Title: It's All About Appearances
Pairing: Shinji x Hiyori
Fandom: Bleach

Rating: PG for Hiyori's mouth, as usual.

Long fingers combed almost absently through thick dark blonde tresses, straightening a few stray hairs before those same fingers wrapped themselves around to gather the long strands into a neat bunch. Not even bothering to cover the yawn, Shinji shifted his shoulders, feeling the stiff new linen rub slightly before rummaging into the pocket of his hakama and pulling out a small elastic loop. Gripping the band with his teeth, he took the advantage of another free hand to make another go at finger-combing any remaining tangles from the sleek blond waterfall of his hair. Satisfied that it was smooth and unmarred -- not like Hiyori's messy pigtails -- the new shinigami plucked the elastic band from his mouth and wound it around his fingers, taking a moment to marvel at the way the material stretched with the minimal force he placed upon it.

Humans really had such unique ideas, and the things they made... well, at least he thought so. So far no one else among his rather extensive circle of friends seemed to share more than a passing interest in the world that they all helped in protecting. Sure, the others in his class had been quick to sample the sweets he'd brought back, purloined during his abortive attempt at sneaking away from practice in the real world, but that could just as easily be attributed to a desire for food mooched off of a friend. But while they'd listened -- halfheartedly, some of them just looking confused -- to the music selections he'd smuggled back, or pocked bemusedly at the strange-looking phonograph with it's scalloped horn and rotating turntable, they all invariably rolled their eyes and shook their heads while muttering about Hirako Shinji's strange fascination with the humans' 'junk'.

Chewing on his bottom lip, the lanky man twisted fingers through the band, looping it around to pull the slim tail of dark gold through another time or two before dropping his hands to his sides and shoving them in his pockets. That was so much better. As much as he liked his hair long -- he did, and the fact that it encouraged most of his female friends to play with it was simply an added bonus -- he couldn't deny that it got in the way at times, and he wasn't about to admit to his inability to tie a simple piece of leather into something workable that wouldn't slide out as he walked.

Finished with his hair, he stopped mid-step to catch sight of himself along the windowed hallway. Pausing, he straightened up, shifting his weight to resettle the black linen across his shoulders. He liked it, the new uniform, and he took a moment to preen, flashing what was -- in his opinion -- a rather dashing toothy grin at the blond, black-clad shinigami reflected back at him from the polished glass. And, even if he did say so himself, he had a reason to be smug. Fresh out of academy in 4 years -- and top of his class, a fact that was all too enjoyable to rub in Hiyori's face seeing as how she had barely managed to claw her way into the graduating class -- and placed directly into a 6th level officer's seat was something to be proud of, and he certainly wasn't above patting himself on the back for it.

It looked good, the black uniform with it's white sash, though he couldn't help the shaft of vanity that made him picture that same black uniform shrouded by the pristine white edged in it's regular geometric pattern. And while he wasn't bothering to picture a specific number emblazoned on the back, he had to admit he liked the mental image. Oh well, this was just the graduation ceremony. There'd be plenty of time for promotions and the like later. Resting his hand on Kagami's hilt, he took a moment to drop into a crouch, fingers gripping the fushia-wrapped hilt as if in preparation for an attack. Yeah... that was how it would be. Hirako Shinji, dashing defender of women, hero of the Gotei-13, one day captain... Grinning wider, he struck another pose before his ears pricked up -- both physically and metaphorically -- at a sudden spark of approaching reiatsu.

It should have been enough of a warning, the sudden roil of spiritual energy, it's signature messy and unrestrained in the same manner that it's owner often -- ok, so maybe 'often' was putting it lightly -- behaved in. Should have, and yet somehow, for what he momentarily considered must have been the seven thousandth time since the morning he'd first met her, Shinji found himself subjected to the familiar impact of a small calloused sole against the side of his face. Doing his best to frown -- which was easier said than done when half of his face was being mashed into interestingly grotesque expressions by her foot.

Reeling to the side, he registered the vague sound of what could have been -- though he knew perfectly well it wasn't -- an apology before his face crashed rather painfully into the ground. The girl in question -- he could only see her scrawny bare feet planted on the polished floor of the hallway from his vantage point -- simply squared her stance and laughed derisively. Though he couldn't see, Shinji had little doubt that the blonde-haired feral monkey of a girl was grinning smugly, thin arms crossed over her chest as she once again derived some sort of twisted pleasure at his expense. Growling slightly, he curled fingers against the floor before pushing himself to his feet. Scrambling up, he spun round with an angry scowl on his face, lifting one finger to his nose to make certain it wasn't bleeding. It would be bad enough to go to graduation ceremony with her footprint on his face, but the thought of that and a bloody nose was more than his ragged dignity was willing to accept.

