redamancy | urayoru

iii

There ought to be some sort of universal law, Kisuke muses when he returns to their table, that dictates whatever is likely to go wrong on a given occasion, will go wrong.

"How long was I gone?" he says to an exasperated Kūkaku, at the same time she says, "Where the hell have you been?"

Already regretting every single decision he's made that night, Kisuke points vaguely toward the exit. "Well I—you know… nature calling."

"You couldn't hold your piss in for, like, two minutes?" Kūkaku growls.

"I thought you were coming back soon!" he says, a little too defensively. There's no denying the safer course of action would've been to wait for her, but he had honestly expected her to return with more food before calamity had stricken.

"The place is packed! Excuse me for taking a while."

"I dun' unr'stand what th'big deal is."

Kūkaku and Kisuke turn in unison toward the table and over to Miyako. Out of the three inebriated occupants, she appears to be in the best shape. Kaien has completely passed out on the tabletop, a tower of miscellaneous items precariously balanced on top of his unmoving head: a glass, a plate, a series of bottle corks bearing yet another plate. Yoruichi is in a similar state, a pair of chopsticks clasped in her loose fist, but she appears to be somewhat anchored to reality, judging by the occasional mobility of her eyes. Lady Miyako is the only one sitting upright.

In retrospect, Kisuke sees that he shouldn't have been counting on her usual level headedness. It was becoming plainly obvious from early on in the night that Kaien's influence was having a detrimental effect on the two inexperienced drinkers of their group.

"The deal, sweet sister," says Kūkaku as she sweeps in to remove the clutter from Kaien's head. "Is that your moronic husband was clearly too plastered to recall we don't let Yoruichi drink, and you obviously didn't know."

"She only had like… three," Miyako says in a subdued voice. The absence of her typical eloquence makes for both an amusing and a terrifying sight.

"More than enough. Look at her! She's tiny!"

"To be fair," Kisuke interjects when it looks like Miyako may burst into tears. "You're not exactly a colossus yourself. Sometimes I wonder where it all goes," he mutters as an afterthought, his eyes inexorably drawn to Kūkaku's generous décolletage.

She notices.

Salvation arrives in the form of Miyako bursting into laughter, before Kūkaku has time react. "S'funny 'cuz her breastes are so big!"

…Or maybe not.

"Yes, thank you for captioning this, Lady Miyako," Kisuke says, clearing his throat and trying to change the subject. Fast. "How long would you say it's been?"

"I dunno," Kūkaku says, arms akimbo as she observes Yoruichi. "It worries me that she seems to have completely bypassed Stage Two and gone straight into Tiny Little Ball of Misery mode."

Yoruichi generally avoids sake, claiming that she doesn't care for the taste. The plain truth is that she has a tremendously low tolerance for alcohol, but will occasionally overlook that fact either when challenged, or when she feels out of the loop. The results are almost immediate, it takes approximately six and a half minutes for her to go from snarling at someone to keep refilling her glass, to her trying to disprove the laws of physics, to eventually simmering down and cursing at everyone who had a hand in enabling her.

The woman in question choses that moment to look up from the table, cheek still pressed against the sticky wood. "Stahp callin' me tiny!"

"It lives," Kūkaku says wryly.