"Well, that's not good," she said, in disappointed tones. The voice dragged at the end, like it couldn't be bothered to pick itself up and snap sharply to the next syllable. "No, not good at all." And really it was not a pleasant situation. If it were, then she'd be staring at her own handiwork, or maybe a clean-up committee. As it was, some p***k had taken it into their hands to satiate their own ersatz conceit. The result was a smudged and damaged work of art. No longer recognizable, even to it's creator, it huddled upon the dense stone with enough audacity to ache her heart. The simple fact that someone had gone so far as to disfigure those few glorious square yards of paint-splattered wall art was hard to reconcile herself with. It hurt, if only a small amount. Perhaps mostly because she'd worked hard to make that slight mural. It was one of many, of quite a trite collection, but undoubtedly sacred. Numbed by the loss, she let her fingers caress the smooth, unnatural expanse of paint. It was better when they were erased altogether. Not scuffed. Not like this. This was just attrocious and, moreover, quite crude.
"It's what you deserve. You should never be so far-reaching."
She startled, having not expected intrusions at so personal a moment. Turning, slowly, with deadened legs, across she spied another figure. Very unfamiliar, it was, for she could not possibly find a recognizable feature. "Excuse me? Exactly who are you to know what I deserve?" Now offense was rising, stinging the back of her throat with bilious vitality. How dare this seeming stranger presume? She swallowed it, allong with the sucking candy tucked into the corner of her mouth. With a questioning scratch to the back of her neck and after flipping her out of her clothes for what was probably the seventeenth time, the artful woman made as if to ready herself. The response was off-setting. She took a step back in order to gather herself. Her hands spread wide like they could hold her up all on their own.
What did he mean? Exactly how had she attained such a rival when all she ever did was run missions and lounge at the squad? Much less, why choose her? Was tagging really such a terrible sin that some random felt the urge to intercede? Agitated, just as was so before any fight, she lit a cigarette and began working the poor thing into a fast demise. Are you telling me that I'm being targeted because of a hobby? Because it's against the stuffy rules of the Gotei 13? She thought hotly in her carefully plodding way. Careful, and yet so off-base. She had the urge to fight. Then again, that was the trigger-happy aspect of her personality. It manifested quite nicely as the subtle yet firm grip on her zanpakutou. Then there as a very severe c**k to the brows. And then again throughout the next few moments.
As the unfamiliar man shifted his weight and burst into a run, she moved to receive him, drawing forth her blade with stable yet hastened hands. Speed and immobility were key to warding off his advance. So as to anchor herself, she turned her right foot, bent her knees, and stepped towards him on the left. She raised her sword to catch his slash and braced herself. He wasn't at the top of his stride, but the level of speed was just enough to get him there with reasonable cause to startle. She was ready for him. Not so surprising. If she couldn't even meet him head-on then she really didn't deserve to have her position. Metal caught metal in an uncomfortable clash. The sound resounded and reverberated up each weapon into the weilders' hands. Ringing sweetly in the carpals, they delivered a fresh sting of pain. At the same time, or at least seemingly, due to the application of speed, she stepped to the left and slashed horizontally, working to catch him on his unguarded right side.
Alannaa Community Member 
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