I built this story using a series of prompts, the same way I've done with two other stories that I've been writing for a long time now. I like using prompts for character-driven series like this one because it gives me a way to explore ideas that I might not consider otherwise.

This, I think, is one of the chief examples of how that works.

I never would have come up with this idea if not for the prompt that I chose for this chapter.

.

When Matsumoto was angry and trying to hide it, she would tug at her left sleeve.

It was a minor tic, and vanishingly few people outside of the Tenth Division knew about it, but Hitsugaya paid attention to pretty much everything his vice-captain did; he always noticed when she did it. It was noteworthy not least because Rangiku Matsumoto tended to float through her life in Soul Society. She only took off her bright, vibrant, bubbly mask when she was preparing for a fight. So, when she tugged at her sleeve, it was a sign that she was straining very hard not to spill someone's guts onto their shoes.

Usually, a member of their division would run interference for Matsumoto when they noticed the sleeve, but there was a variant to the technique that they didn't dare touch. It eventually became clear that, if she was tugging at her left sleeve, with her dominant hand, it was a sign that she was slipping but was still largely in control of herself.

If she was tugging at her right sleeve, however, using her other hand, that meant it was time to find Captain Hitsugaya. Now.

Someone, usually a seated officer but it wasn't uncommon for a footman to do it, would step into the captain's office, wait for him to look up, and just tug at their sleeve. It was much quicker than trying to explain whatever situation Matsumoto had landed herself in; Hitsugaya always knew that it was something that required his attention, so all recruits were taught this signal as soon as they tied their insignias and swore their oaths.

So it was that Hitsugaya came thundering out into the Tenth's training yard, his white cloak whipping behind him like wings, giving several hundred recruits a heart attack in the process; the temperature in the yard dropped nearly twenty degrees all at once, in a wide sweeping radius around the young captain, and every senior recruit settled back to enjoy the show.

Tnd his vice-captain maintaining a white-knuckled grip on her robe, tightly enough that the cloth would surely tear if something didn't happen soon. She was staring blankly—hauntingly—at a fresh transfer from the Eleventh Division who was here today for a new interdivisional program meant to assist in group cohesion.

"It just doesn't make sense," Eleven was saying, with that lofty tone of voice which preluded someone who'd never encountered the idea that he might be wrong. "I'm sure you do plenty of good work in other areas or whatever, but I'm from a combat division, and it just wouldn't do for a female to train me." He gestured dismissively. "There's nothing you can teach me."

Hitsugaya nearly collapsed, for the laughter bubbling up into his throat.

If not for the look on Matsumoto's face, which was far-off and entirely too gaunt for the situation, he would have doubled over on the spot.

Sometimes, the only thing you could do with certain men was laugh at them.

"Draw your weapon," Matsumoto whispered through her teeth.

Eleven chuckled haughtily. "You're cute," he said. He seemed to notice the change in the weather and turned his back on her; a mistake that no sane man would ever make. He saw Hitsugaya, took note of the white cloak around his shoulders, and looked surprised for just a fraction of a moment before he put on a relieved face. "Ah! Finally! Someone with sense."

"I'm not here to intervene," Hitsugaya said. "I'm here to observe." He paused a moment. Then he glanced at his fingernails and pulled a file from his pocket. "I'm also here to clean up afterward."

Eleven opened his mouth to say something—possibly about how females have smaller muscles and just don't have the capacity to keep up with men, or something about them being too emotional to maintain their cool in a crisis—but Hitsugaya already wasn't listening; he didn't have the emotional energy to care about anything else this man had to say.

Before the first word escaped Eleven's mouth, he finally noticed that he didn't have a left hand anymore.

As he gawped at his missing appendage, Matsumoto growled from behind him.

"Draw your weapon," she hissed, "while you still can."

When Matsumoto held her left sleeve, she was trying to stop herself from slapping someone.

When Matsumoto held her right sleeve, she was actively preparing to kill.

Hitsugaya was the only one who could stop her once she reached that point.

Usually by freezing her solid.