'TINDER & SPARK'


Author's notes: Since most of my reviewers told me they favored long chapters, here one is :D It's my longest so far, and do expect the length to increase; my ideas are bursting all over, and it's incredible. I do have a lot to offer for the readers who plan to follow this story, and, of course, anyone is welcome to hop on the Black Champagne bandwagon.

Also, I apologize if my last chapter was a bit slow and didn't harbor enough IchiRuki-ness, but this chapter kind of gets it all going (there is a squeal moment ;p), so please read, and enjoy, loves.


June 20th
Tokyo, Japan

"Miss Rukia..."

"..."

"I-I'm so sorry; I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"No, I apologize a million times! That was awfully rude of me, and I'm sorry--"

"Like I said--"

"Please forgive me, Miss Rukia!"

"Hinamori--"

Glittering, lavender eyes quickly scanned the interior of the dimly lit Japanese mansion, and turned downward to view the young, black-haired maid bowing her head in urgent reverence. Here Rukia was, standing in the doorway of a magnificently crafted mansion, with her shirt ruffled, cleavage exposed, hair thrown in all different directions, and red lipstick smeared over a pair of plump lips. It was no surprise that the little maid, Hinamori Momo--brimming with her endearing naivete--had mistaken Rukia for a prostitute.

But, Rukia was quick to forgive, and the residents of the Kuchiki mansion were, in turn, quick to accept the young lady into the househould. Quite frankly, the astonished servants, who were mesmerized at first glance when initially approaching the dazzling, delicate lass, believed the overall incident to be somewhat...bittersweet.

Although their leader and godfather, Byakuya Kuchiki, had passed away so soon (about an hour after Rukia's arrival; there was no way for them to have met, anyway), in his place arrived a beautiful young woman who appeared to be the exact, physical carbon copy of their beloved, late Onee-san--Hisana Kuchiki.

There was reason to be joyous, and some of the younger maids actually began to shed tears of both sorrow and joy--sorrow for the passing of their remarkable Oyabun, and joy for the four foot, ten inch blessing that had just arrived. Rukia, on the other hand, was confused as hell.

"Kurosaki-san." She whispered over to her ginger-headed escort.

"Yes, Rukia." The lieutenant replied.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I beg pardon?" His eyebrow cocked.

"I'm just really confused; why is everyone crying? Did I upset them?"

Ichigo shifted his eyes about to view the weeping spectators, and, in one swift wave of the hand, dispersed them back to their duties. The servants complied, lifting Rukia's belongings away, and leaving the raven-haired lady alone with her escort in the foyer.

Ichigo turned to Rukia, and gave a simple smile, saying, "They're just glad you're here."

Indeed they were.

She was offered a cozy room in the upstairs, which was most certainly prepared for her arrival. The three-story mansion overlooked the bright, colored lights of Shinjuku, allowing a magnificent view of the evening sky, as well.

Crystal, cool water splashed onto Rukia's face, as she proceeded to wipe the crimson paint off her lips, and refresh herself after a long, sunbaked day. She slipped into a clean, white T-shirt and black shorts, situated her pearly, white-rimmed glasses on her nose, and glided out into the vacant halls of the Kuchiki mansion, determined to find some food as well as a quiet place to begin typing.

Solace would evade the young lady, however, once the servants caught sight of her in those scanty shorts. Though Renji himself placed no complaint on her evening attire, the lanky, droopy-eyed servant boy--Yamada Hanatarou--who was assigned to serve the new arrival, nearly suffered a stroke once he caught sight of her smooth, bare legs.

"What's your name again?" Rukia asked, not quite knowing what was wrong with the young boy, but eager to see his flustered face blush a million shades of pink. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Uhh..." He groaned, shielding his eyes with a single hand. "I'm H-Hanatarou...."

