'SUNDAY'
Author's notes: I am very pleased that Black Champagne has been doing so well; it's still a baby fic, but please do continue to review and support it :) I try to make the story as realistic as possible, and, of course, that includes going on Google for research and having a few books by my side just so that no one complains about how I fucked the entire geography/time period/history, etc...
I will try to update as soon as possible, loves, so please be patient with me; remember that I want to produce quality work for you all (no shit, here; it takes a hell of a lot of time, too Dx).
Also, thanks to the following for such wonderful reviews on the previous chapters:
bcsaturdai/OnigiriKami/Cowdy/TigerRaiken/psychegloom/Aeriesboots/Grapefruit Tea/Kittie-chan/
StrawberryLoveMidgetIchiruki/erning/Rukia-Chappi-Chan/
demon*feathers/Yuyukawai/lovemydogs82/ruki09
June 20th
Tokyo, Japan
A pair of three-inch, crimson red stiletto heels stepped onto the cool granite floor of the Tokyo Airport, tapping loudly as they ambled down the halls. Her shimmering, lavender eyes glistened as Rukia brushed a stray wisp of her silken, ebony hair away, and curled her rose-pink lips into somewhat of a frown.
For some reason, the Japanese people were not what she had expected.
Since her childhood, Rukia's adoptive father, Kisuke Urahara, had told her of such brilliantly entertaining stories of Japan, including the vibrant festivals, and the merry, care-free people that supposedly flourished throughout the country. But, as it turned out, some disappointment would follow once "Miss Merle" arrived.
The crowds of business men and working women, donned in either black or dark navy fabrics, paid no attention to the young lady, and simply walked on by without even a glance. With the exception of a few boisterous teenagers running about, the people neither smiled, nor said a word to each other. Rukia continued to frown; indeed, she figured she must adapt to the solemness of the Japanese, who were so unlike her lively, animated French neighbors back in Charleville-Mezieres.
It had come as a disappointment to her; Rukia had been expecting waitresses dressed up as anime characters and elegant ladies donned in decorated yukatas.
But, the raven-haired beauty was evidently the single pearl in the plain, black-navy mud. Sighing, she held onto an envelope tightly while scanning the surroundings, looking for her "two gentlemanly escorts", as promised by her supposed brother-in-law (she promised not to be a bitch in return for the service).
Other than coming to meet him, Rukia had no idea what she was doing here in this foreign country where the individuals wore masks of perpetual gloom, and no one stopped a moment for leisure. She didn't want to be here, especially not when her editor threatened her every five minutes, begging for another article or a page of her yet-to-be-completed novel.
Rukia had been adamant about staying in France, that is, until Urahara himself called her about a strange envelope he had received from Tokyo. Astonished--and quite pissed off that someone would dare distract her during such a critical time in her career--she knew immediately that there was some fishy business happening behind her back. But what?
Rukia had come to find out.
And so the petite, lavender-eyed girl continued to walk about, looking for a much-needed Starbucks Cafe and trying to fabricate excuses to explain to her editor--whom Rukia was convinced would yank out all his hair once he found out she had left her safe, little burrow in France for "family bonding time."
However, as her feet moved and her eyes shifted to scan the place, Rukia's attention was immediately latched on to a head of bright orange wisps, and a pair of chocolate, russet orbs. A flash of red instantly appeared; a cascade of crimson locks tied into a vivid ponytail drew a tiny gasp from her lips; those red strands fell down a bare chest, with shirt slightly opened, and black tattoos trailing down the smooth, tanned skin.
She squinted her eyes.
Two men, tall and apparently well-muscled, stood near the entrance of the airport, with brown eyes wandering. Their expensive Italian suits and stern, yet austere complexions displayed a distinct air of perplexity that Rukia was, surprisingly, a stranger to. If not their slightly more attractive attire, then certainly their handsomely appealing atmosphere was what drew the raven-haired girl into their presence. Rukia--being the very bold and inquisitive girl she was--straightened herself, and began to approach the two gentlemen.
