Title: The Devil's Plaything, Chapter 7 - The Cursed Child
Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST
Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.
Author's Note: First of all, thank you to all the people who've left reviews! I appreciate each and every one. Also, happy Thanksgiving! I'm glad I finally finished this chapter, and hope it finds you all well in time for your holiday!
Next, this fic will be on hiatus for a couple weeks so that I can do a one-shot story. I promise you'll all like it, so it won't seem like it's on hiatus at all!
Finally, a cultural note: A banchou is a type of Japanese delinquent usually seen in shounen titles from the 70s and 80s (think Kuwabara from Yu Yu Hakusho or Kujo Jotaro from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure). They're usually pictured wearing baggy school uniforms with ridiculously styled hair, and hanging around parking lots, underpasses, and other spots delinquents frequent. While they still occasionally appear in Japanese media, they've long since gone out of style in real life.
Orihime followed the old man's retreating form into the shadows of the hallway. As they left the conference room and the others behind them, the walls collapsed into darkness around them, her vision tunneling so that he was all she could see.
This hadn't just started now, though. As soon as she'd entered the Kuchiki household, her whole body had revolted. She felt constricted, as though the very air itself was oppressing her. Her stomach roiled, making her afraid she might throw up with every further step. Worse yet, she felt as though she was standing inside a meat locker the entire time; she had clung to Ichigo for what heat she could get, but removed from him now, she couldn't help but to shiver. Even Chad's school jacket was no help.
Rubbing her arms for heat, she tried to focus on the old man before her. She could feel the others' presence fading behind them, the devastating cold easing up just a bit. There were others here, moving in the shadows; servants, she supposed, like in the movies, or maybe other family or House members. Either way, she wasn't completely alone with Abaddon. She wasn't sure if she should feel comforted or discomfited by that fact, either.
Was he going to punish her? She fretted silently, watching the hem of his robe swish along the floor. If he did, she would deserve it, wouldn't she? It was her fault Ichigo had been drawn into this mess in the first place, wasn't it? If she just hadn't stopped on her way home that afternoon, they'd all be home in bed and enjoying their weekend right now.
Orihime was pulled from her reverie when the old man stopped and unlocked a western-style wooden door. He swung it inwards, holding it open for her as he stepped inside.
"Come in, come in," he said lightly as the door swung closed behind them. Orihime couldn't help but notice that his voice was now somewhat different from what it had been in the conference room; instead of sounding intimidating and authoritative, he now sounded almost... grandfatherly. As the door clicked shut, Orihime felt her vision begin to expand; the darkness retreated to the corners and then out of her sight altogether and the room Abaddon had led her to began to emerge from the shadows.
This room was nowhere near as large as the first she'd been led to. It wasn't small, but it was crammed wall-to-wall with bookshelves, ornate wood furniture, desks, lamps, papers, scrolls (both papyrus and bamboo), and several artifacts that Orihime would have been very hard-pressed to name. For his part, Abaddon began to settle into a large, high-backed chair placed directly behind the imposing oaken desk situated in the center of the room. Behind it, there was a rather ornate fireplace set into the wall.
"Sit, girl," he said, motioning towards the chairs opposite the desk. Orihime turned her head to look at them, startled; she wasn't sure if she should sit at first, seeing as she was in the presence of someone of such high social standing, but he did offer. There was no harm in that, right? Obliging, she seated herself on the edge of one of the fine leather chairs, keeping her back straight and folding her hands in her lap nervously.
"Ah, of course," Abaddon said, almost to himself, "Where are my manners... You would be cold, wouldn't you?" With that, he turned to the fireplace directly behind his desk and pointed his gnarled staff at it. Sparks flew from the tip, and right before Orihime's eyes, a roaring fire sprung to life in the fireplace. Almost instantly, the room began to heat up and the gooseflesh on Orihime's arms began to settle. She exhaled a breath that it seemed like she'd been holding forever.
"Th-Thank you, sir," she said quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the floor in front of her. The chill was rapidly receding from her body, as were the waves of nausea she'd been experiencing since arriving. Was it the fire? Or was the old man tamping down his powers for her sake? He seemed incredibly old and powerful; shouldn't he have overwhelmed her just by being in the same room?
