The Court of Pure Souls, with its purpose and goals in mind, had but one primary principle by which everything was run. The key word: Efficiency. From the Soul Reapers themselves, groomed both physically and spiritually for their duties, to the layout of the entire Gotei Thirteen which was orderly and composed of uniform pure-white stone, the Courts that doubled as home and workplace to shinigami was as smooth as such an extraordinarily large an operation could get.
Even the mail-rooms, tended to mostly by unranked or low-ranking soul reapers, run on a strict and timely fashion. Toiling in the mail-rooms is an important step for any fledgling reaper, and you would be hard pressed to find any experienced soul in the higher ranks who had not at some point been tasked with the sorting and delivery of mail. As such, the reapers assigned to mail-room take their duties quite seriously and with enthusiasm. As well they should, seeing as it simply would not do for a possible calamity to take place just because someone received an important report a few hours late.
As a high-ranking and well-known officer, Abarai Renji is one of the people whose mail delivery take priority over almost everyone else in his squad. Everyone excluding Captain Kuchiki, naturally. Renji's mail arrives in the morning at the exact same time every day on the dot, appearing in a tightly bound bundle in the middle of his desk.
Now, normally Renji appreciates the little kindnesses sent his way in life, mail-service included. But on the final Thursday of every month, Renji loathes that little bundle of mail, and he automatically loathes whatever poor soul had been tasked with delivering it to him, even though by now the person in question was long gone.
On days like these, Renji does every possible thing he could do to avoid the bundle, disrespectfully shoving it to the very corner of his desk where it teetered on the brink of falling over. Renji will then proceed to find ways to keep himself busy and away, even going on so far as to take unneeded delivery chores himself, or dragging his squad members into the frigid winter air for an impromptu training session. But sure enough, by the end of the day Renji finds himself seated at his desk, with the mail.
Still, the struggle is not yet over, and the war against the unfeeling and unloving force known as postal delivery has not yet been drawn to a close. In true Renji fashion, he refuses to give in that easily, instead choosing to waste at least fifteen minutes pulling at the string holding the bundle together or flicking maliciously at one of the crisp white corners of a page that stuck out too far, as if testing if the delivery would explode if provoked. I was a worthy foe, Renji can admit, remaining stoic and unresponsive to even his most malicious of prodding. Renji's lips pull back in a sneer, a growl of irritation rumbling through barred teeth. This quickly morphs into an expression of mortification, however, when someone invariably walks in on the vice-captain of the sixth division hissing at his mail.
"What are you doing?"
Renji bolts upright, his spine stiffened comically as if a bolt of electricity just ran through his body, much to the amusement of the petite figure at the door. Rukia observs this behavior with an amused smirk and a hand placed confidently on her delicate hip, her shoulders shaking very much like she's struggling to avoid laughing.
"Uh, what am I doing? Completely standard mail procedure or something." Pushing past a hot flash of indignation, Renji stammers and pushes the package of mail behind him, his other hand nervously scratching the back of his head. "You know, taking care of extremely vital vice-captain junk. You know how it is."
"You were growling at it!" Rukia points out, brandishing her index finger accusingly.
Renji feigns an exasperated tone, rolling his eyes as if in impatience. "Rukia, you never know what kind of danger is lurking in the corners of the Seireitei. Who knows what people might do to harm someone as dangerous and heroic as me, even to stoop as low as booby-trapping the mail! You can never be too careful, honestly this is, like, basic lieutenant knowledge."
"I'm sure. I know you live by this belief, but paperwork doesn't actually hurt you, you realize."
"Ah, who asked you?" Renji retorts, brushing aside the bundle so it slipped off his desk together and fell to the floor with a dull thump. "If you came to see the captain he's out right now, but he'll probably roll back in here sooner or later. I think. I really couldn't tell you what he gets up to on his spare time."
Rukia sighs, "I figured as much. I already reported to Captain Ukitake, but things have been pretty slow in the human world. I guess the hollows still aren't sure what to do with themselves after the war so they're hiding in the shadows in case a rogue arrancar happens to storm by or something. I guess I was hoping for something just a little bit exciting."
"And gods know nothing says exciting all over like Captain Kuchiki."
"Hey, don't talk about my brother that way!" Rukia barks, giving Renji a playful shove. It doesn't do much to move him, but his stance is more unsettled by her pushing than usual. Rukia's been getting stronger, Renji notes with appraisal. "I guess I'll try catching up with him at home. Honestly, you'd think once in a while something actually fun would happen. Like, as in exciting without all the war and death stuff."
