Chapter Nine: Obligatory Beach Episode, Part One
Miki knew she wasn't the brightest bulb on the porch. But it didn't take any smarts to suspect that her employers were of the… eccentric kind. Well, considerably more eccentric than the typical folk in her life. She wasn't one to judge a book by its cover. Though looking back on her encounter with the abnormally tall and feral-looking Monsieur Zaraki nearly two days ago, she began to wonder if this new book cover came with blatant warning labels that she'd somehow missed.
Weirdos were a guarantee in her profession and she'd been in the business long enough that their strange habits rarely irked her. Her poor intellect did help her acclimate to her job a lot faster than most others, though that didn't mean she was hopelessly dumb. There was no stain that she couldn't scrub away with careful consideration of the right cleaning tools, chemicals and technique. She had a Midas Touch, leaving nothing but sparklingly clean furniture, carpets, floors and laundry smelling of garden flowers in her wake. And she had a natural charm that when combined with her good looks won her the praise of every client she'd ever had.
Of course, occasionally she'd have to deal with the troublesome kind - employers who expected "bonus" services for a hefty sum that no one besides her needed to know about. They'd take her poor IQ as a fault they could exploit for their own benefit, but she'd had nearly nineteen years' worth of life experience to know how not to back herself into a corner. Hanky-panky was strictly forbidden as per company policy, she would say with a tight-lipped smile. Followed by a warning to refrain from making the offer a second time, lest they wanted to be slapped with a harassment charge.
She'd seen so much and lived through it all that she figured nothing could surprise her anymore.
So when on her first day she'd seen Mademoiselle Soi Fon burst through the door, dragging in a shell-shocked Monsieur Kuchiki by his ankles all the way up the stairs, his head banging violently against the steps, she'd thought none of it. And the fiasco that was her first encounter with Monsieur Kurotsuchi, by way of a reasonable but completely mistaken assumption that he was a yakuza (after all, no one dressed like that unless they were part of some shady organization!), she once again refused to acknowledge the presence of an underlying pattern to her employers' baffling habits.
She did try her hand fishing for answers from the amiable yet distant Monsieur Hitsugaya. A lone child among a group of fairly older adults, he talked and was talked to as their equal. She had a hunch that like Mademoiselle Soi Fon he was far older than he physically seemed to be, but the sharp trill of his voice gave away that he hadn't even hit puberty yet. But the fact that she did question his presence, if for just a second, was what she realized only in retrospect the first creaky turn of the rusted gears in her skull. Too bad they jammed up before even making a complete, singular rotation.
It took Monsieur Komamura's idea of remodeling the kitchen, which involved a cat that was later found clinging to the ceiling for dear life, for the doubts to finally burst through the thick, dull fog perpetually choking her brain. And this time, they'd refused to be stamped out.
Miki had seen messes. The filthiest, dirtiest, most disgusting, nerve-wracking messes that even the cleaning industry's top names would balk at. Yet she'd tackled every single one of them like a challenge that begged to be humbled by her unmatched talents as a housemaid. This one, however, was the first to drain the blood from her face and make her seriously reconsider her life choices.
No human, no matter how strong or how large, could possibly pulverize a marble slab that thick without a power drill or jackhammer at hand. Monsieur Komamura had defied all natural order by succeeding to make do with his fists alone. Kitchen appliances lay gutted, utensils crumpled like they were made of paper, white porcelain crushed into fine powder and chairs that were now only good for firewood. It was sheer violence – a primal hatred that was manifest in every broken, bent and crumpled thing in that kitchen that when she finally laid her frightened eyes on it all did it sound the proverbial alarm in her head.
She didn't know what depths she had to summon the last bit of her sanity from. With trembling hands and swaying knees, she'd approached the ruins that were once the kitchen to try and restore it to its former glory. This was to be her test – a life lived with no challenge unconquered, this assignment was going to prove once and for all whether or not Miki Sugimori really was the best goddamn cosplay French housemaid the world had ever seen.
