Street Notebook: Ichigo/Rukia- See, this is why you don't pick up a notebook off of the street. It could be capable of killing people, capable of turning you insane, and capable of making you aware of the existence of Shinigami, particularly a really annoying midget Shinigami called Kuchiki Rukia who is forcing you to keep the damn notebook, or else.
A/N: Because who hasn't thought of this before? But I hope this isn't a crossover, as I have no characters from Death Note even in here. I only borrowed the Death Note itself. And btw, this is mostly just an alternate tale of how Ichigo meets Rukia.
Disclaimer: I own neither Bleach nor DeathNote.
"Oi, Ichigo, you have anymore apples?"
Damn, he was really tired of that question, that question that was thrown at him everyday, at almost every hour.
"No," he bit out pointedly, continuing to scribble furiously in his notebook. "My sister ate the last of them."
He could feel the pout she was aiming his way from her position of floating lazily above him, but he ignored her like it was nothing.
"You should go buy me more, Ichigo."
He scoffed. "Like hell I will. I've got other things to do."
She'd begun to glare. Oh, well. Not like the either of them were ever in a good mood while in each other's presence, anyway.
"But you know how I get when I don't have my apples," she stated flatly, though he felt that her eyes were daggers.
Meh. He didn't shiver. He was over that. Her threats were played out. He knew that Shinigami dropped their notebooks from the Soul Society only because they were too lazy to perform their Soul Reaping duties their selves. And now she'd given him her notebook and he had become her lousy substitute, she forcing him to kill somebody every second of the day, other than to ask for apples, since her powers had transferred to him the moment he'd touched the notebook.
He erased and scrawled some more. "No, you only get that way since you always wanna be a brat and throw a tantrum about it."
"You fool!" She plummeted from the air and landed beside him, standing as he continued to sit in his computer chair, hunched over his desk. "Shinigami do not throw tantrums and you must never call them brats! May I remind you that I'm almost ten times your age?"
He actually winced. She'd just screamed in his ear. "Then start acting like it and leave me alone. I'm busy."
She released an annoyed puff of breath. "Really, you have to be the most rebellious substitute of all . . . ." Nevertheless, she leaned over his shoulder to mind his business, no doubt, nosy little nuisance. "What are you up to, anyway?"
"Get outta my face," he growled stubbornly.
"I'm not even facing you, you fool!" She shouted and pulled indignantly at his orange hair. "Are you finally writing in the Death Note?"
"As if! I'm doing my homework."
"Ichigo," her voice was abruptly stern, "my substitute is also my responsibility. If he refuses to do his job, then I'd get in trouble."
"Rukia," he actually turned to look at her, at her bright, purple eyes, black hair, and just as dark outfit, "how many times to I have to tell you that I'll never write anything in that frigging murderer's book?"
She closed her eyes, murmuring, "You ignorant, little boy. What must it take for you to understand that this is the way of life? People must die, just like people must be born, Ichigo."
He scowled. Yeah, he understood that, but she was asking him to kill people using the notebook, a Shinigami's job. He couldn't just do that. How would he even start? How would he know if it was one's time to die and just ended up killing the wrong guy? This was too much damn responsibility.
He only snorted in reply.
She crossed her arms. "It's been three weeks already." She reached into the secret compartment in his drawer for the Death Note, the crazy notebook where whoever's name was written down in it, died. The Shinigami's tool.
With concentration, she flipped through the beginning dark pages until she found the page she was looking for and jabbed at it.
"Just look here, Ichigo. I'll remind you of what happens to you if you refuse to use the Death Note after a certain period of time."
He glanced down at the page. There was some kind of kindergarten-level of artwork scribbled across the paper. If he cocked his head, he did discern that there were bunnies for some reason, and one spiky-haired bunny looked as if he were neglecting the Death Note, and then approximately two and a half months later, he was shown in a grave.
He peered over at his Shinigami, and she was grinning triumphantly, as if she'd gotten through to him.
He only arched an eyebrow. "You drew them pictures, Rukia?"
"Of course I did," she boasted, twirling a random pen between her fingers. "It was my Death Note, after all."
"Well, you seriously suck, it's unbelievable."
It was rather expected when the book was hurled at his head.
"That's not the point! You will die if you don't soul reap!"
"Then this doesn't sound too much like only a job, if you ask me," he muttered while absently scratching his cheek, "if the job holds you hostage like this."
She took to hovering again, in a sitting position, legs crossed at the ankles. "Hmm, well, that rule only applies to the substitutes."