"You may call me Yamamoto, if you like," he said absentmindedly, leafing through a folder on the large, cluttered desk. "Would you like some tea while we talk? I brought some fine matcha with me..."
"No thank you, s- Y-Yamamoto-sama," Orihime replied with a blink, "But... I thought your name was Abaddon?"
"Ah, that," he said, looking up at her again, "That's just a formal title. Yamamoto is my actual name." Orihime nodded her understanding slowly. In this setting, in this manner, he was almost disarming. "Well, I suppose you'd like to know what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Yes, Yamamoto-sama," she said quietly. She became vaguely aware that she was twisting her hands in her skirt and instantly forced them to relax, straightening her fingers.
"Those hairpins," Yamamoto said, pointing a gnarled finger at her hair as she lifted her head, "Please remove them and let me see them." Orihime stared at the old man, wide-eyed with fear. Her brother had warned her never to remove them around others. The last time she had, she had been attacked and almost killed. She felt a chill race from the top of her head to her toes; what would happen now, in this nest of demons, if she were to remove them?
"Don't be alarmed," he continued, "I'm well old enough to control myself, and this room is insulated. You're perfectly safe." She marveled that the old man seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. Could it be possible he could read minds? That possibility gave her a start; she fervently hoped he wouldn't find out about the daydreams she had about Kurosaki-kun, or the one with the flying robots, or the ones about the time traveling jelly beans.
Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Orihime slowly reached up and began pulling her hairpins away from her bangs. She swallowed hard, and with trembling hands, reached over and delivered the blue crystal flowers into the old demon's hand. Once he had them between his fingers, he turned them this way and that, catching the light from the fireplace in their facets.
"I see," he mused to himself, seemingly having forgotten Orihime, "A regulator. Very advanced..." Orihime felt her eyebrows pinch together; did he know how they worked?
"A regulator?" she asked, a bit of trepidation hitting her as soon as she said it. "Is that like what Kurosaki-kun and Sado-kun wear...?" This seemed to direct the old man's attention back towards her.
"Ah, no," he replied, looking squarely at her, "Theirs are simply power inhibitors. A regulator is far more advanced. It allows one to use a portion of their power while still masking the greater part of it. But I don't suppose you know anything about that." Orihime squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She had powers, too? Of course she did; she had shielded and healed Kurosaki-kun earlier. But none of that made any sense. Why hadn't her brother told her about this when he gave those pins to her?
"I don't know anything," she said softly, biting back tears, "Does that mean... Does that mean I'm a demon, too?" She looked up at Yamamoto, surprised to see his face reflecting something close to pity back at her.
"You really don't know, then," he noted, handing her the pins back. Orihime accepted them, clenching her hand tightly around them as though they were a security blanket.
"What you are is far rarer than a common demon. We don't have a particular word for your kind; you don't appear often enough nowadays to need one. If anything, you could say you're a sort of cousin to our race. In fact, in all my years, I've seen fewer than a dozen of you."
Orihime processed this information as quickly as she could. She wasn't human anymore; no, she had never been human. Did this mean her brother wasn't, either?
"We do know two things about your race, though. First and foremost, without your regulator, your aura makes you inherently attractive to us demons. Lust, hunger, aggression - just by being near you, a demon without the proper training will begin to give in to those desires."
Orihime felt her chest constrict. Was he saying that was what Ichigo felt around her? He had brought her back to his house without her hairpin, hadn't he? She didn't think she could bear it if his only interest in her was instinctive, if it was because of some quirk of her nature that she couldn't control. He hadn't really spoken to her much before she'd been attacked. Did that mean he had never seen Orihime for herself at all?
"What... What's the other thing?" she asked hesitantly. The other information was such a disconcerting blow, that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know now.
"Ah, that. How to put it... Even though your kind is incredibly attractive to ours, you're that much more deadly. Your blood is poisonous to us. I'm sure you've heard that human blood poses a threat to any demon that drinks it; they stand a chance of being poisoned and going berserk with it. With the blood of your kind, there is no chance; it is a dead certainty. It is for that reason we've come to call you 'Cursed Ones'."
