Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Zanpaku-to? ❯ Writing On Sand ( Chapter 45 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Tite Kubo owns Bleach.  I just borrowed the characters.  I do own Atonomatsuri (the bird) and Piecrust (the jerk).

The door had barely closed when Atonomatsuri began to talk.  The noise she made almost drowned out the slight click as the lock snicked into place.  He had no concern that the lock would prevent him from leaving if he felt like it.  If necessary he could break a wall, or destroy the door.  He’d only agreed to being locked up so he didn’t have to listen to another lecture about ‘duty’ or ‘proper Shinigami behaviour’.

Maybe this break would be good.  He wouldn’t be expected to do any paperwork or make decisions about the day to day things that went on in his division.  He could sleep and prepare for the challenge.

“Are you listening to me, Kenny?”

“What do you think?”

The bird sighed gustily and her irritation was noticeable.  “I won’t get angry,” she informed him, rage shaping her words.

“Because you already are…” He had originally framed it as a question, but it was obviously a statement.  She was already angry so she wouldn’t get angry.  The main possibility was that she would become increasingly angry and he’d react by getting annoyed.  This was going to be a great evening!  

“Tchah!”  The angry exclamation only proved his point.  Mentally he shrugged.  They’d been down this path before and he didn’t feel like humouring her again.

“Then I have only this to say, Kenny.  Read the rule book.  Read it carefully because if Kurotsuchi can find any loophole, he will use it.  Make certain you don’t give him cause.”  With a final audible snap of her beak, Atonomatsuri became quiet.

Read the damn rule book again?  Couldn’t he get a recording and listen to it while he slept so he didn’t have to listen to it while he was conscious?  If only it was possible, but it wasn’t.  He’d have to read the damn thing himself and try to make sense of the convoluted logic.  

A meal with a very small bottle of sake was delivered shortly after he began reading.  The food was fine, lots of rice, meat and vegetables with some wasabe and pickles.  The sake was smooth, but there wasn’t enough.  After eating he banged on the door.

“More sake or I’ll break out and get my own,” he told the guard and then smiled in an intimidating manner.

“I was advised not to respond to threats,” the man said nervously.

Zaraki laughed.  The man didn’t understand.  “I don’t make threats.  I give warnings.”

“You mean…” the guard paled significantly as Zaraki continued to laugh.  “You are the Kenpachi…” he added.  “Sir, I will obtain more sake but you will have to answer to the Commander-General.”

“Consider it done,” he replied as he closed the door.  Glumly he poured some tea while he waited for his drink.  Reading the rules for this ‘competition’ was dry work and he’d felt robbed on the previous night because he’d been pushed into rational thought by the bird.  It hadn’t mattered that he’d got to sleep early and relatively sober; he’d still arrived late and as a result been put into this comfortable cell.  There was no disguising that he was held against his will for the duration.

Recalling some of the discussion he’d had with Yachiru and Ayasewaga there was one thing he wanted to check.  If he managed to win a certain number of the challenges in a row then it would be over.  He scanned the pages speedily, only interrupted by the arrival of a medium size bottle of sake which was placed on his table without any words or explanation.  Rather than drinking fast, he poured and savoured the drink while he searched through the pages.  Then he found it.  Six.  If he won six in a row then the whole damned mess would be finalised and he could go home.  Even Kurotsuchi would have to accept that if Zaraki won six challenges in a row it would not be possible for the 12th Division Captain to win overall.  At most he could only win five.

A sudden thought made Zaraki flinch.  Today the challenge had ended in a disqualification and that might not be counted as a win.  He tried searching for that information and thought he’d found it but then read the additional part that had seemed too long and boring on the previous night.  There were conditions that existed providing for a disqualification to be considered a draw.  Reading through the information he wondered if this was the loophole the bird was hinting at.  

All the Captains and Assistant Captains could be asked to vote on whether the disqualification was valid if one of the challengers do requested.  A sudden rush of fury made him certain that this would happen.  

Rather than read any further he gulped the contents of the bottle and went to bed.  In trying to make the rules fair, the complications that arose became more intricate and intolerable.  

“Five more of these,” he thought the next day as he walked into the training ground.  This time the crowd had left one area clear for the contestants to walk through and as he walked a few people yelled encouragement.  The smile he wore was grim and fixed.  Without really thinking about it, his eyes searched the crowd looking for Yachiru, knowing that her attendance would provide him with at least a measure of reassurance, not that he required it.  He was used to seeing the girl nearly everyday and yesterday he hadn’t had much chance to talk to her.  

