Post by Hazuki Tsukimiya on May 12, 2015 14:42:38 GMT -5
In what is one hundred percent a gesture of good will and magnanimity and not at all a manifestation of my bottomless greed I am going to allow you to take the new rubrics for a spin on a new and slightly improved version of my application, Amaya. If and when the new thingies are officialized, I may or may not use the new score you assign me (depending on whether or not I like it).
The original can be found in its current state in my current app thread (most easily located via my sidebar), the new and improved is below. Have at it—all but the history has seen minor improvements, for the same reasons as stated in the original thread (deliberately clinical etc etc)
Shinigami
You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you?
Name: Hazuki, 葉月
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Titles & Duties
Fourth Seat of the First Division: Joint Communications Command
Surface
No man who says I’m as good as you believes it. He would not say it if he did. The St Bernard never says it to the toy dog, nor the scholar to the dunce, nor the employable to the bum, nor the pretty woman to the plain. The claim to equality, outside the strictly political field, is made only by those who feel themselves to be in some way inferior.
— C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Height & Weight: 160 cm, 45 kg
Hair & Eye Colour: Long, lustrous black hair, which seems tinged with purple when the light hits it a certain way. Her eyes are a cold, sullen, flinty grey, weary beyond their years.
Reiatsu
Hazuki’s reiatsu is stained a deep reddish-pink, and it billows out like ink in a glass of water, cloudy and voluminous. With it comes a heady, dreamlike feeling, thick and layered like midnight fog. Contrary to Hazuki herself, it seems almost playful, pulsating softly and enveloping those around her as if to tease them.
Appearance
The average Shinigami’s body largely reflects their own self-image, and as such, Hazuki’s build is largely what one would expect of a girl with her genetics in her early twenties; small, light, and feminine. Her physique is not entirely dissimilar to that of a dancer or a swimmer—lean, powerful muscles in a streamlined, graceful package that with slightly smaller than average breasts is neither too curvaceous nor too straight-lined. She wears her hair long and flowing, typically with a white ribbon which serves more as a fashion accessory than a means to hold her hair in place, and she often has an errant lock or two falling across her face. Her largely Asian features are complemented by minor European characteristics—a narrow nose, large eyes, full lips and pale skin—inherited from her mother’s side, and in a word, Hazuki is pretty, bordering on beautiful.
However, her lack of sleep has left ever-present dark rings under her eyes and the near-constant look of disapproval on her countenance detracts from this beauty a great deal, as no amount of fair skin and delicate features can compensate for how unattractive a scowl can be. Her posture, too, indicates a form of haughtiness, her back straightened and shoulders thrust back as if to remind everyone around her that despite her diminutive height she can still look down on them. All in all, Hazuki gives the impression of being a prickly and unapproachable aristocrat—an impression which, all things considered, is largely accurate.
Still, her movement is marked with a distinct fluidity: Hazuki typically does not enter a room, she sweeps into it as if she owned it, and this is doubly true when she wields her blade—her style can be likened to a dance, flow and balance impeccable. In the same way, her step is light and graceful yet filled with intent, and it wouldn’t be amiss to confuse her for a member of the Second Division by the way she moved, had it not been done with such flair. Under her ladylike exterior, inhospitable and unsympathetic as it may be, lies a core of steel: unyielding and filled with resolve, and it shines through in her actions.
Hazuki wears her Shihakushō with some pride—pleased, on some level, to continue the work her parents began, and she keeps it unmodified and in good condition in order to adhere to regulations, taking special care to maintain a tasteful neckline. She tucks her Zanpakutō into her obi on her left hip and wears no visible jewelry. When not in uniform, Hazuki adheres to the principle that fashion fades, but style remains the same. As such, much of her wardrobe is what some would call timeless: discreet, feminine, of high quality in both material and workmanship, but not particularly eye-catching.
Though Hazuki’s Japanese is a normally a clear and neutrally accented, almost formal Tokyo-ben, she slips into Kansai-ben in the rare moments where her excitement gets the better of her, and she speaks a soft Oxford English.
Positive Traits
Though her life has been beleaguered by multiple crushing losses, Hazuki is careful to stay true to the upbringing her parents gave her before their deaths, if for no other reason than to honor their memory. Though Hazuki is far from a good girl, she does at least attempt to act in a way that would make them proud were they alive today.
However, loss has certainly taken its toll on Hazuki, and while she strives to be the best she can be, certain less savory elements of her personality have become more pronounced in the absence of a limiting factor—despite her foster parents’ best efforts—while others have taken shape entirely as a result of her circumstances.
Hazuki, as is the case with most Shinigami, is a soul fractured in two: the conscious strata of her personality forming the Shinigami, and a broken splinter forming the Zanpakutō. Hazuki has yet to become familiar with her Zanpakutō—having never spoken with it—but she is confident the day will come given that its spirit has already possessed the Asauchi she was issued upon entering the Shinigami Academy, fundamentally altering its appearance.
