11th Division

To be a member of the 11h division spoke worlds about you.

To survive in such a tough area, you'd have to be a good fighter. You'd have to be tough, able to take the rough insults and the feel of a blade against your skin if you wanted to survive. You'd have to be stone cold emotionless while fighting if you wanted to fit in; to belong here, you had to be a killing machine.

There was a reason their members were feared.

I liked to say I fit in among them fine, I was just as hot-tempered as most of them. That caused enough scars and bruises to tell stories around the campfire for years; it was all in good fun, however. The people in this division understood the bloodlust that popped up during battle; they went as crazy as I did, and in them I found comfort.

I wasn't the only one.

It hadn't been long since I'd joined the division, and I had already a select few battle partners that I could call friends. The others were just fun toys to play with while I was bored, or feeling particularly rambunctious.

However, there was only one person I didn't feel the need to constantly intimidate. It might have been even because I had a little crush on him; the vice-captain of the sixth Division, Renji Abarai. To openly pursue a relationship with him would be a foolish, innocent school girl thing to do, in my opinion. Subtly was key after all, correct? Well, the way I showed affection was by sparring.

So he was often my sparring partner on afternoons where I couldn't quite relax. He never said no; it would wound his pride to back down to a fight. There was never a winner; we were either stopped from causing too much damage to the area around us, or we collapsed from exhaustion before a winner could be determined.

I let out a sigh as I thought of the attractive red-haired male.

Love was frustrating.