He visibly twitched. "You Shinigami are just disgusting!" Legendary gods of death, his ass. More like the major trolls of the universe. Couldn't even do their own jobs and then forcing mere humans to do it for them.
He never should've picked up that notebook from the middle of the sidewalk. Though it was all Keigo's fault, really. All his damn fault.
Three Weeks Prior:
"Hey, Ichigo, can you believe the nerve of that Arisawa Tatsuki?"
Ichigo didn't even spare his friend a glance, continuing to sketch his portrait of Inoue, who had begged him to draw her with a fruit basket on her head for some odd reason, probably because she was planning to go to some island over the break. He wondered how good it looked; he wasn't much of an artist, but her eyes did seem legit in the way he'd penciled them . . . .
"Huh? What is it now, Keigo?"
"She's having a birthday party and she didn't invite me!"
Now he peered over at the desk beside him, where his spazzy, brown-haired buddy was seated. Keigo's face was red as he clenched his fists in his hair, grinding his teeth. Huh. Guess he was really offended, or something.
"Really?" Ichigo focused his attention back to his notebook. Hmm, just how did Inoue's bangs part again? He took a peep at her from across the class. She waved enthusiastically back. He sweat-dropped. "Tatsuki didn't have a problem with inviting me."
"What?" Keigo straightened his back, gaping in disbelief. "She invited you? But that's not faaaiir! All the sexy girls are going and now you got invited?"
The teacher glared warningly in their direction. Or more importantly, at Keigo's. No, the teacher never glared at Ichigo.
But still, he murmured, "Oi, Keigo, would you cool it?"
He merely blinked, dramatic tears filling his wide eyes. "But I thought we were friends, Ichigo! You're supposed to sympathize with your pals!"
"Yeah, but-"
"Or are we not bros anymore just cuz you've got an invitation to Tatsuki's party and will make a bunch of new friends there?"
Ichigo sighed in irritation. He liked Keigo, he really did, but he was just . . . too much, like his stories. "Will you shut the hell-?"
Suddenly, Keigo was leaning over toward Ichigo's desk while craning his neck. "What's that you're drawing, anyway?" And then he gasped. "Is that Inoue? Is she who's been manipulating you? Are you two you going out? Is that why you don't wanna be my friend?"
"No! And get off my desk, idiot!"
"Idiot?" Keigo wiped away nonexistent tears with one arm and swiped Ichigo's notebook with his other hand. "Is that what are friendship's come to? All because of a girl? Well, be gone!" And in a flash, he had chucked the notebook through the open window.
Ichigo blanched. "W-What the hell? Inoue asked me to draw her for her! And it was coming along fine!"
"It was corrupting you!"
What bullshit. Keigo was just too much of a spazz. Ichigo only hoped that his notebook was still out there at the end of class.
"Just forget about it . . . ."
.
.
.
Why was it that, as soon as the lunch bell rang, the first thing he did was head downstairs and out to the courtyard to search for his notebook?
Huh, maybe because he didn't like to see a disappointed Inoue. Or maybe because some of his notes were in that book. Or probably because that was roughly the best form of artwork he'd ever done.
Whatever the reason, his eyes scanned the grass and concrete thoroughly, frantically for his pad. Hmm, had it possibly landed in a bush? Or even a tree? No, he'd seen it land on the sidewalk. Gah, he was missing out on lunch!
But he continued to look, walking in circles until he became rather disheartened, thinking, Tch, the banana on Inoue's head wouldn't come out right, anyway . . . .
Yet, just as he was about to head off to sit with his friends for lunch, something black glinted in the corner of his eyes. His head snapped around. Maybe it was . . . his notebook?
He turned in the right direction and the black notebook lying on the pavement proved that his theory was correct. Except . . . had it always been right there?
Whatever. It didn't matter. He grabbed it up fast and sprinted toward the spot where he and his pals usually hung out for lunch, hoping that he had enough time to eat, at least.
When he reached the building of the roof he usually vacated during lunch, he glanced up, wondering if his friends were still there.
But what was totally unexpected was when somebody seemingly leapt from the rooftop, pants ballooning outward, and landed gracefully before him. And what was strange, stranger than the fact that it looked as if someone had just jumped from a building, was that the figure landed like the fall was nothing, as if it had floated down.
He blinked. It was a girl. A girl with alabaster skin, clad in an odd kind of black kimono get-up, and with a head of hair even darker than that. A girl so short that she hardly even measured up to his shoulder.