"Hanatarou, eh?" Rukia smiled, reaching out her hand to suddenly grab his own. "You may address me as Rukia--"

The boy quickly flinched, reacting to the extended hand as if it were a malicious, growling beast. "Uhh, sorry...!"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, it's just that..." He, despite being such a virginal figure, gave into temptation, and peered down at her slick, slim legs again. "Sorry...I've never shaken hands with a g-girl before."

"Oh, well..." She quickly--playfully--snatched his hand, and said, "Now you have, Hanatarou."

"Uhhh..." He blushed violently, silently cursing his traitorous body, and whispered, "By the way...are you...allowed to wear those?"

He blindly pointed to her shorts with a quivering finger.

"Well, I hope so," Rukia replied nonchalantly. "It's over a hundred degrees out there. I believe a girl has the right to enjoy herself."

"Yes, but, uhhh..." He bit his lip down to keep blood from inundating his racing, pounding heart. "...uh, but, uh...if Onee-san sees you, then...Miss Rukia...?"

Before he could finish his whisper of a statement, Rukia had already ambled down the corridor, eyes shifting about to view the portraits lined neatly against the wooden walls.

"Miss Rukia..." Hanatarou meekly said. "Uhh...I said..."

"Who is this?" Rukia quickly interjected while pointing up to a large portrait encircled within a golden frame. Hanatarou looked up, following her finger, to find his dim eyes locked upon a head of ebony, silken locks. The figure in the portrait--graceful, poised, dark--sitting neatly with his pale hands rested in his lap, exhibited the delicate qualities that meant blessings for a female, yet he was not a woman. Far from a woman, actually--it was their Oyabun himself. His features, so pure and unblemished, were too beautiful to be defined as manly; yet the stern glare he harbored, and those broad shoulders, and strong, polished cheekbones were masculine enough to make any girl fall for him.

Such was Rukia, who gazed admiringly at the handsome figure above. She turned to Hanatarou and asked, "Who is this gentleman?"

He looked at her, quite puzzled, but obediently answered, "Uhh...that's Kuchiki-sama, he's the master of this household. Well, late...master."

Rukia smiled, a wave of realization washing over her. "My, my." She said, eyes still locked onto the portrait. "So, that's my brother-in-law. He's quite a strapping spectacle."

"R-Rukia-san...!" Hanatarou gasped. "You-you can't say that here...!"

"What? Why not?"

The boy went pale; it was as though a phantom appeared right before his eyes. "That's your sister's former husband; and it's our Onee-san's husband, too. On top of that, she's right in this house; my god, that's almost blasphemous!"

"Calm yourself," Rukia replied, her voice serene as ever. "All I did was compliment his looks; I mean, he is handsome."

"Uhh, Rukia-san." Hanatarou sighed. "Please...it just..."

"That doesn't mean I want sex with every handsome man I see," Rukia stated, quite bluntly. "And, besides, I've said much worse things before."

With that, she turned her heel to further explore the corridors, leaving Hanatarou perplexed and breathless. What a woman, and, goodness gracious, what a mouth, too. She was certainly unlike any modest Japanese girl he had ever met, and most definitely unlike their deceased Onee-san, who was praised for her motherly attributes and delicate demeanor. Rukia, on the other hand--though airy, and resplendent-looking--had a tongue as sharp and frosty as ice.

"And, Hanatarou?" She called out to him, voice filled with mirth. "Is there any food in this house?"

That was just the beginning, though.

As Rukia walked down the halls, something, a dark figure, stopped her in her tracks. Almost immediately, Rukia began to clench down at the book she held in her grip, as if a gust of icy wind blasted right through her very being. Not a sudden tempest, but rather an entity--a beautiful, dark-skinned entity--appeared instantly as she turned the corner. It was enough to make her halt, and her blood freeze, as a pair of sharp, emerald orbs pierced through Rukia's soul.

Thumping sounds of Hanatarou's footsteps approached, and, once he met Rukia, instantaneously bent down in the presence of the dark-skinned woman.

"Good evening, Onee-sama." He said unhesitantly, tilting his head.

