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tampered2007-11-12 05:23 pm
anti-buttons.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-11-12 05:23 pm
LOG; BACKDATED; COMPLETE; MY FAIR LADY?
When; Saturday afternoon, November 10
Rating; PG.
Characters; Ishida Uryuu [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anti_buttons] & Kurotsuchi Nemu [sciencedaughter]
Summary; Ishida, perceiving that he is in debt to Nemu for keeping him from being over-destructive during the Witchhunt curse, takes ... Nemu shopping? It had seemed like a good idea, and yet ...
Notes: As ever, tl;dr, and I begin to think it v. necessary that I do a log sheerly for the purpose of keeping my posts to around 100 words. Seriously. Also, WE TOTALLY FINISHED THIS ON SATURDAY. But formatting from G-Mail made me lazy D:;;; SORRY.
Log;
Find Kurotsuchi Nemu a nice dress or two, encourage her to prefer a color or style, and treat her to some form of a meal: Ishida Uryuu's mission objective. It was not a date, it was repaying a debt. For "health" reasons -- those she had not explained when he pried -- Kurotsuchi-san had postponed their arrangement until now, Saturday late morning.
Ishida did not check his watch as he arrived at the fountain, the cold air of autumn-turning-winter brisk on his face. The water wasn't frozen, and the sun was bright in the clear blue sky. It was a nice morning, and as far as he could tell, the City writhed under no curse. That he had been a citizen for so long he did not consider as he examined the blue stitching against the white of his glove, the little cross that he had been unable to help but add. He was early, by ten minutes, and reviewed a mental list of stores, trying not to smirk in a somewhat self-satisfied way, to think of doing this for her, something her "father" would never have approved of.
--
Kurotsuchi Nemu arrived exactly as the hand of every watch in the City hit the desired time. Prim, proper, and with her usual cold, no, not cold, removed expression, blank, subservient, she arrived with the timely clicking of the low heels she wore, approached until she reached the edge of a comfortable bubble of personal space and bowed low, heavy braid over one shoulder dipping against the neck of the outfit she wore.
Oddly enough, it was not her uniform.
It was precious enough to her that Ishida Uryu would deign speak to her, let alone insist on repaying her for something she had done, and she did not wish to exacerbate the annoyance she was to him by reminding him that he was breaking a promise, doing this, associating with a shinigami, and thusly she had donned what she had, and she had a few things, gifts, mostly, from people who had no idea that, with the exception of days like this, they simply sat abandoned in her closet. A simple thing, a dress to her ankles, black, still, she could never shake the dour color, with a soft hint of clinging to a shape beneath the fabric but a demure neckline, reserved cut, and a quiet murmured "good afternoon" as she bowed.
--
Ishida had a certain image he strove to always project, and this image did not involve a predisposition toward smiling, toward being glad to see another person or even toward much more than the strictest courtesies. That the City often frustrated this idea of "cool" was one
problem, another, that Ishida had a certain uncertainty about how to act around Kurotsuchi-san, she who had been and should have been his enemy.
His eyes widened in a reaction of surprise that he tried to deny, concealing it with a grab for his glasses. She was wearing something other than her uniform; he noted it, appreciated it, if his appreciation was somewhat distracted by her bow. It made him unsure if he shouldn't also bow, but he resisted, settling on a cool nod.
"Ah, very prompt, Kurotsuchi-san. Good afternoon. Are you ready?" Quite formal. Ishida tried not to be obvious as he looked over her different attire, unable to help thinking that, even as it was black, it looked much better than her uniform. It would be good to introduce her to more color than black, and he felt a thrill at the prospect.
--
"I am." Her reply was just as polite, as formal, straightening with a small movement of her hands to smooth the skirt, unfamiliar with the way the fabric fell, looser on her legs than the tight, shorter skirt she usually wore.
"I apologize, for having to postpone." She murmured delicately, ducked her head and gestured for him to take the lead. "I am afraid my health was not up to an outing on the agreed upon date. I hope this did not inconvenience you terribly." Covering all her bases, everything that could have upset him, annoyed him, needed to be considerate, needed-
No, wanted, to not annoy him.
--
"There's no need for you to apologize," Ishida said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I was not at all inconvenienced. I'm glad we were able to finally meet." He tried a smile then, something small, tight, and sincere, because something about her reserve, however proper, instilled in him a desire to make her feel at ease. Even if he refused to be at ease himself.
Ishida began to walk, then, toward a fairly hip City shop -- or, hip in that it provided clothing more appropriate to his world, time, and setting than any other. It was difficult to swallow his enthusiasm with the good air, the fashion-oriented goal. He fisted his gloved hands at his sides, once, and relaxed them. Ishida glanced over his shoulder as he walked, looking back to her, as if to be sure she followed.
"The last curse wasn't too bad." Small talk. He loathed it, and yet, some anxious thing in him that wanted his hands to be twisting, his tongue swollen and awkward, pushed him to make it.
--
She gave a smile, and oddly enough, it was of the same kind. She could never be at ease here, knowing he was probably forcing himself to do this, to interact with someone like she, but beyond all else at that moment she wished for him to be at ease himself. So she was subservient, following each cue from body language and tone, following a distance behind close enough it was obvious she was following him but not close enough to smother.
"I enjoyed it very much." Her voice was cordial, warm, as warm as someone like she could be, cherished in that way. "I managed to get an exceeding amount of work done in a much smaller time than I estimated, freeing three hours of my time." She paused, a socially awkward thing, moment, time, a brief puzzlement taking over her features she automatically saw fit to explain what she did with those hours.
"I stroked my cat."
--
Something pricked at his mind, something that said: this isn't quite right. His brow almost furrowed, except that he had no intention of showing his disconcertion. His brow almost furrowed, instead he looked at her and urged his smile to be more natural. He listened, tried not to falter at actually comprehending her words, listened.
"Ah," Ishida managed, as a first response. She stroked her cat. Ishida opened his mouth, to suggest that she might have a hobby she could indulge in, and thought better of it. At least, something else had occurred to him, and he paused. He opened his mouth, and his tongue promptly knotted, he was far more flustered than he had thought himself to be.
"You don't ... that sounds nice, I didn't know you had -- what's the cat's name? That is -- you don't need to walk behind me."
--
"I was fairly pleasant. It purred." Automatic responses, as, with a quizzical expression she carefully, always carefully, took a spot more to his side, though still slightly behind, hesistant to take a position of equals, knew him far stronger than she, nothing of want to do with one as she, demurely matching his pace to his right and a footfall behind.
"… My cat does not have a name." She finished, a touch odd. "Several have been suggested, but I do not think I have found one I like, and I am also loath to name it." It was an odd thing to discuss while walking, surely, but it was a safe thing, removed from shinigami, from Quincy, from Mayuri-sama, from Arrancar.
It was a cat.
--
Yes, cats tend to do that when petted, though he could not say for certain that every pet would earn that sound. Ishida did not say these things, though he did think them, not fretting, almost. It may have been that he felt so out of place because in the norm, he studiously avoided outings, small talk, friendships, connections, and now, while feeling obliged to provide it, he was forced to confront the unhappy reality of his social inexperience.
Not that he would admit defeat. He began to walk again, not pausing when he blinked with some surprise, turning a quizzical look to her, black eyebrows rising in thin arcs over his spectacles.
"You are .. loath to name it?"
--
She met his gaze calmly, and to say Kurotsuchi Nemu could be sheepish would be most odd, but the smile she offered was somewhat nervous, expecting a negative reaction, one of mirth, of amusement at how odd she could be, how hard to get along with, with one so programmed in
her reactions and personality.
"It is not… quite fair, don't you think?" Hands clasped in front of her, an even gait beside him. "I am afraid I will not be able to meet the emotional needs of the animal, it's need for more expressive human companionship, and thusly, I am afraid it is not fair of me to exercise the control over it to name it, especially when I may, at any time, be forced to abandon it."
Her voice was light, but it was undertoned heavy, an out of sorts combination.
