I'll Follow You Into the Dark

100808 - Found (Unfin)

2008-10-09T16:47:03Z

-=[North Rukongai - District 65: Black Rain]=-----------------------------------

From the 77th to the 65th. The journey had not been without problems, the territorial Crows of the 77th proving themselves to have notable skill in tracking and dealing with intruders. He had not come across them until he reached the 75th district, and even then he tried to avoid direct conflict. He had other matters to attend to. He had a mission, and those who stood in his way were considered obstacles.
Once he had reached the 65th, Sazaeno had slowed his pace. He kept his senses open and his reiatsu reined in, practically invisible on the spiritual scale. Antoku had informed him that Masa was somewhere here, in the district of Black Rain. Now the only thing left to do was find the guy...
Tohokage had calmed considerably once they'd left Antoku and the territory of the Crows, but sensing Sazaeno's fellow shinigami was proving more troublesome than he'd hoped.

He no longer knew how much time had passed. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Masa had managed to prop himself against the stone wall in the alley he was left in. Slumped over, Masa had left blood smeared on the wall as he was drifting off to an uncomfortable sleep. If he could just get enough energy, he could stand up and find something to eat, at least...
He had been an idiot to turn his back like that. He left himself so completely open, and had never expected that to happen. It had been way too long since he had been in the Rukongai, since he had felt that kind of bite. When he was able to think clearly, he continued to ask himself that same question -- Why?
Sadakata had completely disappeared, but it was just as well, Masa figured. Hidaruma roused a few times and the wounds that had been delivered still stung a great deal. The wound on his thigh felt stiff, and he found it hard to even move his leg without pain. His back was still damp, and his hunger and loss of blood was making his head spin. If his reiatsu was even flickering at this point, he was not aware of it. Masa's eyes closed briefly, opened, then started to close again slowly...

It was like casting a line into the sea, waiting for a bite, or at the very least, a nibble. It was relatively easy to get a sense of a shinigami amongst those that weren't, and Tohokage had perked once he felt that small, brief tug. Sazaeno stopped, lifting his head to "look" for a handful of seconds, and then did he swivel about and duck into a dash that carried him nimbly through the narrow streets. He kept to the shadows, clung to the edges of the shabby buildings that lined the worn and uneven roads. The more progress he made, the more he was certain he'd found who he was looking for.
The dusty cloak he wore over the rest of his ragged attire flapped quietly as he lept up to skim the tops of the old buildings, what few were actually more than a heap of stones and wood. Up, then down again, weaving through what people he came upon on the roads as though they stood still, like water washing past the rocks in a river.
The moment Masa's eyes had begun to close again, a figure suddenly dropped down from above, landing crouched in front of the man. He'd seen the blood, had brought up the same question Masa had: Why? Sazaeno allowed his reiatsu to slip just enough from his hold, peering at the man intently from beneath the hood of his cloak. "Okazaki Masa."

Masa remained stationary for a few moments, only feeling a slight twinge when he felt the other's presence finally. Opening his eyes slowly, it took his eyes a few moments to focus and his mind even longer to register whose face he looked upon then. It was a bit hard to see, but if his memory didn't fail him then...
"...Uegami Sazaeno..." His voice was soft and a little forced, but he had managed a grin. So someone found him out here finally? If Sazaeno came, he could only wonder what kind of trouble he was in back in Seireitei. Falling back against the wall, Masa was still smiling, but he seemed to grow more tired by the second.
"...If yer lookin' fer Sadakata... he ain't here..." He chuckled briefly, but it was cut off with a grimace. He probably should not have done that. "... Didn't see where he ran off ta'." There being a chance that Sazaeno was after Antoku, he didn't really want to give away Antoku's position... not that he knew, anyway.

"I know," came the reply. "Saw him already. He was the one that told me where you were." Sazaeno felt no need to expound on either point. Dark eyes scanned over the Masa's condition, noting the more obvious wounds, assuming the rest from the generous amount of blood that now stained the wall and floor of the alleyway. He was no medic, but it would be foolish for any of the Onmitsukidou to not know at least basic treatment, especially when most of the time found them working alone and miles from any of the 4th.
"Two wounds; a slash across the thigh and one to the back- am I missing any?" he asked, his tone lacking in genuine concern, methodically stated by habit. His hand was already sliding the short-bladed zanpakutou from its sheath as he spoke.

In a single moment a wave of relief came over Masa. Even though Antoku had given him such nasty wounds, he realized that the kid did not mean to leave him for dead. As to why Sazaeno let him be, Masa did not know, but he would likely get that answer when he returned to Seireitei.
Masa's eyes slowly rose to Sazaeno's zanpakutou, but the reason why the other shinigami was drawing his sword did not exactly come to mind. Masa cleared his throat, paused and then replied slowly. "... A slash t' th' back, and one t' th' thigh, yeah ya got those alright." He then closed his eyes and his eyebrows knitted, and after another pause, he let out a chuckle and let his head hang forward, his now severed black hair spilling over his shoulders.
"... my stomach hurts. Do ya got somethin' t' eat? I think it's been... somethin' like 2 or 3 days..." In the midst of the silenced shared between them, Masa's stomach let out a very weak growl. Iki was going to kill him for not eating properly...! It was a silly mistake, but he just forgot to eat between helping an elderly couple across the street and making that robber return the money he had taken...

He noticed it, the tension that left the man with his mentioning about Antoku. He figured it would have been best to inform Masa anyway, since who knew what sort of a rush things would be once they returned to Seireitei. Besides, this was the least Sazaeno felt he could do for Iki. After all, the man had helped both him and Okiko, and even if it was all duty for both parties, as much as his work in the Onmitsukidou would suggest otherwise, Sazaeno still valued life quite highly, and he knew how painful it was to know just how close the one you loved was almost taken away from you.
Maybe he was thinking about it too much. Things had become quite complicated these past months, and it had started with their first run-in with the arrancar. No, the first one wasn't just an arrancar- he was one of the Espada. He bore a number; 5. There was no doubt about it, that day, Okiko and he had survived only because of luck. The one that he and his partner battled in the sewers not too long ago was on a lesser level than the other one they first fought, and that realization had troubled him. Even she had been a challenge, and if Iki had not come when he did, Okiko would have died from blood loss.
He blinked, barely registering Masa's words, inwardly reprimanding himself for letting his thoughts stray. His wakizashi having been slid free, he lifted it in front of him, moving to slice a few strips from the side of his cloak. After he'd done so, Sazaeno sifted his hand around the small pack that he had strapped somewhere beneath the cloak and eventually produced a few sticks of dried meat. "...you should have come more prepared," he said quietly, waiting until the pieces were taken before he picked up the strips he'd laid across a knee. "...I'll need you to move away from the wall, if you can..."

"I just forgot how tough it can be... I used ta' be pro at this, y'know?" Masa grinned, but winced shortly afterward. He very slowly planted his palms on the ground on either side of him so that he might lift himself from the ground and push himself forward without moving his leg or back too much. He paused for a few moments, clenching his teeth and taking in a deep breath as his arm muscles tightened.
He lifted himself very slowly from the ground, his legs that laid in front of him bending at the knee just slightly as he tried to push himself forward. The pain had subsided a little, but his body was quite stiff from laying still for however long he was out.
Having pushed himself from the wall, the smear upon the wall was more apparent, and Sazaeno would be able to see how his torn shihakushou was still damp with blood on his back. Oddly enough, however, the wound on his thigh never bled much. "...I don' know if I can walk yet." Masa's voice was strained a little as it was a bit of a struggle to even slouch at the time.

Wordlessly, Sazaeno crab-walked around Masa once the wounded shinigami had eased himself away from the wall. He eyed the gash, and tossing the strips over a shoulder, he took up his wakizashi again and began to carefully cut away the man's uniform at the shoulders. It was a mess anyway; he doubted Masa would be one to complain. Sazaeno pulled out a small bottle out. "This will sting," he said as if just remembering perhaps he should offer a warning, that being a second before he let the liquid dribble thinly over the wound.
"Worry about walking later." First, take care of the bleeding. It was a pretty deep wound, but Masa had proven to be made of sterner stuff for how long he'd been able to last with so much blood spilt.

Indeed Masa did not complain, merely slouching forward as Sazaeno pulled the mess of his shihakushou away. His head hanging, he felt his eyes growing heavy again before Sazaeno warned him about what he was about to do. "Huh--" A hiss came through clenched teeth as Masa tensed and drew in a sharp breath. No matter how many times he had been burned, cut, or whatever, why did that stuff always sting?
Masa had a few scars on his back, but most of them were faded, the skin just faintly warped from healing. The scar running down the length of his arm left evidence of a very painful wound he had received in the past. This new cut was going to leave a new scar, but it would be unlike any other scars he had. It was a thought that had not crossed his mind yet.
"So how's it look? Maybe it looks better 'n it feels..." He laughed a little, then cringed again as he tried to weather more stinging sensations.

"...clean slice," Sazaeno observed, dabbing at the blood and excess liquid around the wound with another bit of cloth he'd hacked off from the end of his cloak. He then removed a small square of cloth and unfolded it, plucking a few leaves of some sort, carefully tearing them in half to better cover the long gash as he set them over it. Primative use of medicinal herbs, but they were always effective and leaves took up less space than bottles. They were meant to be for quick treatments. And depending on which and how it was stored, they could potentially be stronger than ones used by the 4th.
He wasn't a man of very many words, Masa must have picked that much up despite the brief times they had met. Sazaeno set to work, absently handing one of the leaves over to Masa, murmuring something along the lines of "Numbs the pain if you chew it." He wrapped the strips of cloth around the other man's chest and back, using all the strips he had cut. Finally he sat back, nodding to himself. "Next." He ripped another few strips with his blade, motioning with his head towards Masa's thigh.

Releasing a sigh, Masa's eyes closed while Sazaeno treated him. It could have been worse, he figured. If that other blade had been the one to slice into his back instead of Antoku's zanpakutou, then he would have likely been dead. He was damn lucky that it had not gone deeper into his leg, but he was still unsure about walking at this point.
Taking the advice of the other Shinigami, Masa took the leaf and stuck it in his mouth, grimacing as he started to chew. "What I wouldn't give for a cigarette right now..." It was horrible, but was likely better for him than a cigarette at any rate.
Masa stayed still the best he could as Sazaeno dressed his wound, but when he mentioned the other wound, Masa tried to dismiss him with a bit of a wave of his hand. "It's not bleedin'... whatever cut me there cauterized th' wound already..." He sighed again, slowly reaching down to tug at the torn spot in his hakama, ripping it open just a bit more. Indeed, even though the wound looked a bit deep, it was not bleeding. "...I don' know if there's anything ya can do..." He grunted then, placing his hands firmly on the ground at his sides again in anticipation. "... man, th' trip home's gonna be killer..." He was not expecting much of a response out of the other man; rather, Masa was talking to himself out of comfort.

He'd already noticed the lack of blood soaking the man's hakama, at least, nothing like what had resulted from Masa's back wound. Sazaeno was no medical experAt, but he looked over the clean cut to the thigh. "Hm." If wasn't a problem, then don't make it one. Nodding once, he decided not to try anything with it. He rolled the unused strips up, putting them away just in case they might need to use them after all, and then he tugged at his cloak, pulling it off of his shoulders before throwing it over Masa. No point in drawing unwanted attention to a wounded man. Seeing a man in bandages was like to invite trouble more than seeing a man limping, at least to some degree. These districts were filled with predators.
"Try standing?" It was said suggesting that it be better Masa attempt to do so now than wait. Sazaeno didn't want to stay here any longer than they had to, and it was already more time spent here than he had thought, more still now that he had an injured person to escort.

"I can definitely try..." His shoulders fell foward to keep the cloak there, feeling comforted by the warmth briefly. Standing up on his bad leg was probably going to hurt like hell, but there was no way that Sazaeno could carry someone of Masa's size. Though it was going to be painful, he had no choice, or they were both sitting ducks.
Focusing his weight on his good leg, Masa started to push himself up, grunting with strain. He did his best not to move the wounded leg, but it still ached and burned as he moved. What the hell was that weapon that Antoku got him with?
After some struggle, Masa managed to stand, trying his best to keep the weight on his good leg. He threatened to fall over at any moment, and almost dreaded trying to take a step. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to have a limp for at least a while. "... If ya can call this standin'..."

Sazaeno was there, standing and ready to support Masa for any loss of balance, and there to be his support for when they would move, if the shinigami was ready to. He nodded as he considered the situation, then he stepped around to favor the side with Masa's injured leg, slipping the man's arm over his shoulder. "Lean. Don't put your full weight on that leg."
This would be a much slower return than he liked, but there weren't any other options. Shunpo didn't work very well with passengers, and Masa was heavier than Sazaeno was that it would be a strain to even try. "Let's try and see how you manage, first..." From there, he can gauge a better pace.

"Believe me, I don' wanna put my full weight on that leg..." His chuckle did little to mask the obvious discomfort. Leaning on Sazaeno, Masa stepped forward with his good leg very slowly, then hesitated for a few moments before he very lightly brought his injured leg forward. His toes scraped the ground, and then he stopped after having brought himself that far. "...I think this'll work..."
Lowering his head, his eyes tightly shut and his hands balled into weak fists. "If I can just keep movin'... Try not t' think about it, that's th' key..." They needed to get out of this place. Even now, they were likely being watched. It would be better if they could get to Seireitei as fast as they could. "... Sorry t' slow ya down like this, Uegami-san. I'll go as fast as I can."

Going fast wouldn't be good for an injured person. While Sazaeno would have preferred to travel quick and light, he wasn't cruel to urge a person into a more desirable pace simply because of preference. You learned to adjust to things, to situations as called for. There was no real hurry in getting back to the Academy to report, only in the matter of getting an injured shinigami to where he could receive better medical attention.
"We need only go as far as the inner districts. I can leave you with someone there and return to Seireitei to have someone from the Fourth dispatched. The less movement you need to force, the better for your injuries." While it was possible to do so here, the fact was that this was still a good ways out, and little respect was to be held for shinigami, the further one came.

It sounded like a plan to him. The Fourth Division members were always quick, and he would be safe within the inner districts. Maybe he could finally get a nice meal, too! He could not even remember the last time he had a hot meal. For a moment while he stood at Sazaeno's side, he seemed to be moping. Masa, of course, would not complain outloud, especially to someone who had helped him so much already.
"Al'right... Better now 'n never." He almost felt his good knee shaking with his weight being put on it, but once he got moving, his momentum and his desire to go home would be able to carry him to wherever Sazaeno lead -- Especially if it meant food.

100708 - Lost

2008-10-08T17:00:51Z

-=[North Rukongai - District 74: Silent Towers]=--------------------------------

After the trading city in Black Rain came the relatively well-guarded settlement in Wasted Miracles, the 68th. It was the last major settlement in the north. After the 68th district the souls lived behind fortified walls in tiny villages that belonged to minor warlords, or hidden among the trees on the mountainsides. By the time one reached the 74th, the main throughfair had narrowed so that one could hardly right two horses side by side on it. Every morning the dew was frozen until the sunshine managed to reach it, and in some parts of the forest, the frost never melted.
From time to time one saw the tall black towers that stood like needles here and there on the mountains. At night, fires flickered at the top of each, but one never saw the men that resided in them. There was no reiatsu to speak of among the pack of them, beyond the occasional weak flicker. Which was why Antoku stood out like a star embedded in the granite mountainsides.
Had he been paying any attention at all to controlling himself, he surely would have noticed. Maybe it was because, unlike the last time Sazaeno had seen him, there was so /much/ of it. A rebellious little blue flame had become a diamondine wild fire. On top of that, he was out in the open instead of behind the walls of one of those black towers where he would have been relatively safe. Antoku was making bales out of piles of dark green leaves he'd gathered and a bale of harsh twine while the headless body of a pig suspended from a tree limb drained.

Some would call this freedom. His missions have taken him in and out of the greater districts, and although he could no longer remember which district exactly that he had once scraped and cowered to remain invisible amongst the more worn and experienced residents, Sazaeno remembered where he had gone. Once you came out far enough, it was like being in an entirely different world. How easily those that discarded concern for what was beyond their borders could blur the distinctions between each outlying district and mesh it all into one within their mind's eye, and yet those that have truly experienced, have truly lived out here know all the details, all the bends, the dips, the mannerisms and the subtle edge added with each wary eye that watched as others went by.
Most, after having been pulled out of the proverbial gutter and brought up under one of the fastidious lower nobility would not care to go back to such a lifestyle. To Sazaeno Uegami, it was all the same. You eked out an existence one way or another, one just wrapped all the ugly things up in bright cloth with pretty patterns. It had been just another challenge, another drop of poison to swallow down in slowly training oneself to become immune to it all.
His footsteps whispered on the ground as he slunk his way along the shadows. He knew how to blend in, knew better than to traipse through the outer reaches of the Rukongai in Shinigami Blacks, no matter how good he thought he was at being inconspicuous. He kept his head down beneath the hood of the beaten cloak, avoiding eye contact with what few souls he came milling across. His senses were open, his own reiatsu constricted to mundane levels. He recalled Sadakata's zanpakutou- or what he assumed was a result of its constant release. It was aware, it could -see- things... It had touched Uemiya Matsuhiro and allowed him to see the lack of presence that made Sazaeno stand out like a black ink spot on a white scroll.
No time was wasted in sparing second glances to those that did not register in memory from what spiritual presence they bore. It was quite a surprise when he did finally find the boy though... his aura bore the same feel, but as though one had thrown the image of that reiatsu through a kaleidoscope. Sazaeno made his way carefully, unhurried. He had his quarry marked. Getting to him would be given as much time as needs be, be it minutes or hours.

The leaves were one of the things Antoku simply hadn't been able to lay his hands on in Seireitei. Unlike the recreational substances he persued to pass his time in the Academy, these had an actual purpose. Although he'd told himself he wasn't going back, he hadn't quite realised that stocking up on items that were rare in the city against eventual need was an unconcious statement of another kind. In addition to the herbs, there were two new swords, both utterly unique; one by the low fire he'd built and the other strapped across his shoulders as he worked. An oiled leather sheet had been piled with broken fragments of old hollow masks and teeth, and next to it sat a roll of wall-climbing tools and a rectangular wooden box packed with craftsman's tools. He was at least three hours walk from the nearest tower, and most likely intended to sleep under the sky again.
Ever so often, the boy stopped what he was doing and rocked back on his heels. Not to stare at the ever-swaying shadows in the dense forest around him, but to hold some object or another out at arm's length and peer at it oddly. He would turn his head from one side to the other, squint, turn his head the other way, and even turn whatever interested him at the moment around or hold it up to the fire or the sky. Ever since he had disrupted the barnacled old safe-houses in Black Rain, Yoro had been seeing in more detail than he ever had before, and it was both exhilirating and confusing. Antoku couldn't figure out what most of it meant, and asking Yoro was no help; the answer would just be more colours and more confusion.
He might have been more careful if he hadn't taken refuge in this district. Beginning in the 73rd, travellers would see a shape like a flattened 'V' carved into tree trunks along the main road, or sometimes even in large rocks. The closer to the 74th one came, the more distinct and better-maintained the carvings became. The closer one came to the 74th, the more the carvings looked like a bird in flight.

To be ignorant of such details was inviting trouble, and in places like this, that could easily mean one's death. Sazaeno did not plan to be here any longer than he needed to, but he knew that varied with the mission. He'd stayed days upon days in a single place just to monitor someone for information. A trip through the dirt districts was a simple task.
He'd decided to start from the outermost and work his way in. Now, here in the 74th, he slowed his pace as he came across the marked trees. Natural cover was enough for him to work with. He could speed things up from here. His senses scanned for what his eyes could not see in his immediate area and a little further. Once he was able to verify it fairly clear, the man all but vanished into the shadows, weaving between the trees with shunpo-aided swiftness. Closer, closer still. He slowed again once he came within a hundred meters.

At the Academy, although he was a special case student with a transcript file the size of a phone book, Antoku had been a relatively benign creature. He stayed away from the other students and seldom appeared in his classes. He had very little to say to the instructors, so in their minds he quickly became nothing but a quiet, brooding, ungrateful kid with a bad attitude and a useless talent for disrupting kidou. Nobody thought much about what he did when he was out of sight, or where he'd been before he'd come there.
Now, with his feet on land that he knew, he was something else entirely. An observant person could take one look at him and immediately see several mistakes the instructors had been making with Antoku for years. To begin with, now that he was working out in the open and had shrugged out of his upper layers to stay cool, it was completely obvious that unless he was very clumsy as a young boy, he'd been through a great deal of combat. Putting him in the dojo with freshmen and sophomores was a dangerous mistake. The double row of knives belted around his torso was heavily-worn and would have been completely hidden by the big yellow scarf they'd let him wear. They'd gone into class with him every day, and no one had bothered to search him for weapons, and so they'd never been found. On top of that, and perhaps meaningless until one had seen him in this setting, was the tattoo of a blackbird in flight on his lower back. It looked a great deal like the carvings etched in the oaks.
So did the flock of crows that exploded from the arms of a birch tree and took to the sky as Sazaeno crept inward, upset not by his passage, but by something else in the wood. Even at such a great distance, Yoro's presense shifted in response, going from a rolling, uncontrolled bonfire to a hardened, focused searchlight that stretched out through the forest, fingering first in one direction, then coiling back and reaching out in another. The search was steady and curious, not vicious and hunted, so it was likely to be the result of habitual caution instead of actual alarm, and thus that much easier to avoid.

Sazaeno was not a teacher by trade, nor had he ever any desire to be such. He preferred to be the one forgotten in the back of the room, an afterthought that lasted only so long as roll call. He'd realized too late that he'd gone and done the very thing he would have abhorred in class were it him, and to the one student that would actually engrave it as a personal offense. Such things were in the past, and that one class session now seemed so long ago. And yet here he was, playing the part of Satsue's rented bloodhound.
The sudden explosion of crows that broke the precious silence caused the shinigami to freeze in place. There were two things one could do when caught in such a situation, either wait and be silent or flee far and fast. Terror could easily dictate both, as did basic survival programming. Sazaeno eased himself against the trunk of a tree, his breath let out slow and easy, drawn in just as carefully. Keeping calm was key, even when it felt like your heart would resound louder than the beat of a taiko drum with the snap of a twig.
He waited, he observed. Within his mind he mapped, out of habit, the most accessible escape routes, the sturdiest trees, and the distances between each potential obstacle. He thought out as many outcomes in the case that he was found out, as he could. And then, almost so abruptly that he nearly surprised himself, Sazaeno abandoned the precaution for his instinct to remain hidden, moving to stand away from the tree. This was no great secret mission. It had no truly required objective. To come to Antoku in cunning and silence was like a threat in itself. So Sazaeno came out in the open, where if Yoro did not immediately take notice, it would not be hard for one using their normal senses to take notice of him. Even so, he remained on his guard. This was the Rukongai, not the Academy.

It didn't take very long. Antoku had no concious control over his reiatsu and had never practised sensing the reiatsu of others. As far as he was concerned, because of Yoro-Ritsuryo, there was no point in it. If he had, he surely would have noticed the appearance of a shinigami immediately. Instead, it wasn't until a whiff of Tohokage brushed against Yoro-Ritsuryo's focus that Antoku straightened up and turned around. He half-turned again, glaring out at the trees, and then leapt forward and slipped into the forest, grabbing up the long curved sword as he passed it.
When he crept into Sazaeno's view, quietly dodging around the silver trunk of a birch and making no attempt to hide the sword in his hand, his body was as tight as a harp string. It boded well for his temper that he'd chosen to approach from the front; if he'd come purely intending to kill, he'd have come up from behind--that's the kind of person he was. Curiousity wasn't the worst way to begin.
Which wasn't to say that he wasn't prepared to kill the man. He eyed the shinigami warily as he eased forward, always keeping at least twenty feet between them. "You look lost," he said. His tone suggested Sazaeno had a very short window of time in which to ask for directions home before he ended up lost for real.

He was aware that he had been spotted even before Antoku had finally emerged within plain sight. Sazaeno allowed his steps to slow only once the boy had come to meet him. Hardly was he surprised to be greeted by Antoku with a blade in hand, but the expression that greeted the boy in turn was one of worn indifference. Nothing was meant by it, although such coolness also suggested that he didn't care whether the boy had a headstart in being armed because he'd already thought several paces ahead for as many possible actions as he could consider that might be taken.
Antoku spoke first, and as though speaking was something that took great effort to work, it took several seconds before Sazaeno finally made to respond. "...it's easy to look lost when you lack in direction, but you never are so long as you know where you've been." He regarded the dark-haired boy in silence, eying the flickering feel of that strange aura that swallowed the area out of his peripheral vision and with his senses.
"...I'm not here to drag you back if that's what you're wondering. Iesada wanted me to deliver a message," he continued, sounding unenthusiastic about his task, all the same.

"I know," Antoku allowed. The white scar that ran from clavicle to groin down the front of his body twisted evenly with every breath he took. "Because I wasn't going to let you."
Antoku looked the shinigami over from head to foot without doing the least to hide the fact that he was sizing the man up. He worked his jaw for a second, then jerked his chin. "What's your shikai do? Mirrors? I'm seeing mirrors. Is that really it? That's all?" He furrowed his brows in disbelief. "You came here with mirrors and smoke to deliver a message from Satsue?" It didn't seem like something worth dying for.

Analysis. He'd heard something of that. Or maybe he'd read it. Most likely the latter. Sazaeno stifled any surprise before it surfaced on his face. He let the hood fall back from his head, feeling better for the lack of physical hindrance it provided. "After finding such an opportunity to leave unnoticed, I didn't think you'd let yourself be brought back either." He ignored the whole judgment of his zanpakutou, feeling Tohokage tense at being broken down to such simple, useless terms. He couldn't say otherwise because if one thought about it, it was true, in a way. No response to the question was given; he didn't feel it necessary since it seemed more rhetorical than one that really sought an answer. Besides, Sazaeno didn't come to hold a conversation.
"Iesada Satsue says it is your choice to return, and she will withhold repercussion if you do. However, if you choose to stay, then she will leave you to the Kidoushuu. She has thus far not informed them of your absence, but says that can be easily changed." This having been said, Sazaeno remained where he stood for several seconds, perhaps waiting for reaction or response, but if none was to be received, he would turn, like as to vanish back into the woods from whence he came.

"So," Antoku breathed. "You came all this way with your mirrors to deliver a /threat/." He was almost in awe. Imagine traveling this far, into dangerous territory--more dangerous than the shinigami knew, he had a feeling--to deliver a threat to someone you knew would just as soon cut you as spit on your eye. A declaration of war, and he was assuming he wasn't responsible for the message he delivered? Unfathomable.
"Let me get this straight...you have no personal opinions about what you're saying, you're just doing your job. Right?"

Yes, it was a foolish thing, now wasn't it? To go so far for... well, it was a request, not really a part of his job. Why had he taken it on? Because he was the only one Satsue knew that could. Regardless, he figured there was no point in dwelling on reasons now that he was already here. He knew Antoku knew about his zanpakutou. He wondered just how much the boy's knowledge extended of him. Remaining unmoving as he watched and listened patiently to what Antoku had to say, Sazaeno waited.
He hadn't come here unprepared. He was of the Onmitsukidou's Fourth, and while information gathering was something any of the Soifon's Special Forces was expected to be good at, it was what he specialized in, and in doing so, one also learned how to utilize information as well as be able to survive long enough to report back to their captain. He'd done his part here and would have been fine to just leave it at that. He hated it when things were made more complicated, but Antoku had come off as a challenging sort ever since Sazaeno had first met him face to face in class.
"...you want my opinion on the matter?" He lifted his head slightly, yet he hadn't shifted at all otherwise from where he stood. Tohokage remained ever alert, a feeling like one's nerves were on tip-toe, wound like a clockspring. It was a strong hook that held it in place though, but just as delicate an angle at which it had to be placed to keep it there. "...live. Survive."

Antoku eyed him for another second and then looked overhead, his eyes flickering through the forest's canopy. It was unwise to take your eyes off of someone who could kill you, true, but Antoku could still see the shinigami perfectly well. "I was asking if you justify coming all the way out here to threaten some kid so your pompous bosses could use him like a tool 'because it's your job to,' or if you're doing it because you agree with them. Are you a tool ...or an asshole?"

"I'm whatever I need to be at the time." This was said with less pause for thought than the other, off-balanced responses that seemed to always be given a second or two later than what would normally be permissable, as though they had missed the beat to come in on. Sazaeno's expression did not so much as twitch as he continued to watch the boy, even when Antoku looked away from him. The shinigami knew better than to think he'd left his guard down with that. Although outward he remained calm and unmoving, inwardly he worked out that it took maybe one-fourth of a second to have Tohokage in hand, that it would take two-thirds to move effectively with delay given only because he'd have to figure which way a possible attack would come from, and an eighth of one to buy more time.

Weapons. That would never work, of course. If Antoku displayed bravado, it wasn't empty bravado. Sazaeno was already in the jurisdiction of Yoro-Ritsuryo's laws and the sword in Antoku's hand was the product of habit, more an ornament than a threat. "Asshole, then." That was good. Antoku didn't feel like he needed to restrain himself in that case. In a way, it was trying to consider Katoji's feelings from a distance.
"Probably won't matter to you, then, but just in case.... Okazaki Hyoung-nim is in the Alley of Black Rain. He might need help getting back to the city." Although it seemed unfair to send this douchereel after Masa, Antoku would have been as bad as Sazaeno if he hadn't made the effort to send the man help.

Tohokage wanted to be away from the boy, or rather, Yoro-Ritsuryo. Sazaeno's brow arched faintly at the conclusion made, but he offered only a shrug in response. Perhaps he had even found it amusing, but such was something he would never tell.
"Okazaki Masa, unlike you, was not given a choice." He left it at that, giving a nod of his head to confirm he'd marked the information given him. He kept a sigh to himself, only able to guess what might have happened between the two. As much as Masa had seemed to get along with Antoku, or at least, as much as anyone, really, the fact of the matter was that this boy was dangerous.
And that was that, so far as Sazaeno was concerned. He gave a bow of his head, a silent notice of his intended departure. At least, provided Antoku's information was true, he wouldn't need to go skimming through each district for the other shinigami. Would he be allowed to leave without incident himself, though?

Antoku jerked his head to the side a little, a gesture that was both acknowledgement and dismissal. Sazaeno was free to get the hell out, but Antoku didn't warn him about the Crows, nor did he intend to arrange safe passage home for the man. Let him get it himself.

With that, Sazaeno turned, pulling up the hood in the same movement, sparing not another glance to Antoku although his senses kept alert for any changes in the surroundings. He was gone within the nearest shadows, his reiatsu suddenly snuffed like a candle as he pulled it close, and already his feet blurred beneath him as he rebounded off the trees, the dirt, a fleeting shadow himself. Who knew how long Masa had been left in the 65th. Sazaeno knew only that it would be best he hurry to get to him.

Antoku waited five or ten minutes before getting his chainsaw. Because he was a strong advocate of fire safety, he stopped to properly put out his camp fire before revving the chainsaw and setting off in pursuit.

092808 - Request

2008-10-05T07:46:30Z

-=[ER - 4th]=-------------------------------------------------------------------

All of Seireitei had come undone with the Rukongai invasions -- a multitude of officers wounded, countless property damages (mostly Rukongai property, which was not so much "countless" as "uncounted" in regards to Seireitei affairs), and to top it all off, Antoku had slipped through her fingers.
Again.
In all truth, the expectancy that Antoku would try to escape was more or less one that was present daily; it was never so much an "if" as a "when," she'd learned. And credit given where credit was due, he'd picked an opportunity that was highly impressive in regards to time and circumstance.
And time and circumstance were the exact two reasons she'd been unable to notice until the damage was already done.
Perhaps the only, small consolation to the situation was that Masa had also dismissed himself. It could easily be assumed that he'd only left to assist the repairs in Rukongai (she was aware it had been his home once, after all) or some errand on behalf of his Gotei, but while that might be true, something else told her that his reason for leaving was Antoku.
The aftermath left her restless and pacing until something else occurred to her, and that something led her to the ER wing of the 4th Gotei, where Ishamoto had reported the return of Uegami and Hazekada, in the days following the attack. To say she came to personally check on their status would have been false, empty pleasantries, and Satsue had no interest in those... she did, however, have the courtesy to knock before entering.

Formal greetings, visitations out of concern- such were concepts foreign to Sazaeno. Potential sustaining of injuries and even death was something that the Onmitsukidou had been well aware of when they were accepted for the job. If anyone came to see them, it was only because of duty. Besides, the only person that would be an exception was already here and beside him, sleeping peacefully, or at least with such a semblance.
"...." He had been awake already, but his eyes opened only once he had confirmed that the reiatsu he'd thought to have felt was not his imagination. He waited, measuring distance by the nearing presence, and when Iesada Satsue finally came through the doorway, the man's eyes were already fixed in that direction. He blinked once, counting seconds that ticked in between each breath taken by the woman. He waited, and then, in afterthought supposed that perhaps he was expected to make acknowledgment of her.
"....Iesada-san." It was spoken quietly, but deemed loud enough to be heard by Satsue without disturbing Okiko. Sazaeno wouldn't be surprised if the woman had awoken already though.

"... I apologize for disturbing you," she said, gaze flicking past Sazaeno to note the sleeping form on the other side of him. She spoke in the deliberate way of someone who meant their words, and wasn't simply spitting out a hasty, robotic formality (born out of guilt or embarrassment) that was a precursor to a request.
A request, however, /was/ the reason she'd come here.
"Sadakata Antoku has fled the premises of the Academy and the walls of Seireitei," she said simply, folding her hands in front of her. Small talk was not a skill included in her repertoire, and tact was something she found best suited to other people. "I realize you are not under my full jurisdiction as staff, and that being the case, I'd like to ask a favor instead of issue an unjustified order."
It was perfectly to the point; she preferred it that way.

