[Log] Izuru Kira, Rangiku Matsumoto
Title: Don't I Know You From Somewhere?
Characters: Izuru Kira (soleil_de_lune) and Rangiku Matsumoto (some_scribbles)
Timeline: May 22nd, 1948
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two hours of boxes, Rangiku learns, can be terribly boring. Lucky for her, there's always an eager young man willing to help her out of a pinch. And if not, there's always the bewildered blond at the bar.
I really need to stop accepting dates when I’m drunk, Rangiku thought. Steven Marshall had seemed nice enough when he kept her in drink the weekend before, he’d taken her out and giving her a few decent spins on the dance floor, but then she hadn’t had to listen to him talk.
Apparently, Mr. Marshall was into boxes. And by into, she meant ‘a maker and importer of,’ not how much she’d like to stuff him into a box and put him out to sea. Would the man ever shut up?
He paused to take a breath, and Rangiku wasted no time. She stood up and smiled, smoothing her dress down across her shapely hips, “Why don’t we walk over to the bar?”
Steven Marshall stood up and slid a proprietary arm around her waist. “Sure thing, doll.”
And then he was off, talking again. Rangiku hid a sigh, and thought about all the free corn she could drink on him. If she was going to listen to this, he was going to pay.
Izuru stared into his glass, rethinking the decision to drink whiskey now that he had two fingers worth in his glass, and they weren't particularly calming. He was trying to relax in the knowledge that the semester was over, and he was home again. But the end of the school year meant nothing in terms of the work he had left to do. There was still internships to worry about, and studying... always, always studying. It was coming up on his last year at Princeton, and he couldn't have been happier. Five years there already, including his undergraduate years. He'd put in extra hours over the summers in order to get through undergraduate studies in three years and get started with his JD... and now... now he only had to keep going at it for two more semesters and he was free of Princeton, New Jersey and wouldn't be forced to spend come home on the train every weekend--he would just be there in New York.
He blew out a breath, ruffling the hair that had fallen into his face. Great-Aunt Margaret would have had a fit if she could have seen how he'd let his hair grow so long. He smiled a little at the memory of his Great-Aunt. She hadn't been a cruel woman, but strict and traditional. She had been harassing him to get a hair cut for months before...
He shook his head and took a drink from the glass again. She wouldn't want him to be thinking of her memory with depression. She'd lived a long time, and had died a few months back with the happy knowledge that Izuru was a fine, charming young man with a promising future. She'd been content, and even if Izuru was a bit heartbroken that his guardian for years of his life had died, he couldn't say that he would have preferred her to continue on, when she'd been so sick from her age... He swallowed the last of his whiskey and pushed the glass away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It was better not to think of Margaret.
He swept his eyes across the room from his vantage point at the bar. He'd been to the Black Cat Lounge a few times over the last few months--more often still after... He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind and the blush from his fair cheeks and signaled the bartender to indicate he wanted something. He'd come home less often in the last month of school and was relieved to be back in the cozy lounge, though he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone he knew aside from those he met here. It wasn't the sort of place most of his classmates might have frequented, preferring their pretentious, elite establishments, but Izuru liked it here and came often enough for a quiet, unassuming drink.
In his sweep of the room, he noticed a couple--a man and a woman, the latter of which looked bored. He smiled to himself and took the drink the bartender offered him. He was probably going to end up drinking too much again, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not very much, at least. The poor woman. He hoped she would get away soon and enjoy herself more, even if there wasn't much he could do about it. He shook off the brief stare and turned back to the bar, brushing his hair out of his face again.
He was. Still. Talking. How many different ways could there be to talk about boxes? She dropped back the glass of bourbon and signaled for another. Marshall was like a constant drone in her left ear, one which she was getting more and more tempted to violently silence him. Unfortunately, he earned more in a month than she did in a whole year, and she couldn’t afford to get on that much of his bad side. Who knew there was so much money in boxes?
She’d long since stopped pretending to pay attention, and was starting to make a show of glancing around the bar, hoping for a rescue. How did she get herself into these messes? Rangiku finished her drink, and the bartender gave her a sympathetic glance and a refill.
The booze was not going to cut it. She needed to get out of here. Now.
Rangiku’s desperate gaze lighted on a cute blond with his hair covering part of his face. The part that she did see seemed… intelligent. Serious. Sincere. Perfect.
“Oh!” She slid gracefully off her the bar stool and approached the blond. “It’s you! Wow! Fancy seeing you here! I was just out on my incredibly fascinating date with What’s-his-name here, and-well, here you are! It’s great to see you!”
Rangiku beamed at him and hoped he’d catch on.
To his immense surprise, the same woman he had noted in his earlier sweep of the room had sauntered over to him and struck up a conversation. As though she knew him. He opened his mouth to politely tell her that she must have been mistaken--that they had never met--but he caught the brilliant shine of her smile and the tone of her words as she gestured toward her date. The date she had looked extremely bored with.
...Ah.
He forced a smile that was considerably more bright than any genuine smile he might have normally given. "Ah, yes. It's wonderful to see you, as well." He secretly felt bad for both the strange woman and her date. Completely different reasons, of course. Sorry for the woman because she had had been desperate enough to single him out of a room full of people when he was obviously and pathetically alone. Sorry for the man because Izuru was about to very effectively end his date. He wasn't typically the sort of person who might have done such a thing, but if a lady had sought him out with reason for his intervention (whatever it may have been), he could hardly refuse and still call himself a gentleman.
"I didn't expect to see you so soon though, since just the other night we--Oh!" He stopped and pretended to catch on for the first time that she was on a date. "I didn't realize you were with someone. Must have missed it if you said something." He rose to his feet and offered his hand to the woman's date, forcing himself to be the image of good manners and hoping he didn't get slugged as a result. It wouldn't have been the first time, and he shot the strange woman a glance that demanded explanation from underneath his hair before brushing it aside and slapping on a mask of confidence and cheer.
"Good to meet you."
No, no, don’t talk to him! was Rangiku’s first panicked thought. Her stranger had caught on better than she’d expected, but if Stephen Marshall opened his mouth, who knew how long they’d both be there? Listening about boxes until their skin started sagging and rotting off and they were finally ready to be laid to rest in a big wooden box, and they’d never escape the horror of the boxes!
But it was too late. He’d already opened his mouth. They were doomed. “Marshall. Steven Marshall. And you are?”
Rangiku jumped in before the stranger could respond. She could scarcely believe Marshall had managed to ask a question, and she wasn’t going to let the lucky opportunity pass her by-she had a responsibility to save the blond now, after all. “George,” she said, making up a name off of the top of her head. “George Bensen.”
“George,” she said with a smile, turning away from Steven Marshall to put the full weight of that smile on the stranger. He’d already laid the foundation for them to be perceived as ‘more than friends,’ and if she read Marshall’s character right it wouldn’t take too much effort to make him feel ignored, small, and get him to go away. “It’s really good to see you again. It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve had a chance to just… talk.”
She inclined her head towards the bar, ignoring Marshall completely, “What do you say you buy me a drink and we take the chance to… catch up a bit?”
Actually… here was her chance. Turning to Marshall, she smiled at him, “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for a response, she took the blond’s arm and began leading them away towards the bar.
Izuru hadn't expected his composure to falter so quickly. She flashed him an enormous smile, and even though he had vaguely suggested it in his first sentence, he had most certainly had not anticipated her to run with the implication that she... and he... His cheeks warmed a bit, but he forced himself to stay still and maintain his civility.
"I would be honored to buy you a drink," His smile became a bit warmer and genuine. "And, naturally, I would love to... ah, catch up?" He shook his head and shot the man a false look of apologetic helplessness. "Of course. It isn't as though we've had much time to do so lately." And that was that. Izuru allowed the strange woman to steer him away, crooking his arm just in time to make her hold on it seem genuine.
