Reminder: No Shinigami or Soul Society. Still AU.
Chapter Two: A Book's Cover
Captain Hitsugaya Toushirou of the distinguished Gotei 13 sat at his desk, mindlessly doing paperwork while munching on amanatto, his teal eyes lazily surveying the form, a lock of his snow-white hair falling over his forehead.
"Captain~!" Matsumoto Rangiku bounced into the office, her large and mostly exposed bosom bouncing with her. To a normal, healthy male, regardless of age for the most part, this would have been very distracting. But Hitsugaya had a lot of practice as not being distracted by anything.
"What is it, Matsumoto?" He asked, not even looking up from the form he was reading. He popped another sugared bean in his mouth.
"You know, I'll never know how someone as young as you likes such an old person candy." She shook her head, her strawberry-blond locks flowing like waves in the sea.
"Candy is not for any specific age-group." He said tonelessly. "People of all ages like all kinds of candies. Would say that an old man enjoying a lollipop would be eating a young person candy?"
Matsumoto thought for a moment. "Probably." She shrugged and Hitsugaya rolled his eyes.
"What do you need, Matsumoto? Or are you just here to talk about the various age groups of candy?"
She giggled. "You are so silly Captain! No, I came to tell you that there's this weird picture that's been going around Seireitei. Apparently someone in the 6th division was assigned to clean out part of their archives that no one goes into anymore, stuff from hundreds of years ago, and he found an old hand painting of someone who looks just like you! And it's a really good painting too!"
She was using her arms to prop herself up as she leaned over his desk, not noticing or not caring that she was exposing more of herself to the miniature Captain.
"Great." He dead-panned. "You found a picture of me from hundreds of years ago. You discovered my secret. I'm actually a several-hundred-year-old man stuck in a boy's body."
Rangiku tipped her head back and laughed. "People don't believe me when I tell them you're funny. All they see is your serious side. Only Momo and I get to see your funny side."
She smiled warmly down at him, realizing what an honor it was for her to be one of the two people that he relaxed around. "So, do you want to see the picture?"
"Not if it involves me going anywhere." He said in the same monotone voice. He quickly signed the form he was reading before picking up another. Paperwork was the one constant in his life, he thought to himself.
"Don't worry, I've got it right here!" She pulled out a rolled up piece of vellum parchment, yellowed and cracked with age but she didn't seem to realize just how much she was mishandling it. She unrolled it with a flourish, dramatically shouting "VoilĂ !"
Toushirou glanced up and his own teal eyes stared back at him. The color was remarkable well-preserved. No doubt having been stuck in an airtight container for a hundred years or so. The painting was a dramatization of a young boy fighting against masked monsters, his katana as long as he was, a determined expression on his face. A white dragon with large wings was in the background, obviously giving the imagery that the boy was dragon-like. The only difference between the young captain and the boy in the painting was that his hair was completely white, while the boy's was a dark gray, streaks of white running through it.
"Fascinating. Now return it to the 6th division before I get in trouble for letting you carelessly destroy a very old drawing."
Rangiku pouted. "Aww, captain, you're no fun." But she did carefully roll the painting back up, heading back to the 6th.
When she closed the door, Toushirou set down the form that he had been pretending to read, clasping his hands together, his elbows propped up on the desk.
He had forgotten about that painting. It was nothing more than a propaganda piece, a poster copied out by the hundreds and stuck all over the city, but it had been during a dark time when the people needed a figure to believe in. He had posed for the artist, a young girl who was too sickly to go out so she spent her time painting the world.
If I can't go out to the world, I'll bring the world to me! She used to say.
His hand drifted down to his left side, where a dragon tattoo was branded on his skin, the sign of a curse for apparent immortality.
Make more sense now? Three more chapters to go. Reviews make me happy! Happy writer means more updates!