Small talk was a foreign concept to Sazaeno as well. He appreciated that Satsue was being straight forward about this. His response was one lacking in the proper reaction that one would normally associate with concern, but he did not very often exhibit many changes of expression. He'd long ago reasoned it to be a useless thing that was a waste of energy for effort. Besides, what was the point in reacting to something that had already happened?
Silence once again filled the room, a second, two seconds, three past what would be considered a reasonable pause. It was out of habit, really. Having the slightest edge over a person was enough grounds for advantage in any situation, even something as minute as making someone irritated or uneasy. It had become a subconscious practice by now. In any case, he hadn't been spending the precious extra seconds in wasted thought.
"...you want me to find him." It wasn't too hard to guess. His reiatsu sensitivity was one of the reasons he had been sent to play instructor at the Academy. It would hardly be the first time he was used as a bloodhound either.

The Dean's Secretary was not a particularly patient woman in most regards, but circumstance was able to lend her a small portion extending past her normal threshhold for irritation. And so, she waited. She was, after all, asking a favor of someone. It was not something she did often, but she knew the etiquette involved in such things, at the very least.
She inclined her head at his words when he finally spoke, affirming them. She did not feel it was necessary to point out why she'd sought him, specifically, out -- she knew as well as he did why anyone would even bother, wasn't it obvious? His records as a shinigami made it more than clear.
"I realize you... and your partner," she added, more out of grace and manners than any personal care on her part, "are still recovering, but it would still require you to leave out in a few days -- at the absolute latest." She was not so unkind as to make allowances, but urgency only allowed so much. Still, it was also a useless endeavor if the man couldn't travel well -- a frustrating but necessary compromise.

He probably could have been released by now, cleared to go for how considerably less serious his wounds had been in comparison to Okiko's. The poisoned blood spike that induced paralysis had been mostly neutralized thanks to Iki, and Sazaeno's training of poison immunity was probably the added factor to his rapid recovery. It was not hard to guess his main reason for not being in any hurry to be vacated from what rest he had been allowed, and that reason lay there beside him, still breathing as evenly as she had when Satsue had entered. Most would think that a good thing. Sazaeno knew better.
He looked at her quietly before rolling his gaze over towards Satsue again. "....." He was trying to find words to say in response, really. He decided that none needed to be said, and so offered a nod instead.

It was a beginning, at least. She'd have to settle for that, for now, though it grated her nerves. "It is not necessary to bring him back; don't bother attempting. Okazaki, however, needs to report immediately back. I don't know if he got it in his fool head that he could bring the boy back himself or if he even helped -- either way, see that he's returned. As for Sadakata..."
She grit her teeth briefly, radiating palpable irritation while she poured through a string of thoughts in quick succession. "If you see him, you can tell him that it's his choice to return and I will withhold repercussion, but if he chooses to stay... then I leave him to the Kidoushuu dogs to hunt him down. I have not informed them he is missing, but that can easily change."

"....." He waited until she was ready to speak again, so silent that one had to wonder if he was holding his breath. So Masa Okazaki was also absent from the Academy. Satsue hadn't mentioned that fact, but by saying as much then, it was not hard for Sazaeno to piece together how he fit into the situation. Again he waited, watching indifferently as the woman did her best to keep her temper in check. He knew that her history with the wayward student Sadakata went back for years from reports and Academy records. Anything else had been idle observation and what he heard. Observation, after all, was not limited to what one saw.
With the words finally spoken and etched into his mind, repeated internally to set them to memory, Sazaeno nodded in confirmation of his understanding of the woman's request. "...understood..." he added as an afterthought, if perhaps some small effort to ease Satsue's irritation at his extended silence.

They went back too far, in her opinion. "I appreciate your aid, thank you." She inclined her head in what could be considered the gesture of a respectful bow without actually bending her spine (the rigid way she carried herself implied that the spine in question was never bent without a serious call for it, and something else said the list that contained such serious occasions was small indeed).
And that was all there was to say on the matter. She did not offer her 'condolences' for his partner -- she considered it a shallow, meaningless gesture -- but she did, however, pause before exiting the room. "I pray her recovery is a quick one." Then she was gone.

None receive, none given. What was offered was more than even Sazaeno expected from Satsue, and he watched her wordlessly since he had nothing to say in turn, nor was he given time enough to speak it. Well, he had his orders then. A request, he reworded, but all the same, it was easier to think of it in the usual terms. Closing his eyes briefly, he opened them again to stare up at the ceiling, his hand slipping towards the face of his 'sleeping' partner, softly touching her cheek and running it through her bangs.
"...it doesn't have to be put off too long. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can return."

"Hai," was the voice that came in reply from beside him, first one eye finally cracking open, then the second, once she felt the Iesada woman's reiatsu fade away. Okiko looked up at him, impassive as usual, but very clearly understanding. When she'd woken up might have been hard to guess, but it seemed she'd caught at least most of the conversation.

Being a light sleeper was something that became habit for them. Sazaeno couldn't remember the last time he'd ever slept deep enough to dream, and it came as no surprise to him when he received a response from his partner. He expected it. His dark eyes flicked towards her, and he gave a small nod before pulling his hand back to rest at his side again, and he resumed staring up at the ceiling. One of the panels was slightly off and it was something he'd come to distract himself with when there was nothing else to do.
"...maybe tomorrow. The day after, at latest." It was quite feasible. He didn't need to prepare very much. Traveling with the bare essentials was something natural for any of the Onmitsukidou. He'd be going to the Rukongai. The farther districts, he anticipated. He could never say he looked forward to any of his missions. They were missions, after all.

081008 - Restoration (Unfin)

2008-09-04T03:15:14Z

(OOC: Takes place before last log)

-=[ER - 4th]=-------------------------------------------------------------------

The journey from the site of the battle back to the Fourth Division was blessedly brief, though Iki pushed the rescue team to move as quickly as possible. He had also sent word ahead to Unohana-taichou that this emergency would likely require her expertise. If his own skills could do so little good, there were very few who might hope to do enough good to save the lives of the two Shinigami he brought with him.
When Unohana arrived in the ER, she would find Iki in a near frantic state of mind, though the only indication came from the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tension in his back as he leaned over Sazaeno to perform yet another healing kidou. Though Saza was not the worse off of the two, Kawagiri was doing the work of keeping Okiko from drifting away. It was clear to Iki, however, that even Kawagiri struggled against the strength of that black poison that plagued her system. He'd set a few of the unseated squad members to cleaning away the remnants of that blood from the pair, unable to spare the time or the focus to do so himself.

More than once Sazaeno had tried to brush off Iki's concerns over him to make him focus more upon his partner's condition. He was exhausted from the battle, more so mentally than physically, but he had still received injury, his right arm still feeling numb from the poisonous infliction, but at the very least Iki had begun treatment on that to keep it from spreading any further.
This was the position he hated to be in, injured and unable to do anything. He was a quiet patient, however, entrusting his life as well as that of Okiko to the professional hands of the 4th. Although he appeared to be asleep, his eyes closed as he lay resting where they had laid him out, Sazaeno was anything but restful as his senses kept attune with the spikes of reiatsu that were still scattered about Seireitei, unfamiliar auras on top of those that should not have been there any more, and he could do nothing but get a vague feeling for what went on, like a curious listener clinging to the staticky broadcast of an old radio.

These are particularly demanding times for the Fourth as a whole, with an invasion ongoing and wounded practically pouring through the doors. The shinigami treating them do their best to maintain a calm environment, which is buoyed by the tranquil presence of the local Taichou. Somehow, between defending the House and treating the worst patients, Unohana finds time to heed Iki's missive.
"Be calm, Ishamoto-san," says Retsu, her own voice quite placid as she crosses through the emergency room. Having already been apprised of the situation, it's toward Okiko that she first heads. She advises her subordinate, even as she assesses her first patient's situation, "First, extract that spike from his body and clot the wound. How much have you practiced controlling the flow of blood?"
Unohana's hands spread open and hover just above the ruin that was once Okiko's arm and shoulder. A pale glow blossoms from her palms, showering the open flesh with carefully focused energies. Muscle and sinew begin to mend in real time, cording together tightly. It seems that constructing a new arm is beyond even her abilities, but the wound itself is sealing.

The presence of his captain alone was enough to calm Iki's anxiety and a single slow breath later, the tension had left his back and he seemed all together more relaxed. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder as Unohana stopped at Okiko's side, offering a faint smile before turning a much more serious face back towards his patient. "I was hoping to completely stop the spread of the poisonous substance before attempting to treat the wound. His injuries are minor compared to hers..." Iki's voice trailed off for a moment as regret began to seep in. He hadn't made it in time.
"Kawagiri has stopped the spread in Hazekada-san, but I'm almost afraid to call him back. There is much more of it in her system than in Uegami-san." Even as he spoke, Iki's hand was moving towards the spike. He would have much preferred to have Kawagiri's aid in this, but there was no time for such worries.
He leaned forward, speaking softly to Sazaeno. "Uegami-san. Please brace yourself." Then, like ripping loose a band-aid, Iki drew the spike free and then immediately turned his focus from the poison to the wound. The blood began to clot, though the process was slower than he would have liked.

Once he had sensed Unohana's arrival, Sazaeno slowly opened his eyes. He said nothing- his throat felt dry and raw, which said much for how often he shouts. Dark eyes glanced over at the Fourth Division Captain as she approached Okiko. She would be in good hands with her. Perhaps he could relax a little, but not completely until he was able to speak to her again, to hear her voice and see her looking at him...
He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes as he gave a small nod at Iki, forcing himself not to tense. Removal of the blood-spike drew but a faint flinch that one might wonder to what extent his training had gone that he could endure such pain wordlessly. His focus was elsewhere, that was the main key. He knew that this was nothing in comparison to the damage Okiko had received.

Retsu continues to toil over the remains of Okiko's shoulder. As the shattered tissues mend, the glow eminating from the Captain's palms tightens, fixing upon the worst of the remaining damage. Bands of muscle recouperate and join together, molded like clay under Unohana's guidance. Finally, the fallen shinigami's flesh is made to grow inward, sealing shut at a central point. The arm is gone, but at least the wound is sealed.
"You did well to utilize your Zanpakutou," she finally replies, "but please, call him back. This is not a situation which Kawagiri can resolve in a timely enough fashion." Unohana's fingertips find their way to Okiko's abdomen, where they rest upon several points and eventually near the heart. She elaborates to Iki, "This poison is viscous. We cannot draw it through the skin as we might a simple liquid. However, it is within our power to arm the body, that it might save itself."
Retsu steps around the table, standing over Hazekada-san's head. Her hands rest lightly upon the shinigami's temples. "Once you have clotted that wound, and they are both awake, we will reverse the flow of the poison through their veins. Guide it toward the stomach. At that point, we will induce vomiting."

Iki nodded, though he didn't turn towards Retsu right away. There was a tense frown on his face as he finished the clotting of Sazaeno's wound. He placed a hand briefly upon the other man's shoulder before drawing Kawagiri's hilt from his belt. There was a moment of silence in which Iki closed his eyes and extended the hilt. A soft glow appeared above Okiko's body which after a moment formed into that same fresh, clean cloud that smelled faintly of rain. Then, as if blown by a soft wind, it shifted and took the form of a blade, reforming in the extended empty hilt.
"She will wake in a moment. I only hope the poison was stalled enough..."

His eyes were open again, watching the other two intently now. He had been listening, he could follow what they meant to do with Okiko. He could only offer silence and his trust for them to do what they deemed necessary. Sazaeno continued to lie quietly. If Okiko were laid out close enough, he'd attempt to reach for her hand. If not, then he trusted that she'd be able to sense him close by... granted she was coherent. This too would be something he would just have to see for himself.

She didn't dream, or she didn't remember dreaming. Perhaps that was because her body was spending most of its resources fighting a battle that, without Saza, she probably wouldn't have bothered trying to win... or perhaps it was because Kawagiri succeeded shoving her so far inside herself, away from the pain, that even something so simple as subconscious imagery was out of reach.
Either way, it was much, much preferable to what she woke up to, which happened to be a stabbing pain in her side and the general sensation of waking up on fire, which, ironically enough, she'd told several students already to try and avoid doing. Instead of arching and gasping out, she went very rigid and still, instinctively conscious of the fact that if she so much as moved an inch when she was in that much pain, she'd make it worse, and probably get beaten for it. Oh, excuse me, reprimanded. At least, that's what instinct said.
Relaxing was not so much as happening anytime soon -- she was scared if she relaxed she'd quite possibly die, right there. She was, she realized, unfortunately and very fully conscious, wishing she wasn't. Which led her to wonder why her shoulder didn't hurt nearly as much as she remembered it -- that was to say, the feeling of her nerve endings being scraped along something very jagged and sharp, complete with shrill sound effects, sort of like the movies she sometimes liked to sneak a watch for.
She didn't open her eyes; she sensed the warmth of Sazaeno's reiatsu mere feet from her, and that was enough. "... Keiei.... can I have permission to die? It seems like now would be the best time to do so, after reviewing the situation."
That was probably only a joke he would understand, especially given she sounded utterly serious.

"This is not your time, Hazekada-san," says Retsu, her tone mercifully soft as she looks down at her patient's face. "There is an extremely potent toxin in your bloodstream. The nature of the substance prevents us from simply dissolving it. Forgive me, but I must ask you to endure further discomfort in order to save your life."
Her hands leaving the shinigami's temples, the taichou slips them under Okiko's shoulders and eases her upward. The goal is to get Unohana's patient into a seated position, and as is usually the case, she doesn't wait to hear any objections regarding her methods. "I am going to force the substance through your veins and into the stomach, and then induce vomiting. Do not resist the urge, for the poison is no longer being held away from your heart."
There's little more in the way of warning than that. Retsu's hands are placed upon Okiko's back, the conduits through which her mighty spell flows. The shinigami's veins rebel, forcing the black, oily substance to surge in reverse and to the stomach. Unohana draws an aura-sheathed hand back and then brings it forward between her patient's shoulderblades, another surge of power delivered in the gesture. This serves to induce the necessary, if wholly unpleasant next step.

Iki had long since been able to hide his worries from his patients, but there was no hiding the slight look of unease that came along with the prospect of induced vomiting. He did not envy Okiko this stage of treatment. Still, he had a job to do and wasn't about to shy away just because the task was less than pleasant.
Leaving Sazaeno's side for the moment, Iki fetched a waste basket. It seemed like such a simple task, but all the same it was necessary, wasn't it? So placing Kawagiri aside, allowing the zanpakutou to finally have a moment of rest, Iki stood at Okiko's bedside, holding the waste basket, its bottom resting lightly against the edge of the bed so that he would have the balance required to keep it from toppling and making the entire ordeal even more unpleasant.
After a moment of awkward hesitation, he offered a bit of encouragement. "Don't hold back, Hazekada-san..."

Okiko's eyes flickered open at the voice above her, indifferent to the words spoken to her. She knew she was in a horrible condition, she wasn't exactly having an out-of-body experience, so the news was akin to being told she'd just woken up and was still in the Onmituskidou. Not very surprising, and very disinteresting.
Now if she'd woken up and told her her arm was back and everything was fine, well, that would have been disturbing, to say the least.
It was the request for 'forgiveness at her discomfort' that had her staring up at the woman with the oddest look, like the taichou of the 4th had suddenly sprouted a second head. This had nothing remotely to do with the taichou herself, and was based entirely on the fact that Okiko found it utterly bizarre anyone would apologize for her 'discomfort', especially given she'd been trained her entire enlistment in the Onmitsukidou to suffer just that. She was /expected/ to go through these things. She herself hardly expected any less.
She didn't complain when she was pushed up into a sitting position (and was, in fact, very pliable while being moved around), and hadn't made a sound since waking to indicate she was in any pain whatsoever. Ah, training: can't give away your position even when you're dying, unless you really wanted to end up dead. She was perfectly placid up until Iki's awkward reassurance, even when Unohana placed hands on her back and began weaving kidou.
.....................
"... if you ever find someone trying to commit suicide... don't ever say that to them...." she managed to state, staring at him impassively. And then her hand shot up, covering her mouth -- 'Why me?' said her brain -- before she grabbed hold of the bin he'd brought up with her only remaining hand, automatically shifting her legs underneath her in one smooth motion that belied how hard the motion actually was. She spasmed, fingers clenching knucklewhite on the rim of the bin, dry heaving a few times before her stomach finally gave in, and the next spasm came with a mouthful of black gunk and bile spewing into the trash can.
For once, she actually made a noise beyond the godawful choking sounds, groaning miserably with her head dunked entirely inside the can. Bile tasted bad enough, but the arrancar's blood...
"Don't get paid enough for this," was the slightly muffled and distorted, echoing, gasping groan from inside the metal sides of the trash can, her ribcage and shoulders convulsing as more of the black oil was forced out of her stomach with another heave of her insides.

"...you still have breath to live... you fought this hard... are you still going to ask if you can die..?" Sazaeno's response came slow, belated. He stared up at the ceiling, but he could feel Unohana's power at work with Okiko. He closed his eyes, resuming carefully measured breathing, trying not to focus too much on the sounds from the bed beside him. He let his careful control of his reiatsu slip, more than he usually cared to allow to be detected, but if he couldn't hold his partner close for personal comfort, he could at the very least give her continual assurance that he had not left.

Okiko's words caused Iki's smile to falter just a little, but careful practice and years of experience kept it mostly in place. He had only been trying to be encouraging! "Ah, I'm sorry..." He only realized belatedly that she probably hadn't even heard him. By the time he'd even thought to reply, poor Okiko had buried her face in the waste basket. And Iki did his duty. He held it steady for her and turned his face away. There was no training to hide his grimace at the smell of it and he doubted at this point that the patient would even notice... or really even mind if she did.

080408 - Recovery

2008-08-09T09:18:54Z

-=[ER - 4th]=-------------------------------------------------------------------

She dreamt of white; crisp, white sheets. She dreamt of voices, or she thought she dreamed -- faces hovering, buzzing overhead. She dreamt of his hand clasped in hers; of kissing his fingers, and then it was all quiet, blessedly quiet.
White, but brighter this time: she realized she was squinting up at the sun, and instead of sheets, she was perched on a fence. There was sand, she realized. White, like the sky (although now she could feel more than see that it was a pale blue)... and high reeds, wispy with fuzzy puffs at the end, but she did not recognize what they were. They grew around the fence, and the fence was stretched along the sand, and the sand sloped down until -- and here she realized that the susurrus, indistinct sound she'd been hearing was the gentle flow and ebb of waves where the sand stopped, and segment by segment she heard sounds and identified things, like the breeze that made her hair tickle her cheek. And she realized, suddenly, that Sazaeno was beside her, but simultaneously she knew in the deepest part of her that he'd been there all along, just waiting for her to notice. 'Keiei,' she said in the dream, her hand underneath his, 'I've never seen the beach before...'
And she turned her head to look at him, and found herself staring into an expanse of white quizzically. She blinked blurrily, brow furrowing in confusion until the wall across the room came into focus. And then the door, and the other beds. "Saza--?" her voice was thick with sleep and disuse, lips gummy and throat dry. She remembered, now. The infirmary.

If one thing remained from that dream, it would be the presence of her partner beside her, his hand still clasping hers. He had refused to let go of her, or at least he would have been adamant in taking her hand up again in between and after the treatments and cleaning of their wounds.
When she awoke, his eyes were already open and looking at her. She'd be able to tell the subtle differences in those eyes where others would not be able to determine one neutral expression from another. In those dark eyes was great relief... Sazaeno hadn't doubted Okiko would awaken, but all the same, seeing her open her eyes again...
"...ohayo..."

Okiko turned her head towards his voice, the black ink dotting her brows furrowed with her frown; she still heard waves in her head, and despite the fact she sensed the dream had been very serene, it bothered her now, here, in the waking world. She realized she was nervous, and couldn't explain why -- she thought she heard Yatagarasu's cry, and a flutter of wings, but before she could focus on it, it was gone again. "Yata..."
She stirred, wincing. "Yata's hurt," she murmured, still groggy, her brain not quite caught up. She felt the constriction of bandages, and the warmth of Saza's hand in hers. She tightened her fingers around his reflexively, bringing her other hand up to touch his chin, his lips, his cheek--
Or she would have, and when no hand responded, no fingers grazed his skin, she sighed, looking up at him. "I did... a stupid thing," she confessed, voice little and soft, like a guilty child's. Common sense at the time had demanded she keep the arrancar off of him, but now, in hindsight, she doubted: surely she could have done something differently. Went about it a different way. Dodged, and come around again, instead of pressing.

"Shh..." What she had thought to do, Sazaeno followed through for her, reaching over with his other hand, somewhat stiffly. He rolled over onto his left side- at least it wasn't that side he had injured, but now he had bandages to match that which would have been on his left arm now on his right. He traced the edge of her cheek with a finger, slowly brushed her lips with their tips.
"...you're alive...." He had no words to comfort her for the loss of her arm, but that she was there and breathing beside him was what he clung to now.

Iki hadn't left the Fourth Division since he'd brought the pair in. At first it was because he'd had to stay as long as Kawagiri was in use, but once exhaustion had claimed both Iki and his zanpakutou, he still remained. Partly he stayed because he worried over Sazaeno and Okiko, but there was still a part of him that stayed because he'd missed this. He'd missed the atmosphere in the Fourth, the friendly energy and comradery that so many other divisions lacked.
He knocked softly on the door before letting himself in, opening the door only wide enough to admit himself before closing it just as quickly. If they were asleep, he didn't want to wake them... "I'm sorry if I came at a bad time... I just wanted to see how you were feeling."
He still carried Kawagiri with him, though the blade finally lay silent at his side. Kawagiri had been keeping Okiko asleep for quite some time and had only recently returned to his sealed state, leaving both he and Iki exhausted from the effort. Not so exhausted, though, that he didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt for interrupting their moment of closeness.

She was too exhausted to kiss his fingertips, and with cracked, dry lips... -- she licked them, turning away a bit briefly, making a face at remembering the hours she'd spent heaving up slick, black oil out of her stomach the last time she'd been awake. what had started as an almost comical opponent had quickly transformed into a lethal threat: blood, the last thing she'd expected was poison blood, and while she had a fair immunity, judging by the amount she'd heaved out of her stomach, she felt like by the time she got it all out, she'd had more oil than her own blood inside her. It was a bitter ichor, and if she never had to taste it again, it'd be too soon.

She rolled awkwardly onto her side (with help from him, it seemed she needed) drained and empty and exhausted and ruined as she was, pressing her forehead to his chest. Inhaling deeply, and breathing him in, all of him, drawing solace from the warmth and scent of him -- and sighed, relaxing, forgetting the pristine, too-clean smell of bandages and well-washed sheets and ointments. "I dreamt... of you... and a beach..."
She said no more, because she heard the knock, heard the door open. Spoken words she slowly comprehended, reluctantly separating her world from Saza so she could focus. "...... tell him I'm fine..." whispered, oh-so-quietly, full of melancholy.

"...beach... sounds nice." He can only vaguely remember how it would be at a beach. "...do....do you think we'll have to serve our time at the Academy longer now...?" he asked flatly after a thought. That had been the main reason they'd been stuck with the duty the first time. Teaching isn't his thing, it was no wonder he saw it as a prison sentence.
It was only inevitable. Sazaeno could only know that the man lingered not far from their room, and although the interruption had been expected, he only wished it could have been held off a little longer. Still, this was the man that had likely very well saved their lives. "...Ishamoto..." he acknowledged the other man with a glance, then very subtly shook his head. "That's fine. We're all right... Alive, at least," he replied quietly.

He could sense it even without senses quite so keen as Sazaeno's. He'd interrupted. For that reason, Iki hovered near the door, one hand still resting carefully upon it in the case he needed to make a hasty retreat. No doubt they wanted to be alone...
Those words. Alive, at least. It should have been more than that. If he'd gotten there sooner, perhaps there would have been better news to report than 'alive, at least.' Iki's reply was equally as soft and heavy with exhaustion. "I hope you won't protest a few more days here at least. It seems like all the poison is gone, but you still need rest in order to grow stronger..."
Years of training made it easy for Iki to avoid drawing further attention to their wounds by the staring that was always so prevalent in new recruits, but there was no hiding the sadness in his tone. "I only wish I could have arrived sooner. I hope you will forgive me."

If Ishamoto knew half the work they did, he would have found 'alive, at least' to be a cheerful thing, indeed. She was not terribly saddened by the loss of her arm -- at least, not any sadder than she would have been any other day, and if anything caused a pang in her chest, it was the thought of fingers being unable to touch Saza.
But soon she'd have to think of the real repercussions of its loss, of how that affected her standing in the Onmitsukidou, and while another might have tried to ignore Saza's words, push the thoughts aside for later, she did not turn them aside. More than half of her evasive techniques had effectively been stripped from her.
And she was meant to wield Yata with two hands.
This was going to be awkward, at best, and she didn't see the point...
... in even bothering, she almost thought, but then she remembered the last time she'd uttered words of the same line to Saza, and how he'd left in silence, and it'd taken her a day to realize she'd pained him carelessly.
So she kept her thoughts to herself, indicating to Saza that she wanted to sit up, and after all the awkward repositioning was done and she was slumped over her lap, she looked past her partner and through snowy, bleached-bone bangs to Iki.
Her eyes were sad, but on the other hand, the woman seemed to have a perpetually dejected expression, and every word out of her mouth sounded like it belonged in a eulogy.
"You wake up... in the morning... expecting to save lives... I wake up... we wake up..." she amended, quietly, resting her remaining hand on Saza's knee, "... expecting to die... we're walking corpses... since the day we were born... and you ask forgiveness from us? I don't understand..." And indeed, she seemed truly perplexed at why he would think it was necessary. "This is our duty... and we're going to die eventually. It's just coincidence... that it wasn't today, is all."

There was a brief span of silence, and then she offered, "On the other hand... or... not, I suppose," she indicated her shoulder where her left arm should have been with her chin, "I will go to my grave quite a bit lighter."

He was never one for many words, if any at all. He regarded Iki and his apology in silence, not sure what to say. Words were not his strong point. Not words that were supposed to convey anything of themselves, anyway. He can make reports of fact, of observations. He can give status reports of their current physical conditions, of the disadvantages they were now presented with, of the things they could have done better had they a more thorough understanding of their opponent... all of it useless for this instance.
Okiko speaks for them both where his conversational skills fail. He supports the woman against him once she's sat up, dropping his lips upon the top of her head, inhaling her scent through her snowy locks. He didn't want to think about all this talk of death, and she'd know it was always an uncomfortable topic for him, no matter how much they knew the truth of her words.

In all the time they had been a part of the Academy staff, Iki had never really shared a conversation with either of them and now he could see why. Those words came as a shock and even before she had finished, a lump had settled heavily in Iki's throat. Certainly he had reached times in his life when he had despaired and had almost welcomed death but this was something all together wrong. These words... Walking corpses? Hardly!
"As someone who wakes up in the morning expecting to save lives..." He used her own words, though it was difficult to push them out past the lump in his throat. "I cannot listen to words like those. Duty is one thing, but to be willing to die so easily..." Iki bit his tongue before he said something more. Already he was sure he'd insulted them, if it were at all possible.
"Forgive me," he said for the second time in as many moments. "I shouldn't speak out of turn like that. I have no excuse for such rudeness." He could have told them he was exhausted. He could have explained the pain it caused him to think of more souls dying on his watch. He could have offered any number of passable excuses, but he said nothing more, only averting his eyes.

"............."
Okiko regarded Iki in lackluster silence, then looked down at her chest; she wore nothing but bandages, and she dully realized she probably ought not to be moving around with her ribs busted up. Black ink peeked around the edges of the white cloth binding her torso. The amount of time her tattoos saw the light of day could be counted in seconds -- the only one to see them fully, inch for inch, was Sazaeno. There was not a day she did not keep her entire body wrapped in the black of her omnitsukidou uniform, and this was the first time in... a very long time, she decided, unable to keep track of the years (they all blended together, all the same) since anyone outside of the corps. had gotten a glimpse of the ink that littered her skin.
Ever since she'd followed Saza to the Academy, she missed the face mask more and more. It was easier to hide in anonymity, and it was alarming to think how many people knew her face by now. And depressing.
She realized some moments later she'd failed to answer as was expected of her, and despite feeling strangely naked (it was an alien concept, and that made it more awkward), she rallied miserably. After all, discomfort was something you quickly got over in the corps... she wondered if it was outlawed... and people were supposed to picture their audience naked if they were nervous, weren't they? Maybe Ishamoto would be a little more at ease. "If that's what you think, it's okay." She was passive and pliable when it came to such things. She didn't bother explaining she just did what she was told. She didn't want to die, and if possible, she'd like to avoid it for a while, but it was almost humorous the way life had a certain tendency of abandoning you at the worst possible moments.
Still, the mortality rate for embarrassment was still zero, she was sad to know. Surely something could be done about that inconvenience.

"...not really 'willing' to die..." he said quietly. Only accepting that it should be something expected, some day. Each mission ran the risk of meeting death, it was like a sick game played by the suicidal. Slowly Sazaeno raised his eyes to look back at Iki, looking away again after several seconds. "...no need to apologize. You're entitled to your own opinion just as much as we are..." He rested his cheek against the side of Okiko's head, falling into silence again. A finger gently traced the outlines of one of the tattoos that peered out here and there between bandages, faithfully tracing their fullness even though most of it lay concealed, and then he carefully rested his hand there on her stomach, his tanned skin even more a contrast against the paleness of both her skin and the bandaging.
"...thank you, Ishamoto...." he spoke up again, dark eyes flicking towards Iki again a beat after his words. They can probably never thank him enough, and although their melancholy words have certainly dampened the already grey mood of the aftermath of such an attack, Sazaeno at least wanted to clarify that they were indeed grateful for Iki's assistance.

His limbs moved of their own accord, leading Iki to a nearby chair where he lowered himself, slumping a bit more than was his usual. Still unsure of how exactly to respond to their words, he offered only a nod in response to the clarification. He really had no place to judge those who ran fearlessly into battle and were not bothered by the thought of death. Hadn't he been like that years ago? Hadn't that been the thing that had gotten him into trouble in the first place? A willingness to rush into the face of death?
No, he realized that wasn't it at all. He hadn't thought anyone would die.
Those thoughts, of course, led him to the reality of the current situation. Sazaeno had thanked him, but really he couldn't take credit for that. "Please don't. I was only doing my job..." He looked away, brows furrowed as he spoke more to the far wall than to the two patients. "Really, my reasons for being there were as much selfish as they were noble. But still, I'm glad I was there. For all our sakes and yours especially."

The fingers tracing her side and abdomen calmed her somewhat, and she expected that was the end of that, another awkward meeting ending in an equally awkward, hurried flight of apologies and excuses.
So of course she stared openly when the man actually walked over and sat down, flicking a look up at Saza over her shoulder that was full of question marks and exhaustion. Hadn't Iki been horrified a moment ago? She briefly toyed with the thought that he was secretly suicidal, one of those who would befriend a bear with the bizarre logic that it was actually harmless, only to be mauled to pieces.
She tilted her head curiously, trying to determine what kind of screamer Iki was with the kind of absorbed thoughtfulness people reserved for trying to solve a particulary hard puzzle. Or maybe Iki would be one of those that would embrace a vampire and try to tell everyone that it was just misunderstood and needed a friend. If vampires existed, and all.
Curiousity got the better of her, and she squinted at Iki, frowning thoughtfully, eyes dark and permanently grief-stricken. "What kind of scream do you have...? If you were... to get mauled by a bear... for example..."

"You were doing your job as we were doing ours..." to Iki. They were both doing as was expected of them, so why did it seem as though there was still some air of difficulty in this being understood? Sazaeno fell silent again, offering nothing more. He caught the look from Okiko, offering the slightest of shrugs in response. No, he had no idea why the man yet lingered, nor had he any clue as to what he should say, if anything. Most would have left by now.
There was no response to Okiko's inquiry- like as nothing the woman asked could ever surprise him. How Iki would respond, of course, was another matter...

Iki realized only a moment too late that he was invading their privacy by taking a seat and presuming to stay. He hadn't even consciously intended to sit yet here he was making himself comfortable. So smiling sheepishly, he shifted his position, preparing to stand and excuse himself, when that question came.
Iki froze and stared slack jawed at Okiko. What did his scream sound like? Mauled by bears?! Sazaeno's words went unheard as his mind struggled to grasp exactly what it was she meant by that... "Um... I..." Cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as he glanced briefly to Saza before turning his face away entirely. "I'm not sure exactly how to answer that..."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. She sighed sadly, dismissing the imagery. "Nevermind, I was just curious... you're highly awkward, blatantly embarrassed and uncomfortable and nervous and..." she searched for the word a moment, "horrified, so I was just trying to figure out why you didn't bolt out the door first chance you got."
"Most people do, you know," she added morosely.

"It's okay if you want to," she added again.

Sazaeno was of no help to Iki's glances, his eyes watching over Okiko rather than given to the curiosity of seeing the medic's response to his partner's strange inquiry. Eventually he did turn his head to look over at Iki again, brow arching faintly at the display of embarassment. Why was he blushing like that? There wasn't anything he could figure from the question asked that should make him appear so. With Okiko's analyzation of the other man, Sazaeno only nodded, as if this were quite the obvious thing. It was, wasn't it?

