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 Posted: Sun Jan 08, 2012 1:12 pm
DannyMod: FefnirSetting The office of Fefnir Kamashiro, captain of the First Division. For your convenience, the wall with the door to enter shall be known as the south wall. All other directions stem from that.
When one enters from the long hallway which runs past the indoor training areas and weight rooms, the first thing that is usually visible is a large desk backed up to a deep crimson curtain, which separates the front fourth of the room from the back three-quarters. The desk is redwood with a rich, dark cherry stain, quite large for one person but necessary to hold the mountains of paperwork usually waiting on a signature. The corners are engraved with small flame-like designs, and the whole desk shows signs of wear and tear. Behind that, the the chair accompanying the desk is a red leather which appears to rarely be used.
Looking to the right from the doorway reveals an actual wall of little to no importance with a burgundy couch against it. The couch meets the corner of the south and east walls and is the kind that has a bend in the middle to follow it. All in all, it's big enough to fit maybe four or five people comfortably. It also has a nice coffee table in front of it, adorned with magazines or other light reading. On the west wall, there is a glass case displaying a large cello which seems to be charred rather badly while still holding its general shape. Next to that is an opening in the massive red curtain.
Moving through that curtain brings you to a starkly contrasting side of the room. While the front is no-frills, all business, the back is much more reflective of the owner of this office. The most obvious features of this rear area are the 80" television in the middle of the north wall accompanied on either side by bookshelves filled with video games, consoles, actual books, and some surround sound speakers, plus random collectibles and knick-knacks here and there. The west wall next to the opening has a long glass case similar to the individual one nearby and contains musical instruments from all over the world and of varying rarity and quality, including such wonders as an original Stradivarius violin. The center of the floor is occupied by a couch that has seen considerable use, and it has a recliner on either side for maximum gaming comfort.
On the east wall is a second glass case, this one filled with a series of items which seem to have no connecting theme:
a broken pair of goggles with blue lenses
a gourd full of sake
a jar full of ashes
a sword seemingly surrounded by swirling winds
a mask of bone
a dagger cloaked in mist
a naginata that if lifted would seem to weigh hundreds of pounds
a pair of long staffs which have blades embedded in their ends
a container of sparking water
the tatters of what appears to be a black cloak
an M1 Garand
a necklace with two silver rings on it
a glowing crossbow bolt
nearly a full set of armor themed like a dragon several sizes too small for Fefnir to wear.
Above that case are three long outdated captain cloaks, gifts from people Fefnir highly respects. Two are squad one, and one is squad 2.
The current game system is: XBox 360
The current game is: Borderlands
The current music is: Kitsune^2, STRIKER Currently, there is a small note hanging on the cello case which points to the curtain and has the words "Come on back" over it.
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Posted: Tue Jan 10, 2012 7:17 pm
Danny stood just outside the door to Captain Fefnir’s office, tracing the door handle with the tips of her fingers. As she understood it, the interview for the captaincy would be a relatively straightforward affair, but the idea of meeting the likes of the Gotei’s captain-commander set her stomach to clenching with nerves. She was already shy and quiet around new acquaintances, and the gravity of this interview certainly wouldn’t help that. But, if she was to be a captain, she reasoned, she would have to grow accustomed to meeting new people every day, to dealing with Soul Reapers under her command, citizens of the Rukon Districts, even nobles upon occasion. This interview was an acid test.
And she knew she wanted this, wanted a chance to lead. Of that, Danny was absolutely certain. But she had still been rather surprised when she had been approved for an interview. She was neither experienced nor established, and she knew that many shinigami disapproved of her relatively nonlethal approach to combat.
Danny withdrew her hand and ran it over the bandolier slung across her chest. She tugged the strap, adjusting it to sit tidily over her shoulder and hip. Everything was in order—or as orderly as she could make it. Her unruly mass of curls was swept back in a ponytail, though she could do very little for the small ringlets that ranged around her face.
There was really nothing for it but to get on with this. She turned the office door’s handle and stepped softly into Captain Fefnir’s office.
Sharp eyes took in the office’s trappings and finally settled on the charred cello in its display case. While the desk was imposing and the crimson curtain was mysterious and at odds with the rather modern decor, there was no denying that the instrument, obviously ravaged by some fire long past, drew the eye. That there was a story behind it, Danny had no doubt, though whether it served as a conversational piece or rather as a warning or reminder to the captain himself, she couldn’t say. She tended to think the latter.
As preoccupied with the cello as she was, Danny nearly missed the small note propped against the case. Come in, it read in an untidy hand. An arrow had been drawn beneath the invitation, directing her past the curtain. A small knot in Danny’s stomach loosened. Judging by the note, the Captain-Commander may not be nearly as formal as she had originally assumed.
With a small nod to herself, she swept back the crimson curtain. Music —some sort of techno or pop number—drifted out to greet her as she entered Fefnir’s back room.
Danny actually smiled when she saw past the curtain. The room was packed with books, games, even musical instruments, some of which she couldn’t begin to name. She wondered if Fefnir played them all. To her right sat a glass cabinet filled with all manner of curios. The room was busy, almost cluttered, but she supposed that with a career like Fefnir’s, it was only natural to acquire so much.
And anyway, she liked the general disorder. It made her feel more comfortable. Now that she was more at ease, she glanced about expectantly, though there seemed to be no sign of the Captain-Commander himself. She wondered if she ought to find some sort of way to announce herself.
