[1st/5th] Week 280: Fists of Not-So-Much Fury

[Inks]

Genowhirl asRaury Feybrand
Inkers as Mineto Mitsuyo

Word Count - [ 2,200 ]
​

​

There’s something to be said for a brisk, cool wind. The fresh, clean feeling as it glides across your skin. Crisp smell. Invigorating, really.

“Goddamn, what a ripper cool! Nothin’ shorta perfection, that’s what I say. Couldn’t ask fer better, and who would want to? Fffffuck!”

Raury certainly thought so. After practically exploding from bed, he had promptly thrown open his door and broken into a little jig, such was his excitement. No more horrible heat. No more over-aggressive sun. No more humidity sticking to his skin like the worlds least pleasant and worst smelling lamination. Pants. Raury had forgotten pants. The mixture of gasps, giggles and grunts of disgust told him so. A quick glance down confirmed it. He should really be more mindful of that.

But that had been hours ago, and since he had donned proper outerwear. The mood had stuck around, though. Now, jauntily walking to the appointed place with a fresh gourd in hand, he could enjoy the day. This would make for good training.

The little red was progressing nicely. Didn’t back up anymore. Took a punch with less complaint. Less, anyway. The lessons were getting more advanced. More intense. Funny, that. Advancing generally devolved, or maybe simplified. You learn the basics. Then beat the hell outta each other for a while. Mindless beatings. Advanced training. Same thing, really.

Finding his destination vacant of Mitsu, he plopped down on the grass with a satisfied sigh. Cool ground. Cool wine. Cool times.

Mitsu was late. Of course he was late. He’d gotten up early just to make sure he’d have his workload for the day done by the time he was meant to meet Raury. He’d bought a bento to eat for lunch just to make sure he didn’t have to stop off somewhere to grab something on the way. He’d prepared for a dozen different scenarios, thought up contingency plans for everything.

So, of course, several minutes before Mitsuyo was scheduled to walk out the door, his parents had dropped in for a visit.

Honestly, at this point he wasn’t even avoiding them – they just always seemed to stop in at the worst possible times. He kept meaning to talk to them (or at least Shigeru...handling his mother was never a thing he looked forward to), but there was always something in the way. He was the third seat of the First Division, for one. He was fucking busy – with paperwork, with training, with patrols and hollow-duty and trying to keep the worlds from going completely retarded, one day at a time. And then there was the time he’d been a girl when Ruri dropped by

...He was still trying to forget that.

If there was one thing Mitsu would say about his mother, it was that she was tenacious. Particularly when she found her son trying to escape her visit via his office window. If Shigeru hadn’t been there to mediate, ‘late’ wouldn’t have been the word – Mitsu probably wouldn’t have made it at all. As it was, the redheaded officer had gotten away with a bloodied nose, a bruise forming on his cheek...and a promise to meet the two for lunch before the end of the week (or else).

Autumn was fast-approaching, bringing with it a brisk, sharp chill in the air – a bite that made Mitsu shiver when the wind blew just right and turned his extremities a rosy shade of red. He kept expecting to see his breath in the air as he exhaled, even though the sun was shining brilliantly overhead. It wasn’t cold so much as crisp, but the difference wasn’t enough to make him stop wishing he’d worn an extra layer...or at least gloves. He was going to be doing hand-to-hand fighting, after all, and numbed fingers were the last thing he needed.

Ah, well. If he needed to, he could always use kidou to warm up a bit. He doubted he would...but it was nice to know the option was there again, that the power that’d been taken from him was back. Without thinking, the boy’s hand strayed up to his neck, now bereft of the cursed collar with which Prometheus had condemned the shinigami, out in the desolate white sands of Hueco Mundo.

Mitsu had learned from his mistakes. That was why he continued the rigorous training regimen he’d set himself, that was why he was meeting Raury today.

Ooh. Speaking of...!
​

Mitsu sighed.

Look at you, you happy bastard.

