Name: Meng, Lychee-Mei
Nickname: Age: 1688 (appears 28-ish)
Gender: Female
Squad: 11
Rank: Captain
Weapon(s): She's been trained so that her entire body can be used as a weapon.
Personality: Totally self sufficient. That's her in a nutshell, at least she tries to be. Given her history, it's not surprising the woman had developed a hardened shell, isolating her from interactions of others and preventing any potential ways of getting hurt. Some times this aspect of her can make the woman seem cold and unsympathetic, though she does try to be accommodating to those around her. Everybody has a hard time trying to befriend her. Self sufficient also means that she hates when others help her -- whether she needs it or not -- though she understands that there are times when two hands are better than one, she takes such situations as more of an insult on her pride than anything.
To say that she is devoid of emotion is quite a harsh claim, but it wouldn't be too far off from the truth. Through her experiences, she has seemed to have shed off most of the burden people called "emotions" and traded it for independence. It was surprisingly easy for the woman to let go of her feelings, leaving her current body nothing but an empty shell. Try as she might though, some splinters of empathy still seem to surface every now and then.
Pride, is something she holds quite preciously -- one can tell by the way she carries herself. It's something that she has had to earn, and to her, a wound on her pride is much more serious than a physical wound. This often times influences her performance, but as long as she upholds her pride.... Work-wise, she follows her mission to the letter, doing what ever it is necessary to complete her task, what ever it takes. Failure is not an option for this one, as that would be a shot to her pride, thus her success rate is currently 100%!
Following orders is something she's good at and though she rarely shows it, she
is in fact taking into account the consequences of her actions. On the surface, it may seem as if she is a mere pawn of the Gotei, following their orders like a mindless drone, but she does take into consideration her actions. Any strong feelings, however is usually repressed within herself (mainly to preserve her pride), however, the woman
is always looking out for her best interest, keeping in mind exactly where both her allies and enemies stand.
In combat, her ability to analyse and perceive things with her best interest has proven invaluable time and time again. Without having to worry about others allows her to always perform her best, without restrain. Tasks others may have been unable to complete due to moral or personal complications are nothing for this woman: as long as she stands to benefit, she has little care for much else. She's perhaps a bit selfish, yeah, just a
bit.
Of course, all work and no play could make for a pretty dull girl. Though she may not like it, the woman has a little bit of a gambling problem. She's known by those around black-jack and poker tables, but her favourite is traditional mah-jong. Her luck is usually quite awful at the tables, but that's mainly because she can't simply beat the cards with her fists to win. Gambling in combat however proves her to be quite favoured by luck.
Physical Appearance:- Spoiler:
Starting from the very top: the woman bears a full head of dark black hair, devoid of any hint of colour or grey (despite her age) The colour is uniform; no patches of lighter or darker colour can be noticed. It falls past just below her lower back. At the front, her fringes are neatly tucked to the side, preventing any hindrance to her vision. Often, she is seen wearing her hair up in a messy bun on the back of her head, pinned up by several golden pins adorn with various tassels, plumes and bells. In combat, however, she quite often is seen with her hair down, as it provides the least hindrance to movement and vision -- she mainly puts it up to keep up appearances.
She stands to be approximately 171 centimetres -- tall for a woman, with a build leaning more toward the athletic side. Her muscle tone is quite evident when she exerts them, but at rest, she appears quite average in terms of fitness. Her skin is fairly light for her ethnicity, but is noticeable when placed side-by-side with one with a fairer tone. The woman's body is a temple, showing now visible scars (physical at least) -- though this work had been recently done, as her body had, at one point, been riddled with imperfection. The only "imperfection" that remains is the large colourless tattoo of a lotus inscribed on her lower back. Her legs had always been a bit longer proportional to her body, which seemed to subliminally make her more attractive to the opposite sex.
Her eyes are an emerald green, with hints of jade under the correct lighting. This, of course, matches her garments: mainly white with accents of a crisp green leaning toward the turquoise side. The top of her body is covered in a light silk blouse, with the fabric extending well past her waist and down to her legs, which are covered by loose sheets of turquoise. Her captain's haori lacks the sleeves the "standard" versions have, allowing the fabric of her blouse to protrude. The collar around her neck, deserves special mention, though it may seem like an ordinary piece of fabric, she had never been seen without it. It is perhaps the only article of clothing she allows to touch her body that isn't silk. The leather collar dyed to match the rest of her outfit sits tightly around her neckline, from the way it looks, it had been a part of the woman for a fairly lengthy period of time. The other thing she's never seen without is her zanpakuto.