Orihime sat perfectly still, the hand holding her hairpins now clutching the row of buttons on her school shirt. Her grip was so tight it was turning her knuckles white. She was cursed? Worse than that, she was poisonous? If that was true, did that mean she couldn't be around Ichigo or even Chad anymore?
"Then those... those demons that attacked us..." she stammered quietly, saying the first thing that popped into her mind. She wasn't truly even sure what she was even thinking anymore.
"They were likely reacting to your scent," Yamamoto confirmed with a slight nod, "Your kind aren't meant for a harsh world like this. Most don't live past adolescence, in truth. And those that do are usually doomed to endure endless battles for their possession. The lucky may fall under the protection of a particularly strong demon; even so, they are in actuality something like caged birds."
A caged bird? Orihime pictured herself sitting within the bars of a golden cage; was that really all she could do? Was her only hope of even staying alive to simply find a particularly strong demon and ask for their protection? She felt tears begin to prickle at the corner of her eyes.
"I don't want that," she said quietly, her eyes squeezing shut against the tears, "I don't want to live like that. Isn't there... Isn't there anything I can do?" She opened her wet eyes to look back up at Yamamoto. The old man's whiskers bristled a bit and Orihime almost thought he might have been smiling gently at her.
"The best thing for you to do," he said, hand on his beard, "Would be to continue living as you have been, among humans. Do not be seen without your hairpins. Do not concern yourself with us demons. That includes the classmate of which you seem so enamored."
"Kurosaki-kun," she confirmed. She felt her heart crack painfully in her chest. It should have been plain to her when the old man said she was poisonous that she'd have to give up on him, but she hadn't wanted to face that reality so soon.
"If you care for him, you'll keep clear of him," Yamamoto said solemnly, "He may have a bright future ahead of him, but he is still quite unstable. Any little thing is liable to derail him now. Do you understand?"
Orihime nodded her understanding, biting back her tears. She was completely resolved not to cry in front of this old man; she didn't like others seeing her cry under the best of circumstances, and this certainly didn't qualify for that.
"In that case, Inoue-san," he said, rising and extending a hand to her, "You had best go and rejoin your friends for the time being. And keep what was said here tonight just between the two of us." She took his hand and rose, not meeting his eyes.
"Alright," she said lifelessly, "Thank you, sir."
"Ahh," Yamamoto said, as if he'd just remembered something else, "There's a bathroom just on the right outside here, if you'd like to take a moment to resituate your hairpins there. I wouldn't advise wandering about without them." Orihime nodded limply, barely registering what the old man had just said.
The next few minutes found Orihime leaning over the sink of one of the Kuchiki household's spacious bathrooms, splashing her face with cool water. She had cried a little after she left Yamamoto and didn't want anyone else to notice that her eyes and nose had gotten puffy and red. Now, though, the swelling and redness had subsided a bit, and she felt a bit more able to face her friends.
Using a hand towel that hung from a nearby rack, she patted her face dry, stopping every so often to glance in the bathroom mirror that hung above the sink. She wasn't visibly upset anymore, but her face certainly didn't look as it normally did. She looked tired and forlorn, little bags just starting to form beneath her eyes. It only then occurred to Orihime that she had no idea what time it was; it was definitely late at night, and she had no way of knowing how much time had passed on their trip here. She was suddenly grateful it was Friday; she could sleep as much as she wanted during the weekend. She also wouldn't have to face Ichigo until Monday once she got home.
The thought of Ichigo made her stare blankly at the damp hand towel. How long had she harbored a crush on him, only to have it dashed so soundly and thoroughly in a matter of minutes? And just as he'd finally seemed to be returning her feelings, too. Although that could have just been a trick of her physiology, too, couldn't it? She shoved the depressing, unwanted thoughts back into the back of her mind; if she was harmful to him, if being around her would hurt him, she would just have to bear it.
