"Rukia. Rukia, it's time to get up."
This bed is too comfortable. Rukia doesn't snap awake the way she knows she should.
"What is it? What's happening?" she slurs out, trying to pry her eyes open.
"Sun's up," Renji says, a grim edge to his voice that will someday send a shiver down the spines of future roommates and subordinates alike. "It's time to train."
If her brain weren't still three-quarters asleep, Rukia would tell him to shove off. Instead, she manages to feebly roll out of the blankets. The very microsecond she is clear, Renji snatches them up, shakes them out, and has them folded and stuffed away in the closet before Rukia even manages to sit up. He is dressed already, in a fresh set of the station's practice clothes, his hair already brushed and tied up.
Rukia rubs at one eye with the heel of her hand. "You waiting to watch me get dressed or what?"
Renji turns as red as his hair. "I'm going to the dojo!" he announces, and noisily departs.
Rukia shakes her head at his retreating back. She wonders where this new modesty has come from. In Inuzuri, they each only had one set of clothes at any given time, so daily changing wasn't really a concern, but it's not like they haven't seen each other in various states of undress a million times.
Rukia refuses to put on the oversized hakama again. During their trip through town the day before, Mr. Mochida stopped to talk to an acquaintance who was very happy to sell him an armful of yukata her own children had outgrown. ("We should really have more things for smaller children to wear! I have seen many recruits in the inner districts far younger than you," he excused when Rukia got embarrassed over it.)
Rukia glances through the pile. They're not too different from the ones she has always worn, although the cloth is less threadbare and better patched. Some of the patterns are even still vibrant. One catches Rukia's eye immediately.
Rukia isn't sure what she expected to see when she enters the dojo, but it certainly isn't Renji sitting on the floor, poring over a large book. "Where's Mr. Mochida?" she asks.
"Not up yet, probably. I don't know," Renji says, flipping a few pages.
Rukia narrows her eyes at him. "I thought you said it was time for training."
"Yeah, yeah."
"But Mr. Mochida is in charge of training."
"Well, yeah, but I found this book yesterday, you see, and I really want to try some of the stuff in it."
"So when you said 'training', what you meant was 'Renji bullshit.'"
"Sure, okay, but you wouldn't get out of bed if I told you it was Renji bullshit."
Rukia levels a death glare at him, but it is deflected by the protective layer of Renji bullshit hovering around him. She tries a different tack. "Renji, look at my yukata. Look at it, Renji. It's got bunnies on it. Little itty bitty bunnies."
Renji looks up, stares at her for exactly ten seconds, and then jabs a finger at his book. "Body weight exercises, Rukia! They require no equipment, so you can do them anywhere! This book has them all broken out by which muscle groups they make stronger!"
Rukia gives up, and hunkers down beside him. "Oh! It has pictures."
"They aren't pictures, they're diagrams," Renji informs her pompously. "I want to do this one. It's called push-ups. It will make our arms really strong!"
It takes a few minutes of puzzling to figure out the motion, but it's not actually all that hard. They do them in sets of ten.
"It's not a race," Renji grunts. He is sweating a lot. "Focus on your form! Back straight! Elbows should go back, not out!"
"My form is perfect," Rukia announces primly.
It is not lost on her that a) Renji is significantly heavier than her and b) because his arms are longer, he has a lot further to lift his stupid carcass on the upstroke. She is certainly not going to point out how much harder he is working than her. He has probably figured this out anyway, but Renji is never one to let a huge structural disadvantage get him down.
There is the shush of a door opening, and Mr. Mochida walks in, looking very sleepy. "Good…morning?" he says. "It is very early. What are you two doing?"
"Calisthenics!" Renji crows.
"What he said!" Rukia shouts in solidarity.
"I'm going to go make breakfast," says Mr. Mochida.
"Today," says Mr. Mochida, "we are making sandals."
Renji and Rukia look at one another.
"It will not actually take all day," Mr. Mochida clarifies. "We will also do other things today."
He has spools of rice-straw twine for each of them. It is nice stuff, soft, with long fibers, much finer than the rough cordage Rukia used to twist out of grass in Inuzuri. Mr. Mochida shows them how to loop the twine around their toes so they can use their own feet as a loom, and helps them get started on the weaving. Rukia's fingers are small and slim, but strong. She's always been good at this kind of thing. Renji is slower, but his work comes along neatly, if a little coarser. Rukia wishes she had thought of making something like this before, although she has to admit that being able to start with a ready-spun supply of twine certainly makes this a lot easier.
