my eyes meet Renji's. I may be imagining it, but he truly looks concerned for me.
"It's been forty years since the Kuchiki clan adopted me." I forgo a little fukutaichou jab as soon as the thought crosses my mind. I'm trying to act serious here. "And never once has he truly looked at me."
I look away, and it becomes clear to me that no matter how much time in the living world I spent refining my acting skills, they can't mask my inner turmoil. Imprisonment isn't my current problem. I realize I've been trying to mask these feelings for years, hell, decades. And I fail every time.
But what is that stupid cliche the humans use all the time? Something about getting back up on your high horse after falling...
Maybe as my last act as a Kuchiki, I'll repay the clan for how they accepted me by keeping my dignity, even if they go through with executing me. My head suddenly becomes heavy with thought, and it dips low so now all I gaze at is my lap. I suppose Renji is at the same kind of loss as I am, for now he's suspiciously quiet, but I don't bother to look at him again. I have a mission now. It will be my greatest and most difficult undertaking, to gather all of my resolve and smile up until the very end of my life-long acting career.
Chapter Two
my heart in a box
Maybe I should eat something. Are hallucinations a side-effect of hunger? Because I swear that I'm seeing Nii-sama's face, made up of the lines and cracks in the cement wall, smiling down at me from the right corner of my cell. Kuchiki Byakuya smiling; if that isn't an impossible sight or scary hallucination, then I don't know what else is. My stomach complains very audibly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since they brought me back to Soul Society. Even some barely cooked ramen from Ichigo sounds tasty right now.
Ichigo.
That idiot, he better be okay. The image of him bleeding to death on a random Karakura street flashes in my mind, and my heart sinks lower into my chest. My remorse for that condition is matched by my anger at him. I told him not to follow me! If he is too stubborn to read, then the idiot is too stubborn to die. That notion, I realize, gives me little comfort when I think of how much I've twisted our fates, but I am here, in my cell, gladly paying the price for my tresspassings. I deserve to starve to death.
A noise at the front of my cell snaps me out of my thoughts. Honing in on the presence, I recognize its insignificance from yesterday, but I still don't pay it any attention. That kid is still scared of me, and he's not even in the cell yet. I hear him fiddle with keys before they crash to the floor. He picks them up again, and once again, I hear the tantalizing click of my cell opening. I don't know why he is so scared of me, but if I take advantage of the situation, I could overpower him and run away again.
The image of the wall Byakuya hovers over me. This time, he's frowning, and I decide to sit still in my chair, although a bit more rigid when I hear the footsteps nearing me.
For the third day in a row, the Shinigami dutifully places a large bowl of noodles, a plate with bread, chopsticks, and a tall glass of water on the floor. Prisoners are not allowed to have utensils of any kind while incarcerated, in case they use them as weapons, but the higher-ups must suppose that a noble couldn't possibly ram a chopstick into someone's eyeball. Forget survival, that is too uncouth of a fighting style.
"Uhm...Rukia-sama?"
The Shinigami's voice is as small as his stature. My head whips in his direction when I hear him speak, or rather, whisper.
"What did you call me?"
"I said, uhm...K-Kuchiki s-ss-ssama?" he repeats. His eyes grow wide, taking over his small face, and I realize that this Fourth Division member is used to the abuse from the Eleventh. Clearly, he's never met anyone from Thirteenth Squad, let alone a noble.
"You should know how to address someone correctly when you speak to them," I say flatly. He nods obediently, offering me the pair of chopsticks so I may start eating. I ignore the gesture. "What is your name, Shinigami?"
"Y-yamada Hanatarou, Kuchiki-sama." His arm still lingers outstretched towards me.
"Well, Yamada-san, don't think you've gone unnoticed in my cell. I know you've been assigned here, and it baffles me as to why you don't know how to address me." Hanatarou opens his mouth to speak again, but I wave my hand to signal that I'm not done speaking. He bows in apology. I somewhat regret my tone with him, but he just so happened to cross my biggest pet peeve, and I just met the kid. At least I'm not kicking him in the butt, like the way Ichigo greeted me in his bedroom two months ago. "If I am to see you in my cell for the rest of my numbered days, then I expect you to address me as 'Rukia'...and nothing more."