Outwardly, Hazuki displays a chilly demeanor, her speech curt and concise, and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind—even if a wiser woman would utilize some tact in certain situations. While she admittedly suffers from chronic insomnia—having not slept a wink since her mother’s suicide some weeks after Hazuki’s eighteenth birthday—her personality cannot be attributed to sleep deprivation; haughty, elitist and somewhat condescending is unfortunately Hazuki’s true self. However, contrary to what one would expect from an insomniac, she isn’t irritable. Instead, the opposite is true: her patience, in tandem with her persistence, gives her an aura of calm, and while her advance carries with it a certain feeling of inevitability, likening her to a storm would be wrong—instead, Hazuki is like a glacier: sometimes slow, often steady, and always unstoppable.
Still, it isn’t as though she’s a burden: her work ethic is second to none, and while she may not smile much, she certainly gets things done, believing it her duty to finish what she starts and to produce results. Above all, however, the idea of noblesse oblige, which is to say privilege entails responsibility, is a core tenet of Hazuki’s world view. The weight she places on a socially stratified society implies that there are those who will inevitably end up in a position above others and rather than oppress those underneath, it is the obligation of the elevated classes to lead by example. Hazuki herself is well aware of the fact that she is situated far above most of the rabble, and although she can sometimes let her prowess go to her head (though decidedly more in attitude than in actions), she never loses sight of the bigger picture: there are people above even her, and she in turn must look to them for leadership and guidance.
And guidance is precisely what, deep down, Hazuki craves. With an almost starkly consequentialist moral code where the ends always justify the means, she finds herself in a situation where she has her end in sight but is struggling to figure out the means to achieve it. She appears to have an answer to everything except her own problems, and as much as she—in her arrogance—tries to deny it, what she wants the most is someone to help fill the void left by those she thought would never abandon her.
Ironically, much of Hazuki’s early childhood was spent reading at the expense of her sleep, but fortunately her habit of voraciously devouring books has remained unchanged since. She dislikes rain, much preferring the stillness of snow, and as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she has a soft spot for cute things.
Shallows
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds.
— Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Note: Hazuki has neither visited her inner world nor communed with her Zanpakutō spirit. This information is provided for reference but does not yet apply.
Sealed Zanpakutō
Hazuki’s sealed Zanpakutō is unremarkable; the blade is undecorated, perhaps a fraction longer than the norm, and the black saya—lacquer always polished to a bright sheen—is similarly nondescript. The tsuba, however, is a matte black oval discreetly inlaid with silver on the side facing the hilt, forming an intricate maze-like pattern which Hazuki has spent hours upon hours trying to trace through—though peculiarly never with any luck. The menuki and kashira feature cherry blossoms heavily, also in silver, and the tsuka-ito consists of deep and vibrant reddish-pink silk over white ray skin, adding a playful splash of color.
Note: Hazuki has yet to achieve Shikai. This information is provided for reference but does not yet apply.
Depths
Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand
Working in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light
— God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Traditional
History
Hazuki was born on March 14 and her mother had joked with her father about how hours of labor and a baby girl wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for a White Day gift, but the truth was that Hazuki’s parents loved her as dearly as they loved one another even from the get-go, seeing her as their own union made flesh.
Both her mother and father had been seated officers in the Gotei for quite some time by the time Hazuki was born, and as such, she was raised in a comfortable environment that was perhaps bordering on lavish. Needless to say, Hazuki was wanting for nothing during her childhood, and even from a young age her mother and her father did their best to not only instill a solid set of values in their daughter, but lay a foundation for the skills they both knew she would need later in life, as she was doubtlessly destined for the Gotei.
The heavy military influences in her upbringing became the bedrock upon which her world view became based—she experienced the benefits of rank and the chain of command on a daily basis, and coupled with the work ethic she saw in both her mother and father, already at an early age she realized that there were only two things that a good Shinigami need be: hard-working and obedient. Self-indulgence had its place, of course—that much was clear from the way her parents acted at home—but it was something private, shared only with friends and family. For her tutors she felt nothing but the deepest respect, and she worked hard not only for her own benefit, but also to please her parents.
Naturally, they were enchanted by their dutiful daughter, who even before her tenth birthday was making significant progress in the Shinigami arts, devoting herself to becoming someone worthy of her parents’ legacy. It seemed as though there weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy Hazuki, and her father’s repeated insistence that she go to sleep rather than read all night—for Hazuki was an avid reader—became a game of sorts for the both of them.
It was during one such exchange some months after her twelfth birthday that Hazuki spoke with her father for the last time. His body was found the next morning, windpipe crushed, and Hazuki was devastated. Her mother put up a strong front, of course, but Hazuki and Hazuki alone could see how much she was suffering. She redoubled her efforts, her young mind attempting to not only fill the void the death of her father had made in her heart, but also to please her mother in a childish attempt to distract her from her sorrow.
