Fried Rice, Extra Spicy [Open]

[Ambrose Grail]

SPOILER: Click to show

Physical Strength: 30 (80) (140)
Speed: 60 (110) (193)
Reiatsu Strength: 50
Spiritual Pressure: 10 (60) (90)
Light Aura: 50
Dark Aura: 50
Instinct: 100
Senses: 50
Energy Sensory: 50
Healing Expertise: 0

Bones crunching, limbs writhing. That was the last memory Ambrose had before he awoke on the ground. Red hot liquid receded from his body as he formed for another round of endless suffering. An equally endless expanse of ashes and decay stretched out before him in all directions. In the distance, strange cairns dotted the horizon. There was no sign of them, but he could feel the gazes of the kushanada on his body. It was a dull, sickly sensation that he had first confused for ubiquitous to Hell.

For the first ten years of his condemnation, it was an ever-present feeling. For the next ten, its absences were beneath his level of notice. It wasn't until his thirtieth year in the pit that he had even learned his self-awareness again. It was the fortieth before he came to realize his own identity again. Forty years. Longer, surely, than he had even been alive. Whatever he had done to deserve this, it must have been truly terrible.

Gathering himself to his feet, he cast his awareness outward. They were watching him, as was usually the case. He began to walk. He walked until his feet ached. Until his bones sawed against each other. Until exhaustion set in, and for some time after. He walked until he fell down, and laid there in the ash for hours. He woke to some bird-like horror pecking at his flesh. Ripping, tearing, biting. He broke its neck. Then its spine. And then every other bone, until its twitching movements ceased. It tasted awful. Everything here did. Even salt would have improved the meal.

With eventuality, the horizon changed. A skull-like cairn loomed in front of him, empty and yet full of sorrow. On the inside, a portal to the void gleamed at the center of a pool of molten rock.

The dull sickliness lifted off him. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. No hesitation, he leapt across the pool, his feet touching the liquid-hot stone only briefly before he was tumbling through nothing.

Particles gathered beneath him, solidifying into a pathway that his shoulder thudded against. A vague cracking heralded a small fracture in the arm bone. All in all, a good haul for arresting his movement. He laid there for a moment. "Is this... real?" he asked, as if someone would answer. Only the void responded, and only in silence.

The difference was staggering. Without the constant oppression of Hell, the emptiness of the Void was almost a positive force. He wandered for some time more, until the unconscious strain of creating the pathway beneath him was too much to bear. He needed  a reprieve. The portal opened again, yawning with blue light. It could have been a trap. Who knows, maybe it was still. But he still couldn't hesitate. He went through and found himself...

In a busy but impoverished piece of a town. A suburb of a larger city, which called to mind a certain way of life that he'd seen in media many years before. It twitched and wiggled at his recognition, but what caught his brain first was the rice. Fried rice with egg. Someone had added vegetables and a bit of oil. He could still recognize the ingredients, even from this great distance, both literal and figurative.

His countenance drew gasps and stares. Something about him was different from them. Perhaps it was the mask and cloak. Perhaps it was the chains around his wrists and ankles. He didn't let little things like that bother him. What did bother him... was the burning. Someone had burnt the garlic. The heathens. He followed his nose to the source of the offending restaurant and let himself in.

It was an open-air affair, with a kitchen arranged into a box shape, with ingredients on one end and pre-preparation along one side. 

No one stopped him, except when he led himself to the kitchen. The head chef took one look at his masked face and held up a cleaver. "Good edge, fine backbone," Ambrose commented. "But you're ruining the ingredients. Here, let me show you how it's done..." He was beside the man in an instant, closing the gap between them in the blink of an eye, already gingerly removing the cleaver from his grip.

The chef staggered back, taken off guard by his great speed. "Wh-who are..."

Ambrose answered, "The new chef here. Until someone feels like challenging my authority or until my keepers call me back. I feel like... you'll know if it happens."

In an hour, business had doubled. It was quite the commotion: the masked stranger who had arrived to chop vegetables, steam rice and lift a wok. He worked with great care and great speed. His eggs were fluffy. His onions were caramelized. And his garlic was cooked through, low and slow, until its sweetness shone and shimmered in the air. This was his reprieve, and some part of him knew it couldn't last. He would savor it.



Out of Hell Posts: 1/15

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

Sometimes, it was easier to not be Someone than to be Someone. You know? Being Someone, especially being Someone Famous, had so many stresses, responsibilities, and headaches that it was easier to just... not. Kyomei Kuchiki, Captain of Squad 6, had been Someone for so very long. He'd been the prim and proper noble, he'd been the Captain who changed the duties of the Kuchiki Noble's Squad very controversially, he'd been the man standing at the gates of the Seireitei when they were attacked. He'd done all that... and was tired. So today he was going to not be Someone. He was going to be no one.

He started by donning a tattered cloak and removing anything that would oust him as a noble. Or a Shinigami for that matter. For today, he was just going to be a Plus in the Rukongai, wandering the eternal afterlife. He left everything (which wasn't much) in his quarters, cast Kyakko to be unseen as he left the Kuchiki Noble Housing, and entered the Rukongai. Figuring that his face would be fairly recognizable, he drew the hood of the cloak tighter around his head and shuffled like a drunkard. He was fairly ignored as he made his way through the streets of the lower "classed" district.