The appearance of the matter was important, and he had no doubt that the man was still watching them. Part of him hoped that whatever the man had done to this poor woman was enough to deserve the shocked way he was gaping at them. He kept his eyes forward, even as they stepped far out of Marshall's earshot.
"I do hope the poor man deserves it," He told her, his voice light and pleasantly conversational as they reached another section of the bar, where he could order her drink. He managed not to spare a glance backward at the poor man, though the temptation was rather strong, but leaned casually against the counter, as though he were having an intimate conversation with her. Covertly however, he lowered his head in a very slight bow. "Izuru Kira. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."
The blush would be cute in any other circumstance, but as it was she really hoped that Marshall was thick enough to take it as confirmation of what they were insinuating instead of the contradiction it so obviously was. She’d have worked that blush out of him by now, if they’d been at it as long as they suggested.
She watched the way he crooked his arm into her hold with an appreciative eye as he led them further down the bar and away from that horrible, horrible man. The word ‘chatterbox’ had been so painfully appropriate.
His comment about the poor man ‘deserving it’ took her off guard, and she slanted him a new, assessing look but waited to respond until he’d positioned them at the bar. “Rangiku Matsumoto,” she murmured back. “And the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. You really came to the rescue tonight, Mr. Kira. You saved both Mr. Marshall and myself.”
"Is that so?" He lowered his head and laughed softly, shaking his head. "What did he do to merit such a thing, anyway? If I may be so bold." He shifted his weight and a subtle glance backward revealed that Marshall was still watching them--though admittedly, the man looked as though he were ready to punch something. Izuru found himself suppressing the urge to sigh and roll his eyes heavenward. Marshall had no intentions of making this easy on him, did he?
Quite uncharacteristically, he leaned forward to hover his mouth a few scant inches from her ear. "My apologies, Miss Matsumoto. I would never be so forward under normal circumstances. However," He closed his eyes as if he were appreciating the smell of her hair--which was admittedly pleasant. "It seems your friend is still watching us."
The blush from earlier threatened to creep over his cheeks again, so he pulled away and turned his face toward the bar. His hair could do the rest in hiding the flush from Marshall. Izuru was never so forward and brazen with a woman he was interested in, preferring subtle gestures and--usually--solitary, silent pining. He certainly hoped the show was convincing enough that Marshall would appreciate it for what it seemed like, because he would certainly suffer embarrassment from it for some time to come. Chivalry, as far as he was concerned, was hardly dead. It was simply rarely practiced for the fact that it was not always a pleasant experience, and often required a sacrifice of pride. He motioned to a bartender.
"What would you care to drink?" He turned his now blush-free face back to her with a smile that wasn't quite demure, but came close. She looked like she needed something strong enough to get over whatever injustice Steven Marshall had done unto her.
“Bourbon and cream,” she responded, shifting closer to him in response to his words about Marshall watching them. Really, couldn’t the man take a hint?
…apparently not. After all, he had just spent all night talking about boxes.
For the benefit of their audience, and because the way his hair fell in his face made her feel like she was cradle-robbing, Rangiku reached up and gently brushed the fringe away from his face with the tip of her middle finger as she murmured, “Do you know that it is possible for a man to talk about boxes for two hours straight without ever once pausing to consider that the subject is boring? I scared I was going to have to kill him. He was boring me to death, it would have been self-defense,” she finished with a charming smile.
A quick motion and murmur to the bartender had her drink underway when she reached over to continue their charade of intimacy. He couldn't help it this time, and the furious reddening of his face grew bright enough that he closed his eyes and swallowed. It probably wasn't helping her case very much to have a young, blushing man when she did something so simple as touch his hair. He smiled valiantly anyway, his hair falling back into his face (it naturally fell that way, and only reminded him that he really needed that haircut) as he reached over to take the finished drink from the bartender.
He slid it over the counter to her. "Boxes?" He asked, trying to imagine what one could honestly say about boxes for two hours. What was in a box might certainly span the conversation of half an hour... perhaps two hours if a box held the right contents. But...
"Just... boxes?" He shook his head, painfully aware of the flush on his cheeks. Perhaps it could be played off as a trick of the light or the effect of too many drinks. He brushed his hair out of his face, having caught the expression on her face the first time she had done so. It didn't look bad, did it? Just... long. "I would ask what one says about boxes for two hours, but you seem like you need a better conversationalist than Mr. Marshall over there."
He gave a quick nod and smile to the bartender to order a drink of his own--whiskey again, even though he still held reservations about the drink--before raising his eyebrows to her. "And I would offer to help you in killing him, but I suppose I should uphold the law before I become a lawyer, not just after, hm?"
Rangiku tilted her head. A lawyer, huh? Well, well, well. “I can see how that would be embarrassing, if it ever came out.”
She glanced to the side and used her peripheral vision to see that-ugh, why was he still there-before turning a charming smile to Izuru Kira, lawyer in training. “But no jury in the world would convict us. I mean, he had a once in a lifetime chance with a beautiful dame, and he chose to spend it boring her to death. And then when she leaves him for someone who is obviously more interesting, he sticks around staring. Not only is he boring, he’s rude. We’d be doing the world a favor.”
The bartender arrived and Rangiku smiled at him before turning that grin onto Izuru so he could see that she was joking.
Izuru took his drink, raising his glass to her and nodding to the glass on the counter waiting for her. Over her shoulder, he could see Marshall still there, gaping at them. Good Lord, what was he supposed to do to finally get rid of the man on Rangiku's behalf? He certainly wasn't inclined to kiss her--not because she wasn't pretty, but because he just was not so forward as to do that under any circumstances. The irony of this thought was not entirely lost on him, but he shook away the thought to focus on the situation. He had thought the fake-flirting would have been enough. But no. No. Steven Marshall was standing nearly where he had been when they had left them, gaping at them.
He sighed and took a long drink. He needed this if he had a prayer of getting through the night. "I suppose you're right... But civic duty and all." He raised his eyebrows and smirked a little into his drink. "Though, I must apologize to you and clear up a misunderstanding before it gets too far out of hand."
Setting the whiskey down, he closed his eyes, steeled himself, and managed not to groan in agony of the things he did in the name of being a gentleman. Which, rather ironically in this case, involved him putting on the mask of one who was most certainly not a gentleman. Izuru reached over, brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and laid a hand on her thigh.
Don't start blushing now, or you'll give the game away.
"I am not a terribly interesting person. I suppose," He flicked his eyes over her shoulder and met Steven Marshall's eyes pointedly, the smirk having not completely faded from his lips. "I suppose I might be more interesting than boxes, but really... I'm sure you have much more to offer in terms of interest." With a satisfied breath pushed out his nostrils, he watched Marshall storm out of the room and pulled back immediately, picking up his whiskey again. "And now that Mr. Marshall is gone, perhaps we can have a normal, polite conversation about something entirely more interesting than either I or boxes."
After taking a much-needed mouthful from the glass, he looked back up at her. "You could tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Matsumoto."
Rangiku’s first reaction when he slid closer and dared to put his hand on her thigh was one which would entirely give the game away. And it was only that knowledge which spared Izuru Kira a very painful instinctive reaction. It wasn't so long ago that she’d been fighting tooth and nail for her… personal space. And here someone was touching her without her permission and his motives almost, almost didn’t matter.
However, his words of apology before-hand… the obvious direction he was aiming his words-all the same, Rangiku took hold of his hand and, in the guise of further hand-holding, slid it down her thigh to the less intimate area above her knee.
