Post by Hazuki Tsukimiya on Jun 23, 2016 18:03:22 GMT -5
Late afternoon in Rukongai was usually signaled by the sun hanging lazily somewhere beneath its zenith in a pale blue sky, and today was not much different—the shadows were getting longer and the air was lukewarm, neither hot nor cold. Exceptional weather at either end of the spectrum was rare; there were some who were quick to liken Soul Society to the western ideal of Heaven, but the truth was that the land of the dead was painfully average in almost everything. Seireitei itself was a gleaming beacon of civilization in a sea of mediocrity. The closer you got to the fortress-city, the more pleasant things were, but but they remained dull shades of grey in comparison to the bright white of the Gotei’s home.
Unlike the vast majority of Shinigami, Hazuki did not come from Rukongai; she had been born to Shinigami parents in Seireitei and the dull reality of life outside the city walls still unnerved her. Looking at it, it was easy for Hazuki to affirm that Soul Society was not Heaven—Heaven would not be so bland. This was simply a waiting room.
Different souls preferred to wait in different ways: there were those who simply lived their un-lives, wasting days, months and years on a meaningless and repetitive day-to-day tasks; there were those who turned to lives of crime and violence, seeing the myth of divine retribution for what it was; and then there were those who spent their days in brothels and bars, fucking and drinking their days away. There was no right or wrong way to approach the time spent waiting for reincarnation, but the spread indicated most people adhered to some form of hard-wired herd morality. The violent criminals and the degenerates were certainly in a minority (at least in the lower districts) but their behavior was largely tolerated even by Shinigami authorities.
Hazuki herself couldn’t have cared less. How the masses spent their time was of no concern to her—as long as the balance of souls remained intact, she was satisfied. This apathy extended to her thoughts on most Shinigami, as well: how the population of Seireitei spent their off time was irrelevant as long as they maintained their responsibilities when on duty.
It came as no real surprise that there were more than a few Shinigami uniforms milling about in the brothel she currently found herself in (as had been the case with the others thus far), some casting wary glances at her and the brand new lieutenant’s badge she was sporting, and others seemingly uncaring. She paid them no mind whatsoever—she was looking for someone in particular.
A pattern had started to emerge: Hazuki’s entry had typically been met by a momentary lapse in the jovial mood of the front room, serving only to accentuate the faint sounds of slapping flesh and sensual moaning from the rooms in the back, but when it became apparent Hazuki was not there to start any trouble, the barely-clad women and their patrons returned to their debauchery. Moments later, a somewhat older woman—usually a fraction more decently clothed, but clearly just a retired whore whose looks had started to go sour—had approached the lieutenant asking if she was looking for anything in particular. A short description of Jasper Aizawa invariably followed along with questions about his whereabouts, and thus far the answers had all been an apologetic shake of the head.
This time was no different, and Hazuki softly clenched her jaw in irritation. It had been far easier to locate Shinpei Minamoto, but he had wanted to be found. Hazuki’s appreciation of that fact was beginning to grow, and for the first time that day, she broke from the pattern.
She breathed in the heavily perfumed scent of sweat and shame and turned to the madam, as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her looks had deteriorated, but there were traces of a former beauty in her features, worn down by what was no doubt decades of—and Hazuki had to fight not to sneer—hard use. Long tresses of dark brown hair spilled from her loose bun, and her eyes, while once certainly lively, were dead. This woman hadn’t known happiness in a very long time. Given her profession, Hazuki doubted she had ever known happiness. Her robe, unlike with the rest of the girls, was actually tied albeit loosely, barely hiding her figure—which Hazuki couldn’t help but notice was a little too ample in certain places. It was a stark contrast to Hazuki herself, whose uniform and body were both immaculate. It was so very telling, the dilapidated state of this woman’s appearance. She had allowed herself to be used and used and used again for the benefit of someone else’s pleasure and now she was an empty husk whose very own self-image was deteriorating fast.
Revulsion welled up in the pit of Hazuki’s stomach. These weren’t people anymore. A lifetime of so-called work on their backs had turned them into objects in their own minds just as much as in the minds of everyone who laid eyes upon them or their shamelessly bare breasts.
‘I want you to send a few of your girls to Seireitei,’ she said, the disdain in her voice barely hidden. ‘To the Fourth Division. Tell them to present this at the door, and the Shinigami there will pay them and tell them what to do.’ She held out her finger and a Hell butterfly fluttered in through one of the windows above to land on it, then she offered it to the proprietor.
‘Any preferences, miss?’ she asked, her air of subservience forced and unnatural.
Hazuki’s answer was curt. ‘He likes pretty ones. Just make sure they’re clean.’
The air outside was refreshingly clear when she finally exited the brothel, and the realization that Aizawa would likely never set his foot in an establishment like that was starting to set in. She had been wasting her time, and the sun had dipped lower still. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. Aizawa’s disappearance had been sudden and unexpected, though there was a nagging suspicion at the back of her mind that the envelope she had brought him had something to do with it. She wondered what those orders had been, and she thought back to the rest of that conversation.
Her eyes shot open. She had an idea of where he might be. It wasn’t far, either.
She touched down lightly some time later, a little cloud of dust rising around her feet. Last time she had come here, it had been empty, despite her hoping otherwise. Her hopes were the same this time, but the person she was looking for was different. From the outside, the run-down little restaurant looked dark and empty, but that didn’t mean much. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The interior was gloomy, the wooden furniture looking like spindly skeletons rising from the floor in the dull orange light that trickled in from the windows. It looked abandoned, but then she wasn’t really looking for a meal. The lights in the kitchen were off, and she crossed the room one careful step at a time, footsteps silent even on the creaky wood planks. A noise outside caught Hazuki’s attention and she peeked out of one of the windows, but her inspection revealed nothing. She didn’t know why she seemed to be so on edge—she didn’t like this place much to begin with, of course, but that wasn’t it.