Zanjutsu had always been her favorite—Hazuki took after her father a lot in that respect—and while she did not yet have a style to call her own, she had a dream: one day, she would command her blade with the same prowess, with the same elegance, as her late father had done. She would reach that point, and then keep going. What had happened to him would not happen to her. She would not leave her mother alone.
Time passed, and Hazuki entered puberty, growing to look more and more like her mother with every day that passed, but she spent little time with others her age. She was very much in a hurry to grow up, not realizing that she had but one youth, and despite her mother’s insistence that she would regret it later in life, Hazuki pushed onward. On her seventeenth birthday, she entered the Academy, intent on graduating in record time.
It was no surprise, of course, that she excelled in all her subjects; her head start was considerable, and she was fueled by an unearthly drive. It wasn’t quite ambition—Hazuki did not lust for power—but rather it was an overpowering desire for results that propelled her forward. Results meant progress. Progress meant she was that much closer to her goal.
After a little over a year, Hazuki was on the brink of graduating, but the instructors were concerned by the fact that her Asauchi had not yet been possessed by Hazuki’s Zanpakutō spirit. A student of her caliber should have managed it in a matter of weeks, but she had carried the empty blade since her admission and there was no sign of any change. It wasn’t a prerequisite for graduation, of course, but with the amount of potential Hazuki displayed in other areas, it raised some eyebrows and called into question whether or not she was ready to become a fully-fledged member of the Gotei, or even a suitable candidate at all.
Despite her patience, Hazuki’s frustration was mounting, and it distracted her from the subtle change in her mother’s behavior—she had become more distant than usual, and even the strong front she usually put up around the house was crumbling.
When news of her mother’s suicide finally reached her, Hazuki could do nothing but stare in numb shock at the wall in silence. The threat of her death had always loomed, just as it had done with her father, but as with her father, it had been completely unexpected. Hazuki could not comprehend the reasoning behind such an action, and it was with no small amount of despair that she came to the realization that her mother had abandoned her. She was all alone.
For two weeks she remained in seclusion, neither meeting nor speaking with anyone, and when she finally emerged, it was with dark circles under her eyes and her own Zanpakutō at her side. She had remained awake the entire time, unable to find the respite in her dreams she so desperately craved, and when she reappeared at the Academy demanding that she be allowed to graduate, the instructors could not deny her.
She was taken in by friends of the family, a pair of Shinigami that had served in the Gotei with her parents and that Hazuki had called aunt and uncle since her earliest days, and moved her things out of the house she had grown up in. It was still very much hers, but it wasn’t somewhere a young girl would want to live on her own, especially not with the heavy memories she associated with it.
For two years she lived with her foster parents, for two years she didn’t sleep, and for two years, she was unable to commune with her Zanpakutō spirit. The inquisitive, good-natured and hard-working girl she had once been had become flinty and cold, filled with a growing sense of the futility of her actions, and a question was constantly nagging at her: with her family long dead, why did she press on?
On her twentieth birthday, she found a reason.
The original can be found in its current state in my current app thread (most easily located via my sidebar), the new and improved is below. Have at it—all but the history has seen minor improvements, for the same reasons as stated in the original thread (deliberately clinical etc etc)
Shinigami
You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you?
Name: Hazuki, 葉月
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Titles & Duties
Fourth Seat of the First Division: Joint Communications Command
Surface
No man who says I’m as good as you believes it. He would not say it if he did. The St Bernard never says it to the toy dog, nor the scholar to the dunce, nor the employable to the bum, nor the pretty woman to the plain. The claim to equality, outside the strictly political field, is made only by those who feel themselves to be in some way inferior.
— C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
Height & Weight: 160 cm, 45 kg
Hair & Eye Colour: Long, lustrous black hair, which seems tinged with purple when the light hits it a certain way. Her eyes are a cold, sullen, flinty grey, weary beyond their years.
Reiatsu
Hazuki’s reiatsu is stained a deep reddish-pink, and it billows out like ink in a glass of water, cloudy and voluminous. With it comes a heady, dreamlike feeling, thick and layered like midnight fog. Contrary to Hazuki herself, it seems almost playful, pulsating softly and enveloping those around her as if to tease them.
Appearance
The average Shinigami’s body largely reflects their own self-image, and as such, Hazuki’s build is largely what one would expect of a girl with her genetics in her early twenties; small, light, and feminine. Her physique is not entirely dissimilar to that of a dancer or a swimmer—lean, powerful muscles in a streamlined, graceful package that with slightly smaller than average breasts is neither too curvaceous nor too straight-lined. She wears her hair long and flowing, typically with a white ribbon which serves more as a fashion accessory than a means to hold her hair in place, and she often has an errant lock or two falling across her face. Her largely Asian features are complemented by minor European characteristics—a narrow nose, large eyes, full lips and pale skin—inherited from her mother’s side, and in a word, Hazuki is pretty, bordering on beautiful.
