Ikkaku had had one hell of a day. He was pretty irritated by the time it was closing time, having had to deal with a bratty kid throwing food and kicking his mother when she'd tried to take him home. He'd kicked the little fuck's ass himself. Well, not literally, but he'd gone off on him about respecting adults and listening to his mother when she told him it was time to go. He'd scared the kid bad enough that he was pretty sure he'd almost peed.
At any rate, he'd been half-heartedly shuffling around, folding tarps and organizing poles for the next day, when he'd heard a noise. That wasn't unusual, considering the animals still made racket sometimes even after everyone had gone to bed, but this was different. It made the hairs on his neck rise. Something wasn't quite right.
Deciding that he'd make another attempt to talk to the harpy again tonight, he headed that way, hearing more of the rattling noise. He stopped after a moment, seeing the beast near the front of its cage, lying on its stomach with its arm through the bars. Its face was smashed against the iron poles, shoulder nearly dislocating as it tried to reach out.
There was something on the ground that it was trying to get, but it was impossible. There was at least another five feet of distance that it would've had to cover.
Ikkaku watched in pity as it eventually gave up and lay there on its side, wings twisted back. It began to weep bitterly and sniffle, just lying there in despair, and Ikkaku's heart bled with compassion.
When he walked towards it and slowly came into its line of sight, its eyes snapped to him and it promptly rolled over onto its other side. It stayed there, wings wrapping around its body as it huddled on the floor and refused to look at him. Ikkaku was reminded of a child who'd been embarrassed and was sulking about it.
Ikkaku looked down at what it'd been trying to get. It was a piece of bread, probably having been tossed there earlier by that bratty kid. Ikkaku picked up the dirty slice of bread and tried to blow off the bugs and sweep it clean, but it didn't help much. He held it out, saying, "Here you go," but got no response. "It's for you. Here, take it."
It continued to ignore him, and Ikkaku sighed, placing it on the floorboards of the cage, within reach of it, should it so choose to take it. With a half-beat of its massive dusty wings, straw, insects, cobwebs, and the piece of bread blasted out of its cage, and Ikkaku doubled over, coughing through the stale air.
The bread fell pathetically to the grass in the distance, and Ikkaku got the message loud and clear. The harpy didn't want his charity or pity. It would not accept food from one of his captors. Urahara was right. The harpy had been here so long in a cage that now it was a matter of personal pride, and it would remain stubborn damn near to its death.
"Have it your way," Ikkaku mumbled privately, leaning against the side of the cage, looking back up at the moon. It was a nice night. It made his problems seem small compared to that of this poor creature.
"Hey, what's your name?" he asked finally, wondering. None of the other hands around here called it by anything. In fact, they denied its existence a lot of the time. "Do you have a name?" he asked kindly, putting his hands through the bars. Maybe it didn't have a name, but of course he wasn't going to give it one. That'd be stupid.
"What should I call you?" Ikkaku asked, knowing that the beast was offended and deeply hurt about being locked up by humans. He didn't want to insult it further. It continued to ignore him like a pro. 'Stubborn brat' was right.
"I've never seen something like you before. You seemed nice enough that time we met, right? You're a pretty amazing sight."
Silence.
He got the distinct feeling that it was mad at him, as if it felt betrayed that he'd been about to let it out but had been interrupted by Renji that time. Perhaps it hated him, just as it must hate every other member of their traveling group. Ikkaku wouldn't be surprised. Still, he longed to provide companionship for this… this…
"You… You're so beautiful," he found himself saying, and he was surprised to see one wing unroll, its pretty face turning towards him just slightly to look at him with a suspicious one-eyed expression. It didn't respond. Maybe it wasn't a matter that it was refusing to speak. Maybe it couldn't speak.
Ikkaku smiled at it warmly. It didn't smile back, but it kept looking at him.
"You wanna' come out for a while?" he offered, not really thinking things through. Maybe he could leave today, right now, and it could come with him. Surely it would be grateful. Renji was wrong, there was no way it would kill him if he let it out.
It stared at him for a long time, unmoving, almost as if it hadn't heard him and was still analyzing him with that untrusting cold half-gaze. Did it understand his words?
"I've got the key," Ikkaku said with a grin, holding it up and dangling it. It perked up with interest, rolling over towards him, wings rustling around and knocking into the walls of the confined space. It looked into his eyes for a while, face so close to his from behind the bars that Ikkaku felt like he was about to be kissed. It slowly started smiling, warming right up to him, its graceful hands on the bars.