He’d been woken in plenty of time to bathe, eat and prepare for the challenge.  Without any comment large jugs of water appeared with his breakfast as did two large pots of tea.  If someone was trying to make a comment about his drinking it didn’t bother him.  Remembering how overheated he’d become the day before he drank enough to last him a few hours.  

Now the blue sky overhead irritated him.  So did the noise and the fact he was there.  Originally he’d believed that these challenges might provide some physical exercise that would force him to become stronger but judging by the first one, it wasn’t likely.  Each captain and division had a different focus.  Few of them admitted to enjoying a good fight and he’d noticed that most of them seemed to avoid it when possible.  

He didn’t understand.  If the Seireitei was created to fight Hollows, why weren’t the Captains interested in fighting?  Did they think wearing a white coat made them special or something?  If anything it made them a target for Hollows, but little else.  The coat didn’t mean anything.  The only significance was the person wearing it was meant to be powerful and good at fighting.  He saw precious little that supported that idea.  

That was the main thing that was irritating him.  As the days passed since the departure of the ryoka he’s been noticing it more and not because of the festering vulture.  What was with most of the Captains sending their adjuncts to do most of the fighting while they watched?  How did they expect to remain at the top of their game if they didn’t take care of the skills they had worked so hard to obtain?

A laugh and familiar voice drew his attention away from his thoughts.  “Ken-chan!  Ken-chan.  Over here!  Baldy managed to get out of bed!”

Ignoring everyone else he walked over to Yachiru who was sitting on Madarame’s shoulder.  Was the man well enough to carry the girl?  It made him rather annoyed that she’d so quickly replaced him.  

“Captain.  She insisted!” His third seat assured him.  “She asked Captain Unohana if I was well enough and kept asking until the Captain agreed.”

“I don’t like his shoulder as much as yours, Ken-chan.  His lumps are in the wrong place and he wriggles too much when I bounce up and down.”

Ayasegawa quickly added, “I did offer, Captain, but she insisted that Ikkaku was taller.”

That comment made him crease his brow.  He’d never really considered the matter and had always assumed they were pretty much the same height, that is, smaller than him.  Most people were and that was all he needed to know.

“Yachiru, get off his shoulder and come with me,” he said firmly.  “I want my assistant captain close by to advise me.  Madarame looks like he might fall over if you bounce on his shoulder one more time.”  

He didn’t miss the grateful look the man shot him as Yachiru quickly followed his instructions.  She took her accustomed position on his back and he walked the remaining distance to the centre of the field.  All the Captains were standing there, many with their assistant captains.  A large covered table was there and Zaraki wondered at its purpose.  The table seemed unnecessarily high, but that didn’t seem very important.  The cloth was not lying flat and he could discern a number of different shaped lumps underneath.  He had a shrewd idea that they might have something to do with the challenge he now had to address.

“Don’t tell me that Yachiru can’t be here,” he told Nanao as he noticed the woman step in front of him with a trace of a conceit.

She thinned her lips and then replied, “I wasn’t even thinking about it.  After all, she is one the judges for today’s event.”

His assistant captain slid down his back and looked at the woman.  “I thought you would have told me earlier.”

“You’re a substitution.  Apparently the 2nd Division’s Assistant Captain has come down with a bout of food poisoning, or so I understand.  I would have alerted you earlier, but the information has only now been relayed to me.  You do understand, Assistant Captain Kusajishi that you have to remain impartial and not automatically choose your superior officer.”

Zaraki smiled as he watched Yachiru’s reaction.  The 8th Division Officer was over estimating her authority once more.  

Standing very straight and adopting her most belligerent attitude Yachiru answered with perfect dignity.  “Ken-chan will win because he’s better at everything.  I’ll be fair because it wouldn’t be fair to Ken-chan if I wasn’t.  And the Clown Captain will probably cheat again, if he has the chance.”

“Teach the child manners, Zaraki, or once I win and am exonerated of all charges she might be admiring the walls of my research department while I examine her.”

Swinging around rapidly, Zaraki reached for the blade that wasn’t there.  “She’s showing you the respect you deserve.  None.”

‘Captains, cease this bickering and pay attention,” Yamamoto’s voice prevented Kurotsuchi from replying and with a sense of relief at not having to talk to the man further, Zaraki nodded.

