[BSD-RP] Soul Society: Northeast Seireitei

[BSD]

There was no opportunity for the woman to sit and wait for Omoni to leave. No time to sit and think over the shame she had brought to both of them. The badge was in her hand for mere moments before it fell to the ground. Dropped in her shock. A new chip added to all the rest. For a moment, the only sound in her ears was the resounding of that simple item. Its initial hit then eventual rest on the ground. Bright eyes looking up from it to meet with those of Omoni for the first time since she had been given the news of her departure.
It fully dawned on her in that moment, hearing the berating words, that her feet were no longer on the ground. How she was capable to look the woman straight in the eye in such a way. Tears no longer ran. Eyes still red yet focused all the same. The exact words that were said escaped her but their meaning was not lost. Deeper than that was her reason for doing so.
Junko spoke softly. Her smiles were large. The comfort and encouragement she offered matched this behavior. In battle or with a patient, if a comrade seemed to lose all hope Junko would be at their side with kind words to lift them up. This was not forced on her part, it was simply in her nature. But it was not what she needed. It had been a large part of what had pulled her to Omoni in the very beginning. The woman never minced her words. She wouldn't speak to her gently, offering reassurances. If Junko froze, unsure of her next move or in her own ability, Omoni would be there. To shout at her. Telling her to hurry up. Move her ass. You're just going to stand there and let them die?
It was who Omoni was, but to Junko she felt it was a way that the woman had come to understand her. Junko never got stronger nor did she learn or grow more confident with gentle words in her ear. She pushed herself to her limits thanks to Omoni's particular style of backing. A method nobody else thought to use with the woman.
Once more Omoni used her harsh manners to remind Junko of where she stood. To not freeze up but to move forward. And she would. Her resolve was restored by thee actions. Coming from a place of both anger and care, Junko could see them both. She could also feel the unease that matched her own concerning their new positions. Omoni was strong, capable, confident. It was strange to consider the idea that hidden deep down she worried as well.
Dropped to the ground she supposed Omoni expected her to fall down and crumble. She would not. Catching herself low on crouched knees she retrieved the badge. It felt heavier in her hand now, the weight of the responsibility that came with it fully realized now. Grateful to the 'pep talk' given to her, she worried now for Omoni. The weight she must have felt then. The concern that perhaps she was not ready. Looking upward at her retreating back, the words started out low, uncertain, before bellowing out after her.
"...never forgive you...."

"I'll never forgive you if you forget why you're worthy to wear that coat, Omoni!"

 

[BSD]

The word disappointment would not suffice, after all, the fourth seat had lost in a fight with someone of another division. No matter the rank or status, any of his superiors should not falter in combat or in any circumstance. It reminded Jizakai of his own limitations, obstacles that needed to be torn down to get closer to where he required. Anyone ahead of him that lost was a constant reminder of his position on the food chain which is currently far from the top. Now was the time to put that frustration behind himself as he's arrived to the desired destination of the Fourth Division Barracks.
Standing upright, Jizakai six-foot-one frame had towered over the two young ladies he appeared in front of in a flash. He was silent like a worm, maneuevered as a ghost and his presence completely gone. And so the Ametsuchi spoke, sharply his words would cut through the air as a surprise. As quick as his arrival but fluid and clear.
"I am Fifth Seat, Jizakai Ametsuchi of the 5th Division. I am here under the permission of Captain Tenzen Oda, inquiring about the status of Fourth Seat Himari Shimizu. She was here after losing both her arms in a spar against Lt. Katsuo Oda. We have not yet heard word of her status or from her if she survived the ordeal. If you could please, inform of the status of Himari and direct me to the person who directly treated or know of her current status. That will be appreciated."
He said, standing five feet away from the two Fourth Division members. He stayed on alert upon his arrival, in case his odd emergence called for a quick self-defense response. Regardless, as the highest-ranking Fifth Division officer available, Jizakai was not leaving without sufficient information. That would be all until his spiritual perception sense picked upon the flare of Reiatsu that was familiar, was it really Eizoku's? He continued his silence now pondering and focusing his attention in that general direction whilst simultaneously expecting a response. His eyes glued despite showing respect with a nod to greet.

