I'm just Joe Black, baby, I write my symphony in the dark
Who: Aizen alapimp and Urahara so_heretohelp
When: Mid-afternoon, close to the end of term.
Where: Hawthorne University, Ancillary Arts Department.
What: Urahara decides to visit his favourite person.
Warnings: IDEK. PG13 just to be safe.
He didn't have a lot to finish up at Hawthorne for the holidays, not entirely used to the celebration of Christmas but, nevertheless, determined to let it wash over him. Putting his lecture hall in order, although it could hardly be called little more than a practical classroom with a semi-circle of elevated seats to one side, Sousuke wandered around the low desks where his students ordinarily practiced their craft and folded them neatly, placing them against a wall. Large scrolls decorated the classroom, confident lettering depicting White Soldier and Strength, Patience, Fortitude all displayed on the honshi, smaller works from his students - mistakes, fond doodles that Sousuke allowed them to indulge in so as to relieve stress - tacked to a noticeboard beside the window, encouraging hard work.
With handfuls of brushes, he rinsed them in the sink at the back of the room, pushing his glasses up his nose while rolling the sleeves of a pristine white shirt. Hair loose, he appeared every inch the approachable and fluffy professor, neutral brown tones through his attire, along with a lack of a tie. In the process of drying the utensils, he glanced up into the reflection of a photograph on the wall before him, the glass reflecting a view of the door on the other side of the room.
Reiatsu prickling, he turned around, placing the calligraphy brushes aside.
When: Mid-afternoon, close to the end of term.
Where: Hawthorne University, Ancillary Arts Department.
What: Urahara decides to visit his favourite person.
Warnings: IDEK. PG13 just to be safe.
He didn't have a lot to finish up at Hawthorne for the holidays, not entirely used to the celebration of Christmas but, nevertheless, determined to let it wash over him. Putting his lecture hall in order, although it could hardly be called little more than a practical classroom with a semi-circle of elevated seats to one side, Sousuke wandered around the low desks where his students ordinarily practiced their craft and folded them neatly, placing them against a wall. Large scrolls decorated the classroom, confident lettering depicting White Soldier and Strength, Patience, Fortitude all displayed on the honshi, smaller works from his students - mistakes, fond doodles that Sousuke allowed them to indulge in so as to relieve stress - tacked to a noticeboard beside the window, encouraging hard work.
With handfuls of brushes, he rinsed them in the sink at the back of the room, pushing his glasses up his nose while rolling the sleeves of a pristine white shirt. Hair loose, he appeared every inch the approachable and fluffy professor, neutral brown tones through his attire, along with a lack of a tie. In the process of drying the utensils, he glanced up into the reflection of a photograph on the wall before him, the glass reflecting a view of the door on the other side of the room.
Reiatsu prickling, he turned around, placing the calligraphy brushes aside.