Dislaimer: Usual stuff, Bleach is not mine. The drama here, is.
Summary: Rukia finds a new (soon-to-become?) favourite publication for reading.
Author's notes: I apologize for the long, long delay. I had a terrible writer's block, and university matters comes first, so yeah. Italics NOT aligned in the middle depicts character thoughts.
Warning: Possible OOC-ness. I am not used to writing a certain brunette, so beware.
Chapter Three: The Magazine, a Prelude
She had never been one to really settle down. She was always on the move, always doing something, because she really doesn't sit well with the idea of being aimlessly idle. Even when she was still in school, Kuchiki Rukia had always had plenty of activities to do. She would generously volunteer her time with the elders back at the elders' homes, paying them a visit every now and then; and she would always produce a big basket of fresh fruits as a gift.
At other times, she would offer to read stories to the bedridden at the local hospitals, her voice changing constantly to the script; perfectly acting out all the plays with her animate moves. She enjoyed giving the needy a helping hand, because she believed that everything that goes around would eventually come around.
Of course, through all the course of her kind deeds, she had never performed them alone. It was because a certain orange-headed boy had always accompanied (more like insisted to) her on each of her visits, the basket of fruits being his routine luggage as he followed her. Yes, she definitely had missed those good old times. Rukia also vividly remembered that it was because of the ridiculous difference in height between the two of them, that they became so recognizable by both the elders' home caretakers and hospital workers. Those were the days when the so-called Dynamic Duo triumphed together.
Presently, Rukia blinked and focused her bright, vibrant violet-coloured orbs at an electronic device planted on top of an exquisite tripod stand in front of her, her pink lips forming a genuine smile as she did. She positioned her slender and petite frame so that more of her right side would be frontally-exposed to the camera, expertly manoeuvring her right shoulder to slant towards her perfectly pointed chin.
Her right hand rested on her right lap, the elbow of her arm pointed out to the front, her right leg slightly raised as only the toes of her feet supported her weight. Her left hand rested on the back of her narrow waist, and she kept her left leg straight behind her. She poised her upper body to hunch forward slightly, and she let her lips part only a tiny bit, giving a rather flirty and sensual look for the camera. Her cleavage gave a desperate peek as the v-neck of the yellow summer dress hung dangerously low past her collarbone.
A bright, blinding light then washed over her only milliseconds later, and consequently two more shots of the same pose was taken. She eased on her pose as the tall, slender photographer with pale hair manning the camera gave her the "o.k." sign. Rukia took a long breath. That would be the last take of the photo shoot for today.
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"Are you sure you'll be alright, Miss? Need any help finding your friend here?" asked the taxi driver of a slightly worn cab, as he leaned over to the open window on the driver's side with a scratched elbow pointed out.
His face was rectangular-shaped, with sharp, high cheekbones to further accentuate his undistinguished countenance. His thinning but black-coloured hair was pulled neatly to the back, allowing deepening wrinkles to show on his naked forehead. A set of dark, thin moustache above either side of his thin upper lip completed his modest features. He hardly look friendly, to tell the truth, but he's even further from intimidating. With such tiny eyes, even little school children will be unfazed in the event of his anger, and that in itself was an extremely rare occurrence.
His employee tag hung from the head of the rear view mirror, hardly a classy accessory, but he preferred to keep it that way. Black, bold-cased letters gave away brief information of him, if anybody bothered to read, that is:
Employee name: Aramaki Makizo
Age: Undisclosed (might be 43)
Service years: Six years (and counting)
Service record: Average
The long-haired woman shook her head but smiled appreciatively at the driver's kind and helpful offer, saying that she will be able to manage on her own from here. After all, she was not exactly that foreign to this metallic-painted building, she'd paid several visits from before.
"Okay, please be careful then," the driver said finally, as he waved his passenger goodbye. The taxi's old engine revved to life again, and he nodded his head at the young woman and slowly drove away, the engine of the transport choking on its soot-coloured smoke. He cast wary glances at the rear view mirror, eyeing the female passenger's form until the warm colour of her long auburn hair can no longer be witnessed by his eyes.
The woman was an odd one, although she was nothing close to a psycho or anything of the sort. Makizo sighed and shook his head. He hoped the bubbly soul he's given a ride to will be able to settle matters of her own, despite the obvious and rather worrisome silliness she previously displayed.
The female waited by the roadside, watching the retreating back of the old cab as it gradually disappear from her view. The driver had meant well, despite his seemingly aloof approach. Taking a deep breath, she shifted her focus to the looming building ahead of her. This part of the capital was less dense, she noticed, as the structure in front of her stood mightily on its own, the body separated from the other business-based office blocks that were also residents of the territory.
Blinking her hazel eyes a few times, it finally dawned to her that the neighbouring office blocks were unable to be "glued" to the structure due to its structurally inimitable structure: it was a three-floored modern building with tinted windows (that was fine) coupled with an exaggerated gateway of a pair of gold-painted human hands holding up a signboard of "Shiba Productions" proudly.
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A pair of off-white four inch wedges sat quietly at the foot of her designated chair, short legs occasionally swung to and fro. Her feet felt like they were hers again, her small baby pink toes finally free to wriggle in their bareness. She chanced a glance at her footwear for the shoot earlier.
