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Jul. 26th, 2010 09:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenofchalicesTitle: The Devil's Plaything, Chapter 14 - The Fallen
Series: Bleach
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST
Spoilers: This is AU. We don't need spoilers, where we're going.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.
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The soft rustle of clothes resounded throughout the room as the large party seated itself. Some were dressed in their formal garb while some were dressed more casually in more modern clothes.
Hirako Shinji had decided to wear what he normally did to town - skinny trousers, zip-up shirt, slouch hat, and tinkling wallet chain. Although this was the fashion of the day, he never really felt it suited him much personally; it made him look leaner and taller than he naturally was anyway. The up side to it was that he always stood out in a crowd, and the ladies never seemed to complain.
Some there had worn more formal clothing. The dark-skinned demon from Sloth house and his blond lieutenant were dressed pretty fancy; that demon, Love, had worn a dark hakama with a white kimono, his striped haori tied together in the front with little tassles. The lieutenant, Rose, had dressed as if he were going to a classical concert in Vienna, all lace and frills at his cuffs. Shinji vaguely recalled a new trend toward such classy clothing, but dismissed it out of hand. He'd stick with the skinny jeans, thanks.
There were others gathered around the low table. The large, round man that Shinji hadn't formally met from the Demonic Arts Academy, still in his professors' robes; the bespectacled lieutenant from Lust house, dressed in a high school uniform for some reason (Shinji almost wanted to ask if it was a fetish - maybe after this meeting?); his own lieutenant, the tall, beefy, silent sort, who'd come here in his karate gi, of all things (he would never understand Kensei's fashion sense); sitting beside him, arguing over an appetizer, the tiny, green-haired head of Envy house; and last but certainly not least, the obnoxious, pig-tailed lieutenant from Greed house. And of course, as she was Shinji's least favorite person at the table, she felt compelled to sit right beside him.
"Man, why did he even call this meeting?" Hiyori whined, kicking her legs beneath the low table they were all seated around, "I could be doing something useful with my time! Something that doesn't involve waiting for tea!" Shinji reached over and pinched her on the crook of her neck, hard.
"Yer not makin' this any more pleasant, ya whiny monkey," he barked, leaning forward to cradle his chin in his hands, "I wonder what Kisuke even wants. Anyone else know?" A quick look around the table told Shinji that, no, no one else who'd been invited to this little tea party knew why either.
"Complaining about it is only going to make it take longer," Kensei gruffly noted, causing the green-haired girl beside him to stick her tongue out at him and blow a raspberry.
"Complaining is fun, stupid Kensei," the little Leavite, Mashiro, informed Shinji's silver-haired lieutenant. Shinji swore he saw the muscular man's eyebrow ring twinkle while the cords of muscle on his neck bulged; he was straining his limiter again. If he broke another one because of her, Shinji knew he'd have to listen to his bitching when they got back to Wrath house.
Before a fight could break out between either of the under-developed girls and their choice of victims, the wood and paper sliding door quietly slid open. Eight heads turned in unison to see who had entered. There, on his knees in the doorway, was Kisuke's Yeoman, with a tray of tea set before him on the floor.
"Belial-sama apologizes for his tardiness," the young, brown-haired man chimed in a pleasant voice, "Please have some tea while you wait." He rose, taking the tray with him, and began depositing cups of hot tea around the table.
"Geez, since when has anyone in Kisuke's house been so stiff," Shinji mumbled to himself, earning a snort from Hiyori beside him; at least they could agree on this. As he watched the bespectacled Yeoman set the tea down before him, his irritation with the perfect young man trickled back in. Shinji had never liked this demon, no matter how many times Kisuke told him he'd done this or that amazingly well. Something about the kid seemed off, fake, or just plain wrong.
But as the smell of the tea reached his nose, Shinji forgot all that. He had never been one for hot matcha; it was too hot and too bitter for his tastes. Give him cold, canned tea or coffee any day. But this tea was different. There was something about it that excited his senses and clouded his mind. It immediately overrode his suspicion of that Yeoman and tempted him to try it. Maybe that kid wasn't so bad after all, if he could make Shinji want to drink hot tea.
As he picked up the cup, he saw that his companions had already all begun sipping at theirs. So everyone else thought it smelled as good as he did? Shrugging, he took a sip.
It burned as it went down, and not from the temperature. It was an unnatural burning, almost like a chemical reaction, but Shinji found it wasn't unpleasant at all. In fact, it was almost orgasmic; judging from the blushes he saw around the table, he wasn't the only one to think that, either. And as soon as his palette cleared, the aftertaste left him craving more. Before he knew it, he had drained the small teacup and was already craving more.