She heard Marshall leave and relaxed when Kira removed his hand and moved back. She crossed her legs, swiveling the stool she sat on so she could rest her back against the bar and face the young would-be-attorney. A small smile curled her lips as she assessed him. “Well, to start out, I’m grateful for your assistance, Mr. Kira. However,” she leaned forward, crossing her arms loosely over her knee, unselfconsciously displaying a significant part of her chest, “you should probably be a bit more careful in the future. After all, you’re trying to uphold the law - what would people say if they saw you all over a woman in public?”
She let the words hang there for a second before straightening up and winking at him, “Besides ‘lucky bastard.’”
Not much different than they'd say if they ever knew the things I do at home without a woman.
He didn't say it, nor did he allow himself much time to dwell too long on it, but the thought flashed through his consciousness as he took a drink of his whiskey. It was true, really. Izuru wasn't blind, and he certainly wasn't deaf. His dedication and hard work had never left much time for the sort of activities with women his peers engaged in, and it had left him with a reputation. Daisy. Nance. Queer. He'd heard them all, and had never let it bother him.
But then he'd gone and proven them right.
He stole a look at the glass. Why was he drinking this anyway? He wasn't very particular toward the drink, but had thought perhaps it would be a good change from his usual. He didn't care much for the taste it left in his mouth, so he finished the glass and pushed it away. A stray thought--one of wondering when he had come to drink so much--wandered into his head, but he ignored it in favor of signaling the bartender to order brandy. The usual it was. At least that didn't give him that unpleasant aftertaste.
Izuru hadn't missed the cool way she had slipped his hand down her leg, nor the unspoken tension as a result. His brow wrinkled imperceptibly and he tried to shake the guilty feeling off. It wasn't as though he had wanted to do so, and she had sought him out to get her away from her date. He slipped into the stool next to hers and moved his brandy closer.
"No worse than they've said about anyone else," He told her, raising an eyebrow, then shook his head and smiled, though the expression was lost as he lowered his head and his hair fell back into his face. "Not that it's anything I would want. I'm not entirely sure it's much better than the things they already say." He reached out for the glass and hoped she'd catch his meaning, lifting both the glass and his face. "We aren't talking about me, though. I'm the dull one, remember?"
Rangiku wasn’t one to dwell on things once they were past, and it was apparent to her with the way that this Izuru Kira had moved away that he wasn’t interested in taking advantage of the situation which - was good. Curious. But good. She’d had a long night already, three or four times as long as it should have been, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t try to enjoy the rest of it.
She started by picking up her drink and taking a sip. “Actually you find yourself in a unique position, Mr. Kira.” She smiled at him, “Just about anything you say will be more interesting than the company which just left. You have my undivided attention… and are practically guaranteed to hold my interest for at least five minutes. You can tell me all about your time at law school and what part of law you hope to go into while I finish my drink before I drag you out to dance.”
Talk about himself?
Izuru was really terrible at talking about himself as it were, and to be put on the spot to do so to someone he had just met was somehow worse still. Trying to look nonchalant, without revealing his discomfort in talking about himself, he shrugged. "I have a year left in school. I've been studying trial law and doing a few internships here and there." It was true. His great-aunt had arranged things nicely for him at a few firms, that he would have a position immediately upon graduation, but he had firmly declined all of them up to that point. He wanted whatever he earned to be on his own merit. Certainly, it couldn't hurt that the firms would have hired him despite the influence of his family, but he hadn't wanted to work for them unless he really didn't have a choice. Another drink of his brandy left half of the liquor in the glass. If she wanted to dance, he would have to finish the drink for confidence.
"I'll see how they help, but I'd like to work for the District Attorney's office here in New York after I leave Princeton." He cracked a wry smile. "Don't listen to what anyone says about the place, it's terribly boring. Or perhaps just boring to me." He shrugged and nodded to her. "But I am rather dull... You should probably tell me about you instead of the other way around. You seem like a much more interesting person than I could ever be, Miss Matsumoto."
Rangiku listened to what he said intently, as good as her word - or maybe as good as the drink, which was really quite good, or as good her company, which had certainly improved.
So. Izuru Kira was earnest, clever, and self-effacing. He didn’t mind stepping in to help out a girl-even if stepping in required that he stepped out of his comfort zone, if that blush was anything to go by. He would also be working closely with her boys, if he got his wish. These factors combined to make a connection well worth pursuing. There was only one important question left-could he dance?
“Oh yes,” she said, swirling the little bit of giggle juice she had left in her glass, “because only interesting people are doomed to listen to gabbing about boxes for hours on end.” Rangiku knocked the rest of her drink back and grinned at Kira. “Not much to tell,” she shrugged, “I run a malt shop on 55th. I have a bad habit of agreeing to dates when I’m too drunk to realize that they’ll be horribly boring. I like to dance.”
There. Rangiku Matsumoto was much more interesting than he was. She owned a malt shop, went on dates regularly, and danced. All, as far as he was concerned, were good indications that she was good company and far more interesting than he was. He watched her finish her drink and finished all but a bit of his own.
He raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth. "You make it a habit of going on terrible dates?" Shaking his head, he finished the rest of his drink and stood, offering her his hand to lead her toward the dance floor. "Your luck in finding young men to rescue you from your own bad habits may not work out every time... But if you ever require my assistance, and I am free to offer it..." Bowing very slightly, formally as he had been taught when meeting debutantes, he smiled at her. "I should be happy to help out as a replacement date. I assure you that I am quite capable of dancing, at least."
He straightened again, the smile no less present than before. "Shall I consider this dance your repayment for helping you, or should I find your malt shop and request repayment in the form of a cup of ice cream and friendly conversation?"
Rangiku’s eyebrows arched up at his gallantry, but she somehow managed to keep herself from laughing out loud when he bowed to her. There had only been three or four occasions when she’d been exposed to such behavior before, and the vast majority of those had been hopelessly boring.
She could add ‘brought up properly’ to her list - because anyone brought up on her side of the tracks would know exactly what a slap in the face it was to be informed that you owed them a favor. High society could really make otherwise pleasant individuals into chumps.
Her gaze dropped down to her glass and she frowned when she saw it was empty, only to meet Izuru Kira’s gaze again and deliberately turn her mouth in a playful smile. She could play his game, knowing that they weren’t her rules, even though the idea of anyone taking anything from her - be it a dance or a conversation - set the skin on the back of her neck crawling with a hundred repressed memories.
“I only serve customers at my shop, Mr. Kira,” Rangiku shrugged helplessly, her smile turning wry, “or else far too many people would take advantage. And I offered you the dance - if you’d like to make it a matter of payment instead of accepting my gratitude, then that’s your choice.”
She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment before holding out her hand, “I’ll take that dance either way.”
After all, The Black Cat did have one of the best bands around, Izuru Kira looked like he would be fairly light on his feet - if a bit nervous - and she would enjoy a decent dance. Whether or not she stuck around him for the rest of the evening, well, that would depend on him.
Hm. Well, though he had only been joking, her smile was planted too firmly on her face, and Izuru was quite a lot of things... Awkward at times. Often capable of falling flat when it came to interacting with other people in uncomfortable situations such as meeting new people. He was also perceptive in people's reactions. Subtlety was the key to getting along in society, in the world he had been brought up in, and though he spent quite a lot of time forgetting that sort of existence, he could not deny that it was a part of him that most did not share. It wasn't hard to see that something he had said had struck a sour note with the woman.
Mirroring her shrug, he tried for nonchalant. It was better to smooth over his faux pas, whatever it was, to move on without dwelling on it. That would only call attention to it. "I never said I wouldn't be a customer. Just perhaps one regular enough to merit the occasional conversation and smile?" Taking her hand, he bowed again, though very slightly, as confirmation of her acceptance. The emphasis on payment alluded very faintly to her distaste for his words.