As if sensing her distress, Monsieur Hitsugaya had offered to help clean up, despite her passionate protests. She didn't succeed in dissuading him - he didn't seem to be the kind of person whose mind could be easily changed. She did admit though that his presence had been calming, reassuring. And when the rubble had started to dwindle away from sight as they cleaned, she'd began slipping back into her comfort zone. All that remained in the end were the pieces of broken tabletop that needed to be slotted back into place that Mademoiselle Unohana had insisted were Monsieur Komamura's responsibility. By then, she'd already forgotten about the warning bells that had once been chiming deafeningly in her ears before. They were a distant echo now, barely audible amidst the soothing hum that underscored the Mademoiselle suggestion: "Why don't you have the rest of the day off, take your mind off everything?"
Whenever the older woman spoke, Miki would instantly be flooded by sweet memories of her mother – an early break didn't sound so bad when it meant she would get to talk to Mama for a bit longer than she did most days. So she quickly whipped up that day's dinner, packed it all in microwaveable containers, retrieved her purse and then walked out the door all before the clock struck two. She'd bought some cute hairclips along the way and had already put them on to sweep away the bangs from her face as soon as she was out of the store. Heated up last night's curry and boiled some rice, said her thanks and finished her meal before dialing for her mother. She talked about her day and Mama talked about hers, exchanging the usual warm goodbyes before they hung up. Booted her laptop so she could watch the latest episode of that American show her friends had gotten her hooked on and scream in ecstasy at the latest romantic moment.
So when the credits finally started to roll and her phone began buzzing, a call from either Tamaki or Yumi depending on who reached the line first, she picked up without even noticing the words "UNKNOWN CALLER" flashing on the screen.
"Oh my god, did you see the part when he took his shirt off in front of her, I was SCREAMING!" she punctuated the sentence with a high-pitched squeal.
"Huh," the voice on the other end was feminine but unfamiliar, and it sent her crashing down from her high instantaneously. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the startled cry that would have reached the clearly unimpressed stranger on the other end. "You're in luck today, kid. You'll be seeing plenty of dudes without their shirts tomorrow."
"Excuse me?"
A muffled sound was heard in the back followed by brief crackling, as if the phone had been hastily pried from the caller's hands. A new voice greeted her, and this time Miki recognized who it was.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Unohana, I'm doing well, thank you," the words tumbled out of her mouth as she quickly but not so smoothly switched to the French accent she used for work.
"It so happens that we will be spending all of tomorrow at the beach. So there's no real reason for you coming in for work next morning, now is there?"
"I… I believe so?"
"Now, I'm sure you would want to use your day off however you like, but what would you say to coming along with us? Enjoy the beach, perhaps?"
"There's gonna be free beer!" the stranger from before chimed in from the back. Miki could almost picture the faceless woman leaning over Mademoiselle Unohana's shoulder so that her words could reach through the phone as clearly as possible.
It wasn't as if it was an order. And even if it was, Miki had the right amount of self-confidence and calm to turn down the offer. Which she would've should she have detected the slightest hint of deception or insincerity in those words. But no matter how much she wracked her cob-webbed brain or strained to hear the warning sirens that had once again been muffled by the serene tide that was the Mademoiselle's voice, she didn't see any reason to refuse the request. All she heard was the sound of gentle waves breaking on sun-soaked sand, the squawk of a seagull flying overhead before it swooped into the water and Mama's awed cry as the bird emerged merely a second later, a small fish clasped tightly in its beak.
Of course she fell for it. Not like she had the mental capacity to guard herself against such a tender voice anyway. But now that she was in direct proximity to her current employers, where she had a front-row seat to their bizarre, almost otherworldly ways, she knew she'd accidentally let those waves carry her off to the wider sea.
She'd arrived at 11 am, garbed in her gym clothes while her swimwear and other essentials had been tucked away in an oversized canvas bag. There wasn't a lot of crowd before noon despite it being a Sunday, so she knew she didn't have to wait in line to get changed. She was free to take her time doing up her hair in a large, fluffy topknot that she decorated with artificial hibiscus flowers and dabbing on a little waterproof makeup. It surprised her how quickly she could get dressed and ready without it looking like she'd done anything in haste. Satisfied, she stuffed her track shirt and pants into the bag before making her way to the designated meeting spot, just in time to see the row of cabs riding into the parking area. Familiar faces exited the vehicles, Monsieur Kyoraku especially running over to embrace her in a tight hug. He'd been pulled away by ear by Monsieur Komamura before it started to get a little uncomfortable. She noticed Monsieur Kurotsuchi wasn't amongst them, but it wasn't as if she expected his presence. He was an angry, grumpy old man who scowled with his teeth perpetually bared at the sight of his friends (?) having a good time. So why would he be here?