Before he could set the cup back on the table, though, his world lurched. He could hear his heartbeat throb inside his ears, the noise close to deafening. Bile rose in his throat, but his stomach refused to give up its contents. Worse than all of that, he was incurably dizzy and felt as though he'd burst into flames at any second. And if the sounds of cups and bodies hitting the wooden floor was any indication, he wasn't the only one affected in this manner.
"Poison," he hissed, his vision growing hazy, "Kisuke, you..." Shinji almost didn't register the shuffle of clothing behind him, but a silky voice reached him just as he fell unconscious.
"Not quite."
The last thing Hirako Shinji saw was an unsettling smile and light reflecting off a pair of square glasses.
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Ichigo stared in disbelief and annoyance at the blond before him. He'd removed the slouch cap he'd been wearing when Ichigo walked in, twirling it around his finger leisurely. This was the guy Urahara wanted to train him?
"You?!" Ichigo blustered, "Why the hell are you here, too?!" Shinji stopped twirling his hat and gave Ichigo a deadpan look.
"Obviously because Kisuke asked me ta train ya," Shinji replied just as flatly, "Duh." Ichigo suddenly realized this was impossible; he'd wring this annoying asshole's neck before any training actually got done.
"What the hell are you gonna teach me?" Ichigo demanded, pointing at the other man, "You're my age!" Shinji snorted and suppressed a grin.
"Kid, I ain't aged in twenty years," he said gleefully, "And even before then, demons don't age like humans." This made Ichigo pause in his irritation; he'd suspected Toushirou, Momo, Rukia, and the others weren't exactly the age they looked, but he'd never heard of demons not aging. Otherwise, how could he explain Yamamoto being as old and wrinkled as he was?
"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked, less angry now and more genuinely curious, "Why don't you age? How does it work, anyway? Aging, I mean." Shinji hopped on the warped and broken desk he'd been leaning against and folded his long legs like a spindly blond grasshopper.
"Let's see," Shinji mused, tapping his chin, "If I'm understandin' this correctly, you got a seal on you. Couple of 'em, actually. That means that up 'til now, your demon power's've been repressed and you've grown just like a normal human kid. Under normal circumstances, as those seals broke, your growth would slow down to about half of a human's growth." Ichigo eyed him suspiciously, although him having a seal on him was news to him. News that made sense, but news nonetheless.
"Normal circumstances?" He asked, prompting Shinji to continue. The blond just smirked.
"Means ya got derailed by something, Ichigo!" He said cheerfully, hopping off the desk, "Something's happenin' to ya, just like it happened to me! Somethin' big!"
Ichigo felt his heart hammer in his ears as his body froze. What was Shinji talking about? He couldn't mean the white thing he'd just started seeing. He hadn't told anyone about that; there was just no possible way!
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ichigo half-lied, at least hoping he didn't know what Shinji was talking about. His voice was low with warning; until he figured out exactly what was going on with his head, he didn't want to talk to anyone about it, least of all this asshole.
"Oh, I think you do, Ichigo," Shinji replied, grinning at him as he sat his hat aside on the dirty desk. He hopped down, his school shoes clicking against the floor and crunching debris beneath them. Before Ichigo's eyes, the corners of Shinji's eyes flooded black, his irises glowing an eerie golden color. Ichigo nearly felt his heart stop as Shinji began to speak again.
"Ringin' any bells, Ichigo?" He asked, his voice taking on that odd, distorted timbre that Ichigo had heard in his own head earlier that day. His heartbeat drowned almost all noise out of his ears, a deep buzzing permeating his skull. Even worse than that, he could feel that heat at the corner of his eyes again.
So now of a certainty, Ichigo knew three things. He focused on this thought as he breathed, trying to calm his raging instincts. First of all, something had changed within him, making him unlike other demons. Secondly, Shinji knew what had happened to him because he had the same affliction. And lastly, Shinji understood how this new situation operated to the point that he could trigger it on command. And knowing these three things was doing nothing to calm Ichigo's chaotic emotions.
"How are you doing that?!" Ichigo demanded, his voice changing as he spoke, "What the hell is happening to me?!" He clutched at his hair, his head pounding. The pressure between his ears almost drove him to his knees. As he looked up through squinted eyes, though, he saw that Shinji had reverted to normal.
"He's reactin' t' me, huh?" He drawled, sliding his hands into his pockets, "That white thing inside you." Ichigo stared, wide-eyed at the blond while he felt the pressure pounding against his temples abate.
"You've seen it too, then?" Ichigo wheezed, chest heaving, "What is it? What's happening to me?"