When he saw a commotion of voices coming from inside a small restaurant, their colors all mingling together, he decided that would be as good a place as any to stop and enjoy the day. He stepped into the doorway and saw the place packed. There wasn't much room, save for a single seat. He claimed that seat, ordered the chef's daily special, and waited for the food to arrive. As he looked around, he noticed very little that gave him any inclination that anything was abnormal about this restaurant in particular...

[Shawn Rabuburēdo]

Today was an off day, very rare for Shawn, as someone who continuously trains and works there isn’t always a lot of free time. Taking this opportunity he searched part through as much of the Rukongai as he could in one day. The search for his siblings was the only thing he ever did on days he didn’t need to work or train, sometimes continuing the search during those activities. Looking for hours at a time with no clues to their whereabouts left him with a pit in his stomach, they would have come to the Soul Society when he did, but being so massive, it’s like finding a needle in a barn full of hay.



The pit began to tighten until a waft of a familiar aroma crossed his nose, something he hadn’t eaten in years. Memories began to flood back of his first few happy years living in Japan after moving from the U.S. The scent of fried rice was strong in the air, in fact it was strong enough for Shawn to follow. Heading to the source of this lovely smell led him to a restaurant, without a second thought he went straight in, not even noticing the people around him and the fact they were reacting to something.



Lucky for him someone quickly left as he walked in, leaving him a place where he happily sat, completely unaware of why the person left so fast. Sitting there peacefully with his eyes closed, he allowed the delicious scent to soak into his mind, allowing those long ago memories to keep going, if only for a moment more. “This smell brings back some good memories, clearly you’ve had some experience making fried rice.” He would casually say this to the man standing at the stove, not realizing something is off about the guys clothing. 

[Ambrose Grail]

Some drunkard wandered in. Ambrose flipped the rice in the wok. The flames in front of him licked at the sides of the steel vessel and conferred their heat to the food-to-be inside. The vegetable medley expressed its fragrance... was that man drunk or confused? Ambrose couldn't help but flicker a glance or two at the newest newcomer as he found his way to the only empty seat left in his theater. A full house. A soft gold glimmered in his eyes, and he kicked up the spectacle. Tongues of flame leapt up from the whorls on his chest when he flourished the wok again, revealing to the crowd why his burned body was covered only with a cloak. Some clapped, others shied away. Most gasped, and one or two walked away quickly. That was fine, they'd talk about the business, at the very least. He put some swagger in it. A new order came in: chef's special. He was only serving fried rice today, but he could make that special...

He had gotten the hang of the particulars of this restaurant and the environment by now. Initially, he had asked for a medium grain rice, but that wasn't the preference of the passersby. They wanted a short grain rice. That was stickier and starchier, but he had been here long enough that rinsed short grain rice was available on demand. He had been putting the restaurant's erstwhile head chef through his basic paces, working him as a sous chef in his own establishment. If he had any complaints about it, the business pouring in had stifled his voice. He worked like a hunted man, with no time for idle chatter. When Ambrose tagged him in for care of the current wok, he was only too happy for the promotion. He didn't question it at all.

The rice needed to be fluffed, to ensure that the grains hadn't and wouldn't be clumped together. A plate of perfect fried right should have a slightly brown surface and a soft and chewy center. The surface of the rice gains should be dry enough to get a good browning effect going during the frying process. The wok should be hot enough that all of the ingredients going into the product will become equally cooked, but not so hot that even a single individual ingredient burns when it hits the cooking surface. One must keep in mind the amount of water to be used with cooking the rice, as well, as too much expressed from the vegetable medley or used in the wok will cause the same dread clumping. Rather than day old rice, they used fanned fresh rice. Spread thinly on a tray, blown under a fan to ensure that the surface of the rice would dry but the cores would remain moist.

Normally, good fried rice should be seasoned with a small amount of soy sauce, salt and oyster sauce. Those things, he had in stock. He had to be careful with the sauces. The salt maintained the bright color of the rice, but if he used too much sauce, it would darken the rice and set off the visual palette. The key to maintaining the aromatic of the rice was keeping it dry during cooking, so liquids should be added only in regular, small amounts. But this was just the basic fried rice. After this was where the variation began, and the specialty. Ambrose hadn't been in a kitchen for years. He wouldn't be dazzling anyone with advanced techniques today, but the basics were well under his belt, and they could be turned in his favor.

For this customer, who he had been watching in his spare half-seconds, he fried the rice until it was slightly brown and the fragrance came up aplenty. He whisked an egg, turned down the heat and added the egg to the rice. Keeping it moving constantly, and the heat down on low, he continued to cook the meal until egg was fully cooked. Only once the egg was completely dry did he turn the heat up again and add the soy sauce and mirin, the seasonings and the other ingredients. Rather than a lighter soy, Ambrose preferred to use a dark mushroom soy. His customers seemed to like it, as well. His seasonings were simple: aromatic blackened (but certainly not burned) garlic, spring onion and lightly caramelized onion. The spring onion and onion were chopped into small pieces, just like the red bell peppers and the beef. All of the pieces needed to be uniform and small so that when fried, they would cook quickly.

Another new customer came in, seating himself on the other side of the kitchen, where one of his less-impressed or more-offended patrons had just left. A pale, almost sickly-looking man with short blond hair. Ambrose flinched at the sight of the cross around the man's neck. The newcomer sat for a moment with his eyes closed, and then commented on the cook's kitchen experience. Ambrose smiled, "It's less my experience with rice, more with flame that you're smelling now. I have the basics down. If we're lucky, we'll get to the really good stuff in a moment," he said, half humble-boasting.

