A/N: Ohhhh I'm so bad! XC I just couldn't help mysellllllfffff! It was sooo tempting, writing another story to help with the stress of the others... I think I need help.
I have Sherlockians hanging here, Bleach-peoplesthingies (do Bleach fans have a name? Huh. Food for thought.) hanging there... and it's all just- Gah! One massive migraine! So to help alleviate the stress, I've been reading some fics. And you know what that does? Inspires me to start a new goddamn story! Karmas a bitch.
*end of huge rant*
So, ummmm, hi again Bleachverse! Hopefully you enjoy this little fic of mine.
Yes, it is Ichigo/OC.
*goes into a long boring rant about how I luuuuuurrrv OC's*
Oh yes- do not be fooled by the OC's name. She is most definitely a girl (always has been, always will be). Even though her name is meant for a boy... ^^; genius moments with Kai...
Sadness... *WARNING- start of another rant* I'm also starting this story to kind of relieve some sadness/anxiousness. Currently my bestest friend in the whole wide world (I lurrrrrrrve you Haadiya!) is literally almost a world away (in Dubai). I've missed her so so much, and even though I knew that she'd be back for the last month of glorious summer break, I still miss her each day! So yes, that's why there's been a ginormous hiatus in all my stories thus far. I just couldn't write without her. You should know that I don't write without a reason. I don't just start a new story because I feel like it. There's always a reason to what I do. Technically everything I write is to vent. Each of my stories thus far have been to express emotion over something that has happened to me in my life: joy, hope, angst, grief...all of it. I always say that I need to be sad to write... which is true in a way. But with Haadiya... it's just not like that. It's like homesickness but with a person. You just miss that person so much that it feels like a hole is torn straight through your chest, but you don't feel it because of all the adrenaline. And then when you think about the littlest thing that reminds you of that person, the subconscious hurt grows a teensy bit more, until you're swallowed up by a black hole. That's when the pain sets in. I know it seems a bit melodramatic- hell I even can't believe I feel like this sometimes (me, Kai, have feelings?!)- but the thing is, I've been left so many times, it just makes me more afraid of being left behind again. So yeah, I've fallen into a bit of a depression lately. You can yell at me and bitch at me for putting a hiatus on my other stories, but to tell the truth I've already yelled at myself enough... But I'm really excited 'cause she's coming back reeeaaaally soon! Can't wait to see you again, Klaus! (inside joke XD)
*end of humongous rant*
Oh yes, there are two poems for this one. Well, actually one is a song called "Have We Lost" that actually inspired this story... it's a good song. Give it a listen.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my imagination.
Warnings: None.
Oh, yes, so the genres this fall under say "Adventure&Romance". Do not be fooled. If I had a billion categories for this, it would fall into all of them. Knowing me, it'll be a mix of the two above, angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, drama, and humor.
*wink*
Anywayyyyy...
So here goes- Chapter 1 ahoy!
Please don't tell me any more
There's a weight in your eyes
And it weighs on my heart
Where have the children gone
We were innocent once
But that was so long ago
Have we lost our way back home
We have made mistakes I know
I know
Don't tell me of better days
There's a memory I have
Could be something I read
Of laughter and cheap guitars
In a house full of friends
Could've been one of ours
We stayed up late, we loved the stars
Can't remember the rest
Just a few parts
Have we lost our way back home
We have made mistakes I know
I know
I think they lost something that they miss
I wanna find that book
Dust it off and read it again
There was hope in the end
Have we lost our way back home
We have made mistakes I know
I know
We were braver still when we were young
And when we were young
We spoke in tongues
- Flyleaf "Have We Lost"
Pfft.
Normal?
Normal is boring.
Nothing happens in 'normal'.
Normal is the same old thing every damned day.
When you're like me, you realize that 'normal' isn't a luxury you get to have.
Once you vacant lot of humans finally realize that, the better off you'll be.
But that's the funny thing isn't it-
You, you humans are so goddamn stubborn.
Refusing to accept the truth.
Surrounding yourselves with lies.
