The sun hangs lazily in the sky, sending its golden rays down upon the buildings below; the atmosphere, while certainly not as laid-back as their heralf of daylight above, is laid back. Another day of "war". A war with no battles... not in years. Nonetheless, the lingering whispers of public enemy number one on top of the stalemate with Las Noches have given reason for the Shinigami of the Gotei 13 to keep their blades sharpened.
Yes, the citizens of the Rukon have it easy. Despite the lack of immediate threat, the daily monotony is upheld. Unseated train, to keep their skills in check. Seated do various running for their Captains to upkeep their division. The Lieutenants oversee the division much like glorified foremen...
And, today, the monthly Captain's meeting is upheld. Titans of the Seireitei gather, all headed for a single destination; the conference room situated in the 1st Division.
...Things were looking to be just as bland as usual.
Kazuma had just finished the 11th's daily training regimen. He was a real go-getter, that one - if given the opportunity to do so, he'd start ahead of his division mates in an attempt to finish early so he could grab a shower, and then go on about his OWN training.
Since he started as a member of 11th, he quickly discovered his ability to care for plantlife was... limited. At times, he'd be too rough in dealing with the sprouts; other times, he wouldn't pull weeds all the way out, or would pull the plants out along with the weeds. Gardening was something of an art, and like many arts, it required a sense of balance to be done properly. That is something one does not pick up by swinging a weapon around.
It stood to reason that if gardening was a function of the 11th, it was somehow tied in with physical training. Sure, squatting over the land was tiresome, but despite working the hips - theoretically the center of power for all martial arts - it wasn't exactly direct. And it was hell on the back, too.
Sighing, Kazuma continued to work the land, on a small patch of land away from the 11th's garden, where he was trying to properly care for herbs on his own. Plowing the earth was easy enough - so was digging the hole to put the new sprout in. Caring for the soil, knowing when to water it, when to protect it from the elements... that wasn't. But at least he'd improved somewhat on the matter. Practice made perfect, after all.
The Void, the Cold Steel, the Just Sword courtesy of Prime32.
This one's new.
I met a girl with a really pensive look. I walk up to her, put a fifty cent coin in her hand, "For your thoughts. I know the going rate is supposed to be one, but I figure you play hardball."
She gave it back, "Keep it. Pretty sure a guy with your charm can find a way to have them for free anyway."
Norreni Udeoshi, walked into the confrence room, looked about and sighed. The Captain of the 4th was in prime condition, which meant that his Haori was nearly straight, and his Robe practically fastened properly.
"...I knew I shouldn't have trusted Masaru when he said he'd said he picked up some prime Sake."
With a shake of his head, the Captain of the 4th sat down and put his head in his hands, apparently intending to go to sleep.
The hidden underground headquarters of the stealth faction, the elusive Onmitsukidō. Walled in by grimy steel, with fading yellow lightbulbs hanging on the ceiling of the halls every five meters or so. There were no windows anywhere, and at best, everything could be seen with a faint yellow glow, obscured in thick shadows. In the Security and Intelligence rooms, where computer monitors lit the gloom, there were no lights at all. Any other shinigami would be virtually blind in this underground cage, but then again, the members of the Onmitsukidō were not ordinary shinigami. They were trained as creatures of the night. Right now, most members slept in horizontal caches carved into the walls of the different halls, caches big enough to fit human bodies. Others sat in different caches, caches big enough to hold a small table and benches for three, and were busy swapping data, or gambling. There was an air of excitement, tension, and bloodlust, that hung thick around the already heavy air in the underground base.
While all other factions would be closing down, the Onmitsukidō was just waking up, like a beast from slumber. The Onmitsukidō was asleep during the day, and commenced its operations at sundown. It was a faction of stealth and killing, and therefore, only the night would do for its purposes. However, one man in the headquarters was doing something different than the others. A small square carved into the wall at the floor revealed two golden eyes shining from the gloom, glowing like a cat's. The man inside was doing push-ups in a narrow crevice. His lilac hair graced the floor. It's about time, I think. Yuuki grinned, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, that also looked like they belonged to a predatory cat. He flipped a small switch that he had had built specially into the wall. At that flip, all of the lights in the headquarters flickered, and went out. As total darkness consumed the halls, whoops and catcalls rained down loud. Yuuki flipped the switch again, and the lights went on to reveal many black-suited ninja walking silently and purposefully down the corridor, all in the same direction: towards the food storage room.