Chastising himself for his carelessness, he smiled and--thinking faintly of the never-ending string of debutantes he had courted--felt a faint hollow in his stomach. He hadn't known that women his age could be remotely interesting in any way until he was in college. He shook off the feeling, though. Rangiku Matsumoto was clearly no vapid debutante hellbent on finding a wealthy bachelor to marry. She drank alcohol, danced, owned her own business, and seemed infinitely more interesting in contrast to the harpies Izuru learned how to be polite around. Tit-for-tat was their game, and he had briefly forgotten his manners as a result of his habits around unfamiliar women.
"As for the dance, it would simply be... my pleasure, and I might dare to hope you would feel the same. I don't often get the chance to meet charming young women of any interest."
Laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Ran supposed she could add ‘perceptive’ and ‘awkward’ to the list, and she let his complements flow right over her - pretty words rarely guaranteed sincerity, though she had pinned the bird as sincere… well, this was why she didn’t trust anyone who talked about their impressions of a person straight off.
Flattery was easy. Even if it showed good taste. She set her glass on the bar and, with the hand he did not take, hooked his elbow, “I guess we’ll see about that, Mr. Kira - provided you don’t step on my feet. Someone who says such nice things about me is always a pleasure to be around.”
With that, she tugged gently on his arm to begin leading him towards the dance floor, casting him a smile as she did, “Especially if they dance.”
Without allowing her to completely lead him to the dance floor, Izuru followed. He was still a bit unsettled, but it was nothing Rangiku had done. Really, it was mostly at his own foolishness. Still, when they arrived--it wasn't really that far to the space allotted for dancing--he neatly assumed the position for a nice, slow dance. It was good for talking, as opposed to a faster song that might have required more of both breath and focus.
"I did mean it," He told her, nonchalantly following the music and leading through the dance. "There aren't a lot of fine ladies independent enough to own their own shop, or otherwise establish themselves on their own." A series of turns taken together, and he gave her an apologetic smile. "Or, if there are, I certainly don't get to meet them."
He didn't need to look down to meet Rangiku's eyes--she was his height after all--but his smile turned genuine and humored when he did. "And to think you wanted me to talk about myself." Not trying to lay it on, but manners was his game. It couldn't have hurt that he really did want to hear more about her, and not only to make up for his error.
He kept talking and Rangiku found herself listening to what amounted to a bunch of hot air. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hearing nice things said about herself-on the contrary, she was used to hearing complements from strangers. But they were usually about things she could pin down. “You have pretty eyes,” for example, while the speaker stared straight at her rack. Izuru Kira was attempting to complement her… character. After knowing her for five minutes and meeting her under what any other bird would say was extremely suspicious circumstances.
What did he know about what she’d done? About what it meant to be ‘independent enough to set up her own shop?’ Every word he said dripped with privilege. She was hard pressed to keep from rolling her eyes.
But he was a good dancer. Rangiku was happy to let him lead and enjoy the flow of the music, the movement of their bodies. She had a choice: she could choose to find his words insulting and ridiculous… or endearing in an awkward, puppyish sort of way. Taking in the way that his hair kept falling in his face, Ran decided that she’d really had enough of irritating things for one night, and becoming insulted was far too irritating to bother.
“Seems to me that you’ve been keeping company with the wrong kind of women, then,” she teased. “Been locked away in a cloister your whole life, Mr. Kira?”
Izuru had been about to chalk the whole thing up to a passing encounter, to spend the obligatory time with Rangiku and then be on his way home. Granted, going home meant he'd spend the remainder of the weekend poring over text books and studying despite the break... but that was alright. Perhaps that was what he needed to be doing anyway, and he was glad to meet Miss Matsumoto... He just wasn't sure she felt so charmed to meet him. Indeed, he still might have written it off as one more night in the Black Cat Lounge since he'd started coming there, when he caught the teasing note in her voice about the women he'd known up until that point.
His eyes, which had wandered past her shoulder to keep watch of the other couples, widened a bit and he looked at her in faint alarm before dropping his eyes to the floor just beyond her shoulder, his hair back in his face. "I..." Well, there was no polite way of saying that he really had been 'keeping company' with women he rather would not have. It wasn't exactly comfortable talk with people he knew well enough, let alone a near-stranger. Still, she'd hit the nail on the head, hadn't she?
Izuru led through a particular part of the dance that required more of his attention than the rest and then relaxed again, having recalled all the steps. "I don't suppose you know the sort of person who isn't very interested in you as much as what you might have... or might not have, for that matter?" He sighed very lightly and smiled wryly. "I suppose that's as tactful a way as I can describe the kind of women I've been keeping company with."
After a few seconds' pause and a slow turn to the music, Izuru looked down again, shadowing his eyes. "Ah... I'm sorry. That wasn't particularly appropriate of me..." He flushed, glad once again to have his hair hiding some of his face. "I'm sorry."
Rangiku laughed, a true and friendly laugh. “I think we’re past being ‘appropriate’ with each other, Mr. Kira,” she said, putting a bit more spin into the turn and causing her hair to flair before settling around her shoulders again. “In fact, I am going to call you Izuru. And I insist that you call me Rangiku.” She paused and added, “A man who rescues me by feeling me up gets at least that privilege,” just to see if he’d blush.
No need to be awkward in admitting that he’d grown up with money and had to deal with women trying to get him because of it - at least, that was what she’d thought he was copping to. It fit in with what she’d guessed, at any rate. That was the way the world worked - she’d even been thrown into that circus once. She could pity the boy if his formative years had been spent in evenings like that.
“And yes,” she smiled. “I think I do know what you mean. Although,” she added with a wink, “the ones I’ve encountered might have been after something different. I don’t have any, um, liquid assets.”
Well, if Rangiku had been aiming to make Izuru blush, she had succeeded admirably. The faint flush from before--embarrassment for stepping outside typical social boundaries--bloomed into a full-on, red hot blush, creeping down his neck and over his ears. He did suppose that was what he had done while trying to encourage Marshall to leave. It was only fair that she could hold it over him, even if it was in jest. In fact, Izuru preferred teasing over a slap, but it didn't change that he now had stumbled over two separate steps and was finding it hard to properly formulate an answer. "Yes... Well, I..."
After a quarter minute of choking over himself, Izuru finally swallowed and found coherent words. Without meaning to, he started to laugh at himself, at the whole situation. "I don't suppose there's really much of an excuse for that, is there? Saving a lady from boredom or not..." Shaking his head and maintaining a smile from the laugh, he regained enough composure to stop skipping steps in the dance and continue on.
He could have made crude commentary about what assets Rangiku did have, and some men might have, but Izuru was emphatically not that sort of man, and so he nodded at her words and wink. Harpies, that was what those women were like, but he managed to keep the harsh opinion to himself. "Not that it's really my place to apologize for people like that, but it's a shame, really. I don't think anyone wants to be in a situation like that." After a moment's pause, he met her eyes for a conspiratorial smile, then flicked his own back away to the dance floor, smiling faintly.
"Unless, perhaps, you spend an evening talking about boxes and it's the only way you can get someone to tolerate your company."
That wasn’t a blush, that was a full on red blaze. Rangiku’s laughter joined Izuru’s once he was finally able to speak. Her opinion of him being a courteous sort of man solidified when he ignored the opportunity she handed him in order to empathize instead. It was cute.
“Bah,” she said, “Don’t remind me. That’s two hours of my life I won’t get back. At least he was paying for the hooch.”
The music ended and Rangiku smiled at him, “Speaking of-I’m getting thirsty again. What do you say, Izuru? One more drink for the memories?”
It had been a while since Izuru had caught himself smiling quite so much, though that might have had more to do with classes and studying than with any lack of happiness. The good cheer, however, was certainly welcome.
"I won't remind you of it again," He told her sincerely, offered her his arm, and nodded toward the bar. "But for the memories, then?"
