Clockwork is... a bad person. But we knew that. And she doesn't own much, believe me. Only borrowing Bleach for a little while, promise I'll return it. So here's the shunsui-nanao LJ community 100 themes as presented by clockwork starlight. They will all be in some form of disarray. Because organizational skills are so not going on my resume. D'ya get the feeling this is the start of something terrifying?

Theme 67: And then there is you

Ise Nanao is a list person. It's not that surprising, is it? If something bothers her, if there is something she needed to do, if there is something interesting happening five meters away, she has to catalogue, index and cross reference it in her head.

And certainly, Captain Kyoraku Shunsui takes up most of that internal database. There is no point in numbering his faults, the peeve ranking changes from hour to hour.

There's the drinking. The endless consumption of poison. (She realizes studies from the living world do not usually apply to entities that have moved beyond, but if alcohol retains the ability to cause inebriation, isn't it better to be safe rather than sorry?) It makes him act like more of a fool than usual. What little restraint he has goes out the window, and she is hard pressed to keep him somewhere near the boundaries of decorum. She has filed the fact that the smell of sake tickles her nose (and makes her more aware of the underlying scent of masculinity in his presence) as number 12 under 'Stupid, Useless Information That Will Never, Ever Come To Light If I Have To Give Myself Amnesia With My Own Book To Keep It That Way'. It's above her silent agreement with Rangiku that Hitsugaya is going to grow up and be a lady killer, and below her private concession to liking confetti candy as much as Kusajishi-fukutaichou.

There's the refusal to do anything resembling productivity. Yes, it is boring, and sometimes even she wants to 'accidentally' knock a jar of sake over the piles of paperwork littering her desk just so she could say sorry and get the hell out, but she never does. She acknowledges the responsibilities that come with her position, which is something she can only say of her captain once in a blue moon. He maintains he is a pacifist, not a pencil pusher, but that he might change his mind, as no one ever hounds Zaraki-taichou about accounts. If he even thinks about spiking his hair, she will not hesitate to pound his head into the ground. For the sake of Seireitei of course. They don't need another bloodthirsty maniac running around, especially not one with bankai and a drinking problem.

And then there is…

"Cute, cute Nanao-chan?"

"Yes, Kyoraku-taichou?" She expects him to request she refill his cup, and then proceed to coo over how lucky he is to have his lovely lieutenant play geisha for him.

"Against my will, Eighth Division has been ordered to help eliminate the ryoka problem. There's just one thing…"

And then there is you.

Yes, it is surprising that the intruders have managed to escape capture this long, even more surprising that they are fighting shinigami and still remaining elusive. Certainly it is alarming that captains are allowed to use their bankai if necessary to take care of the problem. But for him to ask that she… That is the most dismaying thing she has to deal with right now. But she can't say 'no', not when those eyes have dimmed their twinkle for her, when her captain is looking at her so somberly, so seriously for such a… That's just it, isn't it? She can't say 'No, Kyoraku-taichou, I would rather kiss Hitsugaya-taichou and suffer through the frostbite than that', because she will do it, and she knows she won't be locking lips with Rangiku's boy any time ever.

She'll do it, she said she would, and she always keeps her word, especially since she promised him. Yes, she'll do it, but he won't be focusing the intense velvet of his gaze on her when she does, so she'll be free to mix in marbles to throw at him, or whatever other mischief she can concoct for her revenge.

What a waste of foliage, she thinks to herself as she unsheathes a pair of stilettos. It's his fault, his fault he's so ridiculous, his fault she doesn't mind, his fault she caves so easily. She leaps into the air. The haori, the hat, that invasively intimate way of addressing her, the secret pleasure she keeps, knowing that she at least, gets to hear those words day in and day out. She wields the blades with surgical precision, shattering each bloom through its center. It's for him though, so she doesn't think about how many lovesick girls will find all the blossoms here already plucked, petals counted, judgment withheld. She watches dispassionately as members of her division run about catching the scarlet slivers in sheets before dumping them in the excessively large basket he has provided her. It may be petty, but if she has to do this ridiculous thing for him, it's only fair his division make fools of themselves for her.

There is a mound of blush red petals lying in the basket. Not enough, she thinks. Even if it is an asinine assignment, it is an assignment, and Ise Nanao always exceeds expectations. She leaps into the air again, keeping count of how many flowers fracture by her blades. It's because she's a list person, she likes knowing exactly, precisely, with no error. It is most assuredly not because her mind can't stop reciting 'he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me' with each stroke.