So, apparently, a couple of shots of Bailey's (Mint Chocolate flavor) and a tour through the woefully small section of Shirosaki/Zangetsu fic at FF.Net makes me write semi-fluffy and absurdly OOC fic for my favorite crack OT3.
Rating: PG-13 for Shiro's dirty mouth
Author: Arcadia Silver
Pairing: Shiro/Zan/Shira (yes, you read right)
Warnings: Slight Language, Completely Unbeta'd, Complete OOC/Semi-Fluff, and a tendency to go into absurd Tolkienesque detail.
Figured you people would like some fic for a strange pairing.
It had surprised Shirosaki when, in one of his bouts of random wandering from building to building, he stumbled upon a flash of something not a part of the industrial palate of steel gray, metallic blue, and beige. Curious, he stopped for a moment, leaping over the gap between two buildings to land next to a small plastic box, a window planter that urbanites liked to use to attempt their hands at horticulture, sitting flush against the tilting plane. Inside, the object that had caught his eye glinted in the sunlight, a burst of veridian against the muted colors, was a curl of ivy. Dark and bright green leaves veined with white gently wavered in the billow of air caused by his landing.
The Hollow was confused, but not overly concerned. After all, the King's world was always changing in some small way, be it the angle of a building suddenly shifting or the endless banks of clouds becoming dark and roiling with his shifting moods, Ichigo never really left things the same for long. So if the King subconsciously wanted to spruce up his Inner World with some plant life, that was his prerogative.
The next surprise came a short time later (days, maybe a week if he had any sense of the passing of time outside this little world) when in another round of aimless wandering, his eyes were ambushed by not just a spec of green, but an entire rooftop of plant life. Now completely bewildered, Shirosaki landed down on the top of a particularly tall structure, orientation and gravity instantly shifting to accommodate him, and stared and stared.
Dark green, light green, green the shade of faded paper money, the tender pale green of new shoots of bamboo. It was like someone had tipped over a shelf of paint cans and splashed it across the meager surface of the roof. And running riots of rebellion against the tyranny of green were the bursts of blooms. Roses in the crimson shade of heart's blood, pale violet wisteria hanging as heavy as bunches of grapes, virginal white calla lilies, fuchsia orchids whose petals opened like the maw of tigers, shockingly orange and brown tiger lilies that instantly reminded him of King, creamy yellow tulips... all sitting in perfect full bloom, leaves spread to the sun and heady combination of their scents tickling his nose.
He turned to Zangetsu who suddenly arrived beside him with a look of utter confusion on his face.
“What the fuck is going on?”
The sword only offered a fractional smile before walking over and finding a curiously vacant spot against the trellis of blood-red roses and sat down, the only splash of black amid the garden of vitriolic color.
The final surprise came not too long after his discovery of the mini-jungle.
Shirosaki was fond of napping, simply because beside his unproductive wandering around, it was really the only thing he could do to pass the time. There were no opponents worth his interest and King seemed content to deny him and Zangetsu is presence or attention, seeing as how things on the outside world were calm. So the Hollow would occasionally find a bare slant of building to dig his inversed blade into and lean back against a large window and snooze.
So when he woke up some unfathomable time later, he nearly tumbled off his perch when he realized that something was off. No, not just “off”, something was wrong.
Every hour, every second that he had spent in this world since his birth, Ichigo had always had the light on, so to speak. The sun, rain or shine, always sat in the zenith of the sky, intense and brilliant and unfaltering. So the Hollow was kinda shocked at the fact that when he woke up, it was night.
Dark, lack of sun, the other half of the day, what existed between twilight and dawn.
Half in panic and half in sheer annoyance, Shirosaki picked up his blade, holstered it, and took off looking for Zangetsu.
There was only one place to find the zanpakutou now-a-days, and that was in the damned rooftop garden. Making his way across the stilted landscape, a cool breeze picked up, dragging gentle fingers through his hair, brushing over the shell of his ears and sneaking in under the hems of his robes to caress his skin.
No, he would not admit that it was kinda nice to have a reprieve from the always blazing heat of the sun.
Landing at his destination, he stomped over to the gap in the wall of dark roses, unheeding of how every surface of every leaf and still-perfect blossom, even the frayed edges of clothes and the spiked crests of his hair were bathed in silvered light, and stopped. His black-and-burnished-gold eyes widened in pure shock as he stared down into the amethyst and cobalt eyes that looked up at him from their resting place against Zangetsu's chest.
Smiling with lips painted the same crimson as the roses around her, the woman sat up a bit. Strands of salt and pepper hair drifted down over her shoulder, the same breeze that greeted him on his way over causing the very tips of them to brush playfully against the ragged edge of Zangetsu's cape. Wordlessly, she opened her arm that was not circled around the zanpakutou's waist to him, welcoming and assuring. Shirosaki stood there, at a loss for what to do. Take his blade and slash apart this strange, beautiful woman, whose outstretched sleeve quietly bleed snow onto the ground from its hem?
“Its alright,” Zangetsu murmured, “she doesn't bite.” Sword and Hollow met eyes for a moment and the Hollow was intrigued by how... content the old man looked.
“Did she do this?” Shirosaki made a wide gesture, encompassing the roof and the sky. He wanted to lash out and bury his sword into something... anything! He was confused and utterly lost and it was not a place or a position that he liked being in.
“Yes and no,” the woman answered in a voice that was more music and wind chimes than human. “Don't fret, this does not threaten your existence, I promise. Come, sit with us.”
Suddenly, he understood who this woman was. It all made so much sense to him. A sneer split across his face.
“And why should I trust the blade of a shinigami?” he snarled, hand reaching back to grasp the hilt of his sword. The woman looked up at him with calm, bright eyes, smiling faintly at him, as if that one smile held all the secrets of the world.
“Because she loves him, wholly. So by that extension, so do I. We both accept that you are as much a part of him as Zangetsu, and are something to cherish and protect. So come, sit with us, you are welcome here.”
The blade that he had unsheathed fell to the ground in a loud clatter. He stared down at the woman, then at the old man who nodded his head ever so slightly. He felt himself drag in several ragged breaths past his teeth.
Her hand reached out and cool, slim fingers clasped around his. He let his gaze bore into the sight of a hand just as pale as his own pulling him slowly down to the floor. Blindly, he let himself be dragged as she adjusted her position to accommodate both Zangetsu's arms folded around her waist and his head in her lap. Leaning back against her now bonded partner, the snow woman let one hand rest on the twined hands against her stomach as the other hand tenderly brushed fingertips against the Hollow's scalp.
As his cheek glided against the smooth material of her gown and her fingers made relaxing motions among his hair, Shirosaki looked up at the sky, unsurprised for the first time in a while to see a full moon, luminous and heavy, against the velvet-dark expanse of stars. He inhaled, the scent of the garden and the even more aromatic scent that was laced into the fabric beneath his head.
The smell of strawberries and sunshine, so she was as imprinted in subtle ways by the King as they were by her. Smirking in a satisfied fashion, he let himself drift off, for the first time since his creation, he thought he might understand that strange emotion of bliss.
Even beasts can be content.