Making up for my recent, very long-winded fic, I present for your (dis)approval my experiment in terseness. I think it stands on its own quite well.
Unsettling Chill
Wordcount: 100 words, baby!
Spoilers/Warnings: None / slightly gruesome?
He had been splattered with it, soaked in it, sprayed by it. It rained down on him and dried beneath his fingernails, leaving a dark red grit that was difficult to remove and more difficult to explain away.
He once asked her, was this normal? "Of course," she said coolly, "what would you expect from the manifestations of dead people's instincts?"
It made sense. As everything about them was backward and contorted, sick and twisted, why wouldn't this be warped somehow?
Yet despite Ichigo's frequent encounters with it, he never grew used to the fact that Hollow blood is cold.