He screamed as she peered curiously up at him. "What the . . . what the hell is wrong with you? Did you just friggin' jump from the roof?"
She cocked her head, hand on her hips. "Art thou the new owner of my notebook?"
He gaped at her. The hell?
"What?" He squinted at her, before uncomfortably searching around. Was this some joke? Was he being included in some Shakespeare movie? "What is the matter with you, weirdo?"
She scrutinized him just as closely, tugging him forward by his tie until they were eye to eye. "Art thou strong?"
"Would you quit talking like that?" He recoiled instantly, though her grip was like iron. Who was this chick? Did she go to his school? But where was her uniform? Or maybe she was in some bizarre club where they had to dress like samurai, or something.
"Huh?" She lifted the second knuckle of her index finger to her lips, almost thoughtfully. "I'm assuming that this isn't the modern speech pattern, then . . . ."
He could only stare. "Assuming?" She should know, honestly. They were not living in the nineteenth century.
"Never mind that." She waved his question off with a brisk flip of the wrist. "You are the temporary owner of my notebook, are you not? I mean to say, you can see me, right? So show me."
He was at a loss. "Show you . . . ?"
She sighed, "Surely this incompetence must be an-"
"Incompetence?" He reared off on her a second, jabbing a finger in her chest. "Look here, you-!"
Her face brightened up as she spotted something and before he could utter a word, for the second time that day, his notebook was snatched. "Oh, you do have it!"
"Oi, give that here, it's . . . !" His voice eventually trailed away as she flipped the book over and he noticed the words "Death Note," in bold, eerie letters across the top. Oh.
"Oh, sorry. This yours?" He said instead, wondering just what kind of creep would keep such a weird looking book, because obviously, he'd picked up the wrong one.
"Yes. But for the time being, it's yours." The girl opened the book and right on the first page, there was writing in a style definitely unlike his own.
Kurosaki Ichigo, Substitute Shinigami/ Death Note Wielder for Kuchiki Rukia.
Something icy ran down his spine. What was this? He was sure that it wasn't his notebook, yet his name was written in it, and . . . what was this Shinigami stuff? For some reason, uneasiness was churning restlessly in his stomach. This girl, Rukia, unnerved him. Who was she, exactly?
"Ichigo, hmm?" Her eyes, a dark purple, were gleaming rather . . . excitedly. "I'm Kuchiki Rukia and glad that you have found my notebook."
He swallowed thickly. "Um, yeah. You can have it back. I got the wrong one."
He made to just walk away, but her hand was on his shoulder in an instant. "Hold on a second. I can't have it back yet. It's yours for the time being."
He studied her for a moment before dropping his gaze to the book. "I don't need it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Well, I can't have it. When you picked up my Death Note, Sode no Shirayuki, all of my powers as a Shinigami transferred to you, Ichigo. You can't give it up until my powers return."
"S-Shinigami?" He was blinking rapidly now, his mouth suddenly dry. "Just what bullshit are you on about, crazy girl?"
"Crazy?" Her expression turned somewhat disapproving and she eyed him sternly as if she could see his very soul. "Alright, I take it that you didn't read the rules . . . ."
What was with this girl? What rules? Was she really insane, or-
The book was tossed into his hands. He caught it expertly enough, fingering the rough cover and thinking that it was definitely not his notebook.
He wrinkled his nose. "What kind of person would own a notebook with this name? Or is it some kind of scary sto-"
"Would you just open it already?"
He glared at her. He was really tired of her interrupting him, be it his words, or his thoughts. "Fine." Look at him, taking such orders from a midget girl.
Nevertheless, he opened the damn book, and stared at the thin pages. They smelled old and mildewy, like some ancient textbook, or something.
Right on the first page, there was writing:
The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
Startled, his eyes shot up to give this Rukia chick a critical, questioning signal.
"What the hell? Who wrote this sick thing?"
She merely rolled her eyes. "The Captain-Commander, but there are some additional rules that we are required to write ourselves."
"We?" He shook the book in his hand. "What captain-commander? What is this thing?" But then he stopped his ranting. "You know what? I don't care. Now leave me alone; I'm gonna go eat lunch."
"Leave you alone?" She raised her eyebrows in something akin to confusion. "Not likely, for you are my substitute."
He was about to go insane. "Substitute what?" He roared in exasperation. He normally didn't lose his shit, but he seriously didn't get this crap. She needed to go be crazy somewhere else.
