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31_days2009-07-28 07:23 pm
tasogaretaichou.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-07-28 07:23 pm
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Title: Easier
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Shinji x Hiyori
Theme: July 28th: loneliness is anger given a better name
Shinji winced at the resounding clatter of metal against rock, watching the blade bounce and skitter across the stone floor, it's shining length spinning with the force of Hiyori's throw. The zanpakutou really didn't deserve that sort of treatment, and he honestly couldn't fathom why the thing put up with the blond monkey to begin with. Letting his fingertips stray to the fushia-wrapped hilt of his own sword, he took a moment to ponder the repercussions had it been him who'd flung his steel companion against the hard and unyielding surface of the floor. It wasn't a pleasant thought and he rolled olive-hued eyes slightly as he watched Hiyori's small, red-garbed stalking away across the floor.
"Oi. Hiyori. Ease up, or it'll never work."
His -- in his opinion -- helpful suggestion was met by the swift impact of one wooden-soled sandal against the center of his face. Muffling a curse as he re-bent his nose back into place, he glared after her retreating form before tossing his long ponytail back over one shoulder. Shrugging his shoulders to release the pent-up tension he always seemed to acquire after training sessions, the blond ex-captain unfolded himself from the crossed-legged position he'd been resting in and loped over towards the discarded sword. Bending down, he hooked long fingers loosely through the strap of her sandal before reaching further and curling them around the edge of the tsuba. Tucking the sandal into his pocket with his other hand, he tightened his grip on the sword's hilt and gave a jerk, tossing the sword up into the air before catching the hilt with practiced ease.
"Sorry yer partner's such a pain."
He wasn't expecting the zanpakutou to answer, and frankly he would have been shocked had it chosen to do so. No, not it. She, he corrected himself mentally, Hiyori had made a point of grinding his face into the tatami floor during their first few years as shinigami whenever he'd referred to the nodachi she carried as 'it'. Idly spinning the blade in his hand, he took a moment to study it, taking in the smooth curves of the rounded tsuba, the delicate pattern of arrows -- he thought they looked more like hearts, but Hiyori had beaten him so hard the first time he'd voiced that opinion that he'd kept it to himself ever since -- sitting equidistant from each other, alternated by small circles that was so different from the complex geometry of his own sword's tsuba. The weight was different as well, because though her blade was thinner, more delicate than his own, it was longer, the weight distribution and balance shifted.
Glancing up at the false horizon -- this place still unnerved him, though he'd seen it's origins in Kisuke and Yoruichi's 'hideout' in Rukongai -- he rolled his eyes again and mentally thanked whatever gods might have been listening that Hiyori hardly ever bothered to dampen her reiatsu, especially when she was angry. Otherwise, finding her in a place like this would have been more trouble than he really wanted to go to.
Feh, don't kid yerself. Ya know ya can always find 'er.
Conceding to his mind's voice for once, Shinji raised an eyebrow with a smirk before tugging the plaid hat back down tighter against his head and setting off at an ambling pace towards what -- to anyone else's eyes -- was a completely nondescript jumble of rocks pockmarked with the occasional scrub bush. Honestly, would it have killed Kisuke to have constructed some nice scenery into this place? Like a little grove of trees, or heaven forbid a pond, just something to detract from the harshness of the environs. He supposed it was a silly notion, seeing as this place had been built for fighting, not vacationing. But still... He missed the trees.
Walking along the dusty ground, Shinji could feel the strange, faint pulse against his hand, as though the sword resonated. It was odd, like and yet unlike Hiyori's reiatsu, and he had to wonder if there was some truth in her snarled retort that of course the sword didn't like to talk to her, because it liked him better in the first place. Which was stupid, as far as he was concerned. Swords -- even zanpakutou, with their nigh sentient natures -- didn't 'like' or 'dislike' people. The fact that the blade had chosen Hiyori to begin with was proof enough that whatever spirit the manifested weapon represented saw potential in the petite blond. It was Hiyori's own damn fault she was too stubborn to summon the patience needed to advance further. At least his own zanpakutou wouldn't give him too much grief over the fact that he was handling someone else's blade. Lisa's was incredibly finicky, according to what he'd heard, and while his wasn't as placid as Hachi's, she was at least content enough not to chide him.