With his ingredients assembled, it was time to get into the true secret of fried rice. The perfect way to fry rice. But that was the secret. You see, there is no "perfect" way to fry rice. It's all about personal preference. The only hard-and-fast rule is to fry on high heat, with rippling oil. To impart the proper aroma and flavor, a cook needs to impart his soul into the food. Perhaps not literally, but close. Ambrose's ingredients hit the cooking surface and sizzled aloud.

A wok is the best surface for making fried rice. It's not about how many times you shake or flip the rice, but putting the browning on it in just the right way. A wok has different zones for heat, giving the cook great control over how quickly any single region of ingredients develops. If one area starts to cook too quickly, that's when the wok is flipped, giving that food a bit of time in the air to cool and moving in the next bit of rice, meat, aromatics and vegetables. How he cultivated this cycle would determine the essence of his special meal.

The sheer concentration that rolled off him for the next few minutes was palpable. The golden color in his eyes gleamed, unblinking. His shoulders worked the wok in even cycles, the chains at his wrists jangled rhythmically, and nearly before he knew it-- "Order up!" he was plating his creation. "One special fried rice." The scent was something heavenly, but the taste would determine his customer's satisfaction.

He glanced at the cross-bearing newcomer, doing his best to treat his customer as just another customer. "And for you?"


Out of Hell posts: 2/15

[Kaminari Cinco]

The Ghettos here in Soul Society had that same atmosphere that any other low income place would usually have. Some of the wooden houses were a bit run down, with the healthy layers of straws fading away as the days went by, losing their fresh luster that they had before. Each time she came by to visit the neighborhoods it was always something that seemed a bit off, or older. Kaminari was never really good at keeping dates memorized, or what she even had for breakfast let alone the meal before. Now it didn't mean she was stupid or forgetful as eating was just eating as it was only a means to fill her stomach, but it served as something unimportant. The Gotei 13 were often strict as to making sure everyone eats to keep their little soldiers from starving when something came up and needed attention. Kami took care of business as someone of her rank would be left to do and eat on a regular basis despite how much she didn't take to the quality.

Food was food after all so the Shinigami didn't mind it per say, just the opinion of this girl was the food didn't suite her tastes. She lived in Rukongai. She was born in Rukongai. Kami could be taken out of the ghetto but the ghetto could not be taken out of the girl, and that meant more for her taste buds. The taste of the food in the Seireitei was... off according to her body, lacking in flavor and overall life. Sure it was good every once in a while since she got to spend time with the squad, but wasn't the spot she wanted. It didn't feel right. From someone who lived off the food in the districts was something a bit unique, providing its own little atmosphere depending on which area one would reside in. For Kami the atmosphere was what was lacking for her.

Here the tough and the strong would just kick the crap out of each other, then later on find themselves sharing a Pot Sticker or some drinks....... Then probably fight over the last Pot Sticker. Being disciplined wasn't something she was entirely accustomed to when it came to eating as she would lose herself and go wild. Either stuffing her face with food or with some drinks, the air was always lively. Fight hard, and party harder as one would say. Taking in a deep breath of that Rukon air was what made the Shinigami feel right at home. A sigh of relief, but at the same time a bit discouraged. Despite with how lively she felt in the back of her mind there was always that bit of emptiness she felt. Not everyone in Rukon can really take care of themselves seeing a small pack of kids running past her. One of them coming close in detail as to what she use to look like.

Kami clapped her cheeks with both hands. "No time to be drooping on the past." Tightening the sleeves of her Shuhakusho around her waistline the Shinigami continued on her way to one of the local Huts. The heavy grime and oily texture in the air was made this area best to grab something to eat. Stalls lining the sides of the street, with each venue specializing in their own sort of dishes. Dumplings, Pot Stickers, Chicken Skewers, Squid Kabobs, soon the Shinigami would have her own hands full with layers of plates stacked on top of each other. It was a good thing she managed to strap her Zanpakutou around her shoulder so she could hold her small stack of finger foodies, but it wasn't enough. Something was off.

Her ponytail quirked towards a direction, to that of her right. "Booze would shur'ly help." She stepped to barking the next moment she got inside, "OH, what'd got fer drinks?!" Business was bustling with little to no room to really sit down anywhere. People squished together around small make-shift tables, along with some people standing against the tattered wooden walls. Kaminari sunk her teeth onto another Kabob that was leaning a bit away from the plate on the very top. The Shinigami took another whiff of the air and savored, "Phew, now that ish what'd be talkin' bout." It stunk, like musty stink. "Gets' ome booze over here."

Reference for Clothes

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

Kyomei started to notice the other customers glancing over at the kitchen with greater and greater frequency. Just what were they staring at? He decided to watch the food be made for him, because that seemed to be the draw to this restaurant. When he caught a glimpse of the cloaked, masked, chained chef in there, cooking his fried rice to utter perfection he was confused and, more so than confused, reminded of trauma he had suffered many years ago. Flashes of memories burst through his mind. It was almost like he was back there, in that Ogatago base...

Back where he had met the Lord of Hell and made the mistake of uttering his name out loud. Every syllable had caused immense pain, but it was like he couldn't control himself and had to finish the word. It had broke his brain in more ways than one, causing him to develop synesthesia being the main. Now he saw sounds like a painting on a canvas. He could see the sizzling of the fried rice and its components rising up from the wok and it smelled so good, but at what cost? What was a Sinner of some sort doing in the Rukongai so peacefully, so passively, so... homely?

