Calibration [Dresden]

419/943

351/1,294

His patience was wearing thin; with a sigh to match his diminishing demeanor, he swatted at the barrel pressed against his chest nonchalantly, "I'm warning you: you're getting carried away," came his irksome response regarding the weapon leveled at him. As he considered the situation, he reminded himself that he was intel, not instigation, and sought to soften his otherwise jagged replies.

"Of course I'm here to observe and monitor. My mission here is important to operations both in the Soul Society and here in the World of the Living where my allies coordinate against Hollows more directly." He hadn't moved an inch from where he'd swatted the weapon, and whether the gun was on him or not wouldn't deter him.

"And mind you, I didn't approach you, he did," he said, a subtle nod to the gigai, who seemed increasingly nervous at the renewed attention, "but you had to go and pull your gun. Is that how you greet any ol' weirdo, or are you up to something you shouldn't be and are jumpy? If you couldn't detect me, after all, then why make this," he gestured again at his gigai, "the subject of your violence?"

"All he'd have wanted from you was a name I'd cross reference with our intel from my position nestled away in the shadows and see whether we knew anything about you," he admitted honestly, but purposely leaving out the next bit, 'and if we didn't, my job is to change that.' He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "But I should remind you, you aren't human. The people living in the homes around dotting here are. You are something different, something beyond them. And for their sake," he said, referencing the lives of the living, "it's wise we know who just comes in and out around here. You're a Quincy, after all, don't you know a thing or two about upset balance?"

Dresden would never understand the irony of that last statement.

As of on cue, it all happened again. The sound of his heart beat filled his ears, eventually enveloping his whole body in its mighty thump. Time stood characteristically still, the youthful face of the Quincy perpetually frozen, unknowing of all that was about to happen. Somewhere in the corner of his field of vision, the shadows stirred. As in all times previous, Osamu could not move nor react nor command his body or mind to do this or that. He was indeed frozen, as if paralyzed, in either affect or effect it didn't really matter.

He breathed in and the next thing he knew, time resumed its flow and he stood with his eyes fixed on the Quincy, mere moments after his comment about upset balance.

He said no more -- that ball was in the Quincy's court now -- but he certainly fretted. He did well to hide his discomfort from his face and posture, but he was particularly conscious abut his inner balance. He nor his energy were particularly stressed. Sure, he'd gotten frustrated with the Quincy, but he hadn't let loose mentally, physically, nor spiritually. So why, then, had Andromeda once again managed to grasp his psyche? With a single hand he molded a couple of signs to reapply his hard reset, calming what he knew to be already relaxed reiatsu. Still, it was the only precaution he'd found that worked to stave off Andromeda's assaults, so he'd rely on it as much as he possibly could. He rested easy knowing there was no effect Dresden would be able to sense from the hand seals he wove, having confidence in that the move wouldn't come off suspicious and warrant reaction from the Quincy.

614/1,908

The impact of the quincy's words were such lost on Osamu.

As before, so it continued again now despite his efforts to stave off his spirit's intrusions. Frustrated, he figured to try a slightly different approach to the same problem. He wove a few hand seals, pulling on his energy in familiar, though new ways, and summoned two seals on the tops of his palms, made of wriggling, lifelike lines of black Reiryoku, not dissimilar to some sort of living, moving tattoo. The purpose of these marks, located in close proximity to the wrists, a spiritual beings natural reiatsu exhaust, so to speak, was to limit the activity, flow, and severity of all discharge as to passively, and actively (unlike former approaches he'd taken) to monitor, suppress, and hold Andromeda at bay. For now, it seemed, this would do the trick, and he was sure if Andromeda found a way through this defense, it would likely be sooner rather than later.

Back to the matters at hand, however.

"You pulled your weapon and placed it at a stranger's temple, and yet you talk to me about arrogance," he audibly scoffed. "I just figured you were a waste no time, no funny business type, so I should approach the individual with his weapon raised against my harmless colleague here." His posture tightened, his frame rigid. "So if you insist on being hostile all because you were being observed, I have little choice but to suspect something is awry or you're up to something. I'm no spy on this front, I'm frontline patrol. I intervene when necessary or no one else can. I didn't recognize you, your signature didn't match one we are familiar with, so as we've done for centuries -- longer than you've been alive, or your kind even has existed -- we've come to assess from either afar or from direct contact what sort is poking around."

He finally, he wasn't a pushover, and this sod wasn't going to get away with such a threatening gesture. A flick of his wrist could have the tip struck a full forty five degrees downward and to the ground, though his body made no other movement toward that end, waiting for the perfect opportunity for to provoke and engage instead.

"And get that thing out of my face unless you plan to use it."

390/2,298