However, her lack of sleep has left ever-present dark rings under her eyes and the near-constant look of disapproval on her countenance detracts from this beauty a great deal, as no amount of fair skin and delicate features can compensate for how unattractive a scowl can be. Her posture, too, indicates a form of haughtiness, her back straightened and shoulders thrust back as if to remind everyone around her that despite her diminutive height she can still look down on them. All in all, Hazuki gives the impression of being a prickly and unapproachable aristocrat—an impression which, all things considered, is largely accurate.
Still, her movement is marked with a distinct fluidity: Hazuki typically does not enter a room, she sweeps into it as if she owned it, and this is doubly true when she wields her blade—her style can be likened to a dance, flow and balance impeccable. In the same way, her step is light and graceful yet filled with intent, and it wouldn’t be amiss to confuse her for a member of the Second Division by the way she moved, had it not been done with such flair. Under her ladylike exterior, inhospitable and unsympathetic as it may be, lies a core of steel: unyielding and filled with resolve, and it shines through in her actions.
Hazuki wears her Shihakushō with some pride—pleased, on some level, to continue the work her parents began, and she keeps it unmodified and in good condition in order to adhere to regulations, taking special care to maintain a tasteful neckline. She tucks her Zanpakutō into her obi on her left hip and wears no visible jewelry. When not in uniform, Hazuki adheres to the principle that fashion fades, but style remains the same. As such, much of her wardrobe is what some would call timeless: discreet, feminine, of high quality in both material and workmanship, but not particularly eye-catching.
Though Hazuki’s Japanese is a normally a clear and neutrally accented, almost formal Tokyo-ben, she slips into Kansai-ben in the rare moments where her excitement gets the better of her, and she speaks a soft Oxford English.
Positive Traits
Though her life has been beleaguered by multiple crushing losses, Hazuki is careful to stay true to the upbringing her parents gave her before their deaths, if for no other reason than to honor their memory. Though Hazuki is far from a good girl, she does at least attempt to act in a way that would make them proud were they alive today.
- PRIMARY: Hierarchical - Every successful society in the history of mankind has had one thing in common: a clearly defined societal hierarchy. As far as Hazuki is concerned, the divide between patricians and plebeians is not only inescapable, but necessary. The slow and purposeful attempts at the erasure of the boundaries between social classes have always ended in disaster, and for that reason Hazuki makes a point of always acting as befits her station, aspiring to no more and no less than her capabilities.
- MAJOR: Sophisticated - Due in no small part to her privileged childhood, Hazuki maintains an air of refinement at all times; coarse and vulgar behavior is beneath her and so she wastes no time or energy on it. For Hazuki, elegance is the alpha and the omega, and all that comes between—from wardrobe to warfare—is invariably steeped in it.
- MAJOR: Persistent - Never one to give up or lose sight of her goal, Hazuki resolutely pushes forward in the face of adversity in order to achieve what she has set out to do. In simple terms, she does not give up without a very good reason, and her steadfast determination has birthed a rumor that Hazuki may, in fact, be inevitability personified.
- MINOR: Disciplined - The self-control necessary to sustain the lifestyle Hazuki leads comes naturally to her, and if the price she pays for it is a little spontaneity, she pays it gladly.
- MINOR: Patient - Patience is a virtue of which Hazuki is in no short supply. She is unsure of where it stems from herself, but it’s likely a byproduct of countless sleepless nights.
However, loss has certainly taken its toll on Hazuki, and while she strives to be the best she can be, certain less savory elements of her personality have become more pronounced in the absence of a limiting factor—despite her foster parents’ best efforts—while others have taken shape entirely as a result of her circumstances.
- PRIMARY: Morose - It is unsurprising that Hazuki is far from cheerful, given that her life has been marred by repeated loss. The successes of her academic career thus far has served as sharp contrast, intensifying her suffering, and with it has come the impression that she was, in a sense, too late: Hazuki is convinced that had she developed just a little faster, had she taken her childhood a little more seriously, she would have been able to prevent her parents’ fate.
- MAJOR: Arrogant - With skill comes pride, with power comes confidence. With youth comes a lack of good sense, and the combination of all three has inflated Hazuki’s opinion of herself. Given that she has been without something—or someone—to keep her grounded for so long, particularly during her most rebellious years, this hubris has been left to run amok.
- MAJOR: Cold - Partly due to fear of repeated loss and partly due to a sense of not quite belonging, Hazuki is unwilling to close the natural gap between herself and those around her, opting instead to erect a barrier of frosty professionalism to keep others at a comfortable distance. The numbness that results makes Hazuki seem uncaring, though this isn’t necessarily the case.
