Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ After Never ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, which does belong to the awesomeness of Tite Kubo. Many thanks for the creation for cause of such a fandom as Bleach.

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With airs of boredom, Matsumoto scanned the darkened ballroom. At a lonesome table, she leaned her back against the wall, draping a free arm over the chair back, legs crossed, the spike of her heel poised ready just in case an impaling became mandatory. Suits and ball dresses swept across the floor in the dazzling shutter affect of lights and multi-colored rotating bulbs. It made her, clothed in a suede black top with an open silver drop beneath the collar that showed a sample of her bosom and simple black suit pants covering a portion of the endearing tangle of decorated straps on her shoes, rather underdressed for the occasion.

A pair of women sashayed by, their predatory eyes reflecting the passing lights like an animals', and with twin snarls twisting painted blood-red lips, they scurried past into the crowd where the mocking barks and howls mingled with the music and the steady bass beats. Matsumoto tipped her glass, rolling her eyes. Having to deal with jealous female shape shifters—fact proved Were's attraction was based entirely off the physique, no personality involved, which made sense considering their breeds were more animal than human—just contributed to the constant harassing presence of death permeating the room. Not death as in ghosts, no, those had a different taste, more pleasant to be truthful. Ghosts, if hovering anywhere inside this room Matsumoto would know; she could taste death, and the sweetness of ghosts—how sweet depending on the emotion caged inside the spirit—tasted much better than the salty flavor of the undead.

She hardly went around licking people to see how they tasted; rather she felt their essence first brush across her skin then coat the back of her tongue faintly. Overall she hardly enjoyed the experience; it always associated with these kinds of crowds: the rowdy, dangerous ones. But the job paid well and the maximum insurance coverage left her with empty assurance. For the most part the nasty nighters left her alone, knowing the official stamp she carried could rain down an ugly hell dressed in black leather with guns illegal if used otherwise. Matsumoto Rangiku was a name well enough known.

Tonight's assignment was simple: make sure no one had been too bad recently. How would she know? Ghosts had a funny habit of following the person-creature who killed them, hovering like an odor, sometimes moaning or whining, which did them no earthy good. Not many had the ability to see spirits. Without any physical evidence against them, agencies had to put their trust in the few like Matsumoto who could, in all sense, sniff out foul play. What made it even greater was that this method only worked on the Weres, not so much other humans, but the shape shifters did have some higher amount of spiritual draw where a ghost could attach to them instead of a building or roadside sign. Unless the human could see ghosts, which was another matter altogether. For some reason, the undead couldn't keep a hold on the ghost of a victim. Sometimes they left trace, but victims were normally never seen or heard of again except through the doors of the agency into the ears of family but never left their silenced mouths. It was all just a vicious cycle, and Matsumoto had fallen unwillingly into the mix.

She almost flipped her phone and dialed the number too report no incident when her skin thoroughly began to crawl. Tingling skittered up her arms to the top of her head, the sensation she got when confronted with numerous undead or when a rather powerful one entered her zone. With her skills leaning toward more living creatures, vampires, as well as zombies and everything else besides spirits since they couldn't do anything anyway, left her wide open. Vulnerability never set her jaw right and she always left quickly when it happened by, but this presence was slightly different than before. She sincerely hated their sour saltiness, the way they overpowered the ghosts she was there to search for, and how stronger essences always intermingled with each other if they were closely bonded. Sometimes they appeared as one being instead of two or maybe more, and occasionally they would completely cancel one other out, making tracking impossible and attack highly probable and deadly. Matsumoto would have left, screw the call she could make at home, when, following right after this vampire came the almost smothered scent of a ghost riding the tide of a Were.

Great.

From the feel of things, that Were was with the vampire, probably a paid lackey or warm bodyguard/emergency meal ticket. Even better. Run-ins such as these demanded a pass-and-go examination so head honcho couldn't be sure who ratted his man out. Even postponing a reconnaissance would lead the trail directly to Matsumoto since everyone already knew she was in the building when so-and-so showed up after having a late night human snack, who was then busted for it a week later and so on. She was in a pretty tight spot.

Checking her watch, it read half past twelve; still not late enough for her to call it a morning but early enough that she might get away with the report. She'd request a two week stall, maybe some surveillance so the bastard doesn't dine ultra fine again until he's taken down, and forget about the whole thing until her rounds brought her back to this table in this club with the same drink.

When she stood, tossing a strand of long hair back over her shoulder, she almost threw the glass just to add to the effect of all the stares, but saved the antics for another night. Clicking through the throngs, bodily screaming that whoever wanted a bite would get more than they would want to chew, she bee-lined for the far end of the club, avoiding the dancers even though a few songs didn't sound so bad, and the clusters of eerily silent vampires.

A cold, thin hand latched onto her ankle, and chilly breath raced up her calf. With some effort, Matsumoto angled an acute glance at the snickering vampires hiding in the shade of an alcove.

