quest for a dearly beloved
ooo
Once upon a time—
Wait. No.
This is not the beginning of the story. This is not how the story starts. This is neither the Realization nor the Abduction, as Ichigo calls it in his head. Both are bases for once upon a time, and where he is now is not that.
This is the after. This is part of the Long Trek towards That Thing. This is Day Two.
It is day two, and things could be better, but they're not because Kurosaki Ichigo has a terrible companion travelling with him.
She is here out of her own volition. He will not be blamed for this, no matter how often her disdain for him insinuates otherwise.
There are no chains around her wrists, he reminds her frequently with a scowl that fails to stop her complaints. And she complains a lot, shooting glares at him when he is and isn't looking, and muttering under her breath when she thinks he's tuned out.
There is nothing that binds her to him, not rope, not debt, not an oath. Nothing. The last thing Ichigo would claim to be is a knight, his upbringing laughable at best, and with utter sincerity, he can state with confidence that there is no sworn fealty between them.
There is an ever growing sense of frustration and contempt, Ichigo grumpily admits to himself, teeth grounding. It's been two days, and Ichigo's halfway out of his mind. He's not certain he can handle a week with her.
A week. Maybe two.
Ichigo's getting a headache just thinking about it.
"I'm warning you," Rukia snarls, a shrew wrapped up in tawdry clothes, cheeks red with dignified huffiness. He doesn't know how huffiness can be dignified, but it is, somehow, when it comes to her. She muffles a squeak as she tries to avoid the mud on her expensive dress, but to Ichigo, that squeak is a sound of victory.
So maybe he's a little bit vindictive — anyone would be after spending an entire day alone with her. Anyone.
Ichigo watches her hoist up her garments with her tiny claw-like hands out of the corner of his eye. He could make a smart remark about how it's a lost cause, sooner or later, she'd be back at it, trying to wring free her dress from the twigs in the forest, but course she wouldn't listen.
He'd tried being nice — well, polite — Yuzu would recognize it as him being nice — by advising Rukia that travel might be better if she wore something less gaudy and expensive.
But she'd taken offence to it, turning up her nose at him. According to her, who was he to call her clothes gaudy if he failed to distinguish her clothes as elegant and beautiful and sophisticated?
Even when, it seemed, that her elegant, beautiful and not to mention sophisticated clothes were becoming frayed as her endless battle with the forest continued. So be it, Ichigo thought, rolling his eyes.
He'd watch the smug expression on her face change from haughty to horrified, and smirk at her, further infuriating her.
He won't lie, he finds the entire struggle immensely entertaining, especially since it brought her snippy side, and there was something about that part of her that intrigues him. Not that he'd ever admit it.
Right on cue, she glares at him.
"One more time and I'll —"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ichigo interrupts, bored by the reminder, a dismissive hand wave in her direction. He's heard it all before. "You don't have to keep on harping on about it."
This is what, the twelfth warning? He's lost count.
The sad thing about this sort of entertainment at her expense was that it was short-lived, and quickly became annoying when she started targeting her anger at him.
"So you say," Rukia purses her lips and narrows her eyes, and Ichigo relishes the silence while it lasts. It never lasts for long. "And yet, for some reason, I have to continue to insist upon it."
He grunts. Apologies aren't worth it, and he isn't about to start now. It was a slip of the tongue, is all. "I suppose."
She doesn't have to; Ichigo can't help but think, scowling. She just can't help herself from being a nuisance.
Besides, Ichigo is doing Miss High and Mighty a favour. Not a debt, an oath, or anything else so obligatory.
"Oh, what's the point?" She sighs behind him, and Ichigo stops in her tracks, curious to see how she'll lament this time. "I should have never — I should have done it myself, because at least then —"
The words are out before he knows it. "Hey, wait just a second, Rukia —"
The slap isn't unexpected, but Ichigo can never catch her wrist in time. He blames her midget powers. They give her a hell of a right hook, if she was taught right, and he's certain that if they'd met in any other circumstances, he'd probably respect her.
"It's Your Royal Highness or Princess Rukia!" The princess snaps at him, and there is nothing that Ichigo wants to do more than steal her horse and leave her to the forest's evil ways if he could, but alas, there are several problems with that plan. There is no horse to steal, the forest isn't evil, and even if it was, Ichigo isn't so heartless to leave her defenceless and by herself, when she isn't so bad, really, just incredibly shrill and annoying and exactly the type of person he can't stand.
They might not be in each other's debt, or sworn an oath to each other, but he's doing her a favour, and they have an agreement. And Ichigo is nothing, if not a man of his word, a commoner, with mud in his veins instead of something as fancy as blue blood like hers.
"Even your grace would suffice," Her Royal Shrew fumes at him, strangely pretty when angry. "But no. You refuse, or you forget, and it is my duty to remind you the difference between us."
Ichigo can't be bothered to tell her that titles like those are a waste of time. No one uses them where he's from. There's no point and everyone is happier that way. But he's already halfway tuning her out, her lectures tedious to listen to, no matter how often she puts a new spin on it.
"Somehow these instructions are above your tiny brain's capabilities. How can I make it any clearer to you?" Scornful, Rukia harrumphs, her nose upturned and raised high into the air.
It's a tragic effort.
It doesn't make the prissy brat any taller, but it does make her look a good deal more stupid.
Ichigo, master of stoicism and scowling, reveals nothing, too focused on ignoring her and the painful hand-shaped bruise forming on jis jaw. He'll be lucky if he'll last even a single day unscathed by her temper.
Maybe he should have had her bound and gagged from the very start, maybe he could have let passer-by's believe that he was carrying plundered goods or something. Except he didn't count on her being so damn heavy.
"Look," Ichigo sighs, and begins his trek once more, not even bothering to check that she's following. She will if he ignores her long enough. "Let's just get this over with."
To think, the idea had been a good one. He must be out of his mind if he ever thought that again.