Post by Truth on Jan 27, 2016 19:18:21 GMT -5
Empty, white plates sat at two opposite ends of the same cloth-covered table. Next to each sat a perfectly clear and equally empty glass. On either side lay a full set of silverware complete with a thick napkin to wrap it all up in.
Around the table the room seemed entirely mundane if you ignored some strange features. There didn’t appear to be a single source of light in the room and yet it remained brightly lit. Other than that, it had all of the amenities. Richly finished hardwood flooring, an unlit fireplace, and decorative wallpaper with patterns and designs that seemed entirely foreign when compared against the Japanese culture of Soul Society.
Besides the ethereal lighting, the room also lacked a door or window of any sort. For some reason it seemed to take a while to notice this glaring omission and the room still seemed entirely comfortable, normal, at a glance. It was as if the place itself diverted your attention away from those confusing, impossible details.
Seated at the table were two figures. One, a well-endowed young woman who seemed to only just now be coming to her senses. She wore the regular Shihakushō of a Shinigami with a single addition: the white haori of the Third Division. Across from her sat a man with eyebrow-length, bark brown hair and emerald eyes.
“I realize this is sudden,” he said as he leaned over the table, a pitcher of ice water suddenly in hand, and poured his guest a glass. “You don’t really know me except for my quick hello while Shun foolishly flailed his sword at Ful—excuse me, Kiriko.”
On that note he sat right back down and poured himself a glass before setting the pitcher down. The moment he looked away it completely vanished, as if it weren’t even there. Not even the slightest wisp of wind blew to acknowledge its exit.
The man folded his fingers into a steeple and laid his hands on the table cloth in front of his plate. His all-white suit, right down the to tie, seemed entirely too bright in this room. It vibrantly accented his slightly paler-than-normal skin and the earthy colors of his eyes and hair.
“My name’s Truth,” he introduced himself with a sudden smile. “You once knew me as Tova, in another life.”
Tova, he laughed silently at the name. How long had it been since he called himself that, now? I still can’t believe my parents stuck me with that. What a time to be alive, back then.
Truth cleared his throat a moment later and continued, “It’s been long enough and given your recent conversation with Takua Megiddo, I thought it prudent to visit. You have questions, no doubt, and I have more answers than you can imagine. I owe you that much. But before we get started, to give yourself a chance to get acclimated, why don’t you tell me what you’d like to eat? I’m probably the second, maybe third, best cook where I come from.”
Around the table the room seemed entirely mundane if you ignored some strange features. There didn’t appear to be a single source of light in the room and yet it remained brightly lit. Other than that, it had all of the amenities. Richly finished hardwood flooring, an unlit fireplace, and decorative wallpaper with patterns and designs that seemed entirely foreign when compared against the Japanese culture of Soul Society.
Besides the ethereal lighting, the room also lacked a door or window of any sort. For some reason it seemed to take a while to notice this glaring omission and the room still seemed entirely comfortable, normal, at a glance. It was as if the place itself diverted your attention away from those confusing, impossible details.
Seated at the table were two figures. One, a well-endowed young woman who seemed to only just now be coming to her senses. She wore the regular Shihakushō of a Shinigami with a single addition: the white haori of the Third Division. Across from her sat a man with eyebrow-length, bark brown hair and emerald eyes.
“I realize this is sudden,” he said as he leaned over the table, a pitcher of ice water suddenly in hand, and poured his guest a glass. “You don’t really know me except for my quick hello while Shun foolishly flailed his sword at Ful—excuse me, Kiriko.”
On that note he sat right back down and poured himself a glass before setting the pitcher down. The moment he looked away it completely vanished, as if it weren’t even there. Not even the slightest wisp of wind blew to acknowledge its exit.
The man folded his fingers into a steeple and laid his hands on the table cloth in front of his plate. His all-white suit, right down the to tie, seemed entirely too bright in this room. It vibrantly accented his slightly paler-than-normal skin and the earthy colors of his eyes and hair.
“My name’s Truth,” he introduced himself with a sudden smile. “You once knew me as Tova, in another life.”
Tova, he laughed silently at the name. How long had it been since he called himself that, now? I still can’t believe my parents stuck me with that. What a time to be alive, back then.
Truth cleared his throat a moment later and continued, “It’s been long enough and given your recent conversation with Takua Megiddo, I thought it prudent to visit. You have questions, no doubt, and I have more answers than you can imagine. I owe you that much. But before we get started, to give yourself a chance to get acclimated, why don’t you tell me what you’d like to eat? I’m probably the second, maybe third, best cook where I come from.”