 

[BSD]

"Otsukai-kun!"
Otsukai Mayakasu sat at his desk within the publication’s office, surrounded by notes and reports that he and the other members of the Ninth Division have received or have taken down for interviews. Whether or not they were good enough to make the papers, he would see to it. Looking up from his current page, he came face-to-face with a former subordinate turned Third Seat. Otsukai felt no ill-will towards the girl, as he was never made for combat scenarios which his current captain understood. After multiple meetings with her in the past, Otsukai was well aware of what Yasu Yugure envisioned for her division, and would follow through as ordered.
"Where should I start, then?"
She begins, with pen in hand before taking a seat on the floor like a child. A laugh escapes him and he shakes his head. Kazumi Fujioka was one that worked hard. From the information provided to her arrival, the girl’s been through many things so he’d made it for her transition into the Division to be as smooth as possible. The life of a shinigami was a difficult one, especially with the amount of action and services that other divisions such as the Second Division had to the rest of the Gotei Thirteen. Overhearing the troubles as to which the girl suffered, Otsukai was careful to lead her until she could stand back on her two feet once more. Sometimes she had wondered how such a girl had lasted so long in a division such as that.
“I think I have something else for you to do. You spend too much time cooped up in here, so I want you out on the field instead.”
Turning his head, the reporter flits through a series of papers that hold reports from all four of the gate guardians. While it was their function to protect the walls of the Seireitei and open the gates upon verified requests and admittance, they were still members of the Ninth Division, and had the same function of both eyes and ears, witnessing stories of the Rukongai, even from afar. The members of the Ninth Division’s information gathering team would often pass through with new intel, however, there’s been a recurring theme, or rather term, that lie in these pages. Holding out a stack of papers towards Kazumi, Otsukai would begin his synopsis, and hopefully, Kazumi would be following along as he spoke.
“The guardians have been keeping tabs on what they’ve been hearing from our people and citizens of the Rukongai. There’s been multiple admissions and mentions of peace within the Western districts because of a sudden lack of something called a ‘Mad Dog’ or so. Zen’no Kaminari of the Western Gate will be receiving you soon, so I hope you’re ready. Record with your Denreishiki, video if you can. Get any information that you can from citizens or even passing Shinigami.”
Otsukai fished out a few images that relayed the joy of even the districts that sat far past the 50th. 320 Districts were under the thumb of the Seventh Division, but outside of a single interview with the Captain, Itsuki Asakura, the fellow reporter could only wonder as to what the ever elusive captain was up to since that rather poor interview nearly one-hundred years ago. From what he could remember, the captain would refer to his own people as “Dogs of the Seireitei” so perhaps they would have a link to the so-called “peaceful” experience. Maybe these “Mad Dogs” were the antithesis to the Seventh Division; a spit in the face to the people that patrolled to protect and serve the denizens all while looking for more potential people with the same drive and ability to become Shinigami that could serve their people.
“Do your best, Kazumi. I’m sure you can get a story worth putting in the Column.”

 

[BSD]

Eyes were upon her as she looked over the paperwork before her. Studying, contemplating, dissecting. It was not the first time the man had done this to her. Such behavior used to irk her, a general feel for what his thoughts were making her all the more irate. Now, however, it bothered her none and she no longer attempted to understand what he was thinking. Perhaps it was somewhat judgemental. But she had done plenty in her past that deserved harsh observations. There was no taking back her actions. What had led to her falling so low. She could only hold her head high and move forward, behaving in a manner that she could be proud of.
Lifting her head as he began to speak she was somewhat caught off guard by his words. He had, of course, taught her how to investigate, how to interview. How to be in the field. As of yet she had not been asked to. The prospect both excited and terrified her. Would she fail again? Biting at the inside of her lip she held the feelings at bay. She could not set herself up for failure. She could not tell herself all was lost before she even began.
Taking the offered papers she scanned over the words as he told her a shorter version. Mention of a "Mad Dog" stopped her for just a moment. Was this in reference to Asakura Taichou? She had heard from his own mouth as well as from others before and after their encounter that he had been given such a nickname. She knew little about what had happened to him after he had left her a hundred years previously. Perhaps feeling slightly agitated with the way he had treated her and with no assignments to look into the matter she had never pried into it.
Standing to look at the images he had pulled out she scanned them quickly. Knowing the area somewhat it wouldn't be difficult to find her way. Giving but a simple nod to his words, she had none of her own. She had written a few stories here and there though nothing had ever been under her name. She had never been the investigator, never had a story to tell. She simply put together the notes compiled by others, putting it into the format required to save them some time. From there they would simply make their own edits and that was the extent of it. Once more she stomped down on the concerns rising in her chest. All she could do was her best and hope it would be enough.
With that in mind she gave another smile to the man. Finding her voice she gave a small bow to him in thanks for the assignment. For his encouragement.
"Thank you, Otsukai-kun,"
Preparing herself she took a small notepad, tucking it into the back of the sash that tied her hakama. No other words, no more time to let doubt build within her. It was time to leave. Turning on her heel she left the office, making her way out of the barracks before focusing her reiatsu on her feet and propelling herself forward.