Yuuki slunk out of the cache, and stood up to his full height. He had already had his breakfast, fifteen minutes before. The other members had ten minutes to have theirs, before meeting in one of the main Unit rooms, to have their nightly duties assigned to them. Yuuki sighed, and slapped his forehead, remembering something. Captain's meeting, huh...what a bother. Old Man Ryou always has to schedule them at sunset, completely ignoring my faction's habits. Figures. Yuuki strode into his office. He wrote, in a special glow-in-the-dark marker, an order for all of the members of the Executive Militia to instead meet in the Security Unit's main room. He also scribbled down a message on a post-it note, and gathered up the note, the order, and all of tonight's papers. He taped the order to the door to his Unit's main room, and went and stuck the post-it note on top of the desk of the Corps Commander of the Security Unit and his Vice-Captain, Kyasarin Shihan. The note read,
Kyasa-chan, I've got a Captain's Meeting to go to. I've told my Unit members to meet in your main room. I've left the papers for my Unit on your desk. Should be back soon. Yuuki.
He dumped the papers down on her desk, and strode out, walking through the maze of tunnels until he came upon on marked with the Second Division insignia. He walked quickly through this, and covered his eyes as a burst of sunlight met them. Blinking to adjust his eyesight, he heard the faint noise of an empty-sounding string instrument being carried on the slight breeze. He smiled, and called, Akemi! You've got ten minutes to get your breakfast before tonight's duties start! I suggest you hurry! He then reached the main exit and grinned. Dumb meeting. He disappeared in shunpo, appearing almost instantly at the Captain's meeting. Glad I had breakfast early. Hate to leave soggy cereal to be here. He said teasingly.
Masaru walks in, tucking a book into an inside pocket of his robes, his reading glasses still perched on his face.
"Oh, there's no sake or shrimp here? Oh, I do apologize, Ude. I think that's the party next week. Or is it next month? Hm. Ah well. You're here now, so no reason not to stay for the meeting, right? After all, you clearly were in a dry spot for work. What with you napping and all."
The small grin on his face belied the cunning dancing in his eyes.
The Captain of the 8th walked further inside, nodding and bowing to others present.
"Natsuko, glowing as always. The both of you are doing well, yes?
Emet, I share your hopes. I add my hope that the day has gone well and efficiently for you so far.
Yuuki, I'm sure you could always have a new bowl if your old one got soggy."
Yuuki grinned slyly. I'd live. I'm part cat, I'd just drink the thing. Oh, and is Taiki-kun here yet? I need to say hello to him. He spotted Natsuko relatively easy, although noting she wasn't with Taiki...this time.
It was another average day at 12th Division. Various members of its division were hard at work in the various labs within the R&D building's lower floors. The sizes of the labs varied from no bigger than an elementary school classroom, to rooms the size of a ballroom and even outdoor facilities large enough to hold a Gillian if one was ever captured. All of the members cautiously conduct their experiments and studies as according to the regulations set in by the divisions Captain, Kazuo. Everything within 12th Division is extremely tidy and clean, leaving little room for a fatal accident which has not occurred in decades.
Above that were the Archives containing both written and electronically stored files of information on any and all of the Technologies, Lab Reports from Previous Experiments, and written Thesis' referring to subjects on past experiments or theories developed by any given member.
Up on the balcony of a large lab overseeing an experiment with some type of shield system, sipping a cup while reviewing a datapad displaying the results from the previous test, stands Katisugo Ichimyouri, the proud Vice Captain. Hmm...Energy Output is still 20% below requirements. Surge Buffer 3 also appears to be malfunctioning again. I think I'll have to grab the spare.
He glances down at the machine humming with energy. He strides down the stairs walking over to the two unseated aiding him.
Alright, shut the machine down and let the Conduits cool down, I'm going to go get the spare Surge Buffer.
The two unseated nod shutting down the machine. Katisugo sighs walking up the stairs before stopping and facing the two young shinigami.
When your done, why don't you two go take a break. Yes, Katisugo right away.
Katisugo continues walking up the stairs typing in his analysis on the last Trial Run for Kazuo. Kazuo is not going to like hearing about another malfunctioning piece of equipment.
"The very existence of flame-throwers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done. --George Carlin"
Ude looked up with narrowed eyes at the Captain of the 8th. He was tempted to throw his cane at Masaru, but then Ude would have to get up and get it, and that would just be to much of a hassle.