'Onee-sama?'

As Rukia peered upwards at the "Onee-sama", her face suddenly flushed. Never before had she seen a woman so gaudy and exorbitantly dressed; her golden, blonde hair cascaded in shimmering wisps down to her full, bursting bosom, and even her fingers were decorated with intricate, jeweled rings and sparkling trinkets. The woman's kimono was painted with extravagant, vibrant colors, the soft fabrics swishing as she moved slowly. She had a sharp, thin nose and the most tantalizing green eyes Rukia had ever laid eyes on, fully accentuated with feathery eyelashes as thick and black as the night sky. She was beautiful--yes, indeed, she was most certainly beautiful--but something about her staggered; actually, it stank (not literally; she also happened to be accompanied by a massive cloud of perfume). There was something about her, something sterile, something stagnant and humdrum about the exquisiteness the woman tried to exhibit. By anyone's standards, she was beautiful; by Rukia's standards, however, she was a bitch.

"Pleased to meet you," Rukia said, offering a small curtsy. "My name is Rukia."

The woman glared at her, emerald eyes gleaming, and said, "Yes, I have heard."

"Thank you for inviting me into your house, madame--"

"Halibel." She sharply interjected. "I expect to be called that. I do not like being addressed as 'Onee-sama.'"

Hanatarou lowered his head as if to apologize, as Rukia nodded, quite unimpressed by her attitude, but maintained the utmost respect for her host--even if it annoyed her to do so.

"Of course, Madame Halibel. I thank you again for the invitation."

"Yes, well..." The woman directed her gaze elsewhere. "You are family, after all."

After that, she left, with a little maid following after her, leaving a very bewildered Rukia standing there. Although their "meeting" was short, to Rukia it was just painful to have encountered such a woman whose lavishness and and ego oozed from every pore. She hated that; she hated women who looked like they were living, breathing rococo sculptures, but in all actuality belonged in a burlesque theatre entertaining drunken, swine-like men.

And so, Rukia was left to wonder how a woman such as the one she just encountered--who looked like a genuine prostitute--was able to marry someone as respectable as her brother-in-law. Trophy wife, perhaps? That seemed awfully uncharacteristic of Byakuya Kuchiki. But, Rukia did not care for her all that much; she needed food, and quick, in addition to some quiet time.


Quiet, however, did not apply to the two lieutenants, who were once again locked in another drug-hunting operation. It became somewhat of a ritual as Ichigo settled near the coffee table, scavenging on his laptop for another pitiful lout who either owed the Yakuza money or had done some unforgiveable, despicable crime against the gang. Renji, however, was once again running his mouth like an electric motor--no surprise there, as he was the muscle, and someone else had to be the brain.

"Damn, Ichi, you should have seen them two down there about to blow each other's heads off." Renji smirked as he puffed out a billow of smoke from his mouth while viewing the lights of Tokyo from the parlour. "It was fuckin' intense."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." Ichigo replied, quite apathetically, as his eyes were fixated on the laptop screen.

"I'm talkin' about Halibel and that new chick...what the fuck is her name?"

"Rukia."

"Yeah, her. Heh, any new chick that comes in here, Halibel's gonna fuck her up." The red-head inhaled, lips smacking the cigarette. "It was fuckin' hot, though, to see that Rukia chick in her shorts. Damn, you know she has the face of a Japanese, but a European girl's demeanor."

Ichigo sighed while trying to tune out his partner's mindless sputtering of words. He traced the map on the laptop screen, clicking, clicking, and clicking--frustrated. Damn it to hell.

"Fuck."

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Renji impulsively asked.

"I can't seem to locate this fucker's residential area. Renji," He turned around to face his partner. "Are you sure you gave me the right information on him?"

"Yeah, I caught him just the other day. I would have killed that motherfucker myself, but I figured a pussy like you only wanted to interrogate him, so I let him run off."

"You're too brash," Ichigo sighed, russet eyes glaring. "You know you jeopardize this delicate business when you go around seeking pure bloodshed."