--
His chin tilted down; his eyes somewhat obscured by the way the sunlight hit his lenses. He took on a practical, rather cold tone: "No, it isn't quite fair. If you had those reservations, however, you ... shouldn't have kept the cat in the first place. For the reason that I may leave at any time, I have not adopted a pet. You do have one, however,"
Here, he looked at her, and his words softened. "However, Kurotsuchi-san, and so I believe that you ought to name the animal. Cats do not require as much human companionship as you may think, and if you let it out now and again, it could find it. In the meantime, you should-- that, if it pleases you, you might name it."
Realizing a need to do as much, he took care not to tell her to do it, to make it an order or lecture, but more a suggestion that she might take it. With a few more steps, he reached, his hand closes around the shop door's handle, and he pulled the door open for her.
--
"The animal was… given to me. I was told to care for it, I would not have, normally, tried to take care of a living creature-" She tried to protest a bit, that she would be so callous as to try and adopt a pet that needed love, when she almost thought herself unable to provide it, understand it, convey it, and her real reason for it she kept hidden.
If Mayuri-sama returns, the cat will die. The fish had died, and the guilt in that ate at her, in some odd portion of her being, that a living creature that had relied on her for life and protection had died in her care, even though truly it could not be blamed on her, could be blamed on her father but how could she ever blame him for the death of a fish?
"… If I find a name I find pleasing. Perhaps." She conceded after a moment, taking the entrance he offered her and stepping past him with a small bow.
--
Ishida had not meant to be harsh -- or, he had, it would be erroneous to claim he had been innocent in his criticism, for criticism was criticism. But her explanation should have been obvious from the start.
"Of course," he interjected, not as smoothly as he would have liked. His mouth found an earnest, if awfully nervous smile. It was made a little worse by her bowing, an act which made him feel both terribly important and yet, even more nervous, as girls didn't do that for him. He followed her into the store, and followed their previous train of conversation only to end it.
"If you do, let me know. Now!" Ishida turned his focus to the shop, glasses glinting in an almost ominous, hungry way as he considered the racks. A lurching stride prompted him toward the dresses. "Let's begin! I believe Kurotsuchi-san said blue...?"
--
"Ah…" She trailed off, caught off guard by "let me know". Surely he did not wish any contact with her after this, he could not, his promise- No, she had been mistaken, except she had not been because Kurotsuchi Nemu did not mishear, but she had to have, because for him to have said that would be to imply he planned on talking to her again, associating with her, a shinigami, once this was over and she could not afford such thoughts.
She filed it away as a mere polite response, automatic and without meaning.
"Blue is a nice color." The fake shinigami murmured, following him quietly, smooth, graceful movement behind his lurching gait, hands still clasped before her. She had selected blue because it was the opposite of red, the color of the choker Mayuri-sama had given her, and the one she had thrown away.
--
It had been an absent-minded, automatic response, but not insincere. Though Ishida was not quite prepared to fully acknowledge the weight of those words, time in the City and certain curses had given him cause to seek new loopholes, especially in regard to Kurotsuchi-san. If she would be so frequently good to him, in ways he suspected he could not tally...
"I agree," Ishida replied, now unable to keep an eager tone from his voice. His approval was sharp, like the plunge of a needle into the cloth, his fingers matter-of-fact pincers that took some white garment into consideration. "Also -- white, it might be nice to find something very different from what you normally wear."
That very different also signified very different from Shinigami garb, well -- Ishida didn't feel he had to draw attention to it. It was cold, so the shop had accordingly a selection of longer dresses, longer sleeves, thicker cloths. He toyed with one, a soft blue, three-fourth sleeves and a skirt that fell to just below the knee. Taking the hangar, he held it out from his body and toward but not against hers.
"What do you think?"
--
She watched him quietely, did not wish to disturb the, as it seemed to her, extremely intense process in which he was now involved, for he seemed that focused on it that it took on an importance unlike she would normally assign it. Her eyes calmly looked over the garment,
the color, the cut, and it did look "nice".
"It looks nice." She offered, not so helpfully. She was unsure of prodocal, in this sort of thing, shopping, as she was unaware of things such as how they fit and hung and looked. "I am afraid, however, I can offer no other opinion beyond that, as I am not skilled in appraising body type, appropriate cut, or aesthetics beyond the garment itself." She had never looked at a garment and considered how it would look on her, she had never considered the shape of her own body beside's it's purpose, and she had never truly shopped.
--
Ishida could see the problem. He could not claim to know a great deal about her life as a shinigami, her life before the City, her life serving Kurotsuchi Mayuri. He could, however, conjecture with some certainty, as to what it did entail, and that was a distinct lack of
personal choice and opinion. Even identifying the problem, it was hard not to feel a little discouraged by her response.
He did not, he thought, let himself visibly deflate. If his shoulders slumped a bit, the dress dropping a half-inch, that could hardly be held against him.
"No," he allowed, eyes thoughtful behind his glasses, "of course not." But, not to be discouraged! To be brisk, ever rigid in his task! "But, do you -- do you like it? I mean ... not merely appraising its value by color and cut, but personally, do you ... prefer it, over, maybe, what you are currently wearing?"
--
"That would depend." She could curse her words, sometimes, in that way they came out, so detached, so clinical, so cold and uncaring in their purely scientific tint. Could she blame it on that, on, "how she had been made"? Perhaps, and perhaps not.
"What I am wearing is warmer. If I am caring more about my body temperature I would select this one. However, that one is more aesthetically pleasing in cut and color, it is… "lighter" in spirit than what I am wearing, as it could be called "drab"." The shinigami looked down at herself, eyes followed the swell of bosom down to hips, to long legs. "In addition, I am not trained to properly asses my own aesthetic, so I do not know if I could accurately predict which one,ah…" Nemu paused, looking for the right word, a very slight furrow in her brow as she searched for it, looking back up at him.
"… Looked better on me?" She finished weakly, unsure if she had selected the correct phrase for what she was trying to convey, that she had never had a care for her appearance, never had to have one.
--
Terribly technical replies, and again Ishida was forced to fight a certain sense of defeat. Had he been honest with himself from the beginning, he might have acknowledged that this mission of his was a hopeless one. Had he been blunt, he would have knew it outright. But this defeat was not something he could accept. Ishida raised a hand to his glasses, adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.
"You make fine points, Kurotsuchi-san," he said, and considered the garment. This would be difficult, and it was hard to say what approach would be best. " ... This may be a good place to start, then."
Ishida certainly liked it more, and that was a start. If she was inexperienced in thinking of objects and things in terms how she liked them, then, it was a matter of starting her in that direction, however long it took. Ishida knew himself equal to the task, and set his shoulders for it, raised his chin importantly, and with no small amount of grandeur, handed her the dress.
"Go try that on. I'll pick a few more out and bring them over." A command, though he had not meant to give her any, and Ishida returned his busy attention to the rack. He had secured her measurements before this, and selected a woolen, white sweater dress almost immediately,
as well as a tube-like dark blue affair.
--
Of course she did. Nemu liked to think she always made fine points, it would be silly of her, to make not fine points, for what would be the point of making them?
The commanding tone of voice, even from him, was something she could be accustomed to, taking orders. Being in this City had always left her with a sort of loss, a loss of precense of something she was used to. Orders. Nemu, you useless woman. Without that, the
rebukes, the criticisms, the orders, instructions, routine… she became almost blank, unable to comprehend filling her own emptiness.
Mechanically she proceeded to a dressing room, closed the door with a soft click and delicately slipped out of her heels, calmly undid the collar of her dress, the small zipper in the back and slipped it off, another soft noise, the rustle of fabric, as she shrugged out of her dress, sparing not even a glance in the mirror provided, as most women were want to do even unconsciously, a quick look that would reveal to her the slender form she possessed, made to respond and fight and serve, didn't even mind for it, automatically stepping into the next garment and putting it on.
--
White, blue, a green, off-white, turquoise. Before Ishida let himself a moment to properly pause and consider his selections, his arms were quite full, and he could only just maneuver to the dressing room. Adjusting the soft, new-scented clothes in his arms, he managed to free enough of his left knuckle to rap on the one occupied door.