Iki couldn't argue any of those adjectives. At the moment he was all of those things, though he hated to think that awkward was the exact word that would apply to his behavior. And oh how he wanted to bolt. But having been granted permission, it became utterly impossible to do so gracefully. Instead, he would have to find some form of compromise between his desire to run and his need to stay.
"I can... quite understand why someone would." He cleared his throat, his smile returning. "But as unusual as your idea of conversation... I wouldn't want to leave so suddenly." He wasn't quite sure if he'd used the right words, but it was difficult to speak to someone who was so blunt.
"Do you need anything?"

"That's a strange choice of words, saying... you don't want to... when you've been all but eyeing the door," she said, perplexed at the continued need to lie. She'd expected him to be relieved...
She coughed, giving a look of distaste once again at the too-recent memory of ichor in her lungs and stomach, and then looked guilty, staring down at her lap miserably. "I'm sorry... I made you nervous and you didn't even tell me not to be moving around because of my ribs and you didn't yell at us for sharing a bed and you didn't even notice I'm bleeding again and it's my fault..." she slumped, looking dejected, like a kid that just broke their parents' favorite vase. She didn't think she was that scary -- quite the opposite -- but whenever she tried to be helpful it always ended in a trainwreck. She couldn't even get the doctors to take care of her right, how embarrassing.

"...." It was a simple question, and yet one that he could not answer very easily. There were many things one needed, but that probably wasn't the context of Iki's inquiry. It was easier for Sazaeno to just shake his head then, however Okiko's response made him hesitate. He didn't panic, his eyes widened but fractionally at her idle mention of reopening her wounds, and the answer for what was needed was quite obvious then. A doctor.
But wait, Iki was a medic, so that made things much more easier. He spoke up after Okiko's long apology. "...your further assistance would be appreciated," he informed Iki, gesturing with a shallow nod at Okiko.

The speed with which Iki's nervous feelings melted away was record breaking and in less than a second he had taken on a much more confidant air. It was so much easier to focus when there was a task to complete. He moved towards the bed, nodding once in response to Sazaeno's request. "I wouldn't complain about the two of you sharing a bed. Some things are more important than being a stickler for rules." Emotional healing was just as necessary as physical, and even though these two were awfully strange, their feelings for one another were clear.
"But I do want you to lay down again." He could see the first spots of red forming on the bandages. "I know you've heard it before, but rest is important." This was simple. This was a conversation Iki was much more comfortable having. And as he stood now at the bedside, he held his hands just above the reopened wound. "This should close again easily enough." Though he was tired, he cast the healing kidou and allowed it to do its work.

She didn't argue or complain, obediently easing back onto the bed again beside Saza's hip. With the new position she realized just how tired she was suddenly -- fatigue and pain were easy to ignore with training, but once you didn't have anything to focus on, it was usually fairly hard to keep yourself from realizing just how beat up you really were. She supposed it was a bad idea to do so continually, anyway -- it used up precious energy, and she assumed it was a body's ironic, nasty little karma that trying to ignore how tired you were actually succeeded in draining you further.
When all was said and done, she examined her midsection impassively, before turning her face up to Ishamoto. "....."
She scrutinized him curiously. "Very efficient.... thank you."

Sazaeno helped ease Okiko back into place on the bed, backing off to allow only as much space as Iki would need and nothing more. He kneels there and watches as Iki settles in to do his work. His hand lingered where it had been since she'd awoken, still holding hers for so long as she would be content to. Having already said his gratitude twice before, he feels a third would be oddly repetitive, so he nodded, figuring that would suffice. And if the medic were to look, he would be granted a very faint smile. Smiles from Sazaeno often came more in the guise of hints than actual ones full-formed.

If only all his patients were so cooperative. Iki wasn't exactly surprised that Okiko responded with no protest, but he was quite pleased at the ease with which he was able to treat her. Half the Shinigami he knew would insist they were fine and jump up and down on the bed to prove it.
And even after all her strange comments about being mauled by bears and the like, Iki couldn't help but smile when she complimented his work. He had no lack of confidence in himself and it was always nice to have his somewhat high opinion of himself backed up by others. But such arrogant thoughts were at the back of his mind as he focused his almost full attention on the healing kidou.
Once he was finished closing the wound, he cast a glance to Sazaeno, his own smile turning somewhat bemused at the expression the other man wore. Now that was something new. "I won't tell on you two for sharing the bed, but only if you promise me that you'll both be careful not to reopen any more wounds."

Okiko tilted her head at Iki's words, glancing back and forth between the man and Saza, more than content to leave her hand in her partner's. "..... do you normally have patients engaging in intercourse on your watch?" she asked curiously, genuinely inquisitive. It was an interesting thought; for one, she--
Well, nevermind that. "I promise... I will not engage in any strenuous activites... up to and including sexual intercourse, as I think I can safely... say... at this point... that I would break the remainder of my ribs, but I assure you if I were to ever consider going to such lengths as self-harm or suicide it would more than certainly be underneath Sazaeno," she said very soberly and obediently, perfectly, completely serious.

The smile or thought of a smile was gone so quickly it might have very well been imagined. His gaze fell once again upon Okiko as she brought up more private activities, and he turned his head so as to not add to whatever chagrin Iki might once again gain from the new turn of subjects. Sazaeno managed to keep a neutral expression, although there was clearly amusement there, but that would have to be fathomed after either knowing him well enough (like Okiko) to tell the subtle differences by now, or by having the gall to actually stare at the man long enough to discern as much.

If he'd been remotely prepared for Okiko's questions, it didn't show. Iki's cheeks turned red yet again, but this time he managed to maintain his composure. At least this wasn't the first odd question of the day.
"Well... not often," was the reply to her first question, though his guess was as good as anyone's. But as for the rest of it, there was no containing his grin no matter how hard he tired, so in order to avoid seeming rude, Iki turned away to move towards the door. "Thank you for your cooperation." He barely managed to get the words out without something of a chuckle. Iki wasn't trained to deal with such straight-forward people!

Okiko's head swiveled to watch Iki leave, and she waited until he was gone before she looked up at Saza. "He laughed," she said. She hadn't expected that. So she shrugged, and gave his hand a tug.
"Come here and keep me warm," she murmured, now that they were alone again. It wasn't entirely a picture of ideal privacy -- who knew when someone would walk in -- but she was willing to take what she could get while she had the chance.

A vaguely perplexed look crossed Sazaeno's face as he heard Iki laugh in his departure. He blinked once.... then twice before looking down at Okiko and shrugging back in response, allowing himself to be pulled down beside her. He lay there on his side and at her's, curving slightly to fill the space between them. His free hand traced her face, her lips, down to the gentle curve of her breast before resting lightly over her stomach.
"...I guess we're supposed to rest now..." he observed.

....... she turned her head, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow beneath while she blinked slowly, regarding him. It was simplest to remain on her back (for the sake of keeping pressure off her ribcage), but that didn't keep her from wanting to turn onto her side to face him. She resisted: duties over wants.
"......" She could have said a lot of things. The one she chose was, "Tell me what I should have done differently."

"...not follow me down..." It was fairly quick a response, although he did give thought for several seconds. It was the easiest solution he could offer, the earliest point of the immediate situation that he could site. There would always be other things that could have been done differently that could have affected the outcome of the battle any number of ways. She could have gone left than right, could have stood back than charge- None of it mattered when the worst has already happened, but in the anticipation that there might be a next time (although he wished for no such thing), then insight on what could be improved would be understandably welcome. Sazaeno closed his eyes for a moment. It was hard to dismiss those images he had seen, real or not, they had been too real for him, and in the end Okiko had still gotten viciously injured.

She thought about that for a moment. It was true. That was the simplest answer, the beginning of the end of it, but it'd never been an answer she'd ever, on any given day, considered as being applicable to herself. The choice of not following him, to her, was like the choice to remain inside a building while it burned to the ground. Why would anyone choose that?
"A shadow can't help but follow the object that embodies it," she said quietly, leaning enough to kiss him; he was warm, and she would have been perfectly happy to simply keep her lips pressed against his, just like that. She'd picked him; one of the few choices she'd made for herself in her entire life here. If she had to pick again, the answer would still be the same.
"I will be beside you even if it means losing everything I have, because you're all I need," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.

080308 - Compromised Security

2008-08-04T20:34:13Z

-=[Urban Underground - Seireitei]=----------------------------------------------

Stretching for miles and miles, the Sereitei sewer system could easily swallow up the uninitiated. Vast tunnels, most taller than the tallest man, branch out in every direction, roots spanning beneath every corner of the city. Heavy pipes line many of the tunnels, and a steady flow of run-off water fills the center water-ways of the largest tunnels. The underground is lit by periodically-placed dim orange lights, tinting the whole damp system with a sickly yellow-orange glow. The sound of water dripping follows trespassers no matter where they go.

This is an important day for Tacita; her first mission to Aizen, after weeks of training and preparation to gain an honor, a purpose. But she is stressed and wrought into a ball of tension, as every minute lapses closer to when the hapless Numeros would cross the border of the worlds. Grozav Sange is hugged tightly to her chest, eyes squeezing shut while waiting for the command... she was not prepared when it was given, cracking like a whip over her body. Almost blindly, a Garganta is torn open. She almost stumbles through, not entirely sure where she is when the gaping maw of blackness settles shut behind here, lone black line collapsing inwards and vanishing. Drip. Drip. Drip. A delicate nose tests the air, not liking what is revealed. Looking down in the shadowy darkness, one foot then another lifts, frowning softly. Ah... she's nowhere near a populated area. What good will she do as a distraction now...?
Quite good, to anyone with a good sense of Reiatsu. Tacita tends to forget the fact her spiritual power is enormous; a blazing beacon to anyone within a large area that some malicious presence has spawned, as if it fell from the sky. Looks can be deceiving, but the perceived threat would be likely be high, well above the rank and file Numeros that might be slithering in other locations...

Something is happening...

He lifts his head, eyes opening, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. It's hard to ignore so many sudden shifts in the normal atmosphere, a thin layer built over another and another. It doesn't seem to be stopping either. He rises from the rooftop of the Academy, his eyes looking past the grounds, past anything there in front of him. He greets the silence with a curse.
In the next blink he's gone, back down, back within, back through the halls of the Academy. His first stop is by the office of the Dean's Assistant, no word spoken, no care to knock- he's there one moment, gone the next after delivering the warning: "Intruders in Seireitei. Keep everyone inside. If you can, send word out." The next he seeks out is his partner, but he would not be surprised if she met him half way. Off the grounds they would go, heading towards the closest spike of reiatsu, one easily noticable even from above ground and therefore deemed one worth taking care of. Besides, if any other squads were sent to seek it out, they'd have a maze to deal with, and unless they had representatives of the Fourth with them, if the intruder isn't in easy distance from a manhole then then they'd probably get lost. Sazaeno ignores his usual senses and the distraction of the awful smells, focuses instead on the reiatsu like a bloodhound loosed on a fox.

She did meet Sazaeno halfway; abandoning a tree near her obstacle course in the back woods of the Academy and slicking down rooftops the moment the spike of reiatsu woke her, running before she was even fully awake -- a leap and she fell in beside him without a word, a silent and melancholy wraith. There were no questions needed... they'd partnered for so long they practically breathed as one, and she would have followed him into Hell itself without blinking. It was not over something so simple as love; it just was. Did one think to breathe? No. And so she did not think to follow. It was instinct.
....... although the destination was fairly unexpected, she decided, when they dropped down into the sewers that spread like dark, dank, leprous fingers underneath the streets of Seireitei. She took up a defensive stance, fingers tingling and one hand poised over her back, where the hilt of her blade lay -- surveying the opposite end, back to Saza, in case their prey wasn't alone and more came unexpectedly from the other direction.
"I suppose this one lost its map?" she sighed, when she realized that the other flickers of alien reiatsu she was beginning to feel were far away -- beyond the walls, even, if she felt right.

Shifting to one of the pathways for navigating the concrete entrails of the sewer system, Tacita began to pad along, her mind not even considering the fact it would be somewhat trivial to bore through the ceiling and emerge on the streets; something which would probably be a more expedient method of chaos then her demure search, squinting through encroaching darkness when the unsteady orange of the lights fails to fully illuminate the areas between. But this particular area is not intended for people to wander; the chance for failure in the long pipe is minimal enough there are no access ladders that she can see, although fate does play a mild game on her. For while Sazaeno and Okiko have keen spiritual senses, Tacita is a raw novice. With effort she can manage to compare one to herself, but not without visual sight or a vague direction. She hadn't thought of such, being too eager to escape the sewers before they had to retreat – what a waste such would be, simply because she lost focus with her Garganta. They will have warning, as she slips about a sudden bend. She won't. Eyes lift, expecting only more shadows and dim light. But what will actually greet the diminutive Arrancar, hugging the shard-like massive sword to her chest...? A shame she is so clearly marked in Aizen's colors, or it might be sufficient to draw pause...

One's reiatsu is their ID card. For someone like Sazaeno, it isn't hard at all for him to identify the arrancar for what she is. And he knows she's not the only one. There are others that have arrived elsewhere within Seireitei, but he can't handle everything. He trusts the 12th will also be doing their job, if someone from the Academy hasn't been directed to spread the word after he'd informed Satsue.
He says nothing to Okiko, only casts her a glance before he nods in a direction. Down the dark corridors. He's never been down here himself, but keeping track of where they are is the least of his concerns. He has a homing point, and that's all he needs. As he darts along before Okiko to take point, he slips his right hand back to grasp the hilt of his zanpakutou, not yet pulling it from its sheath. It's hard to miss Tacita's presence now, and even if Sazaeno wasn't actively constricting his own, with how much the arrancar's blazed, even a slight slip of control would probably have been missed. Works all the better for them.
With several feet to the corner, he leaps, feeling the putrid air rush past him as he leans forward, his weapon a glint of silver that carves through the shadows as it arcs at Tacita. No shouts herald his attack. He favors silence.

He took point and she took guard, skulking behind him -- an eye behind, an eye before, and her peripheral overlooking the water, the slick wall to her back. She knew he had the reiatsu locked, and simply nodded when he indicated where he was headed (and in turn, where the opponent lay).
Moving away from the entrance they'd used (and what would inevitably be their exit, if they were lucky and made it out alive) prompted her to slip something from behind her back -- what she withdrew was slipped to her tabi boot and fixed there, and every two feet she swiped a quick, silent X on the ground below her while she had the leisure of doing so methodically and wouldn't have to rely on wherever her feet fell if she was drawn into combat.
When Sazaeno leapt she was quick to follow, though she held her ground behind him, drawing her zanpakutou: it was possible she wasn't needed, and better to feel out Saza's movements and complement them then launch in blindly and cause too much confusion in the semi-darkness.

What Sazaeno sees is a look of complete and utter surprise. His blade strikes her at the hip, tearing a savage line through her jacket and sash with a loud hiss of pain and fright; but it then cracks against the jagged black of her zanpakutou still hugged to her chest, skipping off and only grazing the shoulder opposite. Stumbling away, her footing is lost upon a particularly treacherous part of the floor, and she crashes backwards with another yelp. It's a comical process really, mayhaps suited to the most novice of Shinigami, but Sazaeno will likely know fully well from this parting contact she is most certainly the source of that reiatsu. For he would not of felt his weapon sink into tender flesh, but the sharp steel of an incredible Hierro; there might be doubt on whether her skin was cut or not, and little hope of something grievous. Of course, that doesn't make her any less of a writhing white lump on the ground, trying to stand without letting go of her awkward Zanpakutou. Oh, and look, she rolled over upon her knees to expose her back!

The reaction is something that surprises him. He expects a block, a shout of anger and a whirl of retaliation, but not this. Landing back a few feet, ever mindful of Okiko nearby, Sazaeno watches as the arrancar falls backwards. An arrancar, yes, he's quite certain now if he hasn't been before, he's felt once before how his blade feels against their iron flesh. He settles into a defensive stance, eyeing the girl carefully.
"Take a wrong turn somewhere?" he speaks quietly, his voice lacking in humor despite the sarcastic inquiry. He knows its dangerous to be around an arrancar, but he'll get information as he can before truly engaging this one in combat, giving Tacita the benefit of the doubt rather than quickly write her off as incompetant. She isn't the only one here after all, he reminds himself.

Okiko was baffled when she pressed a shoulder to the wall, peering around the corner at Sazaeno's opponent.
"........." She didn't sheathe her zanpakutou, but she sighed loudly and miserably to indicate her opinion -- the opinion almost never changed, no matter the opponent. She murmured below her breath, eyes closed briefly, then leaned around the corner again and drew a finger swiftly through the air: a trail of red burning three symbols. "Bakudou #9, geki." Her hand flattened, and red flashed.
The arrancar looked and acted as a child, but if Sazaeno planned on conversing with what Okiko had decided was likely going to turn into a highly unpredictable opponent -- after all, if the girl hadn't been killed by her own comrades, /something/ had kept her alive -- she'd prefer if the talking was done with any highly erratic, unexpected attacks prevented... if at all possible.

Seeming oblivious of the devastating opening, Tacita rises back up, but does shift to a combative stance; hand grasping the hilt of Grozav Sange. Although the sword is gargantuan even when not compared to the lithe Arrancar, she wields it as if weightless; such seems inherent, given her unfettered center of balance and lax muscles. She rubs at the laceration across her uniform, and pulls back a fair amount of red blood, looking at her fingers numbly. At least that answers one question, although it seems trivial. "...I'm lost..." is responded, stupidly, tone laced with a nigh pitiable uncertainty. She poises herself like a base newbie. It is definite swordplay, and there's nothing particularly wrong with it, but Tacita is stiff and inflexible, positioning basic and uninspired, perception too focused on Sazaeno. Something's dangerous about her, but it's not her bread and butter combat. Mayhap that her sword has a tainted feel within it, as if not completely sealed... Shimmering colors upon it, and almost a subtle illusion the razor edges are shifting slightly, as if alive...
She does actually begin to move as the Bakudou is summoned, but not being quite sure of how to defend herself, she's caught in the constricting net of energy. Grunting softly as she collapses into herself, trembling in feeble resistance, her mind wildly casts for some manner of defense. A hundred miles from busting it with raw force! Tousen-sama. What did Tousen-sama say... ah... Something about Reiatsu... oh dear. Thank goodness nobody can see this. "...I'm sorry... I won't tell you anything..." is pre-emptively whispered. Although her fingers can scarcely twitch, her eyes cast to her Zanpakutou, then lift back towards the two Shinigami...

"Lost." Sazaeno doesn't so much as blink an eye at Okiko's casting. He remains where he stands, his blade still in hand, reversed as he's prone to wielding it, eyes ranging over the girl although seeming fixed upon something more than just her physical being. He observes her sword, having had enough time to get an idea of her general reiatsu in order to start picking apart smaller details. As much as he'd like to exchange a glance with his partner, he knows it's not wise to let his eyes slip from Tacita for a moment.
This one isn't as strong as the last one they ran into. He hadn't even been able to draw blood from the tall Espada. His grip tightens about his zanpakutou, tensing. "I see. Regardless, we can't let you remain." Sazaeno shifts his weight, almost lazily leaning into the lunge, but the speed that slices the already short distance between them makes seconds seem like hours. The arrancar are dangerous; this is fact. That they have perhaps more than one to deal with means they should handle this one as quickly as possible.

The grip upon her sword's handle shifts. Her eyes narrow in concentration. The Arrancar's reiatsu shifts. All of this is blatantly suspicious, but Okiko will fully know there is no change in her spell. It remains as potent as the onset, and she is not preparing any Kidou of her own. All of such matters little, given Sazaeno's intent to attack once more in the first place. But things change quite rapidly upon that point. Her sword resonates with her in some intangible regard, and there's a flash of black; a slender blade erupts forth from it, lightning fast like a coiled adder. It is aimed vaguely towards the approaching Shinigami's midsection, although it would not be a normal wound if it penetrated. The intent being to wound, and then break off a section within. A moment later, a few cracks like a gunshot, jagged shards firing in Okiko's direction; spiraling like shuriken, and gouging terrible holes in the wall were they to miss. It seems her Zanpakutou is closer to a shikai then anything else; although dealing with the Bakudo is another matter. And then, she remembers Tousen's lesson on dealing with intangible bindings. "...!!" The reiatsu within begins to focus to a point inside her, and this the female Shinigami would recognize – in a few seconds, like a popped bubble, Tacita is going to break free. A #9 isn't going to work.

Okiko tensed at the shift of reiatsu and Sazaeno's own lunge, sliding a foot out and bracing her weight. There was a vague feeling of wrongness she couldn't put her finger on, but she wasn't given a chance to mull over the change when the cracks sounded.
She was gone, faster than a blink; across the chasm of the sewer water without hesitation or thought and sliding to a crouched stop on the opposite walkway as she erupted from her shunpo. If she'd been closer to the arrancar, that could have been nasty...
"Saza, she's going to break," she warned -- not in a panicked yell, but in a measured, horribly depressed tone, as soon as she realized the kidou wasn't going to hold. She hadn't expected it to for long, not on an arrancar, but the childish, wispy girl in white before them had almost seemed as if she wouldn't know how to break out of a binding even if she'd had the power. Well, clearly she'd remembered something. No good: she could already see this would require more than Saza's combat power.
She pushed her weight off the walkway, launching into another shunpo and back across the gap, this time behind -- and above, reappearing in the space over Tacita's head, knees drawn up and sword held in both hands, tip down. She'd take the girl's head off, given half a chance.

He knows better than to have expected it to be easy. Just because the little arrancar claimed to be lost, it doesn't mean that she's not battle-competent despite the awkward posture in which she carried herself. Given the opportunity he would have sighed, but such would be breath wasted when it could clearly be put to better use.
Sazaeno senses the shift even before it occurs- flying headlong into a fight without knowledge of how your opponent works is suicide. His strengths may not be in the physical aspects of battle, but he pays attention where it counts. The flow of his own reiatsu seeps free, not completely, but enough to finally be noticeable. He pulls his foot up, hardening a spot of reiatsu enough to rebound from- something to divert his initial course enough to avoid getting skewered. He can feel how close the strike had come by the lingering reiatsu; his body twists in midair, his foot planting against the wall before he settles back on the ground.
What was that...? It came from her sword...
By then Okiko is in the middle of her move, and Sazaeno wastes no time in throwing himself back into the fight. Two against one has a better chance of splitting a single opponent's attention after all. While Okiko aims high, her partner aims low, ducking into a roll, coming out of it to try slashing at Tacita's knees.

Oops. The eruption of her reiatsu was more then she intended. The ground indents beneath her, terrible sound like a crash of thunder erupting; a buffet of wind gusts in all directions, traveling for some unknown distance. Cracks form up the wall, but there's no true combative advantage to those less naive then her. It certainly isn't enough that Sazaeno might possibly lose his footing, much as her light stumble did. But the bakudo is blasted away into motes. That may or may not have been her full power, but leagues above a #9. Some hint of the level required to hold her still for a second course. And then everything grows chaotic! Far too chaotic, really. She ducks forward, which really only saves her from being killed. Okiko's weapon sinks into the top of her shoulder, causing a sharp gasp of pain. It draws downwards, hesitatingly carving an angry furrow through her flesh. Twisting around with her weapon in tow, a fierce upwards swing... hits the wall with a loud crash of concrete splinters, having such little combat sense for her surroundings she didn't realize how terrible a sewer is for a large weapon. She doesn't even need to dodge. A moment later she's lashed across the knees and goes down, attempting to scrabble away with one hand while dragging her sword behind, panic on her features. The girl would be dead from Okiko without her sheer hierro. Kill... kill... they are going to kill her...!! A sullen thrum as her reiatsu grows...

There was no time to cast another bakudou; not only that, Okiko hardly preferred the use of kidou, and rarely ever used it in combat situations. Afterwards, yes -- detaining prisoners, or interrogating. But she'd never developed the knack for kidou in combat, preferring the comfort of a blade in hand.
She feels her zanpakutou sink into the girl's back, driving it further downwards; it cleaves free of flesh after straining underneath the skin when Tacita stumbles and goes down. While that saves Okiko from being forced to either abandon her sword -- unthinkable -- to avoid a potentially lethal counterattack, the fact her support was the girl beneath her, suddenly crumbling, combined with the fact that the space Okiko might have landed in after the blow was just as abruptly stolen by the floored arrancar had her landing awkwardly, twisting to avoid landing on the arrancar and the girl's sword... and for that matter, on Saza. She went sideways and slammed shoulderblade first into the nearby wall, stumbling forward a step to reclaim her footing and face forward with her blade out again, lined in red.

It's a satisfying feeling- that the hierro of an arrancar can still be sliced through given enough effort. But then that Kurosaki boy had managed to cleave one's arm of entirely, right? He tucks in again to tumble past Tacita and out of Okiko's way, sensing her just above. His bare shoulders crunch against the shattered surface of the floor, not enough to draw blood but still uncomfortable. He almost snaps out of the roll the moment he feels the shift of the arrancar's reiatsu. "Okiko-" he says in warning, not quite a shout, but loud enough to be heard. He turns, sees her stepping away from the wall. Trusting her to be on her guard, Sazaeno remains on the opposite side with Tacita someways between them. Watching. Waiting. Holding his breath.

There's no reason to be warned. Tacita makes no attempt to attack again, instead fleeing a few meters before twisting sidelong, whirling her broad sword effortlessly through the air beside her. Spatters of blood trail behind, yet what takes place then might be rather surprising, even by the unknown standards of Arrancar. The tip of her sword is now wedged against her abdomen; she must arch her back away while leaning forward with both arms, and still can only scarcely grasp the hilt of her zanpakutou by the guard. "T-Tupila..." she whimpers out, before in one savage gesture thrusting it within herself. There's a strangled, gurgling sound that shudders through her body, stumbling forward. Blood once more drips upon the ground, and given a startling amount is coughed up, it was not an act. ...Only nothing came out the back, as she falls to her knees and bows forward. "...Grozav Sange..." is whispered. Like a whirlwind, her reiatsu is unleashed. Well, she has released now. What's that mean? In the very short term, nothing! But given what is felt now would be the equivalent of a Privaron Numeros, the former Espada of Aizen, it might be quite unsettling indeed.

"Aa," a curt, horribly lackluster reply (a corpse could have sounded more enthused, but then again, weren't they nothing more than walking corpses employed by the Onmitsukidou, life and death dictated by service?) to acknowledge Saza. She rolled the shoulder she'd landed against, feeling bone grind and receiving the reward of a loud crack as her joints shifted back into their proper place reluctantly. Not so much dislocated (it'd gone in and not out, after all) as crushed awkwardly, but it least it only felt like a minor inconvenience right then. It would probably bruise nastily.
She held her sword edge out in front of her, stalking a few steps after the retreating arrancar. She was not maliciously predatory; if anything, her body language said "this is my obligation." Regardless of what she wanted or did not want, whether she wanted to fight or not, the arrancar could not be allowed to live. There was no conflict in the knowledge -- it was simple fact.
It was not to be confused with pity, because Okiko had none.
She stopped when she realized the arrancar was pointing her blade not towards them, but towards herself... and then eyes widened behind stark white bangs when the arrancar stabbed herself, the Onmitsukidou soldier completely incredulous. Not suicide, she realized -- a release. She threw her swordarm up to shield her face at the sudden eruption of reiatsu, bracing against the tidal wave of pressure and the spray of sewer water that flew up, and gesturing behind her with a short flick of her wrist -- a signal of fingers to Saza: go to the opposite side. He'd have a better vantage there. These walkways were far too narrow.

They have not yet received word of arrancar releases- or at least what should be expected of them. If he were more of an optimistic sort, he'd wonder that perhaps they've driven the arrancar to admit early defeat and therefore chose to finish the job for them. Instead, he crouches even more so as he hears the words that are rasped out. The language is none he's familiar with, but he can tell by the fluctuating reiatsu that things are far from over. He braces himself, split seconds before Tacita releases. The pressure of the expanding reiatsu buffets him, and he glances past the arrancar in time to see the quick gesture from Okiko. He leaps back, half riding the force of the arrancar's reiatsu to carry him to a more suitable distance. Not too far back, but he doesn't know what to expect from this turn of events.

Black tendrils suddenly seep out of her wound, pawing at the air before twisting around and slapping against Tacita. Thereafter, a wave of obsidian slithers, as she curls completely forward. In only a few seconds she is ensconced, the dark liquid gleaming in a rainbow hue like oil. Desperation forced her to this state before she desired it; but in a last ripple the oozing liquid firms, hardens, into a jagged and crystal-like shell. For a few grim moments, nothing takes place. Were kidou or blade tested upon it, all would be repelled with nearly no damage; before a lone crack splits it in twain. Then another, fragments breaking off like a hatching egg and melting, as if ice caught in the sun. Before rising sinuously, covered in a clear liquid, is... Tacita? Not quite. Long, flowing antenna arc gracefully behind her head, and chitinous armor covers her stomach in ridges, only shoulders, bicep and neck exposed. The last of her cocoon is swept away with a snap of long, serpentine tail, quite a bit longer then she is. She flicks and sweeps the goo from her, still coughing in a pained manner. She has a crack upon her abdomen where Sazaeno struck her, and a gaping one upon her back – even a hard nick across her tail, about where knees might be. So she retained injuries, but what else has changed...? Her sword, indeed, is gone.

Okiko hesitated where she stood as the black oozed -- when it seemed like it might reach for her, she shifted her weight and flipped backwards in one fluid motion... her palm touched down, her body upended over it, and then she arched and came down again into a crouch, facing the strange crystalline form again. Farther away, this time, trusting caution over reckless bravado. Her speed could save her (maybe), but not if she didn't know what she was saving herself from.
She kept her zanpakutou up in front of her, wary, the muscles in her thighs and calves tensed and ready to spring her out of her spot at even the tiniest indication that flight was necessary or even a good idea. And then the coccoon broke open, and...
"I always get the ugly ones... Why... do I always get the ugly ones? Can't I be lucky enough, just once, to be slaughtered... by someone good-looking?" She sighed, loudly -- utterly depressed. "I'd give... anything... just to have my death be something other than a huge mistake brought on by my opponent's own incompetence. I don't want to die miserable..."

What is it? He watches wordlessly, remaining in the same guarded position, throwing back and forth the idea of resuming attack while the arrancar was still in the middle of her transformation. His other hand twitches, and despite still being bandaged that arm can move perfectly fine now. He's still been mindful of its use. Hand snakes behind him, sliding a pair of kunai from beneath the fold of his belt, and in the same movement he uses to pull them back around, he lets them fly towards Tacita. It's probably too late to really do anything by then, but it's better than just standing and staring. There's no smirk at Okiko's words, but he offers a headshake towards his partner.
"Can't do that. The 4th has enough to clean up down here- 'd hate to add two more bodies to the list." Right. Time to move again. Let's see what this girl can do. Sazaeno darts- to the side to rebound off another wall and propel himself at a different angle. He hates starting off for fights, prefers to react. He trusts Okiko will also time her movement with his so that they can work off each other's strengths. He also bears in mind the abilities of the arrancar's earlier display- no sword now doesn't mean anything in the face of a zanpakutou release.

There doesn't seem to be too much a difference in how the Arrancar moves, although she does bow her head slightly towards Okiko, seeming somehow hurt by her comment. Nothing is said, but it might be an amusing facet of the encounter that she managed to strike a stout blow to the feelings of her opponent. Given the lack of a grandiose sword, she can move much easier, slipping from the dissipating puddle of black goo and curling into herself like a serpent preparing to strike. Given her hunched shoulders and arms hugging beneath her chest, some of the menace is lost however. This time she twists towards the advancing Sazaeno, and she's certainly a good deal faster, the motion smooth but still bearing raw reaction as opposed to purpose. Forearms interpose before the sword, and the strike of his weapon would cause a sharp rasp; this time, the blade does not pierce her skin, at least where she is armored with the sleek white. Bothersome, given how little of her is otherwise vulnerable. And she actually retaliates, lashing out a wild swing of clawed fingers. This is harmless, although the ripple of coils beneath as her tail swoops out at ground level is another matter entirely. In the midst of this, her antenna has shifted, attempting to graze against the Shinigami while he is distracted. But what danger could that be, even were it to work? Okiko, at least, has another open shot at her back, an inch thick black line that still glistens wetly...

Stark white bangs hid her melancholy eyes momentarily, weight shifted on the balls of her feet. Her words had, strangely enough, not intended to insult -- if anything, the slender, pale-haired woman seemed too absorbed in her own depression, commenting to herself.
"They'd have to find our bodies, first," she sighed offhandedly, but her eyes are sharp and the moment Sazaeno moves, she's no more than a breath behind, utterly silent in her attack.
When you did not know your enemy's strengths and weaknesses, the only way to find out was to engage them. Or perhaps if you were lucky, watch them fight someone else and let someone else do the blind experimentation, but not when that luxury put Saza's life in the balance. So she leapt forward again (taking note of head and shoulders and tail and everything she could process instinctually in that second), swinging her zanpakutou in a back-handed, sideways arc for the arrancar's glistening back, edge out and blade in one hand. She was not aiming for a kill; she was aiming to see the reaction, and keeping the tail in view. It was suicide to expect an easy kill with too many unknown factors remaining.