"You've been exposed," Shinji replied, loping over and taking Ichigo by the arm, "See, there're these people called 'Cursed Ones'. I never met one personally, but there's somethin' in their blood that makes us crazy. Like 'start seein' shit' crazy." The blond demon started leading Ichigo further into the foyer. Ichigo was too exhausted to resist even if he had wanted to.
"Never heard of it," Ichigo breathed. The truth was, though, that things were beginning to click into place in his mind. The mention of their blood rang a bell between his ears, causing him to immediately think of Orihime. At the mere thought of her, he could somehow feel the restless white creature inside him stir.
"You've never smelled somethin' so good it made your mouth water and gave ya a hard on at the same time?" Shinji asked. As ridiculous as the question was, neither one of them was smiling now. In fact, Ichigo's eyes had grown wide and frightened as he came to a halt.
"Oh god," he swore under his breath, "What... What is a 'Cursed One'? What does that mean?" Shinji stopped as well, as the darkened room he'd led Ichigo into cast long shadows on his face.
"This is all just hearsay," Shinji began, shoving his hands into his pockets, "But a Cursed One is a bein' that's like a kind o' poisonous catnip ta us. They cause demons ta go nuts an' kill each other to possess 'em. Supposedly, they smell good, taste good, look good, an' are a blast in the sack. Problem is, they're so rare, hardly anyone's ever seen one. Kisuke had t' read a stack o' old books just ta figure that much out.
"But these things are supposed ta be cursed 'cause o' what they do ta demons. You know how drinkin' human blood might make ya go bugfuck insane an' ya'd haveta be put down? Well, drinkin' cursed blood means you will go bugfuck insane an' as soon as the noble houses find out, they'll put yer ass down."
Ichigo felt his mouth go as dry as cotton. Was this why Orihime's blood called to him like it did? Why it agitated him and why he couldn't get it out of his mind? Was that also why she had weird powers that no one could explain? Was she one of these Cursed Ones?
"What if you don't drink it?" Ichigo said hoarsely, "What if... What if it gets into a cut or something?" Shinji just shrugged at him.
"Same difference, really," the older demon said dismissively, bending to lift something from the floor; Ichigo recognized it as a trap door like the one Urahara used in his shop. A bright light poured between the ever-widening crack in the floor as Shinji lifted it. He then latched the cover and crouched to descend the ladder.
"What happens once... once you're infected, or contaminated or whatever?" Ichigo asked, never taking his eyes off Shinji. The blond turned to give him a bored look that meant for him to follow him.
"Oh, all sorts o' good things," Shinji remarked as Ichigo descended the ladder behind him, "Enhanced powers, wounds heal ungodly fast, all that good stuff. Ya basically become a walkin' tank." As their feet hit the dirt below the ladder, Ichigo was impressed with how much like Urahara's training room this room was. He briefly wondered if he'd been involved in building this one too.
"And the down side is that you go crazy, right?" He asked pointedly. Shinji found a large rock and perched lightly on it, crossing his legs at the knee.
"Yep," he said nonchalantly, "For all intents and purposes, you've just grown a kind o' split-personality. Like an evil twin, except it's a part o' ya. Congratulations! Now if ya don't learn how to get it under control fast, you'll go completely bonkers tryin' ta find whatever Cursed One made ya." This made Ichigo's eyes widen with shock and fear. It was clear to him now that Orihime was one of these Cursed Ones and he knew exactly where she was; what he didn't know was exactly what the thing inside him would do if it caught up to her. He had a pretty good idea, though.
"And what... what will it do if it catches up to them?" Ichigo asked warily. Shinji shrugged again.
"Never really figured that part out," he said, his voice light, "None o' us have actually seen one, not even the one what made us. And when one o' us did get crazy enough ta try an' hunt 'em down, he got cut down."
Cold fear seized Ichigo. Did this mean he wouldn't be able to see Orihime again? Wait, Urahara had obviously known about all this, including what she was, and he still asked Ichigo to protect her - did that mean he could trust himself around her? Maybe if he kept his regulator on, it would all be okay?
"What the hell is takin' ya so long, Shinji?!"
Ichigo turned in the direction of the new voice to find a tiny blonde girl with pig-tails, a baggy red track suit, and an angry scowl on her face. Her arms were crossed over her narrow chest in an impatient sort of way that reminded him of Rukia, and her sandaled foot tapped the ground with a fast tempo.
"Oiii, I'm just gettin' him situated, ya damn monkey!" Shinji replied, ignoring the girl's obvious temper. As she stomped over to her lanky comrade, Ichigo took a look behind her. Sitting on the rocks were three people who appeared to be sizing him up.
The most noticeable one was a large man that almost dwarfed some of the rocks scattered about the place. He was dressed in an old-fashioned green smoking jacket and bowtie; that, along with his bushy pink mustache, gave him the look of a kindly old professor.
