"Well, see, all I'm saying is we go and do away with him quickly, a good stab in the gut or a blow to head, so as not to mar his beauty, take him back to the Soul Society, he opens a shop, we all get coffee, and he stays chained to my bed the rest of the time. Easy. It's a win-win situation." Yumichika primly sipped his vente, light-whip, caramel frappachino, with a look on his face that somehow reminded Ikkaku of some mother lecturing her… his child, calmly waiting for the deluded youngster to awaken to the truth.

He was not a kid, dammit.

"Yumi, you can't kill the barista. Even if you do want coffee." He didn't even bother to try and reason with the latter part of the statement. Wait… if it's a guy, even if he doesn't act like it… shouldn't it be a different term? Baristo? Like waiter?

Yumichika gave him a surprisingly serious stare under his eyebrows. "Why taint him by keeping him surrounded by such… filth, when it is far more kind and natural to surround him with far more beautiful people? And are you not enjoying your passion tea lemonade? Look! It even matches your eye shadow!"

Ikkaku glared at the shockingly pink drink. He figured it wouldn't be quite as large of a blow to his pride if he ordered a drink that actually had a name that didn't sound quite as much like something a drunk Matsumoto and Yumichika had dreamed up. How wrong he had turned out to be. At least it tasted alright. Even if he would never admit this. Under pain of, ahem, death or otherwise.

"For the last time, it's not eye shadow. They're tattoos. Like Renji's. 'Cept they hurt more than his sissy ones cuz there's less bone there." Ikkaku smirked. Maybe this time he could convince him. He rubbed at it a bit with a finger covered in condensation from his cup. "See- they don't smear---" His finger came back covered in reddish-pink.


Yumi had already lost interest however, and was admiring the backside of the barista as he bent to get another container of milk for the customer behind them, the only other person in the lonely Starbucks. Noticing that the chicks' gaze was also aimed similarly to his own, he rose from his seat. Mincing over to her, she gave him a defiant stare, clearly feeling threatened. "Sorry, honey, you're just not beautiful enough for him." Ignoring her confused look and hooking her halter top by the strap, Yumichika dragged her outside in the blink of the eye and a quick shun-po.

The barista turned around, holding a steaming cup for a customer that would never be coming to get it. "Do you know where she went? Her coffee is ready." He asked, eyes resting upon Ikkaku. Ikkaku, not even wanting to think about what nasty fate had befallen the inept teenager, and knowing it was too late now to go back, simply drew out his zanpakuto and skewered the guy, careful to do it in some relatively inconspicuous area. Yumi would have his head otherwise. The body slumped to the floor, coffee and blood puddling upon the tiles, as his soul was left to stand behind it, stammering incoherent sentences and pointing at Ikkaku, his body, and back again.

"Ah, shuddup. Now how the hell do you disconnect these things?" He asked, pointing at the various machines covering the countertop. The barista simply gave him a catatonic stare. "You're no help." He ripped one large shiny object out and set it upon the floor, careful to avoid the growing puddle of brown and red. Peering down the hole where it had been set into the counter, Ikkaku did a quick inspection for any essential-ish looking wires and tubes and such.

Yumi picked then to waltz back into the coffee shop, complaining loudly about how he had gotten some blood on his white top he had just bought the other day. Spotting the barista, who was now rocking back and forth in the corner, fiddling with his green apron and mumbling to himself, Yumi emitted a squeal of joy. "Oh, Ikkaku, I knew you would come around. He won't be any trouble. He won't even be leaving my bedroom when he's not making coffee, and I'll feed him, and pet him, and bathe him…"

Ikkaku stifled a gag. "Just make sure he lasts longer than that last one- okay?" He returned to peering at the various contents of the refrigerator, and wondering how the hell he was going to carry all this.

"Oh? That kabuki dancer? Of course! And this one is just so much more beautiful than he was…" Yumichika peered at the nametag on his apron. "Mark is such an ugly name. How about Cellardoor? Some linguist once said it was the most beautiful phrase in the English language." He tittered on while Ikkaku opened a portal into the Soul Society and started chucking random objects from the cupboards and appliances into it, hoping that they wouldn't get dented too badly. But, then, if they did he could just get someone from the fourth division to go polish them.

Yumi, for his part, pranced through a konso for the unfortunate barista and dragged him through the doors, a skip clearly evident in his step.

Ikkaku, swearing under his breath and dragging some other machine behind him, let them click shut behind him.

The Soul Society was revolutionized by the introduction of a Starbucks. Hanatarou discovered courage in the caffeinated brew. Hitsugaya was found literally bouncing off the walls and playing with small children. Byakuya actually looked interested in something. Yachiru… we're not even going there. The property damage lawsuit is still pending.

Yumichika smirked. He had told Ikkaku it was a win-win situation. But he suspected he won a bit more than the others.

A/N: Well… he is eleventh division- right? XDDD Yumi cracks me up. I mentioned something about him and a Starbucks (but not the barista) in one of the many bits of Renji fic I'm attempting to meld into a story and I decided it warranted more than a simple paragraph. Review! Or else! DUN DUN DUN!