- MINOR: Brusque - Not one to mince words, Hazuki often cuts right to the heart of the matter, quite deliberately ignoring pleasantries and small talk. If not for her usual politeness, it would be easy to mistake her for downright rude.
- MINOR: Naïve - Youth implies a lack of experience, judgement and wisdom, and despite the unsettling amount of power Hazuki displays for someone so young, she is certainly no exception.
Hazuki, as is the case with most Shinigami, is a soul fractured in two: the conscious strata of her personality forming the Shinigami, and a broken splinter forming the Zanpakutō. Hazuki has yet to become familiar with her Zanpakutō—having never spoken with it—but she is confident the day will come given that its spirit has already possessed the Asauchi she was issued upon entering the Shinigami Academy, fundamentally altering its appearance.
Outwardly, Hazuki displays a chilly demeanor, her speech curt and concise, and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind—even if a wiser woman would utilize some tact in certain situations. While she admittedly suffers from chronic insomnia—having not slept a wink since her mother’s suicide some weeks after Hazuki’s eighteenth birthday—her personality cannot be attributed to sleep deprivation; haughty, elitist and somewhat condescending is unfortunately Hazuki’s true self. However, contrary to what one would expect from an insomniac, she isn’t irritable. Instead, the opposite is true: her patience, in tandem with her persistence, gives her an aura of calm, and while her advance carries with it a certain feeling of inevitability, likening her to a storm would be wrong—instead, Hazuki is like a glacier: sometimes slow, often steady, and always unstoppable.
Still, it isn’t as though she’s a burden: her work ethic is second to none, and while she may not smile much, she certainly gets things done, believing it her duty to finish what she starts and to produce results. Above all, however, the idea of noblesse oblige, which is to say privilege entails responsibility, is a core tenet of Hazuki’s world view. The weight she places on a socially stratified society implies that there are those who will inevitably end up in a position above others and rather than oppress those underneath, it is the obligation of the elevated classes to lead by example. Hazuki herself is well aware of the fact that she is situated far above most of the rabble, and although she can sometimes let her prowess go to her head (though decidedly more in attitude than in actions), she never loses sight of the bigger picture: there are people above even her, and she in turn must look to them for leadership and guidance.
And guidance is precisely what, deep down, Hazuki craves. With an almost starkly consequentialist moral code where the ends always justify the means, she finds herself in a situation where she has her end in sight but is struggling to figure out the means to achieve it. She appears to have an answer to everything except her own problems, and as much as she—in her arrogance—tries to deny it, what she wants the most is someone to help fill the void left by those she thought would never abandon her.
Ironically, much of Hazuki’s early childhood was spent reading at the expense of her sleep, but fortunately her habit of voraciously devouring books has remained unchanged since. She dislikes rain, much preferring the stillness of snow, and as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she has a soft spot for cute things.
Shallows
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds.
— Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Note: Hazuki has neither visited her inner world nor communed with her Zanpakutō spirit. This information is provided for reference but does not yet apply.
Zanpakutō Spirit
桜月 Sakurazuki (Cherry Blossom Moon)
Sakurazuki manifests as a young girl, no more than ten, with pixie-like ears, eyes like liquid gold and long, blonde hair to match. Her body language and expression is, in a word, relaxed, as if she was without a care in the world, and her tone is light, cheerful, and energetic. The clothes she wears are western: a double-layered dress which mimics the Shinigami uniform, black on white, with a reddish-pink silk ribbon tied around her waist the same color as the silk wrapped around the hilt of the Zanpakutō.
Together, Hazuki and Sakurazuki form a whole where Sakurazuki is the personification of the sense of tranquility, rest and the reflection that comes with it which Hazuki is without; in comparison to her blade, the Shinigami is extremely high-strung, whereas Sakurazuki is a great deal more mellow—never worrying about minutia or other trivialities and always giving the impression of having had a very good night’s sleep. They share a certain level-headedness, of course, but Sakurazuki’s staunch refusal—or perhaps inability—to allow herself to buckle under pressure and let external factors sour her judgement put even Hazuki to shame. In many ways, Sakurazuki acts not as the voice of reason—of which Hazuki is in no short supply—but of wisdom, something which the Shinigami sorely lacks.
Hazuki is still unsure where she stands with her Zanpakutō given that their relationship is still in its earliest stages, but her initial impressions are that Sakurazuki wishes the best for her, and for that, at least, she is grateful.
Inner World
Accessible only in her dreams, Hazuki’s inner world is a place she does not visit often, and even then only with the aid of her Shikai. As a reflection of her own subconscious, the inner world provides a place in which Hazuki feels extremely secure, its stillness soothing her.