"Kurotsuchi-san?" He asked, "Have you changed? I've selected a few more of, I think, pleasing color. I've leaned toward all manner of different styles, at least that can be found for this season, but, ah, you shouldn't hesitate to say if you think one might be improper."
As if she would volunteer that criticism; Ishida knew better, but persisted in holding the cloth over his eyes. As if, if he treated her long enough like the average girl, she might come to fit that mold -- a perspective that did not make him much better than a certain captain, but these were not thoughts he allowed himself.
--
"Ah… thank you, Ishida U-" Nemu paused, one hand against the lock on the door, the other in her hair. She had finally taken a look in the mirror, and much to her surprise a thought had crossed her mind, that a braid, so severe, seemed… out of place, with this piece of clothing,
pale fingers slowly untangling the long, curling waves of black that cascaded down her back when not tied tight, took a brief moment to pause and place her forehead against the paneling, closing her eyes, dark and somewhat… blank.
"Ishida… san?" She finished, hesitant, opening her eyes again and opening the door, bowing slightly once more upon seeing the many garments he had selected. To have someone go to all that trouble for her was something she was not accustomed too, especially not outside
the few shinigami that treated her kindly, or, at the very least, as something beyond the somewhat creepy daughter of a rather creepy captain.
"I am afraid I cannot accurately describe how I feel about this garment in anything but specific terms. It does not offend my skin tone, ah, it does not feel uncomfortable… it… fits?" That was about all she could say with definitive fact, and she did not often step beyond the realm of fact.
--
Waiting outside, Ishida could not guess as to what caused the delay, the break in her words. He looked at the door, his arms not buckling or strained beneath the wait of the draped dresses. His head tilted, just so, but little else; his mind wandered to the possibility of sweaters. He wondered if she owned a jacket. Little questions, little matters, yet Ishida wondered if anyone had thought to think of them for she who would not think them for herself.
Ishida blinked with surprise as she opened the door, Kurotsuchi Nemu, the shinigami daughter of the most hated of all shinigami. She looked entirely different, except in her expression, but he could not study that as she bowed. As she bowed, he could fight against the blush that began to crawl up his neck at his immediate thought, that she looked beautiful.
He found his voice in due time, something officious, matter-of-fact, but also proud. Almost kind. "That's fine, Kurotsuchi-san. One step at a time, that always produces the best results, correct? It doesn't do to rush. It looks ..." fight the heat, logic, to fact. "very nice on you. If you could at least offer whether or not ... you prefer it to what you normally wear?"
Even as he spoke, he held out the dresses, meaning that she should hang a few on the waiting hooks inside the room.
--
"Thank you." You thanked people for compliments, Nemu knew that, it was polite and it was proper and so she did it, would thank even an Arrancar, if an Arrancar saw fit to tell her she was beautiful. Of course, only one had ever come close, and then, it had been much more cold in tone, that, she, at the very least, had an appeal in comparison to certain Arrancar females of the more promiscuous variety and that had been the closest he'd ever complimented her on her appearance, but-
A slightly sad expression crossed her face, brief and haunted, before it was quietly suppressed. When she turned back from hanging the clothing on the hooks, she was the same as before.
"… Prefer?" What did she prefer? "It is not as practical as my uniform," She began. "But… I only have one uniform, and washing it so many times a weak is… impractical, and if I had a day when I did not think the likelihood of being attacked was high, or if I planned to stay inside, or, perhaps, if I… somehow… I had a social event to attend…" The thought of that was somehow amusing. "This may be preferable."
--
Curious, that fleeting difference in her face. Ishida would never have noticed something so slight, except with her, given how rare a significant change was in the comparative. But there was no natural way to draw attention to it, especially with its emotional connotation.
He would not grimace at her response, though he could feel it pulling at his facial features, wanting them taut with it. It was best to remain optimistic in this situation, he knew, though optimism had never been his forte or even very highly valued. Was he a fool for doing this? Indubitably. So be it.
"Yes," he assented, "it hardly needs to be pointed out, the wisdom of having more than one thing to wear. ... However, when I spoke of preferring it, I did not mean its utility. Though, of course, clothing serves at the most basic level the function of covering, of protecting one from the elements and so forth, when I asked if you preferred it, I meant how it looked. Do you like the color better? Do you like the way it looks?"
Opening, of course, the can of worms of Like.
--
"I…" Nemu struggled a bit, with the desire to lie to him, to tell him, yes, honestly, truly, she liked it, she did, she did, but… she did not like to lie, and to lie to this boy would be so blasphemous she did not know if she even could, should, would, and yet-
"I do not… truly have a preference in what I like. If I were to continue wearing my uniform daily, it would be find, and if I had a choice and was able to wear something even different every day, things like this, I would be fine, and…" She paused, another struggle, hands clasping habitually in front of her, wringing slightly.
"If I were to like… things, if I were to prefer things in this manner, I think, perhaps, I would like this."
--
The irresistable force, the unmovable object.
Standing there, in front of a dressing room door in a women's clothing boutique, his free arms recently laden with dresses of all kind, Ishida began to get a stronger sense of his own absurdity. It was in the way her hands grasped one another, the twist together of her fingers. The aversion in her eyes. It was, mostly, her words, and her tone.
This may not have been the best way to go about this, repaying his debt. That it struck him as atrocious that she had no preference and a single outfit, that for him it was one way ... Ishida shook his head, the tension in his shoulders slackened in his brief, short dismay and making them sag, his own eyes not searching for hers, watching her hands.
"Ah," he said, not wanting to sound disappointed, but unable to sound else-- perhaps frustrated, for he began to feel a fool. It was in that that his resistance would strike. Ishida Uryuu, be a fool? "That's -- fine."
Build up resolve! Ishida Uryuu looked quickly up at her, quickly went for her eyes, a reassurance in his ego's persistence. The irresistible force! "Of course it -- hah, what should I expect? After that man, of course it wouldn't be easy. That's fine, Kurotsuchi-san. We'll discover what you like, yet. There's no need to rush it. Try those, and... even if you only prefer a few in terms of their utility, that's fine."
--
"I…" A futile expression crossed her face, and her fingers wrung tightly, joints cracked, and ever so slightly her bottom lip moved, something like a tremble and her mouth opened, closed, opened-
"My father-" She wanted to protest, insist he had nothing do with it, that he had nothing to do with the fact that this-
But he did, and…
"I'll go try these on, alright, Ishida… san?" Nemu smiled mournfully, strained and bordering upset, rather, as upset as she could be over something like that, rather, upset that she was seemingly making him upset, retreating quickly into the dressing room.
--
Watching her back retreat, watching the door close, Ishida had another sense of his own failure. That he could not accept it may have been a problem, that he would keep trying, that the definition of insanity to some might be trying the same thing again and again while expecting different results. He would blame her "father", and need to try and overcome some piece of his work, for better or for worse.
Don't feel as if you have to, he wanted to say, began to say, the words forming around his tongue (it's fine, just be yourself, this doesn't need to work yet). Instead he turned to search for the sweater section. He might, at least, pick her out a few in the meantime.
--
She gathered her wits by looking in the mirror. She made herself look, caught her own gaze and explored herself. Dark eyes, potentially expressive and soft, more soft and subservient, blank in their willingness to follow orders, to be told what to think and what to feel, what to like, what to wear, slowly running the pads of her fingers over the fabric. A stern mouth, potentially soft as well, but drawn thin and sullen, brows potentially smooth but slightly furrowed by thought and worry. She admired herself in the way someone would look upon a body in a casket at a viewing, as one would mourn something, listening for the sounds of his footsteps retreating before she began trying on garments, slipping into them just as silently, breathing slow, trying, trying to wonder if she looked nice in them, but the idea of asking herself that question, of caring if she looked nice or not, was so foreign to her she almost couldn't do it, ended up going back to the first one, staring at it in her hands and opening the door a crack to see if he wished her to try on anything else, a dress up doll with a false soul.
