The bar turned out not to be such a disappointment—the shack on the surface just housed the stairwell down to the actual bar, which was underground and quite spacious—but Ishida more than made up for it by being a tight-arse in the most relaxed of settings.

Ishida had been pretty stuck up even before he'd joined the military with him and Inoue, but being selected to be part of the Quincy had turned him into a total prat. Granted, being part of some faction in the military reserved for top-notch archers was pretty cool, and from what he had seen of Ishida in action, he really was a fantastic archer, but Ichigo didn't understand how that meant that he needed to sit ramrod straight into his chair and tell the waitress taking orders for their drinks to 'give us your finest.'

If that was not enough, Ishida's idea of conversation was to relentlessly barrage Ichigo with personal questions, like an interrogator determined to prove that the defendant was guilty and then some. When Ichigo, like a sensible person, refused to answer most of his questions, Ishida decided this meant that it was time to insult him.

That was fine, Ishida insulted him in some way or form every day. He could tune that out easy. What wasn't easy to tune out was when Ishida started giving him 'The Talk'.

"As you must know, Kurosaki, there are certain going-ons between men and women of our age involving the nether regions of the human physique. As an example, take you and Ms. Orihime—"

God, it hadn't been this awkward when his Dad had tried to do this, and Isshin Kurosaki was a total pervert. He, at least, hadn't talked about intricacies of the 'human plumbing' and hadn't constantly compared his genitals to that of a close female friend.

Ishida badly needed to loosen up, if nothing because technically, alcohol wasn't allowed in Rukongai. Nobody really cared about Prohibition, but if the other patrons or the bar staff found out that he and Ishida were part of the military, it wouldn't go down well. And the way Ishida was acting, nobody would believe that they weren't part of the military. Best case scenario, they would be thrown out, and that wouldn't bode well with Ichigo. The brand of wine that the government sold was absolutely terrible—he couldn't get drunk off of that if he drank his body weight and then some. Besides, it had a subtle sickly sweet aftertaste to it that he hated.

The bottom line was he needed a better conversational partner. He looked around the bar desperately, until his eyes fixed upon a guy with spiky red hair seated at the back of the bar with a kid. The guy turned his head slightly so that his face was momentarily visible, and Ichigo thanked the lord. This guy was unmistakably Renji Abarai—nobody else would be so stupid as to accentuate a natural punk look with facial tattoos—who he had known throughout his time in the Academy since they shared sleeping quarters. He hadn't spoken to Renji since he had graduated, but unless he had undergone a drastic change in personality, he at least wouldn't try to explain to him how to impregnate a female.

"Renji!" he called across the bar, cutting Ishida off mid-sentence. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

Renji turned towards him, a look of shock on his face. Ichigo was mildly amused that even shocked, Renji looked like a thug. "Captain," answered Renji, and then immediately regretted it.

Ichigo felt as if the entire bar was looking at him. For the utmost time, he cursed how fast news traveled in Rukongai. He hadn't expected the news of the youngest guy to be named captain in the history Sereitei not to travel at all—after all, he wasn't exactly inconspicuous with his decidedly neon orange hair and his characteristic scowl—but he certainly wasn't expecting everybody in the bar to know exactly who he was given a single hint.

So much for not drinking military brand, he thought, his scowl deepening as he saw the burly bartender start to make his way towards them.

"C'mon, Ishida," he growled out. "Time to go."

They had seated themselves on a riverbank fairly close to the bar, amongst the rustle of waving strands of tall grasses so different from the clipped short ones of the military grounds. The river flowed easily, rippling the reflection of the moon in its depths. The sky was cloudless, a deep dark hue that was blue if you looked closely enough.

Ichigo wasn't looking closely enough, wasn't appreciating anything, because he had no alcohol in his system, and he had promised his system alcohol.

"Captain, I really am sorry," said Renji for the utmost time. Apologetic (and yet still looking like a punk), Renji drew from a burlap sack on his back a bottle of something and offered it to Ichigo, who took it and was ecstatic for a brief moment before his eyes adjusted to the moonlight and he realized it was government brand.

He set the bottle down with considerable distaste. "It's OK, Renji. We were bound to be figured out anyways. That guy," he said, jabbing an accusing finger at Ishida, whose retreating form was headed to the stables where they had left their horses. "I swear to God, half the bar figured out he was Quincy."

"He's a Quincy?" asked Renji, something undefinable in his eyes.

"Yeah, he is."

Renji gave Ichigo a curt nod and rushed off after Ishida at a surprisingly quick pace.

"What's up with him?" muttered Ichigo as he lay back in the grass, vaguely worried.

"He has a thing for Geboo," came the unexpected answer.