Characters: Kisuke, Ururu, Nemu
Summary: What happens when a single variable is altered.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: no spoilers
Timeline: no timeline needed
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
It's remarkable, truly remarkable, the similarities found between them. Kisuke wonders if his and Mayuri's minds were somehow unknowingly in-sync when they each came up with the idea.
This is the cord that holds them all together, the two "daughters" who are so incredibly similar—when Kisuke looks at Kurotsuchi Nemu it's almost impossible not to see his own Tsumugiya Ururu reflected in her. A bizarre accident of fate produces two girls who are imperfect but nearly identical reflections of each other.
But there are disparities, naturally—it's not like Kisuke and Mayuri collaborated on their separate projects so of course there will be points of difference. And those variations, he notes clinically with a scientist's detachment, are justly striking.
It comes in the eyes and radiates out to everything that follows after. Kisuke doesn't see in Nemu's deceptively bright emerald eyes what he does in Ururu's equally deceptively dull, deep blue eyes. He doesn't see life shining like it does in Ururu. In fact, he barely sees life in her at all.
Instead, there is a gaping emptiness like a Hollow's hole, as the abyss of divergence in the two girls were made rises forth and raises its head, yawning like a lion woken from sleep.
Kisuke marvels that one simple variable can produce such startlingly different results, but considering that it's Mayuri who shaped Nemu, it's probably not half as simple as it outwardly appears.
Ururu has been brought up to be human and feeling and oh so bending. Nemu, simply, has not. She was not raised to be human, was not raised to feel. She wasn't raised to look at herself as an individual independent of Mayuri's will, so she doesn't. Instead, all she sees staring back in the mirror is an extension of Kurotsuchi Mayuri and his bidding.
Ururu is a sweet, sensitive, easily excited girl. Her tears come easily, emotions bubbling to the fore at the drop of a hat. Where Ururu has no walls Nemu builds them up and bolsters them, piles them on, shunts the feelings that still exist despite all intent behind those walls, and lies down like a suppliant or truthfully more like a doormat to subject herself to her father's will.
But for all their divergences, they are still fundamentally the same, bound by fine but indestructible lengths of cord.
With more than a little fascination, Kisuke observes the results reached by the changing of a single, breathtakingly simple variable.
So this is what arises when one child is treated as a daughter, and the other as a tool.