Ise Nanao was fed up to the back teeth with getting Hell Butterfly messages from her Captain in public.
It wasn't so much the wording he used. It was the way that everyone looked at her while the butterfly was relaying the message. That knowing, aware, utterly incorrect judgmental assumption together with patronising imbecile infuriating presumption of weakness on her part and -
She needed a plan. A plan would be good. A plan would stop this little habit she had developed of gritting her teeth while drawing up kidou constructs with pictures of her Captain in the middle of them screaming for mercy.
"It's a computer, Kyouraku-taichou," she said. "It'll allow you to keep track of mission progress and communicate with the Division via email." Seeing the doubt in her Captain's eyes, she played her trump card. "It'll be so much more efficient than writing messages or sending Hell Butterflies. It'll take up much less of your time, and -"
Kyouraku-taichou lifted his hat enough to look at the monitor. "My beautiful Nanao-chan will have to explain it all to me," he said, which she took as a victory until she found out that he expected her to sit on his lap while doing so.
Three days later, Matsumoto Rangiku caught her carrying the computer outside with a pair of tongs.
"Is something the matter?" Rangiku asked helpfully. She was always ready to be helpful in situations that didn't actually require any effort on her part.
"Controlled detonation," Nanao said grimly. She put the computer down. "Stand well back."
"Isn't that rather a waste of a good computer?"
"I could have lived with the erotica," Nanao said, half to herself, with the sort of dreamy abstraction that Rangiku usually associated with Zaraki-taichou going into a fight, Tousen-taichou giving a speech on justice, or Unohana-taichou getting out the really large hypodermics while vaccinating Eleventh. "I could have lived with the pornography. I could have adjusted the Division accounts to cover his subscriptions to all the pay sites. I could have even got rid of the viruses. But when it came to him discovering Photoshop . . ."
The computer went up in a burst of flames.
"Let's go and do something nice and gentle," Rangiku said nervously. "Maybe you'd like to read a good book, Nanao."
"A good book," Nanao repeated numbly. "Yes. That'd be nice."
Plan Two involved a mobile phone. Twelfth Division had been working on adaptations to allow in-Seireitai communications as well as ones between Seireitai and the world of the living. It only took a comparatively small amount of blackmail and bribery for Nanao to get her hands on a few of them.
"Here you are, Kyouraku-taichou," she said. "I customised your one. Myself."
"My Nanao-chan shows such charming devotion to my needs," he sighed, and she decided not to comment. Not when an abrupt thwack of the nearest book could say so much more than words possibly could.
She was in the baths when the phone rang. With an apologetic nod to the other female shinigami soaking alongside her, she crawled out of the hot water and picked up the phone.
"Nanao-chan," her Captain whispered.
"Sir?" she said. "Is something the matter?"
"Did you know that I was thinking about you, beautiful Nanao-chan?" he asked.
Some disasters Nanao could see coming. Hope put up a few feeble flags, but was trodden down by the elephant of memory. "Really, sir?" she said with as much icy disdain as she could manage.
"Oh yes," he murmured. "First I was imagining your delicate hands, pale and fine-boned, but with that underlying muscle and strength which makes them a delight to hold in mine. Then I was imagining your bare arms, pearled with sweat, the sweet curve of your shoulders; the lovely arch of your back, so perfectly made for me to run my hands down, the beautiful swell of your naked buttocks - and then I think of you turning round so that I can see the twin apples of your delightful breasts -"
"Ise-kun," Unohana-taichou said, "is there any particular reason why you just threw your phone in the water? Or why you're blushing quite so much?"
Ise Nanao watched as Yamamoto-soutaichou lifted the Hell Butterfly to his ear.
"My sweet, my pretty, my charming, my gorgeous -" Kyouraku-taichou's voice was audible to everyone in the vicinity.
Yamamoto-soutaichou's face turned an interesting shade of muted crimson.
Yes, aversion therapy was definitely the way to go, she decided. Now where should she misdirect the next call . . .