>>>> Traveling from the Northeast Seireitei to the Rukongai >>>>

 

[BSD]

………… beep………… beep………… beep………… beep…………
30 minutes have passed since the completion of Eizoku Yugameru's surgery. The nurses that were assisting the Captain during the procedure have long begun the arduous process of cleaning and wrapping up, some disposing of the various tools that had been used, while others clack away at the computer on Eizoku's patient file. Even though their movements seem hasty, their formation is like second nature, holding small conversations with one another as disturbingly bloodied sheets are discarded and extremely expensive machinery is hauled back into storage. Otherwise described as organized chaos, the only thing remaining tranquil in the room is Yū himself. His posture is unmoving, hardly having shifted a muscle since his initial approach at the foot of Eizoku's bed. Yū appears almost more lifeless than the unconscious Shinigami before him who, unbeknownst to him, is lost in a deep trance, reconnecting with his zanpakutō spirit over the events the pair had just endured.
“Perhaps you should give it until the night, Captain. Someone will come back and check on him later to see if he wakes,”
... one of the Shinigami call out, having just finished their work at the computer as the rest convene in the center of the room, all seemingly done with their tasks.
"No. It'll be any moment now."
While Yū stands idle, his focus from the start has been unrelenting, taking note of even the most minute ebbs and flows of Eizoku's breathing, the adequate level of his reiryoku, and the gradual restoration of his reiatsu even up until this point. It seemed the third seat had not given up on living after all- and while it was evident enough to the Captain, he would use this exact moment to make it known to the other medics who had wrote him off.
Without further warning for the others, Eizoku's timid reiatsu suddenly changes in nature, multiplying in weight and expanding its reach to cascade over the room, unknowingly burdening the medics with indescribable effects. The third seat shoots upright from the bed, his own eyes bulging similar to the doctors who have collapsed in suffering. Yū wastes not a single moment to steal a glance at the Shinigami struggling to find their breath beside him, his glare only darkening on the obviously panicked Eizoku. Despite his visual disregard, all the gagging, all the retching, all the gasping, are all short-lived as only a second passes before they're saved by their Captain's anticipation of this very moment.
In turn, Yū's left hand extends outwards to his side, his palm flat facing the group of collapsed Shinigami. A single wave of blue energy pulsates from his palm, soon expanding into a rectangle perfectly-sized to match the width of the wall in front and behind him and the length from the room's ceiling to the floor. It only takes one, fleeting moment for Yū to essentially split the room in half, halting Eizoku's staggering flood of reiatsu from further distressing his subordinates. This, however, redirects the brunt of the shockwave to crash onto Yū himself- a storm the man is more than capable of withstanding. The Captain's hair is pulled back, the fringes that frame his face now cast aside to reveal his refined beauty countered by a somber gaze. Both his haori and shihakushō thrash wildly as the fabric clings tightly to his chest and stomach, yet the Captain's stance is solid, unyielding as a mountain. His breath does not stutter, his stare does not falter, and his arm does not buckle, patiently waiting out the man's hysteria communicated by his panicked look and then his frantic search for his zanpakutō and then... the discovery of its' whereabouts.
At once, the torrential discharge of his reiatsu is withdrawn, the Captain's hair now falling back down neatly and the rustling of his clothing coming to a swift halt. Eizoku Yugameru offers no words... no gratitude, no recognition, no apologies, no introductions, somehow attempting to convey all of these statements and praises with a silent bow.
This would not be enough.
"Do you speak?"

"Your name, your division, your seat."
... the Captain asks, no... demands of Eizoku. These three things specifically, are the only three things he knows about the man. He wants to adhere to the wishes of the Kido Corps, but Yū is unable to determine the soundness of mind of a person whose character he knew nothing about, whose mentality he knew nothing about, forcing him to rely on the scraps of information offered to him before this stranger was unceremoniously dropped at his doorstep.
Despite his lack of knowledge of the forgotten third seat, it was evident from his immediate submission the same could not be said for the other. Eizoku knew who this man was- if not, he knew of him, and even then if he knew neither, he wouldn't mistake the crisp white of his haori that illustrated honor, demanded reverence, and most importantly, signified power. Yū wouldn't need to unleash even a smidgeon of his reiatsu to intimidate the man for answers; His menacing glare coupled with the third seat's greatest weapon at the Captain's side would be more than sufficient.