Unsurprisingly, his training partner was sprawled out in the grass, a gourd in hand, completely at ease with the world. It was hard to not be jealous of the man’s carefree spirit, sometimes. Especially when his own life felt more and more strenuous with each passing day.

“Hey,” Mitsu said. He crossed his arms and tried not to look too recently-assaulted as he approached the other redhead. “Raury-san? Sorry I’m late, I got...uh...well, something came up.”


Often in such cool and inviting weather, Raury was known to lie about, chill, rest. Okay, maybe the weather was not really the factor here. It really had more to do with his deep and passionate love of napping. Regardless, and thusly, all that answered Mitsu’s greeting was the soft but easily identified rhythmic sound of peaceful snoring.

Well, peaceful for the one doing the snoring. Ever tried to sleep with an individual who snores? Abominable. Luckily for the drunk, he was always the one doing the snoring.

He was asleep.

“...Raury?”

He was asleep, wasn’t he?

“...Feybrand-san?”

Of-fucking-course he was asleep.

Mitsu’s frown darkened into a scowl, and he repressed the urge to kick the sleeping shinigami in his side.

At least this means he probably doesn’t care that you’re late.
​

Not helping.

Instead of violencing the other redhead (pacifist or not, it was hard to resist – he silently decided to blame his mother for the pent-up aggression), Mitsu stooped in the grass and reached out to shake Raury’s shoulder.

Nothing. If anything, the sleeping man seemed to sink into a deeper sleep after a minute or so of Mitsuyo’s rhythmic shaking.

Goddamnit. “Raury!” Mitsu shouted with another insistent shake, putting his weight into it this time. “Wake the fuck up you dumbshit! I’m giving you until the count of three and then I’m taking your gourd and pitching it off the nearest cliff.”

One lazy eye slid open at the threat as a grimace took position where peaceful placidity had been only moments before. Which is to say he was frowning, in less flowery and sappily poetic terms.

“Ye wouldn’t dare, mate.” He grumbled, hoisting himself into a sitting position. Without care of nearby individuals, the drunk performed a chain of awkward stretches, simultaneously attempting to alleviate his own aches and cause a few for his fist fighting pupil.

“Whhaaaahha! Nothin’ like a stretch after a nap, eh?”

“Shit–” Mitsu scrambled backwards, ducking under one of Raury’s so-called ‘stretches’. A knee caught him in the ribs for his trouble, and the small shinigami went tumbling in the grass. “Ow, I wasn’t serious, damnit!”

Once he was out of range of Raury’s bizarre form of vengeance, Mitsu shoved himself to his feet and dusted dead grass from his uniform. “Who the hell’d be crazy enough to actually try taking your alcohol from you?” he asked, scowling down at his training partner. “I’d rather not hafta sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life. I was just trying to wake your lazy-ass up so we could...do...whatever it was we were supposed to do today.

“I was gonna apologize for running late, too, but it doesn’t look like you really noticed.”

A few owlish blinks as the larger of the two took to his feet, punctuated with a delayed snort.

“Late? Who’s late? Nae such thing, if ye ask me. And who asked me?” He shook his head sadly. “No one. No one asked me.”

A quick draw from the hip brought a gourd, already uncorked, half spilled on the ground, to his lips.

“Coulda sworn I’d put more in here...” He mumbled between mouthfuls. “An as fer....gulp...what we’re doin’ t’day...glug...” Finally sated, the gourd whipped back to his hip, the hand switching to an accusatory pointing motion at Mitsu.

“The workload jus’ doubled. Onna’count ye bein’ late.” Eyes blinked independently of eachother. He didn’t recall having two students. “Whassa other one’s name?”

“...Other...one?” Just to be sure, Mitsu turned, giving the area a cursory once-over. “Yeah, no, Raury-san. It’s just me. This may come as a shocker, but you’re drunk.” He eased a step back from the other redhead, out of accidental or intentional eye-jabbing reach. He eyed Raury’s alcohol supply like one might an old, reviled adversary. “Also, you literally just fucking said, as in like two seconds ago, that there was no such thing as late.”