"You will need to wear these on the trip up the South Road," Mr. Mochida explains, once they have mastered the rhythm of the weaving. It's nice to have a little talk to break up the monotony. "They will save your feet a great deal of pain. A well-constructed pair of waraji will last two to three days of hard wear. Hopefully, in the time before you leave, we can make enough pairs to last your entire trip. If not, twine like this can be found easily in the upper districts, and you'll be able to make more pairs on your rest breaks, if you need them."
"Shinigami wear these, too, right?" Renji asks. "Do they make their own?"
Mr. Mochida laughs. "Yes and no. Good question. This is a bit of an advanced topic, taught in the upper classes at the Academy."
"Shoes are an advanced topic?" Rukia frowns.
"They are part of the shihakushou," Mr. Mochida clarifies, gesturing to his own clothes. "The traditional outfit of the shinigami. We do not wear these merely because they make us look so good."
This earns him a shy giggle from both of them. Mr. Mochida is not a tall man, and he runs to stocky. He's not exactly a fashion plate in his black and whites.
"The most fundamental power of the shinigami, the one absolutely essential thing you must be able to do, is to maintain your form in other planes, namely, the World of the Living. A plus soul cannot do this. They will deteriorate in time, sometimes becoming a Hollow, but often simply losing their integrity and returning to the resurrection cycle in fragments."
"That sounds bad," Rukia says.
"Not at all! Souls generally arrive in Soul Society much as they were in the World of Living, but after they die here, they usually break apart and recombine with other souls on the trip back. Only the very rarest souls manage to reincarnate fully. It's believed that frayed ghosts simply skip their stay in Soul Society and are reborn to human lives faster."
"What does this have to do with shihakushou?" Renji frowns, squinting at his weaving.
"The key to manifesting is having a strong self-concept of oneself. Wearing the same outfit every day is surprisingly helpful to that process. Here in Soul Society, the shihakusou is a set of clothing, made of fabric, sewn with thread. But when you are in the World of the Living, you must reconstruct yourself, clothing and all, from the meager reishi of that plane."
"That's wild," Renji comments.
"It is, indeed!" Mr. Mochida agrees. "And, in fact, it has a feedback effect, as well. When a shinigami dons the shihakushou, even here in Soul Society, they infuse it with their own reishi. While you are wearing it, it is a part of you. Sufficiently powerful shinigami don't wear out their sandals from daily use, because they repair them gradually and subconsciously, the way you grow hair or fingernails."
Rukia is fascinated by this. "Does that mean it hurts when you rip your clothes?"
"Not at all. It is more like...your clothing becomes an extension of your power. It only goes in one direction and you reabsorb it when you disrobe. Generally, it is a small effect that only works to prevent light wear and tear- shinigami rip and stain and lose their clothing all the time. The Gotei does provide new ones, by the way. That is the sense in which shinigami do not make their own shoes." Mr. Mochida watches them work for a few minutes. "You both seem to be doing well at this."
"We made stuff like this all the time in Inuzuri," Renji explains. "Rukia's especially good at it. My fingers are too big."
"Also, your feet are twice the size of mine," Rukia points out. "I can make you some pairs if you fall behind." She's not being generous. There are lots of things that Renji is better at than her. It's just good division of labor.
"No, I think you are doing fine," Mr. Mochida declares. "We will do this every day. Many shinigami from the city never once make their own waraji, but it is a good thing to know how to do. You never know when you will lose a pair, far from home. Furthermore, once it feels easy and natural, I will show you how to weave some of yourself into them. Make them last a bit longer. Perhaps that skill is too advanced for you. But there is no harm in trying, eh?"
"...Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south." Renji looks up from the heavy book in his hands, eyes full of hope.
"Excellent!" Mr. Mochida takes the book back, and flips to a different page. "Here is a useful one. Can you read this, Miss Rukia?"
Rukia accepts the book gingerly. She stares at the page. The kanji swim before her eyes. This book has been transcribed by someone with an unlimited ink budget and a penchant for flourishes. It looks very different from Renji's economical handwriting.
"Oneself…" Rukia scowls. There are so many strokes to the next one that she can't even count them. "I can't read the second part."
"That character means destruction," Mr. Mochida provides. "Together, we read them as 'disintegrate.'"
"Disintegrate, you black dog of…" The next part is written phonetically. "Ro-on-dah-neen-nee?" That can't be right.