That question quickly lost its relevance when another cab pulled in.
Miki had thought she was imagining all the muffled barking coming from inside the car, but when the door swung open and a swear-ridden tirade reached her ears, she knew hadn't been mistaken. A gleaming pair of sleek, tawny legs emerged from the vehicle, followed by a gorgeous woman in a hot-pink tunic. Dropping the duffel bag slung over her shoulder onto the pavement, the glamourous creature exhaled noisily and stretched her arms over her head so that it lifted and flattered her already sizeable bosom.
"Don't you just love the beach?" she asked no one in particular. Miki's eyes lit up when she recognized the voice from the phone call yesterday. The phone call that involved her screeching about an actor stripping for the camera thinking it was one of her friends on the other end of the line. She'd been mortified when it turned out it was a complete stranger on the other end but the woman's response hadn't been cruel. A sign of kindness or indifference; whichever one it was, Miki was happy for it. The newcomer froze in that pin-up model pose then stared sidelong into the interior of the car. One corner of her mouth pulled up into a sneer that instantly sent a chill down Miki's spine, despite knowing she wasn't the object of that woman's interest here. "Hey funboy, you gonna come out out already or do I have to make you?"
"Go sit on a flagpole," someone muttered from inside the car and the woman's grin widened as if she was awaiting this very response. She whirled around and dipped into the car, emerging not a second later with an appalled Monsieur Kurotsuchi who she had by the belt of his pants. The blue-haired man was frantic as latched onto the sides of the car door for dear life but he proved to be no match for the surprising strength of this small, sleek lady. A swift tug and the Monsieur had been ripped right off, landing roughly on his butt besides the woman's duffel bag. He swore something nasty.
"Keep the change," she said to the driver, tossing a couple of crisp notes from a man's wallet and then slamming the door shut. Monsieur Kurotsuchi's eyes were wide behind his glasses, and he patted his pockets before turning up a look that could only be described as a cross between shock and anger. He'd uttered one half of a demand as he lifted himself off the ground but was abruptly cut off when the daring woman thrust the wallet as well as her entire hand into the front pocket of his pants. He jumped away from her, shielding his crotch and casting a venomous glare at her.
Miki could only blink, dumbfounded.
"Ladies first," Monsieur Ukitake gestured with his hands, his voice stirring her from her disturbed trance. She held back as she watched the rest, chattering away as if whatever just happened was the most mundane thing in the world. Even the manhandled Monsieur Kurotsuchi was now dusting off his pants, muttering in annoyance rather than running off to the nearest police station to file for harassment like any normal person would have.
Just who were these people and why were they like this?
She recalled that tide again, the one who's gentle ebb she'd let snatch her up and carry far out into the sea. But now, the waves were turning choppy and the happy, sapphire blue of the water and the sky were dissolving into an inky blackness. The seagulls now a relic of a once innocent past, there was now but the dull rumble of approaching thunder and the flash of hot, furious lighting streaking across the fat, dark belly of stormy clouds.
And at the center of this twisted storm, from within the blackest spot, she heard the wailing sirens of a ruined ship.
When Shunsui thought of the beach, he pictured a scene not that different from how anyone else would imagine it. A blue expanse as far as the eye could see, parted at the horizon, sky flush against the water. Soft tea-gold sands that the lapping sea foam turned a dark olive hue. Children crying out in amusement as they toss a frisbee for the family dog to catch. Some bursting into wails as older siblings sabotage meticulously crafted sand castles. Beach-goers taking refuge from the sun's unending assault under brightly colored parasols that look like scattered candy in the distance. Couples old and new lounging about on mats or tossing beach balls between themselves. Picnics punctuated by mirth and laughter. Lovers in soft, lazy embrace. Friends whooping in celebration.
And the best part: bikini babes.
Scantily clad girls splayed upon the sands, fine granules coating taught skin beading with perspiration. Seductively splashing about in cool waters, rivulets cascading down toned, glistening forms as their laughter echoes along with the crush of undulating waves. A surprised squeal as one mischievous hand undoes the knot of a barely-held-together bikini, the blushing victim erupting into fit of lewd giggles.