He feels more than sees Okiko's movement after him. With this small comfort, he engages the enemy, his blade scraping against the arrancar's armored arms. His brow furrows rather than arches- he's thought as much. It certainly makes more sense for Tacita to gain more armor in her released form. He shifts his weight, shoving away with his zanpakutou, metal chiming against a brief deflection of the arrancar's claws.
While she is one, she's capable of enough distraction to occupy us both, he thinks as he swings a leg up to flip upside-down. He'd seen the writhing movement of Tacita's coils, acting accordingly to avoid possible attack. Instead it comes from his level rather than below, and with the odd angle in which he's flung himself it makes it difficult to avoid the antennae that come towards him. He turns his head- not enough to avoid it, feeling a thin line burn at his left cheek. His feet touch against the ceiling; their fighting quarters are still fairly cramped. He makes do. Knees bend and he rebounds back towards the arrancar, pulling his blade back, ready to strike again. There's no sense in fighting a released arrancar at this level. He knows his shikai did little to nothing against the Espada, but he can only hope that things will differ against this one.
"...sasayaki, Tohokage...." But a murmur off his lips, the only real thing that hints of what takes place moments before he attacks being the rise in his reiatsu. No point in containing it now, he lets it flow freely. His right arm swings forward, wreathed in black, coalesced shadows that trail after the dark katar-like weapon that he now wields.

A mild shift of the head and slip of the eyes backwards show that Tacita is aware of Okiko at this point. Being stabbed and confused was a learning experience, and she's much more comfortable while released; the awkward need of swinging her zanpakutou is blatantly foreign, given the style of fighting she used quite successfully for decades in her evolution. She seems almost suicidally reactive at the moment – were her sole opponent to be Sazaeno in differing circumstances, it might be an endless standoff. Shoulders tense at Okiko's approach, but her tail is too busy molesting the male Shinigami to react. ...But something does. Her very blood, clearly visible, suddenly erupts out from the vicious wound. Three jagged points shoot at the advancing Okiko, although not aimed at anything in particular. Such is frightfully quick, although without having clear sight she cannot attempt and compensate for evasion; Surprise is what the Arrancar banks on.
Of course, for Sazaeno, there's a brief smile as her antenna flickers across his cheek. She is able to keep her full attention upon him now. There would be a mild burning where he was touched; it would of been suspiciously harmless, after all. "I've got you..." she offers, rather suspiciously. The world would begin to reel in Sazaeno's mind, as a torrentous amount of dark kidou splits his perception in two. One would see the Arrancar before him, leaning back and again hefting up her arm. She's struck, the first blow only chipping. But the second pierces deep through the weakened area, droplets of blood launched free as a not insignificant penetration is managed. Another gasp, sounding more surprised then anything else. Somewhat more desperate, she lashes out in a backhand of her claws, to try to get him away.
But he would fully be under her spell now. As, in another world within his own mind, he would need to fare with his greatest fear, magnified to horrific proportions. One where pain, at the very least, is starkly real. How distracted he might be, having to split his attention and move in both the shadows of the sewers and the horror she summoned in brutal tandem, is another matter entirely.

While she'd intended to simply feint the blow and test the waters, the reaction of the arrancar's blood was startling. Any other time, she might've tested her luck and shunpo'd (although honestly, where to? Right into the wall?); with little choice in the matter and the feel of Saza's release brushing her, Okiko, for once, didn't dodge.
With a quick hardening of reiatsu in the air to use as a springboard, she threw her weight forcefully towards the incoming spikes, twisting her left shoulder back when a spike buried into it below the collarbone -- the second flew harmlessly by overhead, but the third took her in the right side above her hip. She didn't slow, but with her right side towards the arrancar, she had to toss her blade to her left hand, and the angle was all wrong...
Nonetheless, she raised her zanpakutou as she slammed her right side into Tacita's back, and while she'd been previously silent even as the spikes hit her, she gasped when the spike in her side was forced deeper by the collision. She grit her teeth and despite the awkward angle tried to force her blade down into the cleft of black oil on the arrancar's back, attempting to wedge it as deeply inside as possible. At the very least, she could take the arrancar to the floor with her.
"Watch out for the blood, it's projectile," she warned in Saza's general direction from the arrancar's back, hissing out a pained exhale. She trusted him not to worry about her.

His senses are momentarily overwhelmed that he doesn't even see the result of his attack. The sudden onslaught within his mind causes him to falter, and its only by a wild sweep of his zanpakutou that he even realizes Tacita has struck out at him again, feeling his blade clumsily counter her claws. He loses complete track of where he is, resulting in him crashing to the ground. Tohokage scrapes across the ground as he struggles to get to his feet, reflexes working when his mind has failed him.
What's happening? What is it?! Images blur before him; it's hard to make out one thing from another- but in the next moment both versions of what he 'sees' overlaps. Sazaeno sees his partner hit, but the scene amplified in his mind makes the attack seem three times as bad. A shout escapes his lips; a burst of shunpo brings him charging towards Tacita to beat her away. It's Okiko's warning that tugs on his panick- he glances her way to see her not as terribly injured as he might have perceived, but hurt all the same. The image flickers in his mind, superimposed with blood. Confusion riddles his brow, and he shakes his head, becoming occupied with trying to sort out realities that he momentarily forgets there's an arrancar not far from him.

Ah... Tacita did not expect an almost suicidal result from her blood. Sazaeno will probably not be disoriented long, and with the intent of fending Okiko from behind with the wound, she's got no secondary defense. Her weapon sinks to the hilt within, having no hierro past the skin; grazing the spine, slipping between ribs, and skewering a lung. Such is hardly a good thing in the best of circumstances, and she crashes upon her front, writhing and flailing droplets of black blood with a serpentine hiss, likely peppering Okiko. Of course, within her own wounds, it would begin to burn like fire. Truly terrible fire, mixed with battery acid. A spreading numbness from those locations would do nothing to stave off the pain. To make matters worse, her zanpakutou is... firmly gripped in the blood. She couldn't twist it, let alone pull it back out. Black blood seeps around it, moving to slither over the hilt, a defensive mechanism. Gathering herself, there's a grunt before more thin, spear-like blades of blood erupt out, trying to dislodge the weight upon her back. Sazaeno? Well, in one reality, he's not being taken advantage of. A shame he might not be able to press the attack as much as he may like.

She felt her blade sink deep -- deeper than expected, admittedly, expecting some sort of resistance and finding none, riding the arrancar to the ground and crashing into the walkway with the armored beast. She was splattered with blood, ducking instinctively to try and avoid getting the blood in her face even as she dared a glance to see how Saza was faring, only to find him entirely disoriented after a panicked charge to come to her aid. No good.
"Saza," she gasped out as the fire spread in her blood. "Snap out of it, kieie. I'm still alive," she said when she could gather a shuddering inhale to get the words out, shoving the pain in her mind aside irritably. She tried to dislodge her zanpakutou meanwhile, and the realization that she was unable to caused a moment of panic, soon overriden by grim resignation as the black ooze began to wrap around the hilt and her fingers -- she grit her teeth at the burn, feeling it swallow her entire hand but keeping her eyes on Saza. Her free hand found Tacita's hair, forcing her fingers to twine in it and balling her fist into a deathgrip. She wasn't letting go of her opponent.
"Hiroge, Yatagarasu." The words were said beneath her breath through a locked jaw, and she shoved the pain further out of her mind. If she'd been taught anything by the Onmitsukidou, it was the ability to disregard pain -- eyes locked on Sazaeno, and she thought of him instead. The hilt in her hand shifted, as did the zanpakutou inside Tacita: it almost felt as if the blade was, in fact, withdrawing from Tacita's chest, but the feeling was only momentary before the blade warped its shape entirely, forcing deep, curved spikes sideways into Tacita's chest as it twisted into a three-spiked njiga. If she couldn't get her blade out, she wasn't going to make the ordeal comfortable for Tacita, either... and she'd be damned if she let the arrancar take advantage of Sazaeno. "Focus on me, kieie. Shake it off. The blood burns," she added, nearly losing her composure as another fiery stab bit into her shoulder and midsection -- she bit through her tongue to keep the vertigo at bay as long as possible.

His left hand pressed against his face, it's like he wants to attempt to tear the confusion away from himself physically. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that doesn't help for what he still sees in his mind. Sazaeno focuses on the reiatsu points that flare so closely by him. Okiko is still there, still pressing the offensive from what he can determine. It's her blessed voice that defies the things he thinks he sees. By now he's able to tell that one is clearly a mental product, but it does not make it any less distracting.
Okiko.... He keeps his eyes shut, clinging to her voice, going by his better senses. He feels her release her zanpakutou. He draws slower breaths in an attempt to calm himself, focuses on his partner's reiatsu that remains strong, contradictory to what he still thinks to see. She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead... It repeats, a mantra in his mind that slowly starts to numb him of the distraught and helplessness of earlier. Eyes still closed, he turns to better face the two, but glowing auras of color in his mind, and he brings up Tohokage. He leaps up, foot slamming on aerial footholds from reiatsu that would make a certain first year student droolingly envious, and the world upturns as he flips. It would be a dizzying display but naught for the fact that he remains fixated on the two reiatsu images. His zanpakutou bears down upon Tacita.
"...die...."
A whisper.

Well, this is probably exactly the situation that Tousen warned her about. Without his lessons she'd probably still be trapped within a laughable Bukido, although she realizes now the raw danger in neglecting practical experience. This isn't like devouring Hollows, not at all. They fight far more efficiently, and in some manners more unpredictably. Anyone sane, when acidic blood scoured one's hand, sending tendrils of paralyzing agony through the bloodstream, would let go. That's all Tacita wants. Live or die, she wants Okiko off her back, as if she were somehow the source of all pain in her world. Those words fall in deaf ears really, trying to reach her hands behind and failing. Ah... focus... you're not a beast anymore... Tacita. Your name is Tacita.
Shink.
The weapon expands violently within her narrow chest. Her heart is neatly ravaged, and where the rest of it goes probably doesn't matter much in comparison. She freezes, as if some animatronic robot who just got the plug pulled from the wall. Oh, Okiko would know just where she hit, most likely. Her mind swims, as such is not instantly fatal. Almost halfheartedly she manages to raise her forearms to cover her neck, as Sazaeno's weapon cracks once upon her shoulder, an angry red store, and in a flash of shadows cleaves within. This seems to somehow break her reverie, and she begins to move once more.
Conscious thought, at this point in time, is gone. She loses herself to a feral spirit, that of a cornered creature. All sense of being passive is gone, and in the immediate future neither might care for the repercussion. Dragging the clinging Shinigami behind, a brutal slash of one claw flows into a second, and just as Sazaeno is likely dealing with such, like a shotgun blast comes a condensed shard of blood, right from the shoulder he just impaled. Coughing up a frightful amount of black liquid, Okiko likely now gets to bear witness to the thick liquid beneath her entombed hand bubbling, swirling... She's stuck, after all, and couldn't much retreat if she cared to...
A thick, scythe-like flash of obsidian erupts out, splaying at the end into a grotesque blade. It is nearly two meters long, and the intent is to tear right through Okiko's shoulder, far more then enough to sever it cleanly. There's a loud crash as fragments of metal from her zanpakutou fly out, although her blood-scarred handle is intact... Thereafter, Tacita would carefully spend her time writhing on the ground like a stuck snake. Ouchies.

She burned.
Okiko wanted very badly to scream her throat raw and bloody -- what was a little more blood to what she'd spilled already -- and she wanted to claw at her own flesh, dig her fingers inside and wrench the caustic, vicious black poison out of her. She would have torn herself apart just to get the blaze to stop; her head swam with a sea of red full of white, dizzying sparks.
Silly me. I'm dying.
That's kind of funny -- I wasn't expecting it, you know.
The odds of dying in a bathtub are 1 in 10,564. From fire, 1 in 932. Venomous snakes...
..... I think the odds beat me....
She didn't realize her eyes had shut until Sazaeno coming closer made her stir and open them again, and immediately she panicked at her own distraction, alarm forcing awareness to the fore again.
Just in time to see the oil-slick poison bubbling around her wrist, eyes widening and heart racing and MOVE MOVE MOVE! she screamed inside, almost simultaneously colliding with the despondent resignation that she could not leave Yatagarasu behind (how could one abandon a piece of one's own soul?). She knew what was coming before it did, and she grimly braced herself a heartbeat before the scythe erupted from the rift in Tacita's back, having nowhere else to go. Even if she'd let go of Yatagarasu, her hand would have been stuck regardless.
She didn't scream so much as choke on the sound when her arm severed; gagging at the taste of her own blood in her mouth where she'd cut open her tongue. With no support left to hold her to Tacita (numb fingers had since relinquished the arrancar's hair), she crumpled to the ground over the arrancar's writhing form, and then found herself flung into the wall, caught by the blindly lashing tail. Her vision exploded into stars painfully, the wind knocked out of her, and she couldn't even feel enough of her body to even attempt keeping herself from tumbling forward onto her knees, and then facefirst into the sewer's walkway.
Stay awake stay awake stay awake stay awake--Saza--

The change he senses in the arrancar is one he cannot describe. His eyes force themselves open shortly after feeling this shift, and he is met by two raking claws. The first scores his right arm with several nasty, bleeding furrows. The second is only barely defended as he brings up his zanpakutou, bracing it with his other hand. Sazaeno is thrown back, and with his eyes open is at once greeted with horrible reality. The fleeting hallucinations find a foothold again, but it takes little effort to twist and distort that which is becoming dangerously real.
"OKIKO!" It's probably the loudest he's ever shouted, and the feeling that constricts his heart completely distracts him from the fact that his own shoulder becomes pierced through by that jet of black blood. He hits the wall with a teeth-jarring thump and drops down into the ground coughing. The pain that begins to burn from his shoulder comes at great odds with that of his fear for Okiko as he sees her body there on the ground. The only thing he realizes of the arrancar herself is that she is not trying to attack them. Good. Survival now. It feels like the weight of his body has increased as he drags himself to his feet. He hisses, stumbling towards his injured partner, almost collapsing at her side. The katar vanishes in a wisp of darkness, its unsealed form of a wakizashi clinking as it falls from his hand beside him. His other hand shakes as he brings it to touch her head.

Blackness begins to flood Tacita's vision. It can take someone thirty seconds to actually fall unconscious once the heart stops pumping. An interesting fact, really. Ah, what one might think, knowing irrevocable death stood just far enough to reflect on it. Before she blinks her eyes, movements slowing. Mmm... trembling slightly, she spasms as energy and vitality floods within, blood literally forced through her veins by force of will. Panting slightly, she trembles and repeats it. The expenditure forces another heaving expelled of blood, but first one then the other hand is placed on the ground, pushing herself up in a rasp of coiling tail. Her head casts over towards Sazaeno, clearly seeing his back and the badly wounded girl; he, too, would feel the slithering paralysis begin to creep from her touch, melting within the wound. Rearing up quietly, half her attention paid on moving her own blood through her veins... somewhat ironic, that the phrase heartless can be literal for her, one whom can control the flow of life... she raises her claws to bear down. Okiko has a fair chance of witnessing it. What, if anything, she might manage to say is another matter...

It was no secret that something had happened. The distant feeling of spiking reiatsu from the direction of Rukongai was more than enough indication. Yet he was prevented from doing what he most wanted to do... help. Of course, no one could fault a member of the 4th Division for being in the sewers, even if he wasn't on active sewer duty at the time. And if he just so happened to feel the heightened reiatsu of his fellow staff members, well what would he be expected to do if not provide aid? He wasn't breaking any rules... And besides, if all that went south, he'd been sent by his boss!
However, he was not prepared for the scene that would meet him when he rounded the corner. The amount of blood (if that's what that black stuff was) was astounding and the sight of the creature downright frightening! He had arrived just in time to see the thing tear Okiko to pieces. Being a medic had brought him face to face with severe injuries of all types. He'd seen more than his share of blood, and death, but the sight of his comrades at the mercy of that monster sent his gut wrenching in a way it hadn't since the painful mistake that had earned his demotion. He didn't know them well, but the pain of watching yet more comrades die simply because he'd arrived too late...
"Kumoru Kawagiri." The command was soft, a remarkable contrast to the quickened pace of his heart and the desperate thoughts plaguing his mind. There was nothing he could do to further injure the monster, but that wasn't 'his goal.
Just as Tacita moved to strike what could well have been the fatal blow, the strong scent of sulfur filled the corridor. Sazaeno and Okiko would smell it too if they were alert enough, but for the arrancar it would be nearly unbearable. A dark cloud settled around Tacita and though the smell was unpleasant, there was no other harm done, at least of the physical variety. The senses however, were another matter.
It was like being enclosed in a thick fog. Forms became shadows and shadows became indistinct. All sense of surroundings and balance were gone. It was all Iki could do and he prayed it was enough to cause the monster to misjudge her strike and miss.
Iki, meanwhile, was darting forwards towards his fallen comrades, footsteps light and silent. Kawagiri did nothing to mask sound.

She heard him scream her name, coughing on her own blood. A foot slid awkwardly, mere inches, unable to find purchase -- she could feel the numbness spreading from her hip and thigh, blazing a trail through her bloodstream and leaving a biting paralysis in its wake. She forced her fingers to clench as she felt a hand on her hair... perhaps her only lucky stroke was the fact that the arrancar had severed the shoulder that had been earlier poisoned with the oily barbs, and the paralysis hadn't yet reached the other arm that was left to her. Her hand and foot scrabbled against the rough cement, trying desperately to find the right way to push, the right way to get leverage -- the concepts in her brain seemed entirely too far away, and all she knew was that she wanted to roll over. Her foot caught the wall finally, and without entirely aware of what she was doing, she managed to brace her remaining hand and shove herself roughly onto her side, managing to topple over the rest of the way onto her back with the help of physics and her own weight.
"Ke..." she coughed, choking on blood -- it spilled out of the corner of her mouth, and what should have only been red was a mixture of scarlet and a slick, viscous stream of black oil, and she made a face at the vile taste. The arrancar hadn't struck a killing blow, but all the same, she was being killed from the inside out. She smelled sulfur. And underneath it all, she smelled him, and she forced her arm to obey, forced it up -- a bloodslick hand grabbing onto his, twining their fingers together in a mess tightly and squeezing almost unbearably hard. "I'm not... dead yet," she forced out, blood bubbling out with the words, gripping him tighter. She let the pain keep her awake, focusing on every inch of fire in her flesh to keep the fog in her brain away.
This had nothing to do with the fog of Kawagiri, but she might have laughed miserably at the coincidence.

Another is coming. He only notices it out of habit; it's something that he'd need to actively tune out, but keeping track of the reiatsu of those nearby has become something as natural to him as breathing. Ishamoto Iki, 16th Seat, 4th Division.... The information rattles off from his memory, a feeble counter against the lingering effects of the hallucinogens. The burning pain that started at his shoulder slowly spreads down his right arm, robbing his ability to move it in its course. He can feel the rise of the arrancar again behind him, like a white pillar of flame. A sadistic part of him seems content to remain where he is, perfectly aware of the looming death.
It's his old survival instincts that win out, jerking his left arm up and from where it had sought out Okiko's face, sliding past his leg to slip the sharp throwing knife from its hidden sheath there by his calf. It's flicked at Tacita with a glance over his shoulder aimed for her throat if the angle isn't compensated, a dangerous look on his features and not one usually seen. His last minute throw comes with the sudden fog, perhaps even timed with it. Movement from Okiko is what brings him back, and he finds his hand clasped by her's, her... He pulls her close as though afraid if he let go, that she'd slip away. Who knows how many times he'd thought to have seen her die in this battle, no thanks to Tacita's affliction. Move....they should... but her arm.... oh, her arm... Sazaeno's mind is still fuzzy from everything, and he only acknowledges Iki through a haze of exhaustion and helplessness for what he cannot provide Okiko.

Many things contribute to the horrible miss. Her distracted mind. Her weakening spiritual energy from the need to sustain herself. The sudden entrance of another. Sazaeno's abrupt dodge. She certainly had an appreciative amount of force, but gouges only the ground with her razor talons. The knife strikes her throat cleanly, but rebounds with merely a scratch; a more pressing concern happens to be when she is enveloped in some blazing gas. Her concentration is ruined, and she can feel her blood stop dead in her veins. She can see nothing much, but knows another has come. Too much. This is too much. With her leaking reiatsu, she will end up dying were she to stay. She might already, if she is not hasty in a retreat. Claws tear through the boundaries of space, and a huge black chasm appears; before shooting through in a last ripple of white tail, Tacita goes through... a few moments later it crashes shot, black line fading to nothing thereafter. Repelled; Although the horrific poison, scorching blood and badly wounded Okiko is left behind.

The monster's retreat was met with a sigh of relief. Given the condition of the much more capable fighters, Iki knew quite well that he would have only been a minor distraction at best. Should the arrancar have decided to turn its claws on him, there would have been little he could have done to defend himself. But those thoughts came as only a flicker and as soon as the creature retreated, Iki was taking a knee at Okiko's side. The mist that had surrounded the arrancar floated there for a moment longer before returning to Iki and the empty hilt he held, reforming the blade of his zanpakutou.
He bit his lip. This was a mess if there every was one... His eyes were focused entirely on Okiko, but he was well aware of the severity of her partner's wounds as well. Still, the choice was clear. "Hazekada-san? Can you hear me?" He didn't wait for a response, though. "I want you to relax. I'm going to put you to sleep now. Please don't try to resist." He'd had idiots try to resist Kawagiri's sleep before and it had done no one any good.
He raised his blade. "Yumemite Ageru, Kawagiri." This time there was no smell of sulfur, but instead a fresh, clean scent like the clear fall of rain or the mist of a waterfall. And this time, when Kawagiri's blade desolved the mist itself was white. It settled upon Okiko and as she breathed, the scent would begin to overwhelm her and in the end, any attempt at wakefulness would prove futile.
As Kawagiri did his work, Iki turned his attention then to Sazaeno. "She'll heal more quickly now but that doesn't mean we're out of danger." As he spoke he was on his feet again, moving to Saza's side in order to examine his wounds. "I'll take a moment to begin healing your wounds, but we can't stay here long."

"... Keiei..."
It was barely a whisper, bloodslick fingers knotting in his, her hand spasming as she struggled to maintain the grip. She heard Iki; not so much coherent words as sounds echoing which she carelessly dismissed. She'd been in enough battles, lost consciousness enough times to assume that either other shinigami or more specifically, shinigami from the Fourth, had arrived.
She arched, struggling, when the white mist descended. It was not the mist itself that made her fight -- she still desperately wanted to move, and for someone who cared for very little in the world, she cared for the man whose hand she held very much.
It was short-lived. With a last hoarse, choking exhale she calmed, a last spurt of black slime gurgling free from her lips as her head fell to the side, eyes shut, fingers twitching once before her hand was limp in Saza's, releasing its vice-like grip.

It's an alarming feeling, the slackening of her body against his, her hand slipping from his own. Sazaeno's lips move, carrying on the repetition of words he cycles through in his mind. She's only asleep, she's only asleep, she's only asleep.... He's tired, but forcing himself to remain awake and aware is something he's trained for. Pushing themselves past their limits. Dark eyes, tired eyes, look to Iki. "....careful...the blood..." he says, almost whispering. "...paralyzes..." It's said almost too calmly as he regards his right arm again. Right. They should get out of here. At least the enemy had gone.

The first thing any member of the Fourth learned was not to let their worry show. A panicked patient was the worst possible outcome and to let it show in his eyes how desperate the situation really was would only complicate matters. Yet for a brief instant after Okiko drifted to sleep, those worries showed.
He cleared his throat briefly, pushing away the lump threatening to form there, and turned his attention to Sazaeno. "Paralyzes..?" He nodded once in acknowledgement before focusing on the task at hand. There was no way of washing away that black blood at that moment, but he had to do something to slow its effects and stop Sazaeno's bleeding.
"Just rest, Uegami-san. We'll have the two of you back to the Fourth in no time." He held his hands out over Saza. The healing kidou he used was not as effective as Kawagiri at slowing the effects of the poison, but so long as he continued to focus, the poison's effect would slow and eventually stop. "I want you to focus on me, Uegami-san. I don't want you to go to sleep. Talk to me if you want to, but don't close your eyes."
Though it was only a brief span of no more than ten minutes before the reinforcements he'd called from the Fourth arrived, it felt like hours. And even as they carefully loaded the two wounded Shinigami onto stretchers, Iki maintained his focus on the healing kidou, though the strain had begun to make itself visible in the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow.

He can't sleep, not when she's like this. He doesn't wish to talk either, it's effort enough to get him to speak to teach at the Academy. He's not one for small talk. The relationship he and Okiko have formed is one built of silence of understanding. Words came later.
Sazaeno focuses on Iki as instructed, this poison is not of the norm, but that he's still somewhat coherent speaks for his years of training for the Onmitsukidou. The disturbing images have long since left his mind, but not the impressions. His hand remains gripping hers, and it'll take some doing for anyone to separate them even as they are brought back to the infirmary.

-=Character Art=-

2008-06-28T09:48:25Z

062308 - Unsuspected Mentor

2008-06-24T08:09:08Z

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-=[Academy Grounds - Seirietei]=------------------------------------------------

The wooded grounds of the Academy offer both relaxing scenery, quiet walkways (sometimes,) and practice room for generally hard-working students attempting to build a career as a shinigami. A high stone wall surrounds the grounds, broken in places by wrought iron gates. It runs straight up to the Academy building itself, and contains several smaller buildings that stand adjacent to the main. These satellite buildings contain dormitories, a greenhouse, storage, and duplexes for instructors to reside in if they wish.

On a fine day like today where the sky was clear and sun was shining that one like Tenshi should hide himself in a part of the academy grounds where the trees are the densest, blocking out most of the light. For some reason, it helped him focus; which was important, because of the task Tenshi had set for himself.
Right now though, Tenshi stood haunched over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. His efforts had been largely futile, attempting to focus the spirit particles on his feet to point such that if he applied enough force in a circular fashion, that he would be able to turn suddenly and surprise an enemy at his back. However, he had not actually came close to doing this and was largely stuck in theory land.
"C'mon, Tenshi." The Academy Student urged himself on between pants, "It all checks out. Things like this have been done countless times..." Tenshi attempted the technique one more time before falling face forward onto the ground in failure. "Ugh, damn." Things at the Academy were definitely a lot harder than he thought they were going to be.

When not training with Okiko or conducting class, it was places like this Uegami Sazaeno likeed to hang about and relax, although he could never call it relaxing. His mind was always at work even if his body seemed to be at rest, just as it was now, propped between the larger branches of a tree that overlooked the area Tenshi had decided to take up practice beneath. It would be no surprise if he had gone unnoticed all this time- in fact, Sazaeno would be more surprised if he was noticed due to his usual habit of constraining his reiatsu to nigh undetectable levels, easily overlooked with the constant blazing of untrained students, and even the more knowledgable teachers who had nothing to gain nor hide by keeping their auras as tightly wrapped. This was how he watched things, this was how he could tell where people were, who they were, even though they weren't even in front of him.
It'd been several months at least since he had been given medical leave from the Onmitsukidou and instructed to teach at the Academy. A trying mission, this had proven thus far. ...and what was it with students seeming so intent on bashing themselves senseless? Sazaeno cracked open an eye at Tenshi's mutterings, turning his head just enough to glance down towards the ground.
"....is it a trend for students to think they'll get any tougher by hurling themselves on the ground enough....?" he murmured, although his voice carried enough to be heard below.

On the ground, in pain, having once again failed at his task. Tenshi slowly began to rise to his feet when he heard the strange taunt from what appeared to be the trees. Even if Tenshi had the training to do so, he could not seemed to sense the appearance of anyone. This was a potentially bad situation and he realized this, but he couldn't let that deter him; his heart began to race a little, but instead of silently taking off back for the Academy, he decided to speak up.
"L-listen. Whoever you are; you can continue being a sneaky punk hiding around in the dark of trees or you could actually be helpful and give me some pointers?" Tenshi, angered, lowered his head and muttered under his breath, "Jerk." After saying that, he immediately hoped that whoever was lurking in the trees hadn't heard, though he suspected they probably might have. That being the case he readied himself to fight off any attack that might get thrown at him. Not that he really thought he would be able to match many if anybody in a fight.

There came a light snort from above, a stifled laugh, perhaps, a noise of amusement, most definitely. And then quite suddenly, a darkly clad form dropped down to land beside the student. He uncurled lazily, looking much older than the normal range of students, although not by that much. It was terribly hard to gauge anyone's age by mere appearance in Soul Society. The fact that this person was wearing the black shihakushou of shinigami standards helped for matters of classification, and the only shinigami that would be about the Academy for good reason were the instructors...
Still remaining with a slight slouch in his posture, the shinigami lifted his right hand to run through and over his short hair. His left arm was bandaged almost completely, and although it had felt considerably better than it had months ago, he had been advised not to strain it for fear that it would get damaged further. Recuperation sucked.
"Name's Uegami Sazaeno, not 'jerk,'" he said flatly, almost dismissively. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders to rid himself of the stiffness that had built up from hours of sitting in a tree. "...and what sort of pointers would that be? How not to give yourself a concussion?"

When the entity Tenshi had been 'talking' to, fell from the treetops and landed near him; he couldn't help but take a couple steps back for cover. Age wasn't too important to Tenshi as he realized that in Soul Society, such things often yielded many false ideals about people. As for the wear of the entity, only being vaguely familiar with the organization he would one day join, he had the slightest impression that he was a shinigami of some sort and was thusly apprehensive by the way he had addressed the man earlier. Not that he didn't deserve it, in fact, Tenshi, being mostly soft spoken, wouldn't normally speak out against people, but only when they warranted it by having a negative attitude towards him.
"Well," Tenshi began after Sazaeno's introduction. "I'm not exactly sure if it's a pleasure to meet you, quite yet. But seeing as you've gone ahead and introduced yourself, I'll do so as well. My name is Noharu Tenshi, first year student." He sighed. The student was annoyed at the man's appearent dickishness, but at the same time, he knew this man had something he could use. Infomation if nothing else.
"I don't know, man. You don't look like a student, and by your clothes, I don't think you're so much an academy teacher, either... So, best I figure, you could probably help me tips on how to manage my reiatsu. Not just my reiatsu, though; really, I don't really even know where to start. There's really just so much to this Academy thing and it's a little overwhelming- Not that I'm not down for the challenge!" Tenshi immediately interjected once he realized he left himself open to berration delivered by the still apparent 'jerk'.

He nodded idly at the introduction. He knew already, and perhaps if Tenshi had been watching him close enough, he would have realized that Sazaeno had been mouthing the the name almost simultaneously as the student had spoken it. He'd be a lousy teacher and an even lousier member of the Special Forces if he didn't keep himself informed. Learning names and the reiatsu signatures of those about the Academy had not only been something to pass the time.
Tenshi's apparent dislike of him had not gone unnoticed, and inwardly Sazaeno sighed. Great. Another one he was off and getting to a wonderful start with. If Okiko were the type for laughing at him, she'd probably find it humorous. Instead, he'd probably receive a response along the lines of 'That's how they are; they'll only get worse later on... if they survive.' Closing his eyes, Sazaeno listened patiently as the student went on. Patience was one thing the man had in loads. It wasn't his fault he wasn't much of a sociable person, and his words were never meant to come across as so blunt, but that's just the way things worked out, and he had no real need to try to amend things to his benefit since he never saw reason to develop lasting attachments to anyone. In his line of work one learned that life was something precariously grasped, and those that you met one day could very likely be dead the next.
"....hn." Not much of a response to anything, but that was what first came out of him once Tenshi had finished speaking. Lazily, Sazaeno scratched his chin. "...well, at least you're sharp enough to realize some things...." he murmured to himself. "Did you expect things to be easy here? You came here knowing you would be in training to become a shinigami, right? Being a shinigami isn't a walk in the park." He fixed his gaze on the other's unique visage, and despite the almost lethargic demeanor he carried, there was an undeniable sharpness in Sazaeno's eyes that hinted there was more to him. "...good though- that you're open to a challenge, because that is what the Academy is. Those that can't make it through have no business being shinigami- they'd just get themselves killed later on." He was terribly blunt, but then his specialty had always been survival, not flowery prose and honeyed words.

Despite his initial dislike of the man who appeared to have his head up his @$$, Tenshi listened to him speak. Of course he figured the Academy would be hard work. There'd be a lot more shinigami or at least more students in the academy. The case being what it was meant that Tenshi would have to work not only twice as hard as other students, but all out more in general. Maybe if he changed his attitude towards this man, he might even gain a mentor, of sorts; though Tenshi really didn't expect Sazaeno to jump at that oppurtunity.
"You've got good points, obvious in that it should be common sense, but really good points, nonetheless." Tenshi admitted as he let out a deep breath, swallowing his pride. "I do mean to do my best at this academy. It being extremely dificult or not, but I feel..." As he spoke, he scratched the back of his head and turned away from Sazaeno, almost embarrassed, or maybe, that's exactly what it was.
"I don't know. I feel like I should be getting more for what I've been putting into it all." He turned back towards Sazaeno. "Take right now for instance. I know you were watching me fall on my face a couple times. Well, what I was trying to do was use my reiatsu to spin the spirit particles so I could get the jump on a behind attacker, but I can't get it. I just turn a little bit, often abruptly, and end up falling on my face." Tenshi sighed once more as he recounted his failing struggle, but remembered who he was with and hardened himself somewhat. "So, having heard that. Any clue or tips? I really don't expect much, maybe just something to help me with my reiatsu or something...? I don't know. I think I'm on the right track, if nothing else, but still..." Arriving at this venue, Tenshi just shrugged and looked at the man.

Well. This was certainly a change of attitude, and one that pleased Sazaeno. Perhaps things wouldn't be so rocky after all. That was another thing he had learned, to be callous towards the attitudes of others, as often did people use their colorful personalities to get on the nerves of others and goad them into reacting. Any attempts on Sazaeno were often lost in effect, much like hurling insults at a wall. It just came to a point where he didn't really care what others thought. He hadn't become a complete block of stone, devoid of feelings though. This much showed with the very faint grin that tugged at his lips, not completely surfacing, but the hint of it was enough to lift the heavy air of stubbornness that had threatened to strangle their meeting.
"...You only get as much from something as you allow yourself to take out of it." He shrugged. "Not so much expecting something to just come to you from the amount you put in- what you put in is what amounts to what you should expect to get out of it. You don't get good at shunpo or fighting without practice. You do it little by little." Rolling his shoulders back, he slowly folded his arms in front of his chest. He didn't want to completely neglect movement for his left arm, otherwise it would be terribly stiff.
"First year and you're already considering advanced shunpo techniques. Hazekada might appreciate that." He gave something of a nod. "Do it again. Let's see what you've got so far."

