For future reference, /this/ (i.e. italics preceded and succeeded by slash marks) refers to a Visored conversing with his/her inner Hollow, while regular italics are thoughts or emphasis.
"Kagura (神楽, かぐら, "god-entertainment") is a Japanese word referring to a specific type of Shinto theatrical dance—with roots arguably predating those of Noh."
Not for the first time, Shinji drummed his fingers on his desk and stared out the window, occupying himself by thinking of ways to mess with Rose's well-cared-for hair. The captain of the Third's shampoo could be switched with shaving cream and honey, his conditioner drained and replaced with dye, sake substituted for the water supply of the bathhouse that the blond preferred... The possibilities were as endless as Hiyori's temper was short.
It was more interesting than algebra, at least. Shinji had always been good at math during his Academy days, if not exemplary, but it had been nearly a century and a half since that time. Only reason he was paying attention at all was because the Visored literally couldn't afford to have nothing to report and staying after for detention hampered that. Shinji's niece (well, she was more like his second cousin twice removed) had a birthday coming up, and it had always been his policy to spoil her rotten. This year wasn't going to be any different.
At the same time, living expenses couldn't be ignored, so if he wanted to buy that wisteria-patterned teal yukata for young Kagami, volunteering for this mission was the only option. Nothing else short of a direct order from the Central 46 would've persuaded him to sit here, a veritable wolf in sheep's clothing, while being bored out of his skull. Getting the closest thing to a vacation that he was permitted to have was a nice perk, as was the chance to sniff out any traces of Aizen's stench.
"Hirako, what property justifies this operation?" Some twig-thin man, easily snapped in two, eyed Shinji with the same wary look that most others used, uneasy without knowing why. It was amusing, really, to have the weak reacting the same way even in a different world entirely.
The blond raised his sharp gaze up to the board, figuring out the expected answer in a heartbeat. But wouldn't it be more fun to push the boundaries a little?
"Wasn't payin' a lick of attention, sorry." Shinji's smirk was deliberately wide, showing more teeth than a shark. "Where're we?"
Exasperation rolled off the man in waves, coloring his tiny spark of reiatsu. The foxlike grin widened and, unsurprisingly, the teacher just sighed, the sound echoed by a breeze coming in through the window. "Page three hundred twelve."
Shinji pretended to scan the page. "Distributive, then."
"Correct," The stick-man muttered, clearly annoyed by the transfer's cavalier attitude. The teacher cast a glance at the clock, frowning when it displayed a later time than he would've liked. "Homework—"
Any further words were cut off by the screech of a school bell, far too shrill for Shinji's ears. At times enhanced senses were great—a deserter from the Second on one patrol would've been able to get the drop on his lieutenant, absorbed in maintaining a communication Kido as she was, if not for the fact that Shinji's hearing was twice as good as an ordinary person's. Other times, as now, it was a real pain to register information that way, with the Hollow sensing something at the same time his host did and the linking of the two minds making the sensation twice as potent. Of course, it only seemed to go one way unless the Hollow wanted otherwise, the bastard.
"So tasty. It's a real shame that you let yourself be fettered by Seireitei, King," Shinji's mirror image commented, prompting a mental eye roll from the Visored. Speak of the devil.
/Whaddya mean, tasty? Make sense fer once, fox-face,/ Shinji replied.
"The humans, of course. So much more rich than all the passed-on souls and so much more savory than the sweet Shinigami," he answered. "Like marinated pork to white rice or pork to mochi. All necessary, but all different."
/Not necessary if I haven't had t'eat 'em. Just Hollows, shitty-tasting as they are,/ the Visored retorted as he scraped back his chair and rose to leave with the rest of his new classmates.
The Hollow chuckled. "So sure? Well, if you'd prefer that I feed myself from your soul, please let me know. Having other souls wandering around this place until you have to give them a soul burial and unbalance things for a bit is a minor annoyance."
/You're a minor annoyance,/ Shinji grumbled.
Out of the corner of his eye, the blond caught sight of a pair of hairpins glinting brightly in the afternoon light, their owner being herded out by a band of girls, every one having some sort of charm to them, even the cold-faced tall one. Shinji would bet money that that one had more than a few underclassmen pining for her.
No one had specified how he needed to go about the objective, so inviting himself to lunch with some pretty girls couldn't hurt.
"Oi! Orihime-chan!" Shinji called out, forcing his lips to curve into a foxlike grin. "Orihime-chan!"
The schoolgirl turned to see him sauntering towards her, a polite smile spreading across her face upon recognizing the transfer student. "Hi, Hirako-kun. Do you need something?"
"Hey, who said you could be so familiar with her, new guy?" The butch girl next to her, previously unnoticed by Shinji, snapped. "This and homeroom are the only times you're even in the same room, I'm pretty sure."
Shinji blinked innocently at her. This one didn't seem to have any particular charm to her. "Now who're you again? Yuri-chan, was it?"