The second largest one was a silver-haired, scowling, muscle-bound man in a tank top and camouflage cargo pants. His arms were crossed in disapproval, the veins and biceps bulging. If it hadn't been for the row of eyebrow rings, Ichigo would've mistaken him for drill instructor. He looked pretty hardcore either way.
And finally, there was another girl, this one a bit taller than the blonde one, but just as skinny. She was wearing a tight, white motorcycle outfit and a pink scarf, which clashed a bit with her short mint green hair. She regarded Ichigo with an air of bemused interest from her perch, draped across the largest man's shoulder.
"Ne, Kensei! Who's he?" She asked, her voice just as cute as Ichigo imagined it'd be. Then, in a stage whisper she said, "He's staring at us!"
"Some unlucky bastard Urahara wants us to train, I guess," the silver-haired one grunted, shrugging his chiseled shoulders. Ichigo's eye twitched; what exactly had Urahara signed him up for, anyway?
"Ohhhhh," the green-haired girl mouthed, "He looks kinda puny. You don't think he'll wind up like Rose-chi, do you?" Kensei snorted and rolled his eyes.
"I don't think he's got that much fight in him," he grumbled.
"I can hear you guys, you know!" Ichigo shouted, his last nerve finally having snapped. First he'd caused Orihime to get injured, then this white thing had started screwing with his head, then he'd found out Orihime was some super-special poisonous catnip space princess, and now these jokers were pushing his buttons!
"Perhaps we should mind our manners in front of the new boy," the large mountain of a man said softly. Strangely enough, his voice wasn't what Ichigo had been expecting at all; he was expecting a loud, booming baritone. What he'd actually heard was indeed deep, but soft and gentle as well.
"Poo, that's no fun, Hacchin~!" The green-haired girl pouted. Ichigo decided then and there that "Hacchin" was his favorite so far.
"Alright, asshole," the little pig-tailed girl finally said, turning to Ichigo and dragging a beleaguered Shinji by his ear, "You got a name?"
"Ichigo," he replied firmly, "Kurosaki Ichigo."
"Okay, Kurosaki Ichigo, here's what's gonna happen," she said, pointing at him while baring a pointed canine, "That thing ya got inside ya, we're gonna bust yer ass until you can keep it under control an' be fit fer polite society again. Any questions?"
To say Ichigo was put off by the bossy girl's proclamation was an understatement. At least Shinji, annoying as he was, had given Ichigo some kind of heads up on exactly what was going on. This girl, on the other hand, was already acting like she owned him, and she'd only just said a whopping two sentences to him! It was authority like that that just rubbed him the wrong way.
"Oi!" He protested, barely keeping his temper in check, "I haven't agreed to anything yet! Who says I can't just figure it out by myself?" Shinji, who had since freed himself, sighed and shook his head.
"First thing ya need to learn is not ta argue with th' midget," Shinji grumbled, his mouth snapping shut when the girl stepped on his foot.
"First of all, don't listen t' this dickhead," she ordered, folding her arms again, "My name's Hiyori, not whatever made up bullshit Shinji's spoutin'. And secondly, if you try t' deal with that blood o' yers by yerself, you'll go nuts an' try t' hunt down whoever gave it to ya. If that sounds fun t' you, just keep bein' a smart-ass."
Ichigo shut his open mouth, only allowing himself the pleasure of glaring at Hiyori mutinously. He might have to shut up and listen to the obviously older girl, but he certainly didn't have to like it.
"Now," she barked, "You already know Shinji. That hyperactive chick over there is named Mashiro." As Hiyori pointed her out, the green-haired girl waved from where she was splayed across the largest man's shoulder.
"Nice t' meet you, Berry-head!" She chirped happily. Ichigo felt his eye twitch.
"'Berry-head'?" He muttered, resisting the urge to yell at the chipper girl.
"The one that looks like he's been suckin' on lemons is Kensei," Hiyori continued. The silver-haired man grunted.
"Ya ever think there's a reason for that, Sarugaki?" The well-built man asked, receiving a shrug for his trouble.
"And the big fella is Hachi," she concluded, "He does all our healin' and hidin' shit." Ichigo's eyebrows rose; healing and hiding? He wondered if there wasn't possibly a connection between his powers and Orihime's.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, young man," the larger man said kindly, bowing his huge frame ever-so-slightly. Ichigo was taken aback by his friendliness and bowed awkwardly in return.
"Err, same here," Ichigo returned as politely as he could. Before the grandfatherly man could speak further, Hiyori took his attention again.