The plate was delivered to him as the red words echoed from Ambrose's mouth. Red was the color of blood and anger and rage and Sozen. Was this something he wanted to eat? It just sat in front of him for a good minute or so, cooling and getting less perfect by the, well, minute. He decided to go ahead and try it. Worse case scenario, it was poisoned and he and the rest of this restaurant were going to die. Best case scenario, it was delicious food that was cooked to perfection. He hadn't sensed the release or use of any sort of reiatsu while this dish was being made, so there was little chance that it was spiritually cursed or something.

Placing his spoon into the dish, he raised it to his mouth and placed it in as he sampled the taste with a healthy scoopful. He'd figure out what was up with the chef later, after he finished eating.

[Shawn Rabuburēdo]

“That looked good, guess I have to get the Chef Special” His mouth slightly drooling at the combination of both the sight and aroma of the finished order. Fried rice was always one of his favorite meals when growing up, moving to Japan only made his love towards the dish grow. His father used to make it all the time as he was growing up, trying to show some of his homelands cuisine. Leaning back in his chair, he dwells on those wonderful memories of his time alive, how happy his family was, even after losing his parents. The tough times came after that, but he managed to keep his and his siblings spirits up, he even made sure they had enough money to get fried rice once every week.

While he was leaning back, his attention returned to the world when someone came in yelling and asking what drinks were served here. This place is filled with the smell of fried rice and she can only ask about drinks? I guess some people don’t know something good, even if it smacks them in the nose. Returning his attention from the strange one, he goes back to dwelling on good memories. Bringing his attention back to the watch the cook makes his meal, seeing all the effort the cloaked master is putting into making each dish as perfect as they can manage.

Taking another look around shows him how packed it has gotten since he came in, sure it was packed then, but now it is so packed people are standing against the walls just to get a chance to eat some fried rice. Turning back towards the cook, his thoughts begin to figure out the next area he intends to search for his siblings while he is still able.

[Deleted]

Today started out like any other day for Shitoke. He woke up and immediately went to the greenhouse that he was allowed to build. It was his little haven amongst the mysteries of the Squad 12 and the horrors that may or may not be within. For the time being though he wasn’t going to think about it. He was just going to water the various plants, trim them, and tend to them as much as he could while testing out various different agriculture techniques. That was however until Anthony rolled in. “Shitoke, do you have a minute? We’ve got a task.” Shitoke simply sighed while putting down the water can. Without looking at Anthony he spoke up towards him, “What’s the current tasking? They usually wait until later in the day to ask for either of us. Come to think of it, it’s actually very early hell it’s only about 12pm currently it’s extremely early.” Once he finally found the spot to place the water can he looked over at Anthony.

“Sorry I guess that’s the wrong word, I’m also used to being tasked with something miscellaneous. No actually I thought we should take some time to get to know one another. And no I don’t mean romantically. We work together, we’re tasked a lot of the time with less than glamorous jobs, and we sleep in the same room even. For as much as we are around one another we barely know one another. So I think we should change that, at least a bit. I’ve heard through the talk in the halls about a little shop that is catching quite a lot of attention. If you’re not too busy would you like to join me in my “adventure” there for lunch?” For once Anthony genuinely looked a bit more human and open. There was some tiredness showing as well as some of the stress of what was going on in his mind but the olive branch he was offering was genuine.

Shitoke couldn’t help the smile that was rapidly growing on his face. This was finally a chance to really get to know a member of his new family. He hadn’t made much of a splash yet with the other members of the squad but this was his leg in. This was when he started really connecting with people and really got a chance to get to know the man in the wheelchair. Without further delay Shitoke very quickly ran up and grabbed the wheelchair by the hand rails. “Absolutely but we need to hurry, the lunch rush is going to be insane when we get there if it’s even half as popular as you mentioned. And let’s be fair I need to change into at least the shihakusho before we go. So let’s get a move on before it gets too much later!”


Fast forward about 45 minutes. . .

Anthony and Shitoke had finally arrived in the Rukongai and were about a block or two at the most from the ever more popular food joint. Hell when they were showing up the place already looked fairly packed. If anything the lunch rush was in full swing and it probably didn’t help that the scent from the chef’s cooking was doing wonders for bringing out the appetite of the two newcomers let alone the others. “If I had to guess this is probably the place. Let’s see if we can even find a spot. And by the looks of things there was a nice spot right next to what looked like a day drinker. At least that’s the vibe that came off of the person given they were about as wrapped up in as much badly stitched clothing as possible. Hell it even held a slight scent of alcohol, at least that’s what Anthony swore he could smell. But given that Anthony didn’t have a means of sitting somewhere without help or in another chair and this person was near the edge of the seating area it was about as good a place as they would get.

Anthony and Shitoke nodded at one another as they moved over. Anthony however spoke up as he looked up at the stranger. “Excuse me, is anyone else sitting here? If not we were hoping to take these edge seats since it makes it easier on me.” Anthony would wait patiently not realizing that he was talking directly to his own family member and with Shitoke at that. Neither Anthony nor Shitoke would even recognize that he had any reiatsu or lack thereof from his technique given neither had any stellar energy sensory to begin with. But until they got an answer from the drunkard they wouldn’t be leaving.