Rounding an outcropping, he shoved his free hand in his pocket and hopped up onto the lowest ledge, picking out footholds with his wingtip shoes to make his way up to what looked like a relatively stable spot at the peak of the rockpile. Crouching down, he tapped the flat of her blade across his shoulder as he regarded the spot of red curled up against the shaded side of the outcropping. It was still strange to see her like that, in human clothes rather than the stark black of shihakushou, but then he supposed it was equally as strange for her to see him thusly. He knew she hated the hat, she'd made that abundantly clear -- not that he planned to pay any heed to it -- the first time he'd worn it.
Leaning back slightly, he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the worn wooden sandal, dropping it to the sandy ground in front of her. It wasn't too hard to imagine the twitch in her eyebrow before her head turned and she glared up at him with all the venom of a pit viper. Typical Hiyori, always angry and sullen and bad-tempered.
"Ya dropped somethin'"
Scowling at him, she grabbed the sandal and stuck one small, dirty foot back into it before curling her leg beneath her again, resettling her back against the stone and crossing thin arms over her chest.
"Shut up, Shinji."
Smirking slightly -- she always called him Shinji when she wasn't really that angry with him -- he lifted the sword off of his shoulder and held it out, releasing his grip on the hilt and letting the blade drop to stick point-down in the groud beside her, it's length wavering slightly with the motion.
"Forgot that too."
The girl regarded her sword for a moment before reaching over and pulling the zanpakutou from the ground and holding it up. Brown eyes traced the shining length of steel, assessing minor dings and notches in the blade, hallmarks of the uses -- and abuses -- it had seen over the years. With a frustrated huff, she leaned over, snagging the long black length of the saya where it lay a few feet from her, sliding the sword back into it's bindings and settling it again to the ground before resuming her position, angry scowl still on her face.
Sighing, Shinji shook his head. She was always so angry, hell she'd been angry since that first day when he'd seen her, a freckle-faced dirty little urchin on the streets of Rukongai. He hadn't even been sure at the time that she was a girl, and in his opinion she still didn't look much like one, the only thing overtly feminine about her being her pigtails. But regardless of what she looked like, the one thing that had never changed was the scowl on her face. He'd almost never seen her smile, had seen what could be called a 'gentle' expression on her face approximately 3 times in the decades he'd known her, and could say with relative certainty that Sarugaki Hiyori had two moods. Angry and angry.
Only... she'd gotten angrier in recent years.
He knew the others didn't really notice it, at least not the way he did. They'd all changed, and in other ways besides the obvious. The obvious was evident in the white masks they now wore, the sinister voices that sang from the backs of their minds in the dark of the night. The other changes were less obvious. The hurt, the isolation. The homesickness. Their separation from Soul Society had been a harsher blow then perhaps anyone -- save Hachi -- cared to admit. And admitting was hard, it only served to emphasize the bonds they'd had, the bonds that had been broken by Aizen's trickery. Admitting meant an acknowledgement of their situation but beyond that, it meant a strike to their fragile morale. A strike to the delicate balance of strength they'd managed to forge in order to hold themselves together.
Anger was Hiyori's way of dealing with things, whether it was her frustrations at her own inability to push her limits further, her anger at the Hollow itself for refusing to submit to her will for longer than 27 seconds, or her rage at the circumstances which had brought them to this point. It was something he understood, something he'd grown accustomed to, especially seeing as he was often the target of her irritation.
His position as such also made it that much easier for him to understand her better than most anyone else did, something that was both a curse and a blessing at times. It was true that his blond companion had been angry since... well, since he'd known her, but there was more to it than that. Hiyori herself wasn't one for tender emotions, but even beyond that, she didn't handle other emotions well. Fear, uncertainty. And most of all, loneliness. Loneliness was something they all understood, something they all dealt with at times, but Shinji always thought Hiyori had it a bit worse than the rest of them.
It was something from long before now, long before the Gotei-13 or even the Academy. Even when they'd been children, she'd been a loner. Friends had readily accepted him, once they got past any initial distrustment that came naturally when you grew up in Rukongai, but they never got close to her. Granted, her own temper had a lot to do with that, but even when she didn't frighten people away, they just... stayed away. And her anger only seemed to grow, borne as it was out of the isolation. Really, it was only when the two of them were alone together that some of her fury seemed to abate, as though the simplicity of such time was easier, more comfortable. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that whatever bond they shared took away the sting of the loneliness.
Sighing again, he rummaged in his other pocket for the small bottle of water, handing it down to her. Taking it from him, she unscrewed the cap and took a sip before capping the bottle again and tossing it back over her shoulder at him. He caught it easily before slipping down to the ground beside her, legs stretched out as he stared up at the artificial sky with her.
"It'll get easier."
