She who yawns like no tomorrow.

Odd crossover returns.

2007-05-25T06:13:25Z

Title: Pursuing Time
Rating: G
Pairing: No, definitely not. o_o;
Characters: Death of the Discworld, Rukia, King of Soul Society (mentions of Aizen, Urahara, Byakuya, Yoruichi)
Summary: AU. Death of the Discworld, meet Kuchiki Rukia and the King of Soul Society. Getting what you came for will not be as easy as you might have hoped...
Notes: Continuation to 'Lending Time,' my other crossover with Discworld. Pre-reading isn't required, but it helps. I've taken liberties on the King, but that won't affect anything until the King in canon is revealed, and I'll wait until then to worry about any potential problems. =) There are some things in here that you'll have to have read some specific discworld books to understand, but you'll get the gist. This is longer than the last one, and, like last time, I can't attest to its quality...but, please enjoy, and if you don't, I apologize. ^^; Any constructive criticism is appreciated.
Disclaimer: Bleach characters belong to Kubo Tite. The characters Death of the Discworld, History monks, Time (Lobsang), and anything else that is recognizable as being part of the Discworld belong to Terry Pratchett.

Death volunteered for this responsibility for one reason, and he suspected Azrael knew as such and permitted him to go because, while there were things in which Azrael could never indulge, the Death of the Discworld could indulge for Him. Death was part of Azrael, as were all Deaths, but he did not pretend to understand Him.

He pulled out the reason from his robe. It was a small hourglass, with carefully painted lines of green and white where brass should have been. It was sporting a little green and white striped fisherman’s hat. The hat had materialized atop the hourglass a week ago, a faint ‘pop‘ the only evidence that it had not been there before.

He walked past the unknowing guard, past the small, white-clad girl, and headed straight for the slit of open air in the wall that passed for a window. Walking around unnoticed was part of the job. What people did not believe could be possible, what they did not expect, often did not happen at all. The guard strongly believed it impossible that another version of Death could exist, because that would create a paradox that would inevitably cause the world to reverse into a white hole of anti-existence.

People were fond of going overboard with apocalyptic predictions.

Rukia, however, could see Death with complete clarity, because, in a way, she had been expecting death since she returned to Soul Society. Not exactly Death, but an anthropomorphic personification was close.

Death sighed at the familiar sight beyond. OH. DRAMA. AGAIN. DO YOUR PEOPLE EVER GET TIRED OF THIS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH A GOOD QUICK SLASH?

The instinctual part of Rukia wanted very much to ask who he (at least, she was sure the voice reverberating in her head was the tone of a male being, or maybe a coffin lid carved from a male tree, if trees had genders) was, but she had a strong feeling powered by a tone that all but literally spelled ’DOOM’ in large capitals that she knew exactly whom it was, anyway, even though she knew it was impossible and it forced logic to go home and quit its day job.

Well, not impossible now and the world did not appear to be draining away into an invisible sinkhole of oblivion, so that was a good sign that things still made as much sense as they did a few minutes ago, which probably still did not bode well.

Her brain felt as though it just lost a few important screws, so she asked, because she felt the silence needed filling, “Why are you here?”

The robed figure turned from the view of Soukyoku to stare at her with two bright, duck egg blue pinpoints. There was no malevolence in its eye sockets. Actually, they appeared to regard her with polite consideration. TO COLLECT AND SORT YOU IF YOU DIE. YOUR REGULAR GUIDE HAS TAKEN A DAY OFF.

Rukia frowned to keep from looking perturbed. “There wouldn’t be anything to collect. That’s the point of Soukyoku. It doesn’t leave anything left.”

THAT SEEMS TO BE WHAT EVERYONE HERE BELIEVES. DISREGARD EVERYTHING THEY TOLD YOU ABOUT SOULS COMPLETELY BURNING AWAY. IT DOES NOT HAPPEN LIKE THAT. TAKE A FLESH BODY, FOR EXAMPLE. THEY CAN BURN TO NOTHING, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THE SOUL IS GONE. YOU COULD SAY THAT YOUR SOUL HAS ANOTHER MORE CENTRAL SOUL THAT GETS PASSED ON.

She did not think Central Forty-Six would be pleased to know this bit of information. “Okay, but, what do you mean, ‘if?’”

THE COLLECTORS AND GUIDES OF YOUR WORLD ARE NOT SURE WHETHER OR NOT YOU WILL DIE. THEY HAVE GIVEN UP TRYING TO FIGURE IT ALL OUT AND HAVE STARTED PLACING BETS. THERE IS A GROUP OF HUMANS WHO ARE TRYING TO TIP THE BALANCES OF YOUR FUTURE SCALE. From what Death had been told, Soul Society’s guide had been so flustered with all the confusion that he was ordered to take a vacation lest he have a nervous breakdown. He was a twitchy type. The orange-haired human seemed to be causing the most trouble. He was doing more than tipping scales; he was hacking them into metal heaps with his oversized kitchen knife. The other humans seemed quite adept at blowing things up. And there were other people in inactive play to consider…

Death was waiting for a particular inactive player to return to the game. He could feel the pull of the borrowed time. The glass itself had returned to him some months ago, and now rested in the recesses of his robe, but it was mysteriously devoid of the telltale sand. The sand was part of the essence of his being; simply put, the grains were made of the grounded anti-fibers of his robe of shadows, the miniscule fragments of his ivory bones.

All of which were things he had been persuaded to bet.

“You’re not afraid you’ll lose to me, are you?”

I DID NOT KNOW YOU WOULD BE SO DESPERATE AS TO REDUCE TO PROVOCATION.

The man raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It was only a question. One you’re avoiding, by the way.”

I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE SMARTER THAN THIS. LITTLE GOOD EVER COMES FROM BARGAINING WITH ME.

