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Angel Kitoshi
Mod's character

Located in the far south of the fortified region known as the Sereitei-the capital of the Soul Society and largest commonwealth of the afterlife-is an elaborate and zealously well-guarded and impressively structured castle of sorts nestled within a walled cluster of smaller yet similar buildings. The castle holds dominion over all via size and stature as well as magnificence. All within the tall, white-washed walls bear close resemblance to common and popular japanese architecture with fluted roofs and rich warm hues. Artistic reliefs are inlaid in some walls, while others boast great screens of a number of compositions. The windows are outfitted in glass throughout the gated compound. Spacing the buildings are gardens and ponds with brightly colored fish or stunted trees and swirling sand patterns based around heavy volcanic boulders.

Currently, however, the place of greatest and most pertinent focus lies within the sturdy walls of the castle. A room with staggeringly tall ceilings and lined without in dark wood shelves crammed with all manner of books is located not far from the center of the structure. Shelves run from its walls and curve inward, forming cozy columns throughout the entire height of the room. The library is 730 feet square and the center is furnished with dark leather and velvet armchairs and couches, coffee tables, and the occasional teak lacquered table and accompanying chairs. None of the furniture is flimsy, but rich, sturdy and designed to combine comfort, beauty, and function. Some seats have deep, highly malleable cushions one could sink into. Others have austere cushions which give not an inch.
The entire room is seventy feet tall and equipped with an extensive system of ladders, stairs, and airborne walkways for all to reach the highest-located books.
Due to it's location, the library does not have any sources of natural light however it is equipped with sconces, floor lights, hanging or "vanity" lights which dangle from the walkways, and lights embedded into the shelving structures.
In most cases this room is open to use from the compound's residents, but recieves sluggish interest at best.

Among the gathering of furnishings is what appears to be a carefully divined sitting area likely for no more than four, given the position of two particular loveseats as they face one another. One is velvet with thin olive material and deep, soft cushions. Resting on one seat is a flattened, rectangular sheet of metal with a cluster of papers. The opposite couch is dressed in deep mahogany tooled leather with firmer cushions which have seen enough use to bow and be manipulated much like a therapeutic pillow. The cushions are detachable and anchored by strips of velvet while the framework is built from carved hardwoods and the lacquer is fading where it has been rubbed away. A low coffee table resides between them, a bulwark to fend off the implied stand off.
Finger foods seemingly from all major world cultures garnish the table as a centerpiece. They are gourmet, exquisitely presented and distracting with heavy intermingling scents. Few of them happen to stray toward synonymity with sweets and those that do have a sour or spicy tang to counterbalance it.

An elderly woman and young girl, both appearing small, preside nearby. They stand waiting and whispering in matching unexciting yukatas. The younger is suitably nervous having never directly waited on the mistress of the entire bastion. Her counterpart mutters reassurances and hushed advice. Neither will encroach upon the facing loveseats unless bidden to do so. They will hang back far enough away not to overhear while dampening down any indication that they are crowding the proceedings or impeding them. Currently they try to remain at attention whilst waiting for the guest to arrive and fearing their employer will climb down or pop out from an alcove and catch them slacking in form and discipline.

She emerged dolefully redolent in robes of a similar cut and style as the Gotei's uniform, though the top was white and the trousers were a bleak shade of grey. Her hair had been secured in a braid called a "fish tail" by those in the mortal realm, and her thin, elongated torso was wrapped snugly in what could only be described as a mint torso sweatband. Hana Shizūmi, the head of the Shizūmi clan and mistress of the compound was tall and willowy with coal and ice hair and an older countenance. Her head was buried in a book, while one finger traced her place on the page and the other held it steady. The woman had almost convalesced on the arranged meeting area when she happened to look up to check her position, as if having forgot she was walking, and started at the appearance of the man.

He was a scruffy little s**t, if she ever saw one, nevermind he'd stolen her seat. It was very hard not to open her mouth and subject him to mocking irritation over his wardrobe choice of a scarf. In her house! May as well have been wearing a baseball hat and his pants so low his britches and a** hung out. Easy, Hana, she cautioned. Fefnir had called in the favor to interview this man. The last thing she needed was to have the effects of her acid tongue reach his ears again.

