Title: A Toast to the Exiled
Author: croisee
Character/Pairing/Group: Rukia, Ichigo, Rukia, Shirosaki, implied IchiRuki, a slight dash of H!IchiRuki, mentions of Renji, Orihime, Gin, Ikkaku, Ishida, Yachiru, Yamamoto-Genryuusai, Byakuya
Word Count: 775
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Rukia welcomed Ichigo, and the end of the world that came with the package.
Warning(s): Heavily implied violence. Aside from that, no spoilers unless you don't know who Shirosaki or H!Ichigo is.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my beta-reader beautyissilver ! I really appreciate your help. So… finally! A fic in a genre I am comfortable with. This fic is open to your interpretations. It may seem quite vague and confusing but bear with me, since I intended it to be so. Have fun! (for 10themes 2 down, 8 more to go)
It is only a matter of time before he gets her.
Their blood is on the walls, bright red and dripping, that it makes her wonder if he tortured them first or went straight to the point. It was so unlike him to dawdle, she wouldn't wonder if he gave them a quick slash to the throat.
'But then again,' she muses thoughtfully as she picks up a severed hand that might've been Renji's, 'It is also so unlike him to be merciful with his prey.'
Something crunches under her boot as she stands up, and she throws Renji's hand nonchalantly before grabbing a fistful of hair from a severed head.
'Now this,' she thinks to herself while caressing the sunken cheeks, 'is exactly what I mean by his benevolence.' She grasps the hilt of her zanpakutou and in an instant has the blade through one of the surprised eyes.
'What a pity. Her hair always did look like his.' She drags the speared head with her sword and a mass of long orange hair trails after her.
Hell hath never been sweeter.
She walks on and hums a tune.
"Itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout…"
Two heads dangling limply from rust-colored flagpoles are leering at her and she sneers back. "Gin and Ikkaku never did learn how to show more appropriate facial features even as he was slicing their throats." She says to herself, loud enough to cover the sound of bones crunching under her feet.
"Ru-ki-a."
She stops in front of an abandoned church and crushes a pink-haired skull that is littering the entry way. "What?" She asks irritably, toeing the hair of the head under her sword.
"Face me when I'm talking to you."
She turns around reluctantly and meets his eyes of yellow and amber. 'It does look good on him,' she muses again, 'Half a mask on.' She just wishes the half that's his human face would scowl more to gain a semblance of the times before their glory days.
He scowls and there is nothing more Rukia wants than to jump him where he stood. "You weren't running."
It is more of a statement than a question and she doesn't even bother to reply. He is irked by her silence and in a beat of her nonexistent heart has her back against the church door and her throat in his cold hand. She doesn't even bother to gasp.
He drops his hand to her collarbone and runs it over her in a way that has her struggling not to moan. "It is time to celebrate." He whispers with his mouth against her ear and his teeth around her earlobe. She gives in to the temptation and sighs out loud.
He steps back while chuckling, watching in amazement as she huffs madly and glares at him. "Who is it this time?" She demands, kicking the head impaled in her sword.
He looks at the orange mane of hair strewn across what seemed like the broken remnants of Ishida's body and clicks his tongue loudly. "And Orihime finally landed a place between Ishida's legs."
She sheathes her sword with more force than necessary and notes with insane pride the bloodied front of his robes. "I'm not playing games with you." Shirosaki's half grins and Ichigo's smirks. "You seem happy. Who did you kill this time?"
"Always straight to the point." He grabs her arm and pushes the heavy church doors open with a hand.
Light filters in through the grimy stained glass décor and she notices his throne of honor, reserved for the hardest kill, occupied by a figure. 'No wonder he's ecstatic.'
He lets go of her and stalks to a corner. "How long did it take?" she asks half-heartedly, more engrossed by the river of blood that fell down the altar steps.
"Three days." He replies as he returns to her with two glass goblets in hand. He notices where her attention is diverted and adds with a smirk, "The body is fresh."
She takes a goblet from him and holds it delicately between her fingers. "I noticed." They lapse into silence broken only by the slosh of red liquid in their glasses.
"Yamamoto-soutaichou," He says to himself, loud enough for her to hear.
She lifts her face from her goblet and smiles with blood-stained lips. "I still think nii-sama's was better."
Both halves of his face grin. "But sou-taichou's is much harder to get."
"Dumbass," she murmurs affectionately.
Ichigo smiles. "Bitch."
He lifts up his goblet. She follows suit. And they toast to the end of the world.