Damn, I hate you.
Every day, you attempt to go through the same routine- though in vain that is!
Never shall you differ in your ways,
And me in mine.
We are the same in many ways, you and I.
And yet, we are so, so different!
It's amazing isn't it?
How no matter what happens, to you or I...
No matter if we live or die,
The world will keep spinning.
The seasons will keep changing.
Until it all falls apart.
We will fade until we are all but transparent.
Only a distant memory.
A nameless face.
In the end, we are nothing.
We don't matter.
Just another nameless face in this small world.
That is why.
That is why I loathe you so, human.
For you can continue on, pretending that once you die, you'll keep on living.
That is the farthest thing from the truth.
You. Will be. Forgotten.
Just as I have.
Just as we all have.
So while you have been sitting idly
I have been getting stronger.
In order to fulfill my purpose-no matter how insignificant so I can leave this place.
What is real?
Am I dead?
Oh, but I feel so alive!
Is this a memory...
... Or a fading dream?
Do I wake...
... Or sleep?
The by-far scariest thing about Hayato Niigata was her zanpakuto.
Oh it was unique, yes. But that wasn't the thing that made her enemies shiver in fear.
No.
It was the dark aura surrounding it.
Like a huge wolf, ripping through anything in its way, tearing all hope to pieces- just like its master.
No, don't be fooled by her.
With her friendly demeanor and nonchalant personality- she seems nice enough.
Until...
Or so they say.
Because Hayato Niigata hasn't been seen in two and a half centuries.
Until now.
The girl seemed normal enough: standard Shinigami robes (a few sizes to big, though), pitch black hair pulled back in an overly short pony tail with hair spilling out...
Her lack of a zanpakuto, however, was not.
Neither was all the blood and grim staining her face, nor the way the hair spilling out of her hair tie was matted and tangled.
Well, at least not to the average-folk of the Sereitei, who were, to say the least, boring and mundane creatures whose yearly entertainment consisted of the occasional hollow invasion and the discovery of porn.
How pitiful.
And that was exactly what she considered them- boring mundane creatures, not worthy of her time at the moment.
As such, she deemed them useless and did her best to ignore them utterly and completely.
Her eyes stared straight ahead, glimmering with what might have been identifiable as eagerness in the green depths.
However, once you looked closer (and few dared to do so), you could see that what was so easily mistaken as 'eagerness' was curiosity.
An emotion- the only emotion- she accepted. Curiosity. It was good to be curious. Curious is how you learned things. In a world full of riddles, the one with the answers is king. And damn, she looked good in a crown.
She was playing herself if she convinced herself that she truly believed that. She was more emotional than some would like to believe. Than she would like to admit.
Broken out of her silent reverie by a not-so-silent "Who the hell...?!", she shot a withering glare toward the offender, who snapped his mouth shut, and sighed irritably. Continuing on in her journey, the number of shinigami dwindled down until it was just her treading on the path.
She frowned tiredly, not wanting to face what had to come next, not expecting any sort of comfort from her zanpakuto. Their relationship wasn't like that. Maybe it had been once, but that was a time long passed, a time that she couldn't remember. For as long as she could remember, their relationship had been shaky and detached at best. The corner of her mouth lifted a bit. That said a lot about her didn't it? After all, zanpakuto were supposed to be an incarnation of the wielder's soul.
Sighing at her predicament, she turned to focuse on her destination.
The First Division barracks.
It had been two hundred fifty years since she had seen it last.
She wondered what had changed. And damn...had there always been so many stairs?!
But then again, Yama-jii always did like making things as hard as possible for the other captains...
Captains...
Her hand came up to the second of three badges secured around her upper arm, unconsciously tracing the words "Eleventh Division Captain". Slowly, her hand went down to trace the words on the second badge, identical to both the other two, sitting just above her elbow: Kidoshu Soshi. And then, to the first, and most precious, secured at her shoulder: The Protector. The one that was, for all intents and purposes, the metaphorical lock and key, door and key, whatever metaphor you wanted to use to her independence. Her freedom.