"Yeah, yeah. Get on with ya and go find the captain, 'honorable little sister'." Renji says with no small amount of sarcasm, ruffling Rukia's hair as she shoved him aside to leave the office. She bid him fairwell with a slap to the hand, and Renji turns with eyes back with dread to the mail lying abandoned on the floor. He drags his feet to where the papers lay and set them back on his desk.
When the task could be ignored no longer, Renji sighs and the strings holding the papers together come away with a snap. The papers felt heavy and stiff in his hands, the ink somehow a darker black than any other paperwork Renji was forced to do before. Such was always the feeling of reading the casualty reports for his division.
There was nothing more depressing than seeing the roster of new Soul Reapers, fresh from the academy and flooding the ranks after the Winter War with joy and naiveté, only to see those same names on the death toll months later. Almost worse still were the reapers who has served under him longer, already pledged loyalty to the sixth and proven it with their lives on the line of duty. Renji could see why his captain kept such an icy demeanor even to his subordinates if the weight of so many deaths settled so heavily. To some, getting emotionally attached was begging for heartache.
Speaking of said captain, Renji notes that he had better finish reading through the casualties and fill out his necessary signatures as a witness before turning it in to Captain Kuchiki. As lieutenant, Renji was tasked with confirming the newly deceased's former place in the squad, but it was his captain who would have to file for notices to the next-of-kin, if the names on the list were so lucky to have such things. Renji supposes that he should be morbidly thankful that it took so long to read the lists that his captain appeared back in the office later in the day, not long before Renji finished.
Now the finale.
"Captain," Renji winces at the sound of his own voice breaking the previous silence of the office, making it louder like an echo in an empty cave.
But Captain Kuchiki just glances up from his own papers, looking for all the world as if Renji has just barely succeeded at capturing his attention. He looks back down to his desk to place one bold, finishing stroke on the paper in front of him before looking back at his vice-captain.
"Have you finished with the casualty reports, Vice-Captain Abarai?" He asked.
Renji nodds, refraining from wincing apologetically. Common sense rather than experience has taught him, or at least implied that Captain Kuchiki would not have anyone offer him pity for simply following his orders. The dark-haired man nodded and motioned with a sweep of his palm for Renji to lay down the reports on his desk.
In the twelve steps it takes for Renji to walk back to his desk, Captain Kuchiki was already engrossed in the reports. In the few moments it took for Renji to gather and put away all his things at his workspace, his captain was nearly halfway through the stack of papers. And Just as Renji's toe was entering the doorway, a stern call of "Lieutenant" echoed through the nearly empty office.
Renji fought back a twinge of annoyance. Reading through the list of his dead subordinates had put a serious dampener on his mood, and he had little patience left for his Captain who possessed something of a noble eccentric sweep. If Byakuya Kuchiki thought that Renji was going to spend another night in the office re-writing an entire report because the original authors had printed it in the "wrong" ink, he was going to be very disappointed.
"There seems to be a mistake in these files." Captain Kuchiki announced, voice even but not cold, using his sentence as an invitation for Renji to approach his desk.
Renji sincerely doubts that there was a mistake in the reports, given how anal-retentive the filing of the Sixth Division was. Still, he would feel pretty shitty if some poor bastard's final resting arrangements got screwed up because of him.
Nineteen steps back to Captain Kuchiki's desk, "A mistake, sir?"
With a slide of his fingers, Captain Kuchiki turned the file across the shiny surface of his desk to Renji so he could read it. "Do you understand what is troubling me here?"
Renji hates standing in from of Captain's desk like this. It always made him feel like an unruly student back in the academy, standing before his teacher's desk and struggling for an answer to a problem he simply did not know the answer to. He looked at the documents anyway, taking note that everything seemed to be in order. The names were listed, surname first, along with their rank if they had any to speak of. In the column next to that was the time and place of death, and further next to that was cause of death.
"Uh," Renji blinks, thinking perhaps that either he or his captain have maybe been working a little too hard. If there's ever an appropriate time for a mental breakdown, Renji hopes that it isn't tonight. "Everything seems to be in order here, Captain."
Kuchiki gives Renji a hard look that further outlines the uncomfortable teacher comparison, "I advise you to learn to look between the lines, Lieutenant. You were not put in the division of noble reason for nothing. I know what the report seems to be, now tell me what you see."
