December Flashfic for hashire
Title: Vanishing Point
Author's Name: overtoned
Recipient’s Name: hashire
Pairing/Character: Ishida+/Rukia
Rating: PG
Warning: This time's flashfic was really, hard. D: This was the only pairing I was remotely capable of writing, and I'm afraid I haven't done a very good job.
Author's Note: This is my last time participating in bleach_flashfic. Thank you everyone, it's been really, really fun. But I think I've just about run out of steam and ability. :) hashire, I hope you like this. I really did try. :>
♥ to porter [ancha_289] for the beta~!
They never had a proper introduction. Never expected one, never needed one. He knew what she was the minute she stepped into the room, spirit ribbons of red snaking faintly from her gigai, carefully suppressed.
A shinigami living in the human realm, he mused, seething a little, interesting.
He reached into the air and threaded his needle with them, pushing the scarlet frays into the cloth of the doll he was mending. In and out.
"My name is Kuchiki Rukia!" she beamed, her voice warbling and high, "and I'm a transfer student. Pleased to meet you all!"
He could see her ridiculous grin out of the corner of his eyes. Her stature was small and not overbearing, her waist a little more slender than average. Nothing about her resembled a fighter or a killer. Not even with the trace of sword calluses hinting from the softness of her hands.
She'd look good in white, he decided. Maybe a cape.
**
The town was fucking mad.
It had angered her a little to discover that she'd been sent to guard a town that was overflowing with reiatsu. Nothing could go wrong here, she had believed. Not with former captains and powerful lords residing in every other block. But of course, she was wrong. When the first Hollow struck, she had learned otherwise quickly.
She had half-expected him, or maybe him, but at least him to step out of hiding and defend his territory. But no, it had only been her, the Hollow, and the bright cratered moon. Not that she minded. The showdown had lasted scant seconds and, as she landed gracefully onto ground, she became convinced that others were watching. People who hid in the shadows and watched her complete her order like they would watch children at play.
Not even the dust had shifted below her feet. She sheathed her sword indignantly and half-considered taking a bow.
**
He kept his window open at night because he liked the night sky. He only drew back his curtains because he loved the moon and stars, appreciating their poetic peacefulness. He was a connoisseur, an aficionado of things of beauty and value. Besides, it allowed a good, natural sky light for crocheting. From time to time he would hear a dull, muffled thud, and other times a small, slim figure would skip-leap across the horizons.
So they were nocturnal.
He kept his eyes at the window during the day, too.
"Ishida-kun," Inoue smiled warmly as she approached his desk. "Are you going to club after school today?"
"Of course," he answered, recovering quickly and blushing slightly from embarrassment. She beamed back at him. Outside, a streak of black made its way across the sky. It made his fingers itch.
**
She would like to reiterate the level of crazy this town was, thank you very much.
(There were Quincies here.)
The food came in strange packaging, the people came in strange packaging, and now she was beginning to feel packaged as well. (Though this dress was rather nice.)
(There were Quincies here.)
And it didn't help at all that a crazy kid made relentless fun at her every moment he could. She'd once considered breaking his face with the point of her fist. Now, it didn't even occur to her to think before she did so. Sure, he had a big sword. He could swing it around and do pretty things with it, too. But he was still a stupid, immature, snot-face of a boy: Can’t make a compliment worth shit; can’t take a compliment any more; sashaying through life like an evil, tyrannical landlord that owns her living quarters. (But really he was just a silly boy with an endearing but sorely inflated ego.)
Oh, and there were Quincies here.
She decided to stop expecting what she had been expecting. In fact, she made it a goal to unexpect everything she previously had taken for granted. Maybe this was why involving herself with the ones she was supposed to protect ran somewhere along the lines of "not a good idea". But she would be gone from here soon, she figured, her real body would be healed and back, and she’ll wipe their memories so cleanly that their minds will sparkle.
**
Womenfolk were always more work than they let themselves seem. That was the deceptive part. He finished his multi-variable calculus homework, cleaned his desk, and made ready his backpack for tomorrow. Missing school was not an option.
The window had been closed for days because he knew she wouldn't be out at night anymore. Not out in the way he had remembered her to be. But tonight he opened the panes anyway, allowing himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he can catch a streak of black in the late night sky.
