el paso | rev

The staff working at the stand were quick to get to the white haired Shinigami's order. Not only were they trained for it and it was their job, encouraging them to work posthaste to garner tips and credibility in their small business, but there weren't many people there. Bustling as Cityscape was, this place, while esteemed, wasn't exactly a fancy-smancy restaurant that attracted people like moth to flame. It was just this white haired Shinigami, an older looking, well-fed man, and another Shinigami - except this one was a brunette, with long hair, and eating some miso kind of ramen as the other Shinigami was being served hers.

Whether or not people would know the white haired Shinigami was a Shinigami would completely depend on whatever her attire was - but either way, the stand would serve her all the same. Then again, the majority of the inhabitants were Shinigami, so it wasn't exactly to anyone's surprise, if it was obvious.

While slurping away at her meal, she couldn't help but notice that there had finally been someone else to talk to aside from a very unattractive looking big guy. Being somewhat convivial, was there truly any reason to refrain from trying to have someone to talk to while eating?

"Why, hello there."

She was indeed talking to her.

Ayame was actually glad she wasn’t recognized as someone with a fairly high position. It could cause tension and expectations she didn’t want to instil upon an otherwise nice conversation. It put her at ease at times when people weren’t too formal with her and lately it’s uniquely been a bit of a recurring thing. The only thing on her that signified anything had been her own tenth division insignia – coincidentally numerally close to the white haired woman’s own division.

It’d be shameful if a lieutenant such as herself showed fear on the basis of someone else’s division. By no means was she incapable of such an emotion, but to stimulate such a feeling in her was difficult, as one would expect. To boot, this woman, indiscriminately joining her in a meal, gave a good impression; she demonstrated that she was sociable. She was already pretty mellow – but acknowledging that put the brunette at ease more than she had been prior. It wasn’t like she knew everything about the division or much about it at all, but she knew of some of that division’s, for lack of a better term, tendencies.

Ayame laughed lightly in response. Playful, she inwardly remarked; she definitely appreciated that quality. She plucked up a bundle of noodles from her bowl just before parting her lips to speak, eyes upon the woman who took a seat on the opposing end of the table. “Well,” she started, blowing on the noodles to perhaps cool them so they wouldn’t scald her on the way down. “I need to work on my greetings. To rectify it, may I have your name? Without that, I can only call you Beautiful.” Maiko-taicho wasn’t the only one subject to her casual flirtiness.

“I’m Ayame Kimura.”

Ayame didn't expect the positive reaction she gained. The laugh was hearty as it was contagious and it quickly elicited a similar reaction in the brunette. Her own laugh was lighter and she attempted to lessen it [and failed] because she inwardly reckoned laughing at her own compliments wouldn't do her any good in the long run, but coming off as someone who was too reserved too laugh would be even worse. Idealistically, when meeting people leaving a good impression was integral. Maybe it'd demonstrate that her ego wasn't as sky-high as her classy nature incriminated.

So she sounded cool and she was pretty and she had a nice name. The brunette realized she would have to play it off coolly — people liked when people acted cool, right? Nobody wanted to make friends with or talk to someone who was just lame. Which was why she had to mind her words and go easy on the platoon of compliments she could easily bombard such a lovely looking individual with! And that would make her seem more remote and suave, correct? Well, it was worth a shot, no matter how painfully obvious the effort would likely be to the one revealed to be bear the name Shizuka.

She smiled. Oh dear. The smooth things to say part of her brain inexplicably shut off.

"You really are, though," she managed. The previous laughing dismantled some of her composure, which was a bit of an accomplishment. It would have been further derailed if she noticed her current mild blush of abashment. She attempted to distract herself by digging into her food as well. Couldn't let it get cold, right?

Why, Ayame mused as she continued to chewing and swallow the food content wedged between her chopsticks, is she looking at me in such a manner?

Her initial assumption was that she must have did something wrong. She didn't know her enough nor did she possess the perceptive ability to deduce the workings of Shizuka's mind. Whatever thoughts she hid behind that attractive face in all of its neutrality were unknown and that made the brunette a little bit uneasy, and anyone could decipher that from her expression alone. Awkwardly, she attempted to elude eye contact. It would only further stimulate her face's redness.

She gulped—and not just because she was eating. She had to swallow whatever anxieties this predicament was eliciting. The Fukutaicho wished to clear her mind and commence improved beginnings and not succumb to external stimuli that would contradict such a desire. But did she really have any say in that? Not necessarily.

The brunette willed herself to again establish eye contact. Her immediate company's eyes were blue and reminded her of sky embodying sapphires. There wasn't much conversation going on as they ate, because honestly, who wanted to consistently talk when they were wolfing down a meal?

Ayame’s fair visage was laden with contentment when she finished the flawlessly prepared meal. Every delightful bite she’d continuously taken provided her further insight of the myriad of complimenting spices and meticulously selected and prepared ingredients. The flavours artfully seduced her tastebuds and transiently numbed her mind to her present anxieties. Yet, it failed to remedy her founded insecurities, but perhaps it ultimately alleviated some of her equally founded tension. Lips equipped with a light smile, she exhaled in relief after concluding her meal.

Shizuka seemed to be one of those people whose company she could genuinely enjoy. From what she deduced thus far, she had wit, she seemed amicable, she knew when to speak and when to not, and layered under the consequential generated image of her disposition perhaps there was a little bid of a lighthearted nature. Timidity was embedded into Ayame’s smile; opposites did tend to operate like magnets in terms of attraction.

“I usually cook and stuff back in the barracks, so I hardly go out to visit these shops,” after answering the question, a thought popped into her mind, which caused her to scratch her cheek and laugh lightly. “But I guess it’s sort of dumb to only stumble on it now, after being around here for a decent amount of time.”

“I enjoy cooking, so I usually don’t mind it. But when my schedule is already bloated, or when things get hectic, I simply can’t be bothered,” I hated to essentially regurgitate what Shizuka just said, but I agreed wholeheartedly with the statement. It was a simple as something bad happening and me just wanting someone else to do the work for me. Content as I might have been at the moment, throughout the week I’d been distraught because of certain happenings that I truly didn’t want to go into. For now, I’d much rather indulge in some small talk. Touchy subjects right off the bat would be foolish.

“Well then,” This girl was cute, and I wanted to let her know that in a subtle manner. No lame pick up lines, just a little bit of genuineness—lightly of course. No need to make a dive or anything. “I’m really glad I’m not part of Yonbantai,” Scratching my cheek, some of my timidity started to surface once again as I dwelled on the possibility of the near-albinistic Shinigami before me having qualms with my division. There was no way I was mentioning my status—I didn’t want to integrate unwanted pressure or tension or expectations in this little encounter. “Juubantai. Numerally, we’re already kind of close, eh?”