Post by Dresden Ravenskraft on Jun 24, 2017 14:12:24 GMT -5
Berlin
Dresden opened his eyes and found himself barreling through a tunnel of light. A soothing, electronic voice, female, pulled at the edges of his senses, and for a moment he floated above the weighty howl of streamlined engineering over steel rails. The train finally lurched to a stop and at the sensation of sudden immobility, and Dresden fully awoke.
Four hours and twenty-six euros later, he had arrived in Berlin.
Dresden stepped off the train that had carried him from Düsseldorf and attempted to stretch his stiff limbs discreetly as he made his way through the terminal. The overlap of his memories and the distinct modernity of Berlin’s Central station confronted him with a sense of detached surrealism. Arced lattices of glass stretched above, suspended delicately by gossamer mullions that seemed to defy gravity in a subtle testament to modern architecture. The station was streamlined, cool, and despite the streams of travelers that blurred across the smooth tile, strangely lifeless. It was a far cry from the claustrophobic, soot-choked tunnels of an earlier era, and Dresden felt not unlike a ghost treading among the living.
It had been over fifty years since he had set foot in the capital, and his last sight of Berlin had been of a city reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble. The realization that the past no longer gripped the place was selfishly painful to Dresden, as though he were an exiled part of history that had been incised from the modern era. Still, the Berlin Dresden had known was long-dead, and that was ultimately a good thing.
Refusing to take a cab, Dresden continued through the heart of the capital on foot. As he stood at a street corner, waiting for the light above the crosswalk to turn green, doubt began to creep into his mind. While he had determined to contact the Order, he was beginning to have second thoughts. The Quincy stood on the brink of war with the Shinigami, and both sides seemed to be sprinting at breakneck pace towards confrontation, blinded by their fear. He understood their dread, as he himself had only been one generation removed from the Culling three centuries earlier. Yet he also knew the consequences of holding fast to unquestioning allegiance—especially “worthy causes.” The fact that the Quincy had elected a monarch was thus cause for concern. Dresden’s plan was simple: he intended to contact the Order, determine if there was a way to restore his powers, and then strive to work against those Quincy who wished to spur another genocide by provoking the Soul Society into war. If the so-called “queen” was included among those Quincy, then so be it.
“To achieve the greater good, the means are just as important as the ends,” his own words echoed in his mind. Beneath it ran its countercurrent: to sacrifice the few to preserve the many. He felt his morality was beginning to teeter dangerously, perched on a thin line between pragmatism and idealism. Dresden wondered if he had become one of those few.
The light turned green, and for a moment Dresden’s vision blurred. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of his haunted expression in the convex mirror above the signal.
He needed a drink, he decided.
Acting upon that plan, Dresden crossed the street and headed towards the river Spree that bisected the city. It did not take long to find a small café on the edge of a park that faced the waterfront, and Dresden took a seat on the patio amidst a small flock of local lunch-goers. He ordered a draft of Altbier and a sandwich. While waiting he pulled out a small, white tablet and fingered its round surface as he surveyed his surroundings. The park had just enough passerby to deter an aggressor, yet there were few enough people where, should things take a turn for the worse, a display of Hirenkyaku might escape unnoticed.
He crushed the tablet between his fingers, releasing a drop of Reiatsu that rippled through the surrounding atmosphere. However, it was not Hollow’s bait but Quincy’s, as Dresden had imbued the capsule with the Reiryoku he had gathered from Peter Winter’s corpse… which is what had brought him to Berlin to begin with. Now, Dresden could only wait and hope that someone from the Order picked up on the signature and decided to show up.
The beer arrived and Dresden sampled it with a grimace. While bartenders tended to be biased about their own, he had tasted better in Düsseldorf, he objectively decided. After finishing his meal, he left his tip on the table and strode towards the park. It was mid-March and chilly, and Dresden’s breath formed small clouds of barely visible steam in the slightly damp air. The Altbier had helped to take a bit of the edge off the cold, but he had still only managed to finish half of it. No doubt a shameful waste of alcohol, but it had been as much as he could stomach.
Finally, reached a bronze statue of an nondescript man on the horse. He had chosen the location due to the sheltered circle of oak trees that surrounded the small memorial. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses and detected an approaching presence. Then he nodded to himself.
While risky, his ploy had apparently been successful, as it belonged to a Quincy.
Dresden opened his eyes and found himself barreling through a tunnel of light. A soothing, electronic voice, female, pulled at the edges of his senses, and for a moment he floated above the weighty howl of streamlined engineering over steel rails. The train finally lurched to a stop and at the sensation of sudden immobility, and Dresden fully awoke.
Four hours and twenty-six euros later, he had arrived in Berlin.
Dresden stepped off the train that had carried him from Düsseldorf and attempted to stretch his stiff limbs discreetly as he made his way through the terminal. The overlap of his memories and the distinct modernity of Berlin’s Central station confronted him with a sense of detached surrealism. Arced lattices of glass stretched above, suspended delicately by gossamer mullions that seemed to defy gravity in a subtle testament to modern architecture. The station was streamlined, cool, and despite the streams of travelers that blurred across the smooth tile, strangely lifeless. It was a far cry from the claustrophobic, soot-choked tunnels of an earlier era, and Dresden felt not unlike a ghost treading among the living.
It had been over fifty years since he had set foot in the capital, and his last sight of Berlin had been of a city reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble. The realization that the past no longer gripped the place was selfishly painful to Dresden, as though he were an exiled part of history that had been incised from the modern era. Still, the Berlin Dresden had known was long-dead, and that was ultimately a good thing.
Refusing to take a cab, Dresden continued through the heart of the capital on foot. As he stood at a street corner, waiting for the light above the crosswalk to turn green, doubt began to creep into his mind. While he had determined to contact the Order, he was beginning to have second thoughts. The Quincy stood on the brink of war with the Shinigami, and both sides seemed to be sprinting at breakneck pace towards confrontation, blinded by their fear. He understood their dread, as he himself had only been one generation removed from the Culling three centuries earlier. Yet he also knew the consequences of holding fast to unquestioning allegiance—especially “worthy causes.” The fact that the Quincy had elected a monarch was thus cause for concern. Dresden’s plan was simple: he intended to contact the Order, determine if there was a way to restore his powers, and then strive to work against those Quincy who wished to spur another genocide by provoking the Soul Society into war. If the so-called “queen” was included among those Quincy, then so be it.
“To achieve the greater good, the means are just as important as the ends,” his own words echoed in his mind. Beneath it ran its countercurrent: to sacrifice the few to preserve the many. He felt his morality was beginning to teeter dangerously, perched on a thin line between pragmatism and idealism. Dresden wondered if he had become one of those few.
The light turned green, and for a moment Dresden’s vision blurred. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of his haunted expression in the convex mirror above the signal.
He needed a drink, he decided.
Acting upon that plan, Dresden crossed the street and headed towards the river Spree that bisected the city. It did not take long to find a small café on the edge of a park that faced the waterfront, and Dresden took a seat on the patio amidst a small flock of local lunch-goers. He ordered a draft of Altbier and a sandwich. While waiting he pulled out a small, white tablet and fingered its round surface as he surveyed his surroundings. The park had just enough passerby to deter an aggressor, yet there were few enough people where, should things take a turn for the worse, a display of Hirenkyaku might escape unnoticed.
He crushed the tablet between his fingers, releasing a drop of Reiatsu that rippled through the surrounding atmosphere. However, it was not Hollow’s bait but Quincy’s, as Dresden had imbued the capsule with the Reiryoku he had gathered from Peter Winter’s corpse… which is what had brought him to Berlin to begin with. Now, Dresden could only wait and hope that someone from the Order picked up on the signature and decided to show up.
The beer arrived and Dresden sampled it with a grimace. While bartenders tended to be biased about their own, he had tasted better in Düsseldorf, he objectively decided. After finishing his meal, he left his tip on the table and strode towards the park. It was mid-March and chilly, and Dresden’s breath formed small clouds of barely visible steam in the slightly damp air. The Altbier had helped to take a bit of the edge off the cold, but he had still only managed to finish half of it. No doubt a shameful waste of alcohol, but it had been as much as he could stomach.
Finally, reached a bronze statue of an nondescript man on the horse. He had chosen the location due to the sheltered circle of oak trees that surrounded the small memorial. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses and detected an approaching presence. Then he nodded to himself.
While risky, his ploy had apparently been successful, as it belonged to a Quincy.
901 words