Characters: Izuru Kira (soleil_de_lune) and Rangiku Matsumoto (some_scribbles)
Timeline: May 22nd, 1948
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two hours of boxes, Rangiku learns, can be terribly boring. Lucky for her, there's always an eager young man willing to help her out of a pinch. And if not, there's always the bewildered blond at the bar.
I really need to stop accepting dates when I’m drunk, Rangiku thought. Steven Marshall had seemed nice enough when he kept her in drink the weekend before, he’d taken her out and giving her a few decent spins on the dance floor, but then she hadn’t had to listen to him talk.
Apparently, Mr. Marshall was into boxes. And by into, she meant ‘a maker and importer of,’ not how much she’d like to stuff him into a box and put him out to sea. Would the man ever shut up?
He paused to take a breath, and Rangiku wasted no time. She stood up and smiled, smoothing her dress down across her shapely hips, “Why don’t we walk over to the bar?”
Steven Marshall stood up and slid a proprietary arm around her waist. “Sure thing, doll.”
And then he was off, talking again. Rangiku hid a sigh, and thought about all the free corn she could drink on him. If she was going to listen to this, he was going to pay.
Izuru stared into his glass, rethinking the decision to drink whiskey now that he had two fingers worth in his glass, and they weren't particularly calming. He was trying to relax in the knowledge that the semester was over, and he was home again. But the end of the school year meant nothing in terms of the work he had left to do. There was still internships to worry about, and studying... always, always studying. It was coming up on his last year at Princeton, and he couldn't have been happier. Five years there already, including his undergraduate years. He'd put in extra hours over the summers in order to get through undergraduate studies in three years and get started with his JD... and now... now he only had to keep going at it for two more semesters and he was free of Princeton, New Jersey and wouldn't be forced to spend come home on the train every weekend--he would just be there in New York.
He blew out a breath, ruffling the hair that had fallen into his face. Great-Aunt Margaret would have had a fit if she could have seen how he'd let his hair grow so long. He smiled a little at the memory of his Great-Aunt. She hadn't been a cruel woman, but strict and traditional. She had been harassing him to get a hair cut for months before...
He shook his head and took a drink from the glass again. She wouldn't want him to be thinking of her memory with depression. She'd lived a long time, and had died a few months back with the happy knowledge that Izuru was a fine, charming young man with a promising future. She'd been content, and even if Izuru was a bit heartbroken that his guardian for years of his life had died, he couldn't say that he would have preferred her to continue on, when she'd been so sick from her age... He swallowed the last of his whiskey and pushed the glass away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It was better not to think of Margaret.
He swept his eyes across the room from his vantage point at the bar. He'd been to the Black Cat Lounge a few times over the last few months--more often still after... He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind and the blush from his fair cheeks and signaled the bartender to indicate he wanted something. He'd come home less often in the last month of school and was relieved to be back in the cozy lounge, though he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone he knew aside from those he met here. It wasn't the sort of place most of his classmates might have frequented, preferring their pretentious, elite establishments, but Izuru liked it here and came often enough for a quiet, unassuming drink.
In his sweep of the room, he noticed a couple--a man and a woman, the latter of which looked bored. He smiled to himself and took the drink the bartender offered him. He was probably going to end up drinking too much again, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not very much, at least. The poor woman. He hoped she would get away soon and enjoy herself more, even if there wasn't much he could do about it. He shook off the brief stare and turned back to the bar, brushing his hair out of his face again.
He was. Still. Talking. How many different ways could there be to talk about boxes? She dropped back the glass of bourbon and signaled for another. Marshall was like a constant drone in her left ear, one which she was getting more and more tempted to violently silence him. Unfortunately, he earned more in a month than she did in a whole year, and she couldn’t afford to get on that much of his bad side. Who knew there was so much money in boxes?
She’d long since stopped pretending to pay attention, and was starting to make a show of glancing around the bar, hoping for a rescue. How did she get herself into these messes? Rangiku finished her drink, and the bartender gave her a sympathetic glance and a refill.
The booze was not going to cut it. She needed to get out of here. Now.
Rangiku’s desperate gaze lighted on a cute blond with his hair covering part of his face. The part that she did see seemed… intelligent. Serious. Sincere. Perfect.
“Oh!” She slid gracefully off her the bar stool and approached the blond. “It’s you! Wow! Fancy seeing you here! I was just out on my incredibly fascinating date with What’s-his-name here, and-well, here you are! It’s great to see you!”
Rangiku beamed at him and hoped he’d catch on.
To his immense surprise, the same woman he had noted in his earlier sweep of the room had sauntered over to him and struck up a conversation. As though she knew him. He opened his mouth to politely tell her that she must have been mistaken--that they had never met--but he caught the brilliant shine of her smile and the tone of her words as she gestured toward her date. The date she had looked extremely bored with.
...Ah.
He forced a smile that was considerably more bright than any genuine smile he might have normally given. "Ah, yes. It's wonderful to see you, as well." He secretly felt bad for both the strange woman and her date. Completely different reasons, of course. Sorry for the woman because she had had been desperate enough to single him out of a room full of people when he was obviously and pathetically alone. Sorry for the man because Izuru was about to very effectively end his date. He wasn't typically the sort of person who might have done such a thing, but if a lady had sought him out with reason for his intervention (whatever it may have been), he could hardly refuse and still call himself a gentleman.
"I didn't expect to see you so soon though, since just the other night we--Oh!" He stopped and pretended to catch on for the first time that she was on a date. "I didn't realize you were with someone. Must have missed it if you said something." He rose to his feet and offered his hand to the woman's date, forcing himself to be the image of good manners and hoping he didn't get slugged as a result. It wouldn't have been the first time, and he shot the strange woman a glance that demanded explanation from underneath his hair before brushing it aside and slapping on a mask of confidence and cheer.
"Good to meet you."
No, no, don’t talk to him! was Rangiku’s first panicked thought. Her stranger had caught on better than she’d expected, but if Stephen Marshall opened his mouth, who knew how long they’d both be there? Listening about boxes until their skin started sagging and rotting off and they were finally ready to be laid to rest in a big wooden box, and they’d never escape the horror of the boxes!
But it was too late. He’d already opened his mouth. They were doomed. “Marshall. Steven Marshall. And you are?”
Rangiku jumped in before the stranger could respond. She could scarcely believe Marshall had managed to ask a question, and she wasn’t going to let the lucky opportunity pass her by-she had a responsibility to save the blond now, after all. “George,” she said, making up a name off of the top of her head. “George Bensen.”
“George,” she said with a smile, turning away from Steven Marshall to put the full weight of that smile on the stranger. He’d already laid the foundation for them to be perceived as ‘more than friends,’ and if she read Marshall’s character right it wouldn’t take too much effort to make him feel ignored, small, and get him to go away. “It’s really good to see you again. It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve had a chance to just… talk.”
She inclined her head towards the bar, ignoring Marshall completely, “What do you say you buy me a drink and we take the chance to… catch up a bit?”
Actually… here was her chance. Turning to Marshall, she smiled at him, “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for a response, she took the blond’s arm and began leading them away towards the bar.
Izuru hadn't expected his composure to falter so quickly. She flashed him an enormous smile, and even though he had vaguely suggested it in his first sentence, he had most certainly had not anticipated her to run with the implication that she... and he... His cheeks warmed a bit, but he forced himself to stay still and maintain his civility.
"I would be honored to buy you a drink," His smile became a bit warmer and genuine. "And, naturally, I would love to... ah, catch up?" He shook his head and shot the man a false look of apologetic helplessness. "Of course. It isn't as though we've had much time to do so lately." And that was that. Izuru allowed the strange woman to steer him away, crooking his arm just in time to make her hold on it seem genuine.