“But there is some, and that‘s really all I need. Besides, you forget, I’m a Death, too.”

A HUMAN ONE. YOU CANNOT EVEN DO HALF THE THINGS I DO WITH A SNAP OF MY FINGERS. It was a fact. Death had no reason to brag, especially when he knew other people stood no chance. At the end of the day even chances died.

“I can build things that can. Improvisation.” This was also a fact. This man possessed an ego the size of a lake and would gloat about it being bigger than all the combined bodies of water on Earth, Death could tell these things, but not even a spoonful of that ego was present. Those were the words of a man whom knew exactly what he was doing, how he was going about it, and the consequences.

YOU KNOW I CANNOT GIVE LIFE. I CAN ONLY GRANT AN EXTENSION AND IT WILL ONLY LAST SO LONG.

“An extension is all I’m asking for. If I win.”

AS YOU WISH. Death, surprising even himself, hesitated a moment. ARE YOU CERTAIN? IF YOU LOSE, YOU WILL BE BOUND TO ME FOR ETERNITY AND AFTER. YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LEAVE MY LAND. YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO DIE. He thought perhaps a bit of melodrama would make the man give his decision a second thought.

“An eternity is a long time,” the man agreed, “I suppose if you don’t want an eternity of my riveting company, you will just have to hope I win.” He smiled.

It was the smile Death had found disconcerting. It was a reflexive smile, one that spoke of centuries of intriguing secrets and memories, a smile that said, ‘I know things’ and left it at that, infuriatingly lacking in detail.

The time had not returned to him. The man was bound to know something about this phenomena. Death could feel it suspended in a container of sorts, frozen and waiting. There was not much of it left. The man had certainly not been joking when he said he could improvise on Death’s powers. As far as Death knew, besides himself, only the History monks and Time himself could freeze, well, time.

But even he could only continue with it for so long…

He was not the only one waiting for that one particularly troublesome player. The Fates had their eyes on that person and another since the day they challenged the Ladies to an inter-universe game that resembled chess, but every move depended on the roll of the die and the abilities of their main pieces.

The Fates and Ladies did not create their pieces; they simply went through a complicated choosing process and prepared them. They set before them tasks and obstacles to succeed and overcome with the roll of two die. Whether they triumphed or not was entirely up to them. The pieces were exactly who they made themselves. The game was set in a universe where death truly was only the beginning. Thus, the game had lasted several centuries, but the climax was drawing near, and soon after that, the resolution. There would not be another hundred years.

Technically, there should only have been one Fate and one Lady anthropomorphically personified, but every universe had their own Fates and Ladies, and while on the Discworld it took a massive amount of belief for those gods to exist, the rules of the Discworld universe were only guidelines in the others.

Rukia stared resignedly at the opposite wall, eyes tracing a jagged crack in the almost perfect marble. “Where will I be taken?”

PESSIMISTIC TYPE, Death thought. DOESN’T EVEN THINK OF THE POSSIBLITY THAT THE ORANGE-HAIRED BOY WILL SUCCEED IN HIS HACKING TO SAVE HER. Death returned to the view of Soukyoku, which was slowly becoming the view of the dawn light glinting off the edge of the gigantic halberd. It was, admittedly, an impressive sight, but the size of the execution weapon always ruined it. YOU WILL BE SORTED. I AM NOT ENTIRELY FAMILIAR WITH THE PROCESS, BUT THE END PRODUCT IS THAT YOU’LL BE REINCARNATED TO ANOTHER WORLD, OR POSSIBLY EVEN THIS ONE.

At Rukia’s blank look, Death elaborated. For some reason, most people always got lost on the ‘many worlds’ bit.

THIS UNIVERSE WAS CREATED BY A LITTLE OLD MAN WITH A LEATHER SACK. THIS UNIVERSE IS RESIDING IN THE AFOREMENTIONED SACK. THERE ARE OTHER LITTLE OLD MEN WITH LEATHER SACKS HOPPING ABOUT THE PLACE, ADDING NEW THINGS, SCRATCHING OTHER THINGS OUT. YOU CAN THINK OF THE UNIVERSE AS ONE BIG PICTURE ON AN EVEN BIGGER CANVAS. THE SACK CONTAINS THE ART SUPPLIES.

She took a moment to allow the chiseling echoes of the engraving of a tombstone to settle in her head. “Is the ‘little old man’ part compulsory?”

NOT AT ALL. THEY SEEM TO PREFER THAT PARTICULAR SHAPE. THE UNCONSCIOUS UNIVERSAL RULE ONE AMONG HUMANS WAS A GREAT INFLUENCE.

Rukia leaned forward, intrigued and eager to know this ‘universal rule one.’ It sounded useful. “What is it?”

DO NOT ACT INCAUTIOUSLY WHEN CONFRONTING A LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MAN.

She blinked. “Um?” It sounded useful enough, if she ever thought one of those were capable of attacking her. What would they do, chew their gums at her?

YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND IF YOU HAVE EVER MET A LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MAN.

Rukia thought about all the men she knew that fit in that category. Captain Yamamoto Genryuusai-Shigekuni was old, but he was not little and nor did he smile. Captain Ichimaru never stopped smiling.

Death appeared to have sensed her distress. WELL, TAKE AWAY THE ‘LITTLE BALD WRINKLY’ PART AND YOU WILL HAVE THE GENERAL IDEA. PEOPLE WHO SMILE TOO MUCH ARE USUALLY NOT VERY GOOD FOR YOU. LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MEN ARE EVEN MORE DANGEROUS BECAUSE NO ONE EXPECTS MUCH FROM THEM.

Rukia lay back against the wall. “Which world do you come from?”

THE DISCWORLD.

“What’s it like?”