Bio:We are unable to choose the way we enter this world; we should be allowed the privilege to decide the way we exit it. Coincidentally for her, both of these events are comprised of the same elements -- screaming, crying, and being torn away form the one she loves. These notes comprise the three beats of her waltz, her despair.
Up in the frigid central mountains, hidden within the forest of trees, a temple older than time itself stood silent as the crescent move overhead signalled the beginning of the month. Snowfall covered the trees and courtyard, while candles and open flames kept the interior at a nice, habitable temperature. All was quiet, the inhabitants of the sacred grounds were sound asleep when he rapped upon the large, red doors keeping the wildlife out. There was no answer, so he knocked harder, then harder, until finally, the gatekeeper arose from his post, deciding to check the source of the noise. He was surprised to see two human shaped figures at his door at this hour, especially with this weather. The robed man rushed to let the two in: a man and woman. The male held her hand as he lead her carefully over the rather large step signifying their entrance onto sacred land. The woman was barely able to make the step, as she stumbled to the shifting weight within her -- her daughter.
Quickly, the robed man lead the two across the courtyard into what they can only imagine to be the infirmary. Their host showed them a rather small bed before rushing out, back across the courtyard and disappearing within blanket upon blanket of fallen snow. A short time after, he appeared with another man; his head was entirely shaven, much like that of the gatekeeper. They both stepped into the room carefully. The new presence alerted the couple. The gatekeeper bowed and left them to (what can logically be assumed) resume his watch over the establishment. The one who stayed moved slowly toward the woman, who is now lying on the pre-made bed tossing about, cold sweat pouring down her entire body, the most noticeable being her face. The man placed one hand on the woman's swelled belly, and in the other he counted the wooden beads around his neck with his thumb. He closed is eyes, chanting something incoherent to unlearned ears.
After receiving the blessings of the gods, he began to care for the woman. The candles flickered violently as wind from the exterior seeped through the openings of the stone walls. Despite the chaos of the light, he worked to both comfort the woman, and deliver life coming from within her. Slowly, he brought their new creation into the room -- the room once occupied only by the couple and him had a new member: their daughter. The man handed the newborn to her father -- he took her reluctantly. He had dreaded the thought. This offspring would bring him nothing. He would raise her, then have her taken away by another family to bare their heir, not his. He placed the now crying newborn into her mother's hands, and stepped outside into the storm. The man stared into the heavens, cursing them for placing such a burden upon him.
The woman, though filled with warmth and love for her daughter would not survive the winter. Her recovering body was unable to compensate for the months of cold to come, and eventually her existence was extinguished, not unlike that of the candles being mauled at by the unrelenting winds. The only thing her mother managed to leave her was her name: Mei, meaning beauty.
As she grew, her father found it more and more bothersome to care for her, eventually, as a present for her third birthday, he gave her back to the monk who had delivered her into this world. He was obliged to accept an offering, a man in his position and of his faith would be unable to ignore such a request.
Most of her days were spent within the temple. As she matured, she began learning the tasks that needed to be performed each day, falling quite nicely into the routine. She would often watch as the men and boys practice their martial arts, progressively fusing mind, body and soul into one entity. She was intrigued, but was unable to participate due to her gender. This didn't stop her however, from watching and learning. Early one morning, as she poked her head over the windows to spy on their training, her eyes locked briefly with one of the young boys. She urged herself to look away, but she continued staring, until she was certain that he had discovered her.
Jin was the boy's name. He would confront her later that day during lunch break. Though he knew she was not supposed to be learning, the boy was young and naive. He didn't report his findings. In fact, as they began to amalgamate, he began to find her an appropriate partner to practice on. They would spend time meant for studying (or sleeping) practising what they had learned that day. He would lecture; she would listen.
This continued, month after month, year after year. What had been a strong friendship between a boy and a girl had become a bond between a man and a woman. Though, such a relationship was disallowed within both their faith and their walls, the two could not resist their temptations. More and more of what used to be learning time became them running freely outside the walls. They were easily able to scale the stone walls in utter silence. Outside the bindings of the walls, they were free. Not two disciples of the faith, but man and woman, in their most primal forms -- freed from the shackles which bound them to their fate. They would leap effortlessly from tree to tree, trying to catch one another, fending each other off, trading blow for friendly blow. This was
theirs and nothing was going to take it away from them.
Though they shared mutual feelings for one another, their individual attachment to the temple was far too great for them to ever desert it. They've mentioned -- in passing -- about running away, but they knew the monks and priestesses would relentlessly hunt them and bring them back home. Though she was relatively free to do what ever she desired at the temple, there was one thing that was forbidden: the one thing that she desired most. She longed for the day she would be freed.
