Post by Hazuki Tsukimiya on May 26, 2016 13:41:50 GMT -5
A slight breeze tickled the back of Hazuki’s neck, making strands of her long, black hair dance with one another. To and fro they darted, back and forth they whipped, like children at play. She had worn a ribbon in her hair today, pure white, and it too fluttered in the wind.
It was peaceful up here. Calm. Hazuki had expected the height to bother her more than it did, but the serenity of this place soothed her. It was a long, long way down, and she estimated the fall alone would be almost 20 seconds of nothing but the rush of air in her ears and a feeling of complete weightlessness before the sudden, jarring impact with Sōkyoku Hill. She closed her eyes and imagined it, imagined falling past the towering Senzaikyū, now dwarfed by the glittering spire of her grand design. Imagined falling past the massive executioner’s block that marked the site of the Sōkyoku itself. Imagined hitting the ground, her body crushing the dirt under its accumulated momentum, the shockwave spreading like an explosion. Even in that moment, in the moment of what could impossibly be anything but death, her body would be lethal.
She sighed, raising the pair of binoculars in her hands to her eyes. She didn’t know what she was thinking.
Beneath her, Seireitei stretched out like an intricately woven carpet of streets and orange tile roofs, quickly giving way to the shacks of Rukongai which stretched on as far as the eye could see—and beyond even that. Soul Society was flat, just like the antiquated models of Earth had been, and it stretched on endlessly in all directions. Trek far enough and you would eventually set foot where nothing, living or dead, had set foot before. That was the reality of it, plain and simple. The current record holder was the Flash God; only he had possessed the stamina (and sheer arrogance) to venture out that far, and even then it had taken him weeks to return. In another time, another place, that was the sort of thing people could afford to spend their time on. Peace purchased with conquest, a Pax Romana of the afterlife. The Pax Messora, Hazuki supposed you could call it, but her Latin had never been very good. Her mother had simply called it the Reaper’s Peace, in English, as it always was with her. To Hazuki, it had been normal. To Hazuki, it had been nothing more than her childhood.
With magnified vision she scanned the districts for no other reason than she could—it wasn’t every day she had a view like this all to herself, so she decided to make the most of it. There was the hut she had once hidden her prize in, looking as ramshackle as ever. There was the brothel she had picked up her gift of apology for Shinpei, and idly she wondered how he was faring. Apparently, Chinda had promoted him to lieutenant not long ago, but Hazuki hadn’t found the time to congratulate him. He probably doesn’t want to see me, anyway. And there was—
There was the run-down little restaurant she had found Aizawa in. The ground outside still bore the marks of their violent clash, and Hazuki lowered the binoculars, a grim look on her perfect features. That encounter had set all of this in motion, but if she could go back and change it, she would. If she had been able to delay it, she would.
Cause and effect, she thought to herself bitterly, putting the binoculars away in the little metal cabinet where they belonged. Lose one fight in order to win two others.
Her defeat at the hands of man she had looked up to since as long as she could remember had made her question her very existence, and after his death—and make no mistake, Jasper Aizawa was dead as far as Hazuki was concerned—she had been given a sharp reminder of the taste of true loss. Kiriko, at least, had the decency to slink away in the middle of the night. But Jasper had plunged the knife in deep and twisted, making her feel every bit of it. White-knuckled, Hazuki clenched the railing of the observation platform in anger, but she closed her eyes and let it pass. She had overcome that hurdle. Aizawa was dead, and Hazuki was no less of a Shinigami than anyone else in Seireitei. Her path lay before her, now clearer than ever. She had her means, and it was time to pursue her ends.
With one hand on the two swords belted at her side—one pink hilt, and one blue—she daintily vaulted over the railing, her black uniform rippling like a flag in a hurricane as she plummeted toward the ground far below. Slowly, she rotated; once, twice, three times, and then her feet touched the ground like a ballet dancer alighting. There was no thundering impact, no explosion of dirt and dust. Just the faint crunch of a sandal touching gravel.
‘Ma’am,’ came a voice from behind her, and she turned toward it. ‘We’re finished.’
‘Impeccable timing,’ she replied, quickly checking the two vials hidden away inside her lieutenant’s insignia on her waist. Intact, just as she expected they would be. Shou’s handiwork was extremely good. ‘Clear out the site, I’ll take it from here. Oh, and I’ve raised the security clearance for Shinisec to Grey, effective immediately. Spread the word.’
The Shinigami saluted and disappeared, leaving Hazuki alone once again.
But not for long. She had a visitor.
The scene around her blurred as she invoked her Shunpo, and when it stabilized, she was standing next to the only man in Seireitei that outranked her own captain.
