Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2014 23:00:23 GMT -5
(OOC: This is a social between Kuroi Naito and Kazuko Shiba; it is located in London, England, in a Pub, during a rain storm, late at night. Both have their own reasons for being there, before they meet.)
A truth of life was that all things bled.
The boy turned his sword, this way and that, allowing the water to run down the steel, taking with it the blood that had once stained it, like his hands. There was something simple in the action – primal, even. The rain bit the skin on his face, viciously, as if it was another enemy that needed to fall. Eventually, red stains gave way, running down the edge, and pooled at puddles at his feet, leaving a distorted reflection in the steel. Tired eyes stared back at the boy. In one fluid motion, he sheathed his blade at his back, the scabbard clicking into place. He stayed a few moments, making sure the bodies faded into nothingness, before he walked out of the alley, and into the subdued streets of the city. Those who remained outside paid the boy no mind; to them, he wasn’t even there. It was better that way, no need having adults gawk at him just for wearing his uniform. The streets of London looked like a perpetual sea of dull gold, filled by the radiance of the multitude of street lights everywhere. If he were in a better mood, the boy might have felt a certain connection with what he was seeing – it might have been beautiful.
He found the body where he had left it, lying on its back in a nearby open garage that he had found upon entering the city – his Gigai had been abandoned the moment he had felt the pressure of those he had been hunting. Kazuko entered the body, feeling a myriad of sensations, most of which included the cold. He shook his head, slightly, rising into a sitting position, and removed something from within the pockets of his black jeans; a Hell Butterfly. “This is Vice-Captain Shiba reporting in. All reported threats in the city from the Shinigami Black Book have been located and neutralized.” He paused, making sure the insect registered his pressure and his presence, and was not simply laying around, before he continued, more casually, “I’ll be staying in the city a bit longer, making sure that everything's been checked, before returning.” With his report given, the Vice-Captain gave his finger a click, and allowed the spiritual insect to drift off into rain outside of the garage. I wonder if they enjoy their roles in life? He had always assumed that they just went along with their roles in life, but lately, the boy had begun to question even that.
In a Gigai, dressed in a plain blue dress shirt and black jeans, the Vice-Captain could now appreciate the weather of the Land of the Living in all its grandeur. They said the rain would be bad, but this is ridiculous. Kazuko tried as best he could to cover his head from the rain, but still found shivers run down his spine as he jogged through the torrent. It was just his luck that he'd be caught in a storm while on a mission. He had to bear with it then. There had to be some place nearby to lay low and still watch out for spiritual pressures? Signs, some on, blurred past, and he soon found one that seemed welcoming, so he walked in. The moment he entered, the door behind him slammed shut by the wind, and the boy felt all eyes in the room on him. There was a bar. Well that's just great... He groaned, slightly. People of different age groups found the sight of someone so young in a pub a strange one, but they kept their comments to themselves. Hesitantly, the Vice-Captain walked up to the front of the establishment, drawing in the presence of the bartender as he took a seat. “Mind if I stay here, until the rain stops?” He asked.
The bartender, in her mid-forties likely, eyed the boy suspiciously, brushing a few strands of red hair behind her ear, at first, before her eyes softened. “As long as you don’t order any alcohol, you can stay. Weather gets like this about once a month, you must be new here, if you got caught in it like this.” She said, obviously curious at the foreign accent of the boy and his condition. There was a small silence, as the boy filed through his excuses. “I’m visiting the city with my parents,” he smiled, “Can I have some water?” The woman smiled back, knowing people well-enough to know when someone didn’t want to talk. She walked away, grabbing a cup as she did so, toward the back, which was lined with a multitude of different bottles. The boy sighed. I hate it when people try to pry. The Vice-Captain found his job tiring, at times. Whether he was in his office, managing the Squad, while his Captain was out drunk or with at his shop, or in the field, supervising missions or simply patrolling, there was a sort of monotony to it all that left him drained. Like tonight. He smiled again when the woman approached again with a cup of water, but it was only skin-deep.
