JULY 9, 2014.
Post by Ville Le'Valiér on Mar 19, 2014 22:15:20 GMT -5
The Knight-Commander of the Hunting Apostle had been sent on a mission that was unlike her usual objectives, and yet, it shared a certain likeness. She was to locate a certain target - but other than usually - she would not dispose of them, but instead guide them back to the Vatican; more specifically a safe location in one spiritual plane or another, where talk could be had. Her mission had been far from an attempted kidnapping. She'd been sent as enjoy to Seireitei by the Quincy Council. There were continued diplomatic relations between the two organizations, after all.
Jukan Hinaai's death and the resulting events had been noticed in Rome, the Quincy's seat of power in the World of the Living. And when her would be successor had requested a meeting, the Richters had sent one of their trusted executors to validate the situation, and then guide the Shinigami to a safe location. Alas, all of that had never come to fruition.
Since then, a couple of days had passed.
The original target of her mission had been dragged off toward interrogation followed by execution. They were probably putting him to the blade on this day. Who was to be considered leader of the Seireitei? That was a good question.
Ever since Sojiro had literally been dragged away from under her nose, nobody had dealt with her presence. The steward kept on tending to her needs, but no official face had shown themselves in a couple of days. She knew better than to walk around, covered in weapons and the attitude she'd been chided for oftenly.
Until her superiors made contact, she would remain in place.
So far, no one had made a notion to bounce her out of the quarters that had been assigned to her stay. It was an unnerving situation and she could think of nicer spots to kill some time, but orders were orders, she figured. The council would appreciate some first-hand information of a de facto ambassador.
Just don't be too official.
Ville's eyes rested on her uniform. So neat and well-kept, every golden button upon it was polished to perfection. She rarely got to look at it from this angle; her gaze striking the attire from across the courtyard she occupied. There was something to the way their houses were sat up, she supposed.
Very spiritual.
Or maybe they were only trying to make a good impressions by polishing their guest quarters. Who knew. Who cared. She'd remain laying under the light of the sun, the warmth of a zenith making short work of the dampness that had been left on her dark skin by the soak in the hot spring she'd taken, eyes still on the uniform she'd yet to put on.
The morning in the hotsprings had not quite the faceless training rooms of the Holy Army, but not quite the pool of an Italian hotel either. Was there one left in Rome? Probably not. The Starknights had cleaned house.
"Hm," she mused in thought, "I'll kill you, Wolfgang."
How strange: To be thinking of a mortal enemy in such a state of improperness and relexation. Despite her urge to end his life, her body remained relaxed, thighs and chest covered by two slim towel stripes; their white a contrast against the shade of her skin.
Even in such a state, work was never far away. While insignificant, the re-newed promise which the opposing Knight had not heard was a trinket for the soul. A bit of feelgood therapy and a reminder that the peaceful poolside times wouldn't last forever. She'd overstay her welcome eventually.
What would she tell the Richters? The interim Captain-Commander of the Seireitei was executed before she could get to him? Something like that.
Who would've figured Shinigami to be bad hosts?
Jukan Hinaai's death and the resulting events had been noticed in Rome, the Quincy's seat of power in the World of the Living. And when her would be successor had requested a meeting, the Richters had sent one of their trusted executors to validate the situation, and then guide the Shinigami to a safe location. Alas, all of that had never come to fruition.
Since then, a couple of days had passed.
The original target of her mission had been dragged off toward interrogation followed by execution. They were probably putting him to the blade on this day. Who was to be considered leader of the Seireitei? That was a good question.
Ever since Sojiro had literally been dragged away from under her nose, nobody had dealt with her presence. The steward kept on tending to her needs, but no official face had shown themselves in a couple of days. She knew better than to walk around, covered in weapons and the attitude she'd been chided for oftenly.
Until her superiors made contact, she would remain in place.
So far, no one had made a notion to bounce her out of the quarters that had been assigned to her stay. It was an unnerving situation and she could think of nicer spots to kill some time, but orders were orders, she figured. The council would appreciate some first-hand information of a de facto ambassador.
Just don't be too official.
Ville's eyes rested on her uniform. So neat and well-kept, every golden button upon it was polished to perfection. She rarely got to look at it from this angle; her gaze striking the attire from across the courtyard she occupied. There was something to the way their houses were sat up, she supposed.
Very spiritual.
Or maybe they were only trying to make a good impressions by polishing their guest quarters. Who knew. Who cared. She'd remain laying under the light of the sun, the warmth of a zenith making short work of the dampness that had been left on her dark skin by the soak in the hot spring she'd taken, eyes still on the uniform she'd yet to put on.
The morning in the hotsprings had not quite the faceless training rooms of the Holy Army, but not quite the pool of an Italian hotel either. Was there one left in Rome? Probably not. The Starknights had cleaned house.
"Hm," she mused in thought, "I'll kill you, Wolfgang."
How strange: To be thinking of a mortal enemy in such a state of improperness and relexation. Despite her urge to end his life, her body remained relaxed, thighs and chest covered by two slim towel stripes; their white a contrast against the shade of her skin.
Even in such a state, work was never far away. While insignificant, the re-newed promise which the opposing Knight had not heard was a trinket for the soul. A bit of feelgood therapy and a reminder that the peaceful poolside times wouldn't last forever. She'd overstay her welcome eventually.
What would she tell the Richters? The interim Captain-Commander of the Seireitei was executed before she could get to him? Something like that.
Who would've figured Shinigami to be bad hosts?