"And, you know you never get any fuckin' thing done when you act like a fuckin' woman." Renji retorted, chuckling. "I'm the boss of this operation, Ichi, so settle yer ass down."

"Shit." Ichigo tossed the papers out of his hand in frustration--anger he never failed to conceive when around his lousy baboon of a partner. "Fuckin' useless shit. Then, he's gone."

"Don't get all moody, asshole. Just because I threatened him, doesn't--"

A quick swipe of the hand knocked the burning cigarette right out of Renji's mouth, and in an instant, he was pinned to the wall, Ichigo's robust arm pressing against the red-head's chest. Glistening russet orbs pierced right through Renji's gaze, and, in his shock, the latter could not speak.

"You fucker." Ichigo growled, his grip tightening. "You lost him, you know that--"

"What, Ichi? Are you gonna kill me? 'Cause you had plenty of chances before; what's gonna make you succeed this time?"

"You fuckin' lost him...!This gang's eatin' nothing but shit because of you--"

Before he could continue, and before Renji could retaliate, the parlour door creaked open, and a looming, suave, black-haired figure stepped in, saying, "Woah, what's happening here? A little quarrel?"

Ichigo swiftly released his clenched hand and turned around to face the intruder, their superior, actually--Kaien Shiba.

"Saiko-komon." Ichigo said, tilting his head. "Sorry for the noise."

The dark-haired man simply smiled when he crept in, bending down to pick up the scrunched-up cigarette, and handed it back to Renji. "I believe this is your's, Abarai."

The red-head nodded, plucking the burned-out cigarette from his superior's grasp. Kaien Shiba--the Kuchiki-gumi's senior advisor and the Oyabun's right hand man--was a figure who climbed all the way to the top of the Yakuza ladder with his slick charisma and expedient brilliance. Naturally, it was appropriate for the two lieutenants to bow their head in his presence--even slightly.

Kaien chuckled and settled down on the sofa, calmly pouring himself a glass of Brandy. "Yes, Kurosaki-kun," He smirked. "I've been wondering the same thing: why haven't you killed Abarai, yet?"

"Sir..." Ichigo began, but was unable to finish.

"It's alright, Kurosaki, I know you're frustrated, but try not to kill Abarai while you're in the parlour; you'd dirty the entire room." Kaien brushed his hair back and loosened his tie, slipping it off. "And, there's no need for violence, anyhow. I know the whereabouts of the man you're looking for."

"Really?" Renji asked. "How did you--"

"Well, my method of tracking him down was quite simple." He pulled out a thick, leather wallet from his suit pocket and set it down on the crystalline coffee table. "Marechiyo Omaeda, correct? I believe he owes the Kuchiki-gumi some money, as well as some precious substances."

"You stole this from him?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I stole his wallet," Kaien smirked. "I carefully fished it from his possession, using one of my lovely ladies."

"Heh," Renji spat. "I knew that old horn dog couldn't keep himself from fuckin' up."

"Kurosaki," Kaien began. "There you have it, so try not to attack your partner again. There's only one Renji Abarai, you know." He lifted his glass of Brandy and rose from the sofa. "I can't seem to find a single day when you two are not arguing. It's quite sad, to be honest. And, besides, what would Miss Rukia think if she saw you two like this?"

Ichigo, turned his head, astonished, though his complexion remained frozen in place. "You met her?"

"No, not yet, but of course I have heard of her while I conversed with Kuchiki-san."

"She doesn't know what business we occupy ourselves with, sir." The ginger-head said. "I don't think we'd be very successful keeping it a secret from her; she's very...shrewd."

"Don't worry about that, now, Kurosaki." Kaien replied, collected as always. "I think you ought to focus on getting those substances back, and showing Mr. Omaeda what happens when he treats the Kuchiki-gumi as his private, little bank."

"Yes, sir." Ichigo replied sternly, and proceeded to head for the door as he turned his heel.