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Posted: Fri Jan 20, 2012 5:30 pm
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
(( Sorry, work ate me alive. >.>;; ))
Some days, focusing could get pretty hard.
Currently, the red man was doing the only thing he could do when bringing his mind to bear on certain subjects or really anything in particular just didn't seem to be possible; he took a shower and relax as much as possible.
The bathroom was spartan, of course. No mirrors, no glass, just stone everything. The only metal anywhere were hinges on the door to the shower itself, and they'd be specifically reinforced to resist heat. There were no soaps or shampoos, towels or any sort of anything which would easily be ruined if thrown in a fire. The rock floors and walls weren't just any rock, either. The whole box was like a sensory deprivation chamber formed from Seki Seki.
When inside, the whole world simply vanished off of Fefnir's internal radar, and he truly became alone. No light save for a sliver from the door, no sound but the trickling of water from holes in the ceiling. The silence and darkness brought him down to petty mortal again, just like it did everyone, and he basked in the relief from duty, no matter how small. He sat in the middle of this overlarge coffin, and every spare ounce of reiatsu he could muster up fled from his body and into the walls. It always seemed like he was distracted less when he wasn't feeling that constant push toward action licking at his insides, daring him to fight more and pushing him toward obsession after obsession.
This momentary break was... soothing.
The water sizzled in the air. Steam filled his lungs and tickled his bare skin. But there were things to do today, and he couldn't hide forever, as much as he wanted to.
He stood slowly on weak legs, in weak body, made frail from years of abuse, his own and others doing. The chair was only a few paces away.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fefnir hated the way he looked in his chair. Every time he saw himself, it just looked like he was so... not him, like a cancer patient who hasn't quite recovered from the chemo. Gaunt, malnourished, seemingly small despite being six foot three, the fastest man alive never moved faster than a crawl anymore. It was just too difficult and damaged unhealable legs to run like he had just a few years ago. If anything pulled him from his wheelchair, it was pretty damn important, and when moving hurts, one finds out exactly what's important to get up for. A shirt, for example, wasn't important enough to bother with, so when the carmine man rolled in from a door tucked away between the collections and bookcases, the entire roadmap of his combat experience was on display. The majority were burns of one sort or another, but of particular note was the single thick line running along the sternum and, had he leaned forward, a large clawed handprint on his back.
He glanced around, slightly bleary and with unkempt red hair hanging in his face, almost not noticing the woman standing across the room, but once he did notice her a moment later, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Evaluation never ceases in the eyes of the captain commander.
She was, he guessed, probably mid-twenties, and short enough that Fefnir would hardly have to look up at her from his seat. Lacking the top of the uniform and replacing it with a white shirt which showed and accented tanned skin, and wearing what he could only call lumpy pants. There were full pockets that looked to be sewn on, and at the bottom, they tapered in a bit strangely to be tucked into black combat boots which showed their wear. Around her torso hung a bandoleer which seemed to be jury-rigged to carry medical supplies, or at the very least wasn't standard issue around Seireitei's medical division.
Since she was looking around, he flashed a small smile in her direction and gave a friendly, if tentative, wave before wheeling his way over to one of the recliners and lifting himself into it. Once firmly seated, he gave a sigh of content, then motioned for her to take a seat on the couch.X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Whoever writes in BLOOD,
_____Does not want to be READ
____________But LEARNED by HEART...
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Posted: Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:23 pm
Though Daeonica’s memory of her past life was patchy at best, there were some things she remembered with utter clarity. Her medical training, for instance, came to her as naturally as breathing. As did the bedside manner she’d acquired during her military career, so when she laid eyes on the shirtless man who wheeled himself through a door half hidden between two display cases, she saw more than the frail and damaged body.
She’d always had a certain knack for it—being able to see past the violent, often disfiguring wounds of the soldiers in her care to the men beneath the blood and gore. Here, with the red-headed man who she took to be Fefnir, the captain-commander, it was no different. What struck her first were his eyes. They were a flat red with no pupils, but that didn’t prevent her from reading the expression in them. She saw a tired man, practically eaten alive by his years of service. But there was still a sharp intelligence in him, almost a hunger in the way he met her eyes. There was no doubt in Danny’s mind that this was the captain-commander, easily one of the most powerful warriors in the Seireitei. For an instant, she saw him as he might have been once: tall—much taller than she— confident, and bound to his duty, body and soul.
All this, she saw in a moment. She returned his smile with one of her own, a smile reserved for the crippled and disfigured, one that reassured them that she could see who they were, not what they were missing. She made the expression with no conscious thought, but the reflex had been so ingrained in her by her experience that she couldn’t help herself.
It was only as she moved to sit where Fefnir had indicated that Danny remembered exactly why she was here. Inwardly, she kicked herself, thinking that the captain-commander would hardly appreciate sympathy. She should be comporting herself professionally, but she was failing on all counts. Danny flushed but still perched on the edge of the couch.
“I’m—my name is Daeonica St. Claire,” She said, trying to speak confidently when she felt considerably less so. She was at a loss for how she ought to address him. It seemed right to be formal with him, but to all appearances, he was quite the opposite. His smile had even made him seem friendly, which Danny hadn't really anticipated. She spoke again, afraid that too long a pause would seem awkward: “I was told you wanted to speak with me?”
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