@obakeyashi wanted a starter!
The callouses that had formed from the grip of her blade had long faded, left now only with fresh nicks from an amateur wielding a kitchen knife. A moment of bravery had given her the idea to try and make something herself to better communicate to her brother who was still bedridden. But it had become a sort of goose chase fetching the ingredients and finding the right kind of meal to prepare. Rukia had even overestimated the amounts, resulting in a full pot she now carried that was deemed too complicated or spicy to be delivered. It took the full use of both of her arms to hoist around the red pot between her arms; whether that was due to her prolonged stay within the walls of sekkiseki, her poor nutrition these past weeks, or the continued lack of her spiritual powers could be anyone’s guess. The added weight on her arms was enough to add momentum to her steps, but she was just able to catch herself before bumping into the woman in the hall of the fourth.
“Ah! Yamamoto--” She pauses, to the outer eye it might look like she bit her tongue on accident, but it was only her recalling the likely title, but still ends up correcting herself with a questioning tone unintentionally. “--fukutaichou?” Rukia hadn’t pictured that this would be the area that the two would cross paths. “Were you visiting my brother here?” She asks without thinking, mostly out of curiosity. In the back of her mind it seemed to tip a domino on her anxiety that she thought she had tucked away; the fact that she wasn’t the only one taking her brother’s time at the hospital. A small reminder of how much of him she still didn’t quite understand. Of course he would be visited by co-workers, she knew that would do him good, probably more comfortable than the hesitant silence that was too often between the Kuchiki siblings; she was probably the person that needed to see him the least.
With doubt stewing in her mind her head seemed to echo that she was a fool with foolish ideas, she wouldn’t quite tell she was holding her breath. It's only then that the stewing doubt brings itself to reality, but in a unexpected form of a loud stomach growl. Instantly a hue of red is on her cheeks as she both tries to turn away but also tries to retain some of her dignity by still facing the other, which results in her hiding her head in her shoulder as she tries to calm herself enough to reduce the beet color on her face before asking a question.“You wouldn’t uh, happen to dislike curry, would you?“