Strawberry Saxophonist~

A random drabble from a bored musician on vacation. Too bad baritone saxophones are too big to fit in carry on luggage.. ):

I don't own Bleach's characters. That all goes to the brilliant Tite Kubo.

As the orange haired teen dragged the case along the beaten street, it didn't make sense. What had brought him to this point? His over inflated ego most likely. At first he though, he could make it work... But he soon realized the simple fact that, no matter how much he wanted to, he was never going to just make a paycheck. Setting the case on the ground and undoing the hinges, his breath sent out puffs into the chilly morning air. How lucky he was to remember to wear the damn coat.

Opening the large case he pulled out a glimmering masterpiece of a saxophone. New and well taken care of it was. Good pads, extra reeds; a professional model. Reeds? Yes reeds. As he pulled out the large baritone saxophone he was generally ignored by passersby, just another standard street performer he was to them. But it was the truth. He was just another street performer down on his luck, hoping to make a few bucks, and entertain himself a bit. Putting the strap that held up the saxophone around his neck, he put the neck piece and the mouthpiece together, along with attaching the reed to the mouthpiece. Making sure everything was together, he hefted it up and tested a few of the keys.

Finally ready, he did a few scales. The passersby were mostly uninterested as he was doing scales. The deepest baritone sounds to the higher sounds coming out of the large gleaming instrument filling the cold air. The air the orange haired musician was putting out making him warm up just a bit more. Stopping for a second, he caught his breath, and set off into a whole new type of playing.

Into the first riff of memorized melodies his fingers moved like lightning. Incomprehensible by anyone else his trained practiced fingers moved up and down the body of the saxophone making rhythms and new entire songs. Soon, he wasn't playing memorized riffs anymore, he was winging it. Playing scales and then changing them up sound interesting wasn't too hard to the trained musician, he went to school for this, he had wanted to make an actual paycheck doing so.

The first reward came when woman dropped a quarter in the open case and walked away. He almost wanted to stop and thank to woman, but when she walked away, he resisted. Some children -obviously dragged past with force- pleaded with their passing parents, "We want to listen to the orange haired man!" they called. But he, oh he knew, they wouldn't make time to stop. It would take to much time out of their busy lives to stop, even for a second.

He didn't stop playing. Soon the melodies became something that just came out, and his mind started to wander. At one point, he used one hand and switched between octaves on the upper three keys and put on his hood to give some heat to his ears. Even though, the way he was playing, there wasn't much reason to be cold. Finally, after a long time of playing, he stopped to catch his breath, grab a bottle of water out of his bag, and take a gulp of it.

Maybe just some time to readjust his reed a bit, seeing the excessive playing had put it out of place a bit. His breath was still visible when he breathed out, but it didn't feel cold anymore. His blood was worked up from the constant playing and he couldn't have felt any warmer in mid November.

People stared but again, went along their non-concerning ways. Until he started playing again. He started putting little surprises in his rhythms and melodies, throwing off the normal by a octave hop here and there or an unexpected shriek that some wouldn't think a saxophone couldn't make. He was stepping it up a notch, and he knew it. Taking more and time thinking out his next surprise and rhythm, his thoughts were less wandered; he didn't observe the people so much as he fell into the music. Closed his eyes, and mused in his world. His own personal world of the melody and the instrument.

That's especially why he didn't notice the short raven-haired girl standing there, giving him a curious look, and placing a 5 dollar bill into the case. Though this time, she didn't leave; she stood in the cold air, tugging at her coat to keep her warmer, her breath showing in the cold air.

"You're amazing." she finally said, breaking the silence. Though it wasn't really silence, the sweet rich tunes of a deep reed instrument had been filling the air the entire time.

He stopped playing and stared for a second, taking in what she had said. It was worth more than the pile of money that had accumulated in the case. It was acknowledgement, and acknowledgement was worth anything to a failed musician.

"How do your fingers move like that?" she asked, intrigued. "I didn't even know that was humanly possible." she tilted her head to one side, and he gave her a curious stare.

"How long have you been watching?" he asked, his voice sounding a bit low, like he hadn't been speaking for hours, which was actually true.

"For awhile." she replied, smiling.

In a world lost in the music, he could now agree, there were always some who appreciated and acknowledged.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"Ichigo Kurosaki." he answered, then asking her, "How about you?"

"Rukia Kuchiki."

Heck, being a street performer wasn't all that bad.