Warnings/Disclaimer: I own no characters or specialized words involved with those characters in this universal setting used in this work of fiction. Warnings include faintly implied yaoi.

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My Turn to Play

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'C'mon Ichi! Lemme out! I wanna play, too!' Shirosaki whined, his invisible hands tugging demandingly at the edges of Ichigo's rather tattered shihaksho, the sweaty black material quite shredded from his strenuous, near-constant Vizard training. 'I'm bored, and I promise I'll be good!'

Sighing, Ichigo paused in his "battle", shunpoing a few steps out of range from Mashiro's legs, speaking inwardly to his whiny inner Hollow. 'They don't like you, Shiro. The first time you came out, you strangled Hiyori, nearly succeeded in killing her, and the next time nearly butchered them all. They're bound to hold a grudge, you know.' He reminded with a faint smirk of smug amusement.

'Psh. Little brat was asking for it anyways.' Shiro replied sneeringly, but ignored the second part of the orange head's comment with a sniff. 'S'not m' fault they can't handle me.'

"Whatcha smiling at, Berry-tan?" The green haired peppy Vizard asked, jolting the human teenager back to the "real" world just in time to block her roundhouse kick with his arm, wincing at the automatic bruise, keeping himself from either having a nasty headache or becoming decapitated.

"Just remembering a little joke, but I just forgot it." Ichigo replied, covering for himself and preventing her from asking what the joke was at the same time, feeling rather proud of himself for the small accomplishment even though he scowled when he felt his inner Hollow mutely poke fun at him for it.

Mashiro's little girl's face went into a pout and she flounced off with a whine to Kensei, forgetting their training match, which was just fine for Ichigo. He was getting tired and needed a break anyways.

'All th' more reason fer ya t'let me play fer a bit!'Shiro interjected persistently, prodding at Ichigo mentally like an immature child demanding his surrender already. The teen suddenly had a mental image of a beady-eyed chibi version of his albino copy watching the sky hawkishly for a cartoonish white flag. Snorting in amusement at the ridiculousness of the picture, Ichigo shrugged his consent and sank down into his shared inner world.

Immediately upon arrival, he huffed when a lithe body slammed into his back, a mischievous purr ringing in his ear. "Thanks Ichi." Shirosaki husked, giving the faintly blushing orange head a quick lick on the cheek before vanishing, moving to take control of their body.

Rubbing his cheek embarrassedly, Ichigo plopped down cross-legged on a sideways blue skyscraper, distantly aware of the shouts of alarm ringing through the barren horizontal city that was undoubtedly the other Vizards realizing that the soul running amuck in Ichigo's body, wasn't actually the Kurosaki teen himself. Shrugging it off, Ichigo flopped onto his back, crossing his arms comfortably under his head to pillow it from the hard concrete.

If Shirosaki didn't actually kill anyone, maybe he could actually catch some sleep for once in here.

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