Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Pochi ❯ Pochi ( Chapter 1 )

Pochi

 

“Ne, Ken-chan, ne!”

 

Zaraki grunted irritably, not bothering to look up from his desk. He hoped Yachiru didn't want anything - he was in no mood for any more shit today. First he hadn't been able to find his eye patch in the morning, so he'd had to go to work without it. Unfortunately, the uncontrollable pressure of his reiatsu had subsequently caused his fourth-seat to crap his pants, leaving all the paperwork for Yumichika to do. The fruitcake had taken one look at that mountain of forms to sign and had promptly waltzed out of the building, declaring over his shoulder that although he so wished he could help taichou, unfortunately he had more pressing, more beautiful pastimes to pursue, whatever the hell those were.

 

Unfortunately for Zaraki, Yumichika's departure had been immediately followed by Ikkaku's loud and panicked entrance. The bald man had barely gotten his waxed head through the door before he started shouting at the top of his lungs about how there wasn't any beer left in the cellar since the pansy-ass new recruit who usually kept the alcohol reserves well-stocked was on sick leave, and how the hell was he supposed to work without being at the very least buzzed? Half the division in their desperation had barged into the office hot on Madarame's heels, and Zaraki had had no choice but to fling a paperweight at the bald idiot's head to get them all to shut the hell up. (The rest of the loud-asses had promptly and swiftly shut their mouths, picked up Ikkaku's unconscious form, and filed out, but not before a massive headache had already formed at Zaraki's temples. It had taken a full hour and several swigs of his emergency stash of hard liquor for that to finally subside.)

 

And now, here he was, trying to finish in five minutes the weekly report that shitty old man Yamamoto required of every captain. Of course Yachiru had to want something now, while he was hastily filling out that stupid report which was due at the captain's meeting that he was already twenty minutes late for. He didn't stop writing or look up even as he felt the familiar weight on his shoulder.

 

“Ken-chan!”

 

Great. Now she was sounding pouty. He decided to cut to the chase and just answer. Still writing, he grunted out a reply.

 

“What is it, brat?”

 

“Ne, Ken-chan, look what I found! It's a cute little furry! Can I keep it?”

 

Cursing under his breath as his hand cramped up, Zaraki waved his free hand distractedly.

 

“Yea, whatever.”

 

“Waaaaaaiii! Ken-chan said yes! Yaaaaay! That means Pochi can stay!”

 

Her only response was a noncommittal grunt.

 

“Ne, Ken-chan, didja know? I caught Pochi all on my own! He's pretty strong for a furry, ya know, but I got `im in the end! You wanna see? Look, Ken-chan, look! Look what Pochi can do!”

 

Another grunt.

 

“Ken-chan, look! See? See? He's cute, ne?”

 

No response, except for the swishing noise of a brush writing on paper and the sound of muttered curses.

 

“Ken-chan,” she whined. “You didn't look!”

 

A pause, and then...

 

“Done!” Zaraki growled triumphantly and finally stopped writing. He grinned. Ha! Shitty old Yama-jii could stuff that high-and-mighty procrastinating-is-bad speech up his -

 

“C'mon, Ken-chan, look at Pochi!”

 

Glancing over his shoulder in the direction that Yachiru was pointing, Kenpachi blinked.

 

He took one look at furry Komamura-taichou lying on the floor of his office - one eye covered by his missing reiatsu-sucking eye patch, hands and feet bound with that new indestructible rope that asshole Kurotsuchi had been going on about yesterday - and Zaraki broke helplessly into peals of hysterical sadistic laughter.

 

At least now he knew he wasn't the only one who was gonna be late for the meeting. Eyes lighting up with an idea, he waved over Yachiru.

 

“Hey brat, you gotta leash?”

 

She smiled back at him happily. “Nope, but I got some more rope!”

 

Zaraki grinned. The least he could do as an apology to his fellow captain was get the poor fellow some (relatively) pain-free transportation to the meeting.

 

“Give it here,” he answered easily, grin turning menacing.

 

Taking the leftover rope from the brat and padding over to where the esteemed seventh-division captain lay, Zaraki caught the fox-man's terror-stricken eye and felt a happy glow warm the blackened pit that was his soul.

 

It was good to be alive.

 

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