As unlikely as it seemed, her father, whom abandoned her, would be the one to open her cage. She still remembered the day he came through the gates where he had given her to the monks. Her memories of him were blurred, but she knew it was him. He had a brief chat with one of the caretakers and walked toward her, gripping her hand. Mei looked at the monk, whose only response was a long, drawn out sigh and a solemn shake of his head. She knew better than to disobey both her father and the temple. As she was dragged past the gates by the man's tight grip, she glanced back to catch Jin, rushing past the crowd that had gathered to witness the event. He pushed his way like a fish swimming upstream, trying to get her back. Before his foot could leave the gates, one of the headmasters gripped his shoulders firmly, pushing him onto the ground, disallowing any movement. Tears began to drip down her cheeks as she screamed in objection of her abduction. She continued until her voice was drowned by the ambience of the forest. She would later choose this day to be the date of her death.
The sudden reappearance of the man who'd abandoned her was not due to a sudden change of heart. No, it was quite the opposite. He had recently made connections overseas, the business of human trafficking was booming. A girl like her would be worth almost an entire lifetime of grains and meat. He didn't have a daughter, he had an investment, and it was time for it to pay off. She was barely able to get a grasp of the situation before being placed in a boat amongst a plethora of women in the same situation as her: some were older than she, but there were several that had yet even achieve "womanhood". Most of these girls had hardly developed as women before they were picked from their families and put aboard. The days in the boat was torture, she had no idea of her destination. The thing that kept her sane was the simple idea of Jin.
She had lost track of the days since she had last seen sunlight. The docks had a the distinct saltiness of fish and other sea creatures. When was the last time she had eaten anything but flavourless bread? She tried to gather her bearings, but she was given no such luck. Before she could take in the sights, a well groomed man in elegantly decorated garb directed the "cargo" toward carriages. His style of clothing was unlike anything she had seen before, they were thick and flamboyant, unlike her unflattering outfit. The way he spoke was also unusual: a distinct accent unfamiliar to her. Before she could investigate more, she was shuttled off into one of the carriages.
The boat was like an open field compared to the carriages they had prepared for them -- barely enough room to stand next to one another, let alone lay down or sit. The ride was less than comfortable, as the solid wheels and a lack of suspension meant that they would feel every bump and ditch on the dirt roads. Luckily, their destination was mere hours away. Upon arrival, she noticed immediately the myriad of buildings which began appearing around their cart. Many of them were filled with the laughter of men and screaming of women. She felt unnatural in such a place. The cart stopped, and the women were shuttled out into the back alley. One of the doors leading into an establishment opened, and they were all forced in. The one who lead the group was a rather slender woman, who's dress was as shiny as the stars above. Her hair was decorated in all types of jewellery, leaving hardly any hair to be seen.
The mistress lead her group through the building. On the upper level, there are twelve rooms, each separated from one another by thin walls. On the lower level, booths and tables were scattered around the centre of the establishment, where the floor transformed into a different texture. The woman of power held up her hand signalling her new workers to stop. Then, with the same hand, she directed their attention to the centre. What came out of her mouth was not a language Mei had understood, but she got the meaning: "Watch. Carefully."
As if on queue, a woman dressed in silk stepped onto the centre of the floor; music began playing. The rhythm was slow, but steady. She watched as the dancer's body moved melodically, flowing with the sounds created by various instruments. The tempo of the music dictated how her body would respond, like a marionette on strings of notes. Mei watched, mesmerized by the woman's movement -- she wasn't the only one, the entire establishment was still, eyes nowhere but on the woman performing. Just as she was confident she had all their attention, her movements hit their climax along with the music. She slowly faded with the music, allowing ample time for the building to erupt in cheer and clap. The woman stepped off the stage and was directed toward a man seated just a few metres away. He took her and headed to one of the rooms above, leaving a large sum of coins on the table he had occupied moments earlier. Mei's eyes followed as their bodies transformed into shadows behind the paper windows. She could see the shadow of the woman's clothes fall to the ground before she was hurried away by the mistress.
In the months passing, she learned to let go of what self esteem she had left, the word "shame" was completely erased from her vocabulary. She was trained in the art of seduction, and to be regarded as attractive, she had no need for such petty things as pride. She watched as the girls around her disappeared into sealed rooms with man after man. Some would catch the eye of a particular guest, and they would be kept just for him. Others were mere play things, tossed around night after night. The only thing that saved Mei from sharing the same fate was the time she spent with
him. Right,
him, what was his name again? She was slowly beginning to lose her memories of him as well.