"I'll have you know, I have plenty of work. Your division keeps badgering me for inventory... of something or other. I honestly can't remember. And there is a dispute between the 8th and 10th seat on who has clinic duty that I'm supposed to resolve."
Ude shrugged, not letting the little bit of grief that came up at that thought. He still hadn't gotten over the dissapearance of his VC, but refused to let it show.
"Not that I was going to do any of it, of course."
The captain's meeting seemed well on it's way towards becoming full but there would be some time until one of it's members was able to get to the meeting hall. Not because he was particularly slow (though he was on a the slow side) but rather because he enjoyed taking his time. Captain Osamu, head of the 5th Division picked his way carefully through the elaborate gardens that are housed on the 5th's ground, taking the time to breath in the lovely scents as ebon hell-butterflies gently waft through the air. Every now and then one disappears, a clear sign that it has been called by some shinigami to bear a message, but they were never gone for too long.
Bright dashes of color were scattered all about from cherry trees, flower beds, trellis heavy with flower vines, it was a veritable cornucopia of botanical wonder, but there was also order to it all. Carefully sectioned off flower beds, signs posted in the ground with instructions on what flower species required what in terms of care. And, of course, the shinigami who bustle to and fro to manage their duties and ensure the quality care of the butterflies. The elderly but stern captain picks his way through with a benign smile on his face, his robes and top-knot meticulously arranged to his wants until he had no further problems with them. In his hands, as always, is his treasured zanpakuto which he uses as a cane to get about, planting the scratched and dirty tip of the scabbard to the ground with each step as he makes his leisurely way to the meeting.
He would be, of course, on time but he had also carefully left to give him plenty of time to enjoy the walk and enters the honored hall where the others already wait quietly and without calling too much attention to himself.
Tis nice to see such energy abounding, even if they are but children.
I will be gone from the second to the 11th and be without any computer access. Games and recruitment will obviously be on pause. Warriors & Wuxia: A community world-building project focused on low-magic wuxia/kung-fu action using ToB.
All you crazy players with Captains and your fancy gargantuan posts.
Kyasarin Shihan walks over to her desk down in the Onmitsukidō's undergrous base. She notices the post-it note and picks it up. She sighs as she reads it. A Captain's meeting. Wonderful. This morning's gonna start out great.
She thinks sarcastically, as she picks up the paper's and heads to her Unit's main room. She nods to some members of Division 2 that are parts of the other units as she passes them.
Once everyone reaches the main room, she begins the usual morning stuff.
The trek had been a long one, the distance between the Kido Cop grounds and the Gotei 13’s base of operations was quite the walk, and one his small legs made even longer. He idly smoked his pipe as he stared at the impressive sight at the 1st Division. He exhaled, a long plume of smoke issuing from his nose, clawing at the sky like gray skeletal fingers. It was the first time he’d be in the same area with all the Captains of the Gotei 13, a trial, by any other words. And one he couldn’t fail.
“Here goes nothing."
He adjusts his haori, making certain his rank and office were clearly shown as he strode through the Division Grounds, bowing and smiling politely to any he met along the way. When he finally reached the door to the conference room, he bowed low to the guards, quickly slipping through the small crack of the door as they opened it. He said nothing as he entered, trying to keep along the back wall, out of the way. Observation was the name of the game today.
((Evening=morning here for us, people. Time to get weirded out. ))
((Yes, yes it is. I actually didn't even realize I did that, but it works out.))
Kyasarin finishes making sure everyone is up and ready, assigning duties and the like. As she finishes, she dismisses everyone, and taps the papers into perfect alignment. Time to see what things are like above ground.
She thinks before heading out of the Main Room and up to the surface. She then heads to her office in the division 2 quarters, sighing as she takes the papers she left there yesterday off the desk.
11th Division Captain: Himura. She was not quick, not late and not at all disruptive when arriving for the meeting. She had left her Vice Captain in charge of any withstanding schedules. Through the walk she had time to imagine the subjects that would be addressed... and she had no interest in any of them. Perhaps his sword was rubbing off on her, but she was becoming anxious in these past years.
Her ears were perked for listening and her mouth was ready for commentary. Himura held herself with discipline with a gloved hand on a borrowed hilt. Espirito De Ferro was not at all happy that day, but he kept quiet. His only solace was being used to smack slackers and gather the greens. Chiyo had herself a visit with him for the sake of him not disrupting the meeting; it was a "just in case" visit. Much time has passed since the day of separation, but patience for so long was a hard ship to steer.
