Just a quick ficlet. Not Mine.
Night of Masks
Halloween was fun.
Urahara thoroughly approved of the holiday. A festival endorsing candy, costumes, and mischief – if it hadn't existed, he'd have had to invent it. Very few residents of Soul Society seemed to know of it, despite its origins as a festival meant to honor the dead; an added bonus to his mind.
It would have been ironically appropriate to wear a standard soul reaper outfit and carry Benehime openly at his side. It was a tempting prospect in more ways then one; several shinigami were likely to have heart attacks at such a blatant ridicule of his exile. Benehime might have complained, but her smug approval at the admiration she was sure to gain would be ample compensation.
Other options, however, were also available. It was, after all, the one time of year that monsters openly stalked the streets. He could wear his mask publicly and feel the ceramic grate against his skin as Hara coiled reassuringly behind his eyes, syllabant voice rasping in soft laughter. He could heard the whispers permeating the darkness, and tonight he could follow them, turning his back on Soul Society and walking openly alongside his distant kin. And oh, the looks on their faces as he stalked the streets, predatory intent obvious in every line of his body as golden eyes flared in silent promise…
There was something that most people forget about masks. A mask concealed the face, true – but in doing so, simultaneously allowed the expression the innermost self. A mask hid the self from the world, but it hid the world from the self; allowing the wearer the delusion of freedom.
In the end, Urahara decided to simply go as he was.
It was, after all, the best costume he'd ever come up with.