#1 [VIDEO - PUBLIC]
[The Forge clicks on - sound only at first. There's the distinct sound of fumbling at the keys and a soft, muttered curse before it suddenly switches to video. Someone is only half-familiar with the wonders of modern communications technology and most of what he does know was gleaned over too much sake and from too pretty a girl in too few clothes for his attention to be fully on the explanation at the time.
The picture jerks about for a few moments, settling on nothing and providing just a disjointed impression of broad, pink-clad shoulders, grey eyes, and a firm but unshaven jawline. Finally it rights itself, propped securely against something unseen and affording a full view of the man sitting at the table.
His face is smudged with dust and what might be blood. There's a healing cut just visible below the hairline of his left temple which isn't quite obscured by the curl of hair hanging loosely over his cheek, and the hand that moves away from the Forge is large and heavily calloused. He's dressed in a way that might be recognisable to anyone familiar with the others from his world who have arrived before him in Anatole. Recognisable, that is, apart from the pink, flowered kimono that is draped incongruously around his shoulders. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks into the Forge through half-lidded eyes; expression neutral and left hand tapping idly on the surface of the table.
He knows you're here, shinigami - all of you. Well - the ones who aren't suppressing their reiryoku completely, that is - and at least one who shouldn't be here at all, were this real. And he's familiar enough with the nature of Aizen's shikai to know better than to trust his senses entirely, especially when his last memory is of a sword fight seventy meters above Karakura Town. But showing your entire hand to your opponent too soon is never a wise move, so have a broad but sleepy smile and a lazy gesture that might be a greeting.]
Yare yare, this is quite a change of scene.
[He shifts slightly, seemingly reaching for something outside the frame of the video. It's a casual movement - unhurried - but enough to reveal the two sheathed and well-worn swords that are leaning against the wall behind him. They're only visible for a few moments before he returns his attention to the Forge, broad shoulders filling the frame again. In his hand now is a small wooden bowl, which he raises to his lips as he speaks.]
I don't suppose anyone wants to join me for a drink?
The picture jerks about for a few moments, settling on nothing and providing just a disjointed impression of broad, pink-clad shoulders, grey eyes, and a firm but unshaven jawline. Finally it rights itself, propped securely against something unseen and affording a full view of the man sitting at the table.
His face is smudged with dust and what might be blood. There's a healing cut just visible below the hairline of his left temple which isn't quite obscured by the curl of hair hanging loosely over his cheek, and the hand that moves away from the Forge is large and heavily calloused. He's dressed in a way that might be recognisable to anyone familiar with the others from his world who have arrived before him in Anatole. Recognisable, that is, apart from the pink, flowered kimono that is draped incongruously around his shoulders. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks into the Forge through half-lidded eyes; expression neutral and left hand tapping idly on the surface of the table.
He knows you're here, shinigami - all of you. Well - the ones who aren't suppressing their reiryoku completely, that is - and at least one who shouldn't be here at all, were this real. And he's familiar enough with the nature of Aizen's shikai to know better than to trust his senses entirely, especially when his last memory is of a sword fight seventy meters above Karakura Town. But showing your entire hand to your opponent too soon is never a wise move, so have a broad but sleepy smile and a lazy gesture that might be a greeting.]
Yare yare, this is quite a change of scene.
[He shifts slightly, seemingly reaching for something outside the frame of the video. It's a casual movement - unhurried - but enough to reveal the two sheathed and well-worn swords that are leaning against the wall behind him. They're only visible for a few moments before he returns his attention to the Forge, broad shoulders filling the frame again. In his hand now is a small wooden bowl, which he raises to his lips as he speaks.]
I don't suppose anyone wants to join me for a drink?