"We call ourselves the Fallen," she finished, grinning in an unsettling way, "An' you're about to find out why."
Series: Bleach
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST
Spoilers: This is AU. We don't need spoilers, where we're going.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.
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The soft rustle of clothes resounded throughout the room as the large party seated itself. Some were dressed in their formal garb while some were dressed more casually in more modern clothes.
Hirako Shinji had decided to wear what he normally did to town - skinny trousers, zip-up shirt, slouch hat, and tinkling wallet chain. Although this was the fashion of the day, he never really felt it suited him much personally; it made him look leaner and taller than he naturally was anyway. The up side to it was that he always stood out in a crowd, and the ladies never seemed to complain.
Some there had worn more formal clothing. The dark-skinned demon from Sloth house and his blond lieutenant were dressed pretty fancy; that demon, Love, had worn a dark hakama with a white kimono, his striped haori tied together in the front with little tassles. The lieutenant, Rose, had dressed as if he were going to a classical concert in Vienna, all lace and frills at his cuffs. Shinji vaguely recalled a new trend toward such classy clothing, but dismissed it out of hand. He'd stick with the skinny jeans, thanks.
There were others gathered around the low table. The large, round man that Shinji hadn't formally met from the Demonic Arts Academy, still in his professors' robes; the bespectacled lieutenant from Lust house, dressed in a high school uniform for some reason (Shinji almost wanted to ask if it was a fetish - maybe after this meeting?); his own lieutenant, the tall, beefy, silent sort, who'd come here in his karate gi, of all things (he would never understand Kensei's fashion sense); sitting beside him, arguing over an appetizer, the tiny, green-haired head of Envy house; and last but certainly not least, the obnoxious, pig-tailed lieutenant from Greed house. And of course, as she was Shinji's least favorite person at the table, she felt compelled to sit right beside him.
"Man, why did he even call this meeting?" Hiyori whined, kicking her legs beneath the low table they were all seated around, "I could be doing something useful with my time! Something that doesn't involve waiting for tea!" Shinji reached over and pinched her on the crook of her neck, hard.
"Yer not makin' this any more pleasant, ya whiny monkey," he barked, leaning forward to cradle his chin in his hands, "I wonder what Kisuke even wants. Anyone else know?" A quick look around the table told Shinji that, no, no one else who'd been invited to this little tea party knew why either.
"Complaining about it is only going to make it take longer," Kensei gruffly noted, causing the green-haired girl beside him to stick her tongue out at him and blow a raspberry.
"Complaining is fun, stupid Kensei," the little Leavite, Mashiro, informed Shinji's silver-haired lieutenant. Shinji swore he saw the muscular man's eyebrow ring twinkle while the cords of muscle on his neck bulged; he was straining his limiter again. If he broke another one because of her, Shinji knew he'd have to listen to his bitching when they got back to Wrath house.
Before a fight could break out between either of the under-developed girls and their choice of victims, the wood and paper sliding door quietly slid open. Eight heads turned in unison to see who had entered. There, on his knees in the doorway, was Kisuke's Yeoman, with a tray of tea set before him on the floor.
"Belial-sama apologizes for his tardiness," the young, brown-haired man chimed in a pleasant voice, "Please have some tea while you wait." He rose, taking the tray with him, and began depositing cups of hot tea around the table.
"Geez, since when has anyone in Kisuke's house been so stiff," Shinji mumbled to himself, earning a snort from Hiyori beside him; at least they could agree on this. As he watched the bespectacled Yeoman set the tea down before him, his irritation with the perfect young man trickled back in. Shinji had never liked this demon, no matter how many times Kisuke told him he'd done this or that amazingly well. Something about the kid seemed off, fake, or just plain wrong.
But as the smell of the tea reached his nose, Shinji forgot all that. He had never been one for hot matcha; it was too hot and too bitter for his tastes. Give him cold, canned tea or coffee any day. But this tea was different. There was something about it that excited his senses and clouded his mind. It immediately overrode his suspicion of that Yeoman and tempted him to try it. Maybe that kid wasn't so bad after all, if he could make Shinji want to drink hot tea.
As he picked up the cup, he saw that his companions had already all begun sipping at theirs. So everyone else thought it smelled as good as he did? Shrugging, he took a sip.
It burned as it went down, and not from the temperature. It was an unnatural burning, almost like a chemical reaction, but Shinji found it wasn't unpleasant at all. In fact, it was almost orgasmic; judging from the blushes he saw around the table, he wasn't the only one to think that, either. And as soon as his palette cleared, the aftertaste left him craving more. Before he knew it, he had drained the small teacup and was already craving more.