A slice of heaven far more delectable than the one that actually existed.
Reality certainly didn't disappoint. The beach had been every bit the paradise all those movies and magazines from the ryoka world said it was. The euphoria had been so raw, so intense that Shunsui nearly had an out-of-gigai experience as soon as his eyes fell upon the picturesque view before him. Throngs of beautiful bodies garbed in swimsuits of every cut, every style, each more tantalizing than the last; limitless beauty that was all for Shunsui to devour in sight, smell, sound, taste and touch. And he would have continued to bask in the moment if it weren't for the angry fuss that had broken out behind him. He didn't even need to turn around to tell who it was, the voices so painfully distinct that only a complete idiot would ask for a hint. Regardless, he ventured a glance at the two, Mayuri with his arms crossed over his chest in defiance and the ex-captain flashing him her teeth in a condescending smirk.
Kurotsuchi hadn't a lick about their plans to visit the beach since he'd been gone all day yesterday. He'd only learned of it over breakfast when Yoruichi herself had slyly asked if he liked his swimming trunks. He hadn't really all that understood what she'd just said to him, his very obvious hangover making it difficult for his brain to process information at the pace it usually did. Not to mention the crabby mood it put him in, so that not it was difficult for him to understand what was coming out of her mouth, he also didn't want to understand her either. It didn't deter the feline, though. Very little that could.
She'd told him plain and straight (with a grin that never once faltered) that they were going to the beach.
All of them.
"I'm not," came the curt response.
"It's not up for debate," she'd fired back.
It really wasn't – words couldn't do much when she could just lob him over to a taxi like he was just another duffel bag. Shunsui ventured a guess that even if the Twelfth Captain hadn't been partially incapacitated by a hangover, he still wouldn't have had any better chance at wresting himself from Shihoin's iron grip. He'd resorted to spitting vitriol that barely had an effect on the intended target, though it did wind up infuriating Soi Fon instead. The petite captain could've pounced upon Kurotsuchi and torn him to shreds if Yoruichi wasn't making it painfully obvious that she was having a swell time pushing his buttons.
There was something awe-inducing about seeing Mayuri at the mercy of a bully.
Words were the only weapons at his disposal where raw strength couldn't wring himself free of her clutches. And even then, every scathing insult about her perceived promiscuity, every new detail about how he was going to flay and dismember her alive was water off a duck's back. Rather, a were-cat's back, to be precise. The Twelfth Captain himself must've already noticed how every attempt to ward her off was proving utterly futile, so all his hissing and spitting at this point was simply a defensive reflex that he couldn't help so long as this apex predator still had him by the throat.
Kyoraku hadn't caught what exactly it was that Kurotsuchi had snapped at her for this time but it seemed to have sprung a devilish scheme in the she-cat's mind. Or perhaps the idea had been there all along, and she'd been looking for them moment the blue-haired shinigami would walk right into her snare. The Cheshire smile that bloomed on her already predatory features was all the warning Kurotsuchi had before she slipped her long fingers into his collar and yanked him off his feet, dragging him through the sand as she set course for the changing area.
"I-Is that appropriate?" Miki stammered, wringing her hands. She turned her pleading gaze to Shunsui. For a moment, he debated if he really could spare enough context to dissuade her worrying without letting on that they were all reapers. It didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion that he probably wouldn't do a swell job of it, so he settled for patting her shoulder and flashing a reassuring smile. She gave him a look like she was slowly starting to believe she'd been employed by a bunch of escapees from a loony house.
Kurotsuchi's protests continued to punctuate the air as he was hauled across the beach, kicking and screaming. Several heads turned in his direction, the general sounds that one would hear at a lively beach slowly growing into concerned mumbles and shocked gasps from parents who were now scrambling to cover their impressionable children's ears. The curses finally devolved into panicked appeals once the two finally reached the entrance of an unoccupied shack, the Twelfth Captain's desperate attempts to escape by clawing at the sand and the bamboo fencing utterly futile against Shihoin's sheer brute strength.
With one great tug, the pair finally disappeared inside the building, leaving a deathly silence to hover over the coast.