The girl's body tightened, jaw clenching as she raised a fist in an attempt to threaten him that would've worked with anyone who hadn't fought in an off-and-on war for nearly seven times her lifespan. "It's Arisawa to you, Osakan idiot! Arisawa Tatsuki!"
"Tatsuki-kun, then," Shinji replied coolly. Not actually being from Osaka, he didn't care too much if she threw insults at him based off that. "Why're ya bein' such a stiff? Loosen up; doesn't look like Orihime-chan's too bothered 'bout it."
"You—" The black-haired girl stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, and released a sigh. Opening her eyes, Tatsuki continued with restrained exasperation in her voice, "Look, 'cause you're new and not from around here, I'll let it slide for now, but if Inoue starts to get upset about it, you're dead meat, got it?"
Shinji laughed, tilting his head back to catch a glimpse of the Quincy watching him while trying valiantly to look as if he wasn't. "No worries. I like to avoid bein' dead, thanks all the same."
"Um, Hirako-kun? Did you need something?" Orihime persisted, eyebrows raising in uncertainty.
"We-ell, since I don't really know anybody 'round here, an' we're classmates an' all, I was thinkin' maybe I could eat with ya today," the Visored explained, shifting from foot to foot.
In recent years, recent being a relative term, Shinji had developed a tendency to grow impatient rapidly when confined, especially sitting. Half-consciously, the captain of the Fifth's hand drifted to where his sword would be if he wasn't occupying a gigai. The tightening of Ishida Uryuu's reiatsu behind him made Shinji abandon the instinctive movement for the thousandth time. It wasn't the fault of the delightful beauty before him that the Visored's blood ran hot and wild after being cooped up, nor was it Orihime's fault that he wanted to be out taking action and fighting instead of this, but Ishida didn't know that.
Thus, he was itching to get moving and every second standing here talking in the doorway was just making him antsy. Shinji tried to distract the reflexes screaming at him to not stay in one place too long with an enemy behind him by noting the strangely long time Ishida was taking to gather his belongings.
"Oh!" Orihime exclaimed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear that had been blown over an eye by an unexpected current. "Well, um..."
Behind his bright-haired classmate, the trio led by the tall girl chirped promises to meet her on the roof, evidently bored with waiting. All three had dubious expressions on their faces.
"Sure! I'll even share my lunch with you if you forgot one!" Orihime beamed at him, though the hand plucking at a sleeve spoke of a less certain inner self. "We're eating on the roof, so it might be a little hot..." Her eyes held a hint of hope that he'd be averse to the heat. No such luck. She'd just have to get used to talking to boys.
The Visored rocked a bit on his heels, a crooked smile gracing his features. "Naw, I'm fine with that. It's a real pretty day, Orihime-chan. And who could turn down a chance to have lunch with their very first love?" Shinji laughed, though not at the humor of his blatant dishonesty, but instead at the idea that someone of his nature could ever fall in love with a person who was at best an insect to be protected and at worst food. The way her jaw and the jaw of her self-appointed protector dropped at the audacity was hilarious.
"Well then, lead on, Orihime-chan!" He drawled.
A few minutes following a flustered girl and her annoyed classmate later, Shinji found himself on the roof, plopping down beside the cold-faced girl and her shy friend, neither of whom made any attempt as being friendly. That was fine. Neither held any interest for him as baseline humans.
But Orihime was another story, a seed of reiatsu lying dormant at her core. Even Arisawa had power humming within, feeling of fire-forged steel and broken bones to her friend's warm sunlight and spring growth. They were the reason he sat beneath the sun now, humid breeze ruffling his short blond hair.
"Maa, at least it's not rainy today," Shinji commented, fishing around in his bag for today's lunch. It had been a while since he'd made food for just himself, though by most people's standards the Visored's lunch was enough for three people. Had to make up for a ridiculously fast metabolism and failure to eat regular souls somehow.
Finally he located the food, pulling out no less than three bento boxes and earning odd looks from those who noticed.
"No way you can eat all that, Skinny. Gonna share or let it go to waste?" The messy-haired girl sitting across from him asked, peering at the meals contained within the boxes. Her name was something with a lot of 'ah' sounds in it... Banana? Natsui Mahana, that was it.
"Natsui-chan!" The timid half-pint next to her exclaimed, blushing as if in vicarious embarrassment for her classmate's bluntness
"Nonna th' above, Mahana-chan," Shinji retorted, making a mental note to get back at her later for the dig at his eating habits. He didn't like having people draw attention to his flaws and peculiarities. "I bought my lunch and I plan to finish it off all by my lonesome."
"Kinda rude to call people you just met by their first name, isn't it?" The girl observed, unwittingly making another mark for herself in Shinji's mental list of people to punish.
Shinji poked at a piece of chicken idly. "Kinda rude ta ask a buncha random-ass questions of somebody, ain't it?" He replied.
Mahana frowned. "Do all Osakans talk funny like that?"