"Shinigami. Soul Reaper. Whatever you'd like to call it." She shrugged like it was no big deal. And it wasn't. Except . . . Shinigami didn't exist. And he wasn't one of them, and especially not her substitute.
He was about to turn away, to head on and do his own thing, until, well . . . she said this: "I know you see dead people, Ichigo."
And then he froze, nearly shivering toward her words. Really, wasn't there a nicer way to say that without sounding all ominous, like some freaky movie?
"Uh . . ." Yeah. That was true. He did see dead people. Or ghosts, spirits, more like. But he never paid attention to them, other than to leave sad little spirits flowers, or whatever.
But now it was important since she knew about it.
He stared at her warningly. "How did you know . . . ?"
"Please." She rolled her eyes nonchalantly with a hint of a smile. "It wasn't hard to figure out. You saw my notebook and you picked it up, therefore it wasn't difficult to discern that you can see spiritual things."
"What . . . the notebook," he stammered faintly. "What is it exactly?"
"The Death Note." Rukia responded, as if she were made to answer his persistent inquiries. "A Shinigami's tool, and you know I quote 'The human whose name is written in this note shall die.'"
He frowned. "But why is that written in there?"
"Because it's true. Because it's the way we Shinigami end lives."
Shinigami end lives. He inhaled sharply as realization dawned on him- Shinigami were gods of death.
He took a nervous peek at the book again, unintentionally reading the phrase: The owner of the note can recognize the image and voice of the original owner, i.e. a God of death/Shinigami.
Oh, jeez, she was a Shinigami. That's why she could leap from wherever and land like it was nothing. Chances were, she could probably fly.
"Wait a minute," he demanded, studying her intensely. "This Death Note . . . yeah, I saw it and picked it up, but now you say it's currently mine and that now I'm your substitute Shinigami. But just what is that supposed to mean?"
Rukia smiled quite craftily, he noticed. "It means that you are my substitute as you have my powers. You are to take my place in Soul Reaping, ending lives with my Death Note, until my powers recover."
Well. Subsequently, despite how unreal her answer was, he headed home. He couldn't deal with this nonsense.
.
.
.
"Why are you running away, Ichigo?" Surprisingly, Rukia's steps, although she was considerably shorter than him, matched up to his quite evenly.
Gulping down a startled shriek, he looked over, only to see her tagging along.
"I'm not running away! I don't run away! Just leave me alone, you creep!"
"Then where are you going?" She asked him unperturbedly, keeping up with his anxious speed walk away from his school's campus. "I thought that school was still going on at this hour."
"Home!" Where she couldn't get to him, and where he could call the police if he wanted to.
"Home, huh?" She echoed, placing her thumb and forefinger beneath her chin. "Are you not feeling well, Ichigo? You will still be able to perform your Shinigami duties, right?"
He began to walk a little faster toward his house. "No! Because I don't have any friggin Shinigami duties!"
Rukia exhaled deeply, closing her eyes. "Must I explain to you again of how you came to be my substitute?"
He glared sidelong at her. "Explain as much you want to, but I don't believe any of your crap!"
"Yet, you continue to hold onto the Death Note," she stated with a cunning smirk.
He halted and rounded to face her agitatedly. "Why? If this is real, then why do I have to be your substitute if I don't wanna?"
Rukia averted her eyes with a mischievous sort of expression. "You might want to stop insisting things of me so loudly . . . ."
His face hardened. It was the serious face he made that alarmed his sisters, that scared Inoue, and most other girls . . . . Rukia, hopefully, would get the picture.
"You threatening me?"
" . . . No, I was just going to tell you that regular mortals can't see me." She was eyeing him rather irritably. "So it was really unnecessary to make that brutish face. To other people, you look like you're yelling at thin air. You're welcome."
He stiffened and peered around. A couple of people were focused on his direction with raised eyebrows. There were several frowns and numerous giggles. Great, he'd attracted unwanted attention, which was especially bad since he was cutting school.
But he continued on nonetheless, albeit with his head down, hissing toward the girl who might just be a Shinigami, "There will be no 'Thank You' from me; you should've told me that bit earlier!"
She nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The stubborn mule that refuses what he's offered gets nothing in return the next time around."
"That's not even a real saying," he muttered, scowling.
"You'd be surprised to know how old I am in actuality. In my day, it was a saying."
His sour expression deepened. What a nagging old lady.
And so he trudged on toward his house, but wondered in between if he should lead Rukia to the wrong place and take off.