"Wait." His red-headed partner called to him. "Where the hell are ya goin' off to now?"

"Rest. I'm tired of running around with you." And so the ginger-head left, leaving Kaien and his partner in the vacancy of the parlour. A scarlet flame flared from Renji's lighter, and he lit another cigarette with gleaming eyes looking out to view the night sky.

"Youngsters," Kaien smirked, sipping his glass of clear, russet liquid. "He's an intriguing fellow. Try not to tear him apart so soon, Abarai."

The red-head nodded.

Vooosh...!

Steaming water burst from the shower head and flooded the ginger-haired lieutenant with balmy, refreshing rain. Ichigo sighed, relieved to finally allow his muscles to relax, and his mind to rest, though not for long--of course. Nothing ever really stopped for him; never, as long as he held power within the gang. Time was a blessing, indeed, something he learned to cherish, though it dispersed as quickly as the delicate billows of steam formed in the shower.

However, time hated him and his cursed presence.

Ichigo's hand rose to touch the tender sheet of skin on his backside; it hurt, it was sore. Burning droplets of water cascaded down, nearly searing the scar that was engraved into his smooth, bare skin.

"Fuck." Ichigo cursed under his breath. It really hurt like hell, but who could he complain to?

This whole ordeal, since the eruption of the last drug war following up to the death of the Kuchiki-gumi's godfather, was spinning out of anyone's control. First he had unleashed Barragan Luisenbarn's wrath once again, and next the cargos of drugs vanished from their warehouse. To make matters worse, the So-honbucho's daughter was mercilessly slaughtered, and the newcomer, Rukia--quite an enigma, too--was in danger. Hell, she didn't even have any idea what was happening behind her back, and Ichigo was expected to safeguard her on behalf of Byakuya's wishes.

'Fuck.'

Globules of water slowly dripped from the shower head as Ichigo, hand on the dial, tilted his head. He needed time to think, air to breathe--silence for just a moment.

He had business to take care of soon, yes, with that blubbering oaf--Marechiyo Omaeda. On top of that, he had to settle some problems with that blue-haired fuck, who was probably on another plane to New York. Who else, who else...?

Creak...

Ichigo did not realize at first, when he had his eyes closed, that the silence he so craved would be gone in an instant. It took a while for him to recollect his normal, functioning state of mind, but it wasn't quick enough. Standing at the threshold, with her night gown and bunny slippers on, and hair tied in a bun, was Rukia--correction: a very, very red Rukia.

"Uh..." Was all she managed to utter. But, that mumble was all that was needed for Ichigo's mind to snap back in place, and his eyes to flash open.

His eyes darted across the bathroom to see Rukia standing there, her face completely flushed pink. She saw, in less than a second, her escort's lean, naked form, resting against the wall. Though it appeared to her in a flash, the image of his smooth, muscular arms, those brilliant tattoos, and perfectly tanned skin accompanied by the pleasant glimmer of the water, lingered in her mind. Such perfection of physical form, as considered by Rukia, rendered her utterly breathless for a moment; how marvelous he looked with his vivid hair tussled by the showering rain, and how shapely his backside (no joke; she saw his ass) appeared as his back tilted slightly. Strange, indeed, how Rukia had not noticed before that her escort was, with all respect, genuine eye-candy.

It was all astonishing, yet somewhat pleasing to Rukia. She had no qualms seeing a handsome man's naked form, being an open-minded, yet sexually-deprived virgin (surprisingly, but it was Urahara Kisuke who threatened her if she ever "did the deed"), however, for the disrobed ginger-haired lieutenant, he had many qualms with being seen naked.

He had many qualms, indeed.

'Shit.'

"R-Rukia...!"

"Oh, I-I'm so sorry...!" She stammered, swiftly reaching for the door knob. "I didn't mean to in-intrude, Kurosaki-san...!"