Ignoring her memories of idle teasing at his hand, Hana forced herself to resume stride, diminishing the break to near-nonexistence. She made show of skirting the table and gathering up her carefully prepared notes and materials before retreating to the other couch. The woman perched, sinking at a low rate, while the man was comically folded into the putty of the other seat. Beside her rested her paperwork and a cane of unusual form leaned inconspicuously against the near arm. As she moved, she'd managed to spur herself into some form of coherence.

"Right, it's about time you showed. My name's Hana Shizūmi, I own the Shizūmi name which in turn owns everything within the lesser walls. I'm the head of the clan, and I've been asked by the Captain Commander to speak to you on behalf of your petition to lead a unit of the Gotei. Doubtless, you've never heard of me and you never shall again. For the sake of expediency, we'll just say I'm a government official and rather powerful and wealthy." Her eyes roamed from his upward to the lofty tower of literary works. "Then again, I'm sure you managed to grasp this fact. To recap, that's all you need to know and that's all I'll say. Now, uh-"

Hana's torso bent over a page she dug from the pile, searching for his name. "Ah, yes, A-Angel Kotoshi. That's a rather...well, it's a peculiar name, to say the least. Was it a wryly gifted moniker from a friend or relative?"

While everything about her posture and tone indicated proceedings were entirely business-like, even unexciting and dull, if not unwonted, internally she seethed. What a romantic idea, to name a dead man "Angel." Why, it's almost as romantic as, no, no. This was official business and not totally as dreary as either of the two meetings she'd attended earlier that very day. That realization caused her eyes to focus on him, only breaking to assemble a cracker topped with summer sausage, cheddar cheese, and cranberry mustard. She needed to report her observations later and she hoped it wouldn't be a waste of time in the long run. Dear god, let this one have character.

Finishing her chewing, she focused more on his features. Yes, he had black hair with white spattered throughout not unlike a species of bird common to the area. So saying, it was entirely possible that it had once been white and later dyed. By her own reckoning, she knew entirely too well how it was to sport hair of an exceedingly unique hue, but why dye it? The process was an endlessly repeated one of terminable tetchiness which bore little gain but a false sense of aesthetic identity, and a considerably lighter purse, if one fancied that sort of thing. Which led her to her question: "Why would you dye perfectly good white hair? I can understand having shame but where would someone from the other side of the barrier find the money to keep dying it? Let's not kid ourselves; an average-quality hair dye sells at a price too high for the average citizen of districts 40 and even farther out to afford on a regular and closely-spaced basis, particularly in this far-longer lifespan. Not to mention the chemical damage which comes from the process and how hideous one looks as it fades and grows out."

It was a complete and tempered end to a sentence, however brought forth on an uptake of breath, with a pitch high enough to suggest the pause was sudden and inconveniently retarded. Hana allowed him to make what he might of it, if he did, indeed as she deferred once again to the file. Finding the correct page,-eight-she skimmed it, eyes narrowed, unaware of her right leg lifting and crossing her left over the thigh. As she read, her foot began it's usual pattern behind the cover of the table; point and flex, point and flex.

"Yes, it says here that you were born in the Rukon, forty-third district, even, though the record is unclear of which quarter specifically-" the woman's head lifted but once to find his gaze considerably lower than was proper or permissable. In a tone dictating great disapproval and considerably lower respect than her word choice might have indicated, "Kotoshi-san, redirect your gaze a little higher, please." Once she was reasonably certain he'd heeded her warning and held her gaze again, she resumed her thoughts.

"The record also has no information regarding your family, and a good deal of it is in your own handwriting, assuming, of course, that you wrote it in the same hand as your reports throughout your career.

"Kotoshi-san, I am a very busy woman. I have a treasury appraisal in three hours and it's my intention to have fulfilled my given task and to have seen you from the premises with enough time to finish my research. Are you even aware of what this interview truly is? I daresay not, or at least not fully. The answer, young man, is that the Gotei are lacking in their administrative staff and the chief of staff has asked me, though I never joined after graduating the academy, to speak to you. This is your opportunity to impress me to the effect that I approve you for further evaluation, if not to be instated. Thus it is not unreasonable for me to ask you to not waste either of our time. I am not interested in half-truths and lacking responses. You have one hundred fifty minutes. Make it count."