You're waiting for a Train [TBTP]

Paperwork.

Quill scratched over paper as the elder Minamoto sat in his room, legs crossed, right in front of a low-standing wooden table. Across it were strewn white papers and scrolls laden with information—all he had to do was fill in the blanks. The rest of the room was rather sparse and plain. His floor? Simple wooden boards, laid by his father years ago and smoothly finished. The walls were stark white and the only decorations included a wooden dresser against one wall, a window above it, and Shun’s brown bed roll on the floor.

On his lap was the most interesting item in the room: A sheathed sword, seemingly plain in both scabbard and blade. He hadn’t drawn it once since the moment it appeared, a mystery weapon that seemed to quite literally be made of thin air. It was that day that led to all of this paperwork on the table. After all, Seireitei had taken notice and discovered that Shun wasn’t the only one in the family with considerable spiritual potential—they all shared it.

Now he had to fill out the Academy Entrance files for himself and his family. He applauded the fact that his family’s success over the countless decades had afforded him the education necessary to be literate. As common as it was among some Shinigami entrants he didn’t want to have to request the services of a translator just to fill out the most basic of information presented to him.

Tonight, though, he wouldn’t have time to finish.

Impacts sounded through the house and Shun recognized the noise immediately as someone running. He lifted his gaze from the quill and papers just in time to see a silhouette to bolt past the thin, moving walls that acted as the door to his room. The sliding panel slammed open a moment later to reveal the beleaguered, sweaty body of his younger brother.

“Shinpei?” He hardly had time to get that out before the first in the pair of twins shouted his name over and over, a plea for help and no information as to what was going on.
Shun didn’t care. He stepped right over the table and put his hands down on his brother’s shoulders. He heard his new weapon—or partner, according to some of the recruiters he had spoken to—clatter to the floor behind him.

When he spoke it was with the same intensity and contradicting softness that Shun was known for, rarely one to break his own composure, “What’s going on, Shinpei? Talk to me.”

*****

427 Words/8 GP
Total GP: 8 GP

Early in their childhood it would have been immediately obvious to Shun just what might be wrong: the total absence of Shinpei's sister Ayame--almost a gaping void next to him--would have clued him in without a second's pause. The two were so difficult to separate that it was glaring when one traveled without the other.

A hundred years ago it was different. It had been that way for a long time. Complete closeness had transformed to absolute and resolute separation. Seeing her with him would have been as surprising as her without in their early years.

Only now was that gaping wound between them being closed and sutured. It was a slow, painstaking process by any means and at first even approaching it had been painful. So it goes. But there had been progress.
Was it all, in the end, for nothing?

His brother sprung forward, his larger form obscuring the austere--almost Spartan--room. Only a new splay of documents marred the perfect emptiness of the place: all the necessities for living and none of what made it fun. It was an appropriate place for Shun to grow up in but Shinpei hated even the sight of it. If you put together their two bedrooms they might have canceled each other out; where Shun's idea of "mess" was an unmade bedroll and his dresser drawers out, Shinpei's idea of "clean" was a loosely-arranged set of pillows, clothing, bedding and god knows what else. If you could see his floor (besides a path to get from one side to the other), he figured, that meant there was space not being capitalized on for sleeping or "sleeping."
Well, I did say he was getting better, not that he was cured. You can take the duck out of the pond but not the... how does the saying go?

"Shun," he gasped, body unused to running, "she's gone. I don't know--she's gone. Ayame isn't here and she left a note... she just said goodbye, that's all. She's gone." He realized he was repeating himself and wiped a little at his forehead. His hand came away sweaty and he regretted for an instant the lack of training he'd put his legs through. In his place his older brother would hardly have been out of breath. He held the note, fluttering in his shaky grasp, but made no move to hand it over. In fact the closer he got to Shun the tighter he clutched it, like he was afraid the last thing he had of Ayame's would be taken away from him.
"Please," he started. "I don't know..." he scratched at his face spasmodically. "I don't know where she is. We need to search this whole house."

It's important to understand there was no family love lost from Shinpei to Shun. The older of the two had always been--he thought--a perfectly kind and available brother, always willing to offer a helping hand of advice should Shinpei seek it. Of course, he never did. Shun couldn't identify just why his younger brother had one day switched from tolerating and even enjoying his presence to avoiding him whenever possible. In his darker moments he wondered if perhaps Shinpei's friendliness had been a reflection of Ayame's, who still treated her older brother with the same respect (although distant) she always had. Thus, could it be that when the two separated Shinpei simply had no reason to tolerate the older brother he'd always secretly hated?
If he took that possibility seriously, it hadn't been helped by the last few years. Shinpei wasn't out-and-out avoiding Shun, true, but he was also becoming close with Ayame once more. It could have all been her influence.

Either way, it was clear to Shun that his brother simply didn't like him very much. Shinpei would have said he didn't hate the guy--he just saw no reason to ever fraternize. The two were just too different.
And yet the two understood each other well. Well enough for Shun to be shocked but to understand when his brother--the same one who'd evaded him throughout all his youth--got down on his knees and bowed to the floor.
"Please," he begged. "We have to find her. We have to."