He later decided against it and brought up further conversation, "You never answered my question."
Rukia peered up at him with those big, violet eyes, and really, it was probably the only part of her that was big. "Which question was that?"
Through clenched teeth, he grinded out, "Why do I have to be your substitute?"
She studied him in interest. "You took my powers by seizing my notebook, remember?"
"Why did you even drop it?" He demanded bitterly. "Didn't you see it so you could just pick it up right after?"
She stared at him rather blankly, giving him a weird sort of look. "No, since it fell from the Seireitei . . . ."
Now they were both staring blankly at each other. "Where the hell is that?"
"In the Soul Society."
"And . . . ?" He would've liked to grab her by the shoulders and shake her then.
"Oh, I've forgotten how ignorant a substitute I have," Rukia said with feigned innocence, and her nonchalance alongside the insult irked him to no end. "The Soul Society is what you may call heaven since it's the place where the good souls reside."
He cocked his head, blanching. "So when you jumped that time . . . you jumped from the Soul Society?"
She gazed skyward, as if pondering about it. "Um, yeah . . . you could say that."
"And you say that's heaven, so it ought to be high." He was wide-eyed. "You must be crazy." Crazier than a god of death in heaven, which seemed very unlikely, if you asked him.
She'd acquired this cocky kind of grin. "I know that we aren't particularly close, Ichigo-kun, but it's so wonderful to know that you worry about me." Her eyes were devious, arrogant as she placed a hand on her chest. "But don't, really. Worrying about someone of my caliber will be a hindrance to you."
He huffed in irritation. Little brat was so full of herself.
Anyway, his house was in full view now. Ugh, and Rukia was still at his hip.
"Why did you even drop it? How does something fall from heaven?"
"Well . . . there's this thing Captain-Commander Yamamoto allows us to do once every six months." Her face changed a lot, he realized. This one was one of guilt, almost. "Shinigami duties get tiring after awhile and we get migraines after focusing so much on spirit energy, besides the cramping in our hands at all the writing we have to do.
"Also, do you know how difficult it is to kill a whole bunch of people everyday, and then still come by to take them to the Soul Society? Somebody has to fall down the stairs, or get hit by a car, or choke on a–"
He merely looked at her, unimpressed and slightly disturbed. "Get to the point?"
She glared at him. "In other words, once and awhile, we need a break. So we are allowed to drop our notebooks down and have a willing substitute perform our duties temporarily for us."
Incredulously, he gawked at how . . . stupid a reason that was. Really? That was how he was being forced to be her substitute? Because she was lazy?
"I didn't agree willingly!" He protested angrily, stomping a foot while he walked up to his front door.
"Details, details. You still have my book, don't you?" And then she stepped ahead of him, leaving him to seethe from behind her. "So this is where you live? Cozy looking place."
"Don't go saying that as if I'm gonna be inviting you in," he said, sending her a pointed glance, "because I won't."
As he dug around in his pockets for the key, she purposely groaned, "How'd I get Mr. Mopey for a substitute?"
He twisted the key furiously into the keyhole. "You shut up!"
"Hey now, don't take it out on the key . . . ." Jeez, why was she so mocking?
"I said shut up!" There was a burst of a whitish blue light and suddenly, the key snapped in two, the useful piece stuck in the hole.
What the hell had just happened? He hadn't been that pissed.
Rukia watched him with furrowed eyebrows. "You'd think the key was made of plastic." Well, he was thinking the same thing.
Then she straightened up. "Well, nice going, Ichigo. I hope you can put that strength to good use later on."
He didn't care to be annoyed with her words. "Hey, hold on, what-?"
"Later." Her head was tilted back, her attention on a particular window. "The window. It's open."
His face paled. Damn, that was his bedroom window. But how could she even tell that it was unlocked? Even so, he knew that it was. He'd neglected to lock it earlier that morning. Why? For no real reason. Laziness, perhaps. So fuck his life.
"What are you implying? That I climb up there like some dumbass monkey?"
"I wasn't going to say all that about dumbass monkeys, but actually, it's pretty accurate."
That wiseass elf . . . .
"But no." Her tone was abruptly stern and she crossed her arms. "I'm generous enough to offer to give you a lift up there."
He peered skeptically at her. "A squirt like you, give me a lift? How exactly does that work out?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him and he paused. She actually did appear insulted, her expression dark and lips pursed to a straight line. "You forget who you deal with, unfortunately."