Whether he meant the training, or the life they were now leading, or even the loneliness... the answer was still the same.
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Shinji x Hiyori
Theme: July 28th: loneliness is anger given a better name
Shinji winced at the resounding clatter of metal against rock, watching the blade bounce and skitter across the stone floor, it's shining length spinning with the force of Hiyori's throw. The zanpakutou really didn't deserve that sort of treatment, and he honestly couldn't fathom why the thing put up with the blond monkey to begin with. Letting his fingertips stray to the fushia-wrapped hilt of his own sword, he took a moment to ponder the repercussions had it been him who'd flung his steel companion against the hard and unyielding surface of the floor. It wasn't a pleasant thought and he rolled olive-hued eyes slightly as he watched Hiyori's small, red-garbed stalking away across the floor.
"Oi. Hiyori. Ease up, or it'll never work."
His -- in his opinion -- helpful suggestion was met by the swift impact of one wooden-soled sandal against the center of his face. Muffling a curse as he re-bent his nose back into place, he glared after her retreating form before tossing his long ponytail back over one shoulder. Shrugging his shoulders to release the pent-up tension he always seemed to acquire after training sessions, the blond ex-captain unfolded himself from the crossed-legged position he'd been resting in and loped over towards the discarded sword. Bending down, he hooked long fingers loosely through the strap of her sandal before reaching further and curling them around the edge of the tsuba. Tucking the sandal into his pocket with his other hand, he tightened his grip on the sword's hilt and gave a jerk, tossing the sword up into the air before catching the hilt with practiced ease.
"Sorry yer partner's such a pain."
He wasn't expecting the zanpakutou to answer, and frankly he would have been shocked had it chosen to do so. No, not it. She, he corrected himself mentally, Hiyori had made a point of grinding his face into the tatami floor during their first few years as shinigami whenever he'd referred to the nodachi she carried as 'it'. Idly spinning the blade in his hand, he took a moment to study it, taking in the smooth curves of the rounded tsuba, the delicate pattern of arrows -- he thought they looked more like hearts, but Hiyori had beaten him so hard the first time he'd voiced that opinion that he'd kept it to himself ever since -- sitting equidistant from each other, alternated by small circles that was so different from the complex geometry of his own sword's tsuba. The weight was different as well, because though her blade was thinner, more delicate than his own, it was longer, the weight distribution and balance shifted.
Glancing up at the false horizon -- this place still unnerved him, though he'd seen it's origins in Kisuke and Yoruichi's 'hideout' in Rukongai -- he rolled his eyes again and mentally thanked whatever gods might have been listening that Hiyori hardly ever bothered to dampen her reiatsu, especially when she was angry. Otherwise, finding her in a place like this would have been more trouble than he really wanted to go to.
Feh, don't kid yerself. Ya know ya can always find 'er.
Conceding to his mind's voice for once, Shinji raised an eyebrow with a smirk before tugging the plaid hat back down tighter against his head and setting off at an ambling pace towards what -- to anyone else's eyes -- was a completely nondescript jumble of rocks pockmarked with the occasional scrub bush. Honestly, would it have killed Kisuke to have constructed some nice scenery into this place? Like a little grove of trees, or heaven forbid a pond, just something to detract from the harshness of the environs. He supposed it was a silly notion, seeing as this place had been built for fighting, not vacationing. But still... He missed the trees.
Walking along the dusty ground, Shinji could feel the strange, faint pulse against his hand, as though the sword resonated. It was odd, like and yet unlike Hiyori's reiatsu, and he had to wonder if there was some truth in her snarled retort that of course the sword didn't like to talk to her, because it liked him better in the first place. Which was stupid, as far as he was concerned. Swords -- even zanpakutou, with their nigh sentient natures -- didn't 'like' or 'dislike' people. The fact that the blade had chosen Hiyori to begin with was proof enough that whatever spirit the manifested weapon represented saw potential in the petite blond. It was Hiyori's own damn fault she was too stubborn to summon the patience needed to advance further. At least his own zanpakutou wouldn't give him too much grief over the fact that he was handling someone else's blade. Lisa's was incredibly finicky, according to what he'd heard, and while his wasn't as placid as Hachi's, she was at least content enough not to chide him.
Rounding an outcropping, he shoved his free hand in his pocket and hopped up onto the lowest ledge, picking out footholds with his wingtip shoes to make his way up to what looked like a relatively stable spot at the peak of the rockpile. Crouching down, he tapped the flat of her blade across his shoulder as he regarded the spot of red curled up against the shaded side of the outcropping. It was still strange to see her like that, in human clothes rather than the stark black of shihakushou, but then he supposed it was equally as strange for her to see him thusly. He knew she hated the hat, she'd made that abundantly clear -- not that he planned to pay any heed to it -- the first time he'd worn it.