“As you were not here in time yesterday, you won’t know that the challenge is announced by one of the judges so the observers will understand what is happening.  Assistant Captain Kusajishi, here are your instruction,” Nanao said as she handed an envelope to Yachiru.  Opening it, Yachiru made a face as she read the pages but she nodded reluctantly and left to stand with the other judges.

“Depending on how quickly you complete the following tasks we may be able to complete two of the challenges today,” Nanao explained.  

That news provided some relief.  He didn’t want to be cooped up for five nights with only small sake rations.  The sooner the challenges were over the quicker he wouldn’t be observed day and night.  He could sleep in his own bed and argue with the annoying bird, or whomever else he felt like fighting.

“One of the scheduled tasks will take place tonight and carry over into the following day,” was the continuing explanation.  “I hope you slept well last night.”

That meant something, the comment about sleeping well.  Hearing the words made it seem highly likely that he wouldn’t enjoy what was going to happen, but he didn’t have any choice.  If he protested, he would be deemed to have forfeited the challenge and that wasn’t part of his plan.  He’d read that particular rule the previous evening and now the real import of that was made clear.  No matter how unpleasant or demeaning he found the situation, he had to try.

Nanao smiled coldly as if anticipating the events of the evening and then said, “Captain Fon will explain the challenge for today.”

He focused his attention on the 2nd Division Captain and waited for her to speak.  With eyes that glittered with either amusement or humiliation the woman moved directly in front of them and waited for quiet.  An expectant hush settled over the assembled Shinigami as they ceased their eager conversations.

“Today’s challenge will display your understanding of your fellow officers,” the Captain said clearly.  You will be shown 11 objects that belong to 11 Captains or Assistant Captains.  If there is not incumbent captain, the Assistant Captain’s item will substitute.  Both of you are excluded for obvious reasons.  The challenge is you are to make an educated guess which object belongs to each Captain.  You would be advised to be careful as they may not be as obvious as you think.  No questions are permitted and it will be necessary for you to write down which item belongs to which Captain, or Assistant Captain.

This was almost as bad as the previous challenge.  He knew immediately that simple items, like the scarf worn by Kuchiki would not be included, nor would the helmet that Komamura had previously worn.  The desire to swear loudly and demand which devious jerk had devised this challenge was hard to fight, but he noticed Yachiru shaking her head at him, possibly guessing his reaction and he subsided.  Ranting wouldn’t help.

“Is there a time limit?” Kurotsuchi seemed to be prepared to do this.  He couldn’t do any less.

“Yes.  You will be permitted two hours but you may not handle the objects or use any analytical devices other than your eyes.  That was why your eyes were modified yesterday, Captain Kurotsuchi, so you would not have an unfair advantage.”

The announcement made the man furl his lip in contempt and he seemed on the point of arguing, but finally he sighed and nodded.  

“The judges for this event will be Captain Soi Fon, Assistant Captain Yachiru Kusajishi and Third Seat Sentaro Kotsubaki.”

“2nd, 11th and 13th Divisions,” Zaraki thought and then considered the matter.  “I wonder if this is the challenge from the 13th?  It doesn’t sound like something 2nd Division would think up.”

“I would remind the competitors that there is only a slim possibility that the Division from which the challenge originated will be on the panel of judges.”  Nanao said as she consulted the paper she was holding.

 Gritting his teeth, Zaraki recalled reading that rule.  The damned rules all seemed to have a loophole or exception that made other rules void.  

“Please take the writing implements that are being handed to you on which you will record the results of your deliberations. The observers must remain silent.  Any person speaking loudly will be ejected immediately,” Nanao finished with, “The items will now be uncovered.  Remember, you may look, but not touch.”

Four Shinigami removed the cloths and Zaraki’s first glance only reinforced the bad feeling he had about this challenge.  The collection of objects taken together was a mess, but trying to single out which item belonged to which person would not be easy.  He walked up to the table and stood, staring at the things.

“Kenny, write everything down.  You’ll have to anyway.” Atonomatsuri sounded interested.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe,” he said.  “How would you describe that?’  He was looking at some object he that made no sense.  It was a cup that had a hole in the bottom and it seemed it had been made that way.  “What’s the point of a cup with a hole in the bottom?”

The chuckle that the bird uttered made him brindle.  She knew about cups that had holes in them?  It figured.

“It’s a Pythagoras cup.  It will hold liquid as long as it is below a certain level.  As soon as it rises about that point, the construction of the cup will make all the liquid drain away.  