"Excuse me?"
I lean forward, placing a firm hand on Hanatarou's shoulder. He finally raises himself up from his respectful gesture. "I didn't stutter, did I?" I say, a small smile softening my face.
Surprisingly, Hanatarou doubles over again, this time dipping his head lower. "No, Kuchiki-sama!"
A sigh escapes my lips, and I release the poor Shinigami. He's making me more uncomfortable by the second, and I try to lighten the mood. "So what did you bring me to eat today, Yamada-san?"
Hanatarou immediately looks up at me before scrambling to present me with the food items. "Beef ramen, but they put some vegetables in because Kuchiki-sama hasn't been eating lately."
I nod, thankful for his efforts, but place the rather hot bowl next to my feet before raising the glass to my mouth. The moment the cool liquid hits my lips, I realize I am desperately thirsty. I eye him over my tilted glass. "Yamada-san, what did I tell you? 'Rukia' will be just fine, thank you."
He looks like I offended him, and Hanatarou's eyes return to that saucer-like state. "But Kuckiki-sama..."
"Please," I interrupt him, but my voice remains soft. "Don't address me as sama."
"Well then, Ru-ru-" It's like Hanatarou is talking for the first time. He probably half-expects a Kuchiki nobleman to jump out of the shadows and execute him if he refers to me so informal and uncouth. "I'll have to tell you then, Rukia...my name is Hanatarou."
He half looks at me like I'm going to berate him again, but I smile fully instead. My cheeks welcome the movement in those muscles that have gone unused in the recent days of my imprisonment. I take another swig of water. It's delicious, and it reminds me of a fond memory. Hanatarou looks too green to have traveled to the living world, and if this young Shinigami is going to be comfortable around me, then I have to nurture this newfound companionship.
"Hanatarou...have you ever heard of a juice box?"
= x =
Rukia shifted heavily in her gigai. After three days or so in the custom-made body, she still wasn't used to the weight and suffocation of a body. She certainly wasn't too keen on the way she sweat in it, especially up on the uncovered school roof during lunchtime. Ichigo had been actually tolerable since she accidentally passed on all of her Shinigami powers; after she beat him for complaining over her confiscating his bedroom closet for temporary housing and threatening his life if he blew her cover as a fellow high school student, he tried to help her adjust to living in the living world. He even packed her a lunch for school today, which consisted of some superb concoction of the mushing together of thick, spreadable peanuts and grape preserves; apples, a rare fruit in Soul Society, and a cardboard box with an apple logo on it. For some reason lost on her, Ichigo was under the assumption that Shinigami love apples.
Ichigo loved to fight, Rukia was sure of it. It made perfect sense that he settled into the role of Shinigami, even after a few days since the responsibility was thrust upon him. She lifted the strange box so it was eye-level, and Rukia caught sight of Ichigo's bright orange hair beyond the strange item. Some guys yelled at him, but Rukia wasn't paying attention. She didn't understand the packaging of the item; weren't outer wrappers meant to open? Her fingers pried at one of the corners, but glue held the folded-over cardboard flap down firmly.
What's inside this damn thing?
Rukia shook the small package; upon hearing the slushing sound and feeling of liquid moving rapidly within, and adding the image on the front panel, she deducted the box contained apple juice.
"Yo Kurosaki, when are you going to dye your hair and stop copying me?" a rather large student yelled at her friend. He hurled insult after insult, trying to get a rise out of the scowling Ichigo.
Something stuck to the back of the apple juice box. Rukia ran her thumb across the thin item, and it popped off of the box unexpectedly. She tried to put it back, but the plastic tube refused to stick to the box again. As least it didn't seem to damage the package, her precious apple juice still trapped within. Perhaps the tube was a tool to open the box? Rukia prodded the side flap with the item, but she only managed to damage the end she attacked with.
Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest to show he wasn't remotely intimidated by this punk Ooshima's brass knuckles. He won several fights against him before, and if he remembered correctly, Ooshima won none. Ichigo wondered why he even bothered to pick fights with his clear superior.
Pursing her lips together, Rukia led an all-out assault against the tiny item. She bit the corners, hurting her gigai teeth in the process. She scratched at all facets of the box, getting colored bits of paper stuck under her fingernails. She pushed at different areas of the box, hoping to discover a secret button that opened the box, but it only dented under the frustrated pressure. The apple juice angered Rukia to the point that she was about to throw the box on the ground to stomp on it. That method always worked with Ichigo, when she needed him to do something according to her will. Yes, somehow a mere human nourishment item humbled this Shinigami enough that she needed back-up.
"Ichigo," she said hurriedly. Rukia looked up, but a large mass passed in front of her.
The next thing she heard was the shrill scream of the once-present Ooshima, who now flew through the air. However he landed didn't concern Rukia in the least; at the moment, she wanted to learn the secret of the juice box. Running up to the teenager, Rukia heard Ichigo yell at Sado, somewhat reminiscent of how she yells at him. When she neared the pair, Rukia jumped directly in between the two, shoving the box up in Ichigo's face. "Hey Stupid, how do you drink this?" she asked eagerly.
He frowned at her, grabbing the juice box out of her hand. "You should watch who you're calling stupid when you're the one who's asking the questions," Ichigo replied flatly. He examined the box. "Where is the straw?"
"Now who's asking questions?" she said with a smug look on her face.
Ichigo sighed, amazed at how fast he found himself in fights on a daily basis, especially with a sarcastic Shinigami following him around now. Noticing the small object in Rukia's other hand, he grabbed the straw, and upon seeing the damage inflicted on the bottom, he flipped the straw around to smash the other end through a tiny circle of foil. "Wow! I can do your magic hocus-pocus too...but instead of binding innocent humans and drawing on their faces, I give you nourishment!" Ichigo flashed a crooked smile, conveying a sense of amusement in his tone.
Taking the juice box, Rukia sipped the liquid inside. Somehow, it was the tastiest drink she ever consumed in her century and a half years of existence. It must have been her gigai acting up, but while she drank, she felt an uncomfortable heat rise on her cheeks, despite the cool liquid she gulped down. Ichigo's eyes never stopped watching her, despite the uproar over Sado's mysterious bandages coming from his friends. Rukia concentrated on mastering the art of drinkng through the small tube called a straw, and just when she felt like she got the correct proportion of air intake versus the desirable amount of juice, a most horrifying sound erupted from her mouth.
Sluurrrrrp!
Rukia nearly choked from the influx of air, sudden absence of liquid, and mortification of such a, abrasive cacophony. She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the incinerating of her cheeks against her palm. Ichigo only laughed at her before moving over to talk to his friends. He didn't tease her, and Ichigo's reaction seemed just as puzzling as the world he lived in. Rukia glared at the inanimate object, ready to drink from another juice box, as if punishing a brother box in revenge for her current embarrassment. Her violet eyes flashed at Ichigo.
He needed to show her more of the conveniences of his world, because in that instant, Rukia found a pulling curiosity in a box, and she didn't know if she could survive another one of Ichigo's cocky smiles.
i posted about it earlier, but "Bleach::Hacked" is now complete if you're in the need for a sit-down read.
Bleach::Hacked
AU. Trading in Zanpakuto for computers, convicted hacker Ichigo has to outsmart Aizen to solve the mystery behind a deadly virus and clear his friends of police accusations. Getting the girl in the meantime also proves a fun challenge. rated M for language and now including IchiRuki smut! haha.
i'm also starting work on the list of IchiRuki 100 Themes.
A Brand New Day will be updated at my fanfiction.net profile, but i wanted to post the first 2 chapters here as a preview to my writing style. it takes place during Rukia's imprisonment during the Soul Society Arc, and she is the storyteller, giving Hanatarou a new story every time he visits her in the cell, so there is a bit of continuity as a twist to the drabbles. rated T for mild curing.
Chapter One
all the world's a stage
An actress.
