Post by Kyuubey on Jun 11, 2014 0:56:53 GMT -5
Strike one. Fancy ass house. Her eyes narrowed at the sprawling estate, mouth twisting in a manner that might have taken about five or six years off of her life had anyone been around to see it. Not nobility, though rumors had it that there were some within the family who wished to become such. A servant gave her a critical look, one full of smug judgment and haughty superiority.
"You will never be popular if you keep that up." Taishaku complained, a slither of milky scales against obsidian shell and leathery hide echoed in the back of her mind, as the man made haste as far away from the Shinigami as possible.
Her lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk, flame colored lashes lowering in a particularly coy manner. Must be hard to find good help these days. She remarked in kind, completely ignoring the implication that she would never find someone to warm her bed if she wished it.
Her spirit huffed, displeased by the deliberate misconstruing of his words. "Bed warmers are plentiful, what you need is a good, solid core group of, oh, I would say five to six, and make them your concubines," The amount of enthusiasm in his voice should have been disgusting as he continued to ramble on. "-special privileges, don't you know. Once we find a seventh, which will be the favorite and as close to an equal as possible, the rest can be visited whenever you inevitably piss the favorite off and get kicked from the marriage bed."
And there he went, assuming that marriage was anything she was even remotely interested in. You chose the wrong soul to manifest in if you think I'm going to settle down. Her tone was flat and cold; the discussion was over. There would be nothing more said on the matter on this day, or any in the potential future, for that matter.
White paper, crisp and precisely folded, rustled within its storage place in the sleeve of her kimono. Glasses perched properly into place upon her nose, the fiery haired woman strode through the halls of the estate with the confident grace of one who held little worry or care for what awaited her at the end of her task. A troublesome thing, this message, and yet, for all of her reputation for being an absolutely irredeemable pain in the ass, she was notorious for getting her shit done.
Results spoke volumes, even if her attitude seemed to conflict with such.
Third Division had requested someone with little to do go and play messenger. Why, she didn't know, nor did she particularly care.
Ahh, those good ol' family feuds. How she'd missed that whole 'I'm not talking to you, so have a passive aggressive note instead so I'm not technically breaking my own promise to give you the silent treatment' part of growing up.
Except not.
There also happened to be a betting pool going on within certain circles as to whether or not she'd fall prey to the notorious womanizer's charms. There were things she could buy with that kind of money, and she intended to do so once she managed to win the pot.
Though the room, or rooms, given the size of the place, were remarkably thick in certain spots, there was still a certain je ne sais quoi, so to speak, that let her know that she was in the right wing, and the right spot to find the individual whose name was written in rather pretty strokes.
Might have been the muffled moan, or the telltale ah! that escaped the attempt at soundproofing that did it, truth be told.
So there was a grain of truth to the rumors.
Taishaku didn't know whether or not to be fascinated, or mortified by what they heard from the door. "Well," he began. There was an impression of a finger trying to loosen a suddenly too tight collar in his voice. "I would assume someone has a rather, ahh, healthy amount of drive, strength, and stamina. Must be built like a bloody god if the number of voices I'm sorting out happen to be anything close to correct."
She liked this mysterious Minamoto fellow already. Anyone who could mortify the bastard squatting in her soul good enough to qualify as potential ally material. Taishaku was already picturing him, sharing the impression he was building within his head of this unknown man with a harem of his own. Extraordinarily tall, built like one of the humans' trucks with broad, muscular arms and chest, legs like tree trunks, and hands larger than dinner plates.
Essentially, Taishaku's own idea of what a true 'god-like' figure should look like.
It was really quite eye-roll worthy.
Her knuckles rapped sharply in a series of three against the frame. Boredom replaced the amused smirk on her face as she returned to her 'duty' persona to match the strict, no nonsense appearance. "Minamoto-san, a moment of your time, if you have it to spare." Curt, business-like tone to match the rest of her.
She had this whole 'strict librarian' look and act down.
--
Word Count: 854
GP Earned: 17
"You will never be popular if you keep that up." Taishaku complained, a slither of milky scales against obsidian shell and leathery hide echoed in the back of her mind, as the man made haste as far away from the Shinigami as possible.
Her lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk, flame colored lashes lowering in a particularly coy manner. Must be hard to find good help these days. She remarked in kind, completely ignoring the implication that she would never find someone to warm her bed if she wished it.
Her spirit huffed, displeased by the deliberate misconstruing of his words. "Bed warmers are plentiful, what you need is a good, solid core group of, oh, I would say five to six, and make them your concubines," The amount of enthusiasm in his voice should have been disgusting as he continued to ramble on. "-special privileges, don't you know. Once we find a seventh, which will be the favorite and as close to an equal as possible, the rest can be visited whenever you inevitably piss the favorite off and get kicked from the marriage bed."
And there he went, assuming that marriage was anything she was even remotely interested in. You chose the wrong soul to manifest in if you think I'm going to settle down. Her tone was flat and cold; the discussion was over. There would be nothing more said on the matter on this day, or any in the potential future, for that matter.
White paper, crisp and precisely folded, rustled within its storage place in the sleeve of her kimono. Glasses perched properly into place upon her nose, the fiery haired woman strode through the halls of the estate with the confident grace of one who held little worry or care for what awaited her at the end of her task. A troublesome thing, this message, and yet, for all of her reputation for being an absolutely irredeemable pain in the ass, she was notorious for getting her shit done.
Results spoke volumes, even if her attitude seemed to conflict with such.
Third Division had requested someone with little to do go and play messenger. Why, she didn't know, nor did she particularly care.
Ahh, those good ol' family feuds. How she'd missed that whole 'I'm not talking to you, so have a passive aggressive note instead so I'm not technically breaking my own promise to give you the silent treatment' part of growing up.
Except not.
There also happened to be a betting pool going on within certain circles as to whether or not she'd fall prey to the notorious womanizer's charms. There were things she could buy with that kind of money, and she intended to do so once she managed to win the pot.
Though the room, or rooms, given the size of the place, were remarkably thick in certain spots, there was still a certain je ne sais quoi, so to speak, that let her know that she was in the right wing, and the right spot to find the individual whose name was written in rather pretty strokes.
Might have been the muffled moan, or the telltale ah! that escaped the attempt at soundproofing that did it, truth be told.
So there was a grain of truth to the rumors.
Taishaku didn't know whether or not to be fascinated, or mortified by what they heard from the door. "Well," he began. There was an impression of a finger trying to loosen a suddenly too tight collar in his voice. "I would assume someone has a rather, ahh, healthy amount of drive, strength, and stamina. Must be built like a bloody god if the number of voices I'm sorting out happen to be anything close to correct."
She liked this mysterious Minamoto fellow already. Anyone who could mortify the bastard squatting in her soul good enough to qualify as potential ally material. Taishaku was already picturing him, sharing the impression he was building within his head of this unknown man with a harem of his own. Extraordinarily tall, built like one of the humans' trucks with broad, muscular arms and chest, legs like tree trunks, and hands larger than dinner plates.
Essentially, Taishaku's own idea of what a true 'god-like' figure should look like.
It was really quite eye-roll worthy.
Her knuckles rapped sharply in a series of three against the frame. Boredom replaced the amused smirk on her face as she returned to her 'duty' persona to match the strict, no nonsense appearance. "Minamoto-san, a moment of your time, if you have it to spare." Curt, business-like tone to match the rest of her.
She had this whole 'strict librarian' look and act down.
--
Word Count: 854
GP Earned: 17
