Post by Hazuki Tsukimiya on May 12, 2015 12:06:44 GMT -5
Getting into the Academy had been easier than expected. A uniform was all it took for people not to give Hazuki a second glance as she strode, straight-backed, into the Academy grounds, sword at her hip. That was the nature of this place: so many new faces coming and going, and one more new face in the teeming masses didn’t raise eyebrows, particularly if they were already a graduate, as the girl very clearly was. Young she may have been, as far as Shinigami were concerned, but she had been trained by the best.
The courtyard was filled with people, of course: some wearing black, others white edged in red or blue, and while the students merely passed her by—often too engaged in playful banter or deep discussion—those in black nodded discreetly in her direction. Professional courtesy, she supposed. A member of the Gotei visiting the Academy could be there for any number of reasons, and there was no cause to suspect she was any different.
In a sense, she wasn’t any different. After the Massacre, the Academy records were rumored to be the only ones not damaged, and that was precisely where she was headed. It was the only place that could claim with a hundred percent certainty that it had a complete list of Shinigami, active or not. Not even the Second Division had been spared—or so Hazuki had been told.
The archive was, as most archives are, underground, and it was with a certain satisfaction that Hazuki noticed the closer she got, the fewer people she ran into. It was a welcome distraction from the blistering headache that had been plaguing her all day, and as she finally reached the door to the records room, she paused, squeezing her eyes shut and steadying herself against the wall. The pain radiated outwards from somewhere at the back of her skull—or felt as though it did. She was glad there was nobody around to see her, weakness was so unsightly. She took a few deep breaths, then straightened up again, opening her eyes. One last deep breath, and then she pushed the door open and stepped inside. There was nothing to it, after all. This was exactly the kind of thing her parents had taught her how to do.
As far as archives went, it was unremarkable; neither tidy nor chaotic, not cavernous and not cramped—it was average, and that was fine by her. She passed some shelves, noticing that everything seemed to be organized by date, and headed off to find the files for those who had graduated a year or two ago. She stopped once, thinking she had found the right shelf, but she quickly realized she was off by some months, and set to looking once more. Finally, she reached her destination, and smiled to herself despite the headache.
Five minutes later, she was back outside, smile still faintly visible in the corners of her mouth, as she strode off in much the same manner as she had arrived. There was no trace of uncertainty in her step, and as she stepped out of the Academy gates, she flickered, and then she was gone.
---
The First Division was as she remembered it—more or less—but that was usually the case in Seireitei: the Gotei didn’t change much—it was the people in it that did. She traced the familiar path to the Captain-Commander’s office almost automatically, her mind wandering to the recent merger of the Second and the Sixth Divisions. This was the Gotei Five, and that was something that was going to take some getting used to for Hazuki. It was difficult not to feel that something was missing.
Still, she pushed the thought from her mind as she arrived at the antechamber to the Commander’s office. She shot a look at the two men flanking the door, clearly unimpressed.
‘I’m here to see the Commander,’ she announced, and the pair glanced at one another, unsure what to make of the visitor. The sharp contrast between the rings under her eyes and the impeccable uniform struck them as odd: tired faces usually wore tired uniforms, crumpled and stained, but Hazuki had never been one to settle for usual.
One of the men shrugged lightly at the other, who grunted his assent.
‘That stays outside,’ he said, pointing at her sword.
Hazuki obliged, and pulled her Zanpakutō free of her obi, sheathe and all, then leaned it gently against the wall. Her eyes caught briefly on the mazelike pattern on the tsuba, but she tore herself away and turned to face the two men once more, crossing her arms. Her expression was one of impatience—a rare sight on Hazuki—and if it bothered either of the men, they didn’t show it.
The guard who had given his companion the shrug tapped softly at the large double doors, and Hazuki could do little but wait.
°828
The courtyard was filled with people, of course: some wearing black, others white edged in red or blue, and while the students merely passed her by—often too engaged in playful banter or deep discussion—those in black nodded discreetly in her direction. Professional courtesy, she supposed. A member of the Gotei visiting the Academy could be there for any number of reasons, and there was no cause to suspect she was any different.
In a sense, she wasn’t any different. After the Massacre, the Academy records were rumored to be the only ones not damaged, and that was precisely where she was headed. It was the only place that could claim with a hundred percent certainty that it had a complete list of Shinigami, active or not. Not even the Second Division had been spared—or so Hazuki had been told.
The archive was, as most archives are, underground, and it was with a certain satisfaction that Hazuki noticed the closer she got, the fewer people she ran into. It was a welcome distraction from the blistering headache that had been plaguing her all day, and as she finally reached the door to the records room, she paused, squeezing her eyes shut and steadying herself against the wall. The pain radiated outwards from somewhere at the back of her skull—or felt as though it did. She was glad there was nobody around to see her, weakness was so unsightly. She took a few deep breaths, then straightened up again, opening her eyes. One last deep breath, and then she pushed the door open and stepped inside. There was nothing to it, after all. This was exactly the kind of thing her parents had taught her how to do.
As far as archives went, it was unremarkable; neither tidy nor chaotic, not cavernous and not cramped—it was average, and that was fine by her. She passed some shelves, noticing that everything seemed to be organized by date, and headed off to find the files for those who had graduated a year or two ago. She stopped once, thinking she had found the right shelf, but she quickly realized she was off by some months, and set to looking once more. Finally, she reached her destination, and smiled to herself despite the headache.
Five minutes later, she was back outside, smile still faintly visible in the corners of her mouth, as she strode off in much the same manner as she had arrived. There was no trace of uncertainty in her step, and as she stepped out of the Academy gates, she flickered, and then she was gone.
---
The First Division was as she remembered it—more or less—but that was usually the case in Seireitei: the Gotei didn’t change much—it was the people in it that did. She traced the familiar path to the Captain-Commander’s office almost automatically, her mind wandering to the recent merger of the Second and the Sixth Divisions. This was the Gotei Five, and that was something that was going to take some getting used to for Hazuki. It was difficult not to feel that something was missing.
Still, she pushed the thought from her mind as she arrived at the antechamber to the Commander’s office. She shot a look at the two men flanking the door, clearly unimpressed.
‘I’m here to see the Commander,’ she announced, and the pair glanced at one another, unsure what to make of the visitor. The sharp contrast between the rings under her eyes and the impeccable uniform struck them as odd: tired faces usually wore tired uniforms, crumpled and stained, but Hazuki had never been one to settle for usual.
One of the men shrugged lightly at the other, who grunted his assent.
‘That stays outside,’ he said, pointing at her sword.
Hazuki obliged, and pulled her Zanpakutō free of her obi, sheathe and all, then leaned it gently against the wall. Her eyes caught briefly on the mazelike pattern on the tsuba, but she tore herself away and turned to face the two men once more, crossing her arms. Her expression was one of impatience—a rare sight on Hazuki—and if it bothered either of the men, they didn’t show it.
The guard who had given his companion the shrug tapped softly at the large double doors, and Hazuki could do little but wait.
°828