[Ambrose Grail]

No chef ever worked alone, if it could be helped. Before Ambrose had arrived, this chef had his own sous, as well. He'd been demoted to prep cook, as a kitchen of this size could only stand one head. He couldn't argue with the results, either. To meet with the rising demand, they had to call in the previous chef's only other employee for the sole purpose of making ingredient runs. Responding to the most recent customer's demand for "some booze," with a smirk beneath his blank white mask, he put a few extra ingredients on the runner's list. "Bring pork belly ends, dried cherry wood, snow peas, a floral nigorizake, butter and two cigars. And make sure they're clean," he instructed. "Take money from the day's profits if you have to." While the restaurant's owner began to protest, he shot his best friendly look at the scantily clad shinigami-- ill memories of another flickered through the back of his mind-- and gave her a wink. He glanced back at the owner, practically down his nose at the man, and shut him up with a glower of his eyes alone. By this point, they were dancing. "I'm taking my break after these orders are out. Remember, low and slow on the eggs until they dry, then raise the heat. Don't rush it."

He'd been sneaking in tastes and bites of his food every now and then. Every good chef does it: quality control. You can't know what the customers are eating unless you try it yourself. As he worked, his sharp mind did an extra duty. Improvement. There was no trick or subterfuge to his cooking. He was here to cook and serve fried rice to please the people, wherever he happened to be. Even if the swords indicated they were of the same stripe as his condemner, today they were paying customers, and he owed it to them to treat them with care and respect.

The pale man up at his kitchen had ordered another chef's special, like it wasn't something he had just put together on the moment. He couldn't help but smile, and if it couldn't be seen on his face, then it showed in his countenance. The chains on his wrists jingled a little louder, and his movements grew a little more confident. He whipped up another egg, and put new rice in his wok. He turned down the heat and added the egg. Low and slow, just as he had instructed the owner. Once it was dry, then he turned up the fire again, let his oil come to a shimmer, and then came his sauces, aromatics, vegetables and beef. When the ingredients touched the hot wok, they sang.

Cook, flip, cook, flip, shake, cook, flip. Every moment that Ambrose worked the kitchen, his concentration improved, and so did his product. The process became a comfortable but exciting cycle. Tiny jets of clean flame shot out from his chest as he worked, and he imbued this order with even greater care than the one before it. The runner returned just as he was finishing the dish. "Order up!" he announced, plating the chef's special before the pale man. "Knock your socks off, buddy."

On to the second challenge of the day: some booze, in a place that didn't serve any booze. For this, the pork belly ends went into a smoker stove with the cherry wood and a lid over them to concentrate the fruity, smoky flavor. He opted for the lighter soy sauce that the people around here were more accustomed to, but mixed it three to two with the nigorizake, and then set it aside. In a separate bowl, he combined the blackened garlic with the butter, and then set that aside, as well. He sent a bottle on cubed ice out to the tall, black-haired woman, to tide her over while her rice was prepared. The pork belly ends would take a while to breathe in that smoke, and the flavors of the garlic and butter would need time to mingle... one cigar ought to be enough.

Ambrose let himself out of the kitchen, and the building, as two more unusual guests made their way inside.


Out of Hell posts: 3/15

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

Kyomei saw a familiar face in the doorway and he pulled the cloak tighter over his face. He really was trying to avoid being Someone today, and a family member of his no doubt would throw all of that out the window. To his surprise, Anthony headed right towards him with the person he was with that the Captain didn't recognize off the top of his head. Well, there was still hope that he wouldn't be completely noticed due to the lack of energy he was currently giving off. He was usually a strong presence and right now was hiding as much as he could.

They asked if they could sit with him and he just "stumbled" to his feet and coughed in a very fake low voice. "Was just finished. Enjoy." Grabbing his empty plate, realizing for the first time that he had shoveled the entire thing into his mouth without really paying much attention, he again "stumbled" to the kitchen to leave his plate on the counter and then "stumbled" after the chef. The Chef from the Underworld that made very good fried rice. Kyo just had to know if he posed a threat to the Soul Society. After all, it was his job to restore what broke in it.

Heading wherever Ambrose went, whether that was in front of the building or out back, the Kuchiki saw the cigar and softened slightly. He didn't seem to be malicious, despite his Hellish origins. "So, chef, what brings you to the Rukongai? You come to cook for the Soul Society and that's it? I'd be lax in my duties as Shinigami if I wasn't skeptical of a Hellion in plain clothes. Your kind has not been, well, kind to us of late." Thinking back to the invasion from Kitai and the destruction and all the overnight paperwork stretches... Kyo was definitely concerned by the presence of Ambrose, but he carried no Zanpakutou and his reiatsu was suppressed to a minimal level. He wasn't being overly threatening despite his words being less than friendly.

[Shawn Rabuburēdo]

Waiting for his Chef Special, Shawn notices a new pair enter, one in a wheelchair and the other pushing. They head over to the other side however and he loses sight of them. Intrigued by the new pair he was tempted to get another look at them, but before he could finish that thought his food was finished and laid in front of him. Told to knock his socks off, the smell wafting up nearly did just that, it was bliss that entered his nose. Mouth nearly drooling, it was all he could do not to slam his face down into the food, it was all he could do not to slam the food in his face.



Beginning to eat his meal, he took his time to savor every bite, dreading the moment he went for another mouthful to find his plate empty. Halfway done he notices the cook leaving the kitchen, presumably to take a break. Basically drunk from the deliciousness of his food, he loses his nervousness around strangers for a moment, long enough for him to scream at the cook, “It’s so good, I could have lived on this stuff while I was alive!” Only Half heartedly listening for a response, he would go back to stuffing his face, and enjoy it while it lasts.

