Title: Lovechild
Prompt: #028 Children
Characters: mild Urahara/Mayuri, Nemu, Ururu
Warning: Nothing, really. Just me making wild accusations.
A/N: I'm going to try to post once a week. I don't know if I can keep it up-I'm a PhD student and I don't have a lot of time. But, if I can, I'd love to continue!
"Feel free to make yourself at home!"
"I'd rather not." Mayuri glared at Urahara, who continued his demented frying-pan-to-the-head grin out from under his hat. He couldn't see Urahara's eyes. The whole deal just made him nervous—he couldn't anticipate a damn thing. "Just tell Nemu where to put our things for the night."
"I see, this again. Ever since I moved out, you really are no fun. " Urahara sighed, pausing for a moment before returning to his usual busy self. "Very well, I'm sure I'll see you later tonight, Mayuri-san!"
"Our things," Mayuri reminded him.
"Oh, yes, of course! A-ha-ha-ha!" Urahara spun back around, gesturing down the hall with his fan. "Just have her follow Ururu-chan to where she needs to go!" He chirped. "Ururu! Take Nemu-chan to the guest rooms!"
He pulled the fan back in and fluttered it in front of his face. The superfluous movements did little to hide the man's nervousness—Urahara only thought himself hard to read, but perhaps with Mayuri, it was not a fair trial.
"In the meantime, why don't you and I…catch up a bit for old time's sake. Over tea?"
After 100 years…Urahara had actually managed to become even more flighty than he was before. Mayuri wrinkled his nose and waved his hand. "Perhaps later, if at all. I've changed my mind…I'll be going with Nemu to discuss some plans."
He was more preoccupied in something else, so much so that he didn't realize that he answered, "Fine! All right! Whatever!" to Urahara's bright and cheery warning of "I'll come visit you tonight!" before he skittered off.
Nemu's gaze was caught in that of a small girl who stood at the same height of Nemu's tightly restrained, yet obvious bust. Mayuri's own head cocked to the side against his volition as he looked at them…but he couldn't place what was coming to his mind…some sort of plan, a blueprint of sorts—the blue stains on his hands, and how the bio-ceramic powder stuck to the ink and followed the cracks in his skin.
Nemu dipped down, gingerly folding her legs so that one was squatting and the other one knelt. Her hands smoothed her skirt down over her thighs slowly, her speed effected by wonder… The little girl reached over and grabbed the bag that Nemu had slung over her shoulder, not even flinching at the weight that Mayuri had struggled to pack and that he had yelled at Nemu to pick up and carry to the human world. Yes…it was in those eyes, the melancholic gaze that betrayed a young face, the glossy raven hair that framed them.
He could see the sketches of how the tendons were to be wrapped specially over the heads of the bones and reinforced with extra cartilage for strength and flexibility. A crumpled parchment that he had once found when snooping through a book of notes that Urahara had carelessly left on a lab bench (or purposefully—he never could tell) …one with some elegant formulas that he had scribbled down into his own books and wrestled with later. When he had mentioned some flaws in the designs he had seen, Urahara had just waved his words away, saying that the whole sketch was just a silly idea that he had dreamt of ever since he was a boy..that he would think about it again sometime, when he was ready.
The project title was Ururu.
It was the little girl who reached up her hand, running a thumb over her Nemu's cheekbone, over the real yet surreal skin. She smiled with recognition of what existed beneath her fingertips, just as Nemu drank it in, the same unbiased, accepting manner of data assimilation from clues taken in by the conduits of her five—no six—senses from the real world.
Nemu's lips parted as if to say something but closed again.
"Sister." Said Ururu.
Mayuri would have been still, had it not been for the occasional muscle spasm from the build up of something in his limbs, in the twitching of his upper lip. The two girls wordlessly moved down the hallway side-by-side, shoulders rolled slightly forward, eyes that were both full-and-empty staring straight ahead, with dainty footsteps that did not echo. He did not understand it at all, what froze him in place—it twanged on his nerves a bit, like a mallet striking cheap piano strings that had been tuned too tightly.
Long after they were gone, Urahara had come back to find him there, holding two ceramic mugs of tea as if he had expected something. Mayuri accepted the drink that Urahara held it out to him, not even moving backward as the blond inched closer and closer.
Urahara inhaled the fragrant steam rising from his cup. "Hmmm…" he drawled. His gaze was hooded as he met Mayuri's eyes and grinned. "They sure grow up fast, don't they?"
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