--
He had not taken long, reached the rack and pulled a few without properly looking at them. The expression in her eyes before he had found himself looking at her back, the small movements of her hands, these things stayed with him, images in the back of his mind, reversed on his retina and distorting his focus of knitted pattern. With only two, one white and one blue and both with deplorable buttons, he redirected his steps to that room.
The set of his chin, the grip of his muscles in his jaw, the angle of his shoulders; not same to as they had been. Hesitation did not cling to the heels of his feet, nor dread, but that lingering atmosphere of futility. He looked at the door, saw it somewhat open-- looked, eagerly, for the hint of the dress, and instead noticed only her undergarments.
His mouth clamped tightly shut, and a red glow swam up his neck, suffused his cheeks, and very quickly he turned his back. "K-Kurotsuchi-san!" A gasp, his arms spasmodic and over his eyes, the two sweaters hanging at odd angles. "Why are you--?!"
--
"I tried them on." She answered softly, looking down, the hint of thigh, a small hint of breast hidden by black undergarments, and stepped back a little, so that only half her face peeked out from the dressing room accompanied by a pale white arm braced on doorframe, forgetting for a moment that most people had a certain stigma of shame attached to their bodies, let alone those of the opposite sex.
"Would you like me to try those?" The Shinigami tried to calm him by not mentioning it or apologizing for her inadvertent something-like-exposure, the bare arm reaching out, palm up, for him to hand the garments over.
--
Protests: he would have liked to see them; the reality: that it probably didn't matter one way or another. He thought to ask if she had liked any of them, and thought better of it in the next instant. Holding the sweaters back to her, Ishida inhaled a thin stream of air into, through his nose. "Ah-ah sure, but --- it might be better if you wear one of the dresses with them. T-the first one?"
Ishida pivoted, then, forced himself to face her, to face his handiwork. It was difficult not to feel every bit of resistance flood from his body, every bit of will to this. His eyes softened, eyelids
drooping, behind his glasses. "But, Kurotsuchi-san, if you do not ..."
Did it presume to much? To ask if she wanted? His teeth clenched, working in his mouth, his jaw strained. It was terrible to think that she couldn't. "If you do not want to continue, that's --- fine." That damned word. He breathed, looked away, fighting shame, unable to step down and apologize.
--
She would have been so sad if he had apologized, she did not want him to ever apologize to her, not to her, when she owed him so much already. He, the only one, no, not the only one now, but the very first to look her in the eye and tell her, not so much in words, but action, that she was worth more than this, that she needn't obey Mayuri-sama, that everything she had ever known could possibly by a lie.
"Ishida… san. One moment, please." She ducked back into the dressing room, struggling for words as she redonned the light blue dress, smoothed wrinkles and slipped into the darker blue sweater, opening the door fully and slowly presenting herself, the garment, hands clasped once more before her, curls of long, heavy black hair around her shoulders, framing her face and softening it, more than her severe braid.
"I cannot… I have difficulty, doing these… "normal" things, such as this." Nemu began tentatively. "I have no experience with them, and I am unaccustomed to the freedom to choose in this manner, and I apologize how trying that must be for you, but-" She paused again, not
gathering courage, it was not courage that she lacked, not fear or cowardice or gumption she was struggling with, not shame, but a gentle and undeniable concern for his welfare, for his feelings and for him, to want him to be happy and succeed and do everything he wished, this person who could tell her that she was worth more than someone like Mayuri-sama-
"But for you to willingly spend time in my presence, to put up with my abominable lack of social conditioning and grace, even with what Mayuri-sama has done to you, I have done to you-" She halted, ducking her head. "It makes me very… happy."
--
Ishida was taken aback by this. With surprise, first, did he regard this -- the surprise that rose up after that of, again, observing how nice she looked, how flattering was the blue, this change in her hairstyle, the way her hair waved and caught little gleams of artificial light, a freedom that belied how stiff was her interior.
His surprise changed, from a patient waiting to tell her that it was all right, that he understood, that it was He who was abominable for forcing this on her, merely to suit his own tastes. It changed, became at a loss, of how to handle the magnitude of what she aid. It was, in some ways, reminiscent of the Thunderwitch at those times when he was confronted with the full force of her bizarre obsession with him. This was not the same -- Kurotsuchi-san was clearly not obsessed, or, at least, he would not read that. But for her to outright say that to spend time with him made him happy, well
--
Never mind women. No one said that sort of thing to him, and Ishida's aplomb, his ever-striving toward cool exteriors and composure, soared out a window and left him red-faced and befuddled. He thought much of himself, and yet, very little.
"I -- make you happy?" He asked, one hand on his hot neck as his mind wrapped and wrapped around the concept, with little effect. "That's...and I'd thought I'd been making a mess of things. Because -- Kurotsuchi-san, you are much too hard on yourself. You ... I'm the one at fault, here."
Exhale, it being difficult to look directly at her. Ishida thought much of himself, but he knew it couldn't be right for her to place so much importance on him, and he struggled with a way to identify the proper words to express it.
--
She supposed if she had opened her mouth in that moment, she may have messed up. She did not wish to blunder, no, far from it, and so she lifted her head and smiled, a sincere smile, small and tremulous, but true. Happy.
She was not obsessed with the Quincy, as the Thunderwitch had latched onto him as the object of her shame, the proof of her degradation, no, to her he was something precious, but something she would never possess, never be able to get close to. She would help him from afar, be of assistance to him and make sure she would do everything she could to prevent his injury, his death, but she was well aware that she could probably never be part of his world, part of his anything, she would be silent in the edge of his vision, silently protecting the one person who had, without selfish motivation, without reserve, without fear, told her that she was worth more than Mayuri-sama's heel.
"Ah…" She twirled slow, unclasped her hands and held them from her body, a slight shimmer as her hair shifted with the motion, dress hem swirling out just briefly. "Does it, ah… look… good?"
--
"Yes," he returned, without hesitation, a gentle confidence in his tone. "It looks very good. You look beautiful, Kurotsuchi-san."
Ishida only blushed a little to say it, it the honest truth, to look at the way the dress fell and her waves of hair sat against her shoulders, and the snug hold of the sweater. It complimented nicely,
if he did say so himself, did flatter his eye so far -- and if he was relieved, a little grateful, to know that she might have been pretending and only for his sake ... he would ignore the guilt for the time being.
"Then ..." He was no closer to knowing her preferred style or color, no, but he could pretend as well, and take that as a basis for designing her something. "I believe we're finished. Ah -- select two dresses? With the sweaters. I'll take care of it, at the counter, then ... are you hungry?"
--
"Thank you." The automatic response, but it was truthful, for him to say a nice thing about her meant more than if any other person would say such a thing, because- Ah, well, just because. She supposed she needn't have too many reasons. She wondered what Mayuri-sama would thi-
She decided not to do that.
"Of course." She murmured gratefully, knew it would have been socially rude to insist on paying for them herself, on asking if he were sure and returned to the selection, thin fingers selecting two others, one white, one black, and the blue, changing back into her own
clothing and returning to a step behind him, the garments tucked over her arm, smiling a little. She hadn't redone her braid.
"I… would like that."
--
"There's no need to thank me," Ishida retorted, his own automatic response, though not less truthful. Should he be thanked for paying her a compliment, but not one based on a white lie? (A part of him said yes, of course, but another, one that faltered with Kurotsuchi-san, denied it).
With a smile for her, he took the clothing selected and approached the counter, pleased at the way her hair looked, even with the black dress. It, at least, indicated a willful action on her part, the decision to undo the braid, a whim of what he would consider no small promise. Standing there, watching his hard earned City money disappear into bags of soft fabric and pleasant colors, Ishida could not judge this experiment as a total failure, even if through the strictest of eyes it must be. Perhaps he was closer to repaying his debt after all.
"Good," he said, replacing his wallet into his shoulder bag. "As would I."
--
Nemu watched carefully, stifled again the desire to ask to pay for them, considering she never bought such things, bought only food she had a large amount of money still in safekeeping, but-
She stayed silent, offering only another small smile for the Quincy.
