"Surprise, 'cause you showed up with your parachute.
Surprise, I'm kind of happy that you showed up."
--Lisa Loeb, "Truthfully"
"Kurosaki-kun! You're not budgeted for any more laughing this quarter! Stop that right this instant and get back to work!"
Tsuzuki nearly howled with laughter; beside him, Hisoka was red-faced and shaking, trying to contain the fit of giggles that threatened to explode at any moment. He was finding it hard to suppress a grin, himself--but the show had to go on, and he found himself taking another deep breath and brandishing the pointer menacingly.
"From now on, Tsuzuki-san, no dessert! Ever!"
"C-cut it out," Tsuzuki managed. "I mean it--"
"The only thing that's getting cut is your budget! And now," he added, his voice sinking to a dramatic stage-whisper, "it's time... to water the potted plant."
At last, Hisoka stopped attempting to hold it in, and the sound he made was almost a whoop; he doubled over, knees nearly giving out under the force of that much hilarity. The break room walls rang with the noise, raucous and completely uninhibited--
"What is going on here?"
Watari startled, almost dropping the pointer. Something very tall and very dark was occupying the doorway--
--watching him with a flat blue gaze.
"Hi," he managed, a little weakly.
Tatsumi moved into the room in long strides, his expression utterly calm even as the other two shinigami struggled to get themselves under control. He was stone, blank and unreadable, intimidating in his silence; the watering can in his hand added a chilling edge to his presence.
"Don't you two have work to do?" he asked, directing the comment rather pointedly at Tsuzuki and Hisoka; the effect was like firing a shotgun at a tree full of crows, and the break room suddenly thundered with silence.
"Um," Watari said.
Something cold moved up his spine in a swift jolt--fear, he realised. He'd probably crossed a line, poked a little too hard at that tightly coiled pride without meaning to, and the lack of tension he'd grown to enjoy would vanish into knots in Tatsumi's shoulders. He could almost hear the cold disapproval, the clipped and angry speech, the almost-imperceptible rumble beneath his tone that stood in for vulnerability...
Tatsumi watched him a moment longer, then moved to the sink. Water hissed steadily: he'd apparently decided that discussing this was beneath him. Something in the back of Watari's throat went cold and sank towards his stomach.
He waited for the faucet to squeak closed, and then coughed quietly to try and get his attention.
"Seiichiro, I--"
"That was," Tatsumi interrupted, "the poorest excuse for a Tokyo accent I have ever heard in my entire life."
He turned away from the sink, glancing up, and for a moment Watari could see the faintest glimmer of something warm behind his eyes--not rage, not hurt, but the beginnings of a laugh.
"Like you could do better Kansai."
"As a matter of fact, I think I probably could."
And with that, Tatsumi lifted the watering can and flipped it over, dumping its entire contents onto Watari's head with a loud and very undignified splap.
Surprise, I'm kind of happy that you showed up."
--Lisa Loeb, "Truthfully"
"Kurosaki-kun! You're not budgeted for any more laughing this quarter! Stop that right this instant and get back to work!"
Tsuzuki nearly howled with laughter; beside him, Hisoka was red-faced and shaking, trying to contain the fit of giggles that threatened to explode at any moment. He was finding it hard to suppress a grin, himself--but the show had to go on, and he found himself taking another deep breath and brandishing the pointer menacingly.
"From now on, Tsuzuki-san, no dessert! Ever!"
"C-cut it out," Tsuzuki managed. "I mean it--"
"The only thing that's getting cut is your budget! And now," he added, his voice sinking to a dramatic stage-whisper, "it's time... to water the potted plant."
At last, Hisoka stopped attempting to hold it in, and the sound he made was almost a whoop; he doubled over, knees nearly giving out under the force of that much hilarity. The break room walls rang with the noise, raucous and completely uninhibited--
"What is going on here?"
Watari startled, almost dropping the pointer. Something very tall and very dark was occupying the doorway--
--watching him with a flat blue gaze.
"Hi," he managed, a little weakly.
Tatsumi moved into the room in long strides, his expression utterly calm even as the other two shinigami struggled to get themselves under control. He was stone, blank and unreadable, intimidating in his silence; the watering can in his hand added a chilling edge to his presence.
"Don't you two have work to do?" he asked, directing the comment rather pointedly at Tsuzuki and Hisoka; the effect was like firing a shotgun at a tree full of crows, and the break room suddenly thundered with silence.
"Um," Watari said.
Something cold moved up his spine in a swift jolt--fear, he realised. He'd probably crossed a line, poked a little too hard at that tightly coiled pride without meaning to, and the lack of tension he'd grown to enjoy would vanish into knots in Tatsumi's shoulders. He could almost hear the cold disapproval, the clipped and angry speech, the almost-imperceptible rumble beneath his tone that stood in for vulnerability...
Tatsumi watched him a moment longer, then moved to the sink. Water hissed steadily: he'd apparently decided that discussing this was beneath him. Something in the back of Watari's throat went cold and sank towards his stomach.
He waited for the faucet to squeak closed, and then coughed quietly to try and get his attention.
"Seiichiro, I--"
"That was," Tatsumi interrupted, "the poorest excuse for a Tokyo accent I have ever heard in my entire life."
He turned away from the sink, glancing up, and for a moment Watari could see the faintest glimmer of something warm behind his eyes--not rage, not hurt, but the beginnings of a laugh.
"Like you could do better Kansai."
"As a matter of fact, I think I probably could."
And with that, Tatsumi lifted the watering can and flipped it over, dumping its entire contents onto Watari's head with a loud and very undignified splap.