Lost Haori {Yamamoto-centric}
Title: Lost Haori
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Yamamoto-centric, Kenpachi, Byakuya, Shunsui, Ukitake and his two Third Seats veeeeeeeeery subtle hints of Kenpachi/Jushiro XD
Rating: PG
Word Count: 782
Summary: There are other things to worry about than three captains losing their haori.
A/N: Written for prompt #1: come the day of rest, Table 13, 5_prompts.
It was too fine a day to get mad over arrogant, clumsy, lazy captains, and Yamamoto knew that far better than anyone in that room.
Yet still he sat there, with his walking stick grasped in his right arm so tightly that his knuckles burned stark white against his gnarled, liver-spotted skin. He was all too aware of his spiritual pressure, enveloping and smothering the room. The atmosphere was dense and thick with his energy, and though he could faintly sense those that belonged to the three captains standing before him, his effortlessly dwarfed theirs.
He had been at it for gods-knew-how-long, glaring at them when he couldn't find any words to say, yelling at them when he couldn't take the sight of their smug faces.
Kyoraku, once his student, and yet there he was, with that lopsided grin of apology that Yamamoto just couldn't stand. He may possess the incurable disease of being a constant skirt-chaser, but Yamamoto hadn't expected him to lose his captain's haori.
Kuchiki, too, hadn't the personality nor attitude to place himself among Yamamoto's guesses, but then there he stood, deeming the haori "cheap" and thinking that he could replace it with a new one.
And there was Zaraki. Yamamoto had already expected as much, what with his tendency to emerge from a battle clad in his uniform so torn that it could well be the rags he once wore when he took his first step into the Seireitei.
But still, Yamamoto had hoped he could at least show some regret at losing it. He didn't. Neither of them did, and that drove Yamamoto beyond his limit. The captain's haori was as important as one's zanpakuto and it presented the status of a shinigami, the rank a shinigami straddled. It showed that one was the leader of a division, the individual who called the shots, the one to lead his squad into battle and the one to command his underlings to victory.
These youngsters…
Yamamoto slammed the base of his walking stick to the floor. The harsh sound reverberated through the room, but none of them made even the slightest movement of surprise. They knew better.
"I've had enough of you three." He waved the stick at them, still glaring through an opened eye. "Leave now before I tell my lieutenant to assign you more paperwork than you can handle." He hit the edge of his desk when he saw Zaraki throw a menacing look at Sasakibe.
"All right, all right," Zaraki waved a dismissive hand and scoffed, "don't get yer panties all in a knot, old man. Ye've got yer missin' arm to worry 'bout."
Yamamoto seethed. Kyoraku, who could use his brain once in a while, pulled his comrade out before he could say more degrading words. Kuchiki bowed, as if trying to redeem himself, and stepped lightly towards the exit.
Outside, he could see that Ukitake was sitting on the floor by the side of the hallway with his two Third Seats flanking him. At least he was responsible. Yamamoto had half the mind to assign him to teach the three captains proper ethics and their responsibility of caring for the prestigious haori.
The great captain reached for the cup of steaming tea that Sasakibe just settled down on the desk before him. He lifted it to his lips, blew off the steam and watched through the fading white as Ukitake patted Kyoraku on the back and rested a hand on Zaraki's upper arm, face bright and comforting with a grateful, relieved smile. He raised a heavy brow, and then leaned back in his chair without taking a single sip.
As the door to his office came to a definite shut, Yamamoto let out a long, drawn-out sigh and tilted his head to the right, eyes closed, all too aware that his right arm was nothing but a mere stump at the shoulder.
Well, even though those three captains didn't honour their haori, even though the Gotei 13 had lost countless lives in the war, the Seireitei was now finally able to rest in peace with the knowledge that their arch-nemesis was gone once and for all. Yamamoto knew that he, and the rest of the captains, would stop at nothing, would sacrifice everything, for the safety of Soul Society.
And so, in spite of Yamamoto's irritation, he knew that he would have to close one eye and let the matter of the haori rest.