If I have the chance to stay in the living world, if I am permitted to make Karakura Town my permanent post, I would love to pass myself off as an actress. Even from that first night, I picked up human mannerisms quite easily, if I can say so. I am always able to adapt easily to any and every new situation. That skill is probably what saved me when I lived in Rukongai all of those years with Renji and the guys.
Ah, Renji.
He's supposed to come here and brief me on my legal situation. If I know him as well as I do, he'll probably barge in here without regards to any kind of formalities or presenting himself as the highly-regarded new Lieutenant of the 6th Division, and just yell at me. Maybe that's how I could stand Ichigo all of this time; I'm used to some idiot, testosterone-drivin male trying to impose his will upon me, as if they're trying to match the level of their voices with their stupidity.
But that's the difference between Renji and me; I can sit here, stare at the wall, imagine exactly how he'll stomp in here...but Renji can never guess my next move or how I will react to something. He'll never do it, even if his life depended on it. And Renji is too hesitant, too cautious, too aware of himself to even try.
Maybe that's why I'm sitting here in a cell, and Renji is performing his duties as a righteous Shinigami, no matter how much of a loud-mouth idiot he really can be under those black robes and fancy arm band.
Maybe that's why I'd be such a great actress. I would keep you on your toes, excited to see what would happen next, make you too flustered to even take an ounce of attention away to guess the next scene. No one can ever guess a noble would act so out of line for a human and end up in jail for high treason, let alone guess it could be someone from the Kuchiki household.
Personally, I never thought I would end up on the bad side of Soul Society, but hey, even actresses can surprise themselves. That means you're good, right?
I sigh, the cold air tickling my lungs. Although the Fifth Division cell is much larger than what I've been accustomed to in recent months, I would trade the difference in size to be back in the warmth and familiarity of Ichigo's closet any day. My stomach grumbles for a tiny bite of Yuzu's delicious cooking. My fist longs to take out my frustrations on Kon, but I know of all the things I want, I don't deserve any of them. The image of Ichigo laying in the street, soaked in a concoction of blood and the rain, flashes in my mind. It took all of my will to not start crying -well maybe not cry, that kind of needless emotions stopped after Kaien-dono- but it's hitting a sensitive nerve. My hands start to hurt from clenching them so hard, but luckily, a noise catches my attention, and I feel a new presence right outside of my cell. It waits there for a bit instead of approaching me.
"You shouldn't wait for my permission to enter," I say casually, not bothering to turn around from my seat facing the stone wall. "I am the prisoner, and you are the unaccused, after all."
I hear the click of the lock, and the metal door swings open.
What is this person scared of?
The reiatsu isn't familiar to me; it feels small, very unremarkable, but at the same time, humble, sincere...and absolutely terrified at the moment. The person shuffles around my cell, and while I try to go back to my usual thoughts of days past, deep soul searching, what movies I would've loved to star in (I think action movies), I am unsuccessful. I hear the other person moving around, their movements echoing throughout my cell, but they don't seem to be stopping anytime soon and they're not addressing me in any way. What's the deal? I turn my head sideways, finally able to look at a small male Shinigami with dark hair and matching dark circles under his eyes. I'm pretty sure I'm not scowling, but as I look him down, he stares back, downright pitiful.
His frightened expression sort of boosts my ego, since someone is actually intimidated by me instead of commenting on my small stature.
Fucking Ichigo.
The Shinigami opens his mouth to stutter something when a rough presence brawls through the room. Renji is slightly tardy for his cue, but he still manages to appear like I predicted.
"Yo Yamada, get out of here. I want to talk to the prisoner," he grunts, his words coming out more like mush instead of coherent dialog. Of course Renji talks more with his body than words, like any testosterone-driven man. The Sixth Division fuku-taichou grips one of my cell bars with his right hand while coolly leaning against my cell and propping his left hand on his hip, as if flexing his arm in an effort to intimidate me. It never worked, and memories of a toothpick-thin Renji-kun pops into my head, easing my thoughts. "Rukia."