'Forget the Starbucks coffee.'
Suddenly, it seemed, matters were about to become quite interesting.
"Ichigo."
"..."
"Ichi--"
"..."
"--go."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Oi," The red-head growled. "Why the fuck are we standing here? Shouldn't we be trying to find her?"
"Miss Rukia is bound to come here," The younger man replied. "If we stay by the entrance, she'll arrive eventually, so shut up and be quiet."
Renji adjusted the dark sunglasses situated on his head, scrunching his nose in irritation. "I don't like the looks these fuckers are giving me."
"Ignore them."
"I'd fuck each and every one of them up," He spat, while glaring at some poor, droopy-eyed businessman who quickly hurried on his way. "...if there wasn't so much goddamn security in this shithole."
"You can't act this way in Rukia-san's presence," Ichigo warned, directing an equally petrifying glare at his crimson-haired partner. "You talk shit like this and I'll fuck you up myself."
"Well, ya finally grew some balls, eh, Ichi? Where did this sudden anger come from?"
"If I don't kill you, I'll make sure Shiba-san gets the job done. I'm serious; if you--"
"Settle down, you little fuck. I won't do anything to embarrass myself."
"That's hard to believe," Ichigo retorted. "I'm warning you not to say a word. I don't want Rukia-san to have a bad impression of us."
"Heh," Renji chuckled. "Are ya turning soft for this chick, Ichi?"
Ichigo did not reply immediately, but continued to observe the place for a certain lavender-eyed girl. The photo of Miss Rukia his Oyabun had given him a few days before was placed in his hand, and he glanced down at it every now and then while his eyes shifted across the building. Quickly, however, his partner snatched the photo from his grip, and smirked, "Well, I don't blame ya, Ichi, 'cause this girl is fuckin' hot. Damn, look at that face; I wouldn't mind taking her to my bed--"
Ichigo quickly shot a blow to the stomach of his partner, eliciting a shocked groan from the red-head who bent his back slightly, but was careful enough not to draw any attention from the people nearby.
"Fuck...!" He whispered.
"Apologize." Ichigo demanded.
"For what?"
"You just insulted Boss's family. Apologize."
"What the fuck do you care, ya goddamn pussy..." Renji gritted his teeth, furious.
"I don't want her to view the Yakuza in a negative light. I'll blow your brains out if you say any shit to her face."
"Heh, yer such a fuckin' pussy." Renji swiftly collected himself, snarling at his partner. "I'm gonna rip you a new asshole once we get back."
"You're full of empty promises," Ichigo scowled. "If you kept your word more frequently, then maybe I would have more respect for you."
"And, ya ought to learn yer place, Ichi. I can send ya straight back to the slums anytime I want." Renji smirked, recollecting himself and pulling out a cigarette. "Once Boss is gone and you have no one's lap to sit in, just watch what I'll do to ya."
A flash of fire burst from the lighter and Renji inhaled deeply, with that inane shit-eating grin still plastered over his face.
Although Ichigo was long noted for his near-impeccable calmness of mind and manners, it was times like these when his oaf of a partner really succeeded in driving him off into a state of bursting insanity. He had felt veins pop plenty of times, but, oh, how he wanted to draw that hidden dagger from his coat pocket and slit the red-head's throat. However...
"Um, excuse me."
The sudden burning sense of anger--and desire to pull out his dagger--quickly escaped from Ichigo as he turned around to meet a girl, a dazzling lass with short, ebony hair, graced with big, beautiful, lavender eyes, and pink bubblegum lips...more than a full foot shorter than him.
Renji released a whistle from his lips as his eyebrow cocked in astonishment, eyes gazing down at the girl before him. He had to admit that he was overtly impressed; this young lady who suddenly appeared, dressed in a white dress shirt, black pencil skirt lined with red lace, and with her shimmering hair tied in a loose French twist, exhibited that very appealing, yet very sexed-up look the red-head liked in his women.
He couldn't help but inch closer to her and ask, "Are you Miss Rukia?"