A silence that barely lasted a handful of seconds when Sajin suddenly cried out "BALL!" and went bounding off. Shunsui heard Soi Fon curse under her breath before she took off after him. Following her trail, he noticed the Seventh Captain had already outrun her by a yard – a feat considering the anatomy of his human gigai wouldn't have allowed him to reach such speeds when on all fours. He saw him dive into a throng of teenagers in the middle of a stalled game of volleyball, tackling an orange-haired lad who was unfortunate enough to be clutching the ball in that moment. From afar it looked like that poor soul was being mauled.
"Oh, that Sajin!" Jushiro chuckled with a shake of his head, earning an alarmed glare from the shaken Miki. The Eighth Captain had wondered if really had been a swell idea to bring along a ryoka, especially one who was meant to remain in the dark about shinigami. But the prospect of seeing her in a cute bikini had swept away any concern he would've nursed about a decision Yoruichi and Unohana had already made and executed long before he had even a whiff of their plans. Not that he would've contested it if he'd known beforehand either; barely legally-naked girls were his top priority, and Miki was certainly killing it in that that peach colored two-piece with the frills and bows.
"Just put up the parasols already, the sun's frying me," Toshiro groaned from under a towel, following after Unohana and Zaraki to duck into the cool safety of the latter's massive shadow. Komamura was meant to help the Eleventh Captain carry some of the stuff, a task gleefully forgotten as soon as he'd spotted the volleyball but it didn't seem like his equally large colleague cared much about his absence. Kenpachi didn't like help.
The coast was slowly starting to come alive again, stirring from the shock of having to see a cursing, flailing man being dragged into a changing room by a lady. Odd that they were now choosing to ignore the other lady tugging along a guy by his ear against his will. Who was down on his hands. With a deflated volleyball and the wrist of its luckless owner clenched between his teeth. It seemed that the folks here was used to having plenty of weirdo tourists get up to all sorts of wacky shenanigans at this particular beach. So when when the initial shock wore off, it was as if they all flipped a switch in their heads that made all the nutjobs invisible to the senses.
Whatever the case, it meant that the shinigami captains wouldn't have to worry about constraining themselves too much for fear of sticking out like a bunch of sore thumbs. Although their gigai severely limited their powers, they could still perform certain feats that were physically impossible for even the most gifted mortals. Kenpachi and Sajin in particular weren't all that careful about reigning in their sheer physical strength. And Soi Fon and Yoruichi's movements were often far faster than what Shunsui deduced the mortal eye could possibly follow.
But now that it looked like the ryoka wouldn't be paying any particular attention, the shinigami had a lot more legroom to be cavalier about their behavior. Save Miki of course, but it looked like she could easily be consoled with a handful of reassuring words and comforting squeeze of the shoulder. A prospect that lost just a bit more of its luster when he saw her stone-like face as Soi Fon and Sajin neared the group.
"Bad Komamura!" he heard Soi Fon scold the dejected looking Sajin. Kenpachi was planting the brightly colored parasols when she'd finally reached them and relinquished her hold on the Seventh Captain's ear. Sajin didn't look up to meet anyone's eyes; he kept his gaze guiltily fixed on the sands underneath his human palms. "Drop it."
He whined. It sounded like a sad whistle.
"Drop it," the smaller captain enunciated firmly and Komamura finally complied, dropping both the flattened ball and the limb that came with it. The limb that was still attached to a whole person whose existence that the shinigami only now seem to notice. And recognized as well, thanks to his shock of bright orange hair since he lay face-down in the sand.
"Heya, Ichigo!" Jushiro greeted with all the enthusiasm of the world's most oblivious man. "I can't believe we're running into each other here! Crazy, isn't it?"
The mention of the Substitute's name immediately caught Zaraki's attention, who froze midway into ramming the last of the umbrellas into the ground. He heard the downed man groan despondently in response to the Thirteenth Captain's exclamation (he really didn't want to get up). In spite of the miserable overtone and the stifling sand making it sound hoarser than it actually was, there was no mistaking that voice. A feral grin split his visage, stretching to either side so that the corners of his lips reached his ears, two rows of white, elongated fangs glinting harshly in the sunlight. Blood, hot and pulsating, pumped through his veins, muscles tensing so viciously that the metal shaft of the parasol still in his grasp was bent at an odd angle.