"No, it's--" He cursed under his breath, eyes darting wildly in search of a towel, a robe--anything! Anything to, good god, cover his...err, hanging glands. "Rukia--Jesus fucking..."

"Sorry, again...I thought you were done showering..." With that she shut the door.

"...Christ..." Ichigo murmured, his breathing burdened. He stared blankly at the door for a few moments, his hands still stretched over his manhood, which was equally as shocked as he was. Rukia, on the other hand, continued to stand outside the door, face burning with both stupefaction and fright. She gasped again and again, attempting to mollify the excessive pounding and excited jolts that raced throughout the veins of her body.

"Oh my god..."

Her breaths eventually calmed down once she walked back to her room, though, for some reason, she could not stop smiling. This Ichigo fellow, she concluded, was someone actually worth her attention. More than anything--though she was amused by his reaction--she was stunned; stunned that merely having caught sight of her escort's perfectly-shaped arse made her blood catch fire. But, she had to be honest with herself that that little encounter--seeing his wet, slick skin upon the wall--sent waves of some peculiar, foreign sensation throughout her body.

"Kurosaki..." She whispered, allowing her feverish state to gradually die down. "You're quite the specimen..."


June 20th
Ravenna, Italy

The tires of two black-coated Jaguars screeched to a stop outside the grand building of the notorious Italian Mafia boss's home, the headlights dimming within the eerie blackness of night. The door opened, and out emerged a man--quite young, no older than thirty--holding onto his suitcase. He tugged the rim of his hat, pulled his overcoat tighter around him against the evening breeze, and handed the suitcase over to his partner, a peculiar-looking man with silver hair and a wry smile that made any curious spectator cringe in abhorrence.

"Sir." The silver-haired man smirked. "Would you like for me ta take your hat?"

His boss, a tall, well-built man of russet-colored hair and a warm, brown gaze--a gaze that, however, was threatening; it hid poison behind it--smiled back, and said, "Well, thank you."

They entered the mansion, and, despite the Mafia boss's home being decorated like a French Queen's palace, paid no attention to the extravagance; they were here strictly for business. Two men in black suits stood by a closed door, and, once they caught sight of the visitors, bowed in reverence and immediately allowed them to enter.

The brown-haired man ambled calmly into the room, which was even more ornamented than the foyer, and approached the oversized, russet-skinned Italian Boss, who was situated on a bed, with one arm slung over the shoulder of his half-naked mistress, and another arm holding onto a young girl who appeared to be barely past puberty.

Still, the newcomers paid no acknowledgement to his whores, and quickly set down their suitcase on a vacant table.

The silver-haired man smirked once again in strange delight, like a child--a cunning, malevolent offspring of Lucifer himself--and said, "Well, nice ta meet t'cha, Mister Luisenbarn. And, thanks for receivin' us so late in the night."

"Ah, it's no problem," Barragan laughed as his younger mistress slid a robe over his flabby, sweat-stained shoulders. "You came right at a perfect time; I was just finished with one of my girls. You know, this Mafia business..." He abruptly gripped the young girl's chin, and tossed her onto the bed. "...brings the best whores into my bedroom."

The brown-haired man watched apathetically as the young girl fumbled and struggled to keep her clothing on; she appeared as though she wanted to cry, but, of course, it was of no concern to the men.

"Ahh, I seem to be getting old. What are your names again?" Barragan asked.

"Ichimaru Gin." The silver-haired, fox-like man smirked. "And this is my boss, Sousuke Aizen."

The brown-haired man lifted a hand, and slicked back the dangling wisp of hair from his forehead. He smiled, quite amused, though internally disgusted by the Mafia Lord's display of such coarse vulgarity.

"It's an honor to meet you," Aizen said, though his voice was sterile. "We've taken major precautions after arriving here. Yet, despite the trouble we faced while in Italy, I am glad that you ultimately decided to deal with us, Mr. Luisenbarn."

"Yes, yes, well..." The giant oaf chuckled. "I know you control a major branch of the Yakuza in San Francisco. However, you are not allied with the Kuchiki-gumi Confederation in Tokyo, correct?"

