It's late – these days, they only ever meet when it's late. Rangiku is pleasantly drunk, but beginning to sober, and Gin's head is curiously inclined at that particular angle reserved for when she has something especially frivolous to tell him. His smile is intimidating as always, but she sees only its underlying patient and affable qualities as she places the persimmon on the table between them.
"They say," she says, leaning forward with a sly smile on her lips, "That you can use the seeds to predict the weather." Suddenly, the blonde woman frowns. "Have I told you this before?"
Gin leans his chin on the heel of his palm and shakes his head, smiling wider. Rangiku smiles back. Really, she would enjoy his company more often; his ex-captain keeps him busy, but she's sure he shares the sentiment. She clears her throat and lifts her zanpakutō in an almost ceremonial fashion. Hands steady despite the sake, she presses the blade into the fruit and cuts it neatly in two. Gin's eyes linger on the halves as they fall apart, but soon follow his companion's delicate hands as she sheathes her sword and lays it aside. When his eyes return to her face, she looks pleased with herself.
"It's the shape of the seed," she explains, picking up one of the halves to examine it. "It will tell you what the coming winter is going to be like."
For a fraction of a second, his smile falters, but she doesn't see it; she is focused on the persimmon, trying to make out the shape and remember what it means. Gin glances down at the other half, lying face-up on the table. The white of the seed resembles a dagger.
"No good," Rangiku declares, her tone deliberately and dramatically ominous. His eyes snap back to her. "See this? It means the winter's going to be harsh. It will cut like a knife!"
Ignoring the other half, Gin reaches across the table, thin fingers curling around Rangiku's wrist to pull her hand and the upturned fruit resting in it towards him. He leans in under the pretence of inspection, though he's already seen the seed's sharp point. When he looks up, Rangiku is leaning in close as well, as though the fruit shared between them is instead some deep and well-guarded secret.
"That's a pretty neat trick, Ran," he says simply, releasing his hold on her. Faint praise to most, but Rangiku suddenly seems intoxicated by her own cleverness as well as the sake. "We'll have to remember this when winter comes, eh?"
"It is pretty neat, isn't it? But, I think I'd rather dry them out and eat them than fuss with them like this." She punctuates her sentence with a yawn. It isn't much longer before he is walking her back with one arm draped around her shoulders.
When she leans her head gently into the crook of his arm, Gin sincerely regrets that the persimmon's prediction will come true.