It was that bastard, Ichigo.
Unleashing a primal cry, he plunged the umbrella into the earth with such wild force that the shaft folded in two places. The others jumped at the outburst and whipped around, looking on in awe at the mangled yet somehow still upright parasol before their gazes were irrevocably locked on the behemoth that marched toward them. Jushiro didn't have time to react – a massive palm was on his face and in the next moment he was several feet away from where he stood, held up by Byakuya who'd hooked his hands under his arms before he could hit the ground.
"Ya skipped out on our fight last time, ya little shit," he said, violently jostling Ichigo as he dangled him like a puppet by his tank top straps. Although it was coated in a fine layer of sand, it wasn't difficult to read the complete apathy on the youth's face.
"Boy do I regret it," he replied in a resigned, defeated tone.
"Ya don't know the meanin' of that word yet. Lemme re-educate ya with a straight fuckin' fist to yer eggshell skull."
"Yes. Please. Death will be a mercy at this point."
"Kurosaki-kun!"
Kenpachi halted the fist he was about pound into Ichigo's face mid-way in its trajectory. Bloodshot eyes snapped to a familiar redhead vaulting the last few feet between them with aching legs and overworked lungs. Shunsui's jaw dropped, loosened from its hinges at the sight of the girl's buxom form bouncing and swaying in large, attractive arcs, a strapless teal bikini straining against all odds to keep everything in place. Finally closing the gap, she stopped to keel over, ragged breaths making it impossible to form the words she desperately wanted to.
"Le-… le-…" she managed before displaying a palm, a silent plea for a break. They obeyed, watching in awkward stillness as she huffed and panted for a good half a minute before she'd regained enough composure. Gulping a large intake of air one final time, she straightened her back and assumed an offensive post – hands to either side of her head, trembling fingers pressed against her "hairclips" – although her worn out state didn't come off as threatening as she was hoping it would. Not to mention she was still a little out of breath. "L-let Kuro-… Kurosaki-kun go!"
Nothing.
"Please?"
"She is asking very politely, Captain Zaraki," Unohana finally spoke up, a hand on the behemoth's shoulder.
Kenpachi bristled. He didn't know when and how she'd managed to move behind him and put a hand on his person without him noticing, that is until she made her presence known to him. She gave the gentlest squeeze, a gesture that barely registered to him physically though his mind did suddenly conjure an image of a burning sky and a mountain of corpses out from a bloody sea. A pretty mild vision compared to what usually sprang up whenever Retsu was in a disagreeable mood, however the message was still certainly clear. A bummer he wouldn't get his fight with Kurosaki, but deliberately upsetting Retsu would've irked him considerably more. He snorted, disgruntled, and released his hold on Ichigo, dropping him like a bag of stones.
"Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime cried, falling to her knees and scooping him up from the ground. She had to push against him to keep him sitting upright. "Why didn't you tell me you invited your friends along?"
"I didn't," he croaked in a near inaudible voice but Orihime was already up on her feet again, her overbearing friendliness wiping out all memory of the tense several minutes that had just transpired. Ichigo fell back unceremoniously into the dirt, forgotten by his girlfriend who was too busy crushing Hitsugaya in the world's squishiest bear-hug.
"I didn't get to say "hi" when you'd first arrived!" she sounded out of breath but this time it was more due to her excitement than the physical effort of maintaining her vice grip on the suffocating Tenth Captain. "There was just so much commotion, I got lost in the crowd!"
"Orihime, I don't think he can breathe," Ichigo warned as soon as he lifted himself off the ground, only to see Toshiro's once flailing hands slowly going limp. The girl blinked, taking a second to register what the Substitute was saying to her before looking down at the boy captain. It took a second longer to realize that she was unwittingly smothering him and quickly pulled away. With air no longer denied him, he inhaled sharply and deeply, his red face slowly returning to its normal, healthy colour.
"Nice to see you too, Inoue-san," Jushiro said with a good-natured grin, extending a hand which she promptly shook. The white-haired man had opened his mouth to continue the conversation but had been interrupted by Kyoraku-san who seemed to appear out of nowhere, cooing loudly. His arms were wide open, blocking off most escape paths as he thinned the distance between them. He never found her embrace though, Ichigo having pulled her away to his side in the knick of time so all that the Eighth Captain could capture was the air.