Tenshi, pretty much at his wits end had no other choice than to listen to the man's words, not that they were filled with bad advice or anything, just that his pride had indeed hindered him thus far, especially in the area of accepting help. It had taken Haru a year to reach him and get him to trust him and even that was after he had been saved by the man. The fact remained though, Tenshi still needed to learn how to trust people; and it seemed, that through his interactions between himself and those he has met at the Academy, thus far, that he had began to do so. Maybe this man would also be able to help him along.
Listening to Sazaeno's words, Tenshi couldn't help but at first begin to feel a little berated like he wasn't on the right track at all, but after he had finished speaking, that idea got flipped and he began to feel all right; especially once he realized that he had actually been praised for his efforts. "Really? You're not going to advise me to just stick to the basics?" Tenshi was shocked, that's what he he expected would happen if he told asked any of his teachers for help. "I mean, I know that I should take it little by little and all that, but I kind of have these ideas about what could be done." He shrugged and sighed, getting ready to go through it again. "So, you really want to see me try it again? Okay." Tenshi said and took a couple steps back from his impromptu mentor and let out a deep breath, slow and controlled.
"Right." Tenshi closed his eyes, it probably wouldn't matter at later stages in his training, but for not it helped him focus. With his eyes closed he was more readily able to visualize what he wanted to happen, and as he saw himself in a dark void of his mind's eye, he thusly moved his body into a sparring position. His breathing was nervous but slowly calming down as he started the actual process.
In his mind's eye, he began to /see/ tiny dots of light forming around him, which represented spirit particles; whether he was actually sensing them though is debatable, though Tenshi was more or less certain that he was. This was important as now he began to move the spirit particles underneath his feet and control was necessary. Slowly but surely, Tenshi felt like he had gathered enough particles under his feet and when he was finally ready his body began to tense up. It wasn't that he was scared, well, actually he was, of falling on his face and embarassing himself; but really, him tensing up was due to his getting ready to make his move.
Finally it was time and Tenshi felt it, or so he thought. Maybe it was because of Sazaeno's supportive presence that Tenshi felt more certain about his ability to do successfully complete the technique, but regardless, it didn't matter because as Tenshi attempted to spin the spirit particles currently under his feet, and they did spin a little, something went wrong with his focus and the particles dispersed outwards causing Tenshi to once again fall off to the side. He hit the ground and winced a little at the pain; he didn't shout though, in fact, when he spoke, he almost sounded like he was having fun. "Ouch. That hurt just a little bit." He begant to chuckle, half nervous, but at the same time, half proud. Why? Because during that last time, he actually felt closer to achieving the technique.

"If you stick to basics then how will you ever move forward?" This is the question Sazaeno posed to the student. "You know the basics by now, or are at least familiar with it. If you hadn't, then you wouldn't have started to consider other things, like this." He watched, both with eyes and with his senses as Tenshi began to prepare himself. That the boy was able to gather spirit particles as he was showed for much potential of what he might later be capable of.
The effort wasn't bad, and Sazaeno thought Tenshi had a better handle on it that time than the earlier ones. "...I suppose trying to make it work from being completely at rest would be the way to get a feel for what you're trying to do, but..." He lifted his right hand, tapping it against his lips thoughtfully. "...have you tried doing it while in motion? Like a rebound manuever. It might be easier with less weight to make the turn."

The question definitely had validitiy, but was far more dificult to actually apply when it came to stuff like this. "I guess, you're right." Tenshi admitted from the ground. He had no real reason to refute the claim, though he the thought occured that a lot of other things probably happened by accident; but he let that thought slide as it was counterproductive to what they were trying to do. Then Sazaeno suggested he try taking a little weight off the focal point. "You know...? That makes sense." His solution clicked for Tenshi and he began to smirk with the realization. "At this point, even if I'm able to manipulate the spirit particles of the world around me... it's probably too weak to be able to move my spirit body..." This inspiration for the technique gave him a boon of hope and gave him energy to stand up, ready to try again. "So, what? You mean... I could probably even do it... Wait, I've got an idea."
At that, Tenshi began to stretch out his arms and shake them out. He was getting ready to move and it showed by the way he began bouncing from side to side. "Okay." He just hoped he wasn't going to need Sazaeno to step in, but he all ready knew the chances of that were kind of high. Either way he was ready. In his mind he remembered combat training with Haru and that helped him calm down enough for him not to mess up on the physical part.
Taking a deep breath, Tenshi slowly raised his arm to about chest level for him. Exhaling, he lowered his arms before quickly taking another break and raising his arms at a noticeably faster pace than before while at the same time jumping back. In the briefest of moments while Tenshi hung in the air, he further extended his left arm up above his head and made sure the palm was flat while letting his right arm go out to the side. The physical part of this trial was over when Tenshi firmly planted his left hand on the ground, now was the tough part.
At this point, Tenshi didn't have a lot of time to focus himself, but he did the best he could and attempted to do the same thing as before, only by pumping it through his hand. The moment slowed for Tenshi as he hurridly visualized what he wanted; spirit particles forming at the palm of his hand and then spinning speedily. What was odd about this for Tenshi was that... it worked, he spun. "Yeah!" He cheered, excited at his success.
However, it was that event that caused him to falter. The grouped particles at his palm once again errupted outwards, but this time, Tenshi didn't simply fall off to the side, instead he was launched upwards by the dispersion. Granted, he hadn't put much energy into the technique, but once they broke out, the force they emitted knocked him up a couple feet before allowing him to come back down. Tenshi saw this coming and did his best to brace himself for the fall, certain that the impact would hurt more than him just falling on his face.

How excitable students were. Sazaeno wondered if he ever displayed such enthusiasm for anything during his Academy years. He said nothing as he watched the boy make another attempt, and at a glance one might have thought he was bored, but he paid rapt attention to Tenshi as he made his move. His brow arches faintly at the new approach taken, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod, which was fine because no one else was really watching him.
He saw the falter before it became evident, had sensed the dispersion of spirit particles before they went completely awry. And in a split second, Sazaeno was no longer standing where he had been casually watching. A strong hand reached out to grasp Tenshi by an arm and pull him upright enough that his knees wouldn't be hitting the ground once they landed. Once on the ground, Sazaeno wouldn't release the boy until he was certain Tenshi had a sense of where his feet were enough to stand.
"Always see things through to the end. Early celebration is a common cause of being caught unaware, and this applies to battle as well."

Off his feet and the ground, Tenshi was surprised when he opened his eyes to find that he had been caught by Sazaeno. He must have read his mind. "Um..." Tenshi began slightly nervous, moreso stunned. He had achieved his goal, for the most part and despite having to have been saved, he was still proud of his success. Of course, the victory had not been his alone and after getting his bearings together, there was just the small issue of giving credit where credit is due. This, however, was kind of embarrassing for Tenshi in that his pride stood in the way, especially since they had such a rough introduction. Despite this, he went on.
"Uegami-sama..." Tenshi was looking down as he said this before looking up at Sazaeno with a proud smile in place. This was so far the happiest he had been at the Academy and with this major stepping stone underfoot, he was certain the good times would continue to roll. "Thanks. I really appreciate you helping me out today." There was also some other business to be taken care of, as well. "And, I'm sorry for calling you a jerk. You're not one, as far as I can tell."

Sazaeno looked at the boy silently, almost unamusedly, but then there seemed to be a limit to the man's expressions that he allowed himself to display. "...." Ugh. '-sama'...? He'd hoped to ditch formalities for good when he'd been accepted into the 2nd Division and no longer needed to be watched and guided by the true Uegami house. As much as he wanted to roll his eyes, he didn't. He gave a small grunt in response, really not used to being thanked for anything. His job was a thankless one, and this whole teaching thing was still something to get used to.
Scratching the back of his head, Sazaeno moved to walk off past Tenshi after the kid had gone and said what he felt he needed to. A hand was dropped on the student's shoulder in passing, a pat of encouragement. He never was one much for words, and so none came as he shuffled on past, adopting a stooped posture once again that betrayed nothing of earlier.

To say the least, Tenshi was a little taken aback by Sazaeno's response to his saying thanks. He didn't say anything. No 'you're welcome'. No 'keep at it kid'. Nothing. Just a grunt and he walked off. There was the hand on his shoulder as Sazaeno moved passed him, but Tenshi really didn't think that qualified as congratulations. He could have been wrong, however. The latter thought came to mind as Tenshi too began to walk off, back towards his dorm room. He recalled that before Sazaeno departed, he had been looking back at Tenshi and for the briefest of moments, maybe he had imagined it, but he thought he saw the cold exterior of the man flash away and look almost pleased with him. Even if he hadn't though, the way he left made Tenshi feel that he should maybe try harder. "Well- Um... I guess I'll see you later then?" Tenshi called hesitantly after the departing man. That being the case, he would. Tenshi would try harder, much harder. He would impress Sazaeno and make him verbalize his congratulations. Just one more thing to accomplish.

-=Character Art=-

2008-05-28T23:44:25Z

Sazaeno 01

Academy Days; Headshot

Semi-SD Ver.

Profile

Sazaeno 02

052008 - First Session; Class 01

2008-05-21T21:05:40Z

-=[Academy Grounds - Seirietei]=------------------------------------------------

The wooded grounds of the Academy offer both relaxing scenery, quiet walkways (sometimes,) and practice room for generally hard-working students attempting to build a career as a shinigami. A high stone wall surrounds the grounds, broken in places by wrought iron gates. It runs straight up to the Academy building itself, and contains several smaller buildings that stand adjacent to the main. These satellite buildings contain dormitories, a greenhouse, storage, and duplexes for instructors to reside in if they wish.

One wrapped palm splayed flat on the wooden platform of one of the obstacles in the course at the far end of the Academy grounds -- a short bridge for running in preparation for a jump, just long enough to comfortably fit two people laying length-wise, or in their case, two people currently hand-standing.
She used one palm because he did; his left arm was still far from repaired, so she'd taken the liberty of mimicry and kept her left arm behind her back. Her legs were currently splayed to either side in an upside-down, aerial split, and she could just... barely... touch him with the toes of the cloth-wrapped foot nearest him. It was the faintest of nudges with one toe, and she peeked around her arm from underneath stark, snowy bangs.

The hindrance of having to adjust to relying less on his left arm was nothing too drastic that it completely interfered with his routine. His early training had taught him to never favor one side over the other, for that would be something an enemy could easily take advantage of. His left arm was yet bandaged, folded carefully behind him as he maintained his weight and balance with his right. His eyes had been closed in concentration, in relaxation, but he opened them again to glance in Okiko's direction as he felt her toe brush against him. He grinned faintly over at her, then looked towards the ground as he slowly bent his right arm in preparation to lower himself, bringing his legs around as his body curved inwardly, his toes settling on the wood with a light but sound thump. Sazaeno pushed himself to squat there rather than stand, slowly slipping his arm around to rest over one knee, the right to do likewise as he cast another glance towards Okiko.

"Almost class time..." The depressed way she said those three words made it sound as if he were headed knowingly into a suicide mission (although admittedly enough, they'd gone through several missions as such). Despite the doomsday intonation, she kept her split a few minutes more (watching him dismount), stretching her feet out to either side and feeling the pull of muscle from her heels all the way up to the insides of her thighs. It was a good feeling. Toes splayed briefly, then she brought both legs up parallel again, making sure her body was centered over her right palm before she dropped first one leg carefully backwards, then the other, bending into a one-handed bridge before pushing to her feet with several very audible spine cracks. That felt much, much better.
".... a braid came loose," she murmured, flexing the fingers of her right hand experimentally before she walked over behind him, picking up the offending braid to scrutinize it for a moment before she decided the whole thing needed to be redone. She tugged the ties out and began combing the hair free with her fingers, silent.

"Yeah..." he replied quietly. He was hoping it wasn't, but Okiko's words were confirmation enough. He supposed he'd just have to view it as another mission then. That might make things considerably more bearable.
Sazaeno remained perfectly still as Okiko came around to rebraid his hair. "...thanks," he said after a moment. He looked towards the wooded area just a ways beyond the obstacle course they were at, where he had proposed his class would be, feeling for the reiatsu signatures of his prospective students. Out of habit he kept his own presence under tight constriction. No one... yet. He can tarry a while longer untill they arrive before he made his way over.

Okiko re-twined his hair with deft fingers, quiet for the few minutes it took to make sure all three braids were tight before she began joining them into one single braid at the nape of his neck. "I'm staying here, unless you need me..." she finally murmured, once she was almost done. She secured the tie around his hair again. "... that should stay." She offered him a hand up.

Nodding, Sazaeno reaches his right hand back to run his fingers lightly over the braid before he then accepts Okiko's hand to help stand. Not that he needed the assistance, but the gesture was always welcome. He gave her hand a squeeze. "...thanks. I feel a little better knowing that."

It was rare that Matsuhiro ever dreaded a class (with the understandable exception of kidou class, of course) but this was one of those rare cases. It wasn't so much doubt about his ability to do well, but rather how his own reiatsu might compare to his fellow students. What if his was weaker than most? Or weaker than all? He would never live such a distinction down...
Still, he showed up to class with time to spare and waited there for the rest of the class to assemble. There was no sign of the sensei as of yet, but still, Matsuhiro was not about to drop his guard. He wasn't going to be the kid caught lounging around when he was supposed to be ready for class. He would leave that distinction to Nakamori, who no doubt would embrace it eagerly.

The weather is pleasant, as it usually is. To have a class outside of the normal academic venue is a nice change of pace and scenery. The noble breathes in, keeping a neutral smile for once in place of his constant worried expression. He walks casually, looking about the grounds to see if anyone else is already present.
Or maybe they decided to change the location again?
Yoshinori pauses. "...I hope I didn't go the wrong way," he murmurs to himself, eyes darting about. Oh dear. Again, he walks forward, blinking when he sees Matsuhiro. Insert a happy wave and the bowing of his head.

Lacing their fingers together briefly, Okiko returned the squeeze before she let go and leaned up on the balls of her feet to kiss his brow, pulling his head down just enough with hands on either side of his jaw so she could. She could pass the time training further until his class was over.
Speaking of-- "... here they come," she said, although he probably felt them long before she did. "Try to come back in one piece, I lost my sewing kit and I don't think tape would hold you together that well."

"Ito-sama." Matsuhiro offered a deep bow to the upperclassman. "It seems we're the only ones here..." That came as a bit of a surprise. Usually there were others who didn't run in late.

"It appears so," the second year replies softly, tipping his head to the side. Yoshinori glances around. "Hm...I wonder what's taking some of them..."

He was fairly certain that he couldn't possibly mistake where this class would be held. There were only so many wooded grounds on the campus, and he was actually quite happy to find that they'd have it outside rather than in. He lacked the usual bounce in his step, for as eager as he was to attend this class, there were still some things he couldn't quite free from his mind. As relieved as he was that he hadn't heard anything regarding the broken window, Katoji couldn't help but be concerned at the same time. Muuuuh....
The boy perked considerably as he came towards the small grove, and he grinned brightly, waving a hand towards his roommate and Yoshinori. "Hey!" he chirped, practically bounding over the rest of the way.

It would've helped to know what time the class was scheduled, let alone what time it was right now. Takemaru was never keeping a distinct track on time. If time was anything, it would be against him. This would be the fastest anyone had seen him move in some time. Feet trudging in a gallop towards the area he was told the kidou class would be located. Occasionally Takemaru would kick his heels, almost tripping over his own limbs. But atleast balance was on his side this time. He managed to keep himself from falling and taking in a big mouthful of dirt.
Only a few students were already present as he looked ahead. Hopefully Umeko was here! Faces were scanned while his feet would slow their frantic pace. Unfortunately, Takemaru didn't spot his best friend but that wouldn't stop him from attempting to do his best.
The thought of who might be stronger or more trained never skipped through this student's mind. All he knew was that he'd want to be at the top! Lifting a hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow, Takemaru would finally join the group. Conveniently, he stopped right in front of that dull-faced Uemiya. 'Hmph, we'll see who's better.' The cocky smirk said it all.

Not following Katoji, not following Katoji, not following Katoji....

Coincidence brought him in from the same general direction that Katoji had come from, only much later. He'd managed to put his Academy jacket on over his own clothes, a rousing show of effort, but not to put out his cigarette before class. He wore his zanpakutou on a braided rope over one shoulder, his braids twisted up in one knot, and sunglasses to keep the nasty daylight out of his eyes. Ugh, and look at that, the sun was still completely up, looming overhead like a giant, pulsating migraine-in-the-making. Awesome. Substitute-sensei was a sadist.

He leaned over obligingly, and he brushed the side of her cheek with his lips as he straightened. A nod was all given in response to her as she noted the arrival of the students. Yes, he'd been aware. Only a few so far. He was pretty sure he was supposed to expect more.
"...I didn't realize reiatsu training would be so demanding of me that I'd have to worry about that," he replied, completely deadpan. "I'll make sure damages are minimal." He finally stepped away from her, reluctantly, and went to retrieve his haori that he'd left at the corner of the platform, slipping it over his sleeveless uniform as he started towards the small group of students in his usual inconspicuous manner. Purely out of habit, really.
He purposely took the round about route towards the students that had arrived. Each of his footsteps rolled along the ground, minimizing the sound as he went along. He came up behind Antoku, brushing past in silence, fingers a blur as they idly snatch at the cigarette in passing like a hawk snatching up fish from a stream. Not a glance given towards the boy, Sazaeno resumed his leizurely pace until he came up towards the edge of trees where the rest of the group waited.

What a surprise that Nakamori had even bothered to show up. Yet not enough of a surprise that it would prompt Matsuhiro to comment, or even acknowledge the other student with more than a brief nod. The nod he offered Katoji was deeper, though, and more polite. A product of his growing fondness for his roommate, no doubt.
He had only just noted Antoku's arrival, noting his arrival with nothing more than a slightly creased brow, when he caught sight of the sensei's approach as well. Well, it was about time. But because it wasn't his place to scold any teachers for showing up late (even only a few moments late), Matsuhiro greeted him with a deep bow. "Sensei."

Yoshinori brightens when Katoji arrives, nodding at the first year with a faint smile. "Good to see you again, Chihara-san." When Takemaru shows up and says such a simple 'greeting' toward Matsuhiro, however, he reacts with a short, nervous laugh. Ararara.
And then...with another student on the scene, the second year looks over. He feels sort of uneasy for a moment, but as soon as the blur known as Sazaeno comes around, he is instantly confused. "Eh? Ah!" A nervous bow is added.

"Forgot," Antoku said a hair's breadth before he lost his smoke to an instructor. Again.

It would be nice if Yoro could do more than warn him. Between Masa, Iki and this new guy, Antoku might have to start buying the things like real people did.

Broken windows and what not were shoved aside in favor of enjoying the company of his friends and fellow classmates. Katoji grinned as he nodded between Matsuhiro and Yoshinori, but at the curious look from the other, the boy followed his senpai's gaze towards the others that have come. Oh, there's Nakamori- he got a wave too, and OH WOW A TOKU. For a moment or two, Katoji stared as he saw the dark-skinned boy approach, before he shook his head out and decided to offer a biiig smile and a wave to him as well. Hey, Antoku attending class was a rare thing, so he was ecstatic to see the guy making the effort.
And like a shadow sweeping up from behind and then past him came who Katoji figured must be their teacher. He glanced at Matsuhiro and nodded to himself in confirmation before he hastily attempted to follow his roommate's example, acknowledging their teacher with a bow.

After barely acknowledgin Uemiya's nod, Takemaru would turn away. A single hand raising in less than a wave to greet the other students. Smirk replaced with a friendly grin. He didn't need a greeting from the rest of them, just as long as they were aware he was here.
Just as Uemiya's voice reached his ears, Takemaru would offer a glance over his shoulder, to spot the sensei approaching. Turning on his heel, he'd offer a less formal nod (but more than respectful in his own mind) to Sazaeno. Squinting, Takemaru would finally notice Antoku. This is like the first time he's seen this guy in any class. Atleast he has a better attendance record than Sadakata.

Sazaeno came to a stop at the edge of the mishapen circle that they had unwittingly formed. He looked... almost bored. Eyes scanned those present, and to those that acknowledged him with bows and nods he gave a nod back. Sigh. Formalities. This would take some getting used to. Just another mission, he told himself, closing his eyes, half expecting (or was it hoping?) that they'd all be gone once he opened them again. No such luck.
Drawing in a breath, he straightened from the slight slouch he'd adopted in his walk over. "Uegami, Sazaeno," he introduced, without much flourish. He turned his head towards each student, looking not so much with his eyes as with that of his senses. He'd had plenty of time to observe the particular reiatsu presences of the students, and it hadn't been too hard a task to find the names to tag onto them. It was basic information gathering, something he knew how to do well.
"Uemiya... Ito... Chihara... Nakamori... and Sadakata," he said as his gaze passed over each one. Smaller a group than he'd expected, but he supposed that was something he should be thankful for. "I expect you all know why you're here." He turned and started to circle the group rather than take a place at its center. "...I suppose a good place to start as any is to figure out what you know about reiatsu, what its significance is to us, to you as future shinigami." It was supposed to be a question, even if he didn't make it sound like it. Brown eyes darted from one to the next, finally pinning Takemaru. "Nakamori." If you'd care to give it a shot?

"Quit waving, you look epileptic," he muttered to Katoji when he was close enough. Big word for someone who couldn't read. Antoku's final slouch landed him somewhere within arm's reach of Katoji, who was -not- his friend, and who he was studiously not looking directly at.
One of the first things you learn at the Academy is which classes you can skip, which classes you can't skip, and to never skip a class taught by a substitute or a temporary teacher. (Unless it's kidou. And you're Antoku.) He'd have been happy to blow this one off if the instructor had been one of the Academy's instated teachers, but....
...but he was... .....walking behi-
And Antoku found himself holding the blackened copper hilt of the zanpakutou behind his back, even though he resisted the urge to turn and keep the threat in front of him. You /always/ keep the threat in front. Instead, he compensated by taking a small step away from his nearest classmate and watching Sazaeno with Yoro instead of his eyes.

Well at least this sensei wasn't so uptight about formalities and manners. Takemaru was tired of getting an earful of that. Listening intently to Uegami-sensei's words, this student pondered the answers in his own mind. A confident grin hopefully could cover any confusion. It came as a surprise when he heard his name. Smile disappearing for only a brief moment as he took a step forward, clearing his throat with a muffled cough. "Uh... reiatsu is a spiritual power that allows us'ta use kidou fightin' techniques. But not limited'ta that. It has somethin'ta do with zanpakutou, I think." He was mainly thinking about appearing smarter than he looks-... wait, that was insulting! Well the confidence dulled the more he spoke. It wasn't because he was embarrassed or nervous! He just lost his train of thought for a moment.

Matsuhiro stood a bit straighter when class began, hoping to impress his sensei not only with his abilities, but with his manners and attention as well. Yet he couldn't help but smirk when Nakamori offered that... less than impressive answer. Not that he was about to jump in himself without being asked...

There is no response on Yoshinori's part. Just seeing how well Takemaru handles his answer is enough to nod his head at slightly. He can't help but feel nervous around Sazaeno, however, standing at attention.

Oh no, he hated answering questions like that. At the very least he was surrounded by familiar people, and it was a small enough number. That was enough to have Katoji relax a little. He was all smiles when Antoku spoke to him, smiling all the more when the other came to take a spot beside him. That was probably the only reason he noticed when Antoku suddenly grew tense. He blinked, arching a brow in question, but he looked back towards the teacher to see his reaction to Takemaru's response.

A look was shot in Antoku's direction, a sharp look that was a definite contrast from the lethargic one he'd been regarding them all with earlier. And just as quickly it was banished, quick enough to make anyone that might have caught it wonder if they'd really seen it then or not. Sazaeno ceased his circling, standing back where he had started, looking at Takemaru again. He finally nodded. "A good start. How about a non-textbook sounding answer though?" His eyes roved the faces of the students again, seeking another target. "There's much more to reiatsu than that. Sadakata." He could easily tell out of the group that this boy was at least familiar in reiatsu control, and from what he'd heard of Antoku, Sazaeno was not in the least surprised.

"Reiatsu is for killing each other with," answered the figure skulking darkly behind Katoji in a bland, ill-amused voice.
That wasn't a threat, it was a prediction.

"......" Sazaeno arched a brow faintly at that response. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected as an answer. Smirking lightly at Antoku, he shrugged. "I won't deny that answer, although that's putting it pretty bluntly." He decided to try someone else then. "Uemiya, if you please?"

Yes, now pick the kid with no reiatsu at all. Where'd Satsue find this cruel bastard, anyway? The gutter?

_ ________________________________________________________________ _

A step was taken back again so he could blend back with the group, even though he was almost always placing himself infront of his fellow students. Takemaru only offered a brief glance in Uemiya's direction before the teacher called on someone else. He always had the problem with not answering in textbook lingo, wanting to put definitions and instructions in his own words. That was always easier to learn right?
Only when he heard the answer from Sadakata, hand was cupped over his mouth and stifling a snicker. And here Takemaru was going to say something similar. It was used in fighting, whether it was to kill or harm an enemy or ally. Finally that expression dulled. Just hearing that name made him ill. Though, Takemaru could only sneer when looking in the student's direction. 'Let's hear it, Uemiya.' He thought.

It was a challenge not to smirk at Antoku's answer, though Matsuhiro at least had the courtesy to wait until the sensei had turned his focus away to allow the expression its freedom. Thankfully, by the time the sensei turned his attention back, Matsuhiro's face was as serene as possible. Had he been smirking? No, not Matsuhiro.
When the question was directed his way, he was silent for a moment, contemplating his best answer. Nakamori had managed to get some of it right, but he wasn't sure exactly what Uegami wanted to hear. Still, giving a poor answer was better than none at all.
"It gives us our strength, measures our power..." There was no enthusiasm in the response, though.

....

The second year just blinks slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching shortly after Sadakata's sweet response. It's like he doesn't know whether to smile or look disturbed by this.

However, Matsuhiro makes him relax a little. Just a little.

________ _

Katoji glanced back at Antoku with his response, forcing a grin. He really wasn't sure how to respond to that one. Was it just him, or was the tension in the area spreading? At least Yoshinori didn't seem to be at anyone's throat. The boy offered the second year student a reassuring smile before he looked past him to Matsuhiro, blinking.

In truth there was no particular answer that Sazaeno was expecting. He mainly wanted to know where this group was so that he could figure out where to start things. Matsuhiro's lack of enthusiasm wasn't helping for things. At least the answer was fairly close, short as it was. Nodding, Sazaeno folded his right arm across his chest, tilting his head in thought.
"All right. Everything I've heard is correct; they're all part of what reiatsu is as a whole, but not limited to." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Reiatsu is an important thing to acknowledge. As with what Nakamori and Uemiya have said, it does influence our power, for combat, for kidou, to some extent even our stamina. And as Sadakata offered, it can be used to kill. A person's reiatsu makes all the difference depending on a situation. In some ways it can be considered a lifeline. If you can't tap into that presence, then you can't harness its strength."
Opening his eyes again, he looked at each of the students. "I'm getting ahead of myself though. Bear with me, this is my first time teaching," he admitted, waving his right hand. "We'll go back to the beginning of things. You didn't have to provide me with introductions. Aside from thinking I'm either some crazy stalker or something, how do you think I could manage that?" His throat was going to hurt at the end of this; he'd never spoken so much in his life. "Ito." He gestured in the young noble's direction.

"H-hai!!" Katoji's reassurance (in place of Chitaka's) goes poofle at the simple mention of his last name. Wait - he's suppose to give an answer? Right - add to what has been said.
Yoshinori fidgets. Easier said than done.
"Um," he blurts, recomposing himself seconds later, "...You're...psychic?" OH NO WAIT. "I mean! Uh- r-reiatsu can reveal, or be an identifier of sorts, since...everyone here has their own spiritual level..." Most of his words are tumbling, but he's doing his best on formulating an answer.

Antoku was too busy squinting at their teacher--the same way he spent hour squinting at the sky--to notice Katoji's attempt to stay positive. When Sazaeno began speaking again, Antoku shut his eyes and blocked out the sound of his voice. He'd had this class before, who knew how many times. Nothing that Sazaeno told them would be new to him. Instead, fingers tapping uneasily over his zanpakutou's handle, he listened for something else. It was always much...much harder to hear when it came to experienced shinigami.
Mildly compromising Matsuhiro's ability to hear was a small sacrifice he was perfectly willing to make.

It seemed his answer hadn't been all that bad. That, at least, was some form of comfort. More of a comfort than his weak reiatsu would be once the class really got started. A sidelong glance was cast first at Takemaru, then at Katoji. What if they were stronger? No, it couldn't be possible. The universe couldn't be so wrong, could it?
He paid close attention to Uegami's speech, though it was a bit odd that he had to strain to catch all the words. One hand rose, pressing firmly against his left ear as if that would somehow help. How strange. Maybe he was coming down with something...

Yeah, go Ito-senpai! Katoji mentally waved a couple of pennants in silent support as Yoshinori was called on to answer. He somehow or another managed not to fall over at the response. The follow up was better, he thought, and to show his approval, the boy flashed his taller senpai a thumbs up.

-as a scarred hand swung around and cuffed Katoji sharply upside the head. Knock it off.

What the- hand coming at 3 o'clock!! The boy yanked his head back out of reflex, and nearly ended up falling into Yoshinori.

Sazaeno maintained a mask of seriousness, even though it would have been very easy to facefault at Yoshinori's response. He very much wanted to facepalm too. Thankfully, Yoshinori got his brain in gear and provided a more acceptable response. To that, he received a nod from the teacher. "Exactly," he said, snapping his fingers before pointing at the young noble. "Identifiers, easier by feel, and with some work, possible to be visualized. I want all of you to close your eyes. And no, we won't be visualizing oceans," he added. "I want you to try sensing those around you. Believe me, that'll be the easy part. Getting your own reiatsu under control will come later, and from what I can tell with some of you, definitely needed. Some of you are practically blazing." He sighed, eyes sweeping the students again, pausing on or between Katoji and Yoshinori for a moment longer before continuing. He flicked another glance towards Antoku, lasting not a second longer before he looked towards Matsuhiro. "Something wrong, Uemiya?" he asked.

A chuckle erupted from Takemaru's throat at the noble's response. It sounded like something he would say himself. Only when he corrected himself and sensei agreed to it, Takemaru would gather himself. A single brow would arch at the mention of oceans. Man, what was that about? He heard about it from some of the other students.
The moment eyelids would slowly shut, he heard sensei's question of concern for Uemiya. A single eye opening to send a glance in the snob's direction. What was Uemiya doing, being a spoil sport? But at the sight of what looked to be struggle, Takemaru could bask in amusement.

The subtle reference to Nozomi's silly kidou class produced another faint smirk... that is, if he'd heard correctly. With a quick shake of his head, an attempt to clear away whatever had come over him, Matsuhiro turned his full focus back on the class just in time to hear the instructions, or at least what he'd made of those instructions. Try to sense those around you... Yeah, we'd see how well /that/ went.
His arm came to rest at his side again and he was about to follow instructions when he thought he caught his name from Uegami-sensei. "Hm? Oh... No, sensei. Nothing's wrong." He offered a deep nod of acknowledgement and closed his eyes before he was forced to explain anything further.
One would think it would be easy to sense those around you, and yes Matsuhiro managed to get a sense of something, but it was muddled. There were distinctions there somewhere within it all, but it was difficult to draw the line where one person stopped and the next started. But the centers were clearly there, distinct... only the borders were fuzzy.
Of course, Takemaru was completely ignored.... if he'd even been noticed at all.

Well, at least he didn't fail completely. Yoshinori sighs, relieved from the attention as Uegami-sensei continued onward with the lesson. Thankfully, he sighs inwardly when there is no imagining of large bodies of water. Other than this, he closes his eyes as well, his breathing silent.

_ _________ _ _

Stifling a snicker himself, Katoji sobered almost instantly as he met Sazaeno's gaze for that brief moment. Huh? Did he mean him? He shuffled his feet, hesitating to close his eyes as they'd been instructed as he instead looked curiously at Matsuhiro. Well, if he insisted nothing was wrong... The boy closed his eyes finally, taking a deep breath before letting his shoulders droop as he expelled it.
...it sure was dark. What was he supposed to be looking for? Brow furrowing in concentration as he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, he brought to mind where everyone had been standing. Maybe that'd help?

Antoku said, "/Hey,/" quietly, his head turned off to one side where no one was standing.
He opened his eyes just as the rest of the students were closing their own. While sound came shrieking back in focus for Matsuhiro, Antoku was grumbling to himself and backing subtly away from the rest of the group again. Yoro's reflexes were better than his own, but some damn warning that he was going to retract his hands would have been nice.
Sulkily, he hooked the hand not holding Yoro's hilt across his torso and watched his classmates with his own eyes. Two of them had better be taking this seriously.....

With no acknowledgement, Takemaru shut his eyes as instructed. It was so quiet, dark... and comfortable. What exactly was it they were looking for?
Head began to droop as it became far more relaxing, Takemaru's mind wandering from the lesson. A minute soon lingered, feeling like forever. Takemaru didn't even notice that he was starting to lean until he began losing balance. Eyes opened quickly as he took a step back to regain balance, placing his heel atop of someone's toes. He hoped it was just a clump of dirt... Falling asleep standing up is not a good idea!