Resolved, but still very numb, she let the hand towel slide from her fingers back to its place on its hanging rack. The last thing she had to do was to pin her bangs back up before heading out to face the others. She could do it. She could make it home. It wouldn't be easy, but that's all she'd have to do tonight.
In a matter of seconds, she had her bangs pinned back above her ears. Years of practice had made her fast, and before she knew it, her hair was as neat and tidy as it had been that morning before school. With a deep breath, she then headed towards the bathroom door.
Almost as soon as the door clicked shut behind her and she was back out in the hallway, she felt the temperature drop again. Was this what Yamamoto had meant when he said she would be cold in such a place? Did it mean there was a demon nearby?
Orihime's eyes darted from one end of the hallway to the other. They finally came to a stop as she looked in the direction she knew the conference room to be. There, at the far end of the hall, was a lanky man with straight, silver hair, walking towards her. He was dressed from head to toe in a white suit, which combined with his hair, served to make him particularly ghostly and pale. His eyes seemed to be closed, his thin mouth turned up in an unsettling grin. Orihime thought he looked something like a white fox; she imagined that if he were to open his mouth, all his teeth would be pointy.
She shook her head gently. No, that was silly. Not even demons walked around with sharp, pointy shark teeth! Well, not normally, anyway. There was no reason this man would have those, at any rate. Not unless he was actually a kitsune, but they were supposed to be much better at disguise than that, and...
Her train of thought was broken when the smiling man patted her on the head gently. She was sure that beneath his upturned eyelids, he was looking at her now.
"Well, well," he drawled, making Orihime wonder if he didn't have a slight Kansai-ben accent, "You're the little girl everyone's been makin' such a fuss about. Ain't you a cutie?" Orihime stared blankly at him, unsure of how to answer. Something about his presence was incredibly off-putting, but she also felt frozen to the spot. She couldn't help but be reminded of the nature shows she liked to watch so much, how a predator would stare down its prey before striking.
"A-Ahh, th-thank you," she stammered. Suddenly, she wondered if he hadn't sensed her before she'd replaced her hairpins in the bathroom a second ago. Could they even sense her through walls like that? She was sure she was fretting now, and his presence was doing nothing to ease her nervousness.
"Ya look kinda nervous, though," he noted, his smile widening, "You afraid one a us monsters is gonna gobble you up?" Orihime's eyes widened. She may have even squeaked; she wasn't entirely sure. Wasn't this like what Yamamoto was telling her? She grew even more sure that this demon had sensed her from the other room. Her knees were beginning to feel as though they'd give out from underneath her at any second from beneath his stare.
The hand that had been gently patting her head a second ago was now firmly planted beside her on the wall. The white-haired man was leaning closely over her, almost as if he were examining her. He seemed to be taking in her scent, his nose and mouth only a hair's breadth away from the side of her face. Between his arm and his face, his body had formed a cage, causing Orihime to press her back against the wall as she looked up at him. There was nowhere she could retreat to.
"N-No..."
"Gin."
The voice was deep and feminine, and not at all unpleasant. It caused the man's smile to immediately fade into a vague, disinterested expression as he turned to face the speaker. Orihime couldn't help but figure he was trying to disguise his interest in her now that he'd been caught. She then dared take her eyes away from him to see who had spoken.
She was a fairly tall woman with long, wavy honey blond hair and glittering blue eyes. Orihime guessed she was a few centimeters taller than she was herself. She also guessed she was a cup size or two larger than her; the lady's most prominent feature was her generous cleavage. The low cut of her black dress only helped to emphasize this, as did the silver chain running between her breasts and underneath the neckline of the black fabric. Her hands were on her hips in a disapproving manner, her pink stole wending its way around her forearms and sagging behind her back. In fact, aside from being devastatingly pretty, Orihime thought the lady's entire countenance screamed disapproval.
After looking disconcerted for a second, the man's smile returned in full force. Except this time, Orihime thought it looked a bit friendlier, a bit less like a predator. She wondered which he normally was - was this now his true face, friendly and somewhat guarded, but not quite dangerous? Did this mean it was her affecting him before? Would she have to wonder that with every demon she crossed paths with from now on?