"''Rondanini's black dog.' Very good!"
"That's not a real word."
"It's Italian."
Rukia doesn't know what that means. She can't see Renji without turning her head but she hopes he's making at least as stupid a face as she is.
Mr. Mochida makes a vague grasping gesture. "Kidou chants sometimes incorporate loan words from other human-you know what? It's really not important! Why don't you just keep going?"
Rukia frowns back. "Why is this so complicated? Are they really going to make us read a bunch of dumb poetry?"
"These are spells. With practice, the one you are reading can be used to paralyze an enemy. But you are correct, they are quite difficult."
"Do you have any easier books? Just to start with?" Renji blurts out. "I tried to teach her, but Rukia hasn't had a whole lot of practice at reading. There ain't much to read in Inuzuri."
"Renji!" Rukia yelps, horrified by this betrayal.
"What? He said he was gonna help us catch up! We're going to school, Rukia, of course there's going to be reading!"
Rukia pouts, humiliated.
"There is no need to be embarrassed, Miss Rukia. Illiteracy is very common in the Rukon. You will need to work to catch up, however. Shin'oureijutsuin is not very sympathetic to this fact."
"I want to work on my writing," Renji breaks in, speaking much too quickly. "I know how, but I never get to practice and also I broke my arm last year and I'm not sure I can still do it very well."
Mr. Mochida nods. "That sounds like a very wise idea. There will be a lot of writing, as well."
Rukia glowers at both of them and their stupid charade. This isn't making her feel any better.
Half an hour later, though, she has a big sheet of clean, white paper and a little pot of ink, and she's actually having an awful lot of fun. This is certainly better than scratching characters in the dirt with a stick. She has written her name five times and feels very proud of herself.
Renji is trying to write out that "colors are fragrant" poem he always uses to practice his writing, and is getting very frustrated.
Rukia glances over at his work. "What are you so mad about? It looks perfect to me."
"It's been too long. I go really slow and my handwriting is still a mess."
She's not dumb. She knows he stopped writing after he broke his arm. He spent all summer trying to teach himself to write with his left hand, and as soon as he got the use of the right one back, he tried writing exactly once and then gave up. He probably can't hold the brush the way he used to or something like that. He won't say so, though. He broke it blocking a lead pipe being swung at her head, and they don't like to discuss the mountain of debts owed between them that only pile up higher instead of ever canceling out.
Renji looks back at her own page. "Those are some nice 'Rukias'."
"Thank you," she says grandly.
"You might be called on to write some other words, though."
"Show me how to write 'shinigami'," she demands.
He grins. "Sure thing."
"Maybe I should cut my hair." It is dinnertime and Renji is fishing for opinions.
Rukia gives him one. "If you do it, I'll never speak to you again." She wonders if he's feeling inspired by the athletic Ikariya, with her aerodynamic buzzcut.
"It's certainly not necessary," Mr. Mochida avoids taking sides. "Many shinigami wear their hair long. As long as it's not distracting, you may do what you wish." Mr. Mochida wears his own hair in a neat, traditional topknot, although Rukia suspects his bare forehead is natural, rather than shaven.
"It's not me I'm worried about being distracted," Renji mutters. "You don't think I'll stand out too much?"
"For the entrance exams, at least," Mr. Mochida says, "standing out is a good thing. You are going to give an impressive performance, and they will remember the strong young man with the bright hair."
Rukia has been trying, really trying, to take Mr. Mochida at face value, but she just can't figure out what he hopes to accomplish by flattering them like this. Obviously, he wants her and Renji to pass the tests, so he gets his commission, but buttering them up doesn't seem like a particularly effective way to go about that.
He misinterprets her perplexed facial expression. "They will remember you, Miss Rukia, by the way you will already be able to cast several useful kidou." This seems absurdly optimistic. So far, using Mr. Mochida's chants, Rukia has managed to summon exactly one single sad little blue spark. It didn't even manage to singe her palm when it fizzled out. "Speaking of which, do you still remember the incantation for sokatsui from this afternoon? Remember to focus on the correct rise and fall of the syllables."
That evening, after his bath, Renji lets Rukia brush a little camellia oil into his hair. Mr. Mochida gave it to him. Apparently, it is precious this far south, but readily available in the Seireitei. Renji's hair used to stick together well enough in its own stew of natural oils and dirt, but now that it's clean, it needs a little help.
