Disclaimer: ‘tis the first thing I wrote in months, it’s a bleach one-shot drabble. I don’t own
bleach, nor do I own Lordi, and use their work without their expressed agreement, for the
glorification of hard rock. Amen.
Word of the dead
Rukia Byakuya liked her newfound place in life, even though it was a closet. Yes, put in all the
puns you want, morons. She liked being in the closet, staying it this idiot boy’s room, reading his
sister’s and his books, simply slacking off. Any soldier on leave would say the same, if you gave
him a place to snooze and no duties to do. Oh, and she listened to all kinds of music, watched TV
and led a life of greasy decadence (to the extent of a dead person’s abilities). Though
occasionally work called to help the idiot boy to kick some hollow ass, he did it mostly himself,
his friends finding them for him.
She was particularly fond of the funny and contradictive view those pesky living people had on
death, and the dead. They where funny only retrospectively, from the experienced point of view
of someone who already died. Death Metal, occult TV shows, horror movies, you name it. So
much this “Shit” was in her taste that the idea of asking for transfer to the Mortal Affairs
Company came to mind more then once. But the idea of manslaughter came to mind more often
as Con the modified soul and the Idiot boy annoyed her out of the sweet lazy abandon into which
her last battle with a hollow, defending the idiot family, made her to live. This was especially
true because her tastes and the tastes of the Idiot where very different in the context of almost
anything imaginable.
Now he was sitting on his bed doing “homework” and listening to techno, and very loudly at
that, so loud that his father came and they had a fistfight, but the idiot won (it’s a pity that the
skills needed to release a hollow and win a argument in this house are the same). And she
couldn’t concentrate on reading a very funny book with the confusing name “good omens”,
written by some foreign writer. So much for stoic acceptance of events, as it went, form her point
of view.
“Idiot, turn down that crap or you’ll get it”, came her level, polite command voice.
“Huh, woman, you know you should be seen and not heard, and as you are dead, you shouldn’t
be even seen”, was shot back at her in a usual street urchin tone of “Mind your own ass”.
“Idiot, this is the last warning, or I’d kick your ass around the way your daddy only dreamed of”.
“Woman, first of all you are a freeloading guest so your opinion doesn’t count. Second, let’s see
your worst”.
“Ichigo, I don’t eat your food and I stay near you for your own safety, and I have a name as
well”.
“Shut up, don’t you see I have some Modern history homework to hand over by tomorrow”.
“You only prove you’re an idiot, you had that homework for three weeks. If one of my troopers
would do his stuff the last minute, I’d get Medieval on his case”.
“Not now”.
“Okay, idiot, the game is on”.
++++++
Where did she got the inspiration was vary clear. If she could, she decided, then one day, very
soon, one Rukia would be the owner of the first CD player in the Soul Society, and a proud
owner of a wide and varied collection of Gleam, Death, Doom and all kinds of themed music fit
for the dead. She knew Wagner personally, and the bastard would just love to listen to this. Thus
the number she decided to play on Ichigo was form one of the more recent bands and records. It
appears that these guys won a very popular contest to which they arrived as uncalled and
unexpected, not to say unwanted guests, and won. The show was worth it.
The rubber demon head was easy to get, the music as well, all she had to do is to wait for the
idiot to fall asleep.
The music rolled in, not too loud, but getting louder by the second, oh, she loved the lyrics, the
spoke of her so much. Oh, story of my life.
Hello, I’m me and who the hell are you? And she jumped on him, soul-slayer at hand, making
the obligatory gesture at the startled idiot.
Well, I bring you word form the Dead. A steady hand, her sword-hand drew doodles on his face
and chest with the always omnipresent crayon.
And this is the day they shall re-animate,
Well, and get their claws on your neck. At this moment she grabbed his neck and shook him
violently, almost taking his head off.
A pack of raging wolves are howling,
Awakened form their sleep of sin.
Hail to the Creeps, Hail!
Thunder unleashed, Hail!
No beast so fierce.
Bring it on, bring it on big time
Bring it on, Bring it on down
Bring it on
The rancorous return from their graves
Won't you bring it on,
Bring it on big time
Bring it on, bring it on down
Bring it on
Behold your town will burn
As the raging hounds return
The rampant hell-dogs
rampaging near. She held Con to his face, who then proceeded to use his plushy body to kick
The idiot’s nose.
The unholy proliferates
They taste your blood
And they smell your fear
On your mark - get set –
Decapitate!
Ominous hue
Dispersing by the moonlights order
They got their prey
They’re gone with your daughters claimed their souls
Turned them into martyrs
They will burn
As the hounds return.
By now Ichigo was wide awake, humiliated, outraged and lost, not knowing how to react to a
cute four and a half feet tall girl in a rubber monster mask. In so few words he was smitten.