"I am." She smiled. "And you two are my escorts, I presume?"
"Yes." Ichigo replied kindly, quite impressed by her Japanese intonation. "I am Kurosaki Ichigo, and this is my partner, Abarai Renji."
The red-head tilted his head slightly. "Welcome to Tokyo, Miss Rukia."
"Well, thank you very much. And, please, do drop the honorifics. I just go by 'Rukia'. Also..." She suddenly lifted herself up, toward her orange-haired host, and landed a soft kiss on his cheek, which immediately flushed rose-pink. Ichigo flinched; he had not expected such a gesture, and certainly not for his body to react that way.
"Sorry to break your Japanese sense of reserve, but..." She then kissed the red-head's cheek. "...I was raised in France, and this is simply how we greet each other."
The two men looked at each other as Renji touched his cheek, clearly bewildered by that display of such...openness. Obviously, they both agreed, this girl would be an interesting specimen to add in the Kuchiki household.
Now, if they could both stop blushing...
"Kurosaki-san." The black-haired lass spoke up, still hugging her bags. She wiped the beads of sweat that ran down her forehead, and slightly unbuttoned her shirt to relish the outside breeze--much to Renji's excitement (of course), and Ichigo's consternation. "Will we be stopping again any time soon?"
Ichigo glanced back at her, hands gripping the steering wheel, with a breeze from the window ruffling his bright, vivid hair.
He truly, after wandering around Shibuya for an eternity, wanted to refuse her; they had stopped plenty of times already, once for some souvenirs, twice for ice cream and cake, and also for a giant-sized teddy bear that Rukia supposedly could not resist buying. They felt like fools while following her around in the malls; it was definitely work that two Yakuza lieutenants despised, for it soiled their reputation to be seen in a Hello Kitty shop buying stuffed kittens for their Boss's sister-in-law. As it turned out, Rukia came to love Japan to death, though disappointed that she could not pay for anything using Euros. Renji, on the other hand, was completely flushed out of his money. Despite how pretty and feminine she looked, Renji was beginning to fume. Had Rukia not promised to repay him, he would have--being a typical Yakuza lieutenant--thrown her into a ditch and buried her alive.
"Well, we should be headed straight to the mansion." Ichigo replied. "Kuchiki-san has been waiting for you."
"But, I want to stop."
An obfuscated look dragged itself across Renji's face as he turned to face the girl in the back seat. "Are you feeling ill?" He asked with a bit of concern in his voice, though his eyes were fixated mostly on her cleavage.
"No, just hungry again."
"Ah, well, we'll have the cooks offer you something to eat once we--"
"Can't you stop now, and pull up to a nearby cafe? I see plenty around here." Rukia said.
"Well..." Ichigo glanced back at his partner, who was equally bewildered by her lack of modesty. Who knew such a delicate-looking girl acted so much like Boss himself. They had known each other for roughly an hour, and already she was beginning to display the austerity that was not expected of a girl. "...I suppose we could take another break."
"Oh, wonderful." Rukia beamed. "Are there any cafes that serve croissants or crepes? I haven't had those in ages..."
"Croissant?" Renji whispered to his partner, eyebrow lifted. "What the hell is that?"
"I think it's a bread."
"Why the hell does she want to stop for bread? Is that some French shit we don't know about?"
"I'll just stop for a little bit and appease her. And, shut your mouth."
Their crimson Mercedes Benz pulled up to a crowded plaza as Rukia gazed in awe at the soaring buildings lined with lights and brilliant glass windows, with huge, colorful displays of Givenchy and Juicy Couture ads looming over the bustling streets. Before Ichigo could step out to open the car door for Rukia, she had already scampered off into the nearest cafe, still holding onto her black suitcase.
"Shit..." Renji snapped as he slammed the car door shut, hurrying over to her. "Rukia...!"
After dodging a couple of speeding cars, the red-head caught up with the black-haired lass before she could enter into Le Cafe. "Rukia..." He glanced down at her. "Oi, do you want me to take yer bag for you?"