…FLAT. IT’S A WORLD THAT RESTS ON THE BACK OF FOUR ELEPHANTS, WHICH IN TURN ARE STANDING ON THE BACK OF A GIANT TURTLE, AND THEY ALL FLOAT THROUGH SPACE, THOUGH, NOT AIMLESSLY. THE TURTLE ACTUALLY KNOWS WHERE ITS GOING, BUT IT HAS NOT BOTHERED TO SHARE THAT INFORMATION. Not that it could, Death reflected, but that was irrelevant.

“…And you think Soukyoku is weird…”

If Death had lungs and nostrils, he would have sniffed at the remark. IT IS TOO BIG.

“Its not even released yet.”

Death‘s eye sockets bored into her. WHAT? IT HAS TO BE LET LOOSE? WHAT DO YOU DO, UNBIND IT AND ALLOW IT TO FALL ON YOU?

“No! It has another form!”

OH. NO, WAIT, DON’T TELL ME. IT GETS BIGGER.

Rukia shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yes. It gets fiery, too. But, I’ve never seen its true form…it hasn’t been used in centuries…”

Death felt curiosity poking its way into his cranium, which was not often a good thing. ARE YOU AFRAID?

“I…it’s that--well…I don’t know. Should I be?” In that moment, she looked smaller than she actually was, suddenly lost in a place she had dwelled nearly all of her afterlife, and could not understand why she was condemned for doing what she had been taught to believe was her duty by her captain: saving lives.

Death looked away from the bright, pleading eyes. I DO NOT KNOW. It niggled at him, the fact that his mind had failed to grasp a memory he knew was swimming at the forefront of his skull.

“Have you been here before?”

Death replaced an hourglass with long, furry appendages that looked suspiciously like bunny ears back into his robe and surveyed Rukia with his pinpoints of light.

She shrugged. “You seem to know the procedure for whatever goes on here.”

I HAVE BEEN HERE ONCE BEFORE, OVER A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. THE CIRCUMSTANCES WERE SIMILAR. SOMEONE WAS ALSO WAITING TO DIE. WELL, MAYBE NOT DIE. HE WAS WAITING FOR SOMETHING, AT ANY RATE.

Rukia folded her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Where did his soul end up?”

HE DID NOT DIE.

Her eyes widened. “That’s impossible. Soukyoku can‘t be stopped--”

I NEVER SAID HE WAS TAKEN TO IT. HE ESCAPED AND BORROWED TIME FROM ME. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING, AND NO, YOU SHOULDN’T. YOU WILL NOT WIN. I CANNOT EXPLAIN WHY HE DID. He should have remembered the outcome before it happened, but the memory had been even bigger than his vast mind could grasp. It was like trying to grab a whale with your bare hands. So he took his chances. Looking back on it, they had not been strong chances.

She leaned back against the whitewashed wall. “How?”

Death, while not having any skin and muscles to do so, conveyed his desire to scowl quite well. HE BEAT ME AT CHESS. WRETCHED GAME. I HAVE NEVER BEEN AN EXCEPTIONAL PLAYER. She could tell it irritated him a great deal to admit it.

She frowned, not at all certain why she was about to ask this. “Do I know him?”

Death thought about it. Azrael had mentioned something…crumbling treasure. YES, he said, eventually, THOUGH YOU’LL WISH YOU NEVER HAD.

Rukia tried not to dwell on the thought.

YOU WANTED TO LEARN HOW TO PLAY.

“I don’t think I’m moving these horses the right way--”

DON’T WORRY. I CAN’T GET THEM RIGHT EITHER. THEY’RE KNIGHTS, BY THE WAY.

“So, what is this ‘castling?’”

IT’S WHERE YOU MOVE THE KING AND ROOK NEXT TO EACH OTHER AND THEY SWITCH PLACES.

“Really? Is there a number of steps?”

UM.

“You don’t know.”

I AM THINKING.

…

…LET’S GET BACK TO CASTLING LATER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE QUEEN?

WHO WAS THAT DARK WOMAN?

Rukia thought she saw a faint spark of recognition in those pinpoints, but pushed it away, figuring it must have been a figment associated with her fatigue. “She was famous in her time, a legend now. One day, she just disappeared. She was thought to have died years ago.”

Death‘s mutter lingered in her mind, and the only words she could make out were ‘INACTIVES’ and ‘MOTION.’

“What?”

NOTHING. He seemed to remember something. WHAT ABOUT THE FLOWER PETAL MAN?

Rukia smiled, glumly. “He’s my brother.”

YOU ARE NOT CLOSE.

“No. But he is my brother. He took me into his home, and I am grateful.”

WILL HE NOT HELP YOU?

“Not him. The family name is already at stake. I am not worth the trouble.”

Death peered down at the top of Rukia’s head. DRAMA AND ANGST TO BOOT. Death stared at the opposite wall and shook his perpetually grinning skull. THOSE HUMANS CAME FOR YOU.

She did not respond.

WHAT IS ‘KAIEN-DONO?’

Rukia flinched and shut her eyes. She berated herself for speaking out loud. “A person. A friend. He died.”

YOU BLAME YOURSELF. Death was something of an expert with the angst-ridden. He lost count of the number of people who killed themselves or other people, or even both, and declared numerous reasons for why it was necessary. Death was not one to dwell on the details of the departing, but occasionally he allowed himself a moment to futilely contemplate why. He held no illusions; he could deal with the living, but he could not completely understand them. He tried and found that Life was illusive and had many tricks up its sleeve.

Rukia did not take her eyes off the blade beyond the slit in the wall. “I killed him.”

Death thought it best not to ask. The blanket of silence that descended over them crackled with tension, but he did not say anything. A procession was coming to take her to the execution ground.

She knew. “I suppose I’ll see you soon enough?”

