AN- This just seemed appropriate…
There was a cough of drums, a sigh of flute, thunder of a plucked cello and the tender sound of the fragile piano that shattered the soft din of the audience in that dingy little place- the promise for the better thing to come. The music rose and swelled, eyes remained peeled, waiting, fixed on the long golden haired boy with his slender fingers that troubled the saxophone and when the music reached it heights that seemed cheerfully inappropriate in this place after war, he came, the slow tune that grounded them all. It flowed from the brass touching the pale lips, his body curved and bent, tendrils slipped over his shoulders and he took the form of sorrow that was written on the faces. It was with this tune, in the smoky air that he slowly rose the souls with the same tone of sorrow that unfurled itself and revealed its body to all- the beauty in this desolation that revived for the least, hope.
"Hey idiot," Urahra felt the foot in his nose and found himself flat backed on the floor, "stop enjoyin the entertainment, that's for the customers, go do your damn work." The pale blonde of short hair looked up at the girl looming over him, hands akimbo, her rag of a dress giving him view of more leg that ne would have like, tapered to her thin waist by the tight strung white apron. She scowled down at him with her stump of a nose and freckled cheeks, her own blonde hair pulled back in a pair of ponytails that stuck out sharply on end, held in place by an inappropriate shade of red.
"Hello Hiyori," The girl scowled down at him.
"Don't hello me you poor excuse of a man, get the hell up and finish your work," She snapped and lending him another kick to the kidneys, stomped off in her worn cloth shoes. Urahra picked himself up, wondering after the girl. The way she behaved, one would think she ran the place but she was merely the cleaning girl who kept the floors neat and despite her small size made sure the customers paid for their drinks.
It would have been considered strange that this mite of a girl was given that job but for all her size, she had quite a flair and heaven forbid the poor man who tried to get away from her- she ran close to the speed of light and had the blow of an ox- had men sore for days. The same thing happened if someone tried to run into the bar seeking refuge from another barmaid, she would beat them senseless and take every penny off of them and the ones without money got her job- and boy did she make them work! For all her bossiness, it would have been wrong to fire her on account of a few blows because, ironically, she made the entire red-light district quite a decent place.
Urahra wiped the blood off his face and returned to the books covered in numbers, but he was having a hard time concentrating, not when the nude body of beautiful music was dancing before him. He raised his eyes again and let himself take in the lit shadow that played the instrument of sin that distracted him and captured all. Leaning cautiously back, he considered this boy whom he had saved from himself a mere few weeks ago- found curled up in the shadows of an alley- catching Uraharra's eye with the long golden hair thrown carelessly in his path, floating on a pool piss. The boy himself was haggard and pale, with light eyes of grey full of trust that reminded Urahra so much of his own except the trust ran deep and true.
"You got a place to say for the night boy?" He asked and when there was a shake of the head, despite his obvious sarcasm, Urahara took off his velvet gloves and held out his hand for the bleeding and cracked one, "you got one now." The boy nodded his thanks and shuffling, followed the man home. Hiyori didn't like him the moment she saw him and that was when Urahara opened the door of his dingy apartment above the shoe store and found the girl watching the small television with a usual scowl on her face.
"This one'll be staying with us from now on," Urahara said by way of introduction.
"He got a name?" She snapped, Urahara looked back at the pale boy in wonder- he had forgotten to ask.
"I suppose someone gotta call him somethin'" He answered and before he could ask the question, he had a foot in his face and blood in his nose.
"You ass, it's just like you and your whimsy self to bring someone to your home without askin a name!" She spat in the opposite direction and scowled up at the thin boy. "What's your name piss head?" She demanded.
"Shinji," He answered huskily. Her face wrinkled further as she took in his brown coat and the beaten hat on his head.
"I'm going to boil some water, you'd better be up for a bath," She threatened and stormed off to the kitchen, muttering angrily about Urahara brining ragamuffins into the house. Yet the man couldn't for the life of him say why out of all the paupers on the streets who begged at his leather shoes and tugged at his fine coats- why out of all of them he took this one into his home. Fixed up with a meal and cleaned, the boy stayed on his couch asleep for days like some ornament of ivory that filled out slowly with each meal at every waking that continued until Hiyori got tired of it and decided on the order of punishment. Hiyori had an order of punishment for every person she met, making a list too lengthy to recall but Shinji was quick to get her cloth shoe that it seemed she wore now specifically for the purpose of taking off and slapping Shinji with.