"Eyes -closed-, Nakamori," Sazaeno said. He watched and waited until they all had their eyes closed. If any of them were able to get a sense of anything at all, they'd probably notice that the picture according to their senses would be obviously lacking in one's presence when there clearly were supposed to be six. It had been that way since he had come to join his students. He'd kept his reiatsu tightly constricted out of habit, aside the fact that he found it easier to observe the presence of others without having to peer through a curtain of his own.
His mouth opened as he saw Takemaru sway, about to say something, but his attention was quickly pulled back to another matter. Instantly his eyes fell back upon Antoku. It was an impassive look on the outside, but one just as scrutinizing as Antoku's had been earlier. Eventually he turned his attention away from the boy, but not without something to say. "If you find this exercise to elementary for you, then you can at least offer some pointers to those that might not be doing as well."

"It's just not my thing," Antoku answered. "/Sensei./" Shut up shut up shut up. He was used to being left alone in classes, and didn't want to argue for it. The kids weren't going to learn anything that way. And he couldn't compromise by doing what the old man wanted, that'd just-
He searched for the quickest, lowest common denominator possible. "They aren't like me. Zanpakutou's broken. I just watch." Understand? That's how we do things around here.

"Broken, perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that you've obviously more experience than them in controlling and sensing reiatsu levels," Sazaeno replied, although he was looking at the rest of the students as he did so. "I may not have taught classes before, but I've certainly attended them, and from my understanding, participation is required if one's expecting to get properly evaluated for passing. You're here for a reason, and I'm not accepting watching as an answer."
He stepped over to set a hand on Takemaru's shoulder. "Keep your eyes closed," he directed the students, adding a "and don't sleep, Nakamori" as he moved the student to another area of the small clearing they occupied. He went over to do the same with Yoshinori, and then Matsuhiro and Katoji. "This isn't a memory game. I want you to actually try to get a sense of who's near you and who isn't."

For fuck's sake.
"Broken, and I don't have advice for them," he muttered irritably. "I know who the hell they are with my eyes shut." He just doesn't know their names. They'd be gone in a couple of years, it wasn't worth the trouble. And it certainly wasn't worth arguing about.
-in front of Mitzy-mae.

Matsuhiro cracked an eye open for just an instant, peering at Nakamori and his napping. Amazing how that boy could sleep even on his feet. It was one thing to sleep through his classes (at least when he wasn't watching Neal), but another entirely to fall asleep in a class like this!
He didn't think long on it, though, as there was something much more interesting going on. With his hearing back to normal (and what the hell had that been about anyway?) it wasn't hard to divide his attention between his task and listening to the conversation between Uegami-sensei and Antoku. Brows creased a bit, but he said nothing, instead turning his focus back on sensing his classmates.... and damn, but Nakamori was still too close for comfort, even after having been moved away from the fool.

"Sadakata, ya can do it. A lil' extra trainin' an' practice never hurt nothin'." Takemaru announces as he's directed to another location in the area. Once over there, he sits his rear down on the ground so he doesn't risk falling face first into dirt; just in case he would doze off. Hands were tucked behind his head as his eyes closed again. Legs crossed, Takemaru attempted to concentrate.
"Now ...what am I supposed'ta see..." He muttered to himself. Brows furrowed as he tried to keep his attention on the task.

No, he's not really stuck in another realm yet. He can hear the teacher talking fine. He can also sense Takemaru tipping over and catching himself. How strange...was that part of it? And with Sazaeno's additional prompt, Yoshinori now takes the time to 'glance' around at the others in the area.
Matsuhiro....ah, there he is. Yoshinori twists his mouth a little, now able to sense Katoji and his happy vibes, or something similiar to that. And then there's Takemaru again, and...wow, it is hard to sense the teacher. Very interesting. Antoku also has....something he cannot really describe. Is there even something there? Well....it's not like Yoshinori is hiding or anything. In fact, he probably has his reiatsu going wild. Whoops.

Unlike Matsuhiro, Katoji didn't risk a glance over at Antoku. He heard the words exchanged easily enough. Chewing on his lower lips, he lowered his head as he tried to resume concentration on trying to sense out where everyone wa- oh hey, he was being moved.
No, wait, now he wasn't sure where everyone was... and... that.. was the point, wasn't it? He found it pointless to grin since no one'd really be seeing it anyway, so he kept it to himself. He had a vague sense that someone was to his right, and so he tried to focus in that direction. Blurred masses of glowing... stuff. That's what he made out. There was one there beside him, and something across.... and then to his left. A grin split his face in spite of himself.

No answer this time. Perhaps he felt the same that Antoku had. It wasn't worth the trouble. This was only the first session, and Sazaeno knew it was already turning out to be a rocky start. How long has it been anyway? Likely not as long as it felt it was. Sazaeno held back as sigh as he looked at the other boys, resting his right hand at his hip. Starting with Matsuhiro, to the student's left was Katoji, then across from the boy continuing in the now spread out circle, Yoshinori, with Takemaru situated in a space somewhere between him and Matsuhiro.
"All right. Eyes still closed. Uemiya. Who is to the left of you?"

Of course he had to be first... and he wasn't even ready! Maybe if he'd been given longer he could have started to turn those overlapping images into something more concrete... or something even identifiable, but no. He had absolutely no idea and that uncertainty showed on his face. Still, far be it for him to give the simple answer and admit he had no idea. Better to guess than to admit to a failure.
"To my left..." A stalling tactic. He had a one in three chance to guess correctly. Those odds weren't terrible... He would just have to hope for the best. "Nakamori." At least he sounded confident, even if he wasn't.

"Nice try," Sazaeno replied, no sarcasm in his tone. He looked towards his next victim. "Nakamori. Who's to your right?"

Takemaru was just not getting ahold of this exercise. Eyes squinted tightly shut and relaxed continuously. Then he made the foolish mistake of repositioning himself. Back layed on the ground, hands still tucked behind his cranium. Legs stretched out.
For a moment he'd open his eyes and take a glance up at the sky. Only after a deep breath, Takemaru would close them again. Oh hey... there's something.. some blurry th-... 'Wow, it's really quiet and relaxing out here.' Mind drifting again...
By the time the teacher had come to him, he was drifting off. Hearing his name, eyes would open. "Huh, what?" He wasn't sleeping, no way!

"....." Clearing his throat, Sazaeno shook his head again. "I'll come back to you later." He wanted to sigh. "Ito. Who's across from you?"

His mind stops wandering for the moment, brow knitting. This should go well...

Wait. Across??

"Ah..." Is there someone there?!? Yoshinori sees....NOTHING. Blank space. He clenches his teeth together before answering, lacking any of the confidence he should have already under his belt. "......no one?"

_ _____________ _ _ _.

With Yoshinori's response, Sazaeno had to smirk. "I should have been more specific. I guess I'll give that to you, it's true enough." He looked towards Katoji.
"Chihara. Where's Sadakata."

Oh THAT's no fair! Katoji frowned at that question. "Huh? Oh, um... well he's right over there," he said, pointing back over where Antoku had been left. He arched a brow as he realized what he was saying, but he was pretty sure of his answer. Now that he mentioned it, he could very easily tell where Sadakata was, he was the most obvious to him, apart from all the other blurs that were there around him.

"Where he needs me to be," muttered Katoji's tag-along nastily.

This guy...really need to leave.

__________ _

Matsuhiro's breath caught in his throat and for an instant he neither moved nor breathed. It was safe to say he was still not entirely used to Yoro's presence, no matter how he tried to convince himself of the opposite. And yet, Yoro did have a tendency to be incredibly helpful when the need arose....
The breath he'd been holding released slowly. There was Katoji. He was easy to recognize in those calming shades of blue. But the black... this was new. Someone entirely different.
"Sensei?" He cleared his throat to attract Uegami's attention and then, eyes still firmly shut, pointed directly at him.

Darn it, he fell asleep again! If he wanted to get somewhere in this lesson, he'd have to keep focus. Another deep breath and Takemaru sat up, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he tried to get that blurry imagery back. "Focus.. focus..." Takemaru muttered to himself, reminding himself to keep his consciousness.
"....They're just blurs." He spout, not necessarily meaning to say it aloud. Takemaru had no idea how these other students were identifying the others. They all looked the same to him. Heck, he couldn't even see anything of the sensei. But he was aware that he was there, since he had heard his voice.

It had been a random question, really. Sazaeno had only asked because he hadn't want to leave Antoku out, but with Katoji having successfully pointing out Antoku's position, he hms quietly, stroking his chin. "Good." He flicked a look out of the corner of his eye at Antoku, deciding not to comment on that. There was that odd feel again in the air, the one that he'd only picked up ever since Antoku had entered the area, but as usual Sazaeno kept it to himself. Instead he turned his attention back to Nakamori, about to address him again when he heard Matsuhiro's voice.
"Hn...?" He looked towards the boy, quirking a brow as he found the young noble facing him. "....." It bothered him. Nevertheless, he acknowledged the student. "Good, Uemiya." He watched him a moment longer before turning around to face Takemaru again, not without his eyes passing over Antoku again though.
"That's a good start. Now that you're awake, Nakamori, who's to your right?"

It was so difficult to identify each of them. Uemiya wasn't to his right, since he just heard his voice come from the opposite side. That's a way to cheat, think of the voices! He couldn't just admit that he couldn't really identify everyone with those blurs. Then he was called on again. Brows furrowing as he thought; trying to construct a picture in his mind as the blurs continued to offer him no help.
"...Uhm, Ito?.." He had to make a guess. Hopefully luck was on his side (for once) and would hand him the right answer!

Though he should have felt somewhat ashamed of the unfair advantage Yoro created for him, Matsuhiro's feelings were anything but. There was a certain thrill to this power that he couldn't quite grasp or even explain. There was simply the realization that with this, he could reach beyond his own weaknesses and boundaries and become something truly amazing. He would be able to impress his teachers and make a name for himself.
There was no stopping the smile from spreading across his face and even the unsettling words from Yoro did nothing to stop it. His fascination with the things he could see went beyond any instinct of fear. He spoke softly, a mutter under his breath that would be difficult to distinguish from a soft sigh. "Thank you."

Such was not a possibility Sazaeno had ruled out of his mind. It's one of the reasons he'd resituated them fairly far apart, in order to limit the students from using their more mundane senses in order to figure where everyone was. After nodding slowly at Matsuhiro, although still unable to shake what bothered him, the unlikely teacher watched as Takemaru's face twisted in effort to figure things out. He nodded then. "Correct. All right, you can all open your eyes again." He once again rested his right hand at his hip, his left arm having remained hanging at his side the entire time.
"I think that'll be it for today. Not too bad for a first. I want you all to keep practicing though. Practice watching without your eyes, sensing without simply relying on hearing and seeing." And for Takemaru's benefit, "- and try not to fall asleep while doing it."

...How was the last response suppose to explain anything? Unless...Sazaeno /is/ standing right there in front of him. Of course, this may have changed because of Matsuhiro's unseen realization. Then again, the teacher may even still be in place without moving an inch. This is very complicated.
Crimson eyes flicker, adjusting themselves in the day's light. He sighs, rolling a shoulder, stopping when he sees Sazaeno is nearer to Matsuhiro than him. Okay, so he did all right after all. Fortunately, he doesn't have to go to the clinic, either.

"-'ll do that," muttered Antoku, tapping his sheathed zanpakutou against his thigh impatiently while he glared off to one side. This was such a waste of his time. And he could be sleeping, too. Or eating, or smoking. He could practically be doing all three at once.

Eyes opened immediately as he got a right answer. Silently cheering, but advertising his achievement with a wide grin. Hey, no one knew that he was just using his other senses! Yes, it's done... no way he'd be able to pry at Takemaru anymore. This student would be one of the first to leave the scene at the mention. Passing Uegami by, Takemaru offered a nod. "Thanks fo' the lesson Uegami-sensei!" He didn't mean to appear eager to leave, but... he was late for his afternoon nap.

Katoji blinked in the light as he opened his eyes again. Oh wow, he was way over here. With no reason to be so far off from the others anymore, the boy gravitated back towards the rest, slowing as he neared where Antoku was. He gave a wave at Takemaru as the boy was off almost immediately. An accomplished grin was cast towards both Matsuhiro and Yoshinori, and a brief bow in thanks towards Sazaeno.

Matsuhiro said very little once he'd opened his eyes. He simply offered a bow to Uegami-sensei, doing his best to fight the growing smirk on his face. "Thank you for the lesson, sensei," he offered, though his mind was far away from Uegami or his class. It was focused instead on that voice.
"I will practice."

Yoshinori also bows after a while, a silent thank you. The second year then takes a step back, turning to go back to...whatever he has to do. And have snacks.

First mission, done. Sazaeno nodded towards his departing students, looking over at those lingering for a moment longer before he turned and started to walk back towards the area where Okiko's obstacle course was.
Only the first...

Antoku dispensed his professional opinion to Katoji beneath his breath once the other student was close enough. "He's probably not a rapist."
... "Serial, anyway." Let's get the hell out of here before he comes over and tries to put his hands all over my reiatsu again.

Tilting his head at Antoku, the boy blinked at his words. "...??" He smiled weakly in that uncertain sort of way before waiting for the other to start walking before falling in step beside him.

Okiko was still on the platform where he had left her, although in her case she'd actually just returned to it, having spent the time testing the run of the obstacle course herself. She was sweat-soaked in the heat, her militia uniform plastered to her back and thighs, but she paid no mind to these things -- focused intently on the split she'd eased into, one leg forward and the other back. She was laying down across her forward leg, bent entirely over it, arms loose, hands flat, while she rested her forehead against her calf and breathed deeply, absorbed in cooling down.

He made no hurry to get back to where Okiko was, but he was relieved that his first class had gone off with no real problems. Concerns, yes, but no problems so far. He lets his haori slip off his shoulders, catching the sleeve of the right side in hand.
"Made it in one piece," he said once he was within close enough range that he didn't have to shout. He stepped back up onto the platform, dropping the black haori at its edge, taking a seat not far from it with a sigh.

She was silent even after he returned, ignoring the heat, but not ignoring him. He knew better, and she knew he knew, so she took her time stretching. Minutes passed while she lengthened her hamstrings and made sure to stretch her arms and the bands of muscles in her back and chest, and along her obliques. It wasn't until she'd limbered up again and cooled her body down that she finally leaned up, tendrils of white plastered to her forehead and beads of sweat dripping off her chin. Nothing like a heavy workout to get your blood going. "How many lives does this leave you with now?"

Sazaeno was content to sit there with his eyes closed, letting the tension he hadn't allowed to show during his first class session release. "Not sure," he murmured, checking where she was with his senses before he slowly laid back on the open space behind him. "I wonder if I'm going about it the right way..." He'd opened his eyes again to stare up at the sky.

"...... you're more uptight than you were on our first mission together," she observed, picking strands of hair off her face and tucking them out of the way behind her ear. She scooted over to sit beside his head, leaning over his face and blocking the sun from his eyes. "I suppose it's hard to teach something so intangible. But you're not being graded, they are." She leaned back quickly a moment, before her sweat dripped on him.

Was he really? Sazaeno found himself smirking in that faintly amused manner. If there was anyone that would be able to tell, it was Okiko. His brown eyes refocused on her as she filled his line of vision, and he shrugged as best he could when in his current position. "True enough. I still can't help but think in terms of missions though." He closed his eyes as she leaned away, thinking back on what he'd just witnessed. He supposed that for a first session it hadn't gone badly at all, and so long as the students had been able to get a sense for what they were looking for, they had a decent starting point to work off of for next time. ...next time. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't a one time thing.

She dragged her sleeve across and along her face, smearing the sweat off as best she could despite the fact her sleeves were also grimey and soaked -- sand and grit stuck to her cheek, and she lowered her arm, regarding her sleeve for a moment before she dropped her arm again carelessly. "I missed the net on the fourth round," she sighed, which explained the sand stuck all over. She even had it in her hair. "... Why don't you come shower with me?" She had no classes slotted for today, and it was a good chance for him to sluice off the discomfort of being stuck in this place, doing things they weren't accustomed to doing.

Cracking an eye open, he arched a brow at her. "Missed? How?" That was an odd thing to hear from her, unless she'd been distracted, but even that would have been an odd reason. "That'll be something for the students to get through..." he noted, reaching up with his good arm to brush at the bits of sand and dirt stuck in the long locks that framed her face. He tipped his head forward in what could be considered a nod. "...all right." A shower might make him feel better. There were things he still needed to think about, to figure out, but it might be best to set it aside for at least a while so he could wind down.

"........ this is going to sound bizarre...." Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her chin up, squinting up at the sun a moment. "...... but there was a kitten in a jacket that scrambled across the... vaulting ramp." A pause. "It had a cellphone. And it was.... singing?"
........... "So I had to jump sooner than planned. ... I mean, to keep from stepping on it...." she explained, deadpanned. "And I fell short."
.... "If I'm going crazy, I suppose sooner is better than later. I'll have more time to compensate."

His other eye gradually opened, and he studied her as she said this. It could be explained by head trauma or something, but Okiko didn't appear to be bruised from his perspective anyway. "...a kitten....
"....with a cellphone and singing...?" He knew her well enough that she wouldn't make these things up. After all, they were part of the Onmitsukidou as well. Reporting from observation was something they exceled in. Slowly Sazaeno sat up. "Maybe the 12th has something running loose," he shrugged, reaching over to dust off the rest of her hair while he was in a better position for it.

"Yes," she said, flatly. "Largely white, visible markings brown, 'M' on the forehead typical of tabby breeds. Blue tracksuit jacket, pink and silver cellphone, large-framed matching blue sunglasses..." and all of that she had mentally notated in the middle of jumping which quickly became falling. "I couldn't tell you what it was singing, however." She let him dust the grit out of her hair, but nothing but a good soak and scrub would get her entirely clean. "...... I landed fine." In a giant pit of sand. It could have been worse; it could have been fire.

Nodding, Sazaeno didn't doubt her words, as farfetched as it had sounded. He slowly got to his feet, holding his hand out to her just as she had done earlier for him. "Interesting. I wonder if Iesada is aware of such running about the school premises." He hooked the edge of his haori with a foot, tossing into the air high enough to snag with his hand, his left, which he decided he probably shouldn't have after feeling the twinge of pain dance up his arm, minimizing the reaction of discomfort to but a faint twitch of his brow. Right, not doing that again just yet.
"...so. Shower?"

042208 - Idle Encounter

2008-04-23T07:38:53Z

041707 - Let's See How Far We Go

2008-04-22T03:58:31Z

A glance at the past...

"...." Everyone had left the room, the discussion of the next patrol long since ended. The table had been cleared away except for the recently refilled cups of tea, still steaming, and the papers in front of Sazaeno, which he continued to review.
What she'd brought made it ridiculously awkward to stay behind, and while the clock tracked the time from its perch on the wall with quiet ticks marking the seconds, she carefully planned several escape routes per basic tactical training When In Enemy Territory With No Backup, noting tools at her disposal: pen, paper weight, blotter, tea cup. All easily applicable to the situation, but not what she was looking for. Window. Door. Several easily moveable ceiling panels. Second door, not applicable, as it ended not in a hallway but a closet. Useless. She'd have to get it over with.
After she'd spent a suitable amount of time in growing anxiety, the box appeared hurriedly on the table beside her, sitting between them like the incriminating evidence of some horrible crime, her hand retreating hastily like she'd been burned. Silence.
"........ for you," she blurted abruptly. "... not that... I...--you don't have to like it." Her foot twitched. The sound of the door swinging open and then slamming shut emphatically suggested she'd fled, though actually catching the flash steps she used would have been a feat.

Silence.

"....... oh," the closet sighed, pathetically. That wasn't supposed to happen.

His eyes froze upon the words that he had been glancing over, mentally marking their place before flicking to the side at the box that had seemingly decided to ninja its way into invading his table space. His brow arching in an almost accusatory gesture, he followed the movement of what he assumed to be the hand of the offender in question, the blink that followed testifying to his surprise as he realized who it was. All too quickly she was gone, and he'd not gotten further than opening his mouth before finding that there was no one to speak to, and with the sound of a door shutting behind him, he felt it only reasonable to do the same, snapping his jaw shut.
Sazaeno eyed the box that sat there on the table for what seemed like ages, cycling through the abrupt words that were spoken before he finally lowered the papers he had in hand to set aside so that he could take a proper look at the box's contents. A glance was cast over his shoulder then at the door to the closet, if he had not pinpointed the direction of the slamming wood, then it wouldn't have been too hard for him to discern that she was still within the room, even if she hadn't sighed then. Shifting where he sat, he turned to fully face the melancholy door, and there he sat for another long, silent while. "......"
Finally, he stood, taking up the box in his hands before quietly padding over towards the closet, and he lowered himself to sit beside it, leaning against the wall, resting the box in his lap.

The closet gave the distinct impression of being extremely mortified. She'd barely stopped herself short of slamming into the back of the closet, recovering valiantly short of breaking her nose, saving herself from adding further insult to injury -- not that it eased her distress. She should have known this would happen. Going back out wasn't an option now, so after standing there for several very frozen minutes, head down, brain repeating 'no good' dully over and over, she finally slid down to sit cross-legged on the floor of the closet. If she got lucky... what? He'd leave? She could request a transfer... dye her hair... he'd never recognize her... she could do lots of things, it didn't matter.
Except it did, she just had no words to explain.
She didn't catch his footsteps, and she couldn't feel his reiatsu-- ... what if he /had/ left? That was a silly question. Of course he would. He had to have.
The door creaked open, just a crack--and slammed shut again immediately when she caught sight of his tabi next to the door.
The silence stretched uncomfortably again.

"...... you're going to sit there forever, aren't you," the closet finally said, miserably.

"....probably," came his response. He had his eyes closed, glancing sidewise only when he heard the door open, and after it had shut firmly once again did he resume his almost sleep-like appearance. He said nothing further. He wasn't sure, really, what to say. At the very least, he knew he'd probably feel foolish talking to a closet, but if things kept on as they did, then he'd have little choice in the matter. But he could sit there as long as it would take. Okiko would probably know this well.
Resting his hand on the floor, he slid it against the wall until he felt the edge of the doorframe with his knuckles, and he pulled it back so that his hand remained closer to his side of the wall. Next chance he got, that door was going to stay open. While he'd not mind sitting here for days, maybe even weeks on end (hey, they've had missions that stretched on as such), this wasn't a place that they'd be given such a luxury- and he was certain there'd be questions if anyone else came in to make use of the room. The stalemate had to end today.

An hour passed. Not because she was stubborn, not because she was trying to prove that she could out-patience him in the waiting game -- they were all trained to wait, like soulless soldiers, immune to the passage of time. They could wait forever, until they either received the cue they were waiting on, or they died. It would have been useless, just like trying to save what little dignity she had left. No, it was because at first she was honestly baffled, and then eventually because she expected that whatever had possessed him to sit outside the door would fade. Surely he saw no point in actually waiting longer? She'd lost this one either way. "....."
It took another ten minutes before the door gave an imperceptible creak. She was clearly possessed by some crazed urge to embarrass herself further, she thought, her fingertips splaying carefully along the wood grains as it cracked open. Might as well, she thought dully: surely it couldn't get worse. But whatever resolve she'd managed in opening the door immediately vanished when she saw him again, and she reflexively yanked back.

Had it already been an hour? As uneventful and still as it had been, one tended to lose track of the time, which could be good or bad. Thankfully no one had come back to the room, leaving the two, one seen and one not, to quietly waste away.
His own hand was like a tarantula lying in wait for its prey, and as soon as he sensed the shift of the nearby reiatsu did it strike, slipping slowly at first to feel out the edge of the door as it passed the frame, and then suddenly moving as he wedged his hand between it. Sazaeno was smarter than to try this in the position he sat, and so he shifted accordingly, a ninety degree turn so that he wouldn't sprain his wrist or something if Okiko put that much force into trying to close the door again.

She didn't retaliate when he caught the door, hand dropping from the handle the moment she felt the resistance. It retreated back to her lap, and for the span of several very rapid heartbeats she examined her hands as if they'd become the most interesting things in the universe, which some might argue they were, given they had opposable thumbs. Eventually, she swung her head back to stare up at the dark ceiling of the closet gloomily, skillfully managing to avoid his gaze in the transition.
"... Did you know that statistically the odds of dying from falling down are one in two hundred and forty-six?" Embarrassment's mortality rate to date was zero, much to her current dismay.

Once he had succeeded in catching the door to keep it open, strangely enough, Sazaeno didn't move to swing it all the way back. Now facing the door while balanced on the balls of his feet, he crouched and waited in silence as he peered inside. He didn't say anything once he had succeeded in keeping the door ajar, and Okiko's statement left him somewhat baffled as to what he should respond with, if anything.
"...."
First attempt, a miss.
"........."
Second attempt, he'd at least gotten part of a word shaped on his lips.
"......thank you." Not for the statistics quote, of course. But, well, it could work for that as well. The thanks was more for the gift, however.

It felt like her heart was attempting to climb up her throat or perhaps burst out of her chest; either, she surmised, would have been significantly bloody, not to mention perfectly awkward if she had to go about the business of picking it up off the floor, cleaning it off, coming up with a valid excuse...
Her palms smoothed along her thighs slowly, getting rid of the faint sheen of sweat that she hadn't noticed previously, but mostly because she was stalling. "... you're.. welcome.. it's just--you lost your other set last time--so I thought--I mean you could've gotten them replaced already for all I know but I was out and I saw them so... I made sure to check the weights, you like the 250 gram ones..." she trailed off into a melancholy silence.

Patiently he listened, waiting until she finished speaking, nodding in pleased understanding. He slid the box around to his side so that he could open it and remove one of the small knives from within, holding it in hand, slipping it in the various positions he would make use of it. Again he nodded. He wasn't sure whether to be surprised that she was aware of his weight preference for them or not, as to know things or find things out was a part of their occupation.
Setting the knife back amongst the rest, Sazaeno took several small steps, as was about all he could manage given his current stance, and he nudged the door of the closet open a ways more with his knee so that it was wide enough that he could squat there.

"..." It was when he shifted to pull the box in front of him that she finally brought her chin down again reluctantly, and not entirely of her own volition. She was watching. It was the way he had with his hands; she liked them. He made the way he used knives almost mesmerizing, and part of her wondered if he even knew.
And then he stopped, moved closer, and the spell was broken. Before her gaze could take evasive action she found herself unexpectedly looking him straight in the eye. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and then sat there staring dumbly for several minutes.
"..... ssssso, since you didn't kill me... and I didn't kill you... what now..."

Kill her? Such words were of many that he'd heard her speak, only to be lost trying to fathom what could have possibly gone through her mind. They were on the same force, they'd been for quite a while. Missions were an odd way to get to know someone, but then they were also most ideal, considering how close you had to work with a person, how much trust you had to put in the person you were partnered with. Okiko was a woman that although many would be charmed by her looks, they were steered off by her oddly pessimistic personality. And yet this only piqued his curiosity, and the more he worked alongside her, the more attracted he found himself, even though for all its worth he still couldn't find a specific reason. Perhaps it was not just one thing, but all things that made her. He'd been reluctant to say anything, but was subtle in how he'd tried to show his interest towards her. Until now he hadn't really been sure about how she'd received them, and even at this moment, Sazaeno wasn't sure if he would be risking too much or if he was justified to make this move.
Missions were full of risks, life was full of risks. The direction of the wind sometimes was all that made the difference between survival and death. Sometimes one had to trust their instincts. Other times, one had to wait. Decisions taken slow or at the drop of a hat, they all amounted to the same, in the end.
He said nothing as he leaned forward, knees settling upon the floor at the threshold of the closet, but his body didn't stop there as he continued to lean into the small space, and if he didn't find a knife in his gut, his face would pause a hairsbreadth from her face, eyes searching... for something before closing as he moved to brush his lips against her's.

It had been a purely nonsensical statement, something to say because she had nothing better to say and surely she had to say something or rot there in miserable silence staring at him like a fool. It was her closest equivalent to a nervous laugh. Gods only knew she'd been sitting there since the beginning hoping the ceiling would fall on her or some freak accident would cease and desist the crazy pulsing in her veins permanently, saving her the discomfort of either being pushed aside and ignored, or worse, laughed at. Pitied. She did not like the look people got in their eyes when they felt pity.
Perhaps that was why she'd gone unresisting when the onmitsukido had picked her up so many years ago; they hadn't pitied her when they found her. They'd offered her a use, instead, and surely being useful was better than clawing and scraping out a half-starved life in Rukongai with dirty nails and everyone else with dirty, diluted, empty gazes.
She sat very, impossibly still while she watched him, expecting an answer along the lines of perhaps-she'd-like-to-leave-the-closet-for-starters, but it never came. Instead he moved again, and she frowned, brow furrowing in confusion -- and then realized what he was doing a second short of preventing it, eyes widening when he kissed her. She stiffened immediately, which probably wasn't the response he was looking for, but she couldn't make herself move.

It was a better response than he had expected, although he was extremely thankful he felt nothing sharp being stabbed into his stomach as he leaned so far forward. Would that his gesture have been better received, he wouldn't have argued, but with Okiko, he had already minded the fact that she was definitely not like your run-of-the-mill females. In all truth, he half expected her to scream.
Sazaeno felt her tense, and in an effort not to pull back so abruptly that it might make the kiss seem even more awkward, he let himself linger there for a second longer after he'd pulled his lips away. With no further reaction from her, he wondered if perhaps he had overstepped his bounds. "...if you want me to, I'll go.." he whispered before slowly rocking back to his feet. There he stayed, still squatting at the doorway, waiting to see if Okiko would deign to answer.

Her expression was briefly anguished when he pulled away, hurt and upset at her or him or both, she couldn't say. She struggled to say something, at least, anything, but thoughts that had been racing seconds before hurtled over the steep end of a cliff and left her with nothing, free-falling. She was paralyzed with fear that he really would leave, and it was only cruel irony that that was what kept her from preventing him. Move, move, move! she wailed at herself.
A small catch released, and when pain shot up her arm it took a very perplexed moment for her to register what, exactly, she'd done.
It was hard to see with him blocking most of the light, but she felt the slickness in her palm first, and then metal on bone, and the slippery feel of blood between her fingers where she clenched the throwing knife. Oh. ... More importantly, she realized, she could move again, free hand grabbing for the front of Sazaeno's uniform hastily, reflexes acting belatedly. She didn't look down.
"No." The word was quiet and hoarse, and she had to swallow once, twice, to find her ability to speak clearly again. "Don't.. please." She gave a tentative tug, and then carefully pulled his face back to hers, pressing her mouth to his in another quiet, hesitant kiss.
The sound of the knife dropping and hitting the floor beneath her other hand was loud in the silence, but it was ignored in favor of sliding the same hand up, fingers awkwardly brushing his sleeve before they drifted further up, cupping his cheek, smearing blood distractedly.

It was a small hope that he had clung to, and he almost thought he'd misheard her response, half distracted as he was by the noise he was sure he hadn't imagined. If there had been any doubt as to what he'd thought to have heard from Okiko, it was quickly diminished as he found himself hastily pulled towards her. His knees knocked against the floor as he was pulled forward, the pain easily dismissed as his lips once again touched her's. She was all there was, right then. The risk had been taken, the mission... No, not a mission.
He felt the sticky wetness that touched his face, left in trails by her hand. He knew what it was from the sharp, coppery smell. It was not hard for him to piece together the sound of the knife falling, the blood on her hand. He brought his hand to grasp her's, to clasp his palm tightly against it to stop the bleeding, but all the while his gaze never left her face.

She looked up at him silently, eyes flicking over his features curiously. "....."
As foreign a concept as privacy was to them, the sound of a door opening the next room over was jarring, and the sudden thunk of her head hitting the back of the closet when she jumped out of startled reflex nearly made her leave her skin entirely, expression guilty.
She slumped against the back wall and groaned miserably but quietly, one hand still tangled in his uniform, the other still clamped in his hand where she refused to let go, even if he did. ".... could have picked a better place..." muttered gloomily, embarrassment creeping back up on her while she ducked her head, and finally had to let go of his uniform so she could feel along the floor for the knife, retrieving it and wiping it off on the leg of her uniform quickly.

"...." She would probably have felt him grow tense, just as she did with the sound of the doors being worked on the other side of the wall. He used her as an anchor, his hand still clasping her's, his eyes the only things that moved to look in that direction as though he could see what went on beyond the room. To a certain extent, he could; the presences of whomever was in the next room over, he could tell how many, perhaps even who.
For a long, long while did he wait and watch, but only until Okiko broke the silence that had fallen between them again. Sazaeno blinked as though waking from a dream, and he looked at her. The realization of the ridiculousness of the situation seemed to settle upon him only then, and closing his eyes, he tried to smother his chuckles, his shoulders shaking from the effort.

....... she swung her gaze back up to him while she bent forward beneath him finally, enough to slide the knife into her tabi boot, not bothering with resetting it in its sheath at her wrist for now. "... you're laughing," she stated blankly, hoping it wasn't at her, trying to fathom why. She flexed her fingers between his experimentally, feeling the sticky coagulation between their palms, nearly glueing them together. It didn't feel as if she'd severed anything important in her bout of stupidity, which satisfied her. It would have been her luck to lose the use of her hand over this. She squinted back up at him.