"Are all girls from Karakura Town rude like that?" He snapped, losing patience with her rapidly. "Sheesh, I'd talk normal if I wanted ta." A memory of a failing mark on a test with her name on it, by chance on top of a stack being passed out, flicked through his mind. "'Sides, yer th' one failin' math, not me. Study th' theorems more if ya wanna save yer grade."
Mahana flushed brilliant crimson, scrunching her skirt in her hands. "Sorry," she mumbled. "But everyone was thinking it." The slightly embarrassed, averted gazes of the girls around him confirmed it.
Orihime broke the silence after a few seconds, leaning in and peering at his choices. "Oh! Noriben, tori bento, sake bento... Don't you think it would go better with marmalade? Or ketchup? I have some with me!"
Shinji's stomach nearly rebelled at the thought, quite the feat indeed. "That's fine, put it on yer own lunch. I'll stick with what I got."
She pouted. "But it's really good with a sweet flavor!" The ditzy schoolgirl insisted. "You could try some of mine!"
"I'll try it, Inoue," Tatsuki said hastily, reaching over and seizing a piece of marmalade-covered beef. Popping the odd combination into her mouth, the dark-haired martial artist looked as if it was a challenge not to spit out the food. After a second, she chewed and swallowed. "Marmalade goes on toast for a reason, Inoue. Not that your lunch's bad, but marmalade isn't the right flavoring."
"I appreciate your creativity, 'Hime!" A red-haired girl chimed, reaching over and wrapping Orihime in a tight hug. "No matter how outlandish, I'll eat anything prepared by by your delicate hands as a sign of my—"
"Shut up, Chizuru! Get consent! We can all see your pervy hands straying!" Tatsuki yowled, bringing down a fist onto the base of the girl's neck. "You are not immune to charges of sexual harassment just because your father's an English teacher here!"
Chizuru released her grip on Orihime with a yelp of pain and slumped onto the ground.
"Thanks fer the save, Tatsuki-kun," Shinji said between mouthfuls of food. The rest of the students around him were starting to relax and chatter, though the Visored's sharp eyes caught hairs still standing up on the backs of his classmates' necks and postures too tense to be completely casual.
She gave him a thumbs-up. "No problem. Inoue's had a thing for experimenting with flavors for a long time, so I'm used to it. After Ichigo... she's tried to keep herself busy." Tatsuki bit her lip, shoulders hunching.
"Ah, just you wait. Everybody sees each other again sooner or later," Shinji said lightly, tapping the side of his third bento box. "If you're meant to, you'll find her again."
The dark-haired girl's shoulders lifted, eyes crinkling and mouth opening as if about to say something. Before she had the chance to speak, however, the shrill tones of a school bell announced the need for haste.
"What do you know? You really did manage to finish, Hirako-san," the amazon next to him said in surprise, tone divided between being impressed and being disgusted. Her voice was higher than her appearance indicated, to Shinji's amusement, clear and sweet and smooth like glass.
"Meant what I said an' said what I meant," the Visored retorted. "Kanada-chan, ain't it?"
"Kunieda-san to you, Hirako-san," she insisted, tidying up the remains of her lunch. "Even if you're familiar with everyone else, I'm the class president and the oldest in this year. It may not work that way in Osaka, but that's something to be respected here."
Shinji scooped up the remains of his meal, having practically licked it clean. "Hardly the oldest, Kunieda-chan, and hardly the only one ever ta lead somethin'," he replied, smirking. "But I respect ya plenty," the captain of the Fifth lied as he headed for the stairs down.
The truth was, Shinji respected very few people, and those were the sort of people that everyone respected. Yama-jii for his raw power, Kyouraku and Ukitake for their long-held authority and sharp insight, the Soul King because of who and what he was, Rose for his waiting viciousness like a wheeling eagle, Urahara for his extreme intellect and Yoruichi for her stealth and speed, and Kenpach for his belligerence and sheer strength to back it up.
Maybe once he had honored Kensei and his unflinching drive to protect in battle and in peace. Now it seemed foolish, old-fashioned, if the grey-haired man still followed it at all. Old motivators had become harder and harder to determine in the other Visoreds. Unohana's satisfaction with living passively, however necessary, was something for which Shinji could only feel scorn where he had once felt admiration. Love was no longer interesting to Shinji, though on his radar, and the latest Kuchiki captain was just like the rest of his kind, ready to throw himself away for an ice-masked shell, a pawn of the Central 46. Hitsugaya was an impulsive child playing at adulthood, his lieutenant a lovely flake and former friend of Ichimaru.
Did Shinji's plans take them all into account? Of course. Did he like them as much as someone like him could? Sure. But respect and recognition weren't always the same thing. The Visored knew where he fell on the food chain and where they fell. A horse could kick a man's skull in, but one ultimately served the other. For now Shinji was the horse of the Central 46.
And soon enough he would use the strength invested in him to kick in some skulls, whether those of bureaucrats or wannabe warlords.