‘Commander,’ she said, offering a salute, unable to hide her pride. Behind her, the sparkling shard of glass and steel caught the light of the sun in its zenith. ‘Welcome to Amaterasu.’
°993
It was peaceful up here. Calm. Hazuki had expected the height to bother her more than it did, but the serenity of this place soothed her. It was a long, long way down, and she estimated the fall alone would be almost 20 seconds of nothing but the rush of air in her ears and a feeling of complete weightlessness before the sudden, jarring impact with Sōkyoku Hill. She closed her eyes and imagined it, imagined falling past the towering Senzaikyū, now dwarfed by the glittering spire of her grand design. Imagined falling past the massive executioner’s block that marked the site of the Sōkyoku itself. Imagined hitting the ground, her body crushing the dirt under its accumulated momentum, the shockwave spreading like an explosion. Even in that moment, in the moment of what could impossibly be anything but death, her body would be lethal.
She sighed, raising the pair of binoculars in her hands to her eyes. She didn’t know what she was thinking.
Beneath her, Seireitei stretched out like an intricately woven carpet of streets and orange tile roofs, quickly giving way to the shacks of Rukongai which stretched on as far as the eye could see—and beyond even that. Soul Society was flat, just like the antiquated models of Earth had been, and it stretched on endlessly in all directions. Trek far enough and you would eventually set foot where nothing, living or dead, had set foot before. That was the reality of it, plain and simple. The current record holder was the Flash God; only he had possessed the stamina (and sheer arrogance) to venture out that far, and even then it had taken him weeks to return. In another time, another place, that was the sort of thing people could afford to spend their time on. Peace purchased with conquest, a Pax Romana of the afterlife. The Pax Messora, Hazuki supposed you could call it, but her Latin had never been very good. Her mother had simply called it the Reaper’s Peace, in English, as it always was with her. To Hazuki, it had been normal. To Hazuki, it had been nothing more than her childhood.
With magnified vision she scanned the districts for no other reason than she could—it wasn’t every day she had a view like this all to herself, so she decided to make the most of it. There was the hut she had once hidden her prize in, looking as ramshackle as ever. There was the brothel she had picked up her gift of apology for Shinpei, and idly she wondered how he was faring. Apparently, Chinda had promoted him to lieutenant not long ago, but Hazuki hadn’t found the time to congratulate him. He probably doesn’t want to see me, anyway. And there was—
There was the run-down little restaurant she had found Aizawa in. The ground outside still bore the marks of their violent clash, and Hazuki lowered the binoculars, a grim look on her perfect features. That encounter had set all of this in motion, but if she could go back and change it, she would. If she had been able to delay it, she would.
Cause and effect, she thought to herself bitterly, putting the binoculars away in the little metal cabinet where they belonged. Lose one fight in order to win two others.
Her defeat at the hands of man she had looked up to since as long as she could remember had made her question her very existence, and after his death—and make no mistake, Jasper Aizawa was dead as far as Hazuki was concerned—she had been given a sharp reminder of the taste of true loss. Kiriko, at least, had the decency to slink away in the middle of the night. But Jasper had plunged the knife in deep and twisted, making her feel every bit of it. White-knuckled, Hazuki clenched the railing of the observation platform in anger, but she closed her eyes and let it pass. She had overcome that hurdle. Aizawa was dead, and Hazuki was no less of a Shinigami than anyone else in Seireitei. Her path lay before her, now clearer than ever. She had her means, and it was time to pursue her ends.
With one hand on the two swords belted at her side—one pink hilt, and one blue—she daintily vaulted over the railing, her black uniform rippling like a flag in a hurricane as she plummeted toward the ground far below. Slowly, she rotated; once, twice, three times, and then her feet touched the ground like a ballet dancer alighting. There was no thundering impact, no explosion of dirt and dust. Just the faint crunch of a sandal touching gravel.
‘Ma’am,’ came a voice from behind her, and she turned toward it. ‘We’re finished.’
‘Impeccable timing,’ she replied, quickly checking the two vials hidden away inside her lieutenant’s insignia on her waist. Intact, just as she expected they would be. Shou’s handiwork was extremely good. ‘Clear out the site, I’ll take it from here. Oh, and I’ve raised the security clearance for Shinisec to Grey, effective immediately. Spread the word.’
The Shinigami saluted and disappeared, leaving Hazuki alone once again.
But not for long. She had a visitor.
The scene around her blurred as she invoked her Shunpo, and when it stabilized, she was standing next to the only man in Seireitei that outranked her own captain.
‘Commander,’ she said, offering a salute, unable to hide her pride. Behind her, the sparkling shard of glass and steel caught the light of the sun in its zenith. ‘Welcome to Amaterasu.’
°993