Mind games are not Renji's forte by a long shot, but it wasn't at all usual for his normally straight-forward captain to become so cryptic. So Renji steels himself, trying to connect the invisible dots and scan the paper for whatever apparently glaring flaw his captain is trying to get him to look at.
And then it jumps out. Not just jumping, it leaps off they page like an animal in attack. Renji's inked eyebrows jump high underneath the cover of his bandana and something drops into the pit of his stomach as comprehension slowly dawns in his mind
"Captain?"
"You understand, then," Kuchiki says with the same stoic calmness, hands folded in his lap with impeccable neatness, "why I assumed this to be an error in the report. Because the alternative is simply impossible, is it not?"
Captain Kuchiki's dark eyes strikeck Renji, who can only return a nod of agreement, mind still churning through the full implications of this revelation.
"I think it would be wise if someone capable were to take this into their own hands, Vice-Captain. These reports are rather thin, but I'm sure that the official Sixth Division records are practically overflowing with information."
Captain Kuchiki stand up slowly from his desk, not bothering as Renji had to rearrange the already pristine layout of his workspace. "The nature of this matter is very suspicious, is it not? I wouldn't trust just anyone to go delving into the matter."
As his captain walks past him, Renji considers the casualty report. It was merely a hunch, but a hunch from Head of Kuchiki house and captain of the sixth division was ever hardly without reason. A small gust of wind shifted the dry air and Kuchiki Byakuya was gone in a flash-step, and Renji was left with the seed of growing suspicion. He sighs at the empty space where his captain used to be, preparing for the long trek down to the filing room.
To say the Rukongai was an unpleasant place to spend one's free time would be like that to say that Hitsugaya's bankai was unpleasantly cold, or that Rangiku had a habit of getting unpleasantly tipsy. The further districts of the Rukongai were notoriously dangerous, inhospitable and, in certain unpopular spots, soaked in a rancid stench that arises when masses of people simply cease to care about their surroundings and allow the filth around them to pile up and fester with age.
Shuuhei supposes that he should consider the bar he was attempting to enter a gem of the Soul Society slums. Despite its ramshackle appearance, with the layers of paint peeling in long strips from the dilapidated walls, Shuuhei had good memories of this place. Perhaps not many, but he didn't much like to think of himself as fickle about that sort of thing.
Two burly men attempt to barricade the entrance, both glaring and one shifting his robes to flash the hilt of the knife in his obi menacingly. Shuuhei refrains himself from rolling his eyes at the boorish gesture, instead reaching over his own shoulder with one hand and yanks down the sleeve of his dim green overcoat to reveal the Vice Captain badge tied around one bare arm.
The second brute's eyebrows shot into his mess of unkempt hair, presumably either impressed or afraid, and he nudges his cohort aside. The other obliged, but when Shuuhei treads past the two he hears a wet sound that he could guess was a wad of saliva aimed in the general direction of his sandals. Not hitting them, landing just slightly off the mark to land on the wood floorboards, but a sign of disrespect just the same. Shuuhei can't really find the heart to blame them- he couldn't remember having much love for the shinigami either before he owed his life to one.
The bar is dark, and the floorboards stink of being doused in alcohol countless times. A busty brunette in a cheap kimono delivered drinks and bar food to a table of patrons, who gladly wolf it down before bothering to inspect the substance. So few people felt the desire to eat in the Rukongai that it hardly mattered what was food anymore for those who do, just that it was something to fill the stomach or show off some meager sum of status. Those that picked at the food seem satisfied with their meal, but Shuuhei has to force himself not to gag at the smell. The Thirteen Court Guards were making him spoiled.
Someone called a hardy "Oi!" in his direction, and Shuuhei gave the waitress a wide berth to follow the voice to a small table in the back. There, two men were already seated, the man on the right gesturing to Shuuhei to sit with them.
The lieutenant smiled shyly at them as he sat down, beginning to feel guiltier at not seeing his old childhood friends as much now that they were all face to face.
"Well, well, if it isn't our prodigy-boy come back to us lowly commoners!" Tori laughed, giving Shuuhei a gracious slap on the shoulder. "You'd think we'd be forgotten by now?"
"How could I forget you knowing how much money you owe me?" Shuuhei retorts, picking up the already quarter-empty bottle of sake. No one bothers with formalities here, they've all known each other far too long.
Tori scratches his grizzled chin. His robes were old and fraying but clean, which was more than could be said for many people in the bar. Have the battle in trying to get work and board in a higher district is looking like you want it. "What a cold way to greet an old friend! I'da thought you'd have more class than that, Mr. Vice-Captain!"