I don't bother to face him right away since the smile hasn't subsided yet. I try to put on my best poker face, using Ichigo as my inspiration. Showtime for this actress. Renji clears his throat again, the deep grumblings rattling the cage of my cell. "How long do you plan on torturing everyone like this? You got some poor messenger from the Fourth shaking in his robes, their chef making delicious food which you don't even touch. You need to take care of yourself Rukia."
"Why? So I can be in top form when they execute me?"
He scoffs. "That's not that I mean."
I shift in my seat, turning enough so I can look at my childhood friend from over my shoulder. I don't hint to him that I'm glad to see what he achieved for himself, but deep down, I am happy. Although I can't say the same for my current situation, I am pretty damn proud of Renji, and I know somewhere, there is a higher power laughing at me because I was never blessed the cards that could've granted me Renji as my older brother instead of the successor of the Kuchiki noble clan. Not that I don't appreciate Nii-sama and all he has done for me, but I think he'd be better off with someone who doesn't have to stand on her tippy-toes so her nose can turn up above everyone else. I suppose me trying to fit into the Kuchiki clan is my greatest work as an actress.
"I'm not torturing myself, I'm just not hungry," I say quietly. I don't mean for my voice to come out so soft, but my thoughts distracted me with simpler days. Lucky for me, Renji is easily agitated. "Abarai-fuku-taichou...dono."
Renji grips the cell bars with both of his hands now, a flush on his face almost matching his red hair. He looks kind of like a sunburned tourist at the moment; instead of the black standards every Shinigami wears, Renji decks himself out in a casual white and orange yukata, and I can't help but wonder what the occasion is. I'm almost jealous that I can't be apart of the apparent festivities, since it must be something big if Renji isn't wearing his robes. To him, Shinigami robes represent the struggles they overcame in their afterlife, not to mention, he thinks he looks more intimidating in black. From my point of view, Renji's flustered expression looks like he's the imprisoned one as he rattles the bars to get my attention.
Whoops, I usually get too preoccupied making fun of him in my mind.
"What's wrong with with me being the fukutaichou? You gotta problem with it?!" he bellows.
"No, of course not, fukutaichou-dono!" I reply in my human-voice. I know it agitated Ichigo to no end when I used it, and Renji is no different, except maybe he's too thick-headed to perceive that I'm making fun of him. But it's always fun to watch it hit Renji like an avalanche barreling over him. "You are the the only appropriate person to take up the reigns as fukutaichou. Your tattooed eyebrows are incredibly intimidating for any new recruit, fukutaichou-dono, so painful to look at. Your muscles are so massive that wearing your badge must be so restricting, fukutaichou-dono. Sixth Division hair is the best of all, fukutaichou-dono!"
Renji narrows his eyes at me. "Now you're just making fun of me."
About time.
I'm not sure if I say that aloud, but Renji is rattling my cell like an earthquake. "I'll kill you! Get out of there, and I'll do it myself right NOW!"
"But Abarai-fukutaichou, I haven't eaten and my body is feeling fatigued. It wouldn't be fair."
Renji grumbles more incomprehensible things I'm pretty sure had more cussing than actual words, and I turn completely away from him to hide my smile, which makes him raise his voice and beat against the metal bars harder. But I know he has a soft spot for me.
"Renji," I say quiet enough that he has to stop the ruckus. "Do you think I'm really going to be executed?"
Not because it is my life on the line, I do think the pending punishment is a bit excessive. I am, after all, only an actress. A noble. But who am I kidding?
I hear a deep grunt from my friend. He's still flustered. "OF COURSE you are, dumb-ass! They'd probably chop your ass up right in that cell if they were here in my place."
Whoops, he's still mad. There's no talking to him at the moment. "Yes...you probably are right."
"Come on Kuchiki, it was a joke! A JOKE, get it?!"
"For a fukutaichou, you sure don't know what's going on," I throw at him over my shoulder. Renji's getting my snootiest, most noble-like expression I can muster.