"Oh no." Rukia replied, opening the door as a warm scent of coffee beans welcomed her inside. "I'm a feminist; I'll hold onto my own bag."
With that, she quickly slid into a booth and removed her laptop from the suitcase, situating it on the table. As Renji watched her, Ichigo soon arrived, panting, and asked, "Where is she?"
"Right over there." Renji replied, pointing over to the booth where Rukia sat. In approximately 2.27 minutes, Rukia had already set up her laptop, placed an order, and typed a full paragraph on the Word document she had opened.
Her two escorts followed her into the booth, though somewhat irritated about the whispers and gasps that emerged once they appeared. Renji growled, while Ichigo ignored the onlookers' typical reactions, and settled down across from the young girl, who was evidently riveted onto her work.
"Rukia." Ichigo said. "How long will it take until you finish your--"
"Not too long," Rukia interjected, eyes still pinned to the computer screen. "Be a dear and wait. I just remembered I have to finish this article and submit it to my editor before this evening."
Renji gazed at her. "You're a writer?" A waitress arrived and settled three glasses of water onto the table, which Rukia thanked her for.
"Yes," she said, sipping the cool, crisp liquid she so longed for after sixteen stifling hours sitting on a plane and running around Tokyo. "I work for Le Monde Diplomatique, Liberation, and National Geographic, though my income mostly comes from the novels and essays I write."
"Hrm, those are mostly French." Ichigo remarked as Renji excused himself to answer his cellphone which suddenly began ringing. The ginger-head nodded while his partner left the cafe. Wanting to break the awkward air of the silence, and at the same time distract himself from the uninviting glares of the onlookers, asked, "Were you born in France?"
"No," Rukia replied. "I was born in Quebec, but my father--adoptive father--was one of those traveling merchants, so we moved to South Africa, then to Berlin, Paris, Montreal, Calais, and for some time I went to school in Geneva, Switzerland." Her eyes glimmered as she looked up to meet the chocolate orbs of her ginger-headed escort. "After that we moved to Moscow; I went to university in Cambridge, and now my father has settled in London, while I live in a quaint, little city in France."
Ichigo could have sworn to have noticed her eyes sparkle as she spoke. But, perhaps it was the lighting.
"So, you've been everywhere in Europe."
Rukia smiled as a steaming cup of chocolate latte and a plate of banana cake were placed on the table before her. "Yes, well, it was tiring to say the least. I'm just glad I've settled down before my peers."
"Ah, and how old are you?"
"21."
Ichigo gulped in sheer disbelief. 'The fuck?' This woman looked no older than sixteen; on top of that, she carried herself like any typical undergraduate with her bag full of books and pink-rimmed Prada eyeglasses. But, he figured he should have known; Miss Rukia, young and delicate she may have appeared, nevertheless dragged around an aura of poise and prudence wherever she walked.
"So, how old are you?" Rukia asked while sipping her latte.
"25."
"My, you're so young."
"I suppose in this business it is considered young."
"Ah, and what business is that?" She asked.
Ichigo gazed down at her, mouth opening slightly. "Kuchiki-san...he never told you what we do?"
"No, why?" Rukia asked. "Should he have?"
"No, no." Ichigo replied. "Nevermind..."
"So, what is it you do for a living, Kurosaki-san?"
"Ah..." He sighed, peering over her shoulder to watch his partner saunter back into the cafe. "...just some diplomatic services."
"Interesting." Rukia swirled her coffee with a spoon. "Hrm, I do have a degree in political science. That reminds me--"
"Ah, sorry," Ichigo interrupted, rising from his seat. "I have to take care of some quick business, so please excuse me."
The ginger-head tilted his head and walked over to meet his partner, who quickly gripped onto his sleeve. "What's going on?" Ichigo asked.
"The fuku-honbucho's out there." Renji replied.
"Him? He should know better than to meet with us out in this plaza."
"Yeah, well go ahead and tell him that, Ichi."
"What about her?"
"Who?"
"Rukia-san."
