(no subject)
[ There's a middle-aged man sitting on the veranda to a demure house, a green haori draped across shoulders that were once far too strong to feel the cold yet now require the added warmth. He's built like a very old lion, streaks of grey through a curly, dusky blond mane, periwinkle-blue eyes observing the elegant swipe of his calligraphy brush as he puts pen to paper.
His reiatsu, while perhaps only that of a vice-captain of Seireitei, speaks nothing for the way he carries himself, clearly the head of his own house, a respectable individual. His features are somewhat recognisable, long and pensive with an inherent calm that seems unwavering from a distance.
Get a little closer, however, and you might find he's humming a cheerful tune under his breath, the ink spelling out the word Sousuke. ]