In Progress; OPEN

[true_wind_rune]

Who: Luc (true_wind_rune), Shuuhei (shoohay), Gale (comprehends) (and open to all who wish to jump in!)
What: Luc is having a bad case of gas. Gale assists, because his name compels him. Shuuhei gets sucked in, because the ultimate cause of all this is Aizen's throbbing reiatsu.
Where: Between the fountain and the library. AKA BATSHIT LAND.
When: Towards the end of Aizen's fight

Comments

lmao way to be useful, shuuhei.

[shoohay]

Here, Shuuhei couldn't count for the ordinary. He found that nowadays, he wasn't as surprised by some of the things that went on around him. This was no exception to the clause, and he wasn't going to phased by it. Not now. It might have been him taking the situation all too lightly despite his condition, but he had gotten through worse situations than this. The scars on his face was proof of that.

And then, when the winds picked up nearby him, Shuuhei was glad that he wasn't in the center of the hurricane. It was a reckless move on his part to move in so close without paying attention to his surroundings. Noting Gale's presence and call, he moved back, stopping just short of the fountain, his sight still set on what he identified as the source of the problem. That boy, at the center and source of all the wind, remained unscathed.

A host?

While Gale's presence should have bothered him, the shinigami figured that he had more important things to be worried about. Perhaps Gale would help, perhaps he wouldn't, but right now long, meticulous planning wasn't an option that he could afford to take. It was why he didn't bother speaking up, instead choosing to stare at the boy so far away, assessing the situation from afar. All the while, keeping a close eye out for flying debris.

"Him," he finally said to Gale, his attention cut short at the moment as the winds died down at an instant. Narrowing his eyes, he drummed his fingers over the hilt of his sword as he kept a watchful eye at the faraway figure. Wind couldn't just calm down like that out of the blue, without some sort of consequences to face. The quiet dying down of the wind put him at more unease, more on his toes. "Something's off," he started again, "I don't think that's him."

He never did like speaking in fragments. But right now the main problem was that he felt like a sitting duck, so he reluctantly dismissed it.