It would make things so much easier.
But, he sighed, Uryuu, you're an idiot. The night was peaceful and calm and normal-other than those two horribly strong presences of reiatsu, he noted. And she was probably out alone, doing something stupid again.
It was time to visit a craft store, he decided. The clock struck one when he closed the door behind him.
**
What? She thought, angry and grateful and horribly, horribly frightened for h- what?
He finished his ridiculous monologue and proceeded to assemble his bow. She watched him incredulously as he challenged Abarai Renji, fukutaicho of the sixth division, a person who would greatly enjoy ripping his ass, to a duel.
There were so many things she would like to erase with this picture.
Yet, for all his valiant words, she hoped he would put up a good fight. And despite her torrents of terror and confusion, she couldn't help but cheer for him, just a little.
**
This was immensely embarrassing, he must say, and he would be scarlet with shame had he not been losing so much blood.
He watched Kurosaki Ichigo take on the man while his chin propped awkwardly on the cement floor. He couldn't recall seeing anybody with a worse sense of fashion than that shinigami bastard, from the tip of his horrible hair to the ink of his tacky tattoos. The visor had potential, he noted reluctantly, but it was far from redeeming, of course.
He listed these details to himself to distract himself from the pain and the shame and the agitation resulting from his disabled state. When he ran out of things to fault the man for, he turned to her. He was awestruck-no, amused- momentarily, by the range of emotions that made her faux body seem almost real. He wanted to take these expressions and isolate them in time and sculptures to show her: look, you can put a lace scarf here and a string of beads there and these final touches can make the perfection of your performance. He scoffed at his incoherency, feeling his thoughts float around in a disoriented manner from the blood loss and pain and the numbing taps of raindrops beginning to fall on his head.
So they were going to lose, he knew, because he was a realistic fighter. Kurosaki was strong, but compared to that other man with the hairpieces? Hopeless.
Like as not he would ever see them again.
He quietly bid them good night before drifting off into a semi-state of unconsciousness.
Bravo.
**
Fools, she thought, the spirit doors closing behind her. They had all been such tragic fools.
end.
x-posted to abitofvineger
Author's Name: overtoned
Recipient’s Name: hashire
Pairing/Character: Ishida+/Rukia
Rating: PG
Warning: This time's flashfic was really, hard. D: This was the only pairing I was remotely capable of writing, and I'm afraid I haven't done a very good job.
Author's Note: This is my last time participating in bleach_flashfic. Thank you everyone, it's been really, really fun. But I think I've just about run out of steam and ability. :) hashire, I hope you like this. I really did try. :>
♥ to porter [ancha_289] for the beta~!
They never had a proper introduction. Never expected one, never needed one. He knew what she was the minute she stepped into the room, spirit ribbons of red snaking faintly from her gigai, carefully suppressed.
A shinigami living in the human realm, he mused, seething a little, interesting.
He reached into the air and threaded his needle with them, pushing the scarlet frays into the cloth of the doll he was mending. In and out.
"My name is Kuchiki Rukia!" she beamed, her voice warbling and high, "and I'm a transfer student. Pleased to meet you all!"
He could see her ridiculous grin out of the corner of his eyes. Her stature was small and not overbearing, her waist a little more slender than average. Nothing about her resembled a fighter or a killer. Not even with the trace of sword calluses hinting from the softness of her hands.
She'd look good in white, he decided. Maybe a cape.
**
The town was fucking mad.
It had angered her a little to discover that she'd been sent to guard a town that was overflowing with reiatsu. Nothing could go wrong here, she had believed. Not with former captains and powerful lords residing in every other block. But of course, she was wrong. When the first Hollow struck, she had learned otherwise quickly.
She had half-expected him, or maybe him, but at least him to step out of hiding and defend his territory. But no, it had only been her, the Hollow, and the bright cratered moon. Not that she minded. The showdown had lasted scant seconds and, as she landed gracefully onto ground, she became convinced that others were watching. People who hid in the shadows and watched her complete her order like they would watch children at play.
Not even the dust had shifted below her feet. She sheathed her sword indignantly and half-considered taking a bow.
