Post by Nagisa on Oct 12, 2016 18:14:34 GMT -5
The first person to notice Okita Sorata was the chief of staff in command for the morning session of all academy students. And he did so by inhaling sharply as the lanky man with raven hair and blue eyes appeared in front of him seemingly out of nowhere. Feeling that the fabled courier of the Second Division stood just a bit too close he took a step back and hid his uneasiness by reaching up to polish his glasses.
“Okita-san, as always it’s a pleasure, though I must remind you, for the seventh time, to stop it with the ghost-like appearances. You are bound to give me a heart-attack.” The chief in staff, Mokubo, himself a man with mouse grey hair, thin eyebrows and thinner lips, rubbed his eyes in a way common to old people.
“Apologies.”
“I did note that choice of words, young man,” the old one said gruffly before smoothening out the fold of his robes. “So, who are you here for today?”
“Kubo Aryae,” procuring a scroll from the folds of his robes Sorata handed it over before folding his hands in the depths of his sleeves.
“Oh?” curiously Mokubo broke the seal on the scroll and his eyes began to dart across the paper. “I can see why you lot would have your eyes on her, but if you ask me, she’d be better off joining Fifth for a century or so. Lass needs to learn about camaraderie, not just loyalty.”
“Ku-bo A-ri-a-e. A-ri-yae?” furrowing his brows slightly Okita continued to repeat her name a few times as he watched her approach the meeting room. Measuring sixteen Tatami the spacious room seemed quite empty with only two sitting pillows and a small brown table, but Okita liked the minimalism. It was practical to him. Any more would have been wasteful. Reciting once again to himself what he knew about her Sorata closed his eyes to keep track of her Reiatsu. Supposedly she was the inquisitive kind with a talent for improvising unusual solutions. That was good. But Mokubo had also called her pessimistic. That could be a problem. Too little of it and one became haughty and made mistakes. Too much of it and one gave up too early. Exhaling Sorata also thought to have seen the swagger of pride in her step when she had passed her fellow students. He disliked prideful people. Pride bred boasting. And those who boasted were often mercurial and reckless.
“Hello Kubo Aryae-san. I am Okita Sorata,” Sorata’s voice was soft and melodic as if he was reciting a poem. However it was also clear and easily carried to the end of the room. With one arm he pointed at the pillow that had been prepared for her, he himself still standing at the window, with the back turned to her. “Sit.”
For two minutes he said nothing, simply drinking in her Reiatsu, felt it coiling around her like mist not unlike the Shunko of the former Captain Chinda had. He himself exhumed no trail of Reiatsu, a trick her had learned from the current Captain Chinda. Reminding himself that he was here on a business visit Sorata began his series of questions.
“How would you describe yourself, Kubo-san?”
Listening patiently to her answer Okita finally turned, slowly, deliberately, as if something she had said had piqued his interest.
“And how would others describe you, Kubo-san?”
Standing on his side of the table he towered over the girl with the pale skin and silver eyes. To Sorata, the two of them had little in common besides their hair color. What he saw of her skin showed signs of scaring and he knew that those with porcelain skinned bruised easily. His thoughts on scars were ambivalent. On the one hand they were proof of survived hardships, but on the other hand they could also indicate a lack of skill. Aryae’s body looked worn out already. Perhaps she was better off not being put through the training regiment of the Second Division. An innovative mind could be put to good use in the Fourth, and a loyal soul could be taught camaraderie, like Mokubo said, and thus find success in the Fifth.
But Captain Chinda had pointed out her file as the second of only three of the dozen he had presented her.
“I heard you spent quite some time as vigilante in the sixty-first district,” Sorata said and finally took his seat in a motion so fluid as if he was water being poured into a new form. “Tell me about that.”
“Okita-san, as always it’s a pleasure, though I must remind you, for the seventh time, to stop it with the ghost-like appearances. You are bound to give me a heart-attack.” The chief in staff, Mokubo, himself a man with mouse grey hair, thin eyebrows and thinner lips, rubbed his eyes in a way common to old people.
“Apologies.”
“I did note that choice of words, young man,” the old one said gruffly before smoothening out the fold of his robes. “So, who are you here for today?”
“Kubo Aryae,” procuring a scroll from the folds of his robes Sorata handed it over before folding his hands in the depths of his sleeves.
“Oh?” curiously Mokubo broke the seal on the scroll and his eyes began to dart across the paper. “I can see why you lot would have your eyes on her, but if you ask me, she’d be better off joining Fifth for a century or so. Lass needs to learn about camaraderie, not just loyalty.”
“Ku-bo A-ri-a-e. A-ri-yae?” furrowing his brows slightly Okita continued to repeat her name a few times as he watched her approach the meeting room. Measuring sixteen Tatami the spacious room seemed quite empty with only two sitting pillows and a small brown table, but Okita liked the minimalism. It was practical to him. Any more would have been wasteful. Reciting once again to himself what he knew about her Sorata closed his eyes to keep track of her Reiatsu. Supposedly she was the inquisitive kind with a talent for improvising unusual solutions. That was good. But Mokubo had also called her pessimistic. That could be a problem. Too little of it and one became haughty and made mistakes. Too much of it and one gave up too early. Exhaling Sorata also thought to have seen the swagger of pride in her step when she had passed her fellow students. He disliked prideful people. Pride bred boasting. And those who boasted were often mercurial and reckless.
“Hello Kubo Aryae-san. I am Okita Sorata,” Sorata’s voice was soft and melodic as if he was reciting a poem. However it was also clear and easily carried to the end of the room. With one arm he pointed at the pillow that had been prepared for her, he himself still standing at the window, with the back turned to her. “Sit.”
For two minutes he said nothing, simply drinking in her Reiatsu, felt it coiling around her like mist not unlike the Shunko of the former Captain Chinda had. He himself exhumed no trail of Reiatsu, a trick her had learned from the current Captain Chinda. Reminding himself that he was here on a business visit Sorata began his series of questions.
“How would you describe yourself, Kubo-san?”
Listening patiently to her answer Okita finally turned, slowly, deliberately, as if something she had said had piqued his interest.
“And how would others describe you, Kubo-san?”
Standing on his side of the table he towered over the girl with the pale skin and silver eyes. To Sorata, the two of them had little in common besides their hair color. What he saw of her skin showed signs of scaring and he knew that those with porcelain skinned bruised easily. His thoughts on scars were ambivalent. On the one hand they were proof of survived hardships, but on the other hand they could also indicate a lack of skill. Aryae’s body looked worn out already. Perhaps she was better off not being put through the training regiment of the Second Division. An innovative mind could be put to good use in the Fourth, and a loyal soul could be taught camaraderie, like Mokubo said, and thus find success in the Fifth.
But Captain Chinda had pointed out her file as the second of only three of the dozen he had presented her.
“I heard you spent quite some time as vigilante in the sixty-first district,” Sorata said and finally took his seat in a motion so fluid as if he was water being poured into a new form. “Tell me about that.”