"Hey there, Rangiku!" Gin said happily, finally taking his arm away from Orihime's head. She exhaled a breath she hadn't even been aware she'd been holding. "I didn't see you back there with your boss. You musta been hidin' behind those curtains, too, huh?" The pretty blond looked entirely nonplussed.
"Of course you didn't," she replied, stepping closer, "And of course I'm here with him. Just like you and your... friends." Orihime almost thought she was accusing him of something, but she couldn't tell quite what.
"Haaah, it's just me and Aizen-sama tonight," he replied with a grin, "Well, us and one other guy. But he's not really important." Rangiku folded her arms with a look of bored disbelief.
"And just what were you doing to the human girl?" She cut straight to the point.
"Oh, her?" he asked nonchalantly, "She's just a little lost lamb. I was helping her find her way back to her friends." The blonde didn't look like she really believed him.
"You don't have to go to all that trouble," she said, affecting a bit of sweetness, "They're with my master, after all." To prove her point, she sauntered over and placed herself between Gin and Orihime. The taller woman wrapped a slender hand around Orihime's wrist; her grip was gentle, but firm, and she began to tug Orihime along after her. Orihime stumbled along behind, her feet having stopped working quite correctly after being trapped under Gin's presence for so long.
"Aww, so cold, Rangiku! Don't you trust me?" Orihime looked up to see the older woman roll her eyes as she sauntered away with her, pink stole flapping behind them.
"Bye, Gin," she said, not turning to face him as she waved her hand lazily in the air, "Call me up for a drink sometime."
After Abaddon had left with Orihime, Rukia quickly led Ichigo and Chad back the way they'd come and into her brother's driveway. They'd spent the time in between then and now in uncomfortable silence, barely even looking at each other. Ichigo bridled at the idea of being under Rukia's tutelage, and it was obvious that she wasn't much happier about the situation herself.
Leaning against the outer wall of the manor, just beside the door, Ichigo huffed and folded his arms. He finally decided to speak to her; it might kill time and keep him from worrying himself into an ulcer over Orihime.
"Where'd that Renji guy go?" he finally asked, not deigning to make eye contact. Rukia returned the favor in kind.
"He's with Nii-sama," she replied succinctly. Ichigo snorted.
"Getting punished," he concluded, "Notice you weren't included in that." Rukia's mouth became a thin, angry line as she whipped her head around to face him.
"Do not presume to know the workings of this household, Ichigo," she said coolly. Her voice was deathly calm, but Ichigo could tell he'd touched a raw nerve. As a testament to her irritation, her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.
"Looks like you just let him hang, to me," he continued unabated. He couldn't resist the opportunity to needle her a bit for all this trouble. He knew he was being a jerk, but at the moment, he couldn't really bring himself to care too much.
"I did no such thing!" Rukia replied, her voice beginning to rise, "By keeping quiet, I allowed him to save face. Regardless of my family, I am his subordinate, just as he is Nii-sama's. How would it look for him if he pushed the responsibility onto me?" Ichigo understood her point, and a certain part of him began to be sympathetic to her and Renji both. After all, if he'd just told the truth to begin with, none of this would've happened. But his own feelings were still too raw, too irritated, to want to let his anger go just yet.
"So they're gonna just punish him for the both of you?" he protested, "Sounds like some screwed up kind of responsibility, if you ask me." There was almost an audible snap beside him; Rukia had finally reached her breaking point.
"You are absolutely insufferable!" She was full-out yelling now. "Do you honestly think Abaddon-sama assigned me to tutor you out of the goodness of his heart?! You, who has no pride in his heritage, who had no idea what he truly was until a week ago? Do you not think I am being punished as we speak? It is only to allow my brother to retain his own pride that it is not called punishment!"
It was like a slap to the face. Her tone, her words, they both made Ichigo's cheeks burn with shame. Was he really that much of a burden? For her part, Rukia looked so angry that she was trembling. Ichigo had no idea what to say to soothe her temper, so he did the only thing he knew for sure how to do - he began to fire back.
