Glittering Purple Breezes

WARNING: contains much crack. Please bear this in mind. Thank you.

WARNINGII: a sequel is in order. In all due time...(i.e. when school's out)

Summary: Insights as to why the Eleventh Division is always either late or absent for almost everything.

A/N: okay, I know this isn't true, but I just can't shake it from my mind that they're the kind of people who don't know what a clock is and turn up based on pure instinct.

Disclaimer: I have officially run out of creative ways to inform you about how I own absolutely no bleach at all, caustic toilet cleaning detergent or otherwise. Maybe next time.

'AAAAAAAWRIGHT GUYS!' roared a harsh voice from a secluded corner of the Eleventh Division barracks. 'Morning exercise!' the voice bellowed, and the exclamation was promptly followed by a high-pitched giggle and the cries of many drunk and hungover men wielding swords.

Definitely not safe. But then, when were the Eleventh Division and Safe on the same page? As long as the Soutaichou never found out about their drunken morning rampages and the smashing of windows...

Amidst the war cries and sounds of shattering window panes, there was a slight flutter of glittering purple that was whisked away with the simple flick (or was it a mad swing?) of a sword.

'Yumichika!' Ikkaku howled.

'Yes?' answered a calm and composed voice from somewhere amongst the regular chaos. Ikkaku swore his friend was plastered to the ceiling for fear of an unwanted, assymmetrical haircut.

'You wearing anything purple today?'

'Nope. Why'd you ask?'

'HAAAAALT!' screeched the Third-seat of the infamous blood-shedding division. Every member duly froze where he was, with the exception of one pink blur, but that was a completely different issue. Whoever fed her that candy last night, was it Ukitake-taichou? He would most definitely pay, well, the next time they met.

Once he was assured that all eyes and ears were fixated on himself alone, Madarame Ikkaku spoke. 'Guys? I think we just smashed a Jigokuchou to bits.'

There was a short pause before a lone voice from the back said, in as civilised a manner as the Eleventh Division can get, 'what's done is done. We can't do anything about it. Whaddya say, Madarame-Daisanseki?'

And with a roar of approval, the chaos resumed.

o0o0o0o0o0o

'I wonder where the Eleventh Division went,' mused Unohana. 'We summoned them this morning, did we not?'

Kotetsu Isane nodded mutely, lighting a lamp and bringing it to the table.

'Isane?' the motherly Taichou asked softly.

'Yes?'

'Would you like some tea? Dinner was three hours ago.'

o0o0o0o0o0o

The meeting hall of the First Division currently contained twelve members of the Gotei 13. Yamamoto glared visciously into the empty space on the left side of the room between Tousen Kaname and the coughin Ukitake Jyuushirou. 'Something must be done about the Eleventh Division and their issue with punctuality,' he rumbled.

Everyone strained to interpret what was just said.

'I suggest that neighbouring divisions keep an eye out for-'

'I refuse,' Kurotsuchi and Hitsugaya chorused. There was also a slight mutter about being too young to die. Kyouraku instantaneously choked on his chuckle upon receiving a death glare and a sharp elbow from the vertically challenged Taichou of the Tenth.

The Soutaichou looked stunned. 'But surely, to maintain order in the Gotei-'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, sir,' interjected the pale-skinned Taichou of the Twelfth, 'but order will be maintained as long as we steer clear of the Eleventh Division.'

Floored, Yamamoto declared the meeting redundant and adjourned as he swept himself out of the door in the direction of the Eleventh Division.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The old bearded man carefully picked his away around what looked suspiciously like a mixture of smashed window panes and sake bottles in a futile attempt to get himself whole and unharmed to the doorway of the Eleventh Division.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the strongly reinforced door of the Eleventh, saying it was an uproar was probably an understatement.

'AWWWRIGHT YOU SISSIES!' bellowed a very large, very drunk member of the Eleventh Division. 'Come on and fight me if you dare!' he blubbered, taking a swig out of an empty sword sheath.

Meanwhile, Yumichika and Ikkaku were perched (or languishing, in Ikkaku's case) on a tattered bench with only three legs left. In the narcissistic man's right hand was a bright orange marker, poised carefully over the bald man's rather bald head, which by now held several orange markings. Both men kept their eyes peeled as they glared around the room.

'Ah, Yumichika, I got one-, uh, no, tw-thr-uhm...four glittering purple breezes.'

'Got it,' and very dutifully, he made four more orange marks on Ikkaku's head. 'Is this for a report or for apology letters?'

'Who knows? Maybe both. When d'ya suppose they're gonna run out of the jigokuchou? I mean, looking at how many we mashed.'

'Are you sure there's no more paper or brushes or ink?'

'Probably. Fukutaichou said so, and if she says it's missing, she's probably eaten it. Why don't you go ask the Soutaichou for more?'

As if on cue, the front door burst open, shrouded in the burning wrath of one particular old, old man.

'Ahh,' a Taiin mumbled eloquently. 'Have I met you before?' Very clearly, a drunk Taiin.

'Yes, I would believe so,' Yamamoto replied tartly. 'Where is Zaraki-taichou?'

'Here!' shouted yet another drunkard. 'Somewhere...Maybe...uh, there?'

Yamamoto clutched his pounding head. Tolerance, he admonished himself.

'Someone called for me?' boomed the familiar voice of Zaraki Kenpachi as he emerged from a room covered in a giggling Yachiru and paint. 'Oh. Hi there,' he smiled at the Soutaichou. 'Is there some kind of, uh, problem?'

'Have I met you before?'

Close to exploding, or imploding, he didn't quite know, Yamamoto spoke in a successively calm voice. 'Do you recall being sent roughly twenty messages to inform you of Kusajishi-fukutaichou's next medical health check-up? Not to mention another thirty or so concerning this morning's meeting?'

'No I don't.'

'Sir?' Ikkaku hazarded interrupting a conversation that seemed to be going downhill with each passing second.

'What?' the Soutaichou snapped irately.

'The Eleventh Division has, from yesterday morning onwards, obliterated, uh...Yumichika! Help me out here!' he hissed.

The Fifth-seat of the Eleventh Division quickly jabbed at each orange dot on Ikkaku's head, holding an oddly thoughtful look on his face. 'Fifty-seven,' he announced with accomplishment.

'Ah. Fifty-seven jigokuchou, Soutaichou sir,' the bald Third-seat concluded.

'How, exactly, did that happen?' Yamamoto mustered all the patience left in him. Perhaps he should have taken someone with more capabilities in this area along.

'Hey,' cried someone from the back of the room. 'It moves!' With a pounce and a swish of a sword, another small black object that had recently entered through a window frame dissipated into glittering purple gas.

'Like that. Fifty-eight now, sir.'

Yamamoto groaned inwardly. 'Zaraki-taichou, I expect you to keep your men at bay. From today onwards, we shall use messengers to communicate with you. I trust they will not suffer the same fate,' he gestured at yet another purple breeze,' at the hands of you and your men.'

A/N:
Well, well, well. Guess what? I made it back from The Deep (more commonly known as SCHOOL)! I had soooooo much stuff to do! So I decided I had to sit down and do something unproductive just to satisfy myself. And here's the product! And you know what would be really, really helpful? Yes, I know you all know, but I'll say it anyway! (Wait for it) It would be really nice of you if you could, well, do my chinese homework for me by this friday? If you can't then I suppose a review would suffice.