“I'm very sorry,” one of them purred, gliding forward to grasp the feral being by the heavy leather collar around its neck. “He's usually behaved, unless of course around humans. Best to be careful, hm?”

The vampire dragged his drooling pet away, its white eyes watching, bared teeth clacking and gnashing. He didn't keep a solid grip, purposefully since vampires' strength went unmatched for the most part, and the zombie lunged, hissing a low, nail-biting tremor that rattled the bones. Matsumoto, already aware of the intent, unhooked the steel blending in with her outfit, wondering what it took to kill a zombie when a gust of air puffed between her and her opponent. The zombie was gone, and the vampires frozen with open frustrated wariness.

“You can keep a tighter leash than that,” a smooth tenor cut like silk. “Tousen?”

A dark-skinned man, fairly tall and slender, emerged, heavy shades hiding his eyes and perfectly neat cornrows rolling from his head to his shoulders. Without much emphasis he replied. “It was taken care of.”

“Good,” Aizen Sousuke, well-renowned vampire, audaciously arrogant with the infuriating amount of power to back it up, incomparably hospitable to any species while at the same moment could very well be plotting death. His dark eyes appeared passive but could slice at once; they were without a doubt the most deadened thriving eyes, colder than the grave itself, and intimately whispered his true thoughts as his devil's tongue uttered words meant to soothe the soul. “Pet's should be easier controlled and not harm the guest.”

Matsumoto's would-be assailant nodded. “Of course. It was very ill mannered of me.” With a withering glare, he retreated. She'd rather he stayed and they bring that zombie and a half dozen more than face the man behind her.

Aizen clucked his tongue like he'd scolded naughty children. “It's a shame, these younger folk. They have no sense of mannerisms.”

“I've gotten worse,” Matsumoto replied. She turned around to face the man she'd heard so much about, only seen once from a distance, and never had the horror of making acquaintance with before. In her line of work, vampires were out of the picture except for cases like this, which always had a powerful sonofabitch at the top.

“I'm sure you have, but as long as you're under one of my roofs, consider yourself completely safe.”

What a lie; his eyes almost danced from their sockets with maleficent glee. “That's assuring and much appreciated. I would stay longer but I'm out past my curfew.”

Aizen nodded, almost bowing. “I understand, but let's have a small chat first. It'll only take a minute, and we've hardly properly introduced ourselves. I'm Aizen Sousuke. This,” he swept his arm, “is one my many establishments.”

“Matsumoto Rangiku,” she offered after a brief pause. “And let's leave it at that,” she smiled charmingly.

“I've heard that name passed around for a couple years now, but I've never had a face to the name.” He paused, studying her face before he stirred and motioned to his companion. “This is Tousen.”

More unpleasant chit-chat with Tousen, yet no establishing titles mentioned. He was either low ranking in whatever hierarchy Aizen had going for himself, or the information was strictly need-to-know. Either way, Matsumoto had already learned much about Aizen's counterparts and followers and she quite frankly couldn't care less. She wanted the hell out.

“From what I've gathered,” Aizen continued, “you have a very unique talent for spotting ghosts, if I'm correct?”

“That's right.”

“And you've already `bagged' a fair number of Were-creatures for such a short amount of time. Interesting. It's been some time since I've seen a talent like yours, though I've heard mention of another, a young boy perhaps, who's developing quite nicely. You wouldn't happen to know him?”

Apparently, he liked to talk. “No,” Matsumoto replied, fed up with the ridiculous see-through antics. “There's no official club for this line of abilities.”

“It's a shame, really. People of likenesses should collaborate and share ideas sometimes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The last time that happened about…a hundred years ago, nearly everyone was killed when the building collapsed.”

He smiled. “Unfortunate. But accidents happen to the best of people with the best of intentions. I believe those smart enough to understand when those intentions go too far for their own good are the ones who live the longest.”

Matsumoto had nothing to reply with except a silent nod, to which Aizen smiled again, broadly, eyes alive with unimaginable mirth. “I've kept you long enough. I'll have a silent escort see you safely outside. It was wonderful speaking with you, Matsumoto. Come see me again.”

Invitation not mutual, but she thanked him again anyway, quickly turning the direction she came from, towards the front door. Well, safety first they always said. She or someone else would chance a bead on the Were at some point. Without a face, she couldn't do much tonight.

She half expected Tousen to start silently trailing behind her, but he instead disappeared with Aizen, undoubtedly watching from somewhere, the bastards. Pondering just what silent escort really meant, the tingling of closing undead returned and from the familiar crowd of onlookers came the vampire who'd taken a thrashing from Aizen.

More fun.

Jaw tight, his narrowed accusing eyes simmered with authority associated with leaders of covens. “You've had your fun for the night, Seeker?” he sneered.

