Categories > Anime/Manga > Bleach
Englishman in New York
Disclaimer: Once again, I own NOTHING.
A/N: Inspired by Sting's "Englishman in New York." Also on fanfiction.net.
Ishida did not fit in. He always felt like an alien at school-though he'd never say so, especially not in such words, as it would send Inoue-san into one of her bizarre daydreams, no doubt causing her to shout nonsense aloud in the middle of class. So while his sentiments were unspoken, he was sure his peers shared them.
It went far beyond the normal teen angst, of course. He was a Quincy, after all. The last remaining anything tends to stick out a bit. But it was more than that, too.
He was... reserved. Yes. That was a much more pleasant (and, to his mind, true) way of putting it than saying he had a stick up his ass, as some of his classmates would say. It wasn't that he was stiff. He was a gentleman, that was all.
Yes. Classic manners and chivalry. Such things were dying out, and therefore important. They were worth preserving.
Perhaps his habits were a bit peculiar, but he was comfortable in them. Or at least as comfortable as he ever was. He liked things to be a certain way, and so he made them that way. If this translated into doing his own cooking and sewing, so be it.
A little work was worth it not to have to deal with buttons. Those damned buttons...
Truthfully, he quite enjoyed sewing. It may have alienated him a bit from some of his more macho classmates, but their opinions mattered not. He was enjoying himself in his own, quiet way. So what if they thought he was girly or gay?
He smirked a bit in his own private knowledge of the truth.
His good manners and gentility had gained him a bit of a female following. Mostly it was made up of girls from his handicrafts club. They admired his politeness-which, they could not help but notice, the other boys in their class were severely lacking-and skills with a needle. He was, to a degree, himself around them. Of course, he couldn't tell them the whole truth, but he didn't feel forced to make conversation about television shows or whatever it was they talked about.
So let the other guys laugh. He was secure in the knowledge he could get a date far more easily than they could.
He knew, too, that in many ways, he was more of a man than Ichigo, albeit in a proper English manners sort of way.
He was far more mature, anyway. He thought about strategy and plan in a fight, rather than hacking away at the enemy mindlessly and getting-excuse the expression-the shit beat out of him in the process. Yes, he knew how and when to fight.
Admittedly, he had sustained his own share of injuries, but at least none of them came under the heading of "Stupid Things I Did Today" in his journal. No, that was Kurosaki's department.
So he suffered the ignorance of others, and was himself in spite of it. He was the better man for that.
...And he looked damn cool in his cape.
Disclaimer: Once again, I own NOTHING.
A/N: Inspired by Sting's "Englishman in New York." Also on fanfiction.net.
Ishida did not fit in. He always felt like an alien at school-though he'd never say so, especially not in such words, as it would send Inoue-san into one of her bizarre daydreams, no doubt causing her to shout nonsense aloud in the middle of class. So while his sentiments were unspoken, he was sure his peers shared them.
It went far beyond the normal teen angst, of course. He was a Quincy, after all. The last remaining anything tends to stick out a bit. But it was more than that, too.
He was... reserved. Yes. That was a much more pleasant (and, to his mind, true) way of putting it than saying he had a stick up his ass, as some of his classmates would say. It wasn't that he was stiff. He was a gentleman, that was all.
Yes. Classic manners and chivalry. Such things were dying out, and therefore important. They were worth preserving.
Perhaps his habits were a bit peculiar, but he was comfortable in them. Or at least as comfortable as he ever was. He liked things to be a certain way, and so he made them that way. If this translated into doing his own cooking and sewing, so be it.
A little work was worth it not to have to deal with buttons. Those damned buttons...
Truthfully, he quite enjoyed sewing. It may have alienated him a bit from some of his more macho classmates, but their opinions mattered not. He was enjoying himself in his own, quiet way. So what if they thought he was girly or gay?
He smirked a bit in his own private knowledge of the truth.
His good manners and gentility had gained him a bit of a female following. Mostly it was made up of girls from his handicrafts club. They admired his politeness-which, they could not help but notice, the other boys in their class were severely lacking-and skills with a needle. He was, to a degree, himself around them. Of course, he couldn't tell them the whole truth, but he didn't feel forced to make conversation about television shows or whatever it was they talked about.
So let the other guys laugh. He was secure in the knowledge he could get a date far more easily than they could.
He knew, too, that in many ways, he was more of a man than Ichigo, albeit in a proper English manners sort of way.
He was far more mature, anyway. He thought about strategy and plan in a fight, rather than hacking away at the enemy mindlessly and getting-excuse the expression-the shit beat out of him in the process. Yes, he knew how and when to fight.
Admittedly, he had sustained his own share of injuries, but at least none of them came under the heading of "Stupid Things I Did Today" in his journal. No, that was Kurosaki's department.
So he suffered the ignorance of others, and was himself in spite of it. He was the better man for that.
...And he looked damn cool in his cape.
Sign up to rate and review this story