It wasn't tough to pick out her from the rest, none of the other girls had any proper training: coming from farms, they had little to give in terms of skills than the ability to do manual labour. For some it was perhaps even a welcome change, for there was no need for them to get their hands dirty. Mei, however had more to offer than just her body. Those days training at the temple bestowed upon her a talent for acrobatics. She soon found that her abilities were not only suitable for martial arts. Noting her amazing flexibility, the mistress chose spare her the fate of her peers and present her with an alternative: dance.
There weren't too many things the clients were not allowed to do, but the dancers were certainly one of them. They were the main attraction, the ones who drew in the business. A brothel is more of a niche business, but a house of entertainment drew in patrons of all sorts. In order to keep business afloat, the entertainment had to be unsoiled -- a work of art on display should be impeccable, devoid of any imperfection. The movements came surprisingly easy for her, it was the hundreds of eyes that made her uncomfortable. In the beginning, her eyes would meet her spectators: they bore into her wrappings, tearing them away like animals; exposing her flesh, still showing fading signs of abuse. She rushed off the stage, holding her hands close to her body, trying to use it for what little cover it provided. Of course, she was going to be punished for this.
A few whippings on her back and a stern talking to -- certainly not the worse that could have happened. The mistress appeared after her "attitude adjustment" session, signalling for her "caretakers" to leave the room. In her hands she held a turquoise band of cloth and some sewing supplies. Without asking permission, she placed the cloth around her neck, puling it as tight as possible, making breathing quite strained. The girl stood still as her mistress sews the band shut, as the needlework was finished, she was allowed more room to breathe, but the collar was still quite noticeable, breathing was still a little strained. She looked at her owner with empty eyes.
"What was your name again?" The mistress asked.
She understood her words, but not the question. What
was her name? She tilted her head slightly and stared blankly at the woman. Her lips moved, but no audible noise was made.
The mistress summoned one of the staff members, who quickly returned with a long list of names and numbers. She walked around the clueless woman, circling her like a vulture to a new corpse, eyeing her from top to bottom as she made her rounds. "Mei." She suddenly proclaimed, her eyes darted between the pages and a scar the woman's outer thigh -- it was the number 8. "Number 8, Mei Lee." She uttered to herself, her fingers touching her lips as if in deep thought.
Right, "Mei". That was her name, it had to be, it sounded so familiar. Her gaze suddenly shot up at the mistress when she called her name -- at least she was an obedient puppy.
"Not a very attractive name." She said bluntly. "How about
Lychee?" She didn't wait for a response. "That's it. Lychee. Sounds much more... appetizing."
Appetizing.... She responded to her new name by looking toward the ground, showing her distaste for the disposal of the name her mother bestowed upon her. Or, at least that's the look she thought she had given. Who knows, she had so little motivation left there was no telling whether she showed distaste, or simply wagged her tail, accepting anything the mistress gives her as a privilege.
She had not gotten used to her new collar at first, scratching and pawing at it as the feeling was unnatural, but as soon as she stepped onto the dance floor, it became her anchor. The sea of eyes upon her was no longer penetrating. Though, the mental image of her clothes being torn off reoccurred, the piece of fabric around her neck gave her a sense of security -- like a perpetual hug; the feeling of warmth wrapped around her gave her just enough security to finish her number. The crowd cheered and tossed coins up onto the stage, showing their appreciation. Lychee was grateful just for the fact that her show was over. She found overtime that the more of herself she let go, the more comfortable her life now would be. She relinquished any sort of pride she clung so helplessly onto and cast away her dignity. Those were things of the past, she was now "Lychee", the most sought after dancer in all of Japan. "Ichiban".
To celebrate her ascension to the position, and to forever secure her ownership, her mistress decided to permanently mark her. The number 8 was too ambiguous, anybody could claim her ownership, but an image of the symbol of her establishment, that's irrefutable evidence that she was, in fact, her mistress. The rather large image of a lotus took several days to complete, by then the pain of the needles breaking her skin only served as a subtle reminder that she was still, indeed, alive.
Her days of being at the top were good, so many fans, so many patrons spreading tales of her mesmerising fluid motions, the state of euphoria she showed them. She soon became the target for several rather wealthy clients. They would pester the mistress unrelentingly, offering huge sums of money to spend a mere hour with her. All of their offers, of course, were declined -- her top dancer was not for sale. Of course, these weren't the type of men who so easily take "no" as an answer.
