She Lives on the Edge
Standard disclaimer applies, and thus I weep.
notes: 122809. Mild Romance (Sort of implied/probably no romance at all. I think it's denial.)/Humor and Rated T for profanity.
Ichigo spotted her a mile away, bathed in the lights of the rising sun.
His hazel eyes exploded upon contact and he threw the groceries—which consisted of three apples, two oranges, a container of strawberries, a tube of tooth paste, dish soap, a package of raw meat, a package of ham, a gallon of milk, and two free pencils (the store's gift-of-the-day)—to the side, and dashed to her.
She wore a knee-length, spaghetti-strapped, navy dress and no shoes. She was relatively small, with her arms outstretched to both sides of her body and her bare feet balanced horribly on the railing… of, what can be considered, an ancient and unreliable bridge, scheduled to collapse at any unpredictable moment in time… above the roaring sea of rapidly-driven cars on the merciless highway.
Either she was absolutely crazy and recently escaped from the local nuthouse, or she was a loser-teenager who always get bullied at school, returns home to an uncaring family, and has no friends to guide her through the dark days of her life—he had an imagination after all—and therefore, was in preparation for a suicide attempt. Ichigo agreed with the detailed latter.
She hardly noticed him—a boy with bright orange hair—racing towards her like a bull that's caught a glimpse of bold red. She was more intently focused on her wobbly steps on the thin cement rails. That is, till she was abruptly snatched about the waist and yanked to the ground by aforementioned boy, as he angrily yelled, "Are you freak'in crazy?! There's a highway down there, you IDIOT!"
The girl blinked and stared incredulously at the sturdy arms that encircle and pressed her to a masculine chest. "What the—what the hell?!" she screeched as she attempted to wrangle free from the strong hold, "What's your problem?! I was in the middle of a pirouette, you dummy!" she spat back; her size had carefully concealed how terribly loud and ear-splitting her voice was.
"Dummy?!" Ichigo immediately released her from his grasp and stepped back, baffled by her reaction towards his chivalrous rescue mission. "I saved you from killing yourself, you inconsiderate BRAT! What the hell were you thinking doing ballet on the rail of a bridge, if your not freak'in suicidal?!" he shouted crossly.
"I am NOT suicidal, you imbecile!" she retorted. "I was practicing ballet for my next solo performance, and thus, not only have you completely distracted me with your reckless knight-in-shining-armor act—that ended in epic failure—and orange hair, but you've intervened when I was in perfect harmony with the bridge, you WANNABE SUPERHERO!" Ichigo admitted that he was amazed—in the midst of his rage—at how such a big and obnoxious voice could come out of a small and seemingly delicate girl. It just goes to show that looks can be deceiving.
"'Harmony with the bridge,' my ASS! You were about to fall, you bumbling idiot!" he bellowed pointedly, as he directed an accusing finger at the stunned girl, who looked like she wanted to bite it off.
"I was NOT!" she defended, her fist clenched to the sides as the two teenagers engaged in an intense glaring contest. The few cars that passed the bridge shot weird, apprehensive glances at the boy and girl in their own isolated world, and quickly sped away down the street.
After Ichigo came to his senses and noted how immature and childish this all was, he pulled his hazel eyes away from seething violet irises, and shoved his hands into his denim pockets. "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. You can fall off the bridge and die for all I care," he muttered spitefully under his breath, as he turned back the way he came, and proceeded to simply walk away from the ridiculous middle-schooler; she wasn't much taller than his sisters.
Ichigo didn't get far… before he was roughly kicked in the head, by a revengeful midget that was barely half his size. "The hell?!" he bellowed as he whipped around, only to be presented with a straight knuckled-fist blow to the face. "What the hell is wrong with you, you abusive SHORTY?!" he ordered gruffly, alongside a flurry of curse words, as he cradled his injured nose that was dripping red.
"Hmph," the girl tilted her head of medium-length raven locks away from him and posed superiorly—this greatly ticked him off. "Do you think you can just interrupt my practice and walk away, you irresponsible giant!" She then proceeded to cross her arms across her nonexistent—he couldn't help but note—chest and tapped her bare foot impatiently on the pavement. "I think you owe me some compensation you reckless little boy."
Ichigo snapped. He was contemplating whether or not to just let it go, but she DID NOT just call him 'little boy.' "Look who's talking you pint-sized loud-mouth! Compensation my ass! Look at what you did to my nose you black-dress-wearing FREAK!" he pointed at the evidence that was his swollen nostril. "If anyone should be 'compensating,' it's you!"
The girl on the other hand waved it off dismissively. "Oh, don't be such a baby; it's just a scratch," and therefore he was extremely tempted to break her nose so that she can rethink the whole 'it's just a scratch' remark. "It'll heal you whiny coward." Her eyes trailed indifferently behind him, and Ichigo noticed how wide they expanded when they stopped on… his abandoned groceries.
"Are those yours," she pondered with an extended manicured-finger and expectant lavender eyes.
Ichigo was rudely cut off as the ebony-haired, aspiring ballerina ignored him and began excitedly skipping to the apparently more important brown bags laying scattered all over the sidewalk. He quickly followed suit—they were his groceries, need he remind her—the pain in his nose made him wince.
"What are you doing you little thief?" he inquired as she happily snooped around in his bags without permission, browsing for something that fit her taste.
"I'm in search of my compensation you—" in mid-sentence, her face immediately lit up and her eyes sparkled—creepily, in his opinion. "Ahh! I want this!" Her cute-ish facial feature was a gigantic smile splattered all over the place, as her small hands held two pink pencils carefully. The free ones that were given away as gifts, at the grocery store.
"You want some stupid pencils?" Ichigo questioned with slight confusion, his brow arched above his eyes.
She immediately got very defensive and without warning—like most of her previous attacks—whacked him on the head. "These are not just 'some stupid pencils,' you ignorant boy! These are special Chappy the Bunny pencils!" she raised the pencils in the air and studied them with a heavenly—creepy—expression. "I've been collecting them!" she added cheerfully.
Ichigo was speechless, and a tad amused—though definitely not towards her little nose-fracturing stunt.
First, she was dancing for a ballet recital on the rails of a bridge, above a highway of ongoing cars. Second, her voice was astonishingly loud, as it projected through such a small body. Third, she may look like some sort of high-class princess, but she had no manners, her insults were quick and sharp, and she didn't even have the decency to ask for his name, constantly addressing him as 'you' followed by an insult. Fourth, she was painfully abusive—hence the purple, broken nose, that will not go without some vengeance. And fifth, she was strangely obsessed with Chappy the Bunny.
"Whatever," Ichigo muttered with a defeated shrugged; he began gathering his grocery bags. "You can have them."
She smiled brilliantly and her eyes sparkled like twinkling stars as they gazed at the plain bunny-imprinted pencils. Ichigo only managed to shake his head and laugh.
"You're a weird girl. What's your name?" he wondered, in case the authorities stopped by his family's clinic, searching for an escaped mental patient.
"Rukia," she replied, focused on her gift and didn't spare him a single glance, "Rukia Kuchiki."
Ichigo mulled over the name a few times. Finally, he enlightened her, "My name is Ichi—" but she was already gone without a trace.
Probably, the only items that confirmed their meeting ever taking place was the two missing pencils given as 'compensation', a overly-creased business card of the ballet studio down the road, and his stolen container of strawberries.
It was plot-less, really.
(I think you can expect more IchiRuki from me.)
Reviews are greatly appreciated, as well as constructive criticism and whether or not the characters were in character/captured correctly.
Thank you for reading :)