The landscape is arctic in nature, icebergs and long stretches of perfectly still water dominate, but gravity appears to have been reversed, and the glass-like surface of the water serves as the ground upon which Hazuki and Sakurazuki stand on, ripples spreading outwards from their feet on the smooth surface. Around them, the inverted chunks of blue and white ice rise in gigantic formations that stretch into the depths of the water above, and a steady stream of cherry blossom petals falls silently from the blackness overhead to settle on the surface around their feet. The water appears to trouble neither Shinigami nor Zanpakutō spirit, and apart from a clear blue tinge and light emanating from below rather than above, they look and move as if they were on dry land, though sound in Hazuki’s inner world is unnaturally direct and piercing.
桜月 Sakurazuki (Cherry Blossom Moon)
Sakurazuki manifests as a young girl, no more than ten, with pixie-like ears, eyes like liquid gold and long, blonde hair to match. Her body language and expression is, in a word, relaxed, as if she was without a care in the world, and her tone is light, cheerful, and energetic. The clothes she wears are western: a double-layered dress which mimics the Shinigami uniform, black on white, with a reddish-pink silk ribbon tied around her waist the same color as the silk wrapped around the hilt of the Zanpakutō.
Together, Hazuki and Sakurazuki form a whole where Sakurazuki is the personification of the sense of tranquility, rest and the reflection that comes with it which Hazuki is without; in comparison to her blade, the Shinigami is extremely high-strung, whereas Sakurazuki is a great deal more mellow—never worrying about minutia or other trivialities and always giving the impression of having had a very good night’s sleep. They share a certain level-headedness, of course, but Sakurazuki’s staunch refusal—or perhaps inability—to allow herself to buckle under pressure and let external factors sour her judgement put even Hazuki to shame. In many ways, Sakurazuki acts not as the voice of reason—of which Hazuki is in no short supply—but of wisdom, something which the Shinigami sorely lacks.
Hazuki is still unsure where she stands with her Zanpakutō given that their relationship is still in its earliest stages, but her initial impressions are that Sakurazuki wishes the best for her, and for that, at least, she is grateful.
Inner World
Accessible only in her dreams, Hazuki’s inner world is a place she does not visit often, and even then only with the aid of her Shikai. As a reflection of her own subconscious, the inner world provides a place in which Hazuki feels extremely secure, its stillness soothing her.
The landscape is arctic in nature, icebergs and long stretches of perfectly still water dominate, but gravity appears to have been reversed, and the glass-like surface of the water serves as the ground upon which Hazuki and Sakurazuki stand on, ripples spreading outwards from their feet on the smooth surface. Around them, the inverted chunks of blue and white ice rise in gigantic formations that stretch into the depths of the water above, and a steady stream of cherry blossom petals falls silently from the blackness overhead to settle on the surface around their feet. The water appears to trouble neither Shinigami nor Zanpakutō spirit, and apart from a clear blue tinge and light emanating from below rather than above, they look and move as if they were on dry land, though sound in Hazuki’s inner world is unnaturally direct and piercing.
Sealed Zanpakutō
Hazuki’s sealed Zanpakutō is unremarkable; the blade is undecorated, perhaps a fraction longer than the norm, and the black saya—lacquer always polished to a bright sheen—is similarly nondescript. The tsuba, however, is a matte black oval discreetly inlaid with silver on the side facing the hilt, forming an intricate maze-like pattern which Hazuki has spent hours upon hours trying to trace through—though peculiarly never with any luck. The menuki and kashira feature cherry blossoms heavily, also in silver, and the tsuka-ito consists of deep and vibrant reddish-pink silk over white ray skin, adding a playful splash of color.
Note: Hazuki has yet to achieve Shikai. This information is provided for reference but does not yet apply.
Shikai Appearance
夢を見ろ、桜月 Yume o miro, Sakurazuki (Dream, Sakurazuki)
Sakurazuki’s Shikai form sees no immediate change in appearance from that of her sealed state, but the blade starts weeping a viscous, semitransparent red liquid—thicker and lighter in color than blood—as if it were vapor condensing on cold metal. This liquid is prone to spraying off the blade when swung, spattering fine droplets in long arcs of red on the surroundings.
Shikai Ability
The liquid that forms on Sakurazuki’s blade is a powerful narcotic which, if ingested or introduced into the bloodstream, will very quickly induce a deep sleep. Even on contact with bare skin, the narcotic—which Hazuki calls Sakurazuki’s petals—will cause drowsiness in those with weaker spiritual constitutions.
夢を見ろ、桜月 Yume o miro, Sakurazuki (Dream, Sakurazuki)
Sakurazuki’s Shikai form sees no immediate change in appearance from that of her sealed state, but the blade starts weeping a viscous, semitransparent red liquid—thicker and lighter in color than blood—as if it were vapor condensing on cold metal. This liquid is prone to spraying off the blade when swung, spattering fine droplets in long arcs of red on the surroundings.