After a rather lengthy performance, she was finally allowed to take her bow and leave the stage. In her private room, the usual cup of tea awaited her: a "thank you" for a day's work. She took a sip and immediately noted a strange after taste: bitter, burnt. She took another sip before the room began to spin. Her eyelids suddenly became several fold heavier, shutting her off from the visual world. Her hands were trembling. Using the last ounce of strength she had, the woman tried to place the vessel back onto the table, but before her muscles could respond to this impulse, they lost their rigidity. The shattering of porcelain was mere centimetres away from her feet, but it sounded so distant. Her seated upright position was now impossible to maintain, even the chair on which she was seated began to move violently, providing little in terms of support. She collapsed onto the cold wooden floor.
Dazed and confused, she opened her tired eyes. The image that greeted her was nothing but a blur. She tried moving her arms and legs, but found that they were bound -- and rather tightly at that. Her gaze cleared up just enough for her to make out the faint outline of a man. She tried calling out, but the ball of cloth in her mouth turned her words into an incomprehensible mess of moans. The figure moved closer, revealing himself as the wealthy patron who had offered to pay the mistress for her time. In a short time, several other figures appeared behind him, each one bore a face she recognized, each one she had seen so many times watching her parade on the dance floor, intangible -- well, at least she used to be.
Taking no time, they relieved her of her covers. Her eyes widened as she felt their warmth. The night was perhaps the longest of her life -- was it even night time? She tried to object, but both the cloth gag and her lack of self preservation stopped her. She laid silent, tears steadily flowing from the corner of her eyes. Why was she crying? The chemicals being released in her brain were not ones that signalled pain, but ecstasy. So why was she sad?
Finally, as the last member of the kidnappers has completed his turn, they gathered around the defiled woman. They looked at each other, then back at her. Everybody in the room knew that there was no way she could be returned to the mistress, no, in this condition, not after what had been done to her. The mistress was a powerful woman, having connections in anything and everything. If losing a couple of patrons meant securing the image of her establishment, she would have no problem issuing such a command. No, she was definitely not going back to the mistress. Then what? One of the figures disappeared, and seconds later returned with his blade. They grouped up, deciding who would give her the coup de grace she is so desperately praying for. Finally, the small circle dissolved, leaving one man carrying the unsheathed blade.
He stood on top of her, tip pointing at the left side of her chest, approximately where the aorta is. The woman looked at him with pleading eyes.
Please the word wasn't enough to encompass her feelings.
I'm begging you said her eyes. The cold metal glided through her flesh and bones with ease, a hot knife through butter. At first she was shocked by the temperature of the foreign object, but soon she warm: this was her release. A lifetime of memories flooded her sense, none of them she even remembered living. Faces, voices, places, objects, feelings, her senses were overloading as the blade dug deeper, causing more and more of her blood to gush out. She saw a white light and the final image he saw was of him.
Jin. That's right, she had already died once.
She awoke gasping for air. Her lungs rapidly expanding and contracting, trying to replace the carbon dioxide in her blood with fresh oxygen. Her vision adjusted quickly to her surroundings. The ceiling was distant, the room she was in had stone floors and walls made of finely decorated wood. She gathered the strength to push herself up off the bed. Her bare feet touched the stone ground, they could have been made of ice for all she knew -- it took some time for her to adjust to it before being able to walk comfortably. She directed her gaze to her surrounds, trying to remember how she ended up here. Didn't she die? She could almost feel the stabbing pain in her heart. She moved her right hand to her chest, searching for a wound: what greeted her was a patch of freshly healed skin, the remnants of her fatal wound. So it wasn't a bad dream....
The woman stepped through the door and almost tripped over the doorstep. The opening revealed a well kept garden: cherry trees were at full blossom. In the middle of the court yard stood a large urn filled with still burning incense, judging by the length of the un-burnt portion, it was only lit a few hours ago. She continued to make her way around the grounds, trying to get her bearings. The place had a very familiar feel to it. She stepped into the large, central building to which all the stone paths seemed to lead. The room was surrounded by a plethora of candles, all placed in a purposeful manner, all in praise to the statue stationed at the centre of the room.
A temple! she still remembered what those were.
"Ah, you're awake." A soft voice belonging to an elderly woman came from behind her.
She turned to face the source of the voice to be greeted by what was perhaps the friendliest face she had seen in a while. Though she was apprehensive, the elderly woman resonated a feel of warmth: she wasn't going to harm her. Lychee allowed her guard down. She tried to speak, but words refused to leave her lips. The only thing she could do was stare at the old woman with sad, empty eyes.