"Look, you--" he ground out between clinched teeth. Before he could say anything else and dig himself any deeper, the flat door that they'd come through earlier slammed open.
"Wastin' time fightin' with broads? Wow. How'd a punk like you wind up being a Wraith?"
Ichigo turned to look at the newcomer. He was a tall, muscular demon, standing half a head taller than Ichigo. The driveway lights illuminated the silver skull earring dangling in his ear, and his shocking blue eyes. His hair was the same turquoise color as his eyes, swept back away from his face in turbulent spikes and waves. To contrast it, the hollows underneath his eyes were shaded with a bright green. He favored Ichigo with a feral grin, the little pointed ends of his canines just visible beneath his upper lip.
As he got a better look at him, Ichigo also noticed what he was wearing. It was a long white coat and baggy white slacks, in the same style as the kind-faced brown-haired man that had been sitting at the table inside - Belial-sama, he recalled. Unlike the brunette, though, this man had his sleeves rolled up and his coat flung open, his chest bare except for a wrapping of bandages across his torso.
With a snort, Ichigo wondered if this guy was stuck in the seventies, or if he really thought he was a banchou. He almost expected him to have a pompadour and a wooden sword hidden somewhere in that coat of his.
"Probably the same way you crawled out of a pachinko parlor or a parking lot or something and wound up here," he snorted in return. The blue-haired man's cocky smirk turned sour, transforming into more of a sneer. He latched his thumbs into his pockets and leaned forward, using his height to impose upon Ichigo's personal space.
"Wanna see how I wound up here, kid?" he rumbled through his sharp grin. Ichigo glared back, not flinching. He could tell when someone was trying to intimidate him; he dealt with assholes like this all the time in school. Like hell he was going to back down and let this guy think he could just push him around. That'd be one hell of a sorry way to start things out with these demons; no way was Ichigo going to let himself get pushed to the bottom of the pecking order from the beginning.
"If you think you got the stones--" Ichigo drew up short when he saw another two figures emerge from the darkness behind the blue-haired man. The man himself paused, his face turning blank as his eyes slowly shifted behind him. Ichigo briefly thought he looked like either a victim in a horror movie, or someone who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or a combination of both.
"Aizen-sama," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly as he ducked his head in a reluctant bow. Ichigo did the same, wondering at the change that had come over the aggressive demon in front of him. He also wondered at the different form of address - was Aizen his name, or was that another title?
"Grimmjow," the warmly smiling brunette acknowledged the blue-haired man, "You weren't causing trouble for our young friend here, were you?" Grimmjow glared balefully at his superior, but neither said nor did anything out of line.
"He was causin' trouble for himself, you ask me," he grumbled. If anything Aizen's smile broadened.
"Now, now," he said soothingly, "We're but guests here, and guests should behave well. Isn't that so, Kuchiki-san?" Rukia started at being addressed so suddenly and stiffened, giving the brunette a perfunctory bow. She didn't rise from it, instead keeping her eyes cast down towards the walkway.
"I-It is as you say, Belial-sama," she said quietly. Ichigo was thoroughly fascinated.
"We'll impose on you no longer," Aizen replied warmly, brushing past the group with a look back over his shoulder. "Come, Grimmjow. Gin."
For the first time, Ichigo really saw the second man who'd been standing in Aizen's shadow; the tall, pale white-haired man wearing a grin as though he was the cat who'd just eaten the canary. Everything about his countenance worried Ichigo for reasons he couldn't quite place. And just where had these two been while everything had been going on inside the conference room?
"And Kurosaki Ichigo," Aizen said, drawing Ichigo out of his reverie, "I look forward to seeing your training progress. Perhaps someday you may even join us in Greed House." Ichigo blinked, surprised. He wouldn't mind serving a guy like that - not at all.
"Thank... Thank you," he stumbled over the words as the white-clad men retreated down the driveway. Just before they were out of earshot, though, the white-haired one turned to look at Ichigo over his shoulder.
"Might wanna keep an eye on your chickadee, kid," Gin said, smiling that same unnerving smile, "She looks like she'll be pretty popular with this crowd, yeah?"