Where Ichigo hates my acting voice, Renji hates my facial expressions. A girl never wins with these two. He resumes rattling my cell. "Shut up! I know what's going on. Kuchiki-taichou is submitting his report as we speak." I don't bother to look at him anymore, so I hear Renji prop himself up against the bars. His voice instantly becomes distant. "He's your big brother, Rukia. There's no way he's going to stand by and let you die."
I can't stifle my snort at his comment. There are things I know, trivial, unimportant skills like acting and provoking best friends, and there are things I know. Renji may be slow at detecting my true intentions when I put on my acting skills, but Kuchiki Byakuya certainly does not dabble in the frivolous like I do, the imposter Kuchiki. The icy cold he naturally emits is not an act. The blank, yet piercing stare he uses to analyze you when you're face to face is not an act. His commitment to upholding the prestige of a noble clan is definitely not an act.
My ability to act is the epitome of what I've been trying to do all my life: just trying to get by.
I turn just a little, and I can't help but be surprised when my eyes meet Renji's. I may be imagining it, but he truly looks concerned for me.
"It's been forty years since the Kuchiki clan adopted me." I forgo a little fukutaichou jab as soon as the thought crosses my mind. I'm trying to act serious here. "And never once has he truly looked at me."
I look away, and it becomes clear to me that no matter how much time in the living world I spent refining my acting skills, they can't mask my inner turmoil. Imprisonment isn't my current problem. I realize I've been trying to mask these feelings for years, hell, decades. And I fail every time.
But what is that stupid cliche the humans use all the time? Something about getting back up on your high horse after falling...
Maybe as my last act as a Kuchiki, I'll repay the clan for how they accepted me by keeping my dignity, even if they go through with executing me. My head suddenly becomes heavy with thought, and it dips low so now all I gaze at is my lap. I suppose Renji is at the same kind of loss as I am, for now he's suspiciously quiet, but I don't bother to look at him again. I have a mission now. It will be my greatest and most difficult undertaking, to gather all of my resolve and smile up until the very end of my life-long acting career.
Chapter Two
my heart in a box
Maybe I should eat something. Are hallucinations a side-effect of hunger? Because I swear that I'm seeing Nii-sama's face, made up of the lines and cracks in the cement wall, smiling down at me from the right corner of my cell. Kuchiki Byakuya smiling; if that isn't an impossible sight or scary hallucination, then I don't know what else is. My stomach complains very audibly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since they brought me back to Soul Society. Even some barely cooked ramen from Ichigo sounds tasty right now.
Ichigo.
That idiot, he better be okay. The image of him bleeding to death on a random Karakura street flashes in my mind, and my heart sinks lower into my chest. My remorse for that condition is matched by my anger at him. I told him not to follow me! If he is too stubborn to read, then the idiot is too stubborn to die. That notion, I realize, gives me little comfort when I think of how much I've twisted our fates, but I am here, in my cell, gladly paying the price for my tresspassings. I deserve to starve to death.
A noise at the front of my cell snaps me out of my thoughts. Honing in on the presence, I recognize its insignificance from yesterday, but I still don't pay it any attention. That kid is still scared of me, and he's not even in the cell yet. I hear him fiddle with keys before they crash to the floor. He picks them up again, and once again, I hear the tantalizing click of my cell opening. I don't know why he is so scared of me, but if I take advantage of the situation, I could overpower him and run away again.
The image of the wall Byakuya hovers over me. This time, he's frowning, and I decide to sit still in my chair, although a bit more rigid when I hear the footsteps nearing me.
For the third day in a row, the Shinigami dutifully places a large bowl of noodles, a plate with bread, chopsticks, and a tall glass of water on the floor. Prisoners are not allowed to have utensils of any kind while incarcerated, in case they use them as weapons, but the higher-ups must suppose that a noble couldn't possibly ram a chopstick into someone's eyeball. Forget survival, that is too uncouth of a fighting style.
"Uhm...Rukia-sama?"
The Shinigami's voice is as small as his stature. My head whips in his direction when I hear him speak, or rather, whisper.
"What did you call me?"
