A trifecta of Ichihime!
Mar. 2nd, 2006 09:41 pm==CHEF 1==
Little Secret
Rukiji snored softly in his cradle. Ichigo stood, watching him sleep whilst shooting occasional withering glances at their new mobile; birds and fish made out of eventually chewable rubber circled ominously. He’d have to talk to Orihime about that.
He glanced behind before pulling something out of his pocket – an innocent-looking stick that was actually a miniature training sword, ordered from Urahara. He slipped it in the far back of a drawer beneath Rukiji’s cradle.
Task accomplished, he leaned over the side and kissed his son softly on his orange tuft of hair. "Shh…" he whispered. "It’s our little secret."
Industrial Lighting
The cold seemed to slap him in the face as he stepped out of his apartment. Ichigo jammed his hands even further into his pockets as he walked, breathing in the smells of exhaust, alcohol, and burnt rubber that seemed to saturate his neighborhood. Why did he ever choose to live here? He scowled at the noise from the traffic and turned on his radio-cassette player. Shaking his head, he swung around a corner, down a stairwell, and into the underground.
He flashed his card at the familiar guard and pushed his way through the mangled turnstiles (he was so familiar with this route that he didn’t even have to think before immediately going to the only one that didn’t stick). The air was a just as cold in here, but the smell only seemed to intensify. And everywhere, there were those infernal pigeons…dumb birds that were more street-smart and scruffier-looking than even some of the homeless men Ichigo saw on the street. It was a miserable little station.
Ichigo shifted slightly as his subway blew in. He stepped inside and stood at a nearby rail, smirking at the pair of tourists nearby. You could always tell the tourists—they were always the only ones to stumble when the train started up.
Maybe it was a lack of better things to do, but he continued to watch the pair even after they’d reattained their bearings. It was a pair of two girls, but definitely not sisters; best friends, Ichigo decided. The shorter one had spiky, black hair and stood like a martial artist would—feet apart, eyes scanning the area casually. The other girl had long, red hair that seemed to move of its own accord…and also, Ichigo noticed, an impressive rack, as she straightened up and met his gaze.
Caught and mildly embarrassed, Ichigo averted his eyes expertly to the side. It was a skill you picked up when you lived in this kind of city.
But the redhead didn’t seem to have learned it yet; she kept staring at him unabashedly from the edges of Ichigo’s vision.
"Hey there!" she chirped with a smile.
Ichigo’s eyes flickered in her direction. Yep. Definitely a tourist.
"Hey." he mumbled lazily.
The girl smiled and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the train coasted to a stop. "Orihime," the black-haired girl said. "This is it."
The redhead (Orihime, Ichigo supposed) nodded at her friend and allowed her to take her arm. "Okay, Tatsuki." She shot Ichigo a cheery wave before stepping onto the cement landing. "Bye, stranger!" Then the doors closed with a disturbing kissing sound, and she was gone.
Ichigo smiled a little, and cranked up the volume before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the smooth metal pole. Funny, he thought. I’ve never seen anyone else’s hair glow under industrial subway lighting.
A Lot of Ways to Die
There are a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
The room was filled with flowers from well-wishers and friends, but they did little to cover the smell of rubber that comes with every hospital. Giving them a small glance as he entered the room, he quietly sat in his stool with her hand in his, listening to her breathing. In, out, in, out, accompanied by the cold-sounding beeps and whirrs from the machine next to him.
Old or young, fast or slow, with family or without.
Her hair was splayed out on her pillow, dull and limp from the combination of exhaustion and harsh lighting. He remembered watching it shimmer and bounce in the sunlight, just a few weeks before she collapsed in the middle of painting their living room.
On accident or on purpose, nobly or in vain, in fear or in silence.
It wasn’t fair. Ichigo knew it wasn’t fair. Her heart just wanted to do more than what her body could give her. She was too good--something had to give, and now she was leaving him at the prime of their lives. It wasn’t right...it just wasn’t right.
Awake or asleep, in pain or peaceful, with regrets or not.
The doctor gave him some papers. He stared at them until he signed the blurred line at the bottom and grasped her hand again. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall. This room had no windows. She would have hated that. She would have hated this room, this place. A hard, empty cage for a bird that was waiting to fly free.
There are a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
Old or young, fast or slow, with family or without.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
On accident or on purpose, nobly or in vain, in fear or in silence.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
Awake or asleep, in pain or peaceful, with regrets or not.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
There were a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
Beep...Beep...Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee--
He kissed Orihime’s hand and held it to his forehead. Some people just did it on the inside.
Funny
"How about this, Ichigo?" She tried a hat on that was shaped like a dinosaur.
He crossed his arms and stared out the store window. "No."
Orihime frowned slightly, but was not to be deterred. She replaced the dinosaur with juggling sticks.
"No."
A jack-in-the-box.
"No."
A gun that fired little pig figurines.
"Nope."
A doll with eyes that squirted out when it was squeezed.
"Nothing."
A balloon doggy.
"Nada."
Plastic sushi. "Say ahh..." she told him.
"Oh, come on!"
By now, Orihime was getting frustrated. In a desperate attempt, she waved a rubber chicken viciously in his face (so close he could have kissed it), complete with an angry ‘buck-aw!’ noise.
At last, Ichigo smiled. "Now that," he said, "is funny."
