Post by Amara Tamagawa on May 3, 2020 15:03:38 GMT -5
Sometimes cliches could really hit the mark. Or maybe it was more fair to say that sometimes places could be really cliche. Some kind of feeling...a nostalgia, a deep connection to emotion that we have all sort of built up with this memetic ideal. For Captain Amara Tamagawa, it was an after hours Officer's bar just outside of the Seireitei's walls. A popular destination for younger, unmarried, unseated officers to carouse with slightly less fear of the ever-watchful eye of the Gotei looking over their shoulder. Here, patrons were asked to check their rank at the door (within reason) although they were far from immune to the reprecussions from shitty behavior within the dive.
Smokey, hazy lights, dark wood and grimey corners. This bar has seen some real shit over the decades it had been open. It had character. Every layer of dirt on its walls and floors oozed with the laughter and tears and nostalgia of a hundred stories shared around it. There was simply no recreating an atmosphere like this and that was a very good thing. That's what attracted people like Amara to places like this; a unique connection to history and people.
The creaky door swung open as she stepped in dressed surprisingly Western for the Rukon. Given this was a ""nice"" area of town, she could get away with the odd look by way of being 'fashionable' or some other such nonsense. Anyone who knew who she was wouldn't give her trouble for it anyway. And given how badly her platinum blonde hair stood out versus the many black-haired heads of her subordinates and the other souls of the Soul Society, a tragic number of people could pick her out of a crowd. These things only get worse when you're elevated to Captain.
"Two shots of whatever rail whiskey, a bottle of beer, and yes it must be a bottle..." she grabbed a stool and pulled it out just enough to slip over the top and take a seat at the bar. One empty seat between her and a man drinking, for the moment, apparently by himself. "And a jug of warm sake. Two cups." She wagged her finger at the barkeep. He knew who she was, she had been here before, and this was the dynamic they had established.
She would pretend to be fussy and exact, he would pretend she was too stuck up for a place like this. They'd both laugh and drop the act, she'd tip well and he'd keep doing it. The routine was only as old and wornout as the last time she had filled his pockets. It was a nice arrangement. Something about tonight however, was just a little bit different. She eyed up the man sitting to her right as she drummed her fingers against the bartop.
Smokey, hazy lights, dark wood and grimey corners. This bar has seen some real shit over the decades it had been open. It had character. Every layer of dirt on its walls and floors oozed with the laughter and tears and nostalgia of a hundred stories shared around it. There was simply no recreating an atmosphere like this and that was a very good thing. That's what attracted people like Amara to places like this; a unique connection to history and people.
The creaky door swung open as she stepped in dressed surprisingly Western for the Rukon. Given this was a ""nice"" area of town, she could get away with the odd look by way of being 'fashionable' or some other such nonsense. Anyone who knew who she was wouldn't give her trouble for it anyway. And given how badly her platinum blonde hair stood out versus the many black-haired heads of her subordinates and the other souls of the Soul Society, a tragic number of people could pick her out of a crowd. These things only get worse when you're elevated to Captain.
"Two shots of whatever rail whiskey, a bottle of beer, and yes it must be a bottle..." she grabbed a stool and pulled it out just enough to slip over the top and take a seat at the bar. One empty seat between her and a man drinking, for the moment, apparently by himself. "And a jug of warm sake. Two cups." She wagged her finger at the barkeep. He knew who she was, she had been here before, and this was the dynamic they had established.
She would pretend to be fussy and exact, he would pretend she was too stuck up for a place like this. They'd both laugh and drop the act, she'd tip well and he'd keep doing it. The routine was only as old and wornout as the last time she had filled his pockets. It was a nice arrangement. Something about tonight however, was just a little bit different. She eyed up the man sitting to her right as she drummed her fingers against the bartop.