"Our relationship, to be frank, has been strained since the last time my father and Ginrei Kuchiki were alive." Aizen remarked. "As of now, we have completely broken off from the Yakuza; we're independent, and we take pride in dealing with stronger organizations all across the United States. To call us Yakuza, after all the conflict between our families..."

"...Would be taken as an insult." Gin concluded, that inane grin still plastered on his lips. "But, we mean no hostility in coming here ta meet t'cha, Mr. Luisenbarn. In fact, what we would like ta do--very quickly--is be your new ally."

Gin quickly unfastened the suitcase, flipping open the lid and continued, "I think you will like what we have ta offer."

Barragan, suddenly curious, pushed his older mistress off from his lap, and crept toward the suitcase to see exactly what the two men had brought him. Inside he found a treasure trove of pictures, documents, and neatly printed essays. Holding up a single photograph to the light, he squinted his beady, tired eyes to view the figure within the photo--a raven-haired woman. Another hand reached down to grab a pile of papers; they were clean, linear--dangerous; they were bullets in the form of ink, all geared toward his head, seeking the bloodshed of the old Italian's dwindling reputation and dignity.

"I believe you have business to settle with this particular..." Aizen held up a thick, hard-back novel, entitled 'Nourrir le Feu'--Feeding the Fire. "...writer, don't you?"

"So, you've found her." Barragan's lips curled into an animalistic smirk.

"She let her guard down a long time ago," Gin replied. "It was quite simple ta trace her whereabouts; our spies have been following her closely, and as of now, she's right where we want her ta be--in Shinjuku. Even more amusing ta know is that she is actually related ta the Kuchiki-gumi through marriage."

Aizen closed his eyes, his complexion serene, but the sternness in his voice heavy as lead. "She has no protection, minus a few lowly followers of the deceased Kuchiki Byakuya, who drew his last breath this morning."

"So he is dead." Barragan chuckled. "My major obstacle has been finally cleared away."

"Yes, it's as if..." Aizen began, the glimmer in his eyes flickering. "...heaven has joined our side."

A booming, thunderous cackle tore from Barragan's crusted lips, as he bent his head back in a maniacal fashion, and proceeded to flood the room with his howls of amusement.

"I've won!" He cheered, slamming his fist down on the table in victory. "I've won against that little piece of shit! Haha, at long last, I've won! Alright, Mister Sousuke Aizen," He smirked grotesquely. "I will ally with you; in return, I want this girl--this little whore who nearly ruined me--to fall into my grasp. I want her to suffer, and I want her to feel death on her flimsy, little body. In addition, I want the entire Kuchiki-gumi, and remains of that pathetic gang of second-rate hoodlums, to bow down to my feet, and to be swallowed by my power...!"

As a final gesture, and coarse expression of might, Barragan took the single photograph and instantly tore it in half, letting the remaining shreds fall to the floor. Gin, acknowledging the act, looked to his boss, who had already fastened his hat back onto his head, and risen from his seat. Sousuke Aizen had every reason to be pleased that one particular evening; he had just accomplished a major feat--doubling the size of his army--in less than five minutes.

"Well, Mister Luisenbarn," He gave an eerie smile to his host, and before he turned his heel to exit, said, "I thank you kindly for your time."

TO BE CONTINUED...


Complex, eh?
Lol, hope you all can keep up with the plot; I like twisting and bending it ;p

1) Saiko-komon--Senior Advisor
2) Yes, Halibel is Byakuya's second wife; I'm sorry if some of you don't like it, but do feel free to complain :D
3) Yes, Rukia is a virgin (right now, at least)
4) Lastly, yes, Rukia is in big doodoo. I made it very clear how "caustic" and "sardonic" she is, so it's no surprise that she'd piss off a lot of people--including the Mafia. How Barragan came to know her? You'll all have to find out ;p

Please review, dear readers!