She would not consider this anything remotely like a failure.
Rating; PG.
Characters; Ishida Uryuu [
anti_buttons] & Kurotsuchi Nemu [sciencedaughter]Summary; Ishida, perceiving that he is in debt to Nemu for keeping him from being over-destructive during the Witchhunt curse, takes ... Nemu shopping? It had seemed like a good idea, and yet ...
Notes: As ever, tl;dr, and I begin to think it v. necessary that I do a log sheerly for the purpose of keeping my posts to around 100 words. Seriously. Also, WE TOTALLY FINISHED THIS ON SATURDAY. But formatting from G-Mail made me lazy D:;;; SORRY.
Log;
Find Kurotsuchi Nemu a nice dress or two, encourage her to prefer a color or style, and treat her to some form of a meal: Ishida Uryuu's mission objective. It was not a date, it was repaying a debt. For "health" reasons -- those she had not explained when he pried -- Kurotsuchi-san had postponed their arrangement until now, Saturday late morning.
Ishida did not check his watch as he arrived at the fountain, the cold air of autumn-turning-winter brisk on his face. The water wasn't frozen, and the sun was bright in the clear blue sky. It was a nice morning, and as far as he could tell, the City writhed under no curse. That he had been a citizen for so long he did not consider as he examined the blue stitching against the white of his glove, the little cross that he had been unable to help but add. He was early, by ten minutes, and reviewed a mental list of stores, trying not to smirk in a somewhat self-satisfied way, to think of doing this for her, something her "father" would never have approved of.
--
Kurotsuchi Nemu arrived exactly as the hand of every watch in the City hit the desired time. Prim, proper, and with her usual cold, no, not cold, removed expression, blank, subservient, she arrived with the timely clicking of the low heels she wore, approached until she reached the edge of a comfortable bubble of personal space and bowed low, heavy braid over one shoulder dipping against the neck of the outfit she wore.
Oddly enough, it was not her uniform.
It was precious enough to her that Ishida Uryu would deign speak to her, let alone insist on repaying her for something she had done, and she did not wish to exacerbate the annoyance she was to him by reminding him that he was breaking a promise, doing this, associating with a shinigami, and thusly she had donned what she had, and she had a few things, gifts, mostly, from people who had no idea that, with the exception of days like this, they simply sat abandoned in her closet. A simple thing, a dress to her ankles, black, still, she could never shake the dour color, with a soft hint of clinging to a shape beneath the fabric but a demure neckline, reserved cut, and a quiet murmured "good afternoon" as she bowed.
--
Ishida had a certain image he strove to always project, and this image did not involve a predisposition toward smiling, toward being glad to see another person or even toward much more than the strictest courtesies. That the City often frustrated this idea of "cool" was one
problem, another, that Ishida had a certain uncertainty about how to act around Kurotsuchi-san, she who had been and should have been his enemy.
His eyes widened in a reaction of surprise that he tried to deny, concealing it with a grab for his glasses. She was wearing something other than her uniform; he noted it, appreciated it, if his appreciation was somewhat distracted by her bow. It made him unsure if he shouldn't also bow, but he resisted, settling on a cool nod.
"Ah, very prompt, Kurotsuchi-san. Good afternoon. Are you ready?" Quite formal. Ishida tried not to be obvious as he looked over her different attire, unable to help thinking that, even as it was black, it looked much better than her uniform. It would be good to introduce her to more color than black, and he felt a thrill at the prospect.
--
"I am." Her reply was just as polite, as formal, straightening with a small movement of her hands to smooth the skirt, unfamiliar with the way the fabric fell, looser on her legs than the tight, shorter skirt she usually wore.
"I apologize, for having to postpone." She murmured delicately, ducked her head and gestured for him to take the lead. "I am afraid my health was not up to an outing on the agreed upon date. I hope this did not inconvenience you terribly." Covering all her bases, everything that could have upset him, annoyed him, needed to be considerate, needed-
No, wanted, to not annoy him.
--
"There's no need for you to apologize," Ishida said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I was not at all inconvenienced. I'm glad we were able to finally meet." He tried a smile then, something small, tight, and sincere, because something about her reserve, however proper, instilled in him a desire to make her feel at ease. Even if he refused to be at ease himself.
Ishida began to walk, then, toward a fairly hip City shop -- or, hip in that it provided clothing more appropriate to his world, time, and setting than any other. It was difficult to swallow his enthusiasm with the good air, the fashion-oriented goal. He fisted his gloved hands at his sides, once, and relaxed them. Ishida glanced over his shoulder as he walked, looking back to her, as if to be sure she followed.
"The last curse wasn't too bad." Small talk. He loathed it, and yet, some anxious thing in him that wanted his hands to be twisting, his tongue swollen and awkward, pushed him to make it.
--
She gave a smile, and oddly enough, it was of the same kind. She could never be at ease here, knowing he was probably forcing himself to do this, to interact with someone like she, but beyond all else at that moment she wished for him to be at ease himself. So she was subservient, following each cue from body language and tone, following a distance behind close enough it was obvious she was following him but not close enough to smother.
"I enjoyed it very much." Her voice was cordial, warm, as warm as someone like she could be, cherished in that way. "I managed to get an exceeding amount of work done in a much smaller time than I estimated, freeing three hours of my time." She paused, a socially awkward thing, moment, time, a brief puzzlement taking over her features she automatically saw fit to explain what she did with those hours.
"I stroked my cat."
--
Something pricked at his mind, something that said: this isn't quite right. His brow almost furrowed, except that he had no intention of showing his disconcertion. His brow almost furrowed, instead he looked at her and urged his smile to be more natural. He listened, tried not to falter at actually comprehending her words, listened.
"Ah," Ishida managed, as a first response. She stroked her cat. Ishida opened his mouth, to suggest that she might have a hobby she could indulge in, and thought better of it. At least, something else had occurred to him, and he paused. He opened his mouth, and his tongue promptly knotted, he was far more flustered than he had thought himself to be.
"You don't ... that sounds nice, I didn't know you had -- what's the cat's name? That is -- you don't need to walk behind me."
--
"I was fairly pleasant. It purred." Automatic responses, as, with a quizzical expression she carefully, always carefully, took a spot more to his side, though still slightly behind, hesistant to take a position of equals, knew him far stronger than she, nothing of want to do with one as she, demurely matching his pace to his right and a footfall behind.
"… My cat does not have a name." She finished, a touch odd. "Several have been suggested, but I do not think I have found one I like, and I am also loath to name it." It was an odd thing to discuss while walking, surely, but it was a safe thing, removed from shinigami, from Quincy, from Mayuri-sama, from Arrancar.
It was a cat.
--
Yes, cats tend to do that when petted, though he could not say for certain that every pet would earn that sound. Ishida did not say these things, though he did think them, not fretting, almost. It may have been that he felt so out of place because in the norm, he studiously avoided outings, small talk, friendships, connections, and now, while feeling obliged to provide it, he was forced to confront the unhappy reality of his social inexperience.
Not that he would admit defeat. He began to walk again, not pausing when he blinked with some surprise, turning a quizzical look to her, black eyebrows rising in thin arcs over his spectacles.
"You are .. loath to name it?"
--
She met his gaze calmly, and to say Kurotsuchi Nemu could be sheepish would be most odd, but the smile she offered was somewhat nervous, expecting a negative reaction, one of mirth, of amusement at how odd she could be, how hard to get along with, with one so programmed in
her reactions and personality.
"It is not… quite fair, don't you think?" Hands clasped in front of her, an even gait beside him. "I am afraid I will not be able to meet the emotional needs of the animal, it's need for more expressive human companionship, and thusly, I am afraid it is not fair of me to exercise the control over it to name it, especially when I may, at any time, be forced to abandon it."
Her voice was light, but it was undertoned heavy, an out of sorts combination.
--
His chin tilted down; his eyes somewhat obscured by the way the sunlight hit his lenses. He took on a practical, rather cold tone: "No, it isn't quite fair. If you had those reservations, however, you ... shouldn't have kept the cat in the first place. For the reason that I may leave at any time, I have not adopted a pet. You do have one, however,"
Here, he looked at her, and his words softened. "However, Kurotsuchi-san, and so I believe that you ought to name the animal. Cats do not require as much human companionship as you may think, and if you let it out now and again, it could find it. In the meantime, you should-- that, if it pleases you, you might name it."
Realizing a need to do as much, he took care not to tell her to do it, to make it an order or lecture, but more a suggestion that she might take it. With a few more steps, he reached, his hand closes around the shop door's handle, and he pulled the door open for her.
--
"The animal was… given to me. I was told to care for it, I would not have, normally, tried to take care of a living creature-" She tried to protest a bit, that she would be so callous as to try and adopt a pet that needed love, when she almost thought herself unable to provide it, understand it, convey it, and her real reason for it she kept hidden.
If Mayuri-sama returns, the cat will die. The fish had died, and the guilt in that ate at her, in some odd portion of her being, that a living creature that had relied on her for life and protection had died in her care, even though truly it could not be blamed on her, could be blamed on her father but how could she ever blame him for the death of a fish?
"… If I find a name I find pleasing. Perhaps." She conceded after a moment, taking the entrance he offered her and stepping past him with a small bow.
--
Ishida had not meant to be harsh -- or, he had, it would be erroneous to claim he had been innocent in his criticism, for criticism was criticism. But her explanation should have been obvious from the start.
"Of course," he interjected, not as smoothly as he would have liked. His mouth found an earnest, if awfully nervous smile. It was made a little worse by her bowing, an act which made him feel both terribly important and yet, even more nervous, as girls didn't do that for him. He followed her into the store, and followed their previous train of conversation only to end it.
"If you do, let me know. Now!" Ishida turned his focus to the shop, glasses glinting in an almost ominous, hungry way as he considered the racks. A lurching stride prompted him toward the dresses. "Let's begin! I believe Kurotsuchi-san said blue...?"
--
"Ah…" She trailed off, caught off guard by "let me know". Surely he did not wish any contact with her after this, he could not, his promise- No, she had been mistaken, except she had not been because Kurotsuchi Nemu did not mishear, but she had to have, because for him to have said that would be to imply he planned on talking to her again, associating with her, a shinigami, once this was over and she could not afford such thoughts.
She filed it away as a mere polite response, automatic and without meaning.
"Blue is a nice color." The fake shinigami murmured, following him quietly, smooth, graceful movement behind his lurching gait, hands still clasped before her. She had selected blue because it was the opposite of red, the color of the choker Mayuri-sama had given her, and the one she had thrown away.
--
It had been an absent-minded, automatic response, but not insincere. Though Ishida was not quite prepared to fully acknowledge the weight of those words, time in the City and certain curses had given him cause to seek new loopholes, especially in regard to Kurotsuchi-san. If she would be so frequently good to him, in ways he suspected he could not tally...
"I agree," Ishida replied, now unable to keep an eager tone from his voice. His approval was sharp, like the plunge of a needle into the cloth, his fingers matter-of-fact pincers that took some white garment into consideration. "Also -- white, it might be nice to find something very different from what you normally wear."
That very different also signified very different from Shinigami garb, well -- Ishida didn't feel he had to draw attention to it. It was cold, so the shop had accordingly a selection of longer dresses, longer sleeves, thicker cloths. He toyed with one, a soft blue, three-fourth sleeves and a skirt that fell to just below the knee. Taking the hangar, he held it out from his body and toward but not against hers.
"What do you think?"
--
She watched him quietely, did not wish to disturb the, as it seemed to her, extremely intense process in which he was now involved, for he seemed that focused on it that it took on an importance unlike she would normally assign it. Her eyes calmly looked over the garment,
the color, the cut, and it did look "nice".
"It looks nice." She offered, not so helpfully. She was unsure of prodocal, in this sort of thing, shopping, as she was unaware of things such as how they fit and hung and looked. "I am afraid, however, I can offer no other opinion beyond that, as I am not skilled in appraising body type, appropriate cut, or aesthetics beyond the garment itself." She had never looked at a garment and considered how it would look on her, she had never considered the shape of her own body beside's it's purpose, and she had never truly shopped.
--
Ishida could see the problem. He could not claim to know a great deal about her life as a shinigami, her life before the City, her life serving Kurotsuchi Mayuri. He could, however, conjecture with some certainty, as to what it did entail, and that was a distinct lack of
personal choice and opinion. Even identifying the problem, it was hard not to feel a little discouraged by her response.
He did not, he thought, let himself visibly deflate. If his shoulders slumped a bit, the dress dropping a half-inch, that could hardly be held against him.
"No," he allowed, eyes thoughtful behind his glasses, "of course not." But, not to be discouraged! To be brisk, ever rigid in his task! "But, do you -- do you like it? I mean ... not merely appraising its value by color and cut, but personally, do you ... prefer it, over, maybe, what you are currently wearing?"
--
"That would depend." She could curse her words, sometimes, in that way they came out, so detached, so clinical, so cold and uncaring in their purely scientific tint. Could she blame it on that, on, "how she had been made"? Perhaps, and perhaps not.
"What I am wearing is warmer. If I am caring more about my body temperature I would select this one. However, that one is more aesthetically pleasing in cut and color, it is… "lighter" in spirit than what I am wearing, as it could be called "drab"." The shinigami looked down at herself, eyes followed the swell of bosom down to hips, to long legs. "In addition, I am not trained to properly asses my own aesthetic, so I do not know if I could accurately predict which one,ah…" Nemu paused, looking for the right word, a very slight furrow in her brow as she searched for it, looking back up at him.
"… Looked better on me?" She finished weakly, unsure if she had selected the correct phrase for what she was trying to convey, that she had never had a care for her appearance, never had to have one.
--
Terribly technical replies, and again Ishida was forced to fight a certain sense of defeat. Had he been honest with himself from the beginning, he might have acknowledged that this mission of his was a hopeless one. Had he been blunt, he would have knew it outright. But this defeat was not something he could accept. Ishida raised a hand to his glasses, adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.
"You make fine points, Kurotsuchi-san," he said, and considered the garment. This would be difficult, and it was hard to say what approach would be best. " ... This may be a good place to start, then."
Ishida certainly liked it more, and that was a start. If she was inexperienced in thinking of objects and things in terms how she liked them, then, it was a matter of starting her in that direction, however long it took. Ishida knew himself equal to the task, and set his shoulders for it, raised his chin importantly, and with no small amount of grandeur, handed her the dress.
"Go try that on. I'll pick a few more out and bring them over." A command, though he had not meant to give her any, and Ishida returned his busy attention to the rack. He had secured her measurements before this, and selected a woolen, white sweater dress almost immediately,
as well as a tube-like dark blue affair.
--
Of course she did. Nemu liked to think she always made fine points, it would be silly of her, to make not fine points, for what would be the point of making them?
The commanding tone of voice, even from him, was something she could be accustomed to, taking orders. Being in this City had always left her with a sort of loss, a loss of precense of something she was used to. Orders. Nemu, you useless woman. Without that, the
rebukes, the criticisms, the orders, instructions, routine… she became almost blank, unable to comprehend filling her own emptiness.
Mechanically she proceeded to a dressing room, closed the door with a soft click and delicately slipped out of her heels, calmly undid the collar of her dress, the small zipper in the back and slipped it off, another soft noise, the rustle of fabric, as she shrugged out of her dress, sparing not even a glance in the mirror provided, as most women were want to do even unconsciously, a quick look that would reveal to her the slender form she possessed, made to respond and fight and serve, didn't even mind for it, automatically stepping into the next garment and putting it on.
--
White, blue, a green, off-white, turquoise. Before Ishida let himself a moment to properly pause and consider his selections, his arms were quite full, and he could only just maneuver to the dressing room. Adjusting the soft, new-scented clothes in his arms, he managed to free enough of his left knuckle to rap on the one occupied door.