Ikkaku put his hands up towards it, holding his breath in anticipation of being dragged in or chewed on, but it kept holding onto the iron bars until he made contact. Then it smiled wider, fingers gently uncurling and curling once more, stroking his hands and wrists strangely by opening and shutting his hands almost like claws would. It was almost… affectionate.
"Here, lemme' get your feet," Ikkaku offered, and the harpy stared at him for a moment. Ikkaku lifted one foot and pointed at his own ankle. It startled into action and grabbed one of its chains, dragging the heavy thing to its full extension so it could fit its leg through the bars. Ikkaku popped its shackles off one by one, and it practically glowed with excitement, moving to kneel in front of the door, legs spread apart slightly. Ikkaku blushed a little bit.
Its arms reached out through the bars, rubbing on him eagerly, and he gave a small laugh as he moved to unlock the door.
"No! Stop!" Renji suddenly shouted, having probably gotten up to take a piss in the woods. He was stumbling on his way out of a tent, crawling upwards and running towards him. "She'll kill you, she'll kill you if you set her free! Don't let her out!"
Ikkaku looked towards him and tried to hurry, dropping his key and then scrambling in the dirt for it. He liked Renji, really he did, but he wasn't going to let his friend help these people keep imprisoning this poor thing.
'Let me out,' he suddenly heard, as if from within his own mind. His gaze snapped up into these deep purple eyes, and he felt his body go weak, all motivations and impulses dulling down and replaced by the harpy's one desire. 'Set me free. Just open the door, yes…'
He gaped at it for a moment, mouth open. The harpy gave a huff. 'Don't stand there drooling like a fool, open the door.' Ikkaku jumped in surprise, before he smiled, stuffing the key into the lock, turning it, and yanking the chunky part of the padlock down.
"NO!" Renji shouted, grabbing him and trying to hold the door closed, but it was too late. The door flew open with a bang, and the harpy's eyes went red. Ikkaku realized then that he'd never seen it open its mouth, because he would've remembered teeth that sharp.
It leapt down from its cage and Renji dragged Ikkaku away by his armpits, screaming and shouting for help. Ikkaku just watched helplessly as people began to wake up. The harpy grunted, still that beautiful naked man, but its chest was heaving and its back suddenly convulsed and its wings spread to their full span, leaving Ikkaku breathless. He hadn't realized how cramped it had been in that cage, but there had been no possible way for it to spread its wings even halfway open in there.
It flapped them hard, taking off immediately, and with a screech, it dove down on one of Ikkaku's crewmates. Renji shouted in horror, but Ikkaku just stood there and watched as the beast's legs warped and clawed open the man's belly with wickedly sharp talons. The harpy settled on the ground and presumeably began to eat. Its back was turned, and as fires began lighting around them, he could see that Kisuke had awoken too and was shouting orders to the men.
The harpy turned and its eyes caught the candle-light. Its hands were red and dripping, and its face was red with blood, and its meal was crawling away. Ikkaku had never seen something look so hungry.
"Hold still!" Kisuke commanded, and they all froze. The harpy turned in circles, screeching menacingly, but it remained there in confusion, trying to smell where its prey was. The blood that was already on its hands was making it difficult to track the true source. Ikkaku remembered then that harpies had bad vision, and that running attracts their attention. He begged his friend to crawl faster away from the monster, but at the same time hoped that it wouldn't be killed when they recaptured it. Hell beast though it was, it was far too weak from hunger, and the muscles of its wings were surely lean from lack of use. Ikkaku knew with a sick feeling that it probably wouldn't escape unscathed.
Just as it was about to take off in flight, Kisuke unsheathed his sword from his trick-cane and stabbed its wing into the ground. The resulting shriek was unlike anything Ikkaku had ever heard or since. That noise was in his nightmares for a long long time.
Ikkaku just sat there in a daze as they got it back in its cage. Later when he went to visit Hisagi, he saw that the creature hadn't gotten a single bite out of him, but had simply clawed his body open in anticipation of a meal. Hisagi would be okay other than having some scars on his handsome face.
Ikkaku didn't go back to visit the bird for a while; he was upset, but he sympathized. He hadn't known how dangerous the beast was until now, but he still had pity for it. He would've gone a little crazy too after spending years in a box without a bite to eat.
He still couldn't stop wondering if it had smiled at him like that to trick him, or if it really had been thankful.