The appearance of the matter was important, and he had no doubt that the man was still watching them. Part of him hoped that whatever the man had done to this poor woman was enough to deserve the shocked way he was gaping at them. He kept his eyes forward, even as they stepped far out of Marshall's earshot.
"I do hope the poor man deserves it," He told her, his voice light and pleasantly conversational as they reached another section of the bar, where he could order her drink. He managed not to spare a glance backward at the poor man, though the temptation was rather strong, but leaned casually against the counter, as though he were having an intimate conversation with her. Covertly however, he lowered his head in a very slight bow. "Izuru Kira. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."
The blush would be cute in any other circumstance, but as it was she really hoped that Marshall was thick enough to take it as confirmation of what they were insinuating instead of the contradiction it so obviously was. She’d have worked that blush out of him by now, if they’d been at it as long as they suggested.
She watched the way he crooked his arm into her hold with an appreciative eye as he led them further down the bar and away from that horrible, horrible man. The word ‘chatterbox’ had been so painfully appropriate.
His comment about the poor man ‘deserving it’ took her off guard, and she slanted him a new, assessing look but waited to respond until he’d positioned them at the bar. “Rangiku Matsumoto,” she murmured back. “And the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. You really came to the rescue tonight, Mr. Kira. You saved both Mr. Marshall and myself.”
"Is that so?" He lowered his head and laughed softly, shaking his head. "What did he do to merit such a thing, anyway? If I may be so bold." He shifted his weight and a subtle glance backward revealed that Marshall was still watching them--though admittedly, the man looked as though he were ready to punch something. Izuru found himself suppressing the urge to sigh and roll his eyes heavenward. Marshall had no intentions of making this easy on him, did he?
Quite uncharacteristically, he leaned forward to hover his mouth a few scant inches from her ear. "My apologies, Miss Matsumoto. I would never be so forward under normal circumstances. However," He closed his eyes as if he were appreciating the smell of her hair--which was admittedly pleasant. "It seems your friend is still watching us."
The blush from earlier threatened to creep over his cheeks again, so he pulled away and turned his face toward the bar. His hair could do the rest in hiding the flush from Marshall. Izuru was never so forward and brazen with a woman he was interested in, preferring subtle gestures and--usually--solitary, silent pining. He certainly hoped the show was convincing enough that Marshall would appreciate it for what it seemed like, because he would certainly suffer embarrassment from it for some time to come. Chivalry, as far as he was concerned, was hardly dead. It was simply rarely practiced for the fact that it was not always a pleasant experience, and often required a sacrifice of pride. He motioned to a bartender.
"What would you care to drink?" He turned his now blush-free face back to her with a smile that wasn't quite demure, but came close. She looked like she needed something strong enough to get over whatever injustice Steven Marshall had done unto her.
“Bourbon and cream,” she responded, shifting closer to him in response to his words about Marshall watching them. Really, couldn’t the man take a hint?
…apparently not. After all, he had just spent all night talking about boxes.
For the benefit of their audience, and because the way his hair fell in his face made her feel like she was cradle-robbing, Rangiku reached up and gently brushed the fringe away from his face with the tip of her middle finger as she murmured, “Do you know that it is possible for a man to talk about boxes for two hours straight without ever once pausing to consider that the subject is boring? I scared I was going to have to kill him. He was boring me to death, it would have been self-defense,” she finished with a charming smile.
A quick motion and murmur to the bartender had her drink underway when she reached over to continue their charade of intimacy. He couldn't help it this time, and the furious reddening of his face grew bright enough that he closed his eyes and swallowed. It probably wasn't helping her case very much to have a young, blushing man when she did something so simple as touch his hair. He smiled valiantly anyway, his hair falling back into his face (it naturally fell that way, and only reminded him that he really needed that haircut) as he reached over to take the finished drink from the bartender.
He slid it over the counter to her. "Boxes?" He asked, trying to imagine what one could honestly say about boxes for two hours. What was in a box might certainly span the conversation of half an hour... perhaps two hours if a box held the right contents. But...
"Just... boxes?" He shook his head, painfully aware of the flush on his cheeks. Perhaps it could be played off as a trick of the light or the effect of too many drinks. He brushed his hair out of his face, having caught the expression on her face the first time she had done so. It didn't look bad, did it? Just... long. "I would ask what one says about boxes for two hours, but you seem like you need a better conversationalist than Mr. Marshall over there."
He gave a quick nod and smile to the bartender to order a drink of his own--whiskey again, even though he still held reservations about the drink--before raising his eyebrows to her. "And I would offer to help you in killing him, but I suppose I should uphold the law before I become a lawyer, not just after, hm?"
Rangiku tilted her head. A lawyer, huh? Well, well, well. “I can see how that would be embarrassing, if it ever came out.”
She glanced to the side and used her peripheral vision to see that-ugh, why was he still there-before turning a charming smile to Izuru Kira, lawyer in training. “But no jury in the world would convict us. I mean, he had a once in a lifetime chance with a beautiful dame, and he chose to spend it boring her to death. And then when she leaves him for someone who is obviously more interesting, he sticks around staring. Not only is he boring, he’s rude. We’d be doing the world a favor.”
The bartender arrived and Rangiku smiled at him before turning that grin onto Izuru so he could see that she was joking.
Izuru took his drink, raising his glass to her and nodding to the glass on the counter waiting for her. Over her shoulder, he could see Marshall still there, gaping at them. Good Lord, what was he supposed to do to finally get rid of the man on Rangiku's behalf? He certainly wasn't inclined to kiss her--not because she wasn't pretty, but because he just was not so forward as to do that under any circumstances. The irony of this thought was not entirely lost on him, but he shook away the thought to focus on the situation. He had thought the fake-flirting would have been enough. But no. No. Steven Marshall was standing nearly where he had been when they had left them, gaping at them.
He sighed and took a long drink. He needed this if he had a prayer of getting through the night. "I suppose you're right... But civic duty and all." He raised his eyebrows and smirked a little into his drink. "Though, I must apologize to you and clear up a misunderstanding before it gets too far out of hand."
Setting the whiskey down, he closed his eyes, steeled himself, and managed not to groan in agony of the things he did in the name of being a gentleman. Which, rather ironically in this case, involved him putting on the mask of one who was most certainly not a gentleman. Izuru reached over, brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and laid a hand on her thigh.
Don't start blushing now, or you'll give the game away.
"I am not a terribly interesting person. I suppose," He flicked his eyes over her shoulder and met Steven Marshall's eyes pointedly, the smirk having not completely faded from his lips. "I suppose I might be more interesting than boxes, but really... I'm sure you have much more to offer in terms of interest." With a satisfied breath pushed out his nostrils, he watched Marshall storm out of the room and pulled back immediately, picking up his whiskey again. "And now that Mr. Marshall is gone, perhaps we can have a normal, polite conversation about something entirely more interesting than either I or boxes."
After taking a much-needed mouthful from the glass, he looked back up at her. "You could tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Matsumoto."
Rangiku’s first reaction when he slid closer and dared to put his hand on her thigh was one which would entirely give the game away. And it was only that knowledge which spared Izuru Kira a very painful instinctive reaction. It wasn't so long ago that she’d been fighting tooth and nail for her… personal space. And here someone was touching her without her permission and his motives almost, almost didn’t matter.
However, his words of apology before-hand… the obvious direction he was aiming his words-all the same, Rangiku took hold of his hand and, in the guise of further hand-holding, slid it down her thigh to the less intimate area above her knee.