**
He kept his window open at night because he liked the night sky. He only drew back his curtains because he loved the moon and stars, appreciating their poetic peacefulness. He was a connoisseur, an aficionado of things of beauty and value. Besides, it allowed a good, natural sky light for crocheting. From time to time he would hear a dull, muffled thud, and other times a small, slim figure would skip-leap across the horizons.
So they were nocturnal.
He kept his eyes at the window during the day, too.
"Ishida-kun," Inoue smiled warmly as she approached his desk. "Are you going to club after school today?"
"Of course," he answered, recovering quickly and blushing slightly from embarrassment. She beamed back at him. Outside, a streak of black made its way across the sky. It made his fingers itch.
**
She would like to reiterate the level of crazy this town was, thank you very much.
(There were Quincies here.)
The food came in strange packaging, the people came in strange packaging, and now she was beginning to feel packaged as well. (Though this dress was rather nice.)
(There were Quincies here.)
And it didn't help at all that a crazy kid made relentless fun at her every moment he could. She'd once considered breaking his face with the point of her fist. Now, it didn't even occur to her to think before she did so. Sure, he had a big sword. He could swing it around and do pretty things with it, too. But he was still a stupid, immature, snot-face of a boy: Can’t make a compliment worth shit; can’t take a compliment any more; sashaying through life like an evil, tyrannical landlord that owns her living quarters. (But really he was just a silly boy with an endearing but sorely inflated ego.)
Oh, and there were Quincies here.
She decided to stop expecting what she had been expecting. In fact, she made it a goal to unexpect everything she previously had taken for granted. Maybe this was why involving herself with the ones she was supposed to protect ran somewhere along the lines of "not a good idea". But she would be gone from here soon, she figured, her real body would be healed and back, and she’ll wipe their memories so cleanly that their minds will sparkle.
**
Womenfolk were always more work than they let themselves seem. That was the deceptive part. He finished his multi-variable calculus homework, cleaned his desk, and made ready his backpack for tomorrow. Missing school was not an option.
The window had been closed for days because he knew she wouldn't be out at night anymore. Not out in the way he had remembered her to be. But tonight he opened the panes anyway, allowing himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he can catch a streak of black in the late night sky.
It would make things so much easier.
But, he sighed, Uryuu, you're an idiot. The night was peaceful and calm and normal-other than those two horribly strong presences of reiatsu, he noted. And she was probably out alone, doing something stupid again.
It was time to visit a craft store, he decided. The clock struck one when he closed the door behind him.
**
What? She thought, angry and grateful and horribly, horribly frightened for h- what?
He finished his ridiculous monologue and proceeded to assemble his bow. She watched him incredulously as he challenged Abarai Renji, fukutaicho of the sixth division, a person who would greatly enjoy ripping his ass, to a duel.
There were so many things she would like to erase with this picture.
Yet, for all his valiant words, she hoped he would put up a good fight. And despite her torrents of terror and confusion, she couldn't help but cheer for him, just a little.
**
This was immensely embarrassing, he must say, and he would be scarlet with shame had he not been losing so much blood.
He watched Kurosaki Ichigo take on the man while his chin propped awkwardly on the cement floor. He couldn't recall seeing anybody with a worse sense of fashion than that shinigami bastard, from the tip of his horrible hair to the ink of his tacky tattoos. The visor had potential, he noted reluctantly, but it was far from redeeming, of course.
He listed these details to himself to distract himself from the pain and the shame and the agitation resulting from his disabled state. When he ran out of things to fault the man for, he turned to her. He was awestruck-no, amused- momentarily, by the range of emotions that made her faux body seem almost real. He wanted to take these expressions and isolate them in time and sculptures to show her: look, you can put a lace scarf here and a string of beads there and these final touches can make the perfection of your performance. He scoffed at his incoherency, feeling his thoughts float around in a disoriented manner from the blood loss and pain and the numbing taps of raindrops beginning to fall on his head.
So they were going to lose, he knew, because he was a realistic fighter. Kurosaki was strong, but compared to that other man with the hairpieces? Hopeless.
Like as not he would ever see them again.
He quietly bid them good night before drifting off into a semi-state of unconsciousness.
Bravo.
**
Fools, she thought, the spirit doors closing behind her. They had all been such tragic fools.
end.
x-posted to abitofvineger