"I said, uhm...K-Kuchiki s-ss-ssama?" he repeats. His eyes grow wide, taking over his small face, and I realize that this Fourth Division member is used to the abuse from the Eleventh. Clearly, he's never met anyone from Thirteenth Squad, let alone a noble.
"You should know how to address someone correctly when you speak to them," I say flatly. He nods obediently, offering me the pair of chopsticks so I may start eating. I ignore the gesture. "What is your name, Shinigami?"
"Y-yamada Hanatarou, Kuchiki-sama." His arm still lingers outstretched towards me.
"Well, Yamada-san, don't think you've gone unnoticed in my cell. I know you've been assigned here, and it baffles me as to why you don't know how to address me." Hanatarou opens his mouth to speak again, but I wave my hand to signal that I'm not done speaking. He bows in apology. I somewhat regret my tone with him, but he just so happened to cross my biggest pet peeve, and I just met the kid. At least I'm not kicking him in the butt, like the way Ichigo greeted me in his bedroom two months ago. "If I am to see you in my cell for the rest of my numbered days, then I expect you to address me as 'Rukia'...and nothing more."
"Excuse me?"
I lean forward, placing a firm hand on Hanatarou's shoulder. He finally raises himself up from his respectful gesture. "I didn't stutter, did I?" I say, a small smile softening my face.
Surprisingly, Hanatarou doubles over again, this time dipping his head lower. "No, Kuchiki-sama!"
A sigh escapes my lips, and I release the poor Shinigami. He's making me more uncomfortable by the second, and I try to lighten the mood. "So what did you bring me to eat today, Yamada-san?"
Hanatarou immediately looks up at me before scrambling to present me with the food items. "Beef ramen, but they put some vegetables in because Kuchiki-sama hasn't been eating lately."
I nod, thankful for his efforts, but place the rather hot bowl next to my feet before raising the glass to my mouth. The moment the cool liquid hits my lips, I realize I am desperately thirsty. I eye him over my tilted glass. "Yamada-san, what did I tell you? 'Rukia' will be just fine, thank you."
He looks like I offended him, and Hanatarou's eyes return to that saucer-like state. "But Kuckiki-sama..."
"Please," I interrupt him, but my voice remains soft. "Don't address me as sama."
"Well then, Ru-ru-" It's like Hanatarou is talking for the first time. He probably half-expects a Kuchiki nobleman to jump out of the shadows and execute him if he refers to me so informal and uncouth. "I'll have to tell you then, Rukia...my name is Hanatarou."
He half looks at me like I'm going to berate him again, but I smile fully instead. My cheeks welcome the movement in those muscles that have gone unused in the recent days of my imprisonment. I take another swig of water. It's delicious, and it reminds me of a fond memory. Hanatarou looks too green to have traveled to the living world, and if this young Shinigami is going to be comfortable around me, then I have to nurture this newfound companionship.
"Hanatarou...have you ever heard of a juice box?"
= x =
Rukia shifted heavily in her gigai. After three days or so in the custom-made body, she still wasn't used to the weight and suffocation of a body. She certainly wasn't too keen on the way she sweat in it, especially up on the uncovered school roof during lunchtime. Ichigo had been actually tolerable since she accidentally passed on all of her Shinigami powers; after she beat him for complaining over her confiscating his bedroom closet for temporary housing and threatening his life if he blew her cover as a fellow high school student, he tried to help her adjust to living in the living world. He even packed her a lunch for school today, which consisted of some superb concoction of the mushing together of thick, spreadable peanuts and grape preserves; apples, a rare fruit in Soul Society, and a cardboard box with an apple logo on it. For some reason lost on her, Ichigo was under the assumption that Shinigami love apples.
Ichigo loved to fight, Rukia was sure of it. It made perfect sense that he settled into the role of Shinigami, even after a few days since the responsibility was thrust upon him. She lifted the strange box so it was eye-level, and Rukia caught sight of Ichigo's bright orange hair beyond the strange item. Some guys yelled at him, but Rukia wasn't paying attention. She didn't understand the packaging of the item; weren't outer wrappers meant to open? Her fingers pried at one of the corners, but glue held the folded-over cardboard flap down firmly.