She heard Marshall leave and relaxed when Kira removed his hand and moved back. She crossed her legs, swiveling the stool she sat on so she could rest her back against the bar and face the young would-be-attorney. A small smile curled her lips as she assessed him. “Well, to start out, I’m grateful for your assistance, Mr. Kira. However,” she leaned forward, crossing her arms loosely over her knee, unselfconsciously displaying a significant part of her chest, “you should probably be a bit more careful in the future. After all, you’re trying to uphold the law - what would people say if they saw you all over a woman in public?”
She let the words hang there for a second before straightening up and winking at him, “Besides ‘lucky bastard.’”
Not much different than they'd say if they ever knew the things I do at home without a woman.
He didn't say it, nor did he allow himself much time to dwell too long on it, but the thought flashed through his consciousness as he took a drink of his whiskey. It was true, really. Izuru wasn't blind, and he certainly wasn't deaf. His dedication and hard work had never left much time for the sort of activities with women his peers engaged in, and it had left him with a reputation. Daisy. Nance. Queer. He'd heard them all, and had never let it bother him.
But then he'd gone and proven them right.
He stole a look at the glass. Why was he drinking this anyway? He wasn't very particular toward the drink, but had thought perhaps it would be a good change from his usual. He didn't care much for the taste it left in his mouth, so he finished the glass and pushed it away. A stray thought--one of wondering when he had come to drink so much--wandered into his head, but he ignored it in favor of signaling the bartender to order brandy. The usual it was. At least that didn't give him that unpleasant aftertaste.
Izuru hadn't missed the cool way she had slipped his hand down her leg, nor the unspoken tension as a result. His brow wrinkled imperceptibly and he tried to shake the guilty feeling off. It wasn't as though he had wanted to do so, and she had sought him out to get her away from her date. He slipped into the stool next to hers and moved his brandy closer.
"No worse than they've said about anyone else," He told her, raising an eyebrow, then shook his head and smiled, though the expression was lost as he lowered his head and his hair fell back into his face. "Not that it's anything I would want. I'm not entirely sure it's much better than the things they already say." He reached out for the glass and hoped she'd catch his meaning, lifting both the glass and his face. "We aren't talking about me, though. I'm the dull one, remember?"
Rangiku wasn’t one to dwell on things once they were past, and it was apparent to her with the way that this Izuru Kira had moved away that he wasn’t interested in taking advantage of the situation which - was good. Curious. But good. She’d had a long night already, three or four times as long as it should have been, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t try to enjoy the rest of it.
She started by picking up her drink and taking a sip. “Actually you find yourself in a unique position, Mr. Kira.” She smiled at him, “Just about anything you say will be more interesting than the company which just left. You have my undivided attention… and are practically guaranteed to hold my interest for at least five minutes. You can tell me all about your time at law school and what part of law you hope to go into while I finish my drink before I drag you out to dance.”
Talk about himself?
Izuru was really terrible at talking about himself as it were, and to be put on the spot to do so to someone he had just met was somehow worse still. Trying to look nonchalant, without revealing his discomfort in talking about himself, he shrugged. "I have a year left in school. I've been studying trial law and doing a few internships here and there." It was true. His great-aunt had arranged things nicely for him at a few firms, that he would have a position immediately upon graduation, but he had firmly declined all of them up to that point. He wanted whatever he earned to be on his own merit. Certainly, it couldn't hurt that the firms would have hired him despite the influence of his family, but he hadn't wanted to work for them unless he really didn't have a choice. Another drink of his brandy left half of the liquor in the glass. If she wanted to dance, he would have to finish the drink for confidence.
"I'll see how they help, but I'd like to work for the District Attorney's office here in New York after I leave Princeton." He cracked a wry smile. "Don't listen to what anyone says about the place, it's terribly boring. Or perhaps just boring to me." He shrugged and nodded to her. "But I am rather dull... You should probably tell me about you instead of the other way around. You seem like a much more interesting person than I could ever be, Miss Matsumoto."
Rangiku listened to what he said intently, as good as her word - or maybe as good as the drink, which was really quite good, or as good her company, which had certainly improved.
So. Izuru Kira was earnest, clever, and self-effacing. He didn’t mind stepping in to help out a girl-even if stepping in required that he stepped out of his comfort zone, if that blush was anything to go by. He would also be working closely with her boys, if he got his wish. These factors combined to make a connection well worth pursuing. There was only one important question left-could he dance?
“Oh yes,” she said, swirling the little bit of giggle juice she had left in her glass, “because only interesting people are doomed to listen to gabbing about boxes for hours on end.” Rangiku knocked the rest of her drink back and grinned at Kira. “Not much to tell,” she shrugged, “I run a malt shop on 55th. I have a bad habit of agreeing to dates when I’m too drunk to realize that they’ll be horribly boring. I like to dance.”
There. Rangiku Matsumoto was much more interesting than he was. She owned a malt shop, went on dates regularly, and danced. All, as far as he was concerned, were good indications that she was good company and far more interesting than he was. He watched her finish her drink and finished all but a bit of his own.
He raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth. "You make it a habit of going on terrible dates?" Shaking his head, he finished the rest of his drink and stood, offering her his hand to lead her toward the dance floor. "Your luck in finding young men to rescue you from your own bad habits may not work out every time... But if you ever require my assistance, and I am free to offer it..." Bowing very slightly, formally as he had been taught when meeting debutantes, he smiled at her. "I should be happy to help out as a replacement date. I assure you that I am quite capable of dancing, at least."
He straightened again, the smile no less present than before. "Shall I consider this dance your repayment for helping you, or should I find your malt shop and request repayment in the form of a cup of ice cream and friendly conversation?"
Rangiku’s eyebrows arched up at his gallantry, but she somehow managed to keep herself from laughing out loud when he bowed to her. There had only been three or four occasions when she’d been exposed to such behavior before, and the vast majority of those had been hopelessly boring.
She could add ‘brought up properly’ to her list - because anyone brought up on her side of the tracks would know exactly what a slap in the face it was to be informed that you owed them a favor. High society could really make otherwise pleasant individuals into chumps.
Her gaze dropped down to her glass and she frowned when she saw it was empty, only to meet Izuru Kira’s gaze again and deliberately turn her mouth in a playful smile. She could play his game, knowing that they weren’t her rules, even though the idea of anyone taking anything from her - be it a dance or a conversation - set the skin on the back of her neck crawling with a hundred repressed memories.
“I only serve customers at my shop, Mr. Kira,” Rangiku shrugged helplessly, her smile turning wry, “or else far too many people would take advantage. And I offered you the dance - if you’d like to make it a matter of payment instead of accepting my gratitude, then that’s your choice.”
She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment before holding out her hand, “I’ll take that dance either way.”
After all, The Black Cat did have one of the best bands around, Izuru Kira looked like he would be fairly light on his feet - if a bit nervous - and she would enjoy a decent dance. Whether or not she stuck around him for the rest of the evening, well, that would depend on him.
Hm. Well, though he had only been joking, her smile was planted too firmly on her face, and Izuru was quite a lot of things... Awkward at times. Often capable of falling flat when it came to interacting with other people in uncomfortable situations such as meeting new people. He was also perceptive in people's reactions. Subtlety was the key to getting along in society, in the world he had been brought up in, and though he spent quite a lot of time forgetting that sort of existence, he could not deny that it was a part of him that most did not share. It wasn't hard to see that something he had said had struck a sour note with the woman.
Mirroring her shrug, he tried for nonchalant. It was better to smooth over his faux pas, whatever it was, to move on without dwelling on it. That would only call attention to it. "I never said I wouldn't be a customer. Just perhaps one regular enough to merit the occasional conversation and smile?" Taking her hand, he bowed again, though very slightly, as confirmation of her acceptance. The emphasis on payment alluded very faintly to her distaste for his words.