She wondered if anyone she knew was still alive...
Taking a deep breath to calm her sudden giddiness, she set her jaw, fists instinctually clenching. Oh well. It had to be done some time, she supposed.
Stretching her back, bones popping in a succession of quick cracks, she proceeded to hop up the stairs, one step at a time, like an inquisitive little bird.
And once at the top, looking up at the height of the building- "Fuck!"
Brilliant green eyes narrowed dangerously, estimating the flights of dreaded steps it would take her to get to her destination. It had taken her ten minutes to get up the ones on the outside. She was already late as it was.
"Awww hell to the no! There is no way in hell I am climbing a shitload of stairs again!"
She huffed angrily and glowered at the building towering above her and dwarfing her even further.
And so, taking a running jump, she leapt up and grabbed the ledge of a random window and swung up, for once thanking whatever deity there was for good old shinigami powers. She did this once more, balancing precariously on another ledge and hoping she wouldn't have to do that again because honestly, she was already drained as it was.
She peeked in and cursed. Wrong one.
The shinigami glared up at the window three stories up, sensitive ears just barely picking up the traces of muted voices through the apparently sound-proofed stone. As for the window, it was just sitting there, mocking her. And so she resolved to conquer that little window.
Her legs bent, storing the energy she would need to spring. She prayed that the spirit energy she had reserved would not fail her now.
There was a loud "Kyahhh!" as she sprung, landing exactly on her mark, slipping, catching herself- only to realize that the window was closed.
The god damn window.
The god damn-
Allowing her carefully crafted guise to slip for just a second and muttering a few incantations under her breath, she placed her hand to the window which promptly shattered.
Nimbly stepping over the glass, she flounced in with a breezy, "Don't worry. I'll pay for it." At the moment, she was more than a little irritated, both with the amount of time and the amount of effort it had taken her to be standing there. She stared straight ahead though, her gaze never once wavering.
Meeting the eyes of the startled Captains.
"Good to see you again, Soutaicho," was murmured, the speaker never taking her eyes off of the thirteen shinigami in front of her.
Wary. Calculating. And then-
"Is that really you Little HayaNii?"
A smile.
"Yeah, it's really me Ku-etchi."
A pouty face appeared on the pony-tailed Taichou. "HayaNiiiiii! You're so mean~!"
"Yeah, well, someone has to keep you on a leash. God knows your lieutenant has enough trouble on their hands without worrying about a perverted drunkard with the maturity level of a four year old," she muttered, allowing the smallest of tired smiles to rest on her face.
A white-haired man, well known to her from years prior, laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It's good to see you, my friend! Where have you been the past few years?"
She laughed. "Ju-kun! It's been far too long!"
A voice, cold as ice, cut off the other man's reply. "Soutaicho, with all due respect, who is this woman?"
Her eyes flickered to the little taicho, only inches taller than her, with tousled white hair. She blinked, all childish innocence. The Thirteenth Division head heaved a sigh, knowing all too well that his younger friend was about to stir up trouble.
"Who me? Well, I'm-"
"I do not believe I gave you permission to speak."
That was his first mistake.
A catlike grin stretched across her face.
"Oh, forgive me, taicho," she drawled voice dripping with sarcasm.
Her eyes flickered up, following something in the air, and the Division Ten Captain followed her gaze in confusion before she beamed at him. "Oh look. A Flying Fuck. It escaped before I could give it."
Anger flashed through teal eyes.
"Do you know I am, girl?"
"No. Do you know who I am?"
Momentary confusion.
"Well then good, I guess we're on the same page."
The fury returned, and the white-haired taicho turned to Yamamoto.
There was a frustrated silence as the boy tried to control his temper.
"Soutaicho, what is this ignorant child doing here?"
A sudden burst of reiatsu interrupted him and the air fizzed with a hidden threat.
He stiffened, then slowly turned around to see a smug looking Hayato grinning at him.