Before he could set the cup back on the table, though, his world lurched. He could hear his heartbeat throb inside his ears, the noise close to deafening. Bile rose in his throat, but his stomach refused to give up its contents. Worse than all of that, he was incurably dizzy and felt as though he'd burst into flames at any second. And if the sounds of cups and bodies hitting the wooden floor was any indication, he wasn't the only one affected in this manner.
"Poison," he hissed, his vision growing hazy, "Kisuke, you..." Shinji almost didn't register the shuffle of clothing behind him, but a silky voice reached him just as he fell unconscious.
"Not quite."
The last thing Hirako Shinji saw was an unsettling smile and light reflecting off a pair of square glasses.
_________________________________________________________
Ichigo stared in disbelief and annoyance at the blond before him. He'd removed the slouch cap he'd been wearing when Ichigo walked in, twirling it around his finger leisurely. This was the guy Urahara wanted to train him?
"You?!" Ichigo blustered, "Why the hell are you here, too?!" Shinji stopped twirling his hat and gave Ichigo a deadpan look.
"Obviously because Kisuke asked me ta train ya," Shinji replied just as flatly, "Duh." Ichigo suddenly realized this was impossible; he'd wring this annoying asshole's neck before any training actually got done.
"What the hell are you gonna teach me?" Ichigo demanded, pointing at the other man, "You're my age!" Shinji snorted and suppressed a grin.
"Kid, I ain't aged in twenty years," he said gleefully, "And even before then, demons don't age like humans." This made Ichigo pause in his irritation; he'd suspected Toushirou, Momo, Rukia, and the others weren't exactly the age they looked, but he'd never heard of demons not aging. Otherwise, how could he explain Yamamoto being as old and wrinkled as he was?
"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked, less angry now and more genuinely curious, "Why don't you age? How does it work, anyway? Aging, I mean." Shinji hopped on the warped and broken desk he'd been leaning against and folded his long legs like a spindly blond grasshopper.
"Let's see," Shinji mused, tapping his chin, "If I'm understandin' this correctly, you got a seal on you. Couple of 'em, actually. That means that up 'til now, your demon power's've been repressed and you've grown just like a normal human kid. Under normal circumstances, as those seals broke, your growth would slow down to about half of a human's growth." Ichigo eyed him suspiciously, although him having a seal on him was news to him. News that made sense, but news nonetheless.
"Normal circumstances?" He asked, prompting Shinji to continue. The blond just smirked.
"Means ya got derailed by something, Ichigo!" He said cheerfully, hopping off the desk, "Something's happenin' to ya, just like it happened to me! Somethin' big!"
Ichigo felt his heart hammer in his ears as his body froze. What was Shinji talking about? He couldn't mean the white thing he'd just started seeing. He hadn't told anyone about that; there was just no possible way!
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ichigo half-lied, at least hoping he didn't know what Shinji was talking about. His voice was low with warning; until he figured out exactly what was going on with his head, he didn't want to talk to anyone about it, least of all this asshole.
"Oh, I think you do, Ichigo," Shinji replied, grinning at him as he sat his hat aside on the dirty desk. He hopped down, his school shoes clicking against the floor and crunching debris beneath them. Before Ichigo's eyes, the corners of Shinji's eyes flooded black, his irises glowing an eerie golden color. Ichigo nearly felt his heart stop as Shinji began to speak again.
"Ringin' any bells, Ichigo?" He asked, his voice taking on that odd, distorted timbre that Ichigo had heard in his own head earlier that day. His heartbeat drowned almost all noise out of his ears, a deep buzzing permeating his skull. Even worse than that, he could feel that heat at the corner of his eyes again.
So now of a certainty, Ichigo knew three things. He focused on this thought as he breathed, trying to calm his raging instincts. First of all, something had changed within him, making him unlike other demons. Secondly, Shinji knew what had happened to him because he had the same affliction. And lastly, Shinji understood how this new situation operated to the point that he could trigger it on command. And knowing these three things was doing nothing to calm Ichigo's chaotic emotions.
"How are you doing that?!" Ichigo demanded, his voice changing as he spoke, "What the hell is happening to me?!" He clutched at his hair, his head pounding. The pressure between his ears almost drove him to his knees. As he looked up through squinted eyes, though, he saw that Shinji had reverted to normal.
"He's reactin' t' me, huh?" He drawled, sliding his hands into his pockets, "That white thing inside you." Ichigo stared, wide-eyed at the blond while he felt the pressure pounding against his temples abate.
"You've seen it too, then?" Ichigo wheezed, chest heaving, "What is it? What's happening to me?"