Death did not respond, not even as the group walked out onto the bridge. He followed close behind the solemn, white figures as he reached into a fold in his robe and pulled out the hourglass with the bunny ears. He shook it experimentally and replaced it. He reached into another fold, pulling out a scale with a complicated tangle of balances. There was a pair of furry, pink bunny ears protruding out of the top knob. He studied them intently, searching for something he had been instructed to keep an eye socket on since he entered this world.

It did not take long to find.

OH. Death watched a particular water droplet on the scale, watched as the world in it glinted and reflected the light. The droplet edged off its own balance plate and dropped onto another, murkier droplet that looked as though it had come from a mud puddle. The drips of water merged and a future had changed. Several of the other droplets were following the example of their fellow drops and he watched futures bend and twist in the liquid. He returned the scale to his robe and took the time to comprehend the weight of what had occurred.

He opted not to follow the gloomy party any further, already knowing what was about to happen. Why spoil it for her. He snapped his fingers. The air shimmered and shifted, particles swirling to fit in the new area. He was in a dimly lit room filled with the sound of rain pattering on thin metal. Scales lined the towering shelves. Droplets were precipitated to empty balance plates, drops on rusty scales evaporated to the looming gloom of the sky above, rusty scales themselves breaking down bit by tarnished bit. This place was one of the many halls of life in this universe. It was the Hall Of Falling Water. Death figured no one had ever accused the christeners of originality.

He returned the bunny-eared scale to the far corner of a shelf. After an internal debate with himself, he seized a ladder and climbed to the very top of a shelf beside a patch of cumulonimbus clouds. He attempted to gently shift a tiny, enthusiastically pouring puff of cloud away with the handle of his scythe, but, having noticed that it was pouring on a particular scale, gave up. He picked up the strange scale wearing a little green and white striped hat on its knob. The balance plates were overloaded with drops. They piled on each other like globs of tapioca. The little cloud poured cheerfully, oblivious to the fact that the balance plates were shifting shape into bowls to better accommodate the droplets.

As he returned the scale to its place, he slowly turned his skull to another tapioca-filled scale on the other corner of the shelf. As with the other one, this one also had a happy little cloud precipitating joyfully on it, the balance bowls steadily filling with pattering droplets. This scale had a pair of square-rimmed spectacles attached to the knob; the lenses were cracked.

He was acutely aware of the other presence in the room.

WHAT BRINGS YOU TO SUCH A PLACE, YOUR MAJESTY?

A distorted voice, neither recognizable as male nor female, answered. “Same as you. They’ve had the attention of everyone here since they appeared. I remember when they had only two balance plates apiece.”

As Death climbed down the ladder, he noted that, besides being the only two with clouds constantly presiding over them, the two unique scales were also the only ones occupying the top surface of a shelf.

The King of Soul Society wore a plain black robe with the cowl over its head and most of its face, so that all anyone could see was darkness where there should at least have been a mouth. It leaned against the doorframe. “Personally, I prefer the Room Of Moderately Nice Weather, but the future has become fairly important as of late.”

PEOPLE ARE NATURALLY CURIOUS ABOUT THE MORBID.

The darkness under the cowl emitted a noise like a sniff. “The Room Of Moderately Nice Weather is underrated.”

AND WHAT OF THEM?

The King glanced at the two scales high above the rest and beckoned for Death to follow as it turned its back to the sullen hall. “Beanstalks. They’ve got carrots and lemons on them.”

UM. Death did not know what to make of this revelation.

“It is a garden of good memories. There isn’t anything to worry about from there.”

AND WHAT OF THE NOT SO GOOD?

“The Room Of Weather That Could Be Better is still only a place of memories. Tall, dead trees decorated with rotting vegetation.”

MEMORIES ARE NEVER JUST MEMORIES. Death shook his ivory skull. WHY DO THEY INSIST ON SUCH THEATRICS?

The King shrugged. “The souls picked for play by the Fates and the Ladies are bound to stand out somehow. They’ve had centuries to build things to an epic scale, excuse the pun. If you ask me, I think this is how they keep track of their main players.”

Death nodded his agreement. THE GAME IS COMING TO AN END.

The King paused in its stride to look at Death, or at least it gave the impression of looking. “A new game will begin. You know the Fates cannot tolerate loss and the Ladies--.”

AND WHO SAYS THERE WILL NOT BE A STALEMATE?

The King surveyed its companion before reaching a decision. It continued its journey with Death respectfully trailing a few steps behind, pushing their way through walls and passing through corridors. They stopped in front of a pair of impressive stone doors. Designs swirled and gleamed octarine, the color of magic. “The Hall Of Ifs, Buts, And Why nots.” The King promptly stepped through. Death followed and, as soon as he was through, stared.

The place was overgrown with flora. Daisies popped out of the walls, chrysanthemums hung from above their heads, lilies bloomed out of the corners of the ceiling. Long, thick creepers trailed along the walls and writhed a bit as Death stepped past. A huddle of wilting orchids straightened themselves as the King strode further in to follow its companion.

“Every petal is a ‘what-could-have-been.’ I see you’ve found theirs‘. I suppose it wasn’t difficult.”

This was an understatement. Each soul in this particular universe had a group of flowers that symbolized all the events in their lives that could have turned out another way, but there were only two who had small gardens dedicated to their ‘what-could-have-beens.’

“You see the possibilities that were, and, technically, they are in an alternate world. You saw the bowls of possible futures back in the Hall Of Falling Water. The possibilities are always there. Stalemating only further proves my point that a new game will be played. If not in this universe, then another.”

Death’s pinpoints landed on a group of lilies and sunflowers hanging just above his head. There was a tag attached to the stem of the longest sunflower; it had a picture of a crudely drawn pink bunny beside the name.

The King followed his gaze. “She will live to continue to the next game.”