All she knew for sure was that if Jasper Aizawa was to be found anywhere in Rukongai, it would be here.
°1,289
Unlike the vast majority of Shinigami, Hazuki did not come from Rukongai; she had been born to Shinigami parents in Seireitei and the dull reality of life outside the city walls still unnerved her. Looking at it, it was easy for Hazuki to affirm that Soul Society was not Heaven—Heaven would not be so bland. This was simply a waiting room.
Different souls preferred to wait in different ways: there were those who simply lived their un-lives, wasting days, months and years on a meaningless and repetitive day-to-day tasks; there were those who turned to lives of crime and violence, seeing the myth of divine retribution for what it was; and then there were those who spent their days in brothels and bars, fucking and drinking their days away. There was no right or wrong way to approach the time spent waiting for reincarnation, but the spread indicated most people adhered to some form of hard-wired herd morality. The violent criminals and the degenerates were certainly in a minority (at least in the lower districts) but their behavior was largely tolerated even by Shinigami authorities.
Hazuki herself couldn’t have cared less. How the masses spent their time was of no concern to her—as long as the balance of souls remained intact, she was satisfied. This apathy extended to her thoughts on most Shinigami, as well: how the population of Seireitei spent their off time was irrelevant as long as they maintained their responsibilities when on duty.
It came as no real surprise that there were more than a few Shinigami uniforms milling about in the brothel she currently found herself in (as had been the case with the others thus far), some casting wary glances at her and the brand new lieutenant’s badge she was sporting, and others seemingly uncaring. She paid them no mind whatsoever—she was looking for someone in particular.
A pattern had started to emerge: Hazuki’s entry had typically been met by a momentary lapse in the jovial mood of the front room, serving only to accentuate the faint sounds of slapping flesh and sensual moaning from the rooms in the back, but when it became apparent Hazuki was not there to start any trouble, the barely-clad women and their patrons returned to their debauchery. Moments later, a somewhat older woman—usually a fraction more decently clothed, but clearly just a retired whore whose looks had started to go sour—had approached the lieutenant asking if she was looking for anything in particular. A short description of Jasper Aizawa invariably followed along with questions about his whereabouts, and thus far the answers had all been an apologetic shake of the head.
This time was no different, and Hazuki softly clenched her jaw in irritation. It had been far easier to locate Shinpei Minamoto, but he had wanted to be found. Hazuki’s appreciation of that fact was beginning to grow, and for the first time that day, she broke from the pattern.
She breathed in the heavily perfumed scent of sweat and shame and turned to the madam, as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her looks had deteriorated, but there were traces of a former beauty in her features, worn down by what was no doubt decades of—and Hazuki had to fight not to sneer—hard use. Long tresses of dark brown hair spilled from her loose bun, and her eyes, while once certainly lively, were dead. This woman hadn’t known happiness in a very long time. Given her profession, Hazuki doubted she had ever known happiness. Her robe, unlike with the rest of the girls, was actually tied albeit loosely, barely hiding her figure—which Hazuki couldn’t help but notice was a little too ample in certain places. It was a stark contrast to Hazuki herself, whose uniform and body were both immaculate. It was so very telling, the dilapidated state of this woman’s appearance. She had allowed herself to be used and used and used again for the benefit of someone else’s pleasure and now she was an empty husk whose very own self-image was deteriorating fast.
Revulsion welled up in the pit of Hazuki’s stomach. These weren’t people anymore. A lifetime of so-called work on their backs had turned them into objects in their own minds just as much as in the minds of everyone who laid eyes upon them or their shamelessly bare breasts.
‘I want you to send a few of your girls to Seireitei,’ she said, the disdain in her voice barely hidden. ‘To the Fourth Division. Tell them to present this at the door, and the Shinigami there will pay them and tell them what to do.’ She held out her finger and a Hell butterfly fluttered in through one of the windows above to land on it, then she offered it to the proprietor.
‘Any preferences, miss?’ she asked, her air of subservience forced and unnatural.
Hazuki’s answer was curt. ‘He likes pretty ones. Just make sure they’re clean.’
The air outside was refreshingly clear when she finally exited the brothel, and the realization that Aizawa would likely never set his foot in an establishment like that was starting to set in. She had been wasting her time, and the sun had dipped lower still. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. Aizawa’s disappearance had been sudden and unexpected, though there was a nagging suspicion at the back of her mind that the envelope she had brought him had something to do with it. She wondered what those orders had been, and she thought back to the rest of that conversation.
Her eyes shot open. She had an idea of where he might be. It wasn’t far, either.
She touched down lightly some time later, a little cloud of dust rising around her feet. Last time she had come here, it had been empty, despite her hoping otherwise. Her hopes were the same this time, but the person she was looking for was different. From the outside, the run-down little restaurant looked dark and empty, but that didn’t mean much. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The interior was gloomy, the wooden furniture looking like spindly skeletons rising from the floor in the dull orange light that trickled in from the windows. It looked abandoned, but then she wasn’t really looking for a meal. The lights in the kitchen were off, and she crossed the room one careful step at a time, footsteps silent even on the creaky wood planks. A noise outside caught Hazuki’s attention and she peeked out of one of the windows, but her inspection revealed nothing. She didn’t know why she seemed to be so on edge—she didn’t like this place much to begin with, of course, but that wasn’t it.
All she knew for sure was that if Jasper Aizawa was to be found anywhere in Rukongai, it would be here.
°1,289