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Drinking Bleach Again.
Haven't done this in awhile.
He asked the obvious question. He had to. It would’ve been a crime against humanity not to.
It was worth it to see the way Rukia huffed herself up into a stiff little pole of offense at the silly human’s silly human questions. She readied her fanciest ‘and now I am going to explain it to you foolish idiotic mortal who has not even half of my years and experience’ face, still looking characteristically snotty under the make-up. She folded her arms with a flap of her voluminous sleeves, and gave her hair an imperious toss. It rattled.
“Fool,” she said, “These ornaments are the pinnacle of fashion among the Great Noble Houses. They are Kuchiki family heirlooms. Lesser nobility,” she emphasized the ‘lesser’ part with relish, “Can only attempt pitiful recreations of such valued and beautiful artifacts!”
...which explained a lot about some of the locals, Ichigo realized. “I think I noticed that,” he said. “And…?”
Her toe met his shin. “They are not called ‘hair dangly thingamabobs’s.”
“Okay,” said Ichigo, when the throbbing pain had faded enough that his vocabulary no longer consisted of choice swear words. “So. Putting on the Ritz, eh?”
“Yes,” said Rukia, knowledgably.
“You have no idea what I just said.”
He wasn’t sure where the fan came from; it just popped out from under the flow of her sleeve. Whatever the means, it had emerged for the sole purpose of being snapped open in a superior fashion. Rukia fluttered it near her cheek, covering one side of her mouth as it curved smugly. “Oh ho. What do you take me for? I am better versed in modern human custom than all in my division.”
“That so?”
Rukia shifted the fan her chin, and tipped her head over it solemnly, a presumably more ladylike modesty. She jangled. “There will indeed be crackers.”
“What’s with the hair crap, Rukia.”
He leaned out of the way of the fan’s side slash. A lamp that was not so smart about its evasion tactics fell in two halves across the walkway.
“What’s with the ornamental hair crap, Rukia.”
“You have hardly earned this knowledge,” sniffed the shinigami, as she removed her elbow from his gut, “But as I cannot have you be an embarrassment to me under these formal circumstances, I shall tell you. A very important guest is arriving in Soul Society today.” Ichigo began to smirk. She glared at him. “Yes. A ‘VIP’, in your terms. And before you ask an embarrassingly foolish question, I will answer this as well: it is a matter of diplomacy. Gods favor a certain amount of tradition. We are children, in comparison. We must humor them.”
“Humor them,” said Ichigo.
“They are very old fashioned,” sighed Rukia.
“Humor the Gods,” said Ichigo.
“A God, yes,” said Rukia, who was beginning to lose taste in the conversation.
“A God coming today.”
“That is what I said!”
“And I believe that! Completely! That’s totally not a whole load of bull at all! ….except NOT.” For lack of a table to throw in incredulity, Ichigo settled for kicking up the remains of the lantern. “The hell am I supposed to believe that, Rukia!”
“By remembering that you are currently standing in the land of the dead.”
…she might’ve had a point, there. But Ichigo wasn’t going to admit this. Couldn’t really blame a guy for having some problems with the concept, could you? Just because a guy had fought a few maneating ghosts and happened to be a substitute God of Death didn’t mean he knew everything, right?
Ichigo settled for a happy medium in this situation.
“…still not seeing where the dangly ornamental hair crap comes in.”
And after she’d kicked him out for being an insubordinate fool Ichigo stood alone in one of the thousand courtyards in Seireitei, really wishing they’d think harder about putting tourist kiosks every block or two. True, the streets had a tendency to drift when people weren’t looking, and roads that led one place one day would lead to another the next, but a sign here and there couldn’t hurt. Daylight seemed to work similarly in this place. For one thing, he could’ve sworn it was sunset a minute ago. Looking up, there was a noon sun now hanging in the middle of a clear blue sky. Ichigo sighed, turn a corner, and promptly ran into someone.
“… okay,” said Ichigo, stepping back. He put his hands up and looked straight ahead. “I know how this works. This is Yuzu's bedtime shoujo. I say ‘Gods? Pah.’ And then I go out and bump into someone. Probably some randomly pure hearted person who’s got a 75% chance of being a girl. And that girl I bump into will like, make me show her around town, maybe drag me to have some life changing realizations about myself, and then at the end of the day some big guys’ll come along and be all ‘YOUR EXCELLENCY’. And look who’s WRONG. That’s what’s about to happen, isn’t it!” Ichigo looked down. “Hi,” he said.
The large white dog cocked its head at him.
