The mention of his hat was sobering. Call him melodramatic, but his hat was his soul, if it was manifested as clothes. He had been looking for his hat for almost three hours and he was beginning to freak out.
“It’s possible,” stubborn indignation kicked in as the three year old Kisuke began to show its pathetic self. He knew that by making such childish waves would not help his rescue of his precious hat, so he choked down his stupidity for a moment.
“Riruka-chan, have you seen it, perhaps?” he inquired, pushing down the hope that she might have.
Her fuchsin pigmented tiers would sparkle in amusement, quickly pondering about whether or not she’d tease the man, or help him out. “Hmm.” She hummed in thought as a slender, single digit would raise to tap on her chin. “Should I tell you what you want to hear, or should I go with the painful truth? Which is it Urahara?” She asked with a small smile perched on her lips. She was such an atrocious person with this malevolent intention. “–I might know where it is.. I might not know where it is.. I may have seen it, or maybe I haven’t.”