Leaning back slightly, he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the worn wooden sandal, dropping it to the sandy ground in front of her. It wasn't too hard to imagine the twitch in her eyebrow before her head turned and she glared up at him with all the venom of a pit viper. Typical Hiyori, always angry and sullen and bad-tempered.
"Ya dropped somethin'"
Scowling at him, she grabbed the sandal and stuck one small, dirty foot back into it before curling her leg beneath her again, resettling her back against the stone and crossing thin arms over her chest.
"Shut up, Shinji."
Smirking slightly -- she always called him Shinji when she wasn't really that angry with him -- he lifted the sword off of his shoulder and held it out, releasing his grip on the hilt and letting the blade drop to stick point-down in the groud beside her, it's length wavering slightly with the motion.
"Forgot that too."
The girl regarded her sword for a moment before reaching over and pulling the zanpakutou from the ground and holding it up. Brown eyes traced the shining length of steel, assessing minor dings and notches in the blade, hallmarks of the uses -- and abuses -- it had seen over the years. With a frustrated huff, she leaned over, snagging the long black length of the saya where it lay a few feet from her, sliding the sword back into it's bindings and settling it again to the ground before resuming her position, angry scowl still on her face.
Sighing, Shinji shook his head. She was always so angry, hell she'd been angry since that first day when he'd seen her, a freckle-faced dirty little urchin on the streets of Rukongai. He hadn't even been sure at the time that she was a girl, and in his opinion she still didn't look much like one, the only thing overtly feminine about her being her pigtails. But regardless of what she looked like, the one thing that had never changed was the scowl on her face. He'd almost never seen her smile, had seen what could be called a 'gentle' expression on her face approximately 3 times in the decades he'd known her, and could say with relative certainty that Sarugaki Hiyori had two moods. Angry and angry.
Only... she'd gotten angrier in recent years.
He knew the others didn't really notice it, at least not the way he did. They'd all changed, and in other ways besides the obvious. The obvious was evident in the white masks they now wore, the sinister voices that sang from the backs of their minds in the dark of the night. The other changes were less obvious. The hurt, the isolation. The homesickness. Their separation from Soul Society had been a harsher blow then perhaps anyone -- save Hachi -- cared to admit. And admitting was hard, it only served to emphasize the bonds they'd had, the bonds that had been broken by Aizen's trickery. Admitting meant an acknowledgement of their situation but beyond that, it meant a strike to their fragile morale. A strike to the delicate balance of strength they'd managed to forge in order to hold themselves together.
Anger was Hiyori's way of dealing with things, whether it was her frustrations at her own inability to push her limits further, her anger at the Hollow itself for refusing to submit to her will for longer than 27 seconds, or her rage at the circumstances which had brought them to this point. It was something he understood, something he'd grown accustomed to, especially seeing as he was often the target of her irritation.
His position as such also made it that much easier for him to understand her better than most anyone else did, something that was both a curse and a blessing at times. It was true that his blond companion had been angry since... well, since he'd known her, but there was more to it than that. Hiyori herself wasn't one for tender emotions, but even beyond that, she didn't handle other emotions well. Fear, uncertainty. And most of all, loneliness. Loneliness was something they all understood, something they all dealt with at times, but Shinji always thought Hiyori had it a bit worse than the rest of them.
It was something from long before now, long before the Gotei-13 or even the Academy. Even when they'd been children, she'd been a loner. Friends had readily accepted him, once they got past any initial distrustment that came naturally when you grew up in Rukongai, but they never got close to her. Granted, her own temper had a lot to do with that, but even when she didn't frighten people away, they just... stayed away. And her anger only seemed to grow, borne as it was out of the isolation. Really, it was only when the two of them were alone together that some of her fury seemed to abate, as though the simplicity of such time was easier, more comfortable. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that whatever bond they shared took away the sting of the loneliness.
Sighing again, he rummaged in his other pocket for the small bottle of water, handing it down to her. Taking it from him, she unscrewed the cap and took a sip before capping the bottle again and tossing it back over her shoulder at him. He caught it easily before slipping down to the ground beside her, legs stretched out as he stared up at the artificial sky with her.
"It'll get easier."
Whether he meant the training, or the life they were now leading, or even the loneliness... the answer was still the same.