“I’ll write down ‘cup’,” Zaraki said.  He was seeing a side of his fellow captains that intrigued and irritated him.  “Who do you think it belongs to?

“Write the list first!” The sharpness of the reply reminded him that she was feeling slighted, again.

“Yes, feather features.  I see a coin.  I’ll write down coin.”

“It’s not just a coin.  It’s one of the rarest coins to ever be minted.”  The bird seemed prepared to continue but Zaraki didn’t care.

“It’s still a coin, right?”

“Yes, but it is precious and rare.  Only someone who had great wealth at their disposal could afford that,” Atonomatsuri proclaimed with excitement.

“It might be a copy,” Zaraki pointed out, not interested.

“Humph,” the bird replied and he wondered if she was preening her feathers as she often did when she was annoyed.

Two items were now on his list.  “A fan,” he said dismissively.  “That will be easy.  It has to belong to a female.”

“Why?”

“Because females carry fans, of course.  It makes sense.”  Why couldn’t the bird see what was obvious?

“Men carry fans too.”

“That’s a load of crap,” he began but then remembered seeing a number of men from other divisions use fans during the heat of summer.  “You might be right,” he added grudgingly.  

“Not a very expensive fan with a picture of a dragon.”  The bird was noticing things he wasn’t in the mood to see.

“A dragon?  Probably belongs to Soi Fon,” Zaraki joked.

The silence that met his comment informed him that the bird didn’t appreciate his attempt at humour.  ”A scroll with writing on it.  That’s helpful.  Can’t recognise the writing.”

“The calligraphy is very fine and from the age of the paper, I believe it to be the work of a master calligrapher,” Atonomatsuri sounded awed.  

Why people prized hard to read writing that probably declaimed some stale adage escaped him.  He didn’t even try to decipher the meaning.

“Do you know what it says?”  Now there was no disguising the admiration in the bird’s voice.  

Remaining silent, he hoped he would not be told.  He knew that the hope was futile.

“Who offends writes on sand; who is offended, on marble.”  The words were uttered in a hushed voice.  “That fits us, doesn’t it Zaraki?”

He crinkled his forehead and tried to work out what she meant.  “Do you mean you’ve lost your marbles?”  This conversation about writing reminded him of paperwork and he had enough problems without that being added to the mix.  And who wrote on sand, anyway?  

“Why do you make it so difficult to communicate with you Zaraki?”

“Why do you take everything so personally?  It’s not always about you.”  Zaraki shot back.  Having said the words, he knew they were true, but maybe now was not the best time to fight the bird.  “Can we get on with this?” he added.  “We’ve got a cup, a fan, a coin, a scroll.  What next?”

The silence that greeted his question indicated that he might have gone too far this time.  As he watched, Kurotsuchi looked closely at an item, nodded with satisfaction and wrote busily on his paper.  Then he turned, gaze Zaraki a measuring look, sniffed and turned back to his examination.

“You want to let that guy win?” He didn’t want to get caught up in a needless apology to the bird so he tried appealing to her known hatred for the 12th Division Captain.  The only thing that might make this fail was if the creature decided she hated Zaraki more.

“No. I don’t want him to win, but you don’t deserve my help.  If you don’t treat me with respect I’ll withdraw my assistance.”  The words were premonitory and he knew she meant it.  

“Let’s get on with this list, like you wanted,” Zaraki offered the most he was prepared to concede.  “There’s a plant.”

“It’s a bonsai.  Not very old, but rather well formed and it is easy to see the intention of the gardener.”  Atonomatsuri said, still distant in tone and manner.

“Bonsai.  Is that anything like bankai?”

“Another attempt at humour, Zaraki?  If so, it is poor.”

“I’ll write down bonsai, then.”  Zaraki decided not to press the matter.  He’d thought it was funny, sort of, but the bird didn’t want to show any sign of enjoying herself.  Briefly he wondered if she was affected by hormones like all females.  Rather than muse pointlessly he moved along the table and looked at the next object.  It was a simple pebble.  He bent down to look at it to observe any distinguishing features, but it was still a pebble.  A plain white, rather flat pebble about the size of a peanut.

“Right; pebble,” he said as he wrote the word down, deciding not to make any observations about it.  Why would anyone choose to include a pebble as one of their possessions?  He’d try to work that out later.

“A book,” he said next.  It was a paperback book with dog eared covers and a spine that showed the signs of much use.  