The smaller redhead gave his friend and sparring partner a narrow-eyed once-over. “That in mind, you still haven’t said what the initial workload is supposed to be, either.”

“Don’chu sass me!” Raury pointed pointedly at his student(s). “Yanno’s n’ odd name...” The drunk shook his head, his hair freely slapping him in the eyes and ears both. About time for another haircut. His eyes trained in on Mitsu. “O’course I drink. Favorite thing to do, as we well know.”

What was he doing here? Ah, right. Punching training. Or kicking training. Eh, kick, punch.

“S’all in the mind...”

Snap it up, mate. Ye ain’t makin’ sense.

Another shake/mane self-assault.

“As fer your workload initiation. We, me lil’ mates.” Raury leaned forward, a menacing leer aiming for his little student. S. “We’s gonna hunt ourselves a hollow. The hollowest of hollows, in fact. When we get there.” He leaned back, cocking his elbows and thrusting both hands toward Mitsu. “It’s gonna be. The most hollow Hollow. It’s gonna be full of nothing.You don’t even know.” Raury held his pose.

“That’s absolutely fantastic, Raury-san,” Mitsu said with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man greeting the gallows. “And here I was, worried that my day couldn’t get any more traumatic.”

The boy met Raury’s exaggeratedly-ominous smirk with a raised eyebrow and a disconcerted frown. Again, he eased away from the alcoholic. “So does that mean you’ve already arranged things with one of the Fifth officers? Or...oh, shit, wait – I forgot. I guess I can authorize use of the Senkaimon myself, can’t I? Was that the plan?”

Mitsu paused, crossing his arms and rerunning that last sentence through his head. “Ya know, just thinking about you planning shit out is disturbing as fuck to me.”

“Yup.” Raury replied, not bothering to make note of exactly which of Mitsu’s sentences he was agreeing with. “Yup, yup yup n’ yup.” All of the sentences, one might suppose.

A motion to bring his gourd to his lips halted short, the man noting a distinct lightness of the vessel. He shook the gourd and was rewarded with no sound indicating any contents that might be hiding therein. A harder shake. Add more vigor. Soon, the Founder was performing what appeared to be a particularly violent session of air guitar, practically slamming the gourd through the air. Hair flew unchecked as his body writhed madly.

This action continued for a moment or two, Raury quickly losing interest. The assaulted gourd was tossed lazily over one shoulder, and no sooner than it had left his hand a new one had taken its place.

“So, ah. Yeh ready ta get along?”

Still slightly unnerved by Raury’s outlandish gourd-flailing ritual, his expression caught somewhere between a smile and a cringe, Mitsu opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.

This was why Raury planning just didn’t make sense. This kind of shit right here. What is he even doing?

“What?” he blurted. “No!...I don’t—You...You didn’t answer me. I mean, you did, just in the most unhelpful way possible. I still can’t...how are we...what—ugh.” The smaller redhead pressed one hand to his face, shifted his weight, and took a long, slow breath.

When he continued, he seemed to be picking his words carefully. “Okay, look. Let me ask one question. All I want is one answer.” The smaller redhead held up his index finger, just for clarification. “Is there already a confirmed hollow somewhere, or are we just going patrolling?”


“But first, a warmup!” Raury blurted loudly while darting forward. Pushing off with his feet, he lunged at Mitsu, closing the distance between the two in a blink and cracking the smaller he two in the jaw. Mitsu dropped nearly instantly, having taken a clean shot to the jaw.

“Poor lil’ soldier,” Raury said, looking down at Mitsu sprawled out in the grass,”too precious for this world...Brings a tear to your eye.”

Chuckling to himself, Raury bent down to collect his disciple in the fisty ways, flinging him over one shoulder, the other arm still holding the gourd.

“Shit’s gonna be so cash.” He muttered, making his way to the...something. He’d probably just wander around until Mitsu regained consciousness. He’d have to preach at him about surprise attacks.