“… goddamnit,” said Ichigo.
He asked the obvious question. He had to. It would’ve been a crime against humanity not to.
It was worth it to see the way Rukia huffed herself up into a stiff little pole of offense at the silly human’s silly human questions. She readied her fanciest ‘and now I am going to explain it to you foolish idiotic mortal who has not even half of my years and experience’ face, still looking characteristically snotty under the make-up. She folded her arms with a flap of her voluminous sleeves, and gave her hair an imperious toss. It rattled.
“Fool,” she said, “These ornaments are the pinnacle of fashion among the Great Noble Houses. They are Kuchiki family heirlooms. Lesser nobility,” she emphasized the ‘lesser’ part with relish, “Can only attempt pitiful recreations of such valued and beautiful artifacts!”
...which explained a lot about some of the locals, Ichigo realized. “I think I noticed that,” he said. “And…?”
Her toe met his shin. “They are not called ‘hair dangly thingamabobs’s.”
“Okay,” said Ichigo, when the throbbing pain had faded enough that his vocabulary no longer consisted of choice swear words. “So. Putting on the Ritz, eh?”
“Yes,” said Rukia, knowledgably.
“You have no idea what I just said.”
He wasn’t sure where the fan came from; it just popped out from under the flow of her sleeve. Whatever the means, it had emerged for the sole purpose of being snapped open in a superior fashion. Rukia fluttered it near her cheek, covering one side of her mouth as it curved smugly. “Oh ho. What do you take me for? I am better versed in modern human custom than all in my division.”
“That so?”
Rukia shifted the fan her chin, and tipped her head over it solemnly, a presumably more ladylike modesty. She jangled. “There will indeed be crackers.”
“What’s with the hair crap, Rukia.”
He leaned out of the way of the fan’s side slash. A lamp that was not so smart about its evasion tactics fell in two halves across the walkway.
“What’s with the ornamental hair crap, Rukia.”
“You have hardly earned this knowledge,” sniffed the shinigami, as she removed her elbow from his gut, “But as I cannot have you be an embarrassment to me under these formal circumstances, I shall tell you. A very important guest is arriving in Soul Society today.” Ichigo began to smirk. She glared at him. “Yes. A ‘VIP’, in your terms. And before you ask an embarrassingly foolish question, I will answer this as well: it is a matter of diplomacy. Gods favor a certain amount of tradition. We are children, in comparison. We must humor them.”
“Humor them,” said Ichigo.
“They are very old fashioned,” sighed Rukia.
“Humor the Gods,” said Ichigo.
“A God, yes,” said Rukia, who was beginning to lose taste in the conversation.
“A God coming today.”
“That is what I said!”
“And I believe that! Completely! That’s totally not a whole load of bull at all! ….except NOT.” For lack of a table to throw in incredulity, Ichigo settled for kicking up the remains of the lantern. “The hell am I supposed to believe that, Rukia!”
“By remembering that you are currently standing in the land of the dead.”
…she might’ve had a point, there. But Ichigo wasn’t going to admit this. Couldn’t really blame a guy for having some problems with the concept, could you? Just because a guy had fought a few maneating ghosts and happened to be a substitute God of Death didn’t mean he knew everything, right?
Ichigo settled for a happy medium in this situation.
“…still not seeing where the dangly ornamental hair crap comes in.”
And after she’d kicked him out for being an insubordinate fool Ichigo stood alone in one of the thousand courtyards in Seireitei, really wishing they’d think harder about putting tourist kiosks every block or two. True, the streets had a tendency to drift when people weren’t looking, and roads that led one place one day would lead to another the next, but a sign here and there couldn’t hurt. Daylight seemed to work similarly in this place. For one thing, he could’ve sworn it was sunset a minute ago. Looking up, there was a noon sun now hanging in the middle of a clear blue sky. Ichigo sighed, turn a corner, and promptly ran into someone.
“… okay,” said Ichigo, stepping back. He put his hands up and looked straight ahead. “I know how this works. This is Yuzu's bedtime shoujo. I say ‘Gods? Pah.’ And then I go out and bump into someone. Probably some randomly pure hearted person who’s got a 75% chance of being a girl. And that girl I bump into will like, make me show her around town, maybe drag me to have some life changing realizations about myself, and then at the end of the day some big guys’ll come along and be all ‘YOUR EXCELLENCY’. And look who’s WRONG. That’s what’s about to happen, isn’t it!” Ichigo looked down. “Hi,” he said.
The large white dog cocked its head at him.
“… goddamnit,” said Ichigo.