THERE ARE MANY ROLES SHE COULD BE. IT ALL DEPENDS HOW THESE TWO END UP.

The King squinted. “I count six possibilities.”

I SEE TOO MANY. THESE GODS WILL NEVER BE SATISFIED. THEY ALL PLAY TO WIN.

The King shook its head. “Wrong. You‘ve forgotten. The Fates play to win; the ladies play not to lose.”

Death considered that and was reminded of a chess match he had lost long ago to a human death god, thought of a not-so-young girl whom had false ideas of why she was to be killed, and abruptly remembered that he would soon have an inevitable appointment with a man sporting broken glasses.

This was beginning to become more than a simple request for a rematch. OH, BUGGER.

Isshin's birthday

2006-12-10T10:05:35Z

Title: In Volatile Company
Rating: G
Spoilers: Only if you haven't read chapter 184 and past.
Pairing: A bit of Isshin/Masaki.
Summary: Some of Isshin's more memorable birthday moments.
Notes: It's Isshin's birthday today, so I thought I'd contribute something for it. He doesn't seem to get much love, sadly. This isn't very good, but it's all I could come up with. ^^;
Disclaimer: Bleach and any characters mentioned here all belong to Kubo Tite.

It was a memorable affair.

There was something about fighting your very first hollow on the morning of your birthday that you really could not forget even if you tried. It might have been the thrill of the moment, or the adrenaline rush, or, as it was with Isshin, the irritation of having a giant chicken-like creature howling at you when you have a furiously hammering hangover. Whatever it was, there was a sense of satisfaction when you reaped that first hollow.

For Isshin, it was the relief of his pounding head. It did not last long. People around him were running aimlessly, shouting here and screaming there about hollows that did not deserve such attention. He could not see why everyone was making a big deal.

“Menos!” shouted a seated officer whom Isshin had never bothered to learn the name. He turned around and finally saw.

It was funny-looking. The thing did not look any less clown-like up close than the picture did in the textbook. It was ridiculously enormous, its nose was ridiculously long, the spikes on its neck were ridiculously dramatic--

But the beam of reddish purple light it suddenly fired from its mouth was certainly not ridiculous.

He yelped and flew through the air and landed headlong into a bush. There were thistles.

It was another fifteen minutes before reinforcements arrived in the form of an amused eighth division captain carrying a suspicious white jug. He shot several bolts of lightning at it, which was the equivalent of shooing away a stray animal. Isshin returned to the Court and was sent straight to the fourth division complex, where one of his drinking colleagues and current dropkicking target awaited him on the front steps. They stared at each other, each taking in the other’s bedraggled appearance. Isshin had twigs and thistles in his hair. Urahara had seaweed.

“A chicken. And a menos,” added Isshin.

“Squid.” He blinked and turned around for a moment. “Happy birthday?” he inquired, handing Isshin a suspicious white jug. Isshin took it, sniffed, and sat himself down beside the other man. He took a thoughtful swig of it’s contents.

“Good enough.”

-

It was a memorable affair.

Of the few things he wanted that day, being shot was not one of them.

Isshin had never felt so in need of a strong drink as he and Ukitake slashed open two shallow cuts in the earth. They did not stay long enough to watch the young, inexperienced Quincy tumble into the ditches and twist their ankles and break their bones. All of that was better than what they might have had to do.

He didn’t throw his sword down to kill, not unless someone decided to play hero and charged him recklessly. The problem was that many of them were just too bent on being heroes for their own good, especially the younger ones. People wondered why a handful of captains could not wipe out a few measly little Quincy and Isshin wished those people would shove it.

Just before they could dive at the gate, an onslaught of arrows bombarded them from above. The pair batted them away as they moved. Out of the corner of his eye, Isshin noticed an old man pointing an arrow at him. He could not raise his sword quickly enough so, reflexively, he jumped. He came back down on one foot and began to hop up and down angrily, biting back curses as he stared at the smoking hole in his other foot. Ukitake shoved him forward into the gate. He hopped frantically through and, as his good foot gave in to its aching muscles, dropped gracelessly beside a sleeping Urahara, whom cracked open an eye and stared at the foot.

Kyouraku was too occupied with staring mournfully at a porcelain handle in his hand to notice Isshin’s arrival. Urahara instinctively offered Isshin a roll of bandages. “Unohana is busy,” he said in response to Isshin’s raised eyebrow. “Don’t ask me to do it either. And he‘s grieving, so it’s probably best not to disturb him.” He pointed at the remains of a jug.

“It was new. And there was still half a bottle in it,” Kyouraku muttered dejectedly. Ukitake appeared through the gate as he spoke. Sighing with comprehension, he sat himself down next to Kyouraku and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

Together, the four men stayed there, leaning against the wall. One whom lamented, one whom patted, one whom slept, and the one whom bandaged his foot.

-

It was a memorable affair.

Actually, it was a drunken affair, and memorable only in disoriented pieces to those who had attempted to drink the entire bar dry. The bar was a small one, with very few occupants. Soon, only five people remained, the rest having returned home to recover what was left of their ears from the noises three of the five had called ‘singing.’ The barman stayed, only because he was used to it.

Those same three had managed to chug away a little less than half a storeroom, which wasn‘t saying too much, considering the storeroom was more like a store cupboard. They were having an engaging conversation about society and eggs while swaying dangerously in their chairs. The other two watched with genuine interest. The one who looked a little sickly shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled fondly despite himself. He couldn’t drink that night because his condition was acting up again, but he stayed in spite of it. The dark woman poured herself another glass of milk. She preferred it over alcohol, not to say she didn’t like a good drink now and then, but nothing beat milk.