"What was that now? Oh, yes, well who am I? Let's see... I'm Nobody. Nice to meet you. Now according to the story, I'm supposed to poke your eye out with a giant flaming stick, so let's just skip the formalities and get to the part where you're writhing in pain and everyone thinks you're crazy, yes? After all, it is impossible for a strong and noble Captain to be hurt by a mere nobody, correct?"
The Soutaicho's eyes glimmered faintly with amusement. He knew that many of the shinigami there would not recognize the woman in front of them. It had, after all, been almost three hundred years.
"This child, Hitsugaya," he cut in, "is Hayato Niigata, former taicho of the Eleventh Division, former Kidoshu Soshi, and current...Protector."
The young captain visibly blanched. Hayato eyed him boredly.
"Protector?" he asked a bit shakily, when he regained his composure.
"The only one in the world. I invented the job. It's kind of something that requires a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none kind of person...like me for instance."
The younger shinigami faced her. "I see... Please forgive my actions, Hayato-san. It was childish of me."
"It's all good. You had every right to be suspicious, Hitsugaya-san. The incident has already fled my mind," she replied with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
Silence.
And then, "Hayato Niigata...you are aware of why your presence was demanded here."
It wasn't a question.
She answered anyway.
"Yes. The Hell Butterfly you sent spoke of a ryoka invasion, correct?"
"Yes."
"And I am to help with them, correct?"
"Correct."
She bit back the sharp words on the tip of her tongue and rubbed the back of her head, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
"I have been away two hundred fifty years," she said slowly. "Many things have changed..."
"And we shall help to fill you in as much as we can, Hayato-san."
"Thank you, Aizen-san. I see that the years have treated you nicely."
"Yes, and you."
A weak smile was cast towards the man who returned it softly, if not a bit shyly.
"Now then, Hayato Niigata, your job will be to assure the safety of the Sereitei at all costs-"
She frowned, unable to hold her tongue anymore.
"Forgive me, Yamamoto, I may be many things- an assassin, a mercenary, a guardian- but I am not someone's guard dog," she said with disgust.
The old man eyed her wearily. "Yes, of course. However, you will be the hound that flushes out and hunts down the fox."
They held each other's stares for a while as silence permeated the room before the Head Captain continued with the meeting.
Attention was demanded at the front, and the captains turned towards Yamamoto, occasionally casting her a curious glance. Only a handful of faces could she recognize. All the others were foreign.
For the rest of the meeting, she stood awkwardly off to the side, zoning out (and most likely paying bitterly for the many sleepless nights) and catching the words "...spread word of her arrival..." and "...will stay with her brother...".
The meeting unceremoniously came to an end, captains dispersing until it was only her left.
Heaving a sigh, she picked up one foot.
There was a nearly inaudible swoosh.
The next time she put it down was in the Second Division barracks.
My room was just the same as it had been the last time I stayed there, nearly two and a half centuries ago.
Not a thing had been touched, and as I closed the door behind me, the fact made me both happy and sad.
It was a simple room really. Just a few of my items, a bed next to the wall near the door. A nightstand, a closet, bathroom, and a small kitchen. A futon.
And of course a mini grand piano.
I dusted it off lovingly, thinking of all the times when the instrument had been my only friend.
Crossing the room and running a hand through my now down hair, I began to gather about the supplies I would need the next few days and caught sight of myself in the full length mirror sitting on the wall perpendicular to the futon. My gaze lowered bitterly
The person staring back at me was almost unrecognizable- no wonder the young taicho was suspicious of me. Hell, I would be suspicious of me.
It was obvious that she hadn't taken a bath in a good while. Her short, shoulder-length hair was wild and greasy, normally light olive skin was ghostly pale, even more so than usual. She was almost scarily thin- the kind of thin that came from many days without eating. I could see the outline of her ribs and make out her hip bones jutting out, and, though I had always been naturally svelte this was a bit... Unsettling. She was built delicately almost like a fragment of glass melted and twisted into a delicate and intricate flower. I felt as if she would lift off the ground and be swept away like a feather at any moment. Her shinigami robes were too big and hung from her small frame like a large sheet. Dirt splotched her scarily pale and spidery hands, and there were a few small, bloody cuts on her cheeks. In the near-translucent area under her eyes were light purple bags, from the many sleepless nights. Big bright green eyes blinked owlishly as she stared back at me.