Rukia and Renji have taken care of each other's hair for a long time. This is nothing different. Well, the camellia oil smells a lot better, that's different. And now that it's clean, Renji's hair is even redder than Rukia thought, painted richer still by the rays of the setting sun. Rukia sets aside the boar-hair brush, yet another luxury Mr. Mochida has let them use without a moment's thought.
"You said you wanted me to braid it?" she asks.
"Yeah, Mr. Mochida says it'll absorb the oil overnight that way. You know how to braid hair, right? I imagine it's the same as braiding grass and stuff like that?"
"Pch," Rukia scoffs, even though she has never braided anyone's hair in her afterlife. Surely it's the same, right? She follows the usual motions, but Renji's hair is much softer and finer than dried grass. It slips between her fingers. Rukia grits her teeth and starts again, gripping it tighter this time.
"Ow," says Renji.
"Your hair is stupid," she informs him.
"Right," he replies. "So stupid you'll never speak to me again if I cut it."
"Exactly," Rukia replies. She sees no contradiction. Loving anything is stupid. It's not like it's ever stopped her before.
Renji sucks his teeth for a moment. His voice comes out too loud, as it often does when he's nervous. "I would like to give it a trim before we head north. Just neaten it up, nothing dramatic-"
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Rukia agrees. "That's fine. That's a good idea. Maybe you can do mine, too."
Renji's shoulders relax and he stretches his legs out in front of him. Was he honestly afraid she was going to be angry at him? What a dope.
"Mr. Mochida says he has special scissors for hair cutting. He offered to cut it for me, but I told him you always do it. He says you can borrow the scissors."
"What are scissors?" Rukia asks, perplexed. "And what's wrong with my knife?"
Renji makes a vague squeezing motion with his hand. "It's two blades, hinged together, with handles. Easier to do a neat job. You don't know what scissors are?"
"I've never seen such a thing," Rukia says, fascinated. "How do you know what they are?" She sticks her chin on Renji's shoulder so she can see his face, screwed up with concentration.
"You're right…" he says slowly. "I've never seen a pair in Inuzuri. But I'm sure I've seen someone use them before," he says. "For…for sewing, I think."
It's an Alive Memory, Rukia is nearly certain. Most souls get them. All the boys did, from time to time. To Renji, it's just brain dust. Whatever it is in Soul Society that makes people forget their lives also makes this memory detritus slippery to hold onto. Renji won't think of this later, or attach any importance to this conversation. The funny thing is, after ten years of watching him stumble through these moments, Rukia probably has a better idea of what Renji's life was like than he does. He lived on a farm of some sort. A small one, or at least his family grew a lot of their own food. He died of a fever. Nearly all of his Alive Memories involve his mother. Rukia is almost positive that Renji's mother is the one who taught him to write. The sewing scissors were likely hers. In Rukia's imagination, Renji's mother is very tall and beautiful and kind. Rukia doesn't need to use her imagination to know that Renji loved his mother very much.
"Well, I don't know the first thing about scissors, so maybe you're better off to just have Mr. Mochida do it. For that matter, you should probably be learning to braid your own hair, too."
"I will," Renji promises, ignoring her gruffness, as he often does.
Rukia ties off the end of the pigtail. His hair isn't really long enough to braid, and a lot of it is falling out the sides. It looks awful. It doesn't matter, it's just for sleeping. Rukia wonders if he'll let her try again tomorrow night.
"Maybe he could show you how to use the scissors," Renji suggests. "It seems like a useful thing to know." He gives a little chuckle. "He could show me, too. I thought I knew how to use them, but maybe I don't."
Rukia wonders how many things they will have in the Seireitei that she has never seen before. She isn't sure if she has any Alive Memories at all, but if she does, they are only hazy, infant things, nothing useful at all.
"Good thought," she says.
They have been staying at the District 70 Consolidated Shinigami Recruitment Station for five whole days before they find out it has a garden. It is in a fenced-off area, distinct from the practice yard, probably to prevent Mr. Mochida's vegetables from being trampled. The poor things need all the help they can get.
"Is that a garden?" Rukia shouts down from the roof.
"What are you doing on the roof?" Mr Mochida demands. "How did you get up there? You're supposed to be doing your reading!"
"I like high places! And don't worry, we brought the books up here. Hey, Renji, come see this!" Rukia calls. "Mr. Mochida has a garden!"
Renji trots over to the edge of the roof, being more careful of the thatching, given his greater weight. "A garden? Cool!"