Where am I, what am I? Her lips moved as if to mouth a word, but her vocal chords refused to work.
The elderly woman smiled as if knowing what she wanted to ask. She went onto explain where they were, how they were (like all the other inhabitants of Soul Society) spirits. How they need no longer concern themselves with the harsh realities of the physical world. There was a shelter provided for her, and since souls don't have to sustain any physical functions, there was no need for food -- paradise.
At the mention of food, the woman's stomach began to growl. It must have been years since she had last eaten, she was indeed famished. But souls didn't have to eat. So what exactly
was she then? The elderly woman must have heard it too, as she stopped mid sentence and stared at Lychee with a look of astonishment.
"Wait here." She left and quickly returned with what little food she could find in such short notice -- a plain flour bun and some pickles. "Don't be alarmed girl, it simply means you've extraordinary power." The elderly woman smiled, watching the starving girl stuff the entire bun into her mouth. "This is something to be proud of!"
Pride. She could hardly remember what that word meant. Her hand reached to her neck and was greeted with her familiar collar.
"Right, that looks a bit tight on you sweet heart, let me grab some scissors and cut it off for you."
At the mere mention of the removal of her collar, the girl snapped, gripping the elderly woman's hand tightly in her's. Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, body hardened as if ready to pounce on the woman who was merely trying to help. She immediately realized her nails were digging into her skin, and rapidly released her forearm. The girl looked at her with apologetic eyes, placing her head into the elderly woman's chest, signally she was sincerely sorry.
"We'll leave it then." The old woman asked no further questions.
Lychee was allowed to wonder the temple on her own, interacting with its surroundings freely. Days turn into weeks as she wanders freely in her new home. The change of scenery was doing wonders for her, within months she was able to regain her ability to speak, though, her voice was still shy and brittle, she was able to communicate with the elderly lady -- her saviour. The temple survived from donations from its visitors, though they weren't living lavishly, they were able to get by, living a simple, happy life. It was at the market one day where she saw him. She was sent out to pick up some things for the temple, candles incense, things like that -- and of course some food for herself. Unlike any normal day however, the market was not in its usual chaotic sea of merchants and shoppers arguing over prices. No, today was much calmer. What used to be a mess of people flooding the streets was now a tidy row of people, gathered on either side of the main road. She disappeared into the crowd, eyes directed to the same direction as everyone else.
Almost out of nowhere, an entire fleet of men and women dressed in the same black uniform marched onto the street. Each of them looked the same, black kimono and black hakama. Each and every one of them carried with the a sheathed sword on their side. As the faces came and went, she regarded them with relative disinterest, that is until she saw his face. Though it had been ages since they last met, she could pick him out almost instantaneously. "Jin...." She tried calling his name louder, but she stopped herself. What if he didn't even know who she was? What if he had forgotten her? God knows she'd forgotten him several times before. She watched as he and the man beside him passed by. It was he who caught her eye, but the way the man beside him dressed was distracting. The white haori of the other man was quite conflicting, colour wise, with the rest of the fleet. She also noted an armband around Jin. The number on it matched what was embossed on the back of the white haori: six. That was when she heard the voice for the first time.
She couldn't make out the words, or the source of the voice, but somewhere seemingly inside of her, was this incoherent voice. She closed her eyes in hopes that the words become clearer, but they did not. Soon enough, they stopped. Though she was unsure, she could have sworn the man in the white haori had heard the voice too, as she saw his gaze lock onto her within the ocean of faces. She quickly disappeared into the crowd, and ran back to the temple. The elderly woman whom awaited her had an explanation as always.
Shinigami, essentially, the police force of Soul Society. At least she now knew that he wasn't in some gang, his virtues have been untarnished. When she asked about the voices, the elderly woman merely smiled. "That's your pride talking to you, calling you stupid for not yelling loud enough!" She laughed.
Lychee didn't think it was that funny. Later that evening, the voice became louder, so loud that it disturbed her sleep. She sat up in bed, hoping that would some how make the voice go away. No luck. She put on her shoes and stepped into the open courtyard. The mid summer night air was slightly humid, the slight breeze that graced her presence once in a while was heavenly. She closed her eyes.
What? What are you trying to say? The voice didn't reply back, but what she did get though was music. Slow, but rhythmic, something she was used to, something she may have heard in a previous lifetime.