She looked wild and untamed and yet like the perfect, diplomatic daisy at the same time. Always conflicting.
She herself was like that tiny glass flower, twisting and turning and weaving into beauty that was in no way beautiful, and looking like a feather about to be swept away at any moment.
Only, I knew the truth: that she was heavily grounded so that even the strongest wind couldn't blow her over. That the lightness in her feet was her being prepared for anything at any moment. That her flower-like delicateness was so that she could twist herself around her enemies and dance around them and rip them apart. It was the ace up her sleeve. The gruffness in her eyes and the frown that almost perpetually tugged at her lips was proof of it.
I knew this because...
Because she was me.
As pathetic as it might sound.
My shoulders slumped as I took in the dirt that was caked onto my pale skin, making it look like oil.
Usually, this would be fine with me. Usually I didn't mind getting dirty. But suddenly, I felt a strong- and irrational- urge to clean up, to get back into uniform- my uniform, not those awful robes that were the norm here; not the robes that I hated- to get back to being me. To being the person I had been before.
Who knows? Maybe this, being here, would be good for me. Maybe I would change.
And so, shedding my robes, I walked toward the bathroom, and ran a bath.
A sigh escaped me as I slid into the hot water and began scrubbing my body clean.
My fingers slid through my hair, gently massaging shampoo into it. I grabbed a large pitcher, filled it with water, and dumped it over my head, repeating the action until the water running from my hair was clear. Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I then began on the cuts on my face, washing the blood off, and, in the process, scrubbing the dirt of my hands.
I dunked my head underwater and resurfaced shaking the now lukewarm liquid off of my dripping, heavy-with-water black hair.
Scrubbing until my almost translucent porcelain skin was spotless, I began slowly relaxing, focusing completely on the task at hand.
When I was satisfied, I rinsed off, drained the tub, and dried myself off.
Padding outside, I stared at myself for a moment in the mirror, not noticing a huge change. The same wild, untamed flower, the feather-like girl was still there, just hidden a bit more.
And for a second I looked a bit deeper, my eyes searching my body for the distortions that only I knew about and were so familiar that I had memorized them all.
Scars of all shapes and sizes decorated my skin, many faded and barely visible from age.
My hands traced a faint, nearly invisible line at my throat from when I was a young girl in early Egypt, sacrificed to the gods.
Then, another near invisible scar at my stomach, where an Athenian officer stabbed me in the stomach as a threat to my small city-state during the Peloponnesian War.
After that, I was a girl in Pompei, left behind to face the wrath of a volcano when my parents pushed me off of the boat to fend for myself and fled to safety. After all, I would only slow them down.
Next, I was a Greco-Egyptian, forced by Queen Cleopatra herself to act as her and commit suicide while she went on living her life. The bitemark of the serpent was forever etched in my upper left arm reminding me of the curse of the infamous suicide of the snake girl.
Then I was a Christian in Rome, martyred for my beliefs, nailed to a cross by my wrists while my legs were carved apart like meat to be butchered. After all, those who do not conform must be punished right?
During the last (and final, thank the lord) fall of Rome, I was whipped and then burned in an uprising as a public message (the whipping came before the burning. Who knows what I would've done had the troops of the Germanic tribes not come rushing in, forcing my antagonist to rush and fumble to light me on fire and burn the evidence. Not the most fun thing to endure.)
After that, I was reborn as a Turkish girl, used as a human shield by my mother, and shot by a Mongolian arrow in the back. It punctured my right lung.
I was born again as a Mongol (the irony does not and did not, at the time, escape me) and was stabbed in the heart by an enemy tribe.
Next, I was born to a nameless tribe, left to die as a newborn. I was mauled by a wolverine; I still had the barely visible, jagged scar on my side.