Shikai Ability
The liquid that forms on Sakurazuki’s blade is a powerful narcotic which, if ingested or introduced into the bloodstream, will very quickly induce a deep sleep. Even on contact with bare skin, the narcotic—which Hazuki calls Sakurazuki’s petals—will cause drowsiness in those with weaker spiritual constitutions.
Depths
Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand
Working in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light
— God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Traditional
History
Hazuki was born on March 14 and her mother had joked with her father about how hours of labor and a baby girl wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for a White Day gift, but the truth was that Hazuki’s parents loved her as dearly as they loved one another even from the get-go, seeing her as their own union made flesh.
Both her mother and father had been seated officers in the Gotei for quite some time by the time Hazuki was born, and as such, she was raised in a comfortable environment that was perhaps bordering on lavish. Needless to say, Hazuki was wanting for nothing during her childhood, and even from a young age her mother and her father did their best to not only instill a solid set of values in their daughter, but lay a foundation for the skills they both knew she would need later in life, as she was doubtlessly destined for the Gotei.
The heavy military influences in her upbringing became the bedrock upon which her world view became based—she experienced the benefits of rank and the chain of command on a daily basis, and coupled with the work ethic she saw in both her mother and father, already at an early age she realized that there were only two things that a good Shinigami need be: hard-working and obedient. Self-indulgence had its place, of course—that much was clear from the way her parents acted at home—but it was something private, shared only with friends and family. For her tutors she felt nothing but the deepest respect, and she worked hard not only for her own benefit, but also to please her parents.
Naturally, they were enchanted by their dutiful daughter, who even before her tenth birthday was making significant progress in the Shinigami arts, devoting herself to becoming someone worthy of her parents’ legacy. It seemed as though there weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy Hazuki, and her father’s repeated insistence that she go to sleep rather than read all night—for Hazuki was an avid reader—became a game of sorts for the both of them.
It was during one such exchange some months after her twelfth birthday that Hazuki spoke with her father for the last time. His body was found the next morning, windpipe crushed, and Hazuki was devastated. Her mother put up a strong front, of course, but Hazuki and Hazuki alone could see how much she was suffering. She redoubled her efforts, her young mind attempting to not only fill the void the death of her father had made in her heart, but also to please her mother in a childish attempt to distract her from her sorrow.
Zanjutsu had always been her favorite—Hazuki took after her father a lot in that respect—and while she did not yet have a style to call her own, she had a dream: one day, she would command her blade with the same prowess, with the same elegance, as her late father had done. She would reach that point, and then keep going. What had happened to him would not happen to her. She would not leave her mother alone.
Time passed, and Hazuki entered puberty, growing to look more and more like her mother with every day that passed, but she spent little time with others her age. She was very much in a hurry to grow up, not realizing that she had but one youth, and despite her mother’s insistence that she would regret it later in life, Hazuki pushed onward. On her seventeenth birthday, she entered the Academy, intent on graduating in record time.
It was no surprise, of course, that she excelled in all her subjects; her head start was considerable, and she was fueled by an unearthly drive. It wasn’t quite ambition—Hazuki did not lust for power—but rather it was an overpowering desire for results that propelled her forward. Results meant progress. Progress meant she was that much closer to her goal.
After a little over a year, Hazuki was on the brink of graduating, but the instructors were concerned by the fact that her Asauchi had not yet been possessed by Hazuki’s Zanpakutō spirit. A student of her caliber should have managed it in a matter of weeks, but she had carried the empty blade since her admission and there was no sign of any change. It wasn’t a prerequisite for graduation, of course, but with the amount of potential Hazuki displayed in other areas, it raised some eyebrows and called into question whether or not she was ready to become a fully-fledged member of the Gotei, or even a suitable candidate at all.
Despite her patience, Hazuki’s frustration was mounting, and it distracted her from the subtle change in her mother’s behavior—she had become more distant than usual, and even the strong front she usually put up around the house was crumbling.
When news of her mother’s suicide finally reached her, Hazuki could do nothing but stare in numb shock at the wall in silence. The threat of her death had always loomed, just as it had done with her father, but as with her father, it had been completely unexpected. Hazuki could not comprehend the reasoning behind such an action, and it was with no small amount of despair that she came to the realization that her mother had abandoned her. She was all alone.
For two weeks she remained in seclusion, neither meeting nor speaking with anyone, and when she finally emerged, it was with dark circles under her eyes and her own Zanpakutō at her side. She had remained awake the entire time, unable to find the respite in her dreams she so desperately craved, and when she reappeared at the Academy demanding that she be allowed to graduate, the instructors could not deny her.
She was taken in by friends of the family, a pair of Shinigami that had served in the Gotei with her parents and that Hazuki had called aunt and uncle since her earliest days, and moved her things out of the house she had grown up in. It was still very much hers, but it wasn’t somewhere a young girl would want to live on her own, especially not with the heavy memories she associated with it.