“Actually it was pretty boring. Well besides the whole zombie bit, but that's alright.”

“You're very unwise to carelessly banter with me after such conceit, embarrassing me in front of Aizen Sousuke and the rest of my people.”

Wow. “Look, it's not like I'd planned him showing up, though it was helpful after that deliberate little unfunny joke.”

Teeth bare, he hissed. “Arrogant humans don't live long here.”

“Funny thing cause neith'r do th' disobedient vampires, hm?” Ghosting from the side, yet another stepped carelessly in front of Matsumoto, almost intentionally ignoring her presence. His shock of silver hair reflected the bouncing lights, and all else she could glimpse from his profiled face was the half of a wide grin.

Frowning, for a moment Matsumoto thought this was just some vampire taking sides with the human as some of them do, but the mannerism and stance, the unyielding force of power, and fear shifting the others back told otherwise. Her silent escort, an accomplice of Aizen doing as he was told. Funny how her skin crawled more heavily with this one near.

“Ya got ta understa'd that much, runnin' yer own crowd.” He shooed them away. “Go on. Leave the Ms. Seek'r in some peace.”

No words this time; they all vanished.

“Ya don't know much `bout vampires, do ya?” he asked her without turning around.

Swallowing, she shook her head. “Not my department. They have people who handle that.”

The third of the infamous trio cocked his head to the side, grin nearly bursting from his face. “Ya want'd ta leave, didn't ya? Th' door's th's way.”

Matsumoto started forward, and he fell in step slightly behind her. “I guess `silent escort' is now out of the question?”

“Jus' makin' sure.”

“You're Ichimaru, aren't you?” The question sort of burst, and she almost regretted it. His smile and thinly slit eyes held true amusement.

“Ya heard `bout me?”

“I'm not sure who hasn't,” she tried to dismiss it.

“Well, I'm flatter'd.” He paused for a beat. “Ya gonna introduce yerself?”

She cut him a look. After giving Aizen her name, he'd find out eventually. But, having given Aizen her name, how could it get any worse? “Matsumoto.”

He hummed. “Jus' one name?”

“Do you just have one? That's all you gave me.”

“Gin.”

“Gin?”

“Yeah,” he grinned.

“Ichimaru Gin. Interesting. Matsumoto Rangiku.”

His eyes opened a bit more, but the lights canceled out their color, and his smirk changed as the door opened to the cool fall breeze. In the white glow of passing cars, signs, and streetlights his steamy-emerald and ice-cerulean-tainted eyes flashed from between jagged locks of hoary bangs. The slight inclined cock of his head pronounced the two round piercings accenting his ear and titled his ever-present mask of amusement. His white shirt's top two buttons rested undone underneath the coal black sports jacket, differentiating from Aizen and Tousen who both wore white suits personalized to taste. All three, however, marked their chest pockets with a wine-red kerchief.

Matsumoto prided herself by not bolting down the street, and ignored the fact that the display kept her feet from moving, though partially out of fear.

Ichimaru's amusement grew across his face and glittered darkly in his eyes. “Ya want me ta walk ya home?”

“Ah, no,” Matsumoto disagreed as he started moving forward without consent. “I'll be fine, but thanks. You don't have to bother.”

“Ain't a bother,” he shrugged.

She tried to smile, act thankful, and get far away. “Thanks anyway.”

“Yer patrol gonna swing ya back `round here anytime soon?”

That he understood the constant moving this job, even part-time, obligated for its workers didn't come as such a shock, but she stopped anyway, turning around to face his loosely-strung but highly alert body almost slouching as he stood in the doorway, music pumping behind him.

“I'm not sure,” she half-lied, “but it could happen.”

“When ya do, make sure ya find me.”

Oddly enough, her apartment didn't welcome her return and the silence oppressed rather jarringly compared to the noise she'd immersed herself in for the past four hours. Despite taking an Aspirin for a headache, Matsumoto flipped on the television, vowing to make the call tomorrow before her second move this month, and fell asleep watching a late night parade of police chasing a violent driver down the highway. She slept well into the morning, missing the latest news flash:

…another incident. Reports acknowledge that the corpse is in fact the head of a local small coven that has been known to remain at peace with the human populace and also retain a minority of the zombies in the area. Police have also noted that no hunters were assigned this vampire, and concluded that, by the sheer number and violence of the injuries, only another vampire could have done this. We have video feed of the scene and I would strongly advise any children and younger people be sent from the room as we pan the scene…

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And there you have it. For my first Bleach fic, I decided to leave it very simple to get the feel of my somewhat new fandom in the fic writing area. Haha! If you get the sensation of OOCness, then I apologize. It's just the first chapter, and I actually want to keep everyone in character. (I shamelessly think I did a fairly good job on at least a couple people…)

Reviews are appreciated! Criticism is welcomed! Flames will be chuckled at! Thank you for reading!