"Kurotsuchi-san?" He asked, "Have you changed? I've selected a few more of, I think, pleasing color. I've leaned toward all manner of different styles, at least that can be found for this season, but, ah, you shouldn't hesitate to say if you think one might be improper."
As if she would volunteer that criticism; Ishida knew better, but persisted in holding the cloth over his eyes. As if, if he treated her long enough like the average girl, she might come to fit that mold -- a perspective that did not make him much better than a certain captain, but these were not thoughts he allowed himself.
--
"Ah… thank you, Ishida U-" Nemu paused, one hand against the lock on the door, the other in her hair. She had finally taken a look in the mirror, and much to her surprise a thought had crossed her mind, that a braid, so severe, seemed… out of place, with this piece of clothing,
pale fingers slowly untangling the long, curling waves of black that cascaded down her back when not tied tight, took a brief moment to pause and place her forehead against the paneling, closing her eyes, dark and somewhat… blank.
"Ishida… san?" She finished, hesitant, opening her eyes again and opening the door, bowing slightly once more upon seeing the many garments he had selected. To have someone go to all that trouble for her was something she was not accustomed too, especially not outside
the few shinigami that treated her kindly, or, at the very least, as something beyond the somewhat creepy daughter of a rather creepy captain.
"I am afraid I cannot accurately describe how I feel about this garment in anything but specific terms. It does not offend my skin tone, ah, it does not feel uncomfortable… it… fits?" That was about all she could say with definitive fact, and she did not often step beyond the realm of fact.
--
Waiting outside, Ishida could not guess as to what caused the delay, the break in her words. He looked at the door, his arms not buckling or strained beneath the wait of the draped dresses. His head tilted, just so, but little else; his mind wandered to the possibility of sweaters. He wondered if she owned a jacket. Little questions, little matters, yet Ishida wondered if anyone had thought to think of them for she who would not think them for herself.
Ishida blinked with surprise as she opened the door, Kurotsuchi Nemu, the shinigami daughter of the most hated of all shinigami. She looked entirely different, except in her expression, but he could not study that as she bowed. As she bowed, he could fight against the blush that began to crawl up his neck at his immediate thought, that she looked beautiful.
He found his voice in due time, something officious, matter-of-fact, but also proud. Almost kind. "That's fine, Kurotsuchi-san. One step at a time, that always produces the best results, correct? It doesn't do to rush. It looks ..." fight the heat, logic, to fact. "very nice on you. If you could at least offer whether or not ... you prefer it to what you normally wear?"
Even as he spoke, he held out the dresses, meaning that she should hang a few on the waiting hooks inside the room.
--
"Thank you." You thanked people for compliments, Nemu knew that, it was polite and it was proper and so she did it, would thank even an Arrancar, if an Arrancar saw fit to tell her she was beautiful. Of course, only one had ever come close, and then, it had been much more cold in tone, that, she, at the very least, had an appeal in comparison to certain Arrancar females of the more promiscuous variety and that had been the closest he'd ever complimented her on her appearance, but-
A slightly sad expression crossed her face, brief and haunted, before it was quietly suppressed. When she turned back from hanging the clothing on the hooks, she was the same as before.
"… Prefer?" What did she prefer? "It is not as practical as my uniform," She began. "But… I only have one uniform, and washing it so many times a weak is… impractical, and if I had a day when I did not think the likelihood of being attacked was high, or if I planned to stay inside, or, perhaps, if I… somehow… I had a social event to attend…" The thought of that was somehow amusing. "This may be preferable."
--
Curious, that fleeting difference in her face. Ishida would never have noticed something so slight, except with her, given how rare a significant change was in the comparative. But there was no natural way to draw attention to it, especially with its emotional connotation.
He would not grimace at her response, though he could feel it pulling at his facial features, wanting them taut with it. It was best to remain optimistic in this situation, he knew, though optimism had never been his forte or even very highly valued. Was he a fool for doing this? Indubitably. So be it.
"Yes," he assented, "it hardly needs to be pointed out, the wisdom of having more than one thing to wear. ... However, when I spoke of preferring it, I did not mean its utility. Though, of course, clothing serves at the most basic level the function of covering, of protecting one from the elements and so forth, when I asked if you preferred it, I meant how it looked. Do you like the color better? Do you like the way it looks?"
Opening, of course, the can of worms of Like.
--
"I…" Nemu struggled a bit, with the desire to lie to him, to tell him, yes, honestly, truly, she liked it, she did, she did, but… she did not like to lie, and to lie to this boy would be so blasphemous she did not know if she even could, should, would, and yet-
"I do not… truly have a preference in what I like. If I were to continue wearing my uniform daily, it would be find, and if I had a choice and was able to wear something even different every day, things like this, I would be fine, and…" She paused, another struggle, hands clasping habitually in front of her, wringing slightly.
"If I were to like… things, if I were to prefer things in this manner, I think, perhaps, I would like this."
--
The irresistable force, the unmovable object.
Standing there, in front of a dressing room door in a women's clothing boutique, his free arms recently laden with dresses of all kind, Ishida began to get a stronger sense of his own absurdity. It was in the way her hands grasped one another, the twist together of her fingers. The aversion in her eyes. It was, mostly, her words, and her tone.
This may not have been the best way to go about this, repaying his debt. That it struck him as atrocious that she had no preference and a single outfit, that for him it was one way ... Ishida shook his head, the tension in his shoulders slackened in his brief, short dismay and making them sag, his own eyes not searching for hers, watching her hands.
"Ah," he said, not wanting to sound disappointed, but unable to sound else-- perhaps frustrated, for he began to feel a fool. It was in that that his resistance would strike. Ishida Uryuu, be a fool? "That's -- fine."
Build up resolve! Ishida Uryuu looked quickly up at her, quickly went for her eyes, a reassurance in his ego's persistence. The irresistible force! "Of course it -- hah, what should I expect? After that man, of course it wouldn't be easy. That's fine, Kurotsuchi-san. We'll discover what you like, yet. There's no need to rush it. Try those, and... even if you only prefer a few in terms of their utility, that's fine."
--
"I…" A futile expression crossed her face, and her fingers wrung tightly, joints cracked, and ever so slightly her bottom lip moved, something like a tremble and her mouth opened, closed, opened-
"My father-" She wanted to protest, insist he had nothing do with it, that he had nothing to do with the fact that this-
But he did, and…
"I'll go try these on, alright, Ishida… san?" Nemu smiled mournfully, strained and bordering upset, rather, as upset as she could be over something like that, rather, upset that she was seemingly making him upset, retreating quickly into the dressing room.
--
Watching her back retreat, watching the door close, Ishida had another sense of his own failure. That he could not accept it may have been a problem, that he would keep trying, that the definition of insanity to some might be trying the same thing again and again while expecting different results. He would blame her "father", and need to try and overcome some piece of his work, for better or for worse.
Don't feel as if you have to, he wanted to say, began to say, the words forming around his tongue (it's fine, just be yourself, this doesn't need to work yet). Instead he turned to search for the sweater section. He might, at least, pick her out a few in the meantime.
--
She gathered her wits by looking in the mirror. She made herself look, caught her own gaze and explored herself. Dark eyes, potentially expressive and soft, more soft and subservient, blank in their willingness to follow orders, to be told what to think and what to feel, what to like, what to wear, slowly running the pads of her fingers over the fabric. A stern mouth, potentially soft as well, but drawn thin and sullen, brows potentially smooth but slightly furrowed by thought and worry. She admired herself in the way someone would look upon a body in a casket at a viewing, as one would mourn something, listening for the sounds of his footsteps retreating before she began trying on garments, slipping into them just as silently, breathing slow, trying, trying to wonder if she looked nice in them, but the idea of asking herself that question, of caring if she looked nice or not, was so foreign to her she almost couldn't do it, ended up going back to the first one, staring at it in her hands and opening the door a crack to see if he wished her to try on anything else, a dress up doll with a false soul.
