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discedo_logs2008-07-07 05:06 pm
i-foraneye.livejournal.com) wrote in discedo_logs2008-07-07 05:06 pm
[In Progress] A Chance Meeting of DO NOT WANT
Who: Ulquiorra (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
i_foraneye), Soubi (scarredtruth) [CLOSED]
Where: Miscellaneous stretch of Lander Boulevard near the High School
When: This afternoon, bordering on evening
Rating: PG?
Summary: Ulquiorra is unaccustomed to being injured but pragmatic, and Soubi is his usual ho-ful self. :|
the log:
It was remarkably well-planned, for a city; the major streets ran unerringly on north-south and east-west axes, and even through all the weathering, the street signs could be deemed legible by sheer virtue of their size. It was something he would have remarked upon further, had the less savory aspects of the city not completely overwritten its better moments.
He'd had no problem navigating his way from the edifice within which he'd first awoken (a museum, of all places; perhaps he should have given the would-be jokester more credit, after all) all the way to Lander--it was merely the beasts and fantasms that continued to insist on hindering his progress.
Had he had any success whatsoever in calling upon his reiatsu--even the dim flare equivalent to the meanest Gillian, given Arrancar status--they would have been reduced to nothing but cinders with a flick of his wrist. It was humiliating, especially at the cusp of being entrusted with the cleansing of Hueco Mundo, at the beginning of what he'd strived for and the ending of all that could stand in their way.
Someone was going to pay.
Moreover, he had to constantly consult the awkward little handheld that he gripped in his good hand, his normally photographic memory now useless, and with every building that passed it seemed the city became more uniform and nondescript in all its parts. It was also taking some significant measure of composure not to favor his left leg. He'd not experienced true pain in years; possibly decades. He refused to believe that a group of powerhungry fools in the same vein as Szayel Aporro could have reduced him to this.
As he approached the third building he'd investigated seriously since arriving upon the boulevard, he transferred the communicator to his pocket and dipped his fingers to the gore-fouled sheath in which his zanpakutou rested, dormant until the day was worthy to see it drawn.
And that day would not be today, nor any other in this godforsaken city. Nevertheless, he was well aware by now that the buildings themselves, save for the select few mentioned in various reports, perhaps, could be far more treacherous than the open streets.
They would not catch him unprepared again.
[OOC: LOL WTF sorry for the tl;dr. ):]
i_foraneye), Soubi (scarredtruth) [CLOSED]Where: Miscellaneous stretch of Lander Boulevard near the High School
When: This afternoon, bordering on evening
Rating: PG?
Summary: Ulquiorra is unaccustomed to being injured but pragmatic, and Soubi is his usual ho-ful self. :|
the log:
It was remarkably well-planned, for a city; the major streets ran unerringly on north-south and east-west axes, and even through all the weathering, the street signs could be deemed legible by sheer virtue of their size. It was something he would have remarked upon further, had the less savory aspects of the city not completely overwritten its better moments.
He'd had no problem navigating his way from the edifice within which he'd first awoken (a museum, of all places; perhaps he should have given the would-be jokester more credit, after all) all the way to Lander--it was merely the beasts and fantasms that continued to insist on hindering his progress.
Had he had any success whatsoever in calling upon his reiatsu--even the dim flare equivalent to the meanest Gillian, given Arrancar status--they would have been reduced to nothing but cinders with a flick of his wrist. It was humiliating, especially at the cusp of being entrusted with the cleansing of Hueco Mundo, at the beginning of what he'd strived for and the ending of all that could stand in their way.
Someone was going to pay.
Moreover, he had to constantly consult the awkward little handheld that he gripped in his good hand, his normally photographic memory now useless, and with every building that passed it seemed the city became more uniform and nondescript in all its parts. It was also taking some significant measure of composure not to favor his left leg. He'd not experienced true pain in years; possibly decades. He refused to believe that a group of powerhungry fools in the same vein as Szayel Aporro could have reduced him to this.
As he approached the third building he'd investigated seriously since arriving upon the boulevard, he transferred the communicator to his pocket and dipped his fingers to the gore-fouled sheath in which his zanpakutou rested, dormant until the day was worthy to see it drawn.
And that day would not be today, nor any other in this godforsaken city. Nevertheless, he was well aware by now that the buildings themselves, save for the select few mentioned in various reports, perhaps, could be far more treacherous than the open streets.
They would not catch him unprepared again.
[OOC: LOL WTF sorry for the tl;dr. ):]