tampered | log | ongoing

When; Last... week. Ahem. Evening of the 25th.
Rating; ...PG? Or whatever Ichigo's potty mouth counts for.
Characters; Kurosaki Ichigo [

strawberried] and Kuchiki Rukia [

wingstock]
Summary; After Rukia returns without her memories, Ishida drops her off at Ichigo's place. Shenanigans and angst ensue. Or something.
Log;

In theory, Ichigo should've been prepared for something like this. But shit, since when had this City ever bothered sparing his feelings before? It'd already done this once, and apparently doing it again was just a matter of course. For shits and giggles. Shits and amnesia giggles.

With a muttered swear, he raked a hand through his hair, then glanced back at Rukia, standing in his doorway. Fuck this shit. Fuck this City. Fuck his life. Rukia had forgotten everything, and they were back to square one. Was it even worth it to try again, only to have her forget again? Was it worth it, when she might just push him away again with something too fucking much like regret?

While he was at it, fuck Rukia too. This whole thing was bullshit.

Hamlet whined softly at his side, turning his head to nudge his nose against Ichigo's leg. Well, more like his hip, considering how fucking huge the dog was now, but close enough. Ichigo scowled at him, eyes mostly unfocused, and without looking at Rukia, laid a hand on Hamlet's head.

"So, uh... Ishida gave you the rundown, right?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yes," she replied, one arm bent, hand around her opposite arm as she just stood there, still taking in the very normal surroundings, the very normal apartment and its as-normal-as-he-could-ever-possibly-be Ichigo. It wasn't awkward, because this was Ichigo and this was Rukia, and if any two people were accustomed to each other at this point, it would be this pair. However, upon being unceremoniously dropped into this pocket of time and space and place, Rukia was less than well composed. Still adjusting, she could not help but shift her weight a little before walking in and just looking around, as if she expected to wake up at any moment.

Where was her brother? Where was Renji? Where were the others? The war?

What power could possibly have brought them here?

Ishida had already made it perfectly clear how pointless such pondering was, but she pondered anyway, not one to necessarily defer to another's opinion so quickly.

"I can't believe I don't remember being here," she said at last, hand resting lightly on the kitchen counter she had wandered over to, eyes going to the ceiling, to the far wall, and finally back to Ichigo with Hamlet still at his side.

Well, at least she could still make him feel really goddamn uncomfortable. Some things really didn't change.

Looking up again, he watched her wander around his apartment without a single twinge of recollection, as if she was walking through here for the very first time--which, to her, she was. If he didn't quite believe it before--or didn't want to believe it, whatever--then he certainly had to face the truth now: she didn't remember a thing. And it wasn't just because she'd just said as much; it was because she didn't recognize his apartment at all. Or Hamlet, for that matter.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, crossing his arms and trying to hide his disappointment behind a deep scowl--maybe disappointment wasn't strong enough a word, but he sure as hell wasn't going to come up with one. He was just fine with letting his anger stretch on and overshadow the whatever-it-was for now.

"It happens a lot," he said stiffly. "Sometimes you forget when you come back, and sometimes you don't."

"That's what he said," she nodded, thoughtful, a bit critical too. She was aware of her captain's presence here, as well as a few others by mention, both enemy and ally. Oddly enough it did not unsettle her so much to be here, as it unsettled her to think of how long she might be stuck in this place. Some people had been here years, apparently and no one in their home worlds the wiser, from what she could surmise. A list of things to do or ascertain had begun in her head a while ago, priorities at the top of this list ranging from things such as better understanding who and what the 'deities' were to learning everything she could about the City itself. These things she kept to herself, there being no need to share lack of information.

Turning to look back at Ichigo, she paused in her look only a moment before continuing through the apartment until she found what was unmistakably Ichigo's room. It was a second or two of staring later that found Rukia climbing comfortably into the closet, only to climb back out again and call back to her automatic host, "Where are the extra blankets?"

The ease with which she found his room both relieved and bothered him; she still had no qualms at all about moving right into his closet, as if she'd belonged there all along. But there was also a time when she'd migrated from his closet to his bed, and in his mind, she belonged there too.

"I got some here," he said, following her halfway down the hall before scrounging around in the closet there for an extra blanket. Would it be weird, having her sleep just a door away?

Who the hell was he kidding. Of course it would be fucking weird. As if it wasn't already fucking weird. Did she notice? Should he tell her?

What the fuck was wrong with him? She didn't need to know. He didn't want to tell her. Not yet. Maybe not ever again, if this is what he got for his efforts. But knowing this City, she'd probably figure it out somehow, since that was just the way his luck worked. But at the moment, he just couldn't give a shit about how she would react or if she'd kick him or even if she'd ignore him for a month without telling him why.

When Hamlet nudged his hip again--nearly bowling Ichigo over--he realized he'd been staring at the blankets in his hands for a solid half a minute, and with a scowl, got back to delivering them to Rukia. So she could stay in his closet. In his closet. For the night.

"Here."

Accepting the covers with a mild look of unreadable thoughts, Rukia set about making the closet into her usual pocket of comfort, all the while noting Ichigo's behavior, the slightly awkward jilt to his words and his movements. An actor, he would never be, but that might be fortunate for the acting world, all things considered. Lips thinning as she pressed them together, deciding whether she wanted to sleep this way or that, it occurred to her that the substitute had no idea that she already knew--her mind fumbled with the words--about them. Whatever 'them' meant.

Methodically, she unfolded the blankets, laying them out, a few for beneath and one for over, wondering if it would benefit him more for her to say anything or nothing. Not able to come to a clear opinion on it herself, she refrained for the moment, sitting on top of her handiwork and peering out at him silently for a moment. She still couldn't quite fathom how that had all come about in the first place. It seemed irresponsible of her at best, strange, if not wholly unexpected. Just barely, she kept from scowling.

"You seem troubled," she said at last, willing to inch around the subject, even for a few minutes, and curious in spite of herself. It was not terribly honest of her to treat it this way, but she did it anyway, folding her hands in her lap and waiting for a reply, supposing he was going to give her one.

When she took the blankets, Ichigo made his way over to his bed, opposite the closet, and sat down heavily--it was supposed to be casual, but he was scowling a little too much for it. From this position, they were about eye level from across the small room, an echo of the one he had over their clinic in Karakura, all the furniture in almost the exact same places, everything relatively neat and organized, for a high school boy's room. Though, he wouldn't technically be a high schooler anymore, with the year and a half he'd spent in the City.

What a fucking snafu. And here was Rukia, poking into things he didn't want her poking into. Typical.

"I've been stuck here forfuckingever," he said, crossing his arms, not really looking her in the eye. It was only the tip of the iceburg, but he was never very good at lying, which was why he used to make sure that people never asked. And nothing stopped flying with Rukia a long, long time ago. "You do the math."

log | ongoing

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject