Post by Shun Minamoto on Jan 1, 2017 16:25:50 GMT -5
Another attempt.
How long had been, now? Flitting between worlds like a moth desperately searhing not just for any flame, in a sea of fire, but its flame. How hard was that? How pointless did it seem to try and try again? He had, if he wanted to make any sense of this. There was no way for him to directly study this phenomenon, since it wasn’t something his powers could normally do—Genshi had made that much clear. If Shun wanted to figure out how to use this unexpected application of his Zanpakutō, he and Genshi would have to learn how, side-by-side.
Truth was, Shun knew exactly how long it had been. Five and a half years to the day. He had made it a point to spend, once he found a hospitable world, no more than three months trying to learn what he could about these alternate universes. So far, out of the countless he had visited, Shun hadn’t figured out anything new about his abilities. In fact, everwhere he visited didn’t know anything about alternate worlds or histories. Their encounter with Shun, if they even believed his absurd-sounding story, was the first that anyone he met was familiar with.
Almost like fate was playing games with him, chasing a home that he didn’t even know was the same. After all, he sometimes told himself, it had already been five years. How much had changed without him? Who even, really, expected him to come back after what must have been seen as an incredibly mysterious disappearance? Or, worse, what if it hadn’t just been five years?
What was stopping it from being five hundred? What then?
But today, maybe because he woke up on the right side of the bed, it didn’t feel as bad. Shun knew that when he appeared in a new world, he needed to lay still for an hour or so before he attempted to move. If he tried anything bolder than that, it would almost certainly end in disaster for him. The only excuse was danger, and after he escaped, he’d need extra time to properly recover—and even longer after that before he had the strength to attempt another return trip.
This time, his arrival had put him in the middle of a street in one of the upper Rukongai districts. Caring children had found the “super hero”—they called Shinigami superheroes!—laying in the street and in need of help. Wanting to take care of him as the “superheroes” took care of them, they found a restaurant for him to rest in.
It was a noodle place, Shun understood that from the smell, and he had been all but tossed into a private, wooden booth. The parents that had come by said they sent word into the Seireitei, to have a Shinigami come out and provide what assistance they could. And, no doubt, to figure out just who had collapsed in one of the upper Rukongai districts.
Or why no one had even seen him fall.
Seated near the door, Shun was all but unconscious, slumped backwards against the seat. Genshi was clutched tightly in both hands, his only real lifeline to the rest of the world. His Shihakushō—and just that; no badge or haori for a man where he didn’t belong—was new, his haircut was new, even his glasses were new. The only trace he had of his home, and his family, and his only hope to get back to them, was in his hands.
Then he heard a quiet bell go off, and his eyes opened to the sight of a young, Shinigami woman stepping through the threshold and into a mess she would scarcely understand.
*****
619 Words
Kionchi
How long had been, now? Flitting between worlds like a moth desperately searhing not just for any flame, in a sea of fire, but its flame. How hard was that? How pointless did it seem to try and try again? He had, if he wanted to make any sense of this. There was no way for him to directly study this phenomenon, since it wasn’t something his powers could normally do—Genshi had made that much clear. If Shun wanted to figure out how to use this unexpected application of his Zanpakutō, he and Genshi would have to learn how, side-by-side.
Truth was, Shun knew exactly how long it had been. Five and a half years to the day. He had made it a point to spend, once he found a hospitable world, no more than three months trying to learn what he could about these alternate universes. So far, out of the countless he had visited, Shun hadn’t figured out anything new about his abilities. In fact, everwhere he visited didn’t know anything about alternate worlds or histories. Their encounter with Shun, if they even believed his absurd-sounding story, was the first that anyone he met was familiar with.
Almost like fate was playing games with him, chasing a home that he didn’t even know was the same. After all, he sometimes told himself, it had already been five years. How much had changed without him? Who even, really, expected him to come back after what must have been seen as an incredibly mysterious disappearance? Or, worse, what if it hadn’t just been five years?
What was stopping it from being five hundred? What then?
But today, maybe because he woke up on the right side of the bed, it didn’t feel as bad. Shun knew that when he appeared in a new world, he needed to lay still for an hour or so before he attempted to move. If he tried anything bolder than that, it would almost certainly end in disaster for him. The only excuse was danger, and after he escaped, he’d need extra time to properly recover—and even longer after that before he had the strength to attempt another return trip.
This time, his arrival had put him in the middle of a street in one of the upper Rukongai districts. Caring children had found the “super hero”—they called Shinigami superheroes!—laying in the street and in need of help. Wanting to take care of him as the “superheroes” took care of them, they found a restaurant for him to rest in.
It was a noodle place, Shun understood that from the smell, and he had been all but tossed into a private, wooden booth. The parents that had come by said they sent word into the Seireitei, to have a Shinigami come out and provide what assistance they could. And, no doubt, to figure out just who had collapsed in one of the upper Rukongai districts.
Or why no one had even seen him fall.
Seated near the door, Shun was all but unconscious, slumped backwards against the seat. Genshi was clutched tightly in both hands, his only real lifeline to the rest of the world. His Shihakushō—and just that; no badge or haori for a man where he didn’t belong—was new, his haircut was new, even his glasses were new. The only trace he had of his home, and his family, and his only hope to get back to them, was in his hands.
Then he heard a quiet bell go off, and his eyes opened to the sight of a young, Shinigami woman stepping through the threshold and into a mess she would scarcely understand.
*****
619 Words
Kionchi