A truth of life was that all things bled.
The boy turned his sword, this way and that, allowing the water to run down the steel, taking with it the blood that had once stained it, like his hands. There was something simple in the action – primal, even. The rain bit the skin on his face, viciously, as if it was another enemy that needed to fall. Eventually, red stains gave way, running down the edge, and pooled at puddles at his feet, leaving a distorted reflection in the steel. Tired eyes stared back at the boy. In one fluid motion, he sheathed his blade at his back, the scabbard clicking into place. He stayed a few moments, making sure the bodies faded into nothingness, before he walked out of the alley, and into the subdued streets of the city. Those who remained outside paid the boy no mind; to them, he wasn’t even there. It was better that way, no need having adults gawk at him just for wearing his uniform. The streets of London looked like a perpetual sea of dull gold, filled by the radiance of the multitude of street lights everywhere. If he were in a better mood, the boy might have felt a certain connection with what he was seeing – it might have been beautiful.
He found the body where he had left it, lying on its back in a nearby open garage that he had found upon entering the city – his Gigai had been abandoned the moment he had felt the pressure of those he had been hunting. Kazuko entered the body, feeling a myriad of sensations, most of which included the cold. He shook his head, slightly, rising into a sitting position, and removed something from within the pockets of his black jeans; a Hell Butterfly. “This is Vice-Captain Shiba reporting in. All reported threats in the city from the Shinigami Black Book have been located and neutralized.” He paused, making sure the insect registered his pressure and his presence, and was not simply laying around, before he continued, more casually, “I’ll be staying in the city a bit longer, making sure that everything's been checked, before returning.” With his report given, the Vice-Captain gave his finger a click, and allowed the spiritual insect to drift off into rain outside of the garage. I wonder if they enjoy their roles in life? He had always assumed that they just went along with their roles in life, but lately, the boy had begun to question even that.
In a Gigai, dressed in a plain blue dress shirt and black jeans, the Vice-Captain could now appreciate the weather of the Land of the Living in all its grandeur. They said the rain would be bad, but this is ridiculous. Kazuko tried as best he could to cover his head from the rain, but still found shivers run down his spine as he jogged through the torrent. It was just his luck that he'd be caught in a storm while on a mission. He had to bear with it then. There had to be some place nearby to lay low and still watch out for spiritual pressures? Signs, some on, blurred past, and he soon found one that seemed welcoming, so he walked in. The moment he entered, the door behind him slammed shut by the wind, and the boy felt all eyes in the room on him. There was a bar. Well that's just great... He groaned, slightly. People of different age groups found the sight of someone so young in a pub a strange one, but they kept their comments to themselves. Hesitantly, the Vice-Captain walked up to the front of the establishment, drawing in the presence of the bartender as he took a seat. “Mind if I stay here, until the rain stops?” He asked.
The bartender, in her mid-forties likely, eyed the boy suspiciously, brushing a few strands of red hair behind her ear, at first, before her eyes softened. “As long as you don’t order any alcohol, you can stay. Weather gets like this about once a month, you must be new here, if you got caught in it like this.” She said, obviously curious at the foreign accent of the boy and his condition. There was a small silence, as the boy filed through his excuses. “I’m visiting the city with my parents,” he smiled, “Can I have some water?” The woman smiled back, knowing people well-enough to know when someone didn’t want to talk. She walked away, grabbing a cup as she did so, toward the back, which was lined with a multitude of different bottles. The boy sighed. I hate it when people try to pry. The Vice-Captain found his job tiring, at times. Whether he was in his office, managing the Squad, while his Captain was out drunk or with at his shop, or in the field, supervising missions or simply patrolling, there was a sort of monotony to it all that left him drained. Like tonight. He smiled again when the woman approached again with a cup of water, but it was only skin-deep.