Ichigo's brows furrowed. Chickadee? Was he talking about Inoue? Since when had he seen her? Ichigo wanted to call after them and demand if he'd seen her, but he realized they were now too far away for it.
"Ignore Ichimaru," a hard, bored voice came from beside Ichigo's elbow, "He just wants to get a rise out of you." Ichigo jumped, his earlier irritation forgotten in his surprise. He looked down to see the white-haired kid from the conference room standing beside him, arms folded and scowling.
"You're the kid from before," Ichigo blurted out before realizing it probably wasn't the most polite way to address the head of his new house.
"Amon-sama," Chad said helpfully, as though Ichigo had forgotten. Which he had.
For his part, Amon looked thoroughly nonplussed.
"My name's actually Hitsugaya Toushirou," he replied dryly, "You can call me that, since you're in my house now."
"Sure, Toushirou," Ichigo said, raising his eyebrows. He thought he saw the flicker of a vein on the side of his new master's head.
"I meant you can call me Hitsugaya," the kid replied, "Just because I'm smaller than you doesn't mean you can get so damn familiar." Ichigo grinned; this would be just like teasing Karin. Before he could say anything else, though, two more figures appeared from the shadows of the house.
The first thing to emerge from the shadows was a pair of large, pendulous breasts. They were just the height of Hitsugaya's head; Ichigo realized this because as the smaller demon was glaring at him, the breasts emerged on either side of his ears, effectively muffling his head.
"Captain, I found her!" the cheery blonde woman chirped, holding Orihime's hand in the air.
"Matsumotoooooo!" the tiny demon nearly roared, trying to turn on the taller woman without getting his face stuck in her generous bosom. Ichigo ignored them, drowning out the fussing and laughter, instead focusing on Orihime.
Ichigo couldn't help but think that Orihime looked desperately confused by all the commotion. She was pale and wan, her expression looking slightly shell-shocked. He felt a bit of sympathy lance his chest; she had been kidnapped, jostled around, and had to face down the most powerful demon he'd ever seen, all in one night. And it was all Ichigo's fault.
"Inoue?" His eyebrow twitched up in concern as he called her name, stepping closer towards her. As her eyes landed on his face, it seemed to take her a moment to register that she was even looking at him. Then, her face lit up.
"Kurosaki-kun!" she called, stepping towards him. He thought there was a hint of something desperate in her voice beneath the surface, as though she'd missed him since she was removed from his presence.
Just as soon as he'd noticed it, though, it faded. Orihime's amber eyes widened as if she had recalled something important, and her smile faded into a pained expression. Her eyes flickered off to the side, no longer able to meet his. Somehow, he got the impression that she was holding herself back, for whatever reason.
"Hey," he said gently, smiling for her sake, "You alright?" She laughed a bit then, a nervous, tinkling sound.
"I-I'm fine!" she said, her voice betraying her, "I-If you're ready to go, we should... we should go home, right? It's really late..." Ichigo watched her closely, wondering what had happened while she was with the old man.
"If you would like," Rukia said, interrupting the flow of Ichigo's thoughts, "Our driver can take you home. Ichigo, Sado, I will see both of you Monday morning." Orihime quickly took the opportunity to use this as a distraction, smiling broadly as she turned to Rukia.
"Oh, thank you, Kuchiki-san!" she said, her voice sounding just a bit too fast, "I'm really tired, s-so we should get going! Right?"
"It's... nothing," Rukia said, apparently taken aback by the auburn-haired girl's friendliness.
"When you get out of school Monday," Hitsugaya chimed in, having extricated himself from his blonde assistant's bosom, "Kuchiki can bring you both to our House. We'll start training you then."
Ichigo nodded, choosing to say nothing of the fact that Urahara had already been training him for the past week. He silently wondered if the shopkeeper would continue to do so; with a rueful thought, he realized he probably needed all the training he could get.
"Bring your friend with you when you come," Matsumoto chimed in happily, "She can keep me company while you train!"
And with that, just as quickly as they'd been shuffled into the Kuchiki manor, the three visitors were shuffled right back off again.
