Teacher of A Teacher [Closed]

If there was one thing Mei was good at, it was picking out a good dress.

Running a finger along the hem of her qipao, the woman smiled, long legs carrying her across the sidewalk with near feline-like poise. She’d found the piece not too long ago in one of her usual haunts, a small “mom and pop” store that made all its merchandise on site; made of a surprisingly soft silk, the off-white outfit was adorned with a simple, yet stylish sea-green lace lining, with the lower half covered by a delicately embroidered scene of fresh-bloomed flowers in early spring. It was a beautiful dress, one that very much accentuated her figure (without putting everything out for the world to see) yet still shielded her slender frame form the elements as she strolled through the streets of Karakura in the young hours of the morning.

A smile pushed its way across the quincy’s lips as she rounded a corner, nostrils flaring with the myriad of smells that wafted from a nearby cafe. She’d been out for little more than an hour now, the last dregs of grogginess having faded away just a few minutes after she’d finished her morning stretches. Alexandria was still asleep and, with little else to do but sit around waiting for her girlfriend to wake up, Mei made an executive decision- rather than lay about all day and do nothing, she would do something with the time she had, something fun that didn’t require too much effort, lest she overexert her still healing body.

And that was how she’d found herself in the heart of downtown Karakura, heels clacking against the concrete as she followed the city’s ever shifting song. It was a new thing she’d started doing- rather than focus her sixth sense down into the chaos, the woman chose instead to simply listen and let the chorus guide her steps. So far her little excursions had yet to amount to any substantial difference in how well her mind’s ear could tune out the pulsating static, but she was certain it would make one, eventually. A sigh escaped the quincy’s lips as she side-stepped around a poorly dressed brunette who reeked of alcohol, gaze flicking away from the, now vomiting, woman.

That’s the third drunk I’ve run into in the last five minutes… Perhaps it was time to head back? She had been gone for awhile; Alex was surely up by now, getting ready for the day. Her girlfriend knew, of course (she wouldn’t have left the apartment without at least leaving a note), but the thought of not being there for their morning ritual was almost as distressing to her as her simply disappearing without explanation would be to Alexandria. Almost. Still, it was probably time for her to head home- if she hurried, she might even be able to catch the shorter woman while she was still in the showe-

Had the woman not been so focused on tuning out the cacophony of voices that was Karakura, she might have missed it- a pulse, a single, pure note amidst the sea of chords and bars around her, yet one she recognized, if only in form. Loud, with a deep impact, yet muffled by distance… Definitely Hirenkyaku. She paused at that, slender legs coming to a halt as she whirled around to face where the noise had come from. Hirenkyaku meant Quincy. Quincy using Hirenkyaku, even one as far away as this, meant problems. And problems, be they Hollow or Shinigami, were not something she wanted to deal with right now. No, best if she looked the other way and just…

She moved without hesitation, dress billowing behind her as she slid into a Hirenkyaku of her own, reishi swirling ‘round her heels with every leap she made. Dammit. This was such a terrible idea- any number of things could have forced that Quincy to utilize their high-speed movement technique, the least of which was a lack of formal transportation. But for one of her own to use such an easily heard form of the ability, only to go so quiet as to be almost (but not quite) untraceable… It didn’t sit right with her, not at all. It was too obvious a signal to just ignore, to empty a silence as to be of some mundane, non-violent origin. Something was wrong, and she was going to find out what, even if it made her late for breakfast.
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She came to a halt in a small, well-concealed alley a little under ten minutes later, her presence leashed as tight as she could make it without outright suppressing it entirely. It had taken her a fair bit to pinpoint the exact location the Hirenkyaku had come from, and even longer to track the lingering traces of reiatsu towards their source, but she’d done it (eventually); the trail had been rather straightforward once she’d picked it up, nuit still faded enough that staying on it proved a task in and of itself, nevermind trying to figure out where, if anywhere it lead. Still, she’d followed it, all the way to rinky-dink fast-food chain on the eastern edge of the city, and what she’d found at the end of it had not pleased her.

Nothing. No shinigami, no hollow, not even a freaked out mortal with no idea what they’d just done- there was nothing there but the Quincy who had started it all. She was tall, taller than Mei even, with a lithe frame and ample curves that she might have even appreciated if she weren’t so distracted by the slowly building tempest within her chest. She wanted to scream, to walk up to that blonde-haired bimbo and strangle her for what she’d done, for what she’d made her miss, all because she didn’t have the wherewithal to mask her own Hirenkyaku properly.

She wanted to, but she didn’t. No, instead of exploding, instead of screaming or acting on her aner, the woman simply moved, her long legs carrying her towards the source of her ire in what felt like the blink of an eye. Her face was blank, expression cool as she reached out from behind the taller woman, slender fingers pressing down on her shoulder with a gentle tap to get her attention. “Excuse me, miss? Do you have a moment?”
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[ P: 1059]
[ T: 1059]