"You've been exposed," Shinji replied, loping over and taking Ichigo by the arm, "See, there're these people called 'Cursed Ones'. I never met one personally, but there's somethin' in their blood that makes us crazy. Like 'start seein' shit' crazy." The blond demon started leading Ichigo further into the foyer. Ichigo was too exhausted to resist even if he had wanted to.
"Never heard of it," Ichigo breathed. The truth was, though, that things were beginning to click into place in his mind. The mention of their blood rang a bell between his ears, causing him to immediately think of Orihime. At the mere thought of her, he could somehow feel the restless white creature inside him stir.
"You've never smelled somethin' so good it made your mouth water and gave ya a hard on at the same time?" Shinji asked. As ridiculous as the question was, neither one of them was smiling now. In fact, Ichigo's eyes had grown wide and frightened as he came to a halt.
"Oh god," he swore under his breath, "What... What is a 'Cursed One'? What does that mean?" Shinji stopped as well, as the darkened room he'd led Ichigo into cast long shadows on his face.
"This is all just hearsay," Shinji began, shoving his hands into his pockets, "But a Cursed One is a bein' that's like a kind o' poisonous catnip ta us. They cause demons ta go nuts an' kill each other to possess 'em. Supposedly, they smell good, taste good, look good, an' are a blast in the sack. Problem is, they're so rare, hardly anyone's ever seen one. Kisuke had t' read a stack o' old books just ta figure that much out.
"But these things are supposed ta be cursed 'cause o' what they do ta demons. You know how drinkin' human blood might make ya go bugfuck insane an' ya'd haveta be put down? Well, drinkin' cursed blood means you will go bugfuck insane an' as soon as the noble houses find out, they'll put yer ass down."
Ichigo felt his mouth go as dry as cotton. Was this why Orihime's blood called to him like it did? Why it agitated him and why he couldn't get it out of his mind? Was that also why she had weird powers that no one could explain? Was she one of these Cursed Ones?
"What if you don't drink it?" Ichigo said hoarsely, "What if... What if it gets into a cut or something?" Shinji just shrugged at him.
"Same difference, really," the older demon said dismissively, bending to lift something from the floor; Ichigo recognized it as a trap door like the one Urahara used in his shop. A bright light poured between the ever-widening crack in the floor as Shinji lifted it. He then latched the cover and crouched to descend the ladder.
"What happens once... once you're infected, or contaminated or whatever?" Ichigo asked, never taking his eyes off Shinji. The blond turned to give him a bored look that meant for him to follow him.
"Oh, all sorts o' good things," Shinji remarked as Ichigo descended the ladder behind him, "Enhanced powers, wounds heal ungodly fast, all that good stuff. Ya basically become a walkin' tank." As their feet hit the dirt below the ladder, Ichigo was impressed with how much like Urahara's training room this room was. He briefly wondered if he'd been involved in building this one too.
"And the down side is that you go crazy, right?" He asked pointedly. Shinji found a large rock and perched lightly on it, crossing his legs at the knee.
"Yep," he said nonchalantly, "For all intents and purposes, you've just grown a kind o' split-personality. Like an evil twin, except it's a part o' ya. Congratulations! Now if ya don't learn how to get it under control fast, you'll go completely bonkers tryin' ta find whatever Cursed One made ya." This made Ichigo's eyes widen with shock and fear. It was clear to him now that Orihime was one of these Cursed Ones and he knew exactly where she was; what he didn't know was exactly what the thing inside him would do if it caught up to her. He had a pretty good idea, though.
"And what... what will it do if it catches up to them?" Ichigo asked warily. Shinji shrugged again.
"Never really figured that part out," he said, his voice light, "None o' us have actually seen one, not even the one what made us. And when one o' us did get crazy enough ta try an' hunt 'em down, he got cut down."
Cold fear seized Ichigo. Did this mean he wouldn't be able to see Orihime again? Wait, Urahara had obviously known about all this, including what she was, and he still asked Ichigo to protect her - did that mean he could trust himself around her? Maybe if he kept his regulator on, it would all be okay?
"What the hell is takin' ya so long, Shinji?!"
Ichigo turned in the direction of the new voice to find a tiny blonde girl with pig-tails, a baggy red track suit, and an angry scowl on her face. Her arms were crossed over her narrow chest in an impatient sort of way that reminded him of Rukia, and her sandaled foot tapped the ground with a fast tempo.
"Oiii, I'm just gettin' him situated, ya damn monkey!" Shinji replied, ignoring the girl's obvious temper. As she stomped over to her lanky comrade, Ichigo took a look behind her. Sitting on the rocks were three people who appeared to be sizing him up.
The most noticeable one was a large man that almost dwarfed some of the rocks scattered about the place. He was dressed in an old-fashioned green smoking jacket and bowtie; that, along with his bushy pink mustache, gave him the look of a kindly old professor.