Well, it was easy when she hadn't really given him any prime extraordinary feats to refer back to.
"Don't bother yourself," he spoke because he had just remembered something. His younger sister, Karin, was sick at home with the flu, and since she was just so sympathetic, Yuzu had offered to stay home and take care of her twin so that their father could go off to work. Though he should've just taken Karin with him. The man worked at a clinic. In their house. "My little sisters are home. They'll open up if I ring."
Rukia's entire demeanor changed then, like that of a dog who'd just picked up a strange sound in the distance.
With an erect back, she inquired firmly, "You left your sisters here alone?"
Her tone made him wary. "You say that as if I made the decision and that this is some danger zone. You don't need to worry about them. They aren't even alone. My dad's here."
"No, Ichigo, it's not quite that . . . ." Her bottom lip was between her teeth as she stared musingly at something invisible to him. "It's just that, with the spirit energy you possess . . ." She trailed away, which left him restless and somewhat uneasy.
Rather lost in thought at that point, he pushed a finger in the doorbell, hardly troubling over the idea that Yuzu would probably wonder why he's home. Oh, well. He'd say he caught Karin's sickness.
His fair-haired little sister was at the door in a second, after peeping through the window. "Ichi-nii? What're you doing here so early?"
He shrugged entering the Kurosaki household and actually allowing Rukia entrance as well. "Dunno. Not feeling too well."
Rukia had decided to loiter, standing in the doorway and gazing around at the interior in awe, like some retard. Hopefully discreetly, he had to grab her hand and yank her inside, which probably seemed odd on Yuzu's end.
His sister squinted at him. "Um, yeah, nii-chan, you are acting a bit strange."
He nodded possibly too eagerly. "Uh huh, so yeah, I'm going upstairs to go lie down. Don't worry about me, though," he added hurriedly. "I'll be fine."
"Wait, don't you wanna see how Karin's doing?"
"Ah, I'm sure you're doing a good job."
And with a quick jerk of his head, he motioned the Shinigami to follow him up the stairs.
When he rounded the corner, the first door on left, marked with the number fifteen was his sanctuary, complete with a desk, chair, window, closet and bed. Yeah, he had tons of style.
Before he could blink, Rukia made a beeline for his bed and made herself comfortable.
"Your little sister is quite adorable," she said, her words coming off rather squealish. Wow. Rukia, a squealer? Huh. It could work . . . . Maybe.
"Um, yeah." He narrowed his eyes. "And get off my bed, pipsqueak. I don't know where you've been."
She glowered at him, but abided by his request. "I was going to, anyway, idiot. From the smell of it, I'm guessing you don't do your laundry."
He clunked down in his desk chair, sour-faced. "Well, you can just keep guessing. But me . . . I'm not. I need information, Kuchiki Rukia."
If he was possibly going to be her substitute (since he was obviously being forced to and because she was driving him over the edge with madness) she would have to tell him everything about his situation.
"Alright, then." She gave him a small smile and, to his astonishment, made a seat for herself out of thin air, criss-crossing her legs. He meant to say, she floated, sitting on nothing but the air itself. "Kurosaki Ichigo."
Currently
Ichigo looked up from his homework with a sigh. Now, he kind of regretted accepting such a duty.
"Fine." Rukia snorted from above him. "If you won't get me an apple, I'll just head to the store and get one myself."
He wasn't too convinced, rolling his eyes sarcastically. "With what, you poor hobo?"
The Shinigami lifted her chin indignantly as she let her feet return to the ground. "Despite living in heaven, it's not like I'm perfectly innocent. If I'm hungry, I'm hungry, and I'll steal if I have to. I'm . . . quite accustomed to it."
Alarmed, his head shot up from being down in his book. "You idiot! You can't do that!" He'd forgotten how it would look to others if they saw a floating apple down at the local market.
"I am not so stupid as to blow my cover," she retorted briskly, "but if you won't submit to my wishes, I'll find another way to make them come true."
Well, way to make him feel like some slave.
"Ugh, fine!" he finally gave in, throwing his hands in the air. Her persistent pestering was really getting under his skin and he did need a break from all this damn homework. "Come on."
"Oh, and Ichigo, I'd like a green apple. No, make that a red . . . or is yellow the better choice? Which one do you favor, huh?"
It was strange how, every day, Rukia only reminded him of what trolls Shinigami really were, instead of badass gods of death. Fuck, if he would ever meet another one.
A/N: And scene. So how was that? Hopefully, I stayed in character . . . . R&R?