By instinct, her body began to move, her feet left the ground, only what was necessary to hold her weight. Her body waved in sync with the beat, her hips rotated causing her entire figure to appear as a fluid wave. Her hands were above her head, forming different motions as the rest of her body swayed to the music only she could hear. Her eyes remained shut. Putting one foot over the other, she spun in place, bending her knees while extending her arms, creating a wild twister. As her motions became more synchronized with the tune, light streaks of turquoise began flowing out from her hands, like ribbons of light coming from within her. The music became more intense. Instead of circular, soft motions, her limbs took on a sharper note. Her previously opened hands would now close, as if gripping some invisible object. The eerie glow began to gather just above her closed fist, forming a long flat ribbon of light: a sword. The music was about to hit its climax. She opened her right hand and brought it across her body to the left side. She opened up her left hand as well, placing it behind her right. In a single fluid motion, she brought her right hand back across her chest, closing her grip up at about half way. As her hands came apart, the light began to transform itself into something tangible. As she completed the action, the woman extended both her arms out, making a large cross with her body. The music was about to end. She swiftly reversed the grip on her newly obtained sword and brought her right hand back to her side, slightly curving her elbows, making the tip of the blade point upwards. Her left arm remained outstretched, while the she raised the index and middle fingers of her hand and pointed them upward. Her right knee bent, while keeping her left leg straight, she moved all her weight onto one leg. The woman opened her eyes as the last note ended.
The secret training she and Jin would do so many years ago all seemed to flood back at once into her mind. She could see each of the movements clearly, as if they had just been together. The woman returned to a normal standing position, holding her new weapon in front of her. She noticed the blade's elegance, the colour, the texture. Everything about it screamed that it wasn't just any sword, it was
her sword. "Kiyohime." She finally understood what the voice was saying. She stared at her weapon, "Kiyohime...."
Her new found memories returned to her the confidence she had lost so long ago. If she were to see him again, she knew she had to find a way into join the shinigami. This was her ticket in, but not in this condition. The next years were spent inside her courtyard, regardless of season, she spent the entirety of her day re-familiarising her muscles to those movements. During her days of training, she had also gotten to understand Kiyohime -- the mistress who was her weapon. She reminded her of another mistress from a past life, though they both acted as if they didn't care for Lychee's well being, there was some splinter love somewhere within the toughness of their icy shells. As the decades turned into centuries the woman began to blossom into her former self again, confident, and full of pride. From her spirit, also gained valuable information of how Soul Society, and especially the Gotei worked. Their bond strengthened to a point where she was granted access to the inner world of her mistress -- her home.
It was in this labyrinth they continued their training. To achieve the final stage, Lychee and Kiyohime had to be one and the same. Time within her world was also altered, making each passing day but a few minutes in reality. Centuries passed. The time had come for her to ascend the ranks of the shinigami. From the information she was given, only those of the captain rank were free to roam about, those of the officers were more restricted into their own squadrons, having little interactions with those of another squad. This would not do at all. She wasn't going to take the one in thirteen chance that she just so happens to be placed in the same division as him. But she also didn't have time to waste, slowly ascending the ranks. She would have to do something drastic. There were three ways to become a captain, personal references, proficiency test, and trial by combat. The first two were definitely out of the question, which only left the latter. Trial by combat, where she would have to face one of Soul Societies most powerful souls and defeat him in front of at least two hundred of his peers.
Good I told you the woman was proud, didn't I? Nothing would draw more attention than this method, perhaps he would even be there to watch her. She didn't sleep the night before.
She burst through the gates of the Gotei at early dawn and headed straight for the gathering place of the captains issuing the challenge. All but the captain of the eleventh stepped down. Not that they were scared -- although some were -- most thought her a joke, a mere peasant wanting to ascend their ranks? Unheard of. The eleventh merely stepped up more out of obligation than anything else, he had a reputation to uphold. So the stage was set, two warriors who were fighting for their pride.
The crowd gathered, but there was no sign of Jin. The woman let out a long drawn out sigh, not like she should have gotten her hopes up. They drew their weapons. Immediately the captain rushed toward her, attempting to chop her down with his weapon, ending her quest as quickly as possible. She would not allow this to happen though, as she shifted her weight to her heels and spun slightly to avoid his predictable strike. She then gripped her own blade, thrusting it into the man's chest. The sound of clashing metal resonated across their battlefield. They would continue to trade blow for blow for quite some time before the captain began to realise that this was not going to be a quick fight. He uttered some words and a short moment after, his strength and agility grew substantially.