Many years were passed like this, until one morning Isshin woke up on his first birthday away from Soul Society. He stayed in bed, recalling different bars they frequented, thought of the horrible mangling of perfectly good songs with their off key singing, remembering bits of fond drunken discussions about the meaning of life and cabbage. He missed it all, but he mostly missed the company. Good company was hard to find nowadays.

Only hard, though, not impossible.

Isshin wondered if he could persuade Ishida Ryuuken to have a drink with him. He hoped the man would not repeat what his ancestor had done; the shiny skin had remained as a reminder of the unfortunate incident with his foot.

-

It was a memorable affair.

He only had one glass of wine this time. It might have had something to do with the fact that chugging himself drunk was not the best way to stay in the good graces of the woman he finally had the courage to ask out.

As they stepped out into the frigid night, he lit a cigarette, taking a puff to calm his frayed nerves. It was a habit that had always been there, but in the past he only indulged it with the occasional pipe. Cigarettes weren’t as good as a pipe, but he had to make do.

The woman beside him half-heartedly flapped her hand in a vain effort to fan the suffocating fumes away, even though the breeze was taking care of it. She had a longsuffering look on her face.

“Sorry,” he said, not feeling too apologetic. “I forgot you hate it.”

She took hold of his hand and plucked the lit stick from his fingers. He didn’t protest when she dropped it and ground it under her heel. “I like the hand that holds the cigarette,” she said, entwining her fingers with his and tiptoeing up to kiss him, long and slow.

And just like that, he quit.

-

It was a memorable affair.

The first of the reasons of why he remembered was because she wasn’t there. Only months ago had she gone.

Her absence was easily noticeable. He wasn’t woken with little threats to get up or she’d smother him with a pillow, birthday or no. He wasn’t lured downstairs by the smell of a freshly baked cake. There were no laughing little brats latching themselves onto him and shouting happily.

He woke up sometime in the morning when he smelled something burning. He heard running and figured the kids could handle it and awoke again in the early afternoon. He might have considered it a sign of old age, if he hadn’t already passed the mark of Old Age and danced across the border of Ancient. If not Ancient, then at least the border of Damn Old.

The alarm clock was supposed to have blared him awake, but it was obviously tampered with. It wasn’t plugged in, which was a definite hint.

There was a brief scuffle with a pair of slippers that refused to let themselves be worn when he remembered that he didn’t have slippers in his room and realized that he had been trying to wear a carpet. He stood, tripped because he forgot to take his foot out from under the carpet, and stumbled into the bathroom.

He thought it pointless to open the clinic at this time of day, so he settled for going downstairs with every intent of making a cup of coffee. He never got around to it. This was the second of those memorable reasons.

On the kitchen table was a cake, a strangely oblong-shaped cake covered with an entire canister of whipped cream by amateur hands. A large, slightly leaning white candle that he normally used during blackouts was stuck through the top. Crusted on the pan in the sink were bits of burnt batter. A packet of matches laid beside the cake.

He lit the candle, thought slowly and carefully, and made a wish.

That night, they had cake for dinner. The children were surprised to find that it was actually good and didn‘t poison them after all. Yuzu was not sure if she put enough eggs and Ichigo thought he burnt it beyond salvation. It was Karin who went overboard with the whipped cream. When it was well into the night and he was sure everyone was asleep, he walked to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of sake. He was about to close it when he took a look at the refrigerator and glanced down at the bottle in his hands. There was a brief internal struggle, but he eventually put the sake back.

He could do without it. At least cake didn’t give him a hangover.

End.

Odd crossover.

2006-06-03T22:20:41Z

Title: Lending Time
Rating: PG
Pairing: Not between these two there shouldn't O_o. Slight UraYoru depending on how you look at it.
Summary: Death of Discworld, meet the imprisoned shinigami. Prepare to be confounded.
Notes: Erm...This kind of crossover could be considered taboo, huh? I was just toying with the idea, but it ended up like this. Discworld's Death and Bleach's Urahara. I can't really attest to it's quality...And I know I can't link properly. Sorry. ^^;
Disclaimer: Bleach and Urahara belong to Kubo Tite. The character of Death belongs to Terry Pratchett.

The man stared at the shadowy figure from a distance. Then he walked over to it and stared it in the face. Or at what would be under the face if the figure had one to begin with.

He cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t you a bit stereotypical?”

THAT IS NOT THE USUAL IMPRESSION.

As the words echoed off the curved walls of the Tower of Repentance like the slamming of a thousand coffin lids, the man wondered if what he heard was truly heard at all.

“I never knew one could meet a physical state of being. Or not being.”

THERE IS MUCH YOU DON’T KNOW. LIKE WHETHER THE CHICKEN OR THE EGG CAME FIRST.

“That goes without saying.” He shrugged. “Might be neither came first. I’m happy to say I’m not alone in the chicken/egg paradox.”

BUT YOU ARE ALONE IN YOUR FATE.

He blinked and smiled a knowing and unworried smile that somehow unnerved Death, which was quite a feat, however, the man was unaware. “Yep,” he crooned happily. “Are you here to stay?”

UNTIL THE TIME COMES TO ESCORT YOU, YES.

“Ah. Well, alright. Good night.” He walked off to the other side of the room and laid on the cold marble floor, falling back asleep within seconds.

Bewildered and bemused at the lack of a suitable reaction, Death glided to the narrow window and watched the light of dawn glint off the gargantuan blade on the cliff and it’s equally humongous execution stand, both of which stood ominously in the morning mist.

OH, he muttered. DRAMA.

Death reluctantly produced a wooden box with a folded playing board with thirty-two black and white pieces.

I DON’T LIKE THIS GAME.

The man pouted and slouched forward. “Oh? How unfortunate. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

OH, BELIEVE ME, I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I AM MISSING AND I AM NOT MISSING IT ONE BIT. He never had trouble with the game, just with the two pieces that were thought to be ‘noble’. It was just the name. There was nothing noble about marble or glass that Death could think of.