The second largest one was a silver-haired, scowling, muscle-bound man in a tank top and camouflage cargo pants. His arms were crossed in disapproval, the veins and biceps bulging. If it hadn't been for the row of eyebrow rings, Ichigo would've mistaken him for drill instructor. He looked pretty hardcore either way.
And finally, there was another girl, this one a bit taller than the blonde one, but just as skinny. She was wearing a tight, white motorcycle outfit and a pink scarf, which clashed a bit with her short mint green hair. She regarded Ichigo with an air of bemused interest from her perch, draped across the largest man's shoulder.
"Ne, Kensei! Who's he?" She asked, her voice just as cute as Ichigo imagined it'd be. Then, in a stage whisper she said, "He's staring at us!"
"Some unlucky bastard Urahara wants us to train, I guess," the silver-haired one grunted, shrugging his chiseled shoulders. Ichigo's eye twitched; what exactly had Urahara signed him up for, anyway?
"Ohhhhh," the green-haired girl mouthed, "He looks kinda puny. You don't think he'll wind up like Rose-chi, do you?" Kensei snorted and rolled his eyes.
"I don't think he's got that much fight in him," he grumbled.
"I can hear you guys, you know!" Ichigo shouted, his last nerve finally having snapped. First he'd caused Orihime to get injured, then this white thing had started screwing with his head, then he'd found out Orihime was some super-special poisonous catnip space princess, and now these jokers were pushing his buttons!
"Perhaps we should mind our manners in front of the new boy," the large mountain of a man said softly. Strangely enough, his voice wasn't what Ichigo had been expecting at all; he was expecting a loud, booming baritone. What he'd actually heard was indeed deep, but soft and gentle as well.
"Poo, that's no fun, Hacchin~!" The green-haired girl pouted. Ichigo decided then and there that "Hacchin" was his favorite so far.
"Alright, asshole," the little pig-tailed girl finally said, turning to Ichigo and dragging a beleaguered Shinji by his ear, "You got a name?"
"Ichigo," he replied firmly, "Kurosaki Ichigo."
"Okay, Kurosaki Ichigo, here's what's gonna happen," she said, pointing at him while baring a pointed canine, "That thing ya got inside ya, we're gonna bust yer ass until you can keep it under control an' be fit fer polite society again. Any questions?"
To say Ichigo was put off by the bossy girl's proclamation was an understatement. At least Shinji, annoying as he was, had given Ichigo some kind of heads up on exactly what was going on. This girl, on the other hand, was already acting like she owned him, and she'd only just said a whopping two sentences to him! It was authority like that that just rubbed him the wrong way.
"Oi!" He protested, barely keeping his temper in check, "I haven't agreed to anything yet! Who says I can't just figure it out by myself?" Shinji, who had since freed himself, sighed and shook his head.
"First thing ya need to learn is not ta argue with th' midget," Shinji grumbled, his mouth snapping shut when the girl stepped on his foot.
"First of all, don't listen t' this dickhead," she ordered, folding her arms again, "My name's Hiyori, not whatever made up bullshit Shinji's spoutin'. And secondly, if you try t' deal with that blood o' yers by yerself, you'll go nuts an' try t' hunt down whoever gave it to ya. If that sounds fun t' you, just keep bein' a smart-ass."
Ichigo shut his open mouth, only allowing himself the pleasure of glaring at Hiyori mutinously. He might have to shut up and listen to the obviously older girl, but he certainly didn't have to like it.
"Now," she barked, "You already know Shinji. That hyperactive chick over there is named Mashiro." As Hiyori pointed her out, the green-haired girl waved from where she was splayed across the largest man's shoulder.
"Nice t' meet you, Berry-head!" She chirped happily. Ichigo felt his eye twitch.
"'Berry-head'?" He muttered, resisting the urge to yell at the chipper girl.
"The one that looks like he's been suckin' on lemons is Kensei," Hiyori continued. The silver-haired man grunted.
"Ya ever think there's a reason for that, Sarugaki?" The well-built man asked, receiving a shrug for his trouble.
"And the big fella is Hachi," she concluded, "He does all our healin' and hidin' shit." Ichigo's eyebrows rose; healing and hiding? He wondered if there wasn't possibly a connection between his powers and Orihime's.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, young man," the larger man said kindly, bowing his huge frame ever-so-slightly. Ichigo was taken aback by his friendliness and bowed awkwardly in return.
"Err, same here," Ichigo returned as politely as he could. Before the grandfatherly man could speak further, Hiyori took his attention again.
"We call ourselves the Fallen," she finished, grinning in an unsettling way, "An' you're about to find out why."