Afterwards, I was a Vietnamese freedom fighter, one of the women who fought with the Trung Sisters, martyred, yet again. Having my back torn to shreds and my spine severed was new though.
Then a would-be empress in feudal Japan, whose neck was snapped by an assassin.
In Spain, I was martyred yet again, left to hang in the gallows where I had sullenly trudged with a sigh and a thought of "Not again."
I was poisoned in the Andes, murdered by the Spanish to prove a point during my time with a Native American tribe, and was drowned by a tribemate when I was with the Inuits.
The Inuits... I smiled sadly to myself, remembering that lifetime the most fondly of all.
My master...my master was a very special person. He had taught me much about myself where I was confused. He showed me the spirit world. I guess... I guess he was the one to really teach me most of what I know and hold dear now.
I had no sense of self awareness before that, no idea that I could fight that I could push forward and blaze my own path. Sometimes I burned a little too brightly in that and ended up burning everything around me. He taught me how to be human when no one else did, or could, or would, not a demon that hated the world with a stony, brooding silence and avoided the thought of having a soul.
Not a demon that had no emotions and was heartless.
Alignak(1) was a very special man and deserved the best. Why he chose me over everyone else, I'll never know. I only wish...
They had caught the man in the act and it was too late. It was too late.
It was too...
Late.
I closed my eyes to fight the weight pushing behind my eyes.
They mourned me. That was the first time anyone had ever mourned over me. Maybe the last.
I didn't deserve to be mourned over.
I wish...
I wish that I could've spent more time with him.
It scared to me to think that the memories of him and that place were fading.
Everything was blurred and smeared, but that one period of my life, that one little part, was clear and chrystalline. It had to be.
It had to be.
Hayato...
Hayato...
Hey what're you doing sleepyhead?
Hey! Come on Hayato let's go see if there're any berries up here! The people in the village over there said they were in season this time of year.
I stared at the ground sadly. Alignak, you idiot. Berries don't grow up there in the north. It's too cold.
And yet imagine my surprise when we had found them, a whole patch of bushes full of the best berries I had ever tasted.
I shook myself out of my memories. It was no use to get sad over the past. After all, Alignak was long gone by now.
The list continued on after that though. Even though that was by far my happiest life, I still couldn't move on. There was still something I needed before I could be properly laid to rest.
I was reborn in a part of Africa that was inhabited by dark-skinned people, thought to be some sort of sign from a goddess or something, and sacrificed to the gods. Getting skewered was no more fun than usual, but this time it hurt more than usual, a dull throbbing ache in my chest that only wanted to go home. But where was home? I didn't have one.
After that, I found myself in India. This time I wasn't killed because of my white skin (contrary to the popular belief that Indians were brown-skinned, many were fair-skinned. Though I did have to wear a red dot on my forehead for religious purposes, something I was completely and utterly confounded about at the time because with all of the times I had been killed for my religion, I had grown to think it was an inherently bad thing). Imagine my surprise when I was killed for religion but for entertainment. And what better way to do that than snap a thirteen year old girl's neck?
Afterwards, I was an inhabitant on an island state that was not yet known as Hawaii. During an eruption, I was thrown into a volcano in hopes to satisfy the gods and prevent the mass-death. Needless to say that we all died, but I still didn't appreciate that too much.
Then I was French- wasn't that an interesting lifetime! Sadly, the Church (gee thanks guys. I thought I was a good Christian, but, whatever) was absolutely convinced that I was a witch and had me publicly beaten to death. Internal bleeding's a bitch.
And then, my last life. I was born in 1672 in Jamestown to a family with many brothers and sisters. And I died...
From disease. The same one that killed my brother, Hayate. What a mundane way to die after all the excitement of my old lives! But...
It was what I wanted all along. I wanted a normal death. I didn't want there to be anything special about the way I died.
Every time before, someone had killed me for their own purposes. Someone had decided when I got to die.
I didn't want anyone to play God with my life.
And so, with a few pockmarks dotting my body from the illness, I could finally pass on.