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Yamamoto-centric, Kenpachi, Byakuya, Shunsui, Ukitake and his two Third Seats veeeeeeeeery subtle hints of Kenpachi/Jushiro XD
Rating: PG
Word Count: 782
Summary: There are other things to worry about than three captains losing their haori.
A/N: Written for prompt #1: come the day of rest, Table 13, 5_prompts.
It was too fine a day to get mad over arrogant, clumsy, lazy captains, and Yamamoto knew that far better than anyone in that room.
Yet still he sat there, with his walking stick grasped in his right arm so tightly that his knuckles burned stark white against his gnarled, liver-spotted skin. He was all too aware of his spiritual pressure, enveloping and smothering the room. The atmosphere was dense and thick with his energy, and though he could faintly sense those that belonged to the three captains standing before him, his effortlessly dwarfed theirs.
He had been at it for gods-knew-how-long, glaring at them when he couldn't find any words to say, yelling at them when he couldn't take the sight of their smug faces.
Kyoraku, once his student, and yet there he was, with that lopsided grin of apology that Yamamoto just couldn't stand. He may possess the incurable disease of being a constant skirt-chaser, but Yamamoto hadn't expected him to lose his captain's haori.
Kuchiki, too, hadn't the personality nor attitude to place himself among Yamamoto's guesses, but then there he stood, deeming the haori "cheap" and thinking that he could replace it with a new one.
And there was Zaraki. Yamamoto had already expected as much, what with his tendency to emerge from a battle clad in his uniform so torn that it could well be the rags he once wore when he took his first step into the Seireitei.
But still, Yamamoto had hoped he could at least show some regret at losing it. He didn't. Neither of them did, and that drove Yamamoto beyond his limit. The captain's haori was as important as one's zanpakuto and it presented the status of a shinigami, the rank a shinigami straddled. It showed that one was the leader of a division, the individual who called the shots, the one to lead his squad into battle and the one to command his underlings to victory.
These youngsters…
Yamamoto slammed the base of his walking stick to the floor. The harsh sound reverberated through the room, but none of them made even the slightest movement of surprise. They knew better.
"I've had enough of you three." He waved the stick at them, still glaring through an opened eye. "Leave now before I tell my lieutenant to assign you more paperwork than you can handle." He hit the edge of his desk when he saw Zaraki throw a menacing look at Sasakibe.
"All right, all right," Zaraki waved a dismissive hand and scoffed, "don't get yer panties all in a knot, old man. Ye've got yer missin' arm to worry 'bout."
Yamamoto seethed. Kyoraku, who could use his brain once in a while, pulled his comrade out before he could say more degrading words. Kuchiki bowed, as if trying to redeem himself, and stepped lightly towards the exit.
Outside, he could see that Ukitake was sitting on the floor by the side of the hallway with his two Third Seats flanking him. At least he was responsible. Yamamoto had half the mind to assign him to teach the three captains proper ethics and their responsibility of caring for the prestigious haori.
The great captain reached for the cup of steaming tea that Sasakibe just settled down on the desk before him. He lifted it to his lips, blew off the steam and watched through the fading white as Ukitake patted Kyoraku on the back and rested a hand on Zaraki's upper arm, face bright and comforting with a grateful, relieved smile. He raised a heavy brow, and then leaned back in his chair without taking a single sip.
As the door to his office came to a definite shut, Yamamoto let out a long, drawn-out sigh and tilted his head to the right, eyes closed, all too aware that his right arm was nothing but a mere stump at the shoulder.
Well, even though those three captains didn't honour their haori, even though the Gotei 13 had lost countless lives in the war, the Seireitei was now finally able to rest in peace with the knowledge that their arch-nemesis was gone once and for all. Yamamoto knew that he, and the rest of the captains, would stop at nothing, would sacrifice everything, for the safety of Soul Society.
And so, in spite of Yamamoto's irritation, he knew that he would have to close one eye and let the matter of the haori rest.