What's inside this damn thing?
Rukia shook the small package; upon hearing the slushing sound and feeling of liquid moving rapidly within, and adding the image on the front panel, she deducted the box contained apple juice.
"Yo Kurosaki, when are you going to dye your hair and stop copying me?" a rather large student yelled at her friend. He hurled insult after insult, trying to get a rise out of the scowling Ichigo.
Something stuck to the back of the apple juice box. Rukia ran her thumb across the thin item, and it popped off of the box unexpectedly. She tried to put it back, but the plastic tube refused to stick to the box again. As least it didn't seem to damage the package, her precious apple juice still trapped within. Perhaps the tube was a tool to open the box? Rukia prodded the side flap with the item, but she only managed to damage the end she attacked with.
Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest to show he wasn't remotely intimidated by this punk Ooshima's brass knuckles. He won several fights against him before, and if he remembered correctly, Ooshima won none. Ichigo wondered why he even bothered to pick fights with his clear superior.
Pursing her lips together, Rukia led an all-out assault against the tiny item. She bit the corners, hurting her gigai teeth in the process. She scratched at all facets of the box, getting colored bits of paper stuck under her fingernails. She pushed at different areas of the box, hoping to discover a secret button that opened the box, but it only dented under the frustrated pressure. The apple juice angered Rukia to the point that she was about to throw the box on the ground to stomp on it. That method always worked with Ichigo, when she needed him to do something according to her will. Yes, somehow a mere human nourishment item humbled this Shinigami enough that she needed back-up.
"Ichigo," she said hurriedly. Rukia looked up, but a large mass passed in front of her.
The next thing she heard was the shrill scream of the once-present Ooshima, who now flew through the air. However he landed didn't concern Rukia in the least; at the moment, she wanted to learn the secret of the juice box. Running up to the teenager, Rukia heard Ichigo yell at Sado, somewhat reminiscent of how she yells at him. When she neared the pair, Rukia jumped directly in between the two, shoving the box up in Ichigo's face. "Hey Stupid, how do you drink this?" she asked eagerly.
He frowned at her, grabbing the juice box out of her hand. "You should watch who you're calling stupid when you're the one who's asking the questions," Ichigo replied flatly. He examined the box. "Where is the straw?"
"Now who's asking questions?" she said with a smug look on her face.
Ichigo sighed, amazed at how fast he found himself in fights on a daily basis, especially with a sarcastic Shinigami following him around now. Noticing the small object in Rukia's other hand, he grabbed the straw, and upon seeing the damage inflicted on the bottom, he flipped the straw around to smash the other end through a tiny circle of foil. "Wow! I can do your magic hocus-pocus too...but instead of binding innocent humans and drawing on their faces, I give you nourishment!" Ichigo flashed a crooked smile, conveying a sense of amusement in his tone.
Taking the juice box, Rukia sipped the liquid inside. Somehow, it was the tastiest drink she ever consumed in her century and a half years of existence. It must have been her gigai acting up, but while she drank, she felt an uncomfortable heat rise on her cheeks, despite the cool liquid she gulped down. Ichigo's eyes never stopped watching her, despite the uproar over Sado's mysterious bandages coming from his friends. Rukia concentrated on mastering the art of drinkng through the small tube called a straw, and just when she felt like she got the correct proportion of air intake versus the desirable amount of juice, a most horrifying sound erupted from her mouth.
Sluurrrrrp!
Rukia nearly choked from the influx of air, sudden absence of liquid, and mortification of such a, abrasive cacophony. She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the incinerating of her cheeks against her palm. Ichigo only laughed at her before moving over to talk to his friends. He didn't tease her, and Ichigo's reaction seemed just as puzzling as the world he lived in. Rukia glared at the inanimate object, ready to drink from another juice box, as if punishing a brother box in revenge for her current embarrassment. Her violet eyes flashed at Ichigo.
He needed to show her more of the conveniences of his world, because in that instant, Rukia found a pulling curiosity in a box, and she didn't know if she could survive another one of Ichigo's cocky smiles.