On Shuuhei's other side, the large form of Kenta snorts, "If I loaned money to snakes like either of you two, I wouldn't soon forget it either!"
"He says, passive-aggressively gloating over the fact that he has money now." Shuuhei adds with another eye-roll and a long sip, "A job, a house, a family- the ordinariness of it is positively terrifying. How do you live with yourself?"
Kenta's round face brakes into a grin, "Why, Hisagi, you almost sound a bit jealous there?"
Tori burst into short bark of laughter, shoulders shaking. "Between all the drinking and women, when would he have time to be jealous of you and your ball and chain?"
Shuuhei's eyes widen, but his face twists into a mischievous smile, "Who says anything about drinking and women? That seems hardly fitting for a man of my reputation."
"Hisagi, you dog, that is your reputation! At least take pity and tell us if the women really are prettier in the Court Guards!"
"I will confirm no such thing." Shuuhei turns his nose up in mock indignity, "A guy like you would be more likely to get his arm broken by a lady shinigami than have her give you the time of day, anyways."
"Speaking from experience, are you?" Tori chuckles. He looked old, Shuuhei notes. Old in the eyes. Out of the three of them, Tori had been the only one who hadn't yet worked himself out of the lower districts. Shuuhei had clawed his way into the academy, took as many repetitive classes and anxious tests as they wanted him to, jumped through all the hoops the Academy had asked of him. Through the tireless effort of his construction company and the good graces of his clientele Kenta had risen through the districts in his work, albeit both for different reasons. Shuuhei was a man with a mission to follow in the footsteps of his role-model, earning his keep as a shinigami while Kenta pursued a better life for his family of four.
"How's your wife? I haven't seen Nagami in a while." Shuuhei asks, mostly out of politeness.
Kenta chuckles, tapping the pads of his fingers against the table. "I truly hope you're talking about my wife Megumi, or else I think I'm in deep trouble."
"Can't blame a man for trying."
"Well, as it happens, she's rather… troubled." Kenta recounts, taking a thoughtful sip from his sake cup.
"What's she got to be troubled for?" Tori grouses with an expressive wave of his hand. "Wasn't it every mother's dream to give birth to Soul Reaper, or is she too drunk from celebrating to remember?"
"Don't talk about my wife that way, you pathetic weasel!"
Shuuhei blinks, absorbing Tori's words. "Soul Reaper? Oh, did your daughter graduate from the academy already!"
"She's been in that damn school for years, Hisagi, they gotta let the pipsqueaks out of training sooner or later. Even my little baby girl." Kenta says with a sigh. The heavy man hesitates for a moment, pouring more sake into his glass, "Megumi had grown concerned about Rikuto. It's been months since we've received a letter from her following her graduation. I gotta say, I'm worried too."
Tori shakes Kenta's shoulder affectionately, "The kid's probably just too preoccupied celebrating! You know how they spoil the shinigami rotten behind the white walls, right Hisagi?"
Shuuhei considers his friends. "It's true that we try to keep new recruits busy. What division did was she assigned to?"
"They shipped her off to the Sixth Division fresh out of class."
Shuuhei felt a prickle go down his spine. The Sixth Division had, seeing as its numbers had still been depleted since long after the events of the last invasion, been inactive for a good few weeks now. Shuuhei's considerate gaze went from his friends to his sake.
Kenta and Tori share a glance, the former looking more agitated by that distant look in Shuuhei's mind, like he could see the cogs in his head turning. "Hisagi?"
Shuuhei's gaze snapped back up to his companions, "I'll check in on Rikuto for you."
"You don't have t-"
Shuuhei raises a hand stubbornly, "It's no trouble. My friend's the lieutenant and if she's gotten into any sort of trouble it'll be best that I find her before he does."
Kenta's face paled, the flush of alcohol under his skin draining with anxiety. "T-trouble?"
"Like Tori said, she's probably just celebrating. Stupid kids. The usual stuff." Already Shuuhei was pulling his coat tighter around himself, standing up from the table with gusto. "It's about time I turn in, anyways. Work tomorrow, you know?"
"You barely just got here!"
"I'll come meet back with you guys here soon- pay for drinks and stuff to make it up to you. Promise."
"Don't be a stranger." Tori grumbles, already praying upon Shuuhei's abandoned sake cup as the lieutenant made for the door.