"Leave her there," Renji scoffed, looking over at the raven-haired girl, who was once again occupied with work on her laptop. "And, I'll watch her pretty, little ass."
"Watch it." Ichigo threatened as Renji held up his hands in an expression of innocence. "I'll get this done quickly so we can get back to Boss. I'm warning you not to do any stupid shit in front of Rukia."
"Cool yerself, Ichi. I'm not gonna do anything."
"Better not. I'm making this quick just so we can get the fuck out of here."
"Go on." The red-head chuckled, and Ichigo, with an irritated sigh, stepped out the cafe and into the bustling plaza. In an instant he caught sight of a head of light blue hair, and glistening cerulean eyes that penetrated through the crowd. Features such as those were difficult to ignore, and without fail elicited both gasps and whispers from the dazzled spectators that walked by the fuku-honbucho--the notorious regional boss.
The blue-haired man's grin stretched across his face as Ichigo approached him standing by his coveted black Infiniti, and he smugly said, "Oi, long time no see, baby face."
"What do you want, Grimmjow?" Ichigo snapped, wanting to waste no time. "And, hurry. I have business to attend to."
"Aw, c'mon. What a shitty way to greet me, Ichi, after all I've done for you."
"You've fucked me up for life is what you've done."
"I wouldn't say that, Ichi. I'm the one that keeps your life from gettin' even more fucked up."
"What the hell do you want?" Ichigo demanded again.
Grimmjow glared at the youngster, sapphire eyes glistening coolly. "Heh, do ya even have to ask? You know what I want from you."
The ginger-head sighed in defeat, and--with a pause--tilted his neck in concession, though within he wanted nothing more than to strangle that blue-haired son of a bitch. He had no idea why Boss ever appointed a man like Grimmjow Jeagerjaques to such a high position in the gang. He was crude, bellicose, and--despite being noted as a good soldier of the Yakuza--the epitome of pure insanity when enraged. Although Zaraki Kenpachi, the Kuchiki-gumi's So-honbucho, was just as outrageous in combat, he was not shrouded in mystery like Grimmjow. But, their Boss had taken a liking to the half-Japanese, half-French mobster, who had extensive ties in Italy, France, and the United States, and thus he was placed on a golden throne in the Yakuza hierarchy--meaning perpetual trouble for Ichigo.
"I thought so; a fucker like you didn't come all the way here just to insult me again." Ichigo pulled out a thick envelope from the inside of his suit, and tossed it into the hands of Grimmjow, who caught it instantly. "Is that all?"
"Sure, I trust ya, Ichi." He smirked. "You know if you didn't get the amount right that I'd fuck you up. Speaking of which," Grimmjow stuffed the envelope into his own pocket. "Your little sisters and that old goat face are doin' fine, so pull that stick out of yer ass and cheer up."
"Are you positive, Grimmjow?"
"If my reports aren't accurate and they turn out dead, then I give you permission to snap my neck. How 'bout that, Ichi?" Grimmjow chuckled as he climbed into his car.
"I'd snap your neck without your permission." Ichigo retorted while watching Grimmjow drive off, holding his middle finger up as a classic gesture of farewell.
"Fucker..." Ichigo snarled under his breath.
The day dragged on into the late, sun-kissed afternoon as Rukia, so entranced by the beauty and liveliness of inner Tokyo, explored almost ever corner of the district while hauling around six to seven huge shopping bags of candies, jewelry, and other items that both Ichigo and Renji naturally deplored. But, Rukia loved them. She also, as it turned out, loved to eat all brands of sweets--anything that guaranteed a toothache. It was a true mystery as to how Miss Rukia was able to maintain her slim figure, and her pearly teeth as well.
By the end of the day, Rukia had extracted a grand total of 65, 528 yen from both Ichigo and Renji's wallets; it was concluded that this woman was a mad shopaholic, aside from harboring serious attraction towards cartoon bunnies.