“Would it make you feel better if we played my version instead?”

NO. BESIDES, I WASN‘T TOLD TO BRING THAT SET.

“Please, humor me with the western version, then. It is my last day as--er--mortal doesn’t quite cut it, does it?” The man scratched his cheek with a finger as he tried to think of a word that would fit his current form of being.

CUT WHAT? OH. WELL, PERHAPS. PERHAPS NOT. WHY DON’T WE JUST LEAVE IT AT DEATH GOD?

He smiled a smile Death could draw no meaning from. It seemed to be a reflexive reaction. “Because I’m not a god. Let‘s just leave it as me, then.” He grinned again.

Death returned it without much choice. YET ISN’T THAT WHAT THIS “FOLDING-OF-CRISP-PRETTY-PAPER-INTO-THINGS-THAT-LOOK-LIKE-ANIMALS-AND-PLANTS”--DAMN, THERE MUST BE AN EASIER WAY TO SAY THIS--TRANSLATED TO IN THE COMMON TONGUE?

Death heard the man snort and chuckle. “It’s ‘Shinigami’ in my language. You have it confused with an art that involves folding paper. And that would be your common tongue. And another tongue quite similar to yours in this universe. But I always thought it was an odd translation. Gods aren’t supposed to die. Sure, they seem to lose limbs and body parts, but they don’t die.”

YES, THERE IT IS; SHIN-KNEE-GAH-MEE. SO YOU SAY THEY DON‘T. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN YOUR GOD?

“No. I think I’d rather not. I’d like to be burned to oblivion in peace without anything else to add.”

EVENTS MIGHT NOT TAKE PLACE AS YOU THINK THEY WILL.

He raised an eyebrow, amused by the proceedings. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

IF YOU BELIEVE I AM TELLING YOU NOT TO LOSE HOPE JUST YET, THEN IT MIGHT BE PRUDENT TO BELIEVE IN SOMETHING ELSE. I AM MERELY STATING THAT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE IN THIS UNIVERSE SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO MAKE ANY ASSUMPTIONS OF THE UNKNOWN.

He blinked. “…You’re confusing me, you know. But that’s alright. Confusion is a good experience.”

It was Death’s turn to blink, though only metaphorically. He had no eyelids with which to blink, anyway, and no eyes or eyebrows with which to look curious. So, he tried to look as curious as an eternally grinning skull with empty sockets could. IS IT?

“Yeah. Like it is when you fall and learn to stand up.”

…NOW YOU ARE CONFUSING ME. He understood the meaning; he’d fallen before the previous New Death and rose again with literally no time of his to spare, but how it applied to anything they were speaking of he had no clue.

“Oh dear. Well, that won’t do. All this confusion isn’t getting us anywhere. How about we just return to the game at hand?” He jabbed a finger at the board.

I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WOULD CHALLENGE ME TO THIS GAME WHEN IT IS NOT MY HAND BY WHICH YOU WILL DIE.

The man shrugged. “And I don’t understand how I will be taken anywhere by anyone when I’m not even supposed to be reincarnated. Soukyoku doesn’t leave much to reincarnate. You’re the substitute of the one who was charged to take me wherever it is I’m supposed to go after being disintegrated, therefore you will be subjected to my whim of a challenge.” He grinned widely at Death, which was usually not the best course of action, but certainly the most amusing to him.

IT WAS NOT MY CHOICE TO COME. I DON’T EXPECT ONE LIKE YOU TO UNDERSTAND SUCH THINGS, BUT ALL UNIVERSES ARE LINKED BY THE NONEXISTENT THREADS OF THE CREATORS. THEY MOSTLY ALL HAPPEN TO BE OLD MEN CARRYING THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL UNIVERSE IN A SMALL LEATHER POUCH WHILE THEY WANDER THE UNIVERSE THEY CREATED, BUT THAT IS IRRELEVANT. BECAUSE THESE THREADS EXIST, THE RULERS COOPERATE IN TIMES WHEN COOPERATION IS MOST NEEDED. AZRAEL SENT ME TO BE THE SUBSTITUTE KEEPER OF REINCARNATION IN YOUR UNIVERSE FOR THE TIME BEING, UNTIL HE IS WELL ENOUGH TO BE OUT OF ILLNESS.

“…Actually, I understood all that quite well. So, which one of those leather pouch-carrying old men is the god of my universe?”

THAT I CANNOT DIVULGE. SORRY.

“Well, where am I going after death?”

LET’S JUST SAY YOU WILL HAVE A WHOLE NEW EXPERIENCE.

“With?”

A WORLD THAT MANAGES TO NEED SAVING NEARLY EVERY OTHER WEEK.

“So I would be in your world?”

I CANNOT SAY.

“Ah. I’m afraid your rather lengthy explanation and vague answers won’t allow you to avoid this game.”

DRAT. I HATE CHESS.

“Your move.”

IS THAT COLLAR UNCOMFORTABLE?

The man unconsciously pulled at the red collar-like thing around his throat and pushed a pawn forward two spaces. “No.”

WHAT IS IT? Death moved a rook to the side four spaces, taking his opponent’s bishop of the white squares.

He smiled as if remembering a joke and was not about to let Death in on it. “Nothing important. Not exactly.”

IT LOOKS LIKE A TIGHT FIT.

“It fits better than a noose.”

TOUCHE.

The man took Death’s offending rook with his last bishop.

With his last remaining starting pawn, Death jumped forward two spaces.

“Ah,” the strange man sighed gleefully, which was something Death wondered if only this man could manage. “I’ve figured out why you don’t like chess.” His tone wasn’t boasting, just stating something obvious.

Death grinned horribly. PRAY, WHAT IS YOUR THEORY?

“You don’t know how to use the knights, do you?”

