.
No vacancy
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The extent of the rumors about 3B arrive at her door at the end of her first week in Rukongai, accompanied by a plate of store-bought cookies from 3D who's name Rukia doesn't catch before the woman launches into (what she probably thinks) is helpful warnings about their fellow Floor 3 dweller that goes like this:
"Momo-chan, she used to live here, used to say she could her hear him pacing at all hours!"
"Maybe he couldn't sleep?"
"We saw him through the balcony once, he was moving his head up and down for no reason," she continued, sounding practically scandalized, like it was a crime to – what is likely – headbang with earphones on in the sanctity of your own property – and Rukia would go on a tirade about right to privacy, and you shouldn't be looking at people through their windows in the first place, except, "Wait, the loft has a balcony?"
3D ignores her entirely, looking grim. "We've heard him muttering too whenever he's out and about – he gets all fidgety when you try talking to him – starts talking under his breath -"
"Really?" Rukia says, already distractedly looking over her shoulder at the windows of her loft with fresh eyes and wondering how exactly they open up to a balcony when she muses, "He doesn't seem like the type." Glare at you until he has an aneurysm, maybe.
"He may look like a regular ruffian," 3D says, looking passionately convinced, "but he's calculated that one!"
Blinking, Rukia furrows her brows. "I'm confused, you just said he was nervous and fidgety."
3D flushes, bright and angry. "Well, I would be nervous too if I was worried about someone finding the bodies!"
Almost casually, 3B says from his own doorway, "You too, huh?" and 3D immediately looks like she's seen a ghost.
Rukia coughs to cover a laugh.
3D, however, clearly has no shame, and starts to hiss while 3B locks up his loft, "See, he leaves at all hours too. Who goes out at ten in the evening anyway? And! He comes back all bloody, and covered in bruises like he's been in fights! And he doesn't like it when people look at him – doesn't even greet people! So rude! There's a pool going in the building – the biggest bet is that he's a gang member or some kind of cage fighter! Though I have my bets that he's a serial killer." Which the landlord clearly knows about given that he'd so casually mentioned it after taking Rukia's money.
"Really," Rukia echoes again, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, "because I've been at his and he's got a floor to ceiling poster of the Lord of the Rings in his kitchen." Which is probably discriminatory in some way – gang members, cage fighters and serial killers could like geeky stuff like that too if they wanted – though Rukia isn't personally sure how.
She tried to watch the movie once and fell asleep half an hour in. And what's worse is that she woke up an hour later, they were still in the shire! Then again, maybe the frustrating drove him to violence – that, Rukia would get.
3D blinks owlishly, absorbing the information at a rate that reminds Rukia of one of those old dial-up internet connections before 3D gasps like she's been shot. "You've been in his loft, girl?"
"Rukia," she corrects, patiently impatient in the face of this woman's everything. Seriously, nii-sama would be so proud of her for keeping her composure. "And yes, I couldn't open my peanut butter jar this morning, and I was starving."
It was an awful idea – in hindsight – to knock on your neighbor's door at that hour, but she'd heard him puttering around and figured – strong, independent woman that she is (and she is!), she should know when to ask for help.
And there was no way she was waiting for a "normal" hour to eat.
She'd stayed up until two to finish the chest plaster cast she was working on for the new exhibition, and if she even thought to sit down she'd probably die there, even going so far as to stay standing to do the details of the art piece in order to reach the deadline without accidentally falling asleep.
That she'd been both too tired and too hungry to care that she had gotten paint all over herself before she stumbled through her front door with her peanut butter is another matter entirely.
3B should've just been glad she'd put on her onesie after she'd cracked the chest cast open or she'd have gotten white debris everywhere.
Though, of course, he didn't see it like that.
"You took my cheese," 3B interjects.
"It was my cheese, and you didn't listen to me – I had to wash it to get your blood off the plastic," she informs him, shooting him an unimpressed look even as he turns to walk away, completely ignoring her now that he has no leg to stand on.
With a huff, Rukia doesn't even regret barging in this morning. Even if she'd run out of strawberry jam and had to eat her peanut butter sandwiches without it. She should've taken his in retribution, it had been right there on the shelf next to her cheese. Though, to his retreating back, she tells him, "And don't think I didn't notice the chunk of it missing you-you cheese stealer!"
"You're still alive," 3D says, dazed.
With furrowed brows, Rukia finally feels a tendril of concern as the elevator at the end of the hall dings to announce its arrival. "Why? Did someone go in there and not come out?"
"Well, no…"
"Well then, maybe you're worrying for nothing." She shrugs. "So, he's a little eccentric, having no sleep schedule and interesting choices in hobbies does not a gang member, serial killer or cage fighter make. And the last one isn't even illegal anyway. Though, I'm very tempted to complain about the cheese thing – seriously, who does that?"
The fridge door closes with a clatter from her kitchen – Rukia had binge-watched Marie Kondo instead of working, and transferred all her condiments into glass bottles – so much prettier! – which distracts 3D back to the present as she perks up in interest. "I didn't know you had a roommate."
"I don't," she says, shortly. Nevermind, nii-sama can be disappointed in her.
The longer she stands here with this gossipmonger, the more Rukia doesn't want this woman to know anything about her.
Talk about nosy neighbors – she probably starts all the rumors in this place.
Rukia can't wait to hear the ones about herself by when Rangiku decides to walk past the door carrying the mold of her head that they'd been working on, which looked startling lifelike.
The fact that Rangiku's actual head was covered in paper mâché, and that she was breathing through a tube would probably make the rumors more interesting than something as benign as being a cage fighter or a gang member; jury might still be out on being a serial killer though.
That the other end of Rangiku's mouth tube was stuck into a jug of grape juice like a straw, which Rukia is willing to bet is eighty percent the box wine she bought and twenty percent actual juice, would honestly just be icing on the cake.
To 3D's slack expression of disbelief, Rukia gives her an awkward smile, "I should go."
"No – wait, what is -"
Hark! There be disembodied heads and people wearing flesh masks in 3A, Rukia thinks with a chuckle as she closes the door.
"You can keep your cookies," she tells 3D from the other side. "I've got the same ones in the cupboard."
"No, you don't," Rangiku tells her via the text to voice app on her phone, "I ate them all."
With a roll of her eyes, Rukia opens the door to find 3D still standing there; shoots her another smile, takes the offered plate, and shuts the door again before turning her unimpressed expression to the figure model she'd hired from the gallery. "I told you to stay put."
"I was thirsty," is the digital, deadpan reply.
"Seriously, Ran, you have to stay still. I don't want the paper mâché to dry weirdly," Rukia reminds, crossing her arms, and then making a face as Rangiku shuffles around the space, practically crab-walking to feel her way around with her knees since her hands are full with her realistic head mold, her phone and her jug of wine.
With a sigh, Rukia asks, "Why are you carrying around the head?"
When Rangiku finally reaches the couch and can use her fingers to text again, the app on her phone blandly replies, "She looked lonely."
A/n: I know nothing about making sculptures with plaster or how paper mâché even works. Also, I'm sorry neither of them were serial killers. Maybe one day.