"It's not much to look at, I know," Mr. Mochida admits a few minutes later, after cajoling them back down to ground.
"Have we been eating these?" Renji asks, squatting down to examine some anemic-looking brassica.
"They have very little flavor, so I mix them in with what I get delivered from up-district," Mr. Mochida sighs. "My root vegetables were an utter failure. I just put in some beans last week. They did not do well last year, but I have managed to accumulate a little compost over the winter and I hope that will help.
"That's amazing!" Rukia exclaims. "We tried to grow stuff all the time in Inuzuri, but we never got anything we were able to eat. We grew some stinky melons, once, and some berries that gave us all the-um, that made us all sick. Mostly, stuff doesn't come up at all."
Mr. Mochida does not look encouraged. "These varietals are supposed to be specially suited for the outer districts. They grew well enough in our garden at the District 60 station, but there is so little reishi in the soil here. There aren't even any worms."
"Worms are bad," Rukia declares darkly.
"Worms and other insects are very beneficial for a garden," Mr. Mochida explains. "They aerate the soil and their castings contain reishi and other nutrients in a form that's easier for plants to absorb."
"Inuzuri worms are bad," Renji clarifies. He is squatting next to the garden, running his fingers through the dirt. "We're down too close to the Wilds, where stuff thrives on wild magic instead of reishi. It builds up in bugs and worms and other creepy crawlies. You can't eat 'em and you can die by getting bit or stung by one. You also have to be careful of eating stuff like fish and birds that's low on the food chain. There's probably also whatsis. Germs and stuff. In the soil. Molds and blights and such."
"Pathogens," Mr. Mochida supplies.
"Sure," Renji agrees amiably. It is likely the first time he has heard the word. It certainly is for Rukia.
Mr. Mochida sighs. "This is the first Recruitment Station I have served at that did not have a garden. This is the last station on the circuit, and only afforded a single recruiter, so I thought it was simply a matter of putting in the effort to get one started." He chuckles ruefully. "Perhaps my predecessors weighed the work involved against the potential rewards more carefully than I."
"Are you kidding?" Rukia exclaims. "If we coulda got this much to grow, we would have spent all our time on our garden, wouldn't we, Renji?"
Renji claps the dirt off his hands. "Some of us, probably. Some of us don't have a lot of patience."
Rukia makes the worst face she can at him. "Maybe some of us would have more patience if it ever actually paid off. Some of us aren't gluttons for punishment. Like you. I'm talking about you."
"Now, now!" Mr. Mochida seems to think their jibes are in earnest.
Renji snorts. "She's right. It's not really worth working toward anything in Inuzuri. It's just that…y'know. What else can you do, right?" He brushes his fingers over the feathery edges of a mizuna leaf. "There must be so much amazing food in the city."
Rukia doesn't understand the wistfulness in his voice. She half-worries that he still doesn't believe they're going to the city at all, let alone that they are going to stay there and never ever see Inuzuri again. Renji carries his pessimism deep down in his bones, where he thinks she can't see it. She can, of course, she just can't get at it, because if she tries to yell it out of him, he just claims she's imagining things. This doesn't quite feel like that, though. It feels like something else.
Mr. Mochida looks at Renji for a long moment. "Food is certainly more plentiful in the Seireitei, although much of it is actually grown in the Rukon. There is nowhere in Soul Society where food can be taken for granted. It is easy to forget that, and even I need a reminder sometimes. Thank you, to the both of you."
They haven't actually done anything, so Rukia isn't exactly sure what he's thanking them for. That doesn't stop her from trying to take advantage of his gratitude. "Can I eat one of the leaves?" she asks.
"Yes," says Mr. Mochida.
He's right, it's not terribly flavorful, but Rukia likes the idea of eating things fresh from the earth. It has a very light, peppery bite to it. She loves it and she tells him so.
"Can we come help you weed and stuff sometimes?" Renji asks, gnawing on his own handful of greens.
"You are very busy," Mr. Mochida reminds him.
"Oh. Right."
Mr. Mochida nods thoughtfully. "Although with all you are learning, perhaps there is something to be said for an activity that allows you to reflect on and digest your lessons."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"It is a yes, but only if you finish your reading first and promise not to tire yourself out." His eyes briefly scan the roofline, probably looking for dents or breaks in the thatch. He doesn't seem to find any, but frowns sternly, anyway. "Also, stay off of my roof."