Chastising himself for his carelessness, he smiled and--thinking faintly of the never-ending string of debutantes he had courted--felt a faint hollow in his stomach. He hadn't known that women his age could be remotely interesting in any way until he was in college. He shook off the feeling, though. Rangiku Matsumoto was clearly no vapid debutante hellbent on finding a wealthy bachelor to marry. She drank alcohol, danced, owned her own business, and seemed infinitely more interesting in contrast to the harpies Izuru learned how to be polite around. Tit-for-tat was their game, and he had briefly forgotten his manners as a result of his habits around unfamiliar women.
"As for the dance, it would simply be... my pleasure, and I might dare to hope you would feel the same. I don't often get the chance to meet charming young women of any interest."
Laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Ran supposed she could add ‘perceptive’ and ‘awkward’ to the list, and she let his complements flow right over her - pretty words rarely guaranteed sincerity, though she had pinned the bird as sincere… well, this was why she didn’t trust anyone who talked about their impressions of a person straight off.
Flattery was easy. Even if it showed good taste. She set her glass on the bar and, with the hand he did not take, hooked his elbow, “I guess we’ll see about that, Mr. Kira - provided you don’t step on my feet. Someone who says such nice things about me is always a pleasure to be around.”
With that, she tugged gently on his arm to begin leading him towards the dance floor, casting him a smile as she did, “Especially if they dance.”
Without allowing her to completely lead him to the dance floor, Izuru followed. He was still a bit unsettled, but it was nothing Rangiku had done. Really, it was mostly at his own foolishness. Still, when they arrived--it wasn't really that far to the space allotted for dancing--he neatly assumed the position for a nice, slow dance. It was good for talking, as opposed to a faster song that might have required more of both breath and focus.
"I did mean it," He told her, nonchalantly following the music and leading through the dance. "There aren't a lot of fine ladies independent enough to own their own shop, or otherwise establish themselves on their own." A series of turns taken together, and he gave her an apologetic smile. "Or, if there are, I certainly don't get to meet them."
He didn't need to look down to meet Rangiku's eyes--she was his height after all--but his smile turned genuine and humored when he did. "And to think you wanted me to talk about myself." Not trying to lay it on, but manners was his game. It couldn't have hurt that he really did want to hear more about her, and not only to make up for his error.
He kept talking and Rangiku found herself listening to what amounted to a bunch of hot air. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hearing nice things said about herself-on the contrary, she was used to hearing complements from strangers. But they were usually about things she could pin down. “You have pretty eyes,” for example, while the speaker stared straight at her rack. Izuru Kira was attempting to complement her… character. After knowing her for five minutes and meeting her under what any other bird would say was extremely suspicious circumstances.
What did he know about what she’d done? About what it meant to be ‘independent enough to set up her own shop?’ Every word he said dripped with privilege. She was hard pressed to keep from rolling her eyes.
But he was a good dancer. Rangiku was happy to let him lead and enjoy the flow of the music, the movement of their bodies. She had a choice: she could choose to find his words insulting and ridiculous… or endearing in an awkward, puppyish sort of way. Taking in the way that his hair kept falling in his face, Ran decided that she’d really had enough of irritating things for one night, and becoming insulted was far too irritating to bother.
“Seems to me that you’ve been keeping company with the wrong kind of women, then,” she teased. “Been locked away in a cloister your whole life, Mr. Kira?”
Izuru had been about to chalk the whole thing up to a passing encounter, to spend the obligatory time with Rangiku and then be on his way home. Granted, going home meant he'd spend the remainder of the weekend poring over text books and studying despite the break... but that was alright. Perhaps that was what he needed to be doing anyway, and he was glad to meet Miss Matsumoto... He just wasn't sure she felt so charmed to meet him. Indeed, he still might have written it off as one more night in the Black Cat Lounge since he'd started coming there, when he caught the teasing note in her voice about the women he'd known up until that point.
His eyes, which had wandered past her shoulder to keep watch of the other couples, widened a bit and he looked at her in faint alarm before dropping his eyes to the floor just beyond her shoulder, his hair back in his face. "I..." Well, there was no polite way of saying that he really had been 'keeping company' with women he rather would not have. It wasn't exactly comfortable talk with people he knew well enough, let alone a near-stranger. Still, she'd hit the nail on the head, hadn't she?
Izuru led through a particular part of the dance that required more of his attention than the rest and then relaxed again, having recalled all the steps. "I don't suppose you know the sort of person who isn't very interested in you as much as what you might have... or might not have, for that matter?" He sighed very lightly and smiled wryly. "I suppose that's as tactful a way as I can describe the kind of women I've been keeping company with."
After a few seconds' pause and a slow turn to the music, Izuru looked down again, shadowing his eyes. "Ah... I'm sorry. That wasn't particularly appropriate of me..." He flushed, glad once again to have his hair hiding some of his face. "I'm sorry."
Rangiku laughed, a true and friendly laugh. “I think we’re past being ‘appropriate’ with each other, Mr. Kira,” she said, putting a bit more spin into the turn and causing her hair to flair before settling around her shoulders again. “In fact, I am going to call you Izuru. And I insist that you call me Rangiku.” She paused and added, “A man who rescues me by feeling me up gets at least that privilege,” just to see if he’d blush.
No need to be awkward in admitting that he’d grown up with money and had to deal with women trying to get him because of it - at least, that was what she’d thought he was copping to. It fit in with what she’d guessed, at any rate. That was the way the world worked - she’d even been thrown into that circus once. She could pity the boy if his formative years had been spent in evenings like that.
“And yes,” she smiled. “I think I do know what you mean. Although,” she added with a wink, “the ones I’ve encountered might have been after something different. I don’t have any, um, liquid assets.”
Well, if Rangiku had been aiming to make Izuru blush, she had succeeded admirably. The faint flush from before--embarrassment for stepping outside typical social boundaries--bloomed into a full-on, red hot blush, creeping down his neck and over his ears. He did suppose that was what he had done while trying to encourage Marshall to leave. It was only fair that she could hold it over him, even if it was in jest. In fact, Izuru preferred teasing over a slap, but it didn't change that he now had stumbled over two separate steps and was finding it hard to properly formulate an answer. "Yes... Well, I..."
After a quarter minute of choking over himself, Izuru finally swallowed and found coherent words. Without meaning to, he started to laugh at himself, at the whole situation. "I don't suppose there's really much of an excuse for that, is there? Saving a lady from boredom or not..." Shaking his head and maintaining a smile from the laugh, he regained enough composure to stop skipping steps in the dance and continue on.
He could have made crude commentary about what assets Rangiku did have, and some men might have, but Izuru was emphatically not that sort of man, and so he nodded at her words and wink. Harpies, that was what those women were like, but he managed to keep the harsh opinion to himself. "Not that it's really my place to apologize for people like that, but it's a shame, really. I don't think anyone wants to be in a situation like that." After a moment's pause, he met her eyes for a conspiratorial smile, then flicked his own back away to the dance floor, smiling faintly.
"Unless, perhaps, you spend an evening talking about boxes and it's the only way you can get someone to tolerate your company."
That wasn’t a blush, that was a full on red blaze. Rangiku’s laughter joined Izuru’s once he was finally able to speak. Her opinion of him being a courteous sort of man solidified when he ignored the opportunity she handed him in order to empathize instead. It was cute.
“Bah,” she said, “Don’t remind me. That’s two hours of my life I won’t get back. At least he was paying for the hooch.”
The music ended and Rangiku smiled at him, “Speaking of-I’m getting thirsty again. What do you say, Izuru? One more drink for the memories?”
It had been a while since Izuru had caught himself smiling quite so much, though that might have had more to do with classes and studying than with any lack of happiness. The good cheer, however, was certainly welcome.
"I won't remind you of it again," He told her sincerely, offered her his arm, and nodded toward the bar. "But for the memories, then?"