"He gotta do something round here," She justified her attack and at nine o'clock in the night, she was scowling down at the boy waiting for the qualifications and he simply stared back at her. Urahara looked on, admiring his innocence with his half closed eyes and slightly opened mouth; Hiyori seemed on the verge of hitting him again.
"Can you play an instrument Shinji?" Urahara asked brightly, saving the man from physical abuse. The question came as he noted the boy had a habit of troubling his lap when questioned.
"The sax," Was the quiet response, " I play the sax." And sax he could play- the boy played as though his soul was made of music and that with each song he played, he was freeing the smallest part of himself; sending it to heaven.
"Uah, that was really great Shinji-san!" Mashiro blustered happily, clapping her piano gifted hands.
"Beautiful as usual," Cello playing Rose noted.
"Well done," The massive Hachi came from behind with drumsticks still in hand.
"you got talent boy," Love noted, taking a seat on Urahara's desk.
"Love, put that flute back on stage," Hiyori scolded over the clatter of applause. That was another thing that made Urahara wonder, how did a boy with the gift of angels end up in a gutter like that?
"Now for all you foxy cats and sly dogs," Kensei oozed into the microphone
"That's my cue!" Mashiro sang, skipping in her loose fitting dress of beads, her beaded had clattering in her green hair, she rushed off to the stage, tux donned Rose and Love perusing.
"I'd like to present to you tonight, the sweet, sweet sounds of our finest kitten, Lady Yoruichi," Kensei removed his black hat from his white hair and with a wave, bowed his way out of the presence of the audience. In her golden dress of shimmer that tapered to her golden heels from her wide hips, Lady Yoruichi made her winding way on stag. She brought the wide head of the silver mic to her painted red full lips, she gazed down between long black eyelashes into the darkness as she was blinded by the white of the spotlight, she threw back that purple hair of tight pulled hair and released a note so pure that it would make grown men weep- and weep they did as she sang their souls with words.
Uraharra tore his eyes away form the sin of a woman, she did not capture him, not like how this slender angel of a boy did with his golden hair spread across the violet couch, showing a white neck where the smallest tendrils of green laced. Urahara noted the clammy white fingers touching his as it gripped too tightly to the soft cushion, the other hand stretched forth shivering in the warm bar.
This man, or boy, not even he could account for his age- earning him another beating by Hiyori – he so much wanted to tear to pieces as he could not explain his fascination with this creature. He wanted to touch and taste those lips he thought was wasting a power to heal- there was something divine about this pale creature and how much he wanted to tear him apart for the answer. This was probably how everyone who met him though, so unique was this boy, his music could heal, so many wanted a touch, many more wanted a taste and he would pay them none mind. This boy he wanted to consume with passion.
"You got a cigar?" the boy asked and it was then he noted the gleam of the light on his open eyes.
"Kids don't smoke here," Hiyori answered, setting down drinks before them, "urahara, there's some Aizen who wanna see you." The blonde stiffened as did Hachi, Shinji let his head loll to one side with a sigh in his ignorance.
"You want me to leave Urahara?" Shinji wondered.
"No," It wasn't the best idea, besides, he couldn't handle that man tonight, not with out his angel at his side, "Stay if you don't mind." Shinji let himself sit on his back and swirled the ice filled water, holding the thick glass between slender fingers, Urahara felt strength in his casualness.
"Good afternoon, Urahara," The blonde looked away from the clinking glass and dew touched fingers and into the deep eyes that made him think hell- the closest one could get to that darkness and the brown hue Urahara thought was really the distant glow of the eternally burning flames.
"Good afternoon, Aizen." Urahara answered, his body though as slack as Shinji's. the man took the seat straight backed black seat directly opposite him, his white haired comrade took one on his right and his blind partner, the one on his left.
"How are ya Urahara?" Gin smiled at him, Tousen remained with out greeting.
"Good afternoon Urahara, how are you?" Aizen asked softly, resting his ankle on his knee and folding his arms on his lap, gazed patiently at the short haired blonde.
"Business comes and goes." Urahara answered politely.
"I must say I am offended," Aizen noted.
"Why ever?" Urahara asked smiling away his unease.
"You haven't introduced my to your lovely counterpart, " Aizen's gaze was fixed on the pale face of the boy who gazed back at him though half opened eyes.
