#ketsumyo

// help my oc's zanpakuto is hotter than her even tho they're identical

"𝙺𝚄𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙴-𝚂𝙰𝙽." Nanao tipped her head just a fraction in greeting. The motion, subtle as it was, shifted her glasses atop her nose, and she resisted the urge to shuffle the paperwork in her arms to adjust them. She had spent all afternoon tweaking the numbers -- it wouldn't do to lose them now to an errant gust of wind. In fact, they were all but ready for submission, pending one final bit of input.

for @ketsumyo

tw: mentions of blood, violence

> sits down in muken with a bottle of sake

> peace and quiet

> someone (my money's on tōshirō) has replaced her sake with apple juice

> screams

( * / @ketsumyo / unprompted )

❛ I do not recall requesting any --- ❜

Momentum of customarily deep voice got adjourned by an audible cry emitting from the soul reaper who unceremoniously bestowed her presence within the sempiternal tranquility of Muken. Seemingly, the perpetuity of obscurity in a synthesis with solitude in constancy was of no concernment for her, with her significantly augmented voice causing resonance amid the abyss. Gone the premise of the habitual quietude, now superseded with temporary clamor, avowedly out of routinely cretinism environing the realm he harbors animosity towards.

Ineluctably, a labored exhalation absconded nostrils, acting as an overt indication of ire. Beholdenly for his exceptional mastery in the art of sentimentality disregardance, imperturbability was presented to maximal competence upon half - concealed mien. One irise in a chestnut complexion would hurl a glance at the culprit, whilst restraining himself from the unveilment of expressionism, suchlike of unamusement.

Thence, he remained silent, as he possessed no desire in entertaining such farcicality, contemplating how fragile in actuality his bindings are; effortlessly he would have eviscerated her existence. Lieu --- allowing her to succumb in her own infernal suffering was the optimum penalization for the time being.

Regardless of duty or obligation, Gin would dedicate a portion of time to literature; withdrawing to the libraries and records housed within Soul Society. From the readily available to the forbidden, among the wealth of the written word he found a respite alongside the acquisition of knowledge. Here he did not spare a piece of his time to pure fiction or fantasy, for even as a Shinigami his life was finite, and he would not waste the time he was allotted.

Though sensing another had entered the vicinity, and would no doubt draw near, Gin’s narrowed eyes would trail along the words until he reached the page’s conclusion.

❝How fortunate I am,❞ his smile grew as he regarded the visitor. ❝To encounter the eldest daughter of the Kuragane.❞ He languidly closed the volume, holding it at his side. ❝Though brief, did ya find your time among our fifth division a pleasant experience? Or at least, to be of use?❞