[Ailene Haschiro]

The fortress known as Las Noches, headquarters and home to both the King of Las Noches and the fabled Espada was a massive and twisting maze of long hallways and side rooms that some Espada would call their own. Yet, throughout the halls, an echo could be heard. The echoing of footsteps as Ailene would be seen scouring the halls. This was a typical day for her. The empty halls of Las Noches to herself with no other Espada in sight. To an extent this did depress the newly promoted Septima Espada. It had not been too long since she replaced one of the Espada due to a sudden disappearance. Despite enjoying the satisfaction of moving up in the world, it was a far cry from what she truly desired.

Ailene sought something exciting. Something new. Las Noches and Hueco Mundo as a whole seemed rather stagnant and it was such a bore to her. As she continued to walk through the halls on her way back to her room, she couldn't help, but talk to herself. "A researcher with nothing to research....An Espada with no fellow ones to talk to...and an eternity damned to be hated by others. Truly Ailene, you've struck the jackpot.." Naturally there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, not that anyone was there to hear it, but herself. With that, she withdrew to her room which was at this point, just to her left. 

Entering her room, she noted that everything was still just as neat and tidy as she left it. Content, she began to pull out a few scrolls. When opening one of them, she saw a crude drawing of the Soul Society. No exquisite detail nor impressive labeling, but instead it was just a crude map of the layout of the Soul Society as a whole. As her eyes shifted across the paper, she noted a large part of the map labeled as the Rukongai. 

Despite the crude drawings of the image, it could be noted that it seemed distant enough from the Seireitei to do a little bit of exploration. After all, what was the chance that she was about to run into a group of Shinigami. Atleast Ailene didn't hope so. She could defend herself if needed, but would rather not have to resort to violence. After all, such was the way she was. Plus, she hated the stigma of her people being bloodthirsty savages although she could make pretty good guesses where the stigma came from. Regardless, she would begin to prepare immediately.

Her Zanpakutou in its sheath hooked to the side of her robe, a rose colored cloak that could hide both her robe and her head, particularly her boney prominence of a mask that resembled a headband and finally a few scrolls for a good read in case she found a lovely place to sit. With that, Ailene would look out the window of her room upon the endless expanses of the white desert and the moon that shone over it. With a smile, she hopped past the barrier and quickly fell as she landed in the sand with a distinct thud. Not wanting anyone else to follow her, she ran for a good few minutes away from Las Noches.

After some time, with the large fortress in the distance, Ailene dragged her finger along the empty space in front of her. Suddenly, a garganta would rip open displaying the endless void inside of it. With a quick hop, Ailene jumped in and made her way to the other side. She would do so rather calmly, finding some degree of comfort in the void around her. It allowed her to be alone with her thoughts although this is something she was rather used to. 

Meanwhile, in the back alley somewhere in the Rukongai, the air would become just a tad bit denser as the space caved in and then opened up, revealing the rose-colored cloak that Ailene was wearing. Stepping out of it, Ailene would immediately begin doing her best to mask her spiritual pressure. She had to be weary as there were most likely some that could still detect her. Additionally, a garganta opening up anywhere in the Soul Society was bound to arouse suspicion. As such, Ailene had to make sure to be on the move. Covering her head with the cloak, she would quickly begin straying away from the location. After a few moments, the garganta would shut fairly silently, appearing as if nothing had changed.

As Ailene made her way through this district of the Rukongai, it was plain to see that there were issues within the districts. This one in particular, seemed to be on the verge of becoming run down. The age old threat of decay and negligence is what seemed to befall the buildings. Kids, seemingly pluses and adults in rags, trying to make the best out of a bad situation. It wasn't all bad. There were genuinely decent looking buildings as well and overall, these pluses seemed to find comfort in their family. It was then that Ailene came across a particularly interesting shop.

Ailene noted two folks standing just outside of the shop. One seemed to just be a plus. It was then that Ailene took special note as she overheard the faintest mention of a Shinigami and Hellion. This naturally intrigued the Espada with the latter, but made her a little worried with the latter. Her spiritual pressure was still being suppressed as best as she could. With a rather timid cadence, she made her way past Kyomei and Ambrose, hoping to appear as just another plus.

While inside the establishment, she noted a number of folks. To keep a low profile, she stood to the side and leaned against the wall. While under normal circumstances, she listened, she had a bit of something else in mind. From her robe, she pulled out a book. It was just a book on philosophy that she had retrieved in her many ventures to the human world. She would read until the chef hopefully made his way back soon or until she was talked to, still trying to maintain her guise.

[Kaminari Cinco]

Kami grumbled to herself. What the Hell was taking so long with the booze? Like come on, everyone knew that booze goes well with this sort of dine and dine out sorta gig. What makes the atmosphere more livelier than a gangbang than that of having a few drinks to keep the party and fun going. Eesh, some rookie level thinking going on here, and it was only getting more and more crowded as time went on. First the drunks, which she was a bit jealous of, were climbing into the small business interior, along with a few other randos that Kami didn't pay much attention to. Fried was the gig here, and often took time to make for large quarters of people, which was the reason why she wanted something to keep her occupied for the time being. Instead of booze, some tall glass with ice was delivered to her to keep her sated for the moment. Bleh.

Another mouth full of Karaage chicken was peeled away from the wooden Kabob stick as she whittled down the stack of snack she had piled in her hands. The Shinigami eyed every individual that went in and out, despite the lack of interest she had in them. She was still a Shinigami with Squad 6, so she had to keep up with her duties even when gorging herself. A sigh of relief came out when she looked down at her own attire, seeing that keeping her top open was the right call with all the heating brewing from the back kitchen, and body heat piling up inside the place. It was getting humid very quickly. One individual came out of the seat to march themselves up to one of the cooks. Kami couldn't get a good look at the hooded person, but kept her eye on them in case of trouble brewed up.