"Oh, how rude of me," Urahara laughed, feel himself sicken at the idea that Aizen was as draw to the creature, "this is Shinji." The boy inclined his head in greeting. "He is our jazz player, one of the best in fact, perhaps you have heard of him, practically a-"
"I wondered a name Urahara, not a biography," The men gazed at each other for a silent moment during which each considered the other.
"I know what you had to do with the war," There was no reaction from none of the three.
"Obviously," Aizen spoke, " I fought well in the war, a soldier who profited from the spoils-"
"I know you blackmailed the country," Urahara answered softly, careful not to be heard over Yoruichi's high note. The smile faltered and disappeared and the inferno of a gaze flared.
"What proof do you have?" Wordlessly Urahra took out a black and white picture out of his deep green tux depicting Aizen in company with a Russian general. Aizen made no move to pick the picture up but instead continued to gaze fixedly at the man before him.
"I take it you have more solid evidence elsewhere," Aizen spoke softly.
"I'm not the stupid type of man Aizen," Urahara answered.
"You have fooled others well though," Aizen gazed along his nose at Urahara, "I take it you do not want payment?"
"This is the only way I clear my name Aizen," Urahara answered- he had been placed on a charge of treason because the last time, investigators saw him leave the scene instead of Aizen.
"Then I apologize," Aizen answered.
"Why?" Urarhara felt the foreboding.
"A dead man should know they did not wrong before meeting this father," Aizen answered and moving his foot off his knee, kicked himself away from the table. Aizen's chair skated away from the table smoothly, tripped on a nail and fell back wards as the man stood and stretching out his white gloved hands, brought guns from his sleeves, one he aimed at Urahara and the other at the stage. Urahra though was not there as Hachi turned the table over, pushing the low cut blonde behind it and standing, a machine gun in his arms. There was momentary instant silence where Aizen's cloak settled with a thundering flutter.
"you're don in for Aizen Souske," Hachi said softly, Hiyori had fetched the guns from under her skirts and had them aimed at Tousen and Gin, Mashiro had fetched hers from her garter and was aimed at Aizen as was Rose Love and Kensei, Yuroichi was gone. There was only a curl of Aizen's lips and Gin attacked Hiyori with a powerful backhand that cut her face as beneath the black gloves he wore an armor of blades. The girl spun in the air and before she could fall, Gin sunk the blades in her chest, cutting deeply and with a flick of a wrists, the gun was in his hand and he sent a single shot to her heart.
Aizen shot randomly and uncaringly at the ceiling with a smile of insanity on his face in the midst of a flood of persons running from the bar screaming, Hachi began to fire and Aizen but was stopped by a bullet to the head by Tousen. Gin sent twin silver throwing knives at Rose and Love who received in the chest and throat. Tousen was stepped behind a shooting Kensei and slit his throat. Aizen stopped shooting and looked around himself at the empty bar with its overturned tables and broken chairs and bottles. Aizen flicked the guns back in place and slipping his hands in the pocket of his coat, walked over to the turned table. With a toe of his shoe, he pulled the wood down and there sat Urahara gazing quietly up at Aizen, gun aimed at his face. The brown haired man showed momentary surprise and his lips curled.
"there are is not strength in numbers, Uraha-" his eyes widened at the sound of an explosion and blood bloomed on the white of his shirt that showed he looked down, on the ground, Shinji looked up at him whit his half opened eyes, a small smirk on his face, he was on his feet sending a shot at Tousen who turned sideways to avoid and with a tense of muscle, Gin sent a blade flying through the air, embedding itself in the boy's throat. Aizen looked down at the creature on the floor who gazed up at the sky with half closed eyes, thin lips upturned slightly, in his hand a gun, golden hair spread around him, blood spreading a dark halo.
In the distance there was a loud whine, Aizen looked back at Urahara and pressed his fingers to his lips and with a curl of his lips turned and walked away whit a cough of robes. Gin followed with Tousen. Bar empty, Urahara forced himself to crawl where the boy lay, gazing up at the sky, sliver sticking out of his neck. He looked down into those grays and saw the innocence gone- only the will to live and the want for revenge. Urahara leaned close and did what he wished to; he pressed his mouth on the other's. He felt the silk breathe hope into him- if this boy made it through; he hoped he could still do the same. Urahara moved away and gazed down into those grey eyes where life flared with determination. He saw the light, felt the heat and heard the sound and his world came apart in nova.