Post by Shun Minamoto on Aug 29, 2014 19:07:57 GMT -5
At the time, he wondered why Kiriko had been the one to give the orders. The man wasn’t from her division.
At the time, he wondered why she had decided to send his second born down along with him.
At the time, he wondered just why an entire family had ganged up and taken hostage a single Shinigami.
At the time there hadn’t been a corpse strewn about in front of him.
Not much remained of it. Quincy powers had that effect on people. Holes here, there, large gaps where flesh and blood and bone should have been. When Shun had approached the body, deposited in some wrecked shed that was only in marginally better condition, he could only narrow his eyes at the sight. No reaction or words would have been enough. Blood had stained everything, left it dark and wet, and the private nature of the land he was on guaranteed that no one would even question that noise that must have surrounded the murder.
He had been told this man had been taken hostage, he had been told there was hope. More than the loss of life he hated seeing that life’s last hope pulled away like the curtain over a play. It was disgusting, insulting, to have an entire thread of life and story clipped to an untimely end. That was how Shun felt. That was, he thought, part of why Shinigami were under strict orders not to kill any humans they have not been ordered to kill. Because it was wrong.
What could this man—for Shun knew him, young as he was—done to elicit such a response?
They’re still here.
Of course they are. Shun replied to the voice of Genshi in his mind, the caution clear. His whole body felt like pins and needles, some strange concoction of anger, nausea, and anticipation. At the same moment he felt his stomach turn and flop, he too felt his heart race and his teeth grit. They can tell I’m much more powerful than this man. They won’t strike recklessly. That’d be suicide. I think we’ve surprised them.
Shun would have simply let his mind scan the area. He could pick their presences out like ripe tomatoes in a field of green. He would have, were he not so distraught. He had brought his own son into this mess. He couldn’t even glance over his shoulder—the slightest movement without a plan to follow might have brought bright death down from any or all directions.
Despite his unwillingness to move before he was ready to fight, he knew his son was there. He could feel the warmth, the presence, the life he had saved not just a year ago while he laid on the very edge of a death. Suspended on a splitting string in a field where time and fate had extended him a line of credit.
So if he couldn’t speak to his son, he’d speak to the family, the “Tsugami” as he had been told. If they really were a family of supernatural humans—not all that uncommon, apparently—then maybe he could understand them.
“Do you want to come out? As one parent to another, others, I think we should skip the sneak attacks.” He said and turned around, his back to the still-warm corpse of the Shinigami. They’d have to get out of this situation before they could even consider retrieving the body. It might not be there by the time they were ready. He afforded his son, now next to him, only a single, knowing glance.
Itsuki could fight. Career indecision did not, he knew, equal indecision when life and family was on the line. Least of all in his red-headed second son.
His hand fell to Genshi. He felt more comfortable just having the end against his palm. “It’s set to be a wonderful evening. Sun’s setting already and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Let’s all get acquainted before we ruin it.”
Maybe his son thought there was a diplomatic solution. Shun wanted one, desperately. He’d like to walk out of here with his son, the body, and call it a night.
But those were not his orders. He had not been told to save the hostage.
Shun’s standing orders were to stop the humans.
*****
719 Words/14 GP
Total GP: 14 GP
There can only be Tragedy.
At the time, he wondered why she had decided to send his second born down along with him.
At the time, he wondered just why an entire family had ganged up and taken hostage a single Shinigami.
At the time there hadn’t been a corpse strewn about in front of him.
Not much remained of it. Quincy powers had that effect on people. Holes here, there, large gaps where flesh and blood and bone should have been. When Shun had approached the body, deposited in some wrecked shed that was only in marginally better condition, he could only narrow his eyes at the sight. No reaction or words would have been enough. Blood had stained everything, left it dark and wet, and the private nature of the land he was on guaranteed that no one would even question that noise that must have surrounded the murder.
He had been told this man had been taken hostage, he had been told there was hope. More than the loss of life he hated seeing that life’s last hope pulled away like the curtain over a play. It was disgusting, insulting, to have an entire thread of life and story clipped to an untimely end. That was how Shun felt. That was, he thought, part of why Shinigami were under strict orders not to kill any humans they have not been ordered to kill. Because it was wrong.
What could this man—for Shun knew him, young as he was—done to elicit such a response?
They’re still here.
Of course they are. Shun replied to the voice of Genshi in his mind, the caution clear. His whole body felt like pins and needles, some strange concoction of anger, nausea, and anticipation. At the same moment he felt his stomach turn and flop, he too felt his heart race and his teeth grit. They can tell I’m much more powerful than this man. They won’t strike recklessly. That’d be suicide. I think we’ve surprised them.
Shun would have simply let his mind scan the area. He could pick their presences out like ripe tomatoes in a field of green. He would have, were he not so distraught. He had brought his own son into this mess. He couldn’t even glance over his shoulder—the slightest movement without a plan to follow might have brought bright death down from any or all directions.
Despite his unwillingness to move before he was ready to fight, he knew his son was there. He could feel the warmth, the presence, the life he had saved not just a year ago while he laid on the very edge of a death. Suspended on a splitting string in a field where time and fate had extended him a line of credit.
So if he couldn’t speak to his son, he’d speak to the family, the “Tsugami” as he had been told. If they really were a family of supernatural humans—not all that uncommon, apparently—then maybe he could understand them.
“Do you want to come out? As one parent to another, others, I think we should skip the sneak attacks.” He said and turned around, his back to the still-warm corpse of the Shinigami. They’d have to get out of this situation before they could even consider retrieving the body. It might not be there by the time they were ready. He afforded his son, now next to him, only a single, knowing glance.
Itsuki could fight. Career indecision did not, he knew, equal indecision when life and family was on the line. Least of all in his red-headed second son.
His hand fell to Genshi. He felt more comfortable just having the end against his palm. “It’s set to be a wonderful evening. Sun’s setting already and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Let’s all get acquainted before we ruin it.”
Maybe his son thought there was a diplomatic solution. Shun wanted one, desperately. He’d like to walk out of here with his son, the body, and call it a night.
But those were not his orders. He had not been told to save the hostage.
Shun’s standing orders were to stop the humans.
*****
719 Words/14 GP
Total GP: 14 GP
There can only be Tragedy.