For her to point it out only made him smirk as he failed to hide this fact. "...yeah... sorry," he murmured, clearing his throat just as most usually did whenever they were caught doing something inappropriate in public. "....you... you're right though." He lifted his other hand, gesturing vaguely at their current surroundings. "But... at least no one else saw..." he pointed out, dropping his gaze to the hand he yet held, at least not one to be disturbed by such a feeling against his flesh. At least it didn't feel like any fresh blood was spilling from her wound, but nevertheless, Sazaeno kept his hand pressed against her's.
"...um..." It was probably the most he'd been speaking all day. He could usually count the amount of words he used within the period of twenty-four hours on one hand. "...so... do you want to come out of the closet...?"
.......
"...not in that sense."

She stared at him, halfway to making a comment either in reply to his sudden talkativeness or the joke he'd made unintentionally, but her hand twinging involuntarily made her turn the strange look she was giving him into a thoughtful frown. "Either you have to let go now.... or we walk back to the barracks like this..... in front of everyone." She blinked slowly, then shrugged. "Either way, it's going to reopen." His attempt to stop the bloodflow had succeeded, but now her palm was stuck to his and separating them would peel the wound open again. She would have to wrap it when they got back.
... they. It was a strange thought. She found she didn't mind that much.

He blinked as he glanced back at her hand, and then back at her face. "...right..." he consented, holding her hand up as he gave her a warning look before moving to pry his palm as gently as possible from her's. "...if we go back like this, they'd likely wonder anyway..." he murmured in afterthought, idly touching his bloodied cheek. The blood had long since dried, but he felt it there all the same.
Slowly he rose from his squating position, a position most would have toppled over from after several minutes. With the deliberate movement he stretches out, uncurling like a fern unfurling its leaves towards the light. He was mindful enough to step back as he did so, stepping from the mouth of the closet. He offered Okiko his other hand to help her up, not that she needed it, but it was the thought he decided mattered.

If it'd been Shihouin-san as the Corps commander still, it might not have mattered. But since the Soifon girl had taken over, it was... best to avoid such things, so she offered no comment when he began removing his hand from hers, though she would also not have commented if he had equally decided to haul her back that way.
She remained expressionless, tracing the wood grains in the doorframe without acknowledging her hand until his hand was free completely and she felt the blood welling up again, consciously avoiding clenching her hand into a fist so she didn't strain anything further. When he stood up and offered his hand, she looked at the hand, then up at him. "..." She took it with her good hand, letting him haul her up from the floor before she headed for the door with him, finally.
They were partners, after all. That much hadn't changed.

041608 - The Den of Masochists (Unfin)

2008-04-17T07:12:42Z

     Every quarter she held a staff assembly, both to relay pertinent information that she was required to inform staff of as a whole, and also to receive information on everyone's current status. From there it was the discussion of plans that needed to be implemented.
     This quarter's meeting was a tad bit early due to unforseen circumstances and an unexpected letter from the onmitsukidou and the taichou of the second Gotei, but neither were a huge hindrance to her plans so she'd adjusted the meeting accordingly.
     There was a long table set up in the meeting hall where the teachers could each take their seats, and more chairs available should they be needed. As for Satsue herself, she was already there at the head of the room, sitting in a high-backed chair and perusing an open folder in front of her. A coffee cup was to the side, and had filled the entire room with an aroma of cloves and hazelnut.

     Promptness is a virtue. But on this occasion, for Nozomi, it is a necessity. She'd be damned if she let any of the other teachers see this. A white bandage mars her cheek, a purpling bruise beneath. Striding purposefully forward, she approaches the place where Satsue sits.
     Fixing an intent gaze downward at her mentor, Nozomi pauses only slightly before sliding her foot back and with great muscle control and purposeful grace, very slowly lowers herself onto her knees. Sitting on her feet, she places her fingertips on the floor, touching the edges of her first two fingers together to form a V-shape with her arms as she lowers her head in submission to the woman before her. It is a bow of class and stature, both demanding and giving respect. "...Satsue-dono," she murmurs quietly, by way of both greeting as well as apology.
     Without another word, Nozomi lifts herself from her bow, just as slowly and gracefully as she lowered herself into it, and takes the seat beside Iesada-san. Whether she is forgiven or not.

     He was there early, likely not without Okiko far from his side. His clinical garb had been replaced with the standard, more appropriate blacks of the usual shinigami attire, save over his (preferred) sleeveless gi he wore a black haori. It didn't quite cover all of his bandaged injuries, his neck and the small v-line where skin would normally be exposed completely wrapped in them, as well as his left arm, that of which he let rest between the flaps of his gi almost like a makeshift sling.
     No words were spoken upon his arrival, and if one weren't paying attention to those passing through the doorway to enter then he might possibly have been missed completely. The constriction of his reiatsu was so fine that one normally wouldn't spare such a flickering presence a glance. This is how he preferred it. Despite their orders to be present, to join the Academy as instructors, at that moment, Sazaeno had no wish to be where he was. Such feelings were absent from his face, covered by a neutral, perhaps even bored mask that had been perfected over many years of training, of living, of surviving. He had no wish to be noticed, but he knew that in such surroundings, that would be impossible. And so he took what little comfort he could in the woman that accompanied him.
     No sooner had he found his seat did he close his eyes as if immediately falling asleep. How he would have liked to do that. It had been tiring just trying to come over here, but he had managed fairly well, all things considered. There was no time for rest though, and this was a fact he accepted. So while his eyes remained closed, it hardly signified that he wasn't paying attention.

     There had been a point in time when Iki had enjoyed these staff meetings, but that time had long passed. Now he simply endured the boring formality and took his usual detailed notes while staring off into space. Today promised to be no different, even considering the early schedule this quarter.
     He entered the meeting hall, notebook and pen in hand. It always helped to have a record of what was said in case he had to refer back to it later. A brief, formal greeting was offered to Satsue in the form of a simple, "Good afternoon." He then took his usual seat at the midpoint of the table, far enough away from Satsue to allow him a measure of comfort, but not so far that it seemed like he was attempting to escape her presence.

     The woman accompanying Sazaeno was nothing more than a shadow, quiet and listless, looking for all the world like the only reason she was there because she had to be, which was true enough. The standard shinigami garb Okiko'd been given to change into until their new uniforms were sent were uncomfortable; she didn't like the loose feeling of the sleeves and hakama, and she couldn't stop thinking how depressing it would be if she were suddenly required to move quickly and all this loose fabric got in the way.
     She took her seat next to Saza without comment, picturing a small child in clothes five sizes too big tripping down a set of stairs.

     Not too far after Iki came someone who seemed a little more eager to come to this meeting, but not nearly as well prepared. No, his mind was like a steel trap, and anything said in this meeting was going to be committed to memory. Besides, with a friend who liked to take notes, Masa felt quite more comfortable with not bringing anything along.
     "Iesada-san." Masa stopped at the doorway and flashed a grin shortly before lowering himself in a bow. It was half-assed, one could say, but it was what Masa was usually able to muster. The grin had only faded away slightly as he made his way around the table, pulling his chair out next to Iki, putting himself between his Aibou and Satsue. This was not a conscious decision, but perhaps it was for Iki's benefit. He sat back in his chair, pulled several feet away from the table and turned towards Satsue, and his sleeveless arms folded across his chest. She had his attention.

     Ever careful of public appearance, Kondo Seimei somehow manages to show up in that phantom space between 'too early' and 'right on time', without appearing presumptuous or haughty. The man is carefully primped and pressed, every hair in place, his outfit clean and pressed, and scarf wrapped tightly around his throat with minimal amount of drag.
     Foresty eyes flicker, just a glance at the gathered, taking account of faces both familiar and relatively new; He's yet to have met Sazeano and Okiko, and Nozomi, Masa, and to a lesser extent Iki are familiar faces. Of course, Iesada is graced with a polite downward cant of his head once he takes a graceful step into the room.
     For a man with such boisterous coloring, he moves with surprising silence and care, and to those not watching, it may be surprising to find him seated within moments of his arrival, so quickly and unobtrusively does he make his way into and across the room. Fingers folded primly in his lap, knees bent, and feet tucked to one side, he's the picture of attentiveness, though the dreamy, kind, and slightly vacuous smile he's got tends to make him less than austere looking.

     Satsue had been there long before the meeting started, an hour at least. Having her office in the middle of repairs gave her an unexpected transience between places, whereas before she'd become rooted to her office after so many hundreds of years, so she'd simply moved her work from the temporary office here while she waited. Shiori came and went as necessary to refill her coffee or fetch papers, a constant satellite to the brusque woman, but when Nozomi entered, Satsue dismissed the slight girl without thought.
     "..." She did not comment on Nozomi's obeisance; if they were to discuss it, it would be later. A careful incline of her head was given, however, in return: it had at least been acknowledged.
     As the rest of the teachers filtered in, she greeted them politely, inclining her head to Sazaeno and Okiko, assuming them to be her new transfers.

     Iki received a reply to his greeting in kind, though she arched a brow at his choice in seats -- the brief expression she sported could have been amusement, but it was lost behind her coffee cup when she retrieved it from the desk, sipping slowly. Masa and Seimei were both greeted, "Good afternoon," the words neutral and lacking her normal air of hostility. Other teachers joined them, all acknowledged, and once the seats were all occupied, she began.
     "Two new teachers will be joining us from the onmitsukidou. This is a temporary arrangement," she inclined her head to Sazaeno and Okiko, "But please welcome Uegami-san and Okiko-san and give them due respect." Papers shifted, and were set aside carefully for now, her fingers laced together in front of her on the table. "Before I continue with my notes of interest, do any of you have anything of import to bring up for this quarter?"

     Though none of the other sensei's entrances were missed by Masayume, she was anything but obvious about her observation. The two strangers receive the bulk of her attention and curiosity. Whomsoever should meet her careful gaze will receive nothing but a polite smile in return.
     When everyone has entered and seated and Satsue-dono begins speaking, those same dark eyes focus on the speaker, her mentor. They do not waver until she introduces the two strangers at last. Ah...the onmitsukidou! This warrants Nozomi's complete interest. She even goes so far as to allow her eyebrows to lift in an outward display of that fascination of finding a new toy, as it were. Ah yes, she will be very friendly with these two.
     Regarding the matter of her own notes to bring forth to the meeting...Nozomi wisely keeps them to herself for now.

     Two new teachers? That was a bit of new information. And onmitsukidou as well... This was an interesting development, though not entirely unwelcome. It took all types, after all. So he greeted the two with a polite bow of his head. "Welcome. We're pleased to have you." Eyes lingered for a moment on the pair, most especially the wounded man. How awful of Satsue to force him out of his sick bed for one of these boring meetings.
     Attention shifted to Satsue again and for a moment he considered her question. Of course, there was always the consideration of bringing up an issue that she might not consider to be of import, which tended to be anything Iki had to say. For a time, it seemed as if he were on the verge of speaking, but finally his jaw clamped shut. No, best to keep it to himself for now. No point in stirring up anything.

     New teachers, eh? From the Onmitsukidou? Masa turned in his chair to face them fully, his eyebrows lifted in curiosity. He studied them for a moment, but not being one to judge by outward appearance, Masa bowed his head at them in respect, but all politeness was most likely dispelled when he flashed a toothy grin and lifted his right hand to wave. "Okazaki Masa. Honored t' meet ya." Masa had always been a little rough in appearance, but there were not many Shinigami as friendly as he.
     With the introductions over, Masa turned back in his chair towards Satsue with a confident sort of smile on his lips, his arms still crossed, and a heel idly bouncing. He did not have anything to offer at the moment, but would be sure to ask questions later on. Satsue could depend on it.

     The blond's gaze shifts towards the braided man and his companion, and there's the rustle of cloth as his hands unfold, and the fingers of one manicured, nail-painted hand press briefly over his heart, while his upper body tilts downward in a small, careful, but graceful bow in his seat, compounded with a tiny decline of his head,a lower of green-dusted eyelids, and a demure flash of perfect teeth. Everything about the man speaks of culture and poise --
     And feminine mannerisms.
     "It is good to make your acquaintance." he murmurs, voice soft mand gentle, but still loud enough to be heart with little difficulty. "I am Kondo Seimei." he murmurs a moment later, before sitting upright, and folding arms in his sleeves once again. Then his gaze drifts towards Satsue, and when the offer to raise personal issues arises, all he does is give a gentle but pointed shake of his head; He has no problems or topics of his own to discuss.

     Okiko was half-musing gloomily on how many possible ways death could occur from clothing underfoot, clothing becoming caught on things -- such as inexplicably getting a sleeve stuck in a door, and for that matter, she wondered if it were possible to get an article of clothing stuck in the senkaimon gates, and if so, how horrible would that be? Would it be a clean cut, or more of a smear? But she was interrupted by the sound of her name, at which point she looked to the speaker with an air of melancholy. Ah, the Academy Dean's Secretary.
     Then she realized she was the current center of attention, and unaccustomed to being the excitement of the hour, responded instinctively and bleakly to everyone in general: "... don't let me depress you, I'm alright. It's okay if you ignore me, I'm used to it by now." She hoped it was a hint, but she had the sinking feeling it wouldn't work.

     "......." Satsue's expression went carefully, diplomatically blank at the woman's response to the round of greetings. If she had been prone to smiling, there would have been an empty one hastily plastered in place, but as it was it took a measure of self-control not to arch a brow high. What, exactly, had the onmitsukidou sent her way? ... best to leave that alone for now, she decided.
     She acknowledged the negatives, the looks of "we'll speak later," but most of all she noted Iki -- as usual, opening his mouth and blatantly shutting it again like some fish out of water. "What is it, Ishamoto."

     Of course she would delight in putting him on the spot. In fact, Iki was quite sure Satsue had been absolutely thrilled at the thought of embarrassing him in front of the rest of the staff.
     His jaw remained clamped shut for another moment before he managed to cast a tight smile Satsue's way. "It's nothing at all. Please go on with your meeting."

     The sound of feet dragging across the floor approached the office. Without even knocking or anything of that sort, Chomei pushed open the door and shuffled into the room. He stopped and raised a hand to brush his fingers through that mass of tangled black hair upon his head. "Umm... sorry! I had to clean up something in the lab." Good cover. He looked upon the people in this room, his eyes seemed glassy. That unsettling smile upon his lips did not fade the slightest.

     "Here I was hoping you'd have something actually useful to add for once," she retorted, but if she had anything further to say it was interrupted by Chomei's late arrival. "... please take a seat, Hineno. You'll have to check with your peers as to what you missed. You are lucky it wasn't much." A faint sound of disapproval, but she dismissed the man in favor of continuing where she'd begun.
     "As you all know, the middle of the term is upon us and testing will begin soon to track where the students are as far as learning goes. I will be hosting the kidou trials this year along with Masayume and Kondo, and the test will be different this year, as well. I will go into more detail about that with you two," she nodded in the direction of the head kidou teachers, "but I would also like to note that Hinamori-fukutaichou will be joining us in the administration of the trials this year, so please be sure to show utmost respect to her. Okazaki, the duty in organizing any combat trials for this term is on your shoulders..." she cast a careful glance at the two onmitsukudou soldiers briefly, "... and perhaps you might find it useful to include Okiko to help in your planning."

     Iki merely took a slow breath and closed his eyes. It would be rude to say anything in front of so many other eyes. And as none of the news thus far had anything at all to do with him, he maintained his silence. As usual, all of the focus was for combat and kidou.

     The blond man is happy enough to hear the parts he needs to hear most; Kidou classes are his main and generally only concern in these meetings, unless something very important that effects everyone comes up at the same time. He nods briefly in response to Okiko's comment, but it seems unlikely that the friendly man will simply ignore her.
     "I'll keep that in mind, Iesada-san." he mumurs, voice again soft, though polite almost to the extreme. His hands drop, and fold demurely in his lap, and he turns briefly to glance in Masa's direction before flicking his gaze elsewhere.

     Chomei took his sweet time to find himself a seat. Eventually he settled down into one, and stared toward Satsue... well, not quite at Satsue, no... maybe past her? Or at something completely else in the room? It was difficult to determine where his attention was focused. It seemed to shift between various things.

     The thought of finally testing the kid's skills was pretty exciting, and moreover, he had been put in charge of the combat trials! He was definitely the guy for the job! But, he was a little surprised to hear that she wanted him to ask Okiko for assistance. He peered over his shoulder at her momentarily, knowing better than to question her ability despite her size. She did seem just a tad... what was a good word. Gloomy?
     He then casted a glance to Iki, allowing his gaze to linger there longer. Masa could see clearly that he was not happy at all... He'd have to talk to him later about it. More than anything, he hated seeing Iki withdraw.
     "Got it, Iesada-san." He turned back in his chair, perhaps not looking as chipper as before.

     Whether she approves of the way their supervisor treats her fellow teacher, Nozomi's expression and bearing does not say. Indeed, she almost appears bored in her indifference. When Satsue returns to the matter at hand, she sits up even straighter and nods in acknowledgement as she addresses the plans for the kidou trials. During the silence in which Satsue permitted responses, Nozomi inclined her head and replied, "It will be a priviledge to collaborate and work with both Hinamori-fukutaichou as well as yourself, Satsue-dono. I look forward to these trials. Isn't that right, Kondo-kun?" Turning to the lovely blond, she offers him a sisterly smile. Rare for Masayume Nozomi.

     "..." Okiko had been listening in silence. These people were not hers, nor was she theirs -- it was foreign, and the things they discussed were foreign. She felt distinctly out of place.
     Then her name was offered again, and she couldn't help but sigh. It hadn't worked after all... she'd known it wouldn't. It was just too much to hope that she could come here, do what she'd been told to do, and leave again. She swung her gaze very slowly to this man, Okazaki, white hair a stark contrast to her black uniform as it trailed over her shoulder. "... I hope you live longer than the others," she offered in what she hoped was a suitable substitute for 'hello, how are you, can't wait to work with you'.

     That covered, Satsue turned her gaze to Iki. "As head medic for the Academy, you'll need to oversee the combat trials and bring in any staff you think you'll need from the Fourth on the days the tests are held. I'm expecting casualties for the combat tests, not so much the kidou tests if everything goes well," .. and they did not discover they had another Abarai Renji on their hands during the middle of the tests. That would be unfortunate. "Sadakata Antoku will be under quarantine for the kidou test, as the nature of his constant shikai, we're all aware, will interfere too greatly."
     Her hands had unlaced since she'd begun talking, and now lacquered fingernails drummed idly in a quickbeat rhythm on the table while she looked down at her notes. "On that note, I'm sure you all received the announcement that my office is currently out of commission, if you will, as of the day before yesterday. It is in need of heavy repair, so I please ask that you all forward any correspondance to my temporary office down the hall. Any questions so far?"

     There's a small pause and an uncomfortable shift from the pretty blond ban, and dark eyes cast downwards for a moment; He looks uncomfortable about the mention of Antoku. "Ah, poor Sadakata-san." he murmurs, half to himself, half to the other people in the room. "I hate having to fail him year after year just because of the unfortunate circumstances he's found himself in." he admits. The young man's eyes look bright and wet; He's likely to cry if he dwells on it further.
     "Has there been any progress with his case so far, Iesada-san? If not, I was wondering if it would be possible to set up a.. special class with him, at some point. With his permission, of course." he suggests, with an awkward flip of a hand. He does, however, take a moment to return the smile to Nozomi; His is, again, the vaguely vacant-type. What an airhead.

     Iki knew very well what to expect from the combat trials. He'd been patching up over-eager kids for too many years now. "I'll see to it. I don't expect anything terribly messy this year."
     Unlike his fellow staff member, Iki felt little sympathy for Antoku. Those days of dealing with the boy in his clinic had managed to free him of any feelings of concern or worry over the boy's fate. He simply cast a glance at Seimei, shaking his head for a moment, after which he turned his focus back to Satsue. "Only Sadakata?"

     Having not spoken a word, even in response to the greetings and introductions given his way, Sazaeno had remained as still and silent as he had been since he first took his seat. He did offer a small nod of acknowledgment to the names spoken, if only to not seem impolite. His eyes opened then, long enough to pair a face to voice, and after mentally imprinting the layout of the meeting table and those seated where, he closed them again, content to listen as he got a feel for each of those present in the room. With such limited information as he was equipped with in regards to the goings on at the Academy, he reasoned this to make up for his lack of questions that he would ask. Besides, one tended to learn more by simply listening, sometimes.

     Canting up her chin in a slightly haughty demeanor, Nozomi's warm smile cools. "If after so many years, Kondo-kun, you've still had no success, perhaps it would be wiser to leave Antoku to me." Turning back to Satsue, she continues in a much less domineering tone, "I agree with his quarantine during the trials. However, I have a suggestion that I would like to present - perhaps after the meeting - with you, Satsue-dono, and Kondo-kun regarding a personalized test for Antoku."

     Having been issued a very important order concerning Antoku, Masa leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, trying to look a bit serious for once. His dark eyes shifted over to Satsue, waiting for her word on the matter of Antoku.
     As for the comment made to him by the enigmatic Okiko, Masa tried to remain a little oblivious of her ... depressing comment. He sure wasn't gonna freak out because she was so ominous! No way. His hands lifted and locked in front of his nose, and he sniffed idly. Nope. Not disturbed at all.

     "..." Her melancholy stare lingered on Masa a bit longer than it should have, before she glanced to Saza. Ignored, as usual. People tended to do that. She was used to it -- preferred it. It saved her trying to come up with things to say, because the more she talked the more it seemed people avoided her. Was Saza as bored as she was? she wondered. How long did these meetings take?

     "We will discuss that together, Kondo. I require something else of you, and it will be simpler to discuss them both simultaneously." Satsue did not look up as she gave the flat reply, nor did she look up as Nozomi spoke. "If you wish, Masayume."
     Lips thinned briefly, thoughts elsewhere, before she looked back up, regarding Iki critically. "If Uemiya requires quarantine, Ishamoto, he will be dealt with accordingly. I am curious to see something, first." She scanned the occupants of the room, then, and decided that would suffice for now. "One last thing. You should all know the procedure, I remind you every year: you should already be categorizing your students and taking note of which divisions or corps they are likely to fit into. I will need your reports documenting this within a week of the midterms ending, so I have a comparison for the end of the term reports. You are dismissed. Kondo, Masayume, you will stay."

     The curly blond head belonging to the man in the front row of seats dips briefly in an acquiescent nod. He understands that further deliberation would be needed for his suggestion, despite the fact that, for the past number of years, he's been offering Antoku the same special class over and over. He doesn't respond to Nozomi's slightly condescending answer with anything more than a small, slightly sly smile, and a demure nod of his head. "I understand. If the choice is made that you should take over Sadakata-san's training, I will concede."

     It was safe to say that Iki wasn't completely satisfied with Satsue's response, but he made no complaint. Besides, it was also safe to say that no matter her response, he would not have been satisfied. He simply nodded once in acknowledgement before rising from the table. He'd taken no notes this time and his note pad was tucked carefully under his arm. He offered a shallow bow and another small nod to the two newcomers. "Thank you, Iesada-san. I'll be sure everything is prepared."
     And if there was no further business, Iki would see himself out. He had a midterm of his own to prepare... one he was sure half the kids would fail anyway.

     Rather than pursue the matter, Nozomi simply nods. While waiting for the room to clear for the two of them to have further audience with Satsue, she continues speaking with her fellow kidou teacher. "By the way, I'm very grateful to you for taking my classes the other day while I was indisposed." A situation she has no intention of sharing with anyone, that's for certain. Any inquiries from those foolish enough to ask about the bruise and bandage on her face have thusfar been met with a sharp glare and nothing more.

     He probably needed to check up on the kiddo. Shortly after Satsue dismissed them, Masa stood up, stretching his arms way over his head and cracking his knuckles. Sitting still was a skill he had yet to conquer, but he figured he'd get used to it. With a sigh, he started to head out after Iki. His thoughts were swirling with all kinds of ideas, but due to his nature, he could not focus completely on one of them at the moment.

     And that was that. The meeting wasn't as painful as anticipated, and Satsue Iesada was succinct and straight to the point in the matters that needed to be addressed. That was something Sazaeno could appreciate. He held back a sigh as he had to remind himself that he'd have to be figuring out all this teacher business soon for himself. Opening his eyes again, he rolled his shoulders, and then his neck, brow twitching only faintly at the fresh twinges of pain, but even after the dismissal he was in no hurry to get up. Eventually he did stand, casting a glance at Okiko, a silent inquiry to see how she was holding up with all of this.

     Was it over, then? Sazaeno's reluctance to get up was mirrored by his partner, if only because she was dwelling on the interactions between the staff here with the kind of morbid curiosity one watches a circling group of sharks, inexplicably riveted to see which one would try to cleverly rip apart the others first with hostility thinly veiled behind good manners. Which one would win? She surveyed Saza's physical condition with a blank expression, before finally drawing herself to her feet.
     It wasn't until they were out in the hallway that she spoke. "I think.. it would've been faster if they had actually tried to claw each others' faces off," she murmured aside to her partner, barely audible. "It's like a den of masochists..."

     Sazaeno had observed pretty much the same, although he usually kept such to himself. Still, to hear what Okiko's say on the group they had just met was, brought a slight quirk to his lips. "Maybe it comes with the occupation..." he mused, stepping alongside of her, slower than he cared to and not soley because of her immediate support should he find his feet uncooperative. His steps seem steady enough though, and he figures the fatigue that hangs on him is mostly due to his sudden change of routine within the past few days. Taking things slow was an annoyance in itself, all the more so with the slow recovery he was told to expect.

041508 - Alive (Unfin)

2008-04-17T06:53:39Z

It'd been a close shave, by all accounts. She'd seen the next cero coming even as the gates closed, wondering dully if they'd close in time or if it really was their day to die--but closed they had, and she'd dragged Sazaeno to the Fourth herself, shoving frantic shinigami out of the way listlessly when they tried to take him from her, before flash-stepping the entire way there to show up on the doorstep, both of them bleeding and looking like hell.
That'd been hours ago. She was beside Saza's bed, the top half of her uniform stripped off in the earlier bandaging of her chest and ribs. Her arms were wrapped as well; she'd had time to brace her arms up in front of her out of reflex, but the hit still took her full in chest.. they'd assured her no ribs had been broken despite that, which she found both ridiculous and depressing all at once. The wound on her head was from slamming into the ground and the debris there; her white hair was still matted with blood at this point, but at least the bleeding had stopped and the wound had been treated.
There were two onmitsukidou soldiers in the room, on either side of the door -- overseeing the recovery, and they'd also dispatched orders to Okiko before she'd fallen asleep in the chair beside Saza's bed, careless of modesty in front of the other company. It was not something that occurred to someone in their line of work.
She was still folded over the side of the bed, one arm folded by his hip with her head resting there, the other hand flopped uselessly over his chest, fingers brushing his ribs. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully enough.

He was completely unaware of the trouble his partner had gone through to bring them back, of the close calls that followed his near beating to death. The medics had done their job, and done it well. Just as Okiko was, Sazaeno lies on the bed, thoroughly bandaged for all of the cuts and scrapes that had been inflicted upon his body. While his partner had miraculously managed to avoid broken bones, he had more than several on the left side of his ribcage, and his left arm only narrowly managed being completely dismembered. Bandages were wound about his forehead, and then from neck to chest, arms, legs... Most of the blood had been cleaned up, it had been necessary to peel away the remnants of his uniform in order to treat him, replaced with a simple robe and the light blankets that now covered him.
His eyes flickered open, darkness bleeding away to let light filter through, fuzzy shapes in the room taking form. The first thing he felt... was pain. It wasn't as great as what it had been, it was a pain on a level he could certainly tolerate. It let him know that he was alive. He felt very vaguely the slight pressure of something on his chest, and although it hurt to turn his head, he did so, if stiffly, to confirm whom it was he had felt there. He had expected to see her there when he woke, her presence was the last thing he felt before darkness swallowed him, and it was the first thing he sought out when he slowly came to.
Slowly, carefully, Sazaeno lifted his right hand, finding that he could almost hardly feel his left arm and was slightly dismayed to find it unresponsive. His other hand, while still wrapped up, moved as directed, and very lightly he rested it upon Okiko's that was there over his chest. Fingers curled with a little more effort, still somewhat stiff, but he found her hand, gave it a faint squeeze.

For those whose very existence violated the laws of privacy, it was only fitting that they be denied the luxury as well. Later on, she wondered if 'luxury' was even included in the vocabulary in their line of work, then decided gloomily that it was ridiculous to even consider it would be. Even as Saza woke, the two guards shifted, coming to attention, though it would've been a fool's thought to consider that they'd been unaware of their surroundings for even a moment, despite the languid stances they'd taken up of patient waiting.
Okiko felt him move even before his hand reached hers, melancholy eyes suddenly open, her back straightening -- and then she winced, the arm that had been folded on the bed coming up so her hand could rub her shoulders, head rolling to the sound of vertebrae in her neck cracking. Her gaze settled on him again silently, and the hand in his moved just enough to entwine their fingers together in what might've been physical reassurance where vocal words failed her.
She felt fire in her arms and head and back -- the drugs had likely worn off, they never stayed long in her system. "I thought you might die on me after all... and then I'd have to go to all the trouble to follow you, and it would've been such a bother..."

The two guards had not gone unnoticed, just unacknowledged. Their presences were just as bright to his senses as they would be to his vision, once his eyes were able to properly focus on things in the room. It was still a bit fuzzy. Feeling Okiko stir and then move to sit up, Sazaeno let his head relax against the pillow again, glad to lessen the strain of lifting it, little a motion as it was. The corner of his lips tugged into a faint smirk, and he was half expecting that to hurt as well, only mildly surprised that it didn't.
"...dying'd be the easy way out," he replied, wincing involuntarily, not because it hurt, but because of how hoarse his voice sounded. It probably matched the way he looked now. His words sounded so slow, echoing dully in his ears, and he wasn't sure if it was due to whatever they'd shot him up with or if just his body trying to readjust to everything. That was the problem with his upbringing for the Corps- his body's trained immunity to poisons worked about the same when it came to even the medications that were meant to be helpful. With the return of his simple gesture welled that warmth that he only felt whenever he was around her, the woman that others just did not seem to understand, or just had not the patience to try to understand. There were still many things Sazaeno knew he didn't understand about Okiko as well, but he was willing to try. He hasn't stuck it out as her partner for so long without reason, after all. The thought that this time might have very well left her alone made him all the more thankful that the darkness had melted away after all.

"You wouldn't have liked it much," she murmured, rolling her tongue around her mouth briefly now that sleep had worn off, swallowing against the dryness. It was probably a side effect of the drugs, she thought, licking her lips before she continued.
"You almost came back headless, you know... it would have made kissing you difficult. Or at least messy," she admitted, musing ruefully. "I've never tried it."

What he'd give for a glass of water. His own throat felt parched, his attempts to work up enough saliva to speak without rasping proving a challenge in itself. "...correction- I wouldn't have come back at all..." Not without her being there. She was the reason both were still alive, somehow. Such a close call. He sighed, but the smile that came to his lips, faint as it was, was genuine in relief that she was there, that he was here, that's all that mattered right then.

"Maybe so..." she acknowledged, sighing through her nose and licking her lips again. The aftertaste of whatever they'd given her to drink earlier was cloying and made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, and her chest hurt every time she had to swallow. She rubbed the bandages over her breasts absently, before she looked over a shoulder at one of the onmitsukidou guards. "Water, please."
Okiko did not immediately give her report while she waited -- nor she did wait to see if he got it himself or if he leaned out the doorway and asked a nurse, because she did not care -- and instead spent the time waiting checking Saza's bandages with a careful efficiency, making sure everything was in order even though the nurses had woken her once already to change them. When the refreshment did come, however, she thanked the man just as quietly as she'd asked and wet her lips, swishing the water in her mouth to get rid of the thick, cloying taste as he returned to his post at the door. Then she leaned up out of her seat and over Saza, holding the glass for him so he could drink.
"Our entire company is dead. I barely had time to grab you, much less go back, and it would have been suicide regardless," she began, words flat and dull. She'd bided her time to get a chance to retrieve him, but doing much else had been out of the question.

With the water there in front of him, Sazaeno made the effort to push himself up enough that he could take a drink without choking. Thankfully he could manage enough without having to use his arms for support, and he only remained in the position long enough for a couple of swallows of water before letting himself settle again. He couldn't remember another time when his body had felt so exhausted, not since joining the Onmitsukidou. There had been plenty enough times at the Uegami house when he lay in the darkness, half expecting the moment to be his last. To be helpless, to be weak- this was something that unsettled him.
He drew in a long breath, slowly as he didn't care to jar his ribs, well treated as they likely had been by the 4th's skilled medics. "......" They were all wiped out, then. Sazaeno wanted to ask her if he should have kept going, if that would have changed anything, but he knew the answer. That the two of them had managed to survive was an almost miraculous feat in itself. "...have you made the report yet..?" He didn't want to linger on the subject of the dead for long, and in their dangerous occupation, it came as an acceptance, sadly enough. But the information they as survivors carried was vital.

"They would have died eventually..." she whispered, continuing to stand by the head of his bed, staring down at the glass of water in her hand. It bothered her when people died uselessly, but they died uselessly every day. It was a cruel fact. "... some small kindess, at least, that they died quickly."
She shook her head at his question, letting the previous subject drop because after a hundred years, she'd learned to take the cues and she knew dwelling made him uncomfortable. "We are supposed to be debriefed together... but..." she waved a vague, careless hand towards the two soldiers posted at the door, "... we've already received new orders. You're temporarily relieved of duty due to the extent of your injuries... and we have standing orders to report to the Academy as soon as you can stand on your own..." She didn't like it. It was obvious.