But just because I was able to pass on in that life, didn't mean it was happy. Didn't make it happy. Or good. Because I can assure, you, it was neither of those things. Not at all.
I was openly scorned among them. Only Hayate, my very big brother (not in age, it's just that he was twelve years older than me. My parents in that lifetime were very, uh, busy), actually acted like I was family and not the plague. But he died when I was three.
I was never allowed to go out or play.
I died at age seven.
When I got to the Soul Society, I wandered around the Seventy-eighth District of Rukongai. It was only a month until I found my brother.
He looked exactly the same as he had when I'd last seen him: about nineteen looking, with shaggy brown hair that fell a bit over his emerald-colored eyes. He was quite tall, but muscular. The only thing that had changed was that the tips of his hair had gone blood red.
I had gone up to him, insisting that he was my brother, and that we knew each other from when we were alive. It took a while to convince him, but eventually, I did it.
And now... I was here.
There were only two things that I regretted about my living lives.
The first was not being able to properly say goodbye to Alignak.
The second was the idea of purpose. I would always tell myself that I had none. That I was just the girl who always got killed.
That's why I live like I live, I guess. To try and make it worth something.
I was wrong.
So, so wrong.
I had a purpose, no matter how small.
I guess I want to be remembered.
It's foolish though.
Eventually we all fade.
It's quite sad. In all my lives, I never lived past fifteen. In only one life, was I able to reach fifteen and that was during my time with the Inuits. And even that had been cut short by the sharp knife that refused to leave Fate as it was.
Wrenching myself out of my memories, I rummaged through my closet until I found one of my old uniforms.
I hurriedly wrapped my torso before taking the shihakushō off the hanger.
Sliding the kosode over my shoulders, I cherished the feeling of the soft, familiar black silk on my skin. Rolling up my sleeve, I slid on both of my arm guards, and then a pair of leather fingerless gloves. Yanking on my hakama, I decided to forgo shoes. Socks and sandals. Whatever.
Stopping in front of the mirror yet again, I felt a sudden rush of déjà vu.
I had standard shinigami robes minus the fact that my left arm was completely sleeveless, exposing the metal armguard that went from my hand to my shoulder like a long fingerless tekkou. The guard on my other arm was completely covered by the sleeve, leaving only my hand visible. I wore leather fingerless gloves on each hand, with a metal stud on each knuckle. And believe me, it hurt like hell when you got punched with one. (All I can say for that story is that I am never letting my brother wear these gloves again.)
It brought back so many memories. I could almost see myself with long, waist-length hair, two long strands pulled back from my face into a bun.
I had a sudden and irrational urge to let myself slip for just a moment- just to stretch out.
Before I could process what I was doing, I felt black cat ears flick forward, tail swish around behind me.
A content sigh escaped my lips. It had been so long since I had stretched out my cat parts. Two hundred fifty years to be exact. And to put it lightly, the fresh air around them was suiting me nicely.
Yes, many people compared me to a cat, but I bet none of them knew how right they were.
I was what humans could call a Neko. Nekojin. I could never really understand the minute difference the -jin brought. Same thing.
These ears and tail are probably why I was accused of being a demon so much when I was alive (sometimes I doubted my saintliness too, don't worry). In every life it was the same. I had a different name each time, mind you, but I knew who I really was. I was Hayato Niigata.
I jumped when there was a loud knock on the door and a hesitant, "Haya?"
I sighed, but this time in reluctance. I guessed I could put up with my brother's antics just this once.
So when I was crushed in a giant bear-hug, I didn't try to escape, just hugged him back. After all, I had been gone nearly three centuries. Anyone would be worried after that long.
"You worried me so much," Hayate murmured into my hair, not caring about my ears.
I breathed in his scent. That was why I loved Hayate. He didn't care about whether I was part cat or not. (Though when we first met, it did creep him out and so he promptly taught me how to properly shield them...)
I was his sister. That was all that mattered.
My brother's name was Hayate Niigata. He was the fourth seat of the Second Division. And to me, he was one of the strongest soul reapers out there. As the fourth seat, his line of work was virtually unknown.