"The hell, Hiyori, what'd ya do that for?!"

It was rather a ridiculous question, seeing as he asked the same one nearly ten times in the average day and never got much of a response beyond a snarky grin or some other sarcastic remark before she planted a foot in his face or a fist in his kidney. It had been like that since they were kids, since the day he'd plopped down beside the ragged little urchin who'd captured his attention and introduced himself. Only to find himself with his face pounded into the ground by a little girl half his age when he told her -- quite honestly, given her appearance -- that she had all the features and manners of some sort of uncouth monkey.

Her appearance hadn't really changed much in his opinion. She was still the same skinny, scrawny, bony thing with no curves whatsoever to speak of, little pointed face always pinched into an angry expression, framed by that thick platinum hair that was really her only redeeming feature. She'd worn it up the same way for years now, since their early teens, though the faded pink strips of cloth from her old kimono had long since been replaced with proper leather ties. Shinji would have been willing to bet -- and have been correct, had he done so -- that she'd kept her hair that way for so long simply because she knew he thought it looked ridiculous. But right or not, fact remained that Sarugaki Hiyori hadn't really changed in years.

Which was perhaps the reason why, as soon as his eyes landed on her slight figure, he took on a rather accurate impression of a beached flounder, staring in bemused wonder at the world above ground. Blinking slightly, he let his complaints die off and took in the strange and -- surprisingly, seeing as he'd had it on rather good authority that Hiyori possessed not a shred of estrogen -- attractive sight of the girl's thick blond locks pulled up into a single high ponytail at the back of her head. It was still messy, still sticking out at odd angles, half-tangled where she couldn't be bothered to comb it properly, but in his opinion it looked a hell of a lot better than those pigtails. Especially the way shorter strands and chunks had slipped loose from the tightly tied leather to fall around her face, lending it a softness that wasn't altogether bad.

It was still a bit weird, though. Enough to make him shake his head, blink again, and mumble what was intended to be an intelligible sentence. Instead, it came out as simply her name, the word itself questioning, as though he were seeking reassurance that yes, it was indeed her. Glancing back at him, the girl stretched arms over her head, black sleeves sliding down as she hooked fingers behind her head and set her lower lip in a stubborn scowl.

"My bad, ya freakin' baldy. Yer damned face is so ugly I thought it was a hollow."

Olive green eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth. Yes, definitely Hiyori, and whatever thoughts he'd had -- momentary or not -- about her attractiveness were obviously the result of head trauma from the abuse she'd just heaped on him. Scoffing, he hooked fingers into the ties of his hakama, cocking his head to the side with a nod to her hair.

"Feh, at least ya look like a girl now. Not like a monkey who got too close to a Byakurai. 'Sa good look fer ya, Hiyori. Ya might actually not get mistaken for a little boy any more."

Later on, he would reason to himself that perhaps his words had not been the wisest course of action.

Her pointed little face turned red, not the sort of red that the girls who fawned all over him turned -- this was the sort of red Hiyori turned when she was about to murder him -- and a small voice in the back of his mind chimed in a few moments too late that perhaps he should simply invest in a shovel, at least that way he could ultimately dig himself out of the holes he inevitably put himself in. For in the split second between the curling of her hands into fists by her sides and the solid impact of his face with the unyielding surface of the nearby table, he managed to catch the sudden flash of embarrassment on her face before she pummeled him into the wooden surface. Winding small fingertips into the hair-band at the nape of his neck, she gave it a yank, tugging the elastic tie out of his hair before reaching up to yank the leather out of her own. Ignoring his yelp of protest as the sudden motion snagged his hair, yanking a few strands out by the roots, she curled fingers around the elastic tie with a smug sneer.

"My bad, ya dickface, but I figured since ya look so much like a butt-ass ugly woman to begin with, ya might as well wear that gay-ass hair like one too. So ya won't need this."

Stalking off down the hallway, Shinji a twitching heap of black linen and blonde hair, Hiyori raised a hand to her mouth and clamped her teeth down on the two ties as she yanked her hair back up into it's familiar style, sighing in contentment at the comfortable feel. There, that hadn't been so damned hard, and besides ... it had solved that frustrating problem of her broken hair tie.