That was unexpected. Then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Azrael had already warned him of the strange man’s observational skills. Azrael had warned him of a great deal of things about the man, actually, and Death would not have believed it all if it wasn’t Azrael who told him. The lord of the universe didn’t joke. It would have ruined the whole onmipotent-powerful-ruler-of-one-of-the-universes-shaped-out-of-clay-of-an-old-man effect.

HOW DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT?

“You could’ve captured my bishop with it. And you aren‘t playing like one who makes frivolous mistakes.”

I SUPPOSE YOU SHALL GLOAT?

The man seemed slightly taken aback for a moment and beamed the next. “Not at all. Trial and error, my dear Death of the Discworld,” he said cheerfully. “No matter what you‘ve done or not done, you must‘ve encountered a time in your life as Death where you‘ve had to use this system.”

Death wondered if the man liked being presumptuous. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the oddball was being presumptuous or was simply stating the obvious again. But he was right. Death had gone through a period of horses. A skeletal steed was too impractical and cumbersome because Death spent more time picking up it’s fallen skull then he did collecting expired souls. Fiery ones tended to fizzle out whenever and wherever there was rain. Or snow. Or hail. Or anywhere where the air was thick with cold moisture. And the flames were too hazardous to his stable. So he stuck with Binky.

He understood perfectly.

WOULDN’T IT BE EASIER IF YOU JUST TOLD ME?

“Of course. But it would be more fun if you figured it out on your own.”

And so Death moved one of his neglected knights and took the bishop. When he put it down and there was no reproach from the other for putting it in the wrong space, he felt quite triumphant.

Then the man captured the knight with one of his own.

Death grinned with irritation.

DO YOU BELIEVE YOU WILL BE RESCUED?

The man took several moments to think, then took a few more. “I’m kind of hoping not.”

Death noticed the care he took to phrase his sentence. HOPING. BUT YOU BELIEVE YOU WILL.

“Wasn’t it you who just said people shouldn’t make assumptions?”

I SAID PEOPLE SHOULDN’T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS ON WHAT THEY DO NOT KNOW.

He tilted his head to the side. “You know too, don’t you?”

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.

“Soon, right?”

YES.

“Is it who I think it is?”

IF THE ONE YOU ARE THINKING OF IS THE GOD--WHAT IS IT WITH YOU PEOPLE AND GODS?--GOD OF THE QUICK BRIGHT LIGHT, THEN YES.

There was a pause in which there was a metaphorical blanket of silence. Finally, Death himself theoretically pulled it off because it was too stifling. THIS PERSON WOULD RISK EVERYTHING FOR YOU.

He smiled cheerlessly. “I was hoping she wouldn’t. Not this time.”

WOULD YOU NOT DO THE SAME?

The man stared at him with a delicately raised eyebrow as if saying ‘Please tell me that was rhetorical’.

Death shrugged as much as a skeleton in a robe of shadows could shrug. THEN WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

“She won’t be happy.”

THAT IS, IF SHE SUCCEEDS.

The man merely grinned, again not letting Death in on the joke.

Death was rarely flabbergasted. This was not one of those rare moments. This time he was simply annoyed. Chess was not his game.

YOU WIN.

That the man did. He cornered the white king with his remaining knight, a rook, and the queen. The white king itself was trapped between two of it’s own pawns.

YOU COULD HAVE WON SOONER. IF YOU HAD SACRIFICED THE QUEEN.

The man smiled pleasantly. “Sacrifices have to be made on the way to reach the ultimate goal. But I try not to sacrifice as much as I need. The queen in particular is a piece I‘m a little hard-pressed to part with.”

AND WHAT IS YOUR ULTIMATE GOAL?

“That, my dear Death, is so simple that you shouldn’t really even have to ask.”

Death nodded his agreement. He did know, to some degree, what the man had in mind. He raised his empty sockets off the board. THEY ARE COM--NEVERMIND. Death, while not being a creature with much emotion, felt he definitely would not want to anger this particular woman, especially if he didn’t want to be broken. It wasn’t quite fear as it was tact. YOUR QUEEN IS COMING.

The man grinned. “And she won’t see you,” he said immediately.

HOW DID YOU KNOW?

A shrug. “Just a feeling.”

Death looked again out the narrow window. HMM. WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE YOU WILL ACCOMPLISH BY RUNNING FROM THE INEVITABLE?

“Eh~? Good question.” He beamed. “I’m not sure. I don’t like leaving things half-finished. Besides, I’m not ready to die yet. When I have, you’ll know, I’m sure. And you’ll have this back.” He waved the little shiny object.

DO YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE WON YOUR LIFE BACK BY DEFEATING ME?

The man smiled another pleasant, enigmatic smile as he ran a hand sheepishly through a mop of blond hair. “No. Everyone dies someday.

“I’m just borrowing a little time.”

Death had never met Life. He told the ‘shin-knee-gah-mee’ so himself when he asked. Death often wondered what would happen if he did. Things that lived would die and he would be there to collect the life force, not that Death often went around collecting the inanimate souls of potatoes. Life had no hourglass. She was something else completely, living on the same yet different lines as Death. She was Life. And Life lived on because there was no more for her to do.

He stared at the small hourglass in his hand. It had finally returned to him, materializing on his desk beside his own clock. It was much different than he remembered when he parted with it over a century ago. First off, there were green and white stripes where red should have been. Secondly, there was no sand. Where there should have been a tiny mound of golden sand on the bottom bulb there was nothing but empty space. An odd phenomenon, to be sure.

If the strange man was dead or not Death was not certain, but he made a mental note in his empty cranium to sort through the endless number of hourglasses and to visit a neighboring universe so as to be certain. He pocketed the striped hourglass.

The oddball owed him a rematch, whether or not in another universe, afterlife or not.