The Captain had the Executive Militia, the second-in-command had Patrol Corps, third seat had the Detention Unit... fifth had Inner Court Troop.
But no one knew what the fourth seat did. Perhaps because knowing would get you killed (unless you happen to be the fourth seat's brother).
What my brother did was particularly gruesome.
Yes, the Executive Militia was orderly and elusive, the Patrol Corps was endearing and watchful, the Detention Unit was physically strong, and the Inner Court Troop was fast, but to me, my brother was stronger than all of them.
He had mental strength. He was cunning and yet fine-tuned with people's emotions. Unlike me, where I could murder a puppy in cold blood.
He was the head of the Interrogation Unit.
But it wasn't as simple as it sounded.
Yes, he interrogated criminals.
But another name given to his Unit, a nickname really, was the "Janus" Unit.
Janus- the god with the two faces.
There was an underlying message in the name.
The full name of his work was Torture and Interrogation.
But that just didn't have the same ring to it, now did it?
He didn't do much interrogation. That was actually someone else's job. It was his job to torture the ones who were stubborn. To get them to talk.
My brother knew just how far you had to push someone to get them to break. He knew how far you could push someone without killing them.
He knew what would break them.
I truly had no heart for torture, but I would resort to it if needed.
My brother taught me most of what I know.
"Sorry for leaving so long. Two and a half centuries isn't really that long for someone like me," I said lamely. I knew it was only an excuse for the real reason I left, but he ate it up.
I felt him grin into my hair.
"It's good to be back though."
Suddenly he pulled back, the smile dropping from his face. He had that you-don't-know-the-full-reason-why-fill-in-the-blank-is-happening-to-you-and-if-you-did-you-definitely-would-not-be-this-happy look on his face. "Hayato, do you know why you're here?"
"To help with the ryoka problem, yes?"
"No."
"No?"
"No." He sighed. "He didn't tell you did he?"
I stiffened, worried at how serious Hayate became. "Tell me what, Hayate?"
My brother gave me a pitying look, eyebrows scrunching up. I was immediately put on guard.
"Hayato, the real reason you're here...is to attend Rukia Kuchiki's execution."
(1)- Inuit name meaning "Moon God"
A/N: Well, that didn't go as well as I planned. I think it went a bit too fast... XD I actually deleted a lot because it would've been information overload. Next chapter's a bit of a flashback! God I hate myself for doing this...
Oh yeah! This is a Neko fic! I'm sorry if you all don't like that... It just fit with the story! Plus I've always wanted to start a Neko fic!
Oh yes, so some info on the name. So I wanted both brother and sister to have names starting with "H" and have a last name starting with "N".
Hayate was easy. I kind of imagine him as one of those people who fits into society really easier, who's a joker and an overachiever and a bit of a womanizer. So the name "Hayate" (meaning "smooth") was easy.
But then there was Hayato. All of the names I thought of were just too...not her (too girly, too happy, too cliché, I've seen that name in about 400 fics I mean seriously?). I imagine Hayato as this modest, a tad bit shy person who finds it hard to fit in deep down. But on the flip side, she's extremely powerful and cocky and loves to fight. However she hates her power and wishes she could use it to heal, and therefore doesn't brag like most other shinigami. So slight tomboy with a bit of punk misunderstood girl mixed in: check. Girly girl who has huge boobs and an ass-load of makeup: nooooo. So something powerful and beautiful and agile: Hayato. The name just suits her, even if it is meant for a guy. Hayato- falcon. It's perfect. I love it.
And their last name, Niigata sounded good with it so... XD
And also, her being a Neko suits her so if you want to complain, go ahead, but I ain't changing it. (Plus I've always been known for putting an odd spin on all my stories... ^^;)
Loved it? Hated it? So-so?
See you next time! (Hopefully I'll update faster than I have with my other stories!)
~ KAi
(Edit): Oh my god, reading my previous AN's literally makes me cringe agh. God I was so gross why did none of you ever eat me holy shit.