Iwaki sits in the shadow of one of the trees of the Golden Topiary, his duties, for the moment, at least, finished. His legs are crossed beneath him, and his hands, fingers interlaced, rest in his lap. His Zanpakuto rests on the ground next to him. He closes his eyes, allowing his breathing to slow and a small smile to cross his face as he enters a thoughtless state. He will have to resume work again soon, but for a few minutes he can devote himself to his own contemplations.
Hideuchi is currently participating in his favorite pastime: showing off. After making a rather undiplomatic dismissive comment about another Shinigami's form, he had been challenged to a mock duel in the courtyard of the Second Division. Unfortunately for Hideuchi's opponent, everyone watching, and the metaphysical concept of justice, Hideuchi was, in fact, much better than the other Shinigami. Thus, instead of focusing on his opponent, Hideuchi was lecturing the surrounding crowd, which was responding with a mixture of guilty amusement and annoyance. Mostly the latter.
"...And that is why the Halt Step is an ineffective combat technique. A bit subtle, maybe, but there are much more efficient ways to get yourself killed in a head-on attack."
Hideuchi's opponent charges at him from behind, swinging a two-handed blow with his wooden replica sword. Without looking at him, Hideuchi sidesteps and fluidly trips the other unseated, sending them crashing to the ground. While they are falling, Hideuchi deftly disarms them, twirling their weapon around his hand while he talks.
"After all, you don't want to end up like this guy. Now, a better-"
Hideuchi is interrupted as his opponent finally lands a hit, his slamming into the back of Hideuchi's head and knocking him forwards, eliciting a round of half-heartedly stifled laughter from the surrounding Shinigami. Hideuchi growls and whirls around, eyes flashing.
"You'll pay for that."
Unsheathing his wooden practice daggers for the first time, Hideuchi charges the other unseated, who moves into a somewhat off-balance Hakuda stance. Hideuchi takes a flying leap, flipping over his opponent and landing gracefully on the other side. Immediately, he kicks the other Shinigami in the back of his knees, sending him keeling over. Hideuchi delivers four strikes that would have been fatal with a real weapon before the shinigami hits the ground. Mood soured, Hideuchi storms off without another word.
Allan is sitting in the shade of a tree just outside the Thirteenth Division's complex, his posture indicating a form of relaxed boredom. He is repeatedly throwing a small rubber ball against the side of a nearby building, where it bounces off and he catches it. Yawning, he catches the ball one last time and tucks it back into his Shihakusho. In the same motion, he withdraws a packet of dried meat, then extracts a strip and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.
Hearing a twig snap, Allan looks around and sees one of the Thirteenth's seated officers rounding the corner. His eyes snap fully open, the vague prospect of work alarming to him. Before the officer has finished turning the corner, Allan is already halfway up the tree, lying low against one branch and relying on its foliage to hide his appearance. The seated passes, and Allan descends from his cover, hanging by his knees from one of the lower branches, looking at the seated's retreating back.
Wait. Work might not be boring...
He blinks, then waves a hand in dismissal.
"Nah, that's crazy talk."
Allan drops adeptly to the ground and walks away, heading in the opposite direction of the seated.
Damara is busy. Because of its gargantuan size and its constant interactions with the other divisions, the Sixth Division generates a titanic amount of paper work. In theory, this burden is supposed to be shared between the Captain and the Vice Captain, but since the Division is in one of its characteristic periods without a suitable Captain candidate, he is forced to shoulder the burden alone, a distinctly unpleasant task. Even for someone as patient and unflappable as Damara.
Sighing, Damara leans back in his seat and flexes his cramping hand, staring into space. The Division could not last much longer without a Captain. There had been long absences in the past; in fact, there had been fewer smooth transitions than periods of being leaderless, no matter how brief. Despite this, never had there been a gap of more than a hundred years. The centennial anniversary of Sengoku Motoari's death is fast approaching, and no one was appearing. Damara looks down at the painful memory. He himself is certainly not a viable candidate, despite his hard work. He still was yet to achieve the necessary knowledge for the position, and Bankai still eluded him. It was a difficult situation.
Shaking his head, Damara forces his face back to its usual stony, unreadable facade and begins working again, his moment of weakness ended.
Truly awesome Ark Tamaeus avatar by Bryn. Full size version here.