Little Secret
Rukiji snored softly in his cradle. Ichigo stood, watching him sleep whilst shooting occasional withering glances at their new mobile; birds and fish made out of eventually chewable rubber circled ominously. He’d have to talk to Orihime about that.
He glanced behind before pulling something out of his pocket – an innocent-looking stick that was actually a miniature training sword, ordered from Urahara. He slipped it in the far back of a drawer beneath Rukiji’s cradle.
Task accomplished, he leaned over the side and kissed his son softly on his orange tuft of hair. "Shh…" he whispered. "It’s our little secret."
Industrial Lighting
The cold seemed to slap him in the face as he stepped out of his apartment. Ichigo jammed his hands even further into his pockets as he walked, breathing in the smells of exhaust, alcohol, and burnt rubber that seemed to saturate his neighborhood. Why did he ever choose to live here? He scowled at the noise from the traffic and turned on his radio-cassette player. Shaking his head, he swung around a corner, down a stairwell, and into the underground.
He flashed his card at the familiar guard and pushed his way through the mangled turnstiles (he was so familiar with this route that he didn’t even have to think before immediately going to the only one that didn’t stick). The air was a just as cold in here, but the smell only seemed to intensify. And everywhere, there were those infernal pigeons…dumb birds that were more street-smart and scruffier-looking than even some of the homeless men Ichigo saw on the street. It was a miserable little station.
Ichigo shifted slightly as his subway blew in. He stepped inside and stood at a nearby rail, smirking at the pair of tourists nearby. You could always tell the tourists—they were always the only ones to stumble when the train started up.
Maybe it was a lack of better things to do, but he continued to watch the pair even after they’d reattained their bearings. It was a pair of two girls, but definitely not sisters; best friends, Ichigo decided. The shorter one had spiky, black hair and stood like a martial artist would—feet apart, eyes scanning the area casually. The other girl had long, red hair that seemed to move of its own accord…and also, Ichigo noticed, an impressive rack, as she straightened up and met his gaze.
Caught and mildly embarrassed, Ichigo averted his eyes expertly to the side. It was a skill you picked up when you lived in this kind of city.
But the redhead didn’t seem to have learned it yet; she kept staring at him unabashedly from the edges of Ichigo’s vision.
"Hey there!" she chirped with a smile.
Ichigo’s eyes flickered in her direction. Yep. Definitely a tourist.
"Hey." he mumbled lazily.
The girl smiled and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the train coasted to a stop. "Orihime," the black-haired girl said. "This is it."
The redhead (Orihime, Ichigo supposed) nodded at her friend and allowed her to take her arm. "Okay, Tatsuki." She shot Ichigo a cheery wave before stepping onto the cement landing. "Bye, stranger!" Then the doors closed with a disturbing kissing sound, and she was gone.
Ichigo smiled a little, and cranked up the volume before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the smooth metal pole. Funny, he thought. I’ve never seen anyone else’s hair glow under industrial subway lighting.
A Lot of Ways to Die
There are a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
The room was filled with flowers from well-wishers and friends, but they did little to cover the smell of rubber that comes with every hospital. Giving them a small glance as he entered the room, he quietly sat in his stool with her hand in his, listening to her breathing. In, out, in, out, accompanied by the cold-sounding beeps and whirrs from the machine next to him.
Old or young, fast or slow, with family or without.
Her hair was splayed out on her pillow, dull and limp from the combination of exhaustion and harsh lighting. He remembered watching it shimmer and bounce in the sunlight, just a few weeks before she collapsed in the middle of painting their living room.
On accident or on purpose, nobly or in vain, in fear or in silence.
It wasn’t fair. Ichigo knew it wasn’t fair. Her heart just wanted to do more than what her body could give her. She was too good--something had to give, and now she was leaving him at the prime of their lives. It wasn’t right...it just wasn’t right.
Awake or asleep, in pain or peaceful, with regrets or not.
The doctor gave him some papers. He stared at them until he signed the blurred line at the bottom and grasped her hand again. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall. This room had no windows. She would have hated that. She would have hated this room, this place. A hard, empty cage for a bird that was waiting to fly free.
There are a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
Old or young, fast or slow, with family or without.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
On accident or on purpose, nobly or in vain, in fear or in silence.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
Awake or asleep, in pain or peaceful, with regrets or not.
Beep...Beep...Beep.
There were a lot of ways to die, Ichigo thought.
Beep...Beep...Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee--
He kissed Orihime’s hand and held it to his forehead. Some people just did it on the inside.
Funny
"How about this, Ichigo?" She tried a hat on that was shaped like a dinosaur.
He crossed his arms and stared out the store window. "No."
Orihime frowned slightly, but was not to be deterred. She replaced the dinosaur with juggling sticks.
"No."
A jack-in-the-box.
"No."
A gun that fired little pig figurines.
"Nope."
A doll with eyes that squirted out when it was squeezed.
"Nothing."
A balloon doggy.
"Nada."
Plastic sushi. "Say ahh..." she told him.
"Oh, come on!"
By now, Orihime was getting frustrated. In a desperate attempt, she waved a rubber chicken viciously in his face (so close he could have kissed it), complete with an angry ‘buck-aw!’ noise.
At last, Ichigo smiled. "Now that," he said, "is funny."