Then, another pair ventured into the hot hut. Shinigami? Well, color her surprised since she didn't believe that there would be other Shinigami besides her hanging around the Ghettos. Guessing everyone isn't walking around with a stick up their ass. She waved up herself up, using her height to wave her head back in worth in place of her occupied hands, at least until another individual came in. A rosy colored cloak. Too bright of a color for a place like the Ghettos, which to Kami was a bit too fancy. Ghetto attire always had a rugged look with pale and bland colors, so nothing really bright unless if they were from the outside, or within the Seireitei. So this person stuck out like a sore thumb, even more so when they started to take out a book to read at the back wall close to her. Blegh.

Kami sorta salsaed her way over, squeezing herself through the mosh-pit of men and women all clustered together. The tall woman made her sorting through the individual levels of food in her hands. The Grilled Eel was next. "Meeyyy, mould you mlep me whiff thisz?" the Shinigami muffled with food in her mouth, subtle bouncing the top packet of Grilled Eel at the very top of her stack of snacks. "Eee goz too mooch shitth here and gnat finish it all. Zooo help meh vinish it." she muffled furthermore on as she was chewing the last bits of Karaage chicken to the Rosy figure.

[Ambrose Grail]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Hollow Stats}Zudawull, Class 7 Hollow, 580 SP
Physical Strength: 200 (Durability: 600)
Speed: 75
Reiatsu Strength: 40
Spiritual Pressure: 200
Instinct: 40
Senses: 25 (blind)
Energy Sensory: 0
Healing Expertise: 0

Akunzun, Class 7 Hollow, 580 SP
Physical Strength: 50
Speed: 150
Reiatsu Strength: 75
Spiritual Pressure: 55
Instinct: 150
Senses: 75
Energy Sensory: 25
Healing Expertise: 0

Acidscorch V, Class 7 Hollow Prodigy v2, 580 SP
Physical Strength: 50 (33)
Speed: 50
Reiatsu Strength: 120 (180)
Spiritual Pressure: 70
Instinct: 75 (50)
Senses: 50
Energy Sensory: 140 (210)
Healing Expertise: 25 (8)

Three Hollows had been drifting in the void. Left behind during a venture into the human world, none of them knew the secrets of Garganta themselves, but Acidscorch V knew a trick or two like it. She could hide herself and a few others in an easily-maintained pocket of nothing, and use that nothing to extend her reach when dropping off parts of herself or her cargo. Ostensibly the leader of these hungry chuckleheads, she found herself much more generally capable than either Zudawull or Akunzun. Other than her, it was no wonder they had been left behind. Perhaps she wasn't the most reliable in a true pinch, but that was no reason to leave her in the void, she figured.

Zudawull was perhaps the most reliable of the three. Lead by his hunger and all but immune to harm, the great blithe blind tortoise served as a passable enforcer of Acidscorch's will. Should something happen to displease Acidscorch, Zudawull would, with a quick order, snatch up the offender in one of the four long tentacles that occupied where his legs might normally be, and deposit it into the toothy maw that dominated the back of his shell. He was covered the body over with thick scaly plates, which warded off most any harm to come his way. Indeed, Acidscorch had never known him to take meaningful damage from a scrap with another Hollow.

Less reliable but a damn sight more clever was the tall and ugly puppetmaster called Akunzun, who could take Acidscorch's ideas and spin them up into plans of action and consequence. He stood high above the deserts of Hueco Mundo, on eight long spindly, chitinous legs. Sprouting from his back was a storm of deep purple tendrils, making him look mostly like some fusion of anemone and spider, with a tiny face covered by an equally tiny mask. He spoke in a shrill, grinding voice that made Acidscorch chuckle internally. Still, he had a position of safety-- suspended twenty feet up, most Hollows could not reach Akunzun's body to do him any real harm.

In turn, both regarded Acidscorch V as an annoying but necessary evil. Their wicked ace-in-the-hole. The Hollow's small body and potbelly and the comically large mask did little to make her an imposing ally. The lurid colors of her many large, ridged petals hid her pistils well. She was sensitive to energy and could use this sensitivity to track possible allies and enemies over long distances, which was a boon in the void. What made her the most useful, however, was her ability to corrupt the spiritual energy of enemies. Misty nectar spread out from her body when she was injured or agitated, corrupting the spiritual presence of and numbing whatever it touched by degrees. More than one enemy had underestimated Acidscorch V and her cavidad in the past and ultimately burned to death from the inside as a result.

Together, they made an extraordinary team, the sum of which was truly greater than its parts. On Acidscorch's cue, they suppressed their presences in her cavidad and stalked some distance behind what she claimed was "the big one," traversing a great distance in the nil, until they came upon the traces of a closing Garganta. Acidscorch V assured her cohorts that the big one had moved on from where it tumbled them out, and they dove through the closing aperture before it could disappear entirely.

Into an alleyway. The smell of souls was thick here, and though Zudawull wanted to rampage immediately, Akunzun knew it for a terrible idea. They could attract unwanted attention. No, they would act smartly, following the smart one's directions for now, until they had established a foothold. They would move by cavidad and ulcera, finding a den of safety and build themselves up. Then, they would strike.