--
He had not taken long, reached the rack and pulled a few without properly looking at them. The expression in her eyes before he had found himself looking at her back, the small movements of her hands, these things stayed with him, images in the back of his mind, reversed on his retina and distorting his focus of knitted pattern. With only two, one white and one blue and both with deplorable buttons, he redirected his steps to that room.
The set of his chin, the grip of his muscles in his jaw, the angle of his shoulders; not same to as they had been. Hesitation did not cling to the heels of his feet, nor dread, but that lingering atmosphere of futility. He looked at the door, saw it somewhat open-- looked, eagerly, for the hint of the dress, and instead noticed only her undergarments.
His mouth clamped tightly shut, and a red glow swam up his neck, suffused his cheeks, and very quickly he turned his back. "K-Kurotsuchi-san!" A gasp, his arms spasmodic and over his eyes, the two sweaters hanging at odd angles. "Why are you--?!"
--
"I tried them on." She answered softly, looking down, the hint of thigh, a small hint of breast hidden by black undergarments, and stepped back a little, so that only half her face peeked out from the dressing room accompanied by a pale white arm braced on doorframe, forgetting for a moment that most people had a certain stigma of shame attached to their bodies, let alone those of the opposite sex.
"Would you like me to try those?" The Shinigami tried to calm him by not mentioning it or apologizing for her inadvertent something-like-exposure, the bare arm reaching out, palm up, for him to hand the garments over.
--
Protests: he would have liked to see them; the reality: that it probably didn't matter one way or another. He thought to ask if she had liked any of them, and thought better of it in the next instant. Holding the sweaters back to her, Ishida inhaled a thin stream of air into, through his nose. "Ah-ah sure, but --- it might be better if you wear one of the dresses with them. T-the first one?"
Ishida pivoted, then, forced himself to face her, to face his handiwork. It was difficult not to feel every bit of resistance flood from his body, every bit of will to this. His eyes softened, eyelids
drooping, behind his glasses. "But, Kurotsuchi-san, if you do not ..."
Did it presume to much? To ask if she wanted? His teeth clenched, working in his mouth, his jaw strained. It was terrible to think that she couldn't. "If you do not want to continue, that's --- fine." That damned word. He breathed, looked away, fighting shame, unable to step down and apologize.
--
She would have been so sad if he had apologized, she did not want him to ever apologize to her, not to her, when she owed him so much already. He, the only one, no, not the only one now, but the very first to look her in the eye and tell her, not so much in words, but action, that she was worth more than this, that she needn't obey Mayuri-sama, that everything she had ever known could possibly by a lie.
"Ishida… san. One moment, please." She ducked back into the dressing room, struggling for words as she redonned the light blue dress, smoothed wrinkles and slipped into the darker blue sweater, opening the door fully and slowly presenting herself, the garment, hands clasped once more before her, curls of long, heavy black hair around her shoulders, framing her face and softening it, more than her severe braid.
"I cannot… I have difficulty, doing these… "normal" things, such as this." Nemu began tentatively. "I have no experience with them, and I am unaccustomed to the freedom to choose in this manner, and I apologize how trying that must be for you, but-" She paused again, not
gathering courage, it was not courage that she lacked, not fear or cowardice or gumption she was struggling with, not shame, but a gentle and undeniable concern for his welfare, for his feelings and for him, to want him to be happy and succeed and do everything he wished, this person who could tell her that she was worth more than someone like Mayuri-sama-
"But for you to willingly spend time in my presence, to put up with my abominable lack of social conditioning and grace, even with what Mayuri-sama has done to you, I have done to you-" She halted, ducking her head. "It makes me very… happy."
--
Ishida was taken aback by this. With surprise, first, did he regard this -- the surprise that rose up after that of, again, observing how nice she looked, how flattering was the blue, this change in her hairstyle, the way her hair waved and caught little gleams of artificial light, a freedom that belied how stiff was her interior.
His surprise changed, from a patient waiting to tell her that it was all right, that he understood, that it was He who was abominable for forcing this on her, merely to suit his own tastes. It changed, became at a loss, of how to handle the magnitude of what she aid. It was, in some ways, reminiscent of the Thunderwitch at those times when he was confronted with the full force of her bizarre obsession with him. This was not the same -- Kurotsuchi-san was clearly not obsessed, or, at least, he would not read that. But for her to outright say that to spend time with him made him happy, well
--
Never mind women. No one said that sort of thing to him, and Ishida's aplomb, his ever-striving toward cool exteriors and composure, soared out a window and left him red-faced and befuddled. He thought much of himself, and yet, very little.
"I -- make you happy?" He asked, one hand on his hot neck as his mind wrapped and wrapped around the concept, with little effect. "That's...and I'd thought I'd been making a mess of things. Because -- Kurotsuchi-san, you are much too hard on yourself. You ... I'm the one at fault, here."
Exhale, it being difficult to look directly at her. Ishida thought much of himself, but he knew it couldn't be right for her to place so much importance on him, and he struggled with a way to identify the proper words to express it.
--
She supposed if she had opened her mouth in that moment, she may have messed up. She did not wish to blunder, no, far from it, and so she lifted her head and smiled, a sincere smile, small and tremulous, but true. Happy.
She was not obsessed with the Quincy, as the Thunderwitch had latched onto him as the object of her shame, the proof of her degradation, no, to her he was something precious, but something she would never possess, never be able to get close to. She would help him from afar, be of assistance to him and make sure she would do everything she could to prevent his injury, his death, but she was well aware that she could probably never be part of his world, part of his anything, she would be silent in the edge of his vision, silently protecting the one person who had, without selfish motivation, without reserve, without fear, told her that she was worth more than Mayuri-sama's heel.
"Ah…" She twirled slow, unclasped her hands and held them from her body, a slight shimmer as her hair shifted with the motion, dress hem swirling out just briefly. "Does it, ah… look… good?"
--
"Yes," he returned, without hesitation, a gentle confidence in his tone. "It looks very good. You look beautiful, Kurotsuchi-san."
Ishida only blushed a little to say it, it the honest truth, to look at the way the dress fell and her waves of hair sat against her shoulders, and the snug hold of the sweater. It complimented nicely,
if he did say so himself, did flatter his eye so far -- and if he was relieved, a little grateful, to know that she might have been pretending and only for his sake ... he would ignore the guilt for the time being.
"Then ..." He was no closer to knowing her preferred style or color, no, but he could pretend as well, and take that as a basis for designing her something. "I believe we're finished. Ah -- select two dresses? With the sweaters. I'll take care of it, at the counter, then ... are you hungry?"
--
"Thank you." The automatic response, but it was truthful, for him to say a nice thing about her meant more than if any other person would say such a thing, because- Ah, well, just because. She supposed she needn't have too many reasons. She wondered what Mayuri-sama would thi-
She decided not to do that.
"Of course." She murmured gratefully, knew it would have been socially rude to insist on paying for them herself, on asking if he were sure and returned to the selection, thin fingers selecting two others, one white, one black, and the blue, changing back into her own
clothing and returning to a step behind him, the garments tucked over her arm, smiling a little. She hadn't redone her braid.
"I… would like that."
--
"There's no need to thank me," Ishida retorted, his own automatic response, though not less truthful. Should he be thanked for paying her a compliment, but not one based on a white lie? (A part of him said yes, of course, but another, one that faltered with Kurotsuchi-san, denied it).
With a smile for her, he took the clothing selected and approached the counter, pleased at the way her hair looked, even with the black dress. It, at least, indicated a willful action on her part, the decision to undo the braid, a whim of what he would consider no small promise. Standing there, watching his hard earned City money disappear into bags of soft fabric and pleasant colors, Ishida could not judge this experiment as a total failure, even if through the strictest of eyes it must be. Perhaps he was closer to repaying his debt after all.
"Good," he said, replacing his wallet into his shoulder bag. "As would I."
--
Nemu watched carefully, stifled again the desire to ask to pay for them, considering she never bought such things, bought only food she had a large amount of money still in safekeeping, but-
She stayed silent, offering only another small smile for the Quincy.
She would not consider this anything remotely like a failure.
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