I've been writing a number of short pieces about Hinamori Momo over the last few months; her character is complex, but fascinating. I finally decided to revise them and compile them here- they aren't going to be in any particular order, nor will they particularly be linked aside from being attached to the manga timeline. This means that spoilers through current chapters should be expected.

Hope you enjoy. As you read these, I'd like your constructive criticism.

Takes place some time after Momo wakes up, post-Soul Society arc.



Momo is sitting atop a futon in a room that is hers and belongs to someone else. Since sitting is not an activity that requires much concentration, her attention is neither in that room nor at the present time.

In her mind's eye, she leafs through a book, one of the precious few that rests atop the bookshelf in the back of the shed. It's been long since any book sat straight-spined within it, as many of the boards have rotted away or fallen prey to some insect (that couldn't have been nearly as hungry as she is now but that's another matter) but the home-slash-orphanage can't bring itself to care, and it technically can't afford to. It is a dictionary, and one wonders at how the crumbling pages induce such rapture- such that she refuses to close her eyes in spite of the dust stinging at them lest she miss a word. Only when the watering escalates to the point where it clouds her vision does she blink vigorously for a moment.

She has never been one to define things and set them into concrete terms, so when she demanded (of her self) to know how to describe nature and everything in it after the last lightning storm (great trees so easily felled!) she was waved away toward something that would humour her endless inquiries. And so she finds that words have many, many definitions, and that the word 'element' is very perplexing.

A fundamental, essential, or irreducible constituent of a composite entity.

Picking at a spot on the futon, jerked back to the normal flow of time after having recalled what definition she sought, she acknowledges that she is a part of this spiritual plane as much as any other person.

The basic assumptions or principles of a subject.

And as that is, she serves- the world, the dead, the living, those close to her--

A member of a set.

And as that was, she did not wholly expect to be played like a pawn, an unsuspecting piece in the larger frame of, well, things.

And as she ponders what has come to pass, her convictions have still not changed. She still serves to protect those close to her. She looks past broken shards of what once was, and listens to the sounds of reconstruction outside while noting that everything has returned to normal and it is not possible for anything to be the same. Her face is planted into the futon at an angle that causes her nose to practice its gymnastics, and forces one eye shut. She smells tea and flowers and life and makes another note to either have the futon aired out or transferred to her quarters.

The image in her mind shimmers, distorted, clouded by mist. She shuts both eyes now, tightly, and wishes for one quick guilty moment that he could've washed her away, instead of just fogging everything up--

And opens them. She will not be left scrabbling, purposeless, now that much of her purpose has disappeared (into the sky, they say? Fitting, but people such as he do not merely evaporate) and her house of cards has been toppled.

One of four substances, earth, air, fire, or water, regarded as a fundamental constituent of the universe.

The solution is elementary.

She will simply have to begin assuming preference for ice over water.


Written for 31 Days on LJ, August 8: (you shimmer like words I barely hear)