"Pretty ladies shoes, but I like my slip-on shoes better. They're more comfortable," she reflected, her cherry lips slightly pouting at the thought. She decided to shop for more slip-ons the next time she goes out for shopping, and less wedges, or heels in general as she doesn't quite use them as religiously. Still, for a while she contemplated on the idea, for Kaien had noted on more than several occasions that she looked lovely in wedges. Before she could even finish mulling over her initial resolution, a strangely familiar voice blew up in her ears.
"Kuchiki Rukia-chaaan!" The voice sounded cheerful and impossibly bubbly, and Rukia could already tell, without a mistake, the owner of such vibrant voice.
Whirling around, Rukia was greeted by a friendly, round-shaped face wearing a radiant smile, her cheeks a light shade of pink. Auburn-coloured tresses hung freely past voluptuous breasts, and just above her ears are a pair of golden hairclips in the shape of flowers. The five feet two inches figure wore a modest, bright yellow wool sweater over a cream-coloured, buttoned pink and red flower-printed dress that hung well past her knees. She also wore a pair of light brown sandals to match the colour of her eyes.
"Orihime!" exclaimed Rukia eagerly, her face painted with obvious delight at the sight of her friend. Orihime nodded lightly and waved her hand excitedly, her lips now adorned by a wider smile. Rukia immediately scrambled to her feet, still very much bare-footed, and gave her visitor a big hug; her frail arms wrapped around Orihime's waist. Orihime returned the hug, gently squeezing Rukia's petite form as she did.
Pulling away, Rukia's tiny hands reached for either side of Orihime's face, involuntarily guiding the taller woman's eyes to be almost level with her own.
"You didn't tell me that you were returning to Japan."
Brown eyes blinked, once, twice.
"I did tell you earlier," Orihime replied quickly, bringing up her hands to hold Rukia's. She was sure that she did, but the stoic expression the woman in front of her was wearing told a different story. ". . . or didn't I?" Her own respond sounded more like an unsure statement, even to herself.
Rukia stared at innocent hazel eyes for a brief second, and then shook her head. "You didn't, or else I could have waited for you at the airport," she answered plainly. It was not a statement justified to blame her, Orihime knew, but she also recognized the slight hint of disappointment in Rukia's voice that was either not carefully masked, or wasn't even meant to be concealed in the first place.
"I'm sorry, I must've forgotten," Orihime started, after a few moments of silence. Rukia sighed, but gave her a smile. "I think I should probably write it down in my notebook next time."
"Don't be silly. You don't need notebooks for that sort of thing, Orihime," Rukia replied, easing her touch before finally walking to her station from earlier. Orihime nodded her head and followed suit, casting wondering looks at a bunch of metallic equipments and dull, gray wire cords sprawled all across the cement floor.
"Now, what do you want to do? Seeing that you're finally back here," started Rukia cheerfully, as she skimmed through some newsletters and magazines that were taking up a reasonable amount of space on her dresser table. She picked up a magazine on health and raised her eyebrows. Rukia was almost positive that she didn't request for any reading materials from the production unit that day, as opposed to what should be her normal routine (reading during breaks). Shrugging, she glanced at her friend.
"By the way, Orihime, take a seat," she offered, pointing to a vacant chair that was nearby. Orihime dutifully took the empty chair and promptly sat herself.
"Well . . . why don't we go shopping? I haven't done that with you in ages," answered the brunette after a short while, her index finger gently tapping on her chin, trying to recall the last time that they went shopping together. Rukia glanced at her, studying the arch of her brows that was drawn closely together. She knew instantly that Orihime was already halfway into one of her daydream trance.
"She's always like this."
Rukia sighed but smiled, and proceeded to clear her table of the foreign items. She was just about to turn away (she'd stacked the reading materials together and placed them on another table) when a magazine caught her eye: Architectural Lens. Rukia instinctively reached for the publication, her heart beating a little too fast than usual. Such a publication was not exactly her cup of tea, but the bold, printed words had successfully sought her attention: "The Orange Architect: Kurosaki Ichigo" and then, the infamous scowl on a handsome face with intense amber orbs.
The Strawberry had a cover page.
"Rukia-chan? Are you okay?" It was Orihime, back into the present from her trance.
Rukia's breath hitched, her short fingers voluntarily clutching at the magazine. She nodded her head quickly in Orihime's direction. Orihime's complexion carried a concerned look.
"I'm fine," replied Rukia, slipping into her footwear. She swung her earthly tote bag to one shoulder, and grabbed Orihime by the arm, leading her outside.
"Where are we going?"
"We're taking you to the mall for a splurge, how's that sound?"
Orihime's eyes twinkled. Rukia understood.
She took her car keys out and slipped the magazine into her bag secretly, mentally reminding herself to give the lens a good, thorough read once she gets back home.
Author's thanks: Thank you people for reading my story again! Any mistakes, errors, questions, or suggestions, just forward them to me, kay? Thanks for your time! Also, I'm trying some new adjusting/scenebreaks style, so please bear with me. ^^;