For two years she lived with her foster parents, for two years she didn’t sleep, and for two years, she was unable to commune with her Zanpakutō spirit. The inquisitive, good-natured and hard-working girl she had once been had become flinty and cold, filled with a growing sense of the futility of her actions, and a question was constantly nagging at her: with her family long dead, why did she press on?
On her twentieth birthday, she found a reason.
The door creaked open, the hinges protesting at the sudden movement. The lock had taken some work to open, but that was to be expected after two years of disuse—Hazuki hadn’t stepped foot inside this house since she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle. She had been unwilling to put herself at the mercy of all the memories she kept locked away in her heart, but the sight of the altogether too familiar hallway was enough to bring tears to Hazuki’s eyes all the same. She blinked them back, refusing to allow such an unsightly display of emotion.
She stepped inside, closing the door gingerly behind her in an attempt to not to disturb the thin layer of dust that had settled everywhere. The genkan was empty—
Of course it’s empty, she thought
—and despite the dust she found herself reluctant to simply walk into the house still wearing her geta. She remained still for a moment, contemplating how to proceed, then finally eased out of the wooden sandals and stepped onto the raised floor. It felt dirty on her naked feet, but she didn’t care; this place belonged to her and she would be damned if she’d let it decide. Her footsteps were silent as she padded into the living room, where the pale March sunlight was filtering in through the wide wooden slats of the venetian blinds her parents had favored. The fireplace was empty—no ashes, only dust—and the furniture had been covered with large white sheets for protection.
She circled the room slowly, running a finger along the spines of the books that lined the walls, unable to stop herself reminiscing about all the times she had come down here in the dead of night and picked a new one at random. Not once had she managed to pick one she had already read, and it felt as though she had read a million of them. It was an extensive collection, that much was certain.
Movement in the corner of her eye startled her and she whipped toward it, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. She felt foolish when she realized what it was: her own reflection peeking out from under a grimy, lopsided sheet. Half a minute and an exasperated sigh later and the hallway mirror was bare again, the ornate gold frame practically glowing in the dim light. She was off duty today, and instead of the usual black Gotei uniform, she was wearing a dappled red kimono, no Zanpakutō in sight. Her hair, too, was different: Hazuki had styled it into a French twist today, exposing the nape of her neck. Had it not been for the critical look on her face or the shadows under her eyes, she would have been quite pleased with her appearance. Instead, she sneered and turned away in irritation. It was no secret that she placed a great deal of effort in looking good, but it all fell painfully short of the youthful smile she had once been able to wear with ease.
This house was filled with ghosts, and the cheerful little girl her parents had raised counted among them. That simply wasn’t her anymore. It probably never would be again.
Today was her twentieth birthday, and she had decided to come here for—for what, exactly? She wasn’t really certain. Two years on down the line after her mother’s suicide, and it had finally reached the point where it felt as though Hazuki had lost her way. Perhaps some part of her had hoped that she would find answers in the past.
Stupid, she thought to herself. There’s nothing here but death and dust.
She continued her circuit, and eventually she stepped on something which made her look down with a raised eyebrow. A petal, browned with age. She stooped to pick it up, and when she straightened, her eyes fell on the cloth that had been draped over the shelf jutting out from the wall. Carefully she lifted it, and her breath caught in her throat. Underneath, there was a framed black and white photograph and the remains of what must have been some sort of flower. Trembling, she reached for the photo, and this time she was unable to stem the flow of tears. Salt streamed down her face, shoulders heaving, and she clutched the picture to her chest, sobbing softly for what seemed like an eternity. Unfair was the only word that she could muster.
Out of the silence of the empty house crept a sound, and amidst the tears, Hazuki’s eyes shot open. Were those whispers? She wiped her eyes and tried to listen, but she couldn’t be sure; whatever it was, it was treading the thin line between the wind and ghostly whispering, and Hazuki strained to hear. It seemed to be coming from the second floor, and she glanced warily at the staircase. Nothing but death and dust, she reminded herself, and started towards them, the slightest bit of hesitation in her step.
She climbed the stairs in complete silence, stopping every once in a while to listen, and eventually found herself at the door to her parents’ room. She pushed it open, and the whispers seemed to intensify. Whatever it was, it was coming from in here. She scanned the room, not surprised to find more sheets covering everything, but the walk-in closet door was slightly ajar. She furrowed her brow and took a few steps toward it, reaching, reaching, the whispers growing louder and louder by the second, and in a swift movement she threw the door open.
At once, the whispering ceased, and she stared into the blackness of the closet, the faint scent of mothballs reaching her nostrils. She swallowed, then flicked on the light, which buzzed to life immediately, enveloping her in a warm glow. There, propped up against the wall underneath her mother’s countless gowns, dresses and kimonos, was a sword, hilt wrapped in sky-blue silk.