He let his eyes close for a moment as he waited for Okiko to move off the subject and into the next, and he would have nodded had he felt like expending the energy and effort to do so. Right now he was content to remain where he lay. He knew it wouldn't be for very long.
...did the really expect anything different though? Those on the Special Corps were not easily replaced, and as few a number as their recent loss might truly be, it was a strong blow that depleted available resources and skills. While he knew he likely wouldn't be placed on any active duties just yet, Sazaeno was surprised by what Okiko informed him just then. "...the Academy...?" he blinked, looking at her face, seeking her thoughts on the situation even without her saying. His lips quirked at the corners. "...they sending me back for incompetence on a mission?," he half-joked, though he didn't care to hold his smirk for long after. Why the Academy indeed.

041408 - Survival of Sacrifice

2008-04-17T06:47:10Z

     There were...strange goings on, things that couldn't very well be ignored. Missing squads, members of various divisions. Such news did not bode well for the heads of the Gotei 13, especially with their yet fresh losses of several captains. There was no question as to who or what could be at fault for the disappearances, and soon there was undeniable evidence that something was wrong. They had only recently began to find bodies, or remnants of what used to be their fellow Shinigami. The gateway between the world of the living and their realm of the dead had never been so bloody.
     This now is only the third instance, but one too many, and only after a considerable number of mysterious vanishings from before. "...how terrible..." one of the black masked Shinigami murmurs, shaking his head at the mangled limbs, all that remained of an undetermined division number. The smears on the ground prove others have been worse off.
     As others of similar dress, the almost completely concealing uniform of the Special Mobile Corps, fan out to examine the rest of the remains and the surroundings, one stands, sharp and attentive, his eyes closed as he looks not through visual means, but by senses. "......."

     The reiatsu levels here are still a scattered mess, residual spiritual pressure from the departed as well as the ones that have brought this upon them... His brow furrowing, Sazaeno lifts his head. It's hard to get truly focused with so much concentrated in one place, but for a moment he feels like he detects something else that he should be wary of... A loose strand that slips from his grasp before he can truly trace its origin. All the while, the others around him take an account of the losses, preparing to leave once they have finished.

     Looming in the deserts of Hueco Mundo, a lone pair sits on the outskirts of the gargantuan castle, size all but immeasurable. Bowed forward cross legged upon an upheaved dune, one finger almost touches the sand, massive crescent moon zanpakutou embedded nearby. A certain Arrancar has grown bored; he lacks an immediate mission he feels obliged to participate in, only hearing promises of tangible action to come. But through Tesla, the fifth Espada knows of the present ambushes. He had sensed the initial fight, spitefully jealous, and had lingered to feel the dying pass away when the first of Sazaeno's group arrived on the fringes. And a smile warped his lean visage, one eye twisting to observe the Fraccíon nearby. "We might get to do something tonight after all..."
     There is no subtleness, but neither is there warning. A black crack seems to split the very air, the roar of something primal and angry filling the void as the jagged wound is stretched open by invisible fingers. Amidst the shifting veil of darkness, a pair of shapes grow solid. Despite the great height and width of the Garganta, Nnoitra is forced to duck down significantly to step one foot beyond. Across his lean shoulder is the shaft of Santa Teresa, but the actual offensive end remains lost in the threshold of the portal's quagmire. Pristine white, his loose clothing billows in the unnatural suction, features warping in an overly toothy grin as his eye scrunches up at the Shinigami before him.
     "Yo... I thought every one of you worthless insects was supposed to be dead..."
     Thereafter, Nnoitra fully leaves the Garganta. It snaps shut in a final, defiant crash, the vortex of wind cutting off a moment later. Hopefully, Tesla was quick enough to sidle through, lest he be left behind or worse. One hand rests on his hip, head canting to the side as he all but lolls across those present. "...This is it? Tch. I shouldn't of bothered coming." A genuinely disappointed boredom sinks across him. "Tough luck for you, shrimps. Now I can't leave a single one of you breathing." Upper teeth erupt all anew from his smile, sadism blooming in his squinting eye.

     "...Nnoitra-sama...?" The smaller arrancar had been standing dutifully behind the tall Espada, and immediately he fell into step behind the other, the words that would have further been spoken in question dying on his tongue as he knows at this point it's useless trying to dissuade his superior. With Garganta tearing an opening through the very fabric of their dimensions, Tesla is right at Nnoitra's heels, slipping through to the other side before the toothy opening seals completely behind them both. Their uniforms stand out in stark contrast to the dreary dark scenery they have set foot upon. The smell of blood is strong here, the remaining from the latest attacks. Quietly, the Fraccíon observes the situation he has followed the Quinta Espada into. "...." He knows what will come next.

     His eyes widening, Sazaeno jerks his head up, turning just as the first crack in the scenery began to split and then yawn open. The others of his group were already on the alert by then, but all look stunned to see those that emerge. They seem fully aware that despite there only being two in number, these two are very dangerous.
     "Arrancar!" one of the black masked Shinigami exclaims, all of them standing on the defensive, Sazaeno included. He looks no different from his comrades, dressed in blacks from head to toe, save for the lack of a full head covering. His braid whips behind him as he jumps back, not caring to be too close to the white-clad enemies. This is not a good turn of events. He flicks a glance towards one of those nearest him, conveying his concerns with this simple gesture. They had to get back to Seireitei. They had to report this to the commander.

     "Oh? You know what I am?" Nnoitra sounds genuinely intrigued, glancing around at the uniforms. Interesting; That's not what he's used to seeing from the Shinigami uniforms. Has he come across more then just desperate reinforcements in this idle venture? "Where are they from, Tesla...?" is asked, but with the tone of someone who's merely asking for the sake of those present. Curiosity, confirmation. There's not even the slightest nuance of this being a fact potentially beyond the grasp of his Fraccion. But regardless of the answer, he waves his hand upwards, having already dismissed it. "It doesn't really matter, though... Well, Shinigami. You know what I am, but not who. I'm Nnoitra Jiruga. I'll be your executor today."
     With that, his stance spreads upon the ground, twisting the significant mass of his zanpakutou as if it were weightless; his shadow casts in the ambient light from the shadowy realm, seeming to stretch too long and too monstrous, the shimmers of a grim reaper. For a few seconds he just watches, allowing any preparation to mount a counterattack, giving them time to begin to flee. It's the closest he will get to salvaging the mundane reiatsu they possess. "They are all mine." A split second later, he moves.
     Compared to his fellow Espada, Nnoitra is somewhat ponderous. Even Grimmjow, a lesser number, outpaces him significantly. But to those present, he might be little more then a blur. Santa Teresa looms upwards, pausing for a moment like a caught guillotine, as the Arrancar grins down towards the Shinigami he chose at random; hopefully the first of many. Allowing him that second to grasp his mortality. That second to grasp his helplessness before Nnoitra's power...
     And then it descends, the blunt edge shattering the ground hard enough to seemingly shake the very foundation of this dimension. Were he to hit, the man would not die quick, that axelike edge liable to shatter every bone and rupture every organ within, like a swatted fly. To use the razor edge, after all, would be a mercy.

     Moving just a step up so as to remain behind the Espada, Tesla glances over the strangely dressed Shinigami, his visible eye narrowing beneath a furrowed brow. "...I've heard that there's a secondary division aside from those of the Shinigami's Gotei 13..." he says, hazarding a guess. It makes no difference in the end and he figures as much, but Nnoitra had asked him a question, so it would have been rude not to offer some form of answer. The Fraccíon does not move to draw his weapon, remaining with his hands folded behind his back as if content to watch. And so he is, as he would not wish to intrude on his superior's indulgence, at least, not unless he is asked to.

     Insignificant as the reiatsu of these Shinigami may seem, not so is their ability. They have all been trained from an early time, and in many of their cases, to be a part of the Special Mobile Corps is and has been their livelihood.
     The Shinigami that has been chosen as Nnoitra's first victim leaps back, almost too late as black shreds of material trail after him. He is not so fortunate as to get a good enough footing what with the Espada's massive curved blades sending a shudder through the ground. But even as this occurs, several of the other black clad members of the Patrol Corps have leaped to their comrade's aid. Sacrifices are necessary in battle, yes, but there has been enough losses recently that they will attempt to make it back with the same number as they have left with. Two rush to grab for their stumbling comrade, almost seeming to appear at his side instantly with their exclusive use of shunpo. Two more take up the offensive, attempting to distract Nnoitra, the semi-muffled recitals of hadou and bakudou techniques set off one after another- one to bind and another to blast with a blaze of fire.
     Sazaeno has been chosen as their runner. If not all of them could make it back, at least one should. One had to relay this information. Tightly constricting his reiatsu so as not to draw attention, the Shinigami makes a dash down the length of the rocky chasm.

     "Nnoitra-sama!" Tesla breaks his silence, spying the movement.

     "...?!" Nnoitra is impressed. He gave them an opportunity on purpose; that pause for his own savoring was the slim angel of death that coaxed the Shinigami away from death's door. The great weapon is not immediately yanked from the churned soil, surrounded by broken rocks and disturbingly long cracks. The techniques slither over him, body going taut as the burst of flame crashes into his face, a perfect shot. But he does not recoil, waft of heat and smoke leaving his ever grinning visage unfazed behind. And his mouth broadly open, tongue wiggling around lewdly. Those present might see a five. That might be the last thing they ever see. Energy coalesces in a small ball before it, deep cerulean, then the Cero goes off. The angle is exceptionally wide, nearly 180 degrees from the point of firing; a veritable wall of energy rushes out, height reaching the heavens, edges seeming to draw beyond the concealing darkness. Ground vaporizes beneath it, vanishing into motes. How those assaulted fair is left to the fates. Tesla, one might note, is well within range.
     But despite such, the power of the move is not enough to kill those present. But it would knock them nearly dead and senseless, ergo, if undefended or a reasonable one cannot be implemented. Muscles flex, shattering the bindings of his reiatsu with only a grunt signaling any difficulty. "Tch." is all he offers. Sazaeno was behind, and for the moment would apparently be unobserved. "You ever call out my name like I'm some pathetic weakling who needs help again, and I'll tear it out of your mouth, /Tesla./" is mulled towards his second, good eye listing around to see how the delightful ants manage. How many are able to still fight? Any? Hopefully a few, as he's barely expended an ounce of energy thus far!

     Eyes widen, the only truly visible features of any of the present Shinigami. They had only heard of the strength of the arrancar, but to see it in person is something else entirely. It would be futile to try to stand their ground here, but their decision to make a hasty retreat is perhaps seconds too late.
     "Wauugh!" The cries are ripped from them, a betrayal to their years of training, of enduring pain. This is not simply pain though. This is pain that will ultimately lead to their deaths. They are not fools to stand and watch, but the range of the Cero is unexpected, and even those managing to evade the blast itself somehow are caught by the wake of its destruction. Some bodies lie mangled, others severely raked by the terrible blast, and still a lucky few are only victims of the chunks of debris thrown up from the Cero as it tore through the rocks around them all.
     She was among those of the latter.
     The massive concentration of power for the Cero is enough to draw Sazaeno to a halt. He should have kept going. But he felt it, that one reiatsu flicker, along with the rest, some almost completely snuffed out after the release of the Cero. He turns. He runs back. He's not. Leaving. Her.

     With no warning save for the sudden concentration of spiritual energy there at the tip of the Espada's tongue, Tesla only barely manages to move before he's blasted along with the rest of the Shinigami vermin. The ground shatters at his heels, and the arrancar stumbles as he's thrown against the tall wall of the chasm. He pushes himself up, turning his face towards the towering figure before bowing his head. "...my apologies, Nnoitra-sama..."

     Some of the black-clad figures twitched, shifted. One yet lay still, probably knocked unconscious from being flung into the wall by the blast. Those that found themselves capable of moving prepared to resign themselves in knowing that it would likely be their last. They would not go down quietly, and they force themselves to their feet to prove this.

     Standing within a pillar of smoke, massive weapon again resting upon the nook of his shoulder, Nnoitra strides through while waving a hand to disperse the outer edges. He squats down, giving absolutely no response towards Tesla; His Cero wouldn't of even been slightly dangerous, but it underlined two main points. Don't get in the way, and Don't get in the way. One finger again extends, energy beginning to draw inwards in waves. "Geez..." he states, grimacing at what he's received. The rapid advance of Sazaeno is currently not given notice, if he's truly even expecting a potential escapee to actually return. "Most of you can barely stand up... Tesla. Finish off the ones who aren't able to get upright. It's beneath me.. I'll give the others the honor of being threshed like wheat by my own hand." He rises fluidly, regripping the black shaft of Santa Teresa. He really could care less if they live or die... they have no value either way... but Aizen-sama might get irritated at his unannounced exploit if they run around yapping about Arrancar and his strength. As hard as it is for him to reign in...
     His eyes began to flicker to those he knows still retain fighting strength, and then he stiffens. Long strides take him across the rubble, foot kicking over a boulder that reveals the lithe form of a female, as difficult as such might be to tell in the lighting an outfit. "Well, well. What have we here?" The crescent moon of his weapon descends in a loud displacement of air, shifting forward to push up her chin. "Wakey, wakey..." is almost purred out, grinning in a way now dark, twisted, his sadism shifting beyond raw violence. His tongue draws across his lips, unable to stop it from pulling into a sneer. "A woman on the battlefield. How pathetic."
     Of course, the encroaching Sazaeno would realize... this is the one he's willing to throw away his life for.

     Rising to his feet, Tesla gives a curt nod, turning his gaze towards the pitifully stubborn, ragged members of the small patrol squad. He reaches a gloved hand back to grasp the intricate hilt of his zanpakutou, the metal ringing as he pulls the saber from its sheath. He steps towards the Shinigami, flicking the blade out to his right. There's hardly the scuff of pebbles on the ground as one moment he stands still, and the next his form blurs, a fountain of blood spurting upwards from one of the unsteady Shinigami as he seemingly reappears behind them, the gentle curve of his blade tinged red. His next movement is to avoid another's weak attempt in retaliation for the life of his comrade, and Tesla quickly dispatches of this one with a a simple slash back. Headless, the Shinigami's body thuds to the ground, the missing portion smacking wetly against the rocks a ways further.
     "You are not worthy of Nnoitra-sama's time..."

     If any of the others were coherent enough to realize that the one they'd sent a head was on his way back, they'd certainly object to it. Alas, they're in no position to. At this point, Sazaeno isn't about to turn back anyway. His eyes are set on the lanky white one with the rounded headpiece, but quickly his focus shifts to the form that Nnoitra pulls from beneath the rocks. He puts on more speed, but despite the urgency he feels towards the situtation, he gives no shout. He does reach for his zanpakutou though, pulling the short blade of the wakizashi out to hold with its blade downwards. All at once he releases his careful control on his reiatsu. Distraction. Draw their attention. Not only these things, but he'd also need to have it free if he plans to release.
     Even Sazaeno's charge is without sound, and with another quick burst of shunpo he halves the distance and in another leap he's behind the Quinta Espada, blade gleaming as he swipes it towards the tall one's back.

     Unexpected things happened. They always did. It was better not to make plans. Plans were just ways of setting yourself up for disappointment. .... nevermind, not like she could just stand around and let their team members die uselessly, uselessly was a horrible way to die. But the range was too wide; what she'd thought was a window of time enough to grab the bewildered soldier ended up only being enough time to shove the man out of the way, and as the cero came full force at her, spewing debris, she looked at it full on.
     "I expected as much..." And then it hit her, and her sight was gone.
     It wasn't until the crushing weight was removed that every synapse in her brain cried out, trying to shove her back into consciousness. Years upon years of training told her body that losing consciousness was not an option. It was the voice that did it, maybe. Both eyes opened slowly, and she coughed, eyes tearing from the dust -- stirring enough to roll on her back and stare up at her opponent, still somewhat dazed. "....... it figures...... that I couldn't even get... a good-looking killer."

     It's rather obvious that the first thing that she incites out of the looming figure above is anger. Eyes become more wild, teeth clenching as he redoubles the grip on his weapon. Itt raises upwards in a smooth arc, entire body twisting to herald the force he tends to apply; that, casually, had broken the land of his limbo asunder. "Stupid -thing.-" is spat out, hatefully. "I'll break you in half..." There's no reaction from Nnoitra at the approach. Even at the flare of reiatsu, he doesn't twinge, shift, or turn around. The blade impacts him, yet the sound is not what might be imagined; that of steel on steel, a harsh clang that likely reverberates painfully up through Sazaeno's arm. A tear within his suit reveals pale flesh, immaculate. "...Oh?" is finally mused by the fifth Espada, pivoting on one foot to turn most of his body towards the interloper. The weapon continues to hover over Okiko, lowering sharply to hover an inch above her. A warning, against any further impeding. "So there was spirital energy behind me. I thought it was only the wind." Again that grin, chest spasming in scarcely restrained laughter. "You might of gotten away!! I was saving you for last. I wanted you to hope you'd escape. But you had a chance... in HELL!!" His stance spreads, lifting and then lowering Santa Teresa slightly above Okika, feigning the beginning of a mortal strike. Baiting. "So." is hissed out, almost beneath his breath. "Did you come to save your... na-ka-ma...? Is that why you threw your f'cking life away?!" He's again near laughter, silent tremors going through his thin form anew. Tesla's business is ignored... for now. "Don't stop, Tesla~" is purred, just to make sure.

     "...!" Sazaeno gasps, clamping his teeth tightly as he pulls back from his attack. Only belatedly did he recall what little information had been given on these things. Skin as strong as steel is hardly fair. He glares at the Espada, remaining crouched on the ground where he has landed, blade still gripped tightly in hand. He offers no word in response, although the upset sparked by Nnoitra's words is spoken in volumes just by the baleful look in his eyes alone. As fluidly as a cat he rises into a lunge towards the Espada, lashing out again in the awkward, reverse blade position. He aims for Nnoitra's arm this time, although expecting no less resistance.

     The remaining bodies of the Patrol Corps squad lie still, lifeless at the feet of the other arrancar. There was little work he had left to do, but Tesla is never one to complain to the Quinta Espada. He kicks one of the bodies away as if to make sure it would no longer move. Only then did he cast a glance towards Nnoitra, biting down the urge to call out to him. Nnoitra-sama can handle this...

     ... what a mess. "Just my luck..." she sighed, sounding depressed, looking at the blade hovering above her face with a perfectly morose expression. She didn't move, yet. Her eyes shifted towards Saza, and she sighed gustily again. "What are you doing... it's bad enough that my killer is ugly and can't even get it over with already... you had to make it worse and come back and drag it out even more..." She rolled her eyes towards the blade again, silent. "It would have been nice if I could see the sky, if I'm going to get killed by someone who looks like a whale on legs... how depressing."

     Mild annoyance creeps up on Nnoitra, when his completely reasonable conversation is ignored. As the blade rebounds off the arm, scarcely even shifting it from the hovering vigil of his zanpakutou, one of his puck-like curved boots snaps upwards. The intent is to catch Sazaeno within the stomach, preferably with the abrupt and painful absence of every ounce of air. This lacks none of his relative cruel mercy in speed, if retaining the lack of power. Only a couple ribs might be broken. "Are you listening to me?! You think flailing around uselessly will save her? Don't complain to me that you're ~weak~..." And then, in a sudden grin, he stands up straight. "I'm feeling generous. Release that toothpick you have. Hit me with everything you got. If I budge an inch..." One foot shifts, to trace a hard line in the rubble, just past his boots. "I'll let her live. Eh?! Is that not more then an insect like you deserves?!" A hand gestures, meaningfully, while he continues being ready to slash it downwards and end her, were he further agitated or even slightly inclined. Tesla has shifted to the back of his mind, as he is want to in times such as these.

     It's probably only by reflex that Sazaeno even manages to shift at all. It's not enough to avoid Nnoitra's elf shoes of doom, although rather than directly in the stomach, he catches the foot fully in the side of his ribs. It doesn't make it hurt any less, and he's certain he hears something crack upon impact. A grunt is all that leaves his lips, and even as he falls, its controlled in an effort to not let himself be caught completely open. He rolls once, his free hand dragging across the ground as he comes upright again.
     Weak. He knows he's not as strong as other Shinigami might be, and Nnoitra's taunts don't goad him so much as the fact that Okiko is still in danger. And now this arrancar, after annihilating their comrades... is offering to be gracious? Sazaeno doesn't trust Nnoitra's words for a second, but he would have released his zanpakutou regardless of whatever the lanky one offered. He draws a slow breath as he stands, mindful of the pain burning in his side. He pushes it from his mind, putting his focus on other things. His lips part, barely breathing the words, just a notch above being audible.

     "...sasayaki... Tohokage...."

     There's no flare or flash of light with the command release, and even before he's finished saying the last syllable of his zanpakutou's name, he's taken a step forward. It's a step that vanishes into a blur of shunpo again, blackness swathing over his sword arm, clinging to his body, trailing his movements. He lashes out with his right again, only this time the blade is not one of a sword, but shorter and attached to a handpiece with curved guards. A katar of sorts, black through and through. The strange part isn't the weapon itself, but the fact that with each strike Sazaeno makes in general, there's an immediate echo of it after, each single strike counting for two, the blackness that follows him tangible to that extent- Kage no Atemi.

     There's once more that rush of disappointment at the less then showy manifestation. The shunpo is rather good, but it's not nearly enough when he's beyond simply messing around. Which has rapidly fallen to almost nil, the crack of his weapons causing aesthetic damage but little more. He is almost bullet ridden, patches of ragged cloth parting to show his taut form, eye rolling up before falling down. Indeed, he's been severely jostled, enough to kick up dust, but no actual scratches are made. "PATHETIC!!" is finally snarled out, as Santa Teresa flashes through, a wave of dirt and debris exploding out simply from the force generated; trying to catch Sazaeno upon the blunt end and send him flying away. "Useless!! How can Shinigami be so weak? Is this the kind of shit that kills my brethren?! Tch... as if I was ever low enough as a Hollow to fall to the likes of you." His eyes slowly lid, face becoming impassive, mouth turning into a frown still showing his upper teeth. "Playtime's over." With that he erupts forward, pushing off the ground into the air. There's a snarl as he throws his weight into swinging his obscenely sized zanpakutou, crashing down like a meteor and again rending the land asunder in a small tidal wave of broke ground.

     He wasn't built for strength, but speed against something with nigh impervious skin made one's effort very hopeless. Let it not be said that Sazaeno didn't try, although he would have felt satisfied if his blade had managed to draw blood at least once. The realization of the futility of his attempt shows in his final blows, and the distraction that he forms in his own mind is enough to cost him precious seconds of reaction time once the great twin curved blades of Santa Teresa swing towards him.
     A dull clang resounds upon impact, proof of a last ditch effort to minimize the damage with his zanpakutou. The force is still enough to send him flying, not far for the tall walls that flank them. He hits the wall with enough force to knock the air from him, jarring his already busted ribs. It leaves him too dazed to react immediately to Nnoitra's follow up, that of which is feebly defended while at the same time trying to get to his feet again. Easier said than done when one's being battered this way and that by rocks.

     Tesla has learned to be well out of his superior's way by this point, and having dispatched of the other Shinigami has now resumed his place a ways behind Nnoitra so as to avoid being in the way of the 5th's opponent. "...."

     The moment he lands, after he has shattered the guard of Sazaeno's weapon, his free hand thrusts out; indeed, all such has been through the use of a lone arm, testament to the raw power this Arrancar has shown. He grasps the Shinigami by the face, thumb crossing over his mouth and fingers wrapping about the side of his face. "...Tch." is all he offers, hefting him up while squeezing brutally, enough to begin to cave the skull but hopefully for him not crack it. Before slithering towards the wall and beginning to repeatedly slam him upon it, throwing a rather large amount of weight. Enough that the wall gains a deepening slit, before rubble surrounds. Sazaeno is tossed lightly in the air thereafter, before a final time Santa Teresa slashes down, one of the cruelly blunt edges hitting him in the arm at a vital location. He is all but driven into the ground directly beneath him, cackling madly amidst the new plumes of dust before a twisted foot shifts to kick him upon his back, and his zanpakutou thrusts down, one of the crescent moons sinking prongs into the ground at either side of his head, until the razor blade would be settle far too firmly upon his neck. He crouches down, resting an arm upon a knee. "So? ...How is it to be so powerless? I wouldn't know!!"

     What use is speed when you can't focus enough to know which side is up and which side is down? By the time he sees that giant hand flying towards his face, Sazaeno is unable to do anything to prevent it. The pressure against his skull draws a gasp from him, and only because of his upbringing is he unable to truly scream out in the expression of his pain. It comes in silence, as if the volume has been turned down at the point his mouth opens. The warmth of the blood that flows from the scratches and gashes soaks in the blacks of his uniforms, only showing where the rocks that have torn at his body with each of Nnoitra's relentless blows have managed to rip away cloth. He can hardly feel a thing for all the pain that's compiled, perhaps a small relief at the point that his arm is nearly sliced off by the Espada's zanpakutou. Only a small part of him grasps on its hold of consciousness, but already he can see the blackness at the fringes of his vision. But where is Okiko...? He should have run... should have....

     Sleep....

               No....

                         Survival...

     She was bleeding. It stung her eyes, and she realized it wasn't just dust obscuring her vision, but blood. ... what a pain. Head wounds were the worst. They bled too much. But she was no longer stunned, and she supposed that was a plus, if a plus could be found in this situation.
     She was easily forgettable. Not a muscle moved as Saza and the Arrancar fought -- it looked as if she'd lost consciousness again. The other, smaller man that had accompanied the bigger one and ripped apart their company had disregarded her completely. So she waited, and waited, and waited, and recuperated, and it wasn't until they'd forgotten she even existed that moved. "Open the gate," she breathed quietly into her earpiece, barely above a whisper.
     The woman, formerly lying so prone and pliable and supposedly near death... it was hard to see the motion, because no one expected lumps of debris to suddenly move, especially not so quickly. Her leg was already coming around again when she came out of the shunpo in front of Nnoitra, reiatsu suddenly flaring when before it had been nonexistent. She put the full force of it behind her kick -- enough to take the head clean off a normal shinigami, but doubtfully enough to harm the Arrancar. Which wasn't what she was aiming for, anyway. That would have been useless. But the kick was enough to throw the thing off balance and rip the prongs of the beast's weapon out of the dirt -- enough for her to grab Saza by the good arm and haul him up from under the makeshift guillotine. And then she was gone again, flash stepping for the gate. She almost expected there not to be one. It would've been just her luck to be dead-ended after that, but no, the gate was opening. And she was in and through it in a heartbeat, casting one depressed look backwards before it shut entirely.

     Ah, arrogance. What a powerful tool. Of abject failure. Nnoitra hadn't been much paying attention to a girl, who he had assumed would be doing nothing quick. Mayhaps had he bothered retrieving his weapon it would of been more meaningful. But she managed to wrench his upper body back, feet sliding apart in a rasp of stone with his expression warping in annoyance, not pain. Inadvertently, he freed his pinned prey. Instantly he swipes the grand weapon, snarling in sheer anger. But this is wild and badly aimed, her shunpo slithering just past the reach with a sufficient duck. Still, for every card in her favor from surprise to position, it might of shaved a few hairs from her head. "You're not getting away!!" Again his mouth widens, and this time the Cero forming at the tip of his tongue is not the child's play shown at the start of the fight. It erupts out, condensed and bright enough to hurt one's eyes, barreling down on the pair as they slip through the portal. When the wash of heat and ozone vanishes, nothing is there... the portal closed, and his prey escaped. Only two... one unlikely to live... does it even matter? Maybe to his pride.
     "...Tesla," is mused, approaching those scattered around who still live. Santa Teresa raises and falls in smooth, methodical strikes. All those left, all those abandoned, die pitiful and abrupt ends beneath his hate. Vengeance, mayhaps, confirming the fear and sadness for losing his team. In this case, for revenge, he is more then willing to execute nobodies. Even his attempted protection of identity for Aizen fell second to brute malice. "...Let's not speak of this little oopsie, unless we have to, hrrm? It's just some housecleaning that got out of hand."
     In a few moments he would stand directly over his Fraccion, bending forward until his wide, manic eye was an inch away, breath hissing out as his smile is something warped and inhuman. His zanpakuto shifts, almost to a position it could be used to attack. "I can trust you on this... can't I?!" But he would smile immediately thereafter, reaching up a hand to give a hard slap to the side of Tesla's face before turning.
     Again he tears open the Garganta between worlds, wasting no time now in stepping through now that he has confirmed the remnants are fully executed. He's played his part. He's likely given the Soul Society a true taste of the horrors one of his upper Espada can reap unchecked against those beneath a Captain. ...Whether that was all part of his plan, a cog in his machine? Time might tell. It would ripple close thereafter, hopefully with his subordinate flicking close behind.

     He is hardly aware of what's going on anymore, save for the vague feel of being lifted, or moved... It's as much as Sazaeno can register before the last bit of his consciousness fails...

     "..!" It would have been pointless to try saying anything, and the two Shinigami are gone before anything further can be done. Soon Tesla finds he has Nnoitra's full attention, and he raises his single-eyed gaze to meet the other that looks at him.
     "...Yes, of course, Nnoitra-sama....." he would have confirmed, but the slap that turns his head cuts his words off. Raising a hand to his sore cheek, he looks at the remnants of their bloodshed before turning to quickly make way after the 5th....

-=Background=-

2008-04-17T06:35:55Z

     To be trained for the Onmitsukidou requires great endurance and ability on part of the trainee, especially those belonging to families that have been known for their lineage in regards to serving as members of the Onmitsukidou. Slow and measured doses of poison to work its way to immunity, rigorous exercises in even the harshest of settings and climate- what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, it was a fitting motto for them to live by.
     It was a motto that was ingrained into Sazaeno's mind, but not one that completely overwrote his initial sense for survival.

     He was thrust into the ragged and obstacle-ridden lifestyle of one of the higher number districts of Rukongai, possessing a strong sense of self preservation since there it was every man for himself. No one cared about the well-being of a child. For years he fought to keep a stubborn foothold on his unfortunate afterlife. He learned not to draw attention to himself. In his desire to make himself invisible he inadvertently taught himself how to constrict his reiatsu to almost undetectable levels. His steps were always taken in caution, his stance always harboring an air of paranoia. And yet after all this, he was still noticed.
     It was a prize find for the Uegami clan, what few of them was left. Sazaeno was everything they had sought for- someone young enough to teach but already bore the natural toughness that could only be honed in the roughest areas of Rukongai. Sazaeno was offered a place to stay, and in a house of the lower nobility no less, his own place of residence and the promise to train him in the ways of their clan with the intention of being recruited into the Seireitei's own Onmitsukidou. The boy was no fool; here was a chance in a million and he was sure to take it. What he didn't know at the time was that the Uegami clan had their own reasons for taking the boy under their tutelage.
     The Uegami House had lost favor with that of the Shihouin for their recent lack of competent stock for the Onmitsukidou. Several representatives of their clan had been recently promoted into the Onmitsukidou, 5th Division, but they lacked true experience in the face of danger, and on their first missions all lost their nerve and sought to retreat. None of them survived, and their cowardice had cost not only their lives but a few of their allies as well, bringing disgrace to the Uegami House. With the 22nd Head's sudden desertion and control of the Onmitsukidou succeeded by Yoruichi Shihouin's protégé Soifon, the Uegami House sought this change as a chance to redeem themselves. A great number of the Uegami clan had been lost in past missions, and of that number most of them were of the Fifth Division Correctional Force. Fewer of their name ever placed in the most elite of the Onmitsukidou that it had not become unheard of for the Uegami clan to be considered expendable, and although never told them directly, it became implied if not caught in whispered rumors.
     With most of their younger generations wiped out, the elders of the Uegami House sought to bring in new blood. Pick a nobody off the streets, teach him well enough that he would be passable Special Force material and once again restore the honor they had lost for their name.
     Sazaeno's training was harsh, and although he had known from the start that things would not be any easier than they had when he'd lived on the streets, there was no way he could have expected some of the things he was put through. Almost immediately did the Uegami start exposing him to small doses of poisons to build up the boy's immunity with the mindset that if they lost him, they'd just find another. In order to raise his tolerance levels to pain and fatigue, they worked him hard and long, in hand-to-hand combat and eventually weapon wielding. He was forced to bear his injuries until each day was done, sometimes longer before they allowed him to be treated properly. Sazaeno came very close to dying, and perhaps by sheer willpower was he able to stave off his near death, impressing and intriguing his new masters. He did not come here to die, he came to live. This too was just another impression to spur his survival skills.
     He progressed enough that the Uegami decided with all the effort and time they'd put into teaching the boy, they could not afford to lose him or let him slack off. The more he pleased their expectations, the higher they raised the bar. What precious little time he found for himself, Sazaeno spent in solitude. Humans were an awful sort, always wanting something from you. That's what he came to think, and there was no fondness between him and those that had adopted him into their clan. It was an odd respect that he developed towards them. They had taken him in, and they were teaching him how much he really did value his life in that no matter what was thrown at him, he forced himself to keep going.
     He was made to attend the Academy but only for the basics of Shinigami training. Shy and quiet, he spent most of his days at the school as a spectator. Secretly he enjoyed when he was away from the Uegami house- it was refreshing for him to be around others, to not be on such a carefully monitored schedule, to learn at his leisure. He was sharp in all his classes, but his fellow students would only know that about him and nothing more as out of habit, he still kept to himself. This continued for the years he attended, and his school sessions were only a fleeting break from the continual training he would have to resume when he returned to the Uegami House after classes were finished each day.
     The day of graduation finally came, and with it, an invitation to join the Second Division of the Gotei 13. This pleased the Uegami, for it meant that Sazaeno's skills had been noticed by someone, and in being under Soifon Taichou, it would raise Sazaeno's chances of being recruited into the Onmitsukidou. Their hard work and patience soon paid off, as Sazaeno was eventually approached for this very opportunity.