Thanks to Corvus Corvidae, betareader. You rock.
1: Is It Hot In Here?
It was dark outside.
Not only was it dark, it was also cold. Cold, wet and miserable. As if that wasn't enough, it was also the night before the first day of school. Rain pounded the windows; the wind beat the trees outside 'til they roared like lions… and somewhere in the storm, in a lonely little apartment, at midnight on the first day of her freshman year, Senna was trying to sleep.
It wasn't working.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to that day when she came running home, all neatly turned out in her crisp new uniform. Ichigo had been there. Senna had contemplated briefly saying something to him, but that thought died when she ran right past him. He didn't even look at her. He probably didn't even remember.
Senna had tried to be positive about school, but it was proving to be more daunting than she'd first thought. Four periods a day. Her schedule had seared itself onto the backs of her eyelids and now it shone like neon: Drussel-Takeda-Uchiha-Yamamoto, for advanced everything. The ambitious young girl who had signed up for Algebra 4 was on vacation, and the classes were beginning to look scary. Algebra 4?
Sometimes, the memories of other spirits were helpful, but not tonight. Bad vibes seeped into Senna's conscious mind: foot-long problems in 3-point type, no graphing calculator; Smelly Tom McGee and his affinity for pummeling people; Old cranky Ms. Hernandez who wanted the assignment in cursive, or no grade. Needless to say, tonight had been a bad night to rent Carrie.
The foreboding of being 'fresh meat' had finally begun to sink in. When she found out that she could make a life here until she could help out at Soul Society, Senna had been happy. When her fellow students pored over her schedule and told her that her math teacher was certifiable, she'd gotten nervous. When the AP-Biology class from the previous year informed her of all the dissections she'd be doing, the shinenju was very plainly distressed. Now, in the wee hours of her first day as a normal, human, high-schooler, Senna was absolutely terrified. Carrie hadn't helped. Not in the least.
'Maybe I should just call in sick,' thought Senna, breaking the mental silence required to fall asleep for – well, she'd lost count how many times. 'But then what about the day after? Can't keep calling in sick for ever…'
Sitting up, Senna glanced out of the window. One could tell from her forlorn expression that she hadn't exactly been expecting a halcyon field of gold under limpid blue skies, but sometimes it would be nice to be wrong.
Purple lightning seared both the sky and Senna's eyes, fleetingly illuminating malevolent black storm-clouds that roiled restlessly overhead. A second or so later, the god of thunder beat upon his earth-shaking drum with all his immortal might. The wind continued to howl and scream like a wild thing, driving the rain in gusts to slam ever harder against humanity's humble homes. The whole affair was like some cursed storm conjured up by evil witches.
It was unlike Senna to be this down in the dumps, but she was just too depressed to notice. Sighing listlessly, she flung aside the warm protection of the bedcovers and trudged into the next room. She turned on the computer and was momentarily blinded by the sheer brightness of the computer screen – at least the lightning went away quickly.
She worked her way through her mental checklist of websites. E-mail, obviously, although what she'd find there at 1 in the morning was anyone's guess. She found a single new e-mail from someone she'd started writing to recently. Why was it, again? Oh yeah: something to do with fan fiction.
Now that was an idea. Fan fiction. Senna often read before bed. She found it a calming activity which helped ease one's way into merciful oblivion, but this had consequently led to her devouring every single book in the place – if she wanted any new printed material to read it was a choice between 101 New Party Snacks and How to Look After Your Hamster.
At least there was bound to be something new in the exciting (and often badly-written) world of fan fiction. Hopefully, something light and fluffy would turn up – a pairing she'd never heard of; something bland, to help her sleep… and, uh, to chase away the lingering visuals of blood-soaked prom attire. Ahem.
That aside, there was something supremely odd about fan fiction: people she knew regularly turned up as characters in it. Oddly enough, none of them seemed to care; either that or no-one noticed. Senna took an odd pleasure from the thought that she might be the only one who knew. Apparently all the stories were grouped under the heading BLEACH, whatever that was.
Senna quickly got into the mind-set needed for pruning out the good fictions from the bad, skimming through summary after summary. She found her eye drawn to one that promised a pairing between Ichigo and a 'Mystery Character'. The title seemed innocuous enough: Is It Hot In Here? Curiosity sufficiently whetted, she clicked and began reading.
She stopped about halfway through:
As they lay still between the blankets, Ichigo flipped on the light. His secret lover covered her eyes. The deputy slowly pried her hands away.
"Stop! You don't want to see me!"
"Why? I recognize your voice. I know you… please, just let me see your face!" He glanced up as her hands fell away, recognition slowly dawning. They both froze for only a moment, Ichigo trying to put his shock into words. He couldn't, so he went for the simplest of questions.
"Senna?"
"Ichigo… I – I can explain, everything," she said, stumbling over the words at first until they started pouring out of her. But Ichigo waved them away.
"Never mind. I've been wanting to ask you something."
"Yes?"
"Is it hot in here? Or is it just you?"
Senna blinked in disbelief. 'Huh?'
"Oh, Ichigo-!"
"WHAT? I did not!I never – and with Ichigo, of all people! Oh yuck… Eeeew! I would never-! Do such a… ugh! Gross! And for such a lame pickup line, too!" Closing the Internet, Senna staggered back to bed and collapsed onto the mattress. "I… never… ugh."
Now she really couldn't sleep. Which was probably a good thing, since the sun was now rising. Calling in sick didn't sound like such a bad idea now.
There was a knock at the door. Groaning reluctantly and rubbing at her sore eyes as she tottered back across the floor, Senna reflected that a caller might at least distract her thoughts from the less than savory ones planted there by a certain sick-minded fan fiction writer.
"Rukia?" said Senna, not so much as a question but more in general incredulity. "Uh – do you have a problem…?"
The diminutive shinigami looked up at Senna with her usual no-nonsense stare, a spare bookbag in one hand and a half-finished cup of coffee in the other. Downing the rest of the coffee in one swift and scarily efficient movement, Rukia pushed past her and began organizing the backpack, shoving clothes at her as she did so. Even Ganesh would have been astounded at her ability to multitask.
"I have a problem? You're not ready for school yet and you're asking if I have a problem? You're going to be late!" said Rukia witheringly, with that especially scornful tone of voice she employed when berating those who shirked their duties.
She blindly tossed an errant sock at Senna, which landed on her head as though deliberately mocking her. Sadly, it would be impossible to go back to bed now, and even more impossible to call in sick – Senna shuddered to think what punitive measures Rukia might enforce if she tried a fast one.
"Algebra 4, Drussel," said Rukia, rattling through Senna's subjects like a drill-sergeant through a roll-call. "Sooner you than me. History/Civics with Takeda. He's okay. Hates Japan though: Yankee, born and bred. And – ah, Biology. You like dissections, Senna?"
"No," she said in a horrified whisper. What was it about Rukia's voice that made an already grim task seem infinitely more grueling?
"Then you won't like Thursdays."
"Umm…"
"What about vivisections?"
"Good God no." The thought churned Senna's stomach. Surely she couldn't mean...
"Then you won't like Fridays either."
Stifling a pathetic, wet-kitten-like whimper, Senna followed Rukia through the double doors of the campus' fourth building.
Smelly Tom McGee clocked her over the head with his John Cena lunchbox. This was going to be a baaaad day.
What did you think? Please review with any stuff I need to fix, ideas are welcome. Constructive criticism is appreciated; however, flames from Ichigo/Senna fans will be donated to the nearest Aizen/Orihime fic. I'm sure they need it more.