Her escorts were equally exhausted once they plopped into the car, but pumped enough energy to drive back to the Kuchiki mansion, which was situated in the quiet outskirts of Shinjuku. Once they arrived and drove past the steel gates, the sun was already sinking beneath the towering trees of the Kuchiki garden, its last rays of light dispersing into the dark ether above.
"Rukia, we're here." Ichigo whispered to the young lady, who did not respond at first. "Rukia..."
He walked out to open the door for her, and before he could open his mouth to speak, paused to look down at a petite figure resting upon her bags, with eyes closed, pink lips slightly opened.
She had fallen asleep.
Ichigo stepped back, about to turn his heel, but his eyes--though tired--remained riveted on the girl before him. Rukia-san, quite frankly, looked utterly angelic in deep slumber. Slumber, meaning when she was not shopping, typing, reading, or arguing with her editor. Throughout their immense shopping spree in inner Tokyo, Rukia had been alternating between sliding back and forth through shops and screaming at--or enduring the screams of--her poor editor.
It was not that Rukia was unattractive while awake; to be frank, the little lady's looks charmed any man who laid eyes on her. But, with her eyes shut and rosy cheeks paled, an air of tranquility traced around her. For once, Ichigo actually thought of Rukia to be...approachable. For a few moments he could do nothing but stare at her slim, delicate figure resting in the back seat.
"Oi, Ichigo."
'It's the baboon again.'
"Ichigo, what the fuck are ya doing?" Renji ambled over to his partner. "Oi, Ichi--"
"Shhh..." Ichigo quickly replied, careful not to wake her. "Shut your mouth; she's sleeping."
"What?" Renji asked while looming over the car and peeking inside to see Rukia lying above a mass of luggage and over-sized shopping bags. "How the hell..."
"Too much running around for today, I think."
"Well, wake her up and get her inside."
"Are you fuckin' stupid? I'm not waking her up." Ichigo snapped.
"She's not an infant, dumbass," Renji retorted. "Get 'er up."
"No."
"Then carry her inside."
"Fuck off, asshole. I'm not doing that either."
"I'll carry her inside."
"Tch," Ichigo spat, shutting the car door. "And let you possibly molest her? Forget it; I'll wait for her until she stirs."
"Oi, don't be any more of a pussy, asshole. Get 'er inside--"
"--Kurosaki-kun! Renji-kun!" A sudden voice chirped through the silence. The two men broke from their minor quarrel and turned to find the house servant, a little black-haired girl, running towards them, her eyes filling with tears.
"Hinamori-chan..." Renji spoke. "Yo, what's up?"
Tears spilled from her doleful eyes as she approached the two lieutenants; her hands were quivering, her face as pale as winter's snowfall. And, in the girl's hands was a bloodied handkerchief, which she gripped onto for dear life.
Ichigo walked to her, asking, "Are you alright? Have you been bleeding, Hinamori?"
"No, I-I haven't..." She stammered, unable to collect herself. "But, Kuchiki-sama....he...he..."
"What happened to Boss, Hinamori?" Ichigo asked, his voice filling with urgency. "Hinamori, calm yourself and answer me. What happened while we were gone?"
"Kuchiki-sama..." She sniffled and held her hands to her frozen cheeks. "...H-he died."
Renji's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared down at the sobbing girl. No one was able to say anything, for the sudden news of their Oyabun's death blasted each lieutenant with a horrible, icy blow; he was gone.
'Shit.'
They were too late.
An abrupt noise stirred from inside the Mercedes as a pair of long legs glided out of the car, crimson stilettos lightly tapping the concrete, and a young women with her shirt slightly unbuttoned at the chest emerged. Rukia's brilliant, lavender eyes glimmered as she lifted a hand to ruffled her silken hair, and she, approaching the two motionless lieutenants, asked, "Did I miss anything?"
TO BE CONTINUED...
This chapter was long....
Yep, I don't know if you all prefer long chapters or short chapters, so please do tell me :)
And, of course, I add a few notes to top off a good read:
1) So-Honbucho--Headquarters boss
2) Fuku-Honbucho--Regional Boss
Any questions? Ask, and please review, loves :)