Title: Sad Girl In Snow
Author: Pax
Featuring: pre-Ichigo/Rukia
Genre: Not-quite romance.
Words: 780.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Light language. We are spending some time in Ichigo's head, after all.
Notes: Written for Day 1 of the Seven-Day Drabble Challenge for Rukia's Birthday at the IchiRuki Livejournal community. . Object: snow.
Disclaimer: I own my laptop. Everything else belongs to Kubo Tite and Viz.
Ichigo hates Psychology. He thinks this to himself as he struggles to get through his reading for the week on cultural phenomena and information packets, sitting at his desk, when snow is falling outside and a warm bed awaits. He never really wanted to take the class; he just had a blank spot in his schedule, and figured this would be an easy A. He was wrong. He doesn't get half this stuff, which all seems to be oddly objective and subjective at the same time, and which has done nothing to help him understand why he appears to have a sideways city in his head. It's useless, but the Hollows have been quiet lately, Yuzu and Karin are making a snowman, and Rukia's out doing some damn thing with Orihime and Tatsuki, so Psychology it is.
As he turns to the tenth page of a twenty-page assignment and begins the section on memes, he begins to think that "hate" may not be a strong enough word. Loathe. Despise. Abominate, maybe. Anathemize. Abhor. Yeah, abhor is good. He gets through the basic definition, which seems to focus on popular culture and ideas as units which replicate for the sake of replication, rather than for any usefulness, which explains why he won't remember this in the morning and will remember that the theme song to Ghost Bust, and starts in on the examples section, which he knows from past experience is where he'll actually begin to understand what the hell his book's talking about. He reads about racism, jingles, conspiracy theories, and jokes, and finally gets to the last example.
"Though the study of memes is fairly recent, the idea of themes in art and the human subconscious is eternal, as can be seen in the prevalence of "Sad Girl in Snow" in art and modern culture. Named after an 1840 woodcut, the style appears as a conscious visual reference in many anime, manga, and webcomics, but is based on an ancient archetype of male desire for an attractive girl with a hint of sadness and vulnerability which appeals to male's protective instinct. In this example, the cold, sad girl seems to need warmth and comfort."
Ichigo shoves the book back on his desk, falling backwards in his chair as he does so. He picks himself up with the windowsill, panting a little. His textbook – attractive – MALE PROTECTIVE INSTINCT? It's a book! It's not supposed to talk about, you know, sex and things! Plus, who'd like some chick too dumb to come in from the cold anyhow?
He turns to open the window – Rukia said she'd be back about now – and looks outside at the snow, trying to visualize it, to pick up the meme. Some small, fragile girl – black hair, big eyes, white dress the color of the snow, blending in, not standing out – trembling there, in the cold, needing someone to protect her. He looks down the street, to the corner streetlamp, and pictures her there, waiting, alone in the pool of light for her knight in shining armor to swoop down and rescue her. Or maybe they could be on a bridge, or in midair, or -
Then the pool of light is disturbed, as Rukia rounds the corner in her bright red coat, moving briskly as always, ten pounds of powder in a five-pound keg. The snow falls around her as she moves, with her customary predatory grace, but doesn't seem to dare settle on her. Ichigo wonders for a second what she'd look like as "Sad Girl In Snow," if she'd ever stop moving long enough, then jumps back against his desk as Rukia leaps the ten feet straight up to his window, her purchases in hand.
"Ich-i-go! Move faster next time; you were in my way," she says in her normal voice, not the sing-song sappy school voice. Snow had dared to land on her; it covers her coat and frosts her black hair, but is already melting all over his floor as she sheds her layers and dumps her bags on the floor. "Anyway, look what I got!" She dives into the bags and pulls out something, whirling around to show it off with glee.
It's a white dress, the color of the snow – a sundress, gauzy and floaty, with these layers things around the hem that don't seem to serve any purpose.
Ichigo babbles, caught off guard. "Isn't it too cold for that now?"
"Of course, baka, that's why it was on sale! What're you doing, anyway?"
"Psychology," Ichigo grunts, and slams the book shut before she can see the woodcut of the delicate girl in the snow. Dumb idea. Who'd want a girl like that anyhow?