"I thought you guys were on an undercover mission or something at first! But then Kurosaki-kun met with Urahara-san, and he said you're on vacation!" Orihime continued in the innocently oblivious way that she always did, punctuating her speech with a surprised yelp when the stranger who'd assaulted her boyfriend and then made off with him and their volleyball suddenly plopped down beside her. The man had a large build, so even as he assumed the stance of a patiently waiting dog for some unknown reason, he still towered over her by at least a foot. "Can I, um, help you?"
"I would like to extend my deepest apologies for my behavior earlier," his voice was guttural and formal, and she felt like it didn't match his soft, handsome face. "It appears that my gigai is obfuscating my natural predispositions. If I behave in an unlike way, it is because I am not exactly myself lately. Please forgive me."
"Um… sure?"
"May I please receive head pats?"
Orihime blinked back dumbly. The man remained quiet as well, his expression a stone mask but there was no denying the pleading look in his eyes. The redhead hesitantly reached out, testing waters by gently tapping the stranger's head. He remained still, unmoving, even as she changed tactics to gently rubbing her fingers into his scalp. She watched his lips slowly transition from a thin dark line to a pleased curve, an expression that she found she'd begun to mirror.
"Urahara?" someone queried, she wasn't sure who.
"Yeah he seemed to know plenty 'bout our break," Zaraki confirmed, scratching his chin absentmindedly.
"You say it like you had met him," Kuchiki said, raising a brow.
"'Cause I did."
"When did that happen?"
"After I gave this spineless fuck chase," the Eleventh Captain thumbed in Ichigo's direction. "He'd told me how to use my uh… whaddya call it… dick-shitty?"
"Denreishinki."
"Yeah that. That's how I got Miki to our place, too."
"Oh god, are you taking hostages?" Ichigo demanded out of irritation rather than concern when his gaze landed upon the complete stranger Kenpachi was now gesturing to. She blanched as soon as attention was upon her. Though whether it was because she didn't want to inconvenience her captors so she wouldn't be tortured to death afterwards or because she didn't want to get involved in this bizarre altercation, Ichigo didn't have enough insight to know for sure. It wasn't until he saw her steal a nervous glance of the Eleventh Captain that had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, he and Zaraki were the real reason why she'd been spooked into silence.
"Miki isn't a hostage," Soi Fon interjected, a slightly offended edge to her tone. "She is here of her own accord, no one forced her. Isn't that right Miki?"
"Y-… yes?" the girl barely squeaked out, her gaze darting from face to face, searching for a cue. There came no reprimand, nor displeased frown – she'd have received none anyway because everyone was in high spirits and were therefore all smiles. Unwittingly assured of her choice, she quickly straightened her back and shoulders, the picture of confidence, and exclaimed, "I mean, yes!"
She definitely didn't seem smart or was at least as hopelessly naïve, like Inoue. There was no way she was going to survive another day in the company of the most mentally and morally unstable shinigami in existence. Ichigo opened his mouth to challenge Soi Fon's proclamation that Miki wasn't under duress or at least being manipulated to accompany them. But before a single sound could work its way out, another joined in from behind him.
"What's this about forcing people here against their will?"
He physically felt his heart sink into a black pit upon hearing that all-too-familiar voice.
"Oh my gosh!" Orihime couldn't help gasping in excitement. "I can't believe it, you're here too Yoruichi-san!" and then her gaze shifted to the really strange looking guy whose shoulder the older woman had her arm slung over.
The girl couldn't recall ever having met or seen this man in her entire life, and the longer she stared at his uncomfortable scowl, the awkward way he'd been forced to bend down to accommodate Yoruichi's chummy embrace, or the unmistakable blush streaking his cheeks, the more she believed she'd never met him before. The way Yoruichi-san held on to him (even though it seemed like he was in this position against his will), Orihime ventured a guess that he had to be a friend or at least an acquaintance. Based on that assumption, she gave him her cheeriest smile though he'd failed to regard her presence.
And then she finally noticed the Hello Kitty trunks he was wearing. Orihime's smile immediately disintegrated.
"What a coincidence," the she-cat said with a mischievous drawl. It didn't sound like she was surprised at all. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"