“Not just any book, Kenny.  An unexpurgated copy of the Sir Richard Burton translation of The Arabian Nights.”  

He found it hard to place the emotion that filled her voice.  There was a level of excitement, with a trace of something else.  Why did the bird find the book so unusual?

“So, it’s a copy of a book about Knights.”

“Not knights.  Kenny two short planks have more intelligence than you!  Arabian Nights.  The stories Scheherazade told in order to keep her life.”

“It’s a book, isn’t it?  I’ll write down book.”  He vaguely remembered something about Arabian Nights but he couldn’t quite bring the memory into clear focus.

“It was banned for being improper,” Atonomatsuri said primly.

Zaraki suddenly saw the book as more interesting.  “What?  You mean there are pictures?”

“Never you mind, Kenny.  As H. W. Beecher correctly points out: An impure man is every good man's enemy.”

“Improper?  Impure?”  Zaraki’s interest in the book became even more profound.  “It could belong to a woman.”

“Humph.  None of the ladies,” the bird laid heavy emphasis on the word, “would have a copy of that translation in their possession.”

“You think so?”  It was irrelevant anyway for the moment.  He only had to work out who owned it and maybe he could persuade its owner to loan it to him.  For research purposes, of course.

“Read the list to me, Kenny!”

“Read your own damned list,” he muttered before complying.  “Cup, coin, scroll, fan, bonsai, pebble and book.  Four more.”

“Is that a stick?  Why has it got a star attached to the end?”  The more he saw of these items, the more it was borne on him that he didn’t know any of the people who owned them.

“It’s a wand.”

“A wand?  Why would anyone keep a kid’s toy like that?” The memory of his childhood was lost to him and he was positive he would never have used something so dumb.  He was preparing to say something more when his eye was caught by the next object and he moved to stand in front of it and admire it.  

“Two original samurai swords! They’re in their original sheathes.  You can tell they’ve been used by the scuff marks on the scabbard, but they’ve been prized.  I want to see them properly.”

“Whoever owned them took more care of them than you take of me, Kenny.  Not even a smear of sword polish left on them.  Even the handles have been carefully cleaned.”  There could be no doubt that Atonomatsuri was using this opportunity to snipe at him once more.  “Have you finished admiring the blades, yet?  We’ve got to finish this.”

“Yeah.  What’s next?”

He found himself looking at something but could not work out what it was.  It seemed to be a cushion, but why was it that shape and colour?  Should pillows be bright red and in the shape of a pair of lips?  

“Let’s call it a cushion,” he said to Atonomatsuri who didn’t reply.   A small exhalation caught his ear and he wondered if she was giggling.  Why would she find the cushion funny?  Strange; peculiar, warped.  He could understand all those, but not funny.

The next object he was certain had to belong to a woman.  No man would admit or provide a piece of origami made in the shape of a swan.  “Another damned bird!” he thought hazily as he wrote down ‘swan’.  

“It’s very pretty,” Atonomatsuri breathed.  “Kenny, you aren’t good at origami, are you?”

“Me?  You know the answer to that.  Why are you asking?”  Was it even important?

“Pity.”

As soon as he thought he understood her a little, she started acting in a strange manner again.  From now on, he would not try to understand her at all, except know that she had strange ideas and even stranger ways of helping him.  

“That’s all of them,” he told Atonomatsuri.  “Now we have to try and work out who belongs to what.”

“Maybe we should work out which people we have.  There’s the Old Man, Soi Fong, Kira Izuru, Retsu, Momo, or one of her subordinates, Byakuya Kuchiki, Sajin Komamura, Shunsui, Shuhei Hisagi, Toshiro Hitsugaya and Jushiro Ukitake.”

“Why are you listing them?  I know who they are, except I’m not sure of 5th Division.”  They were wasting time on needless things.  He wanted to get on with it, not make more lists. The bird seemed to have a list fixation.  Was there a term to describe it?

“Really Kenny.  Once more you show the stupidity of the claim that males are more logical than females.  We need to know who we’re talking about in order to work out who belongs to which.”

For a second his eyes wanted to cross.  Was that even correct?  Rather than commence another unfulfilling and possibly lethal argument with her, he said, “Who do you think owns the fan?”

“That’s obvious!”

Obvious?  To whom?  The person who owned it would know, but not anyone else.  Why wouldn’t the bird tell him, or did she take pleasure in making him guess?  He didn’t even bother replying.

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Author’s Note

Please review.

MS

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