A Plus wandered out of the back of a building. A small and meager thing, she was dressed in little more than rags and seemed no older than nine years. Spotting the trio easily, she opened her mouth to scream, but a purple tendril struck her in the back, and her body went slack, and then lifted itself up unnaturally. The first of Akunzun's puppets...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the patrons raved about how good the rice was. That was a good feeling, but it had been a while since his last cigar. Praise could wait for satisfaction. He led himself out behind the building, produced one of his two, and flexed his pecs until a jet of flame erupted from one of the puckered whorls on his body and lit up his cigar. Moments later, he was joined by one of the rice hut's patrons, who questioned him about his presence here.

Ambrose glanced down at himself, and then around at the surroundings behind the building. Plain clothes? He was dressed in a brilliant red cloak and a plain white mask that might have been fit for a Hollow with no personality to speak of. Chains hung off his wrists and ankles in plain view of anyone, and he made no attempt to hide them. Did this pass for plainclothes around here? Or to this person? Come to think of it, it was probably worth assessing this Shinigami who'd come to confront Ambrose out of nowhere. Wasn't... this the drunk who'd stumbled into the rice hut earlier? Where was his drunkenness now? For that matter, he didn't seem the least bit concerned that he was standing in front of what he could easily identify as a 'hellion.' That should speak volumes to what Ambrose was facing. This one was likely at least as competent as the one who condemned him, except he came bearing no sword. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? Knowing Ambrose's luck with shinigami, most likely the latter. The Saika concluded: he must have had good reason to be this confident. Hell.

Ambrose took a long drag off his cigar, weighing out answers and questions. He didn't really know where he was, or what he was doing here. He didn't know how long it would be before the kushanada came for him, though a deep feeling in his gut told him it would be happening, and it could very well be soon. "By my kind, I'm guessing you mean the condemned, and not chefs in general," he ventured. "Although considering what they were doing to the garlic here, you could mean either." Ambrose cleared his throat. "You may need to clarify a couple of terms for me, I'm pretty new here. What exactly is the Soul Society? A special club or something? There are quite a few of you in the rice shack here, as you may have noticed."

He took another drag off the cigar. That. That was the flavor he was after. If only there were a way to put that smooth flavor in the rice or another dish. Come to think of it, he had escaped from Hell once. There was no reason to think he couldn't do it again. He should have some kind of plan here. Maybe... hamburgers? There had to be a way to get somewhere where beef was a thing. "Mm, hamburgers," he mused. "No big plans here, chief. Enjoy my time out of Hell, make some wicked rice, play around with the ingredients a bit..." he finished his cigar. It could have lasted longer, but something about Ambrose made it burn faster. Or maybe it was just packed lightly. "We can continue this conversation inside if you like." He flicked the burned stub on the ground. "That thing was my whole break, though. Unless something more pressing comes up, I gotta get back to work."

The golden-eyed boy turned to head back into the rice shack, off-handedly beckoning the stranger to follow him. Once inside, something immediately felt "off." His eyes scanned the patrons until he caught sight of the offending detail. At the table he'd been keeping an eye on, a glass of water sat out, waiting for its patron to drink but there was no patron there. No... that was definitely wrong.

He had sent a bottle of floral nigorizake on ice to that table. Its customer was clearly a party animal. Water would have offended her. So, what happened to the sake, and what happened to that patron? Eyes still scanning, his gaze crossed the room once and twice, spotting the missing and the awry. Ah, he thought, eyeing the sake bottle. It had been intercepted on its way over; it was probably what he got for not delivering the drink personally. Worse, the offending soul had already had half of what the bottle contained. It was no longer fit for his special patron.

He swallowed his pride. At this moment, he was host to the tall woman, and he would play the part. Even the damned can have dignity. Crossing the room, he stood before Kaminari and bowed, the chains at his wrists jingling with the gesture. "My sincerest apologies," he opened. "It appears your drink has been commandeered. If you would be so patient, I'll send out for a replacement immediately. In the meantime, may I offer you and..." his assessing study crossed over the rose-cloaked figure. "...your companion a place by the kitchen for your meal?"


Out of Hell posts: 4/15

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

Kyomei, before Ambrose could finish his cigar quite yet, tried to give an explanation to this Hellion. He didn't really want to continue this conversation inside where there were people who wouldn't let him be a Nobody today. He had to decide quickly if that was really a hill to die on, though. "You're in the Land of the Dead and the Jurisdiction of the Shinigami." He noticed Ambrose's red voice and thought of Sozen for a moment. It made him pause and he didn't really have much more to say before the Saika finished his cigar and started to head inside. The Captain could have stopped him. Could have blasted him back to Hell without damaging much more than the ground beneath him.

But he didn't.

He paused, for some reason, and Ambrose was inside the rice shack where it would be far too dangerous to confront him any longer. Too many innocents in there. Not enough room to maneuver and definitely not enough room to make sure that no one got hurt. Now was the time to figure out if he was going to be Somebody today or Nobody. Anthony had been in there with someone, and Kyomei hadn't really seen much of the other Kuchiki in quite some time. He decided that he was going to give up on (poorly) being a fake drunk and was going to be Someone today. He left his cloak down and stepped back into the restaurant for all eyes to see him. A Noble, a Captain, a Shinigami on display for all to see in the presence of a Hellion chef and a motley crew of hungry patrons.

He moved to sit next to Anthony, still watching Ambrose carefully. "My apologies, Anthony. I shouldn't have hidden from you, of all people. Was trying to just have some downtime today, you know? Some time to be Nobody."