Shikai she didn't release Kiyohime immediately. They continued their duel, though his movements were much more dramatic now, each one of this strikes caused the metal of her weapon to vibrate so badly that she could hardly grip her sword. Deflecting his strikes were getting much more difficult. His movements were large and flamboyant, like an elephant trying to crush an ant while hers was small and efficient, never moving more than she needed to in order to get to her destination -- an elegant butterfly. Of course, had the elephant ever managed to land a blow on the winged creature, she would be as good as dead. He was getting closer, though the woman still had yet to reveal her own zanpakuto. Her pride kept her from showing it until absolutely necessary, proving to those who were watching that she was indeed worth of the title.
Finally, his movements began to pick up, forcing her back into a corner. The woman changed her grip on her weapon, and uttered words heard only by Kiyohime: "Dance." She placed the hilt between her palms as the weapon emitted an emerald glow, its form splitting into two, elongating and curving the very structure of the sword. Her blade split into two, the guard curved upwards, forming a crescent moon. The pommel of the blades were sharpened to a point, the blades were straight for the most part until it reached the tip, where they curved backwards onto itself, creating two rather large hooks. Her hooked blades were rather large, especially in comparison to a woman of her slender size -- quite menacing. The two waltzed on the battlefield, trading hit for hit until well after the afternoon sun had set, until the moon had come and past, and the raising sun indicated that the earth had turned in a complete circle.
neither were going to give up that easily, the battle continued for another day. At this point, both shinigami were at the tipping point of exhaustion. 48 hours of uninterrupted, explosive physical activity had not only left their bodies torn up, but the very earth beneath them had been riddled with with craters and chasms. Both their movements began to slow, visions began to blur. What was she doing again? She hardly managed the strength to parry his attack: which also lacked the stopping power it once had.
Call me out, you foolish girl, have you forgotten who's in charge here?! Her zanpakuto hissed at her. She had only done it once before, and never in front of a crowd. She had no choice but to obey, as she feared the consequences if she failed to listen to the spirit.
I hope you've not forgotten who's in charge here. Kiyohime was scary when she used that tone.
"Bankai." She murmured, using what little strength she had left to toss her worn blades into the sky. A loud crack akin to thunder resonated from the heavens fractions of a second after the blades left her hand. What followed was a downpour, not of rain, but sparkling, ice cold metal. A plethora of military arms, all shapes and sizes covered the area they were currently standing on, piercing the earth as they impacted, turning their battlefield into
her battlefield. The male captain had to do his best just to avoid the downpour. Without giving him a moment to rest, a long spear flew to her outstretched arm as she began her final number. The length of the weapon made it difficult for him to approach, but he managed a way to sneak by. As his body drew closer, the woman's grip loosened, freeing the pole-arm. Her now empty hand swiped up to intercept his attack. A nearby curved blade materialized in her hands, contacting the captain's blade. She took advantage of his surprise, dropping the weapon she had just used to parry and shifting her way behind the captain. His exhaustion showed in his movements. Within a flash, a sai appeared within her hand. She gave the fork-like weapon a flourish by twirling it rather elegantly in her hand, before gripping the weapon in such a way that the pointed end sat between her index and middle finger, sharp end protruding out of her newly formed fist. She drew the weapon all the way back, giving her back a rather large angular twist, then released all the stored energy into what would be her final strike.
He tried to turn, but was only able to shift his body mere centimetres before the blade entered the back of his ribcage, piercing the organ which was currently pumping blood through his body. The pointed end of the sai exited through front of his chest. He let out a long drawn out sigh, as the burden of being a captain left him. What was left of the crowd went silent. The woman's grip loosened slightly before completely slipping and relinquishing her hold on the weapon now embedded into his chest. Her knees finally faltered, collapsing underneath her weight. She had done it though, she'd finally get to being her search for
him. Her eyelids weighed several tonnes. Just as her body met the ground, the weapons she had brought from the heavens faded into dust.
She awoke in the intensive care unit of squad four. Her consciousness seemed to have alerted the entire Gotei before alerting herself. The commodore himself appeared at her bedside as if from thin air, the man's presence was suffocating. The fact that she was alive meant she accomplished her mission. The woman gave the captain-commander a smug smile.
"
Captain of the eleventh division, Lychee Meng, at your service."
Inner world appearance:A rather endless array of rooms, each sealed off by wooden doors, with paper windows. Beyond each of these doors there lies nothing more more doors, each leading to rooms filled with more rooms. To navigate this architectural nightmare is next to impossible, Kiyohime enjoys hiding in the labyrinth, her silhouette can often be seen through the dimly lit windows, while her voice can be heard throughout her domain. The overall orientation of the maze is spherical, with the home of her spirit being in the centre of it all. All rooms sooner or later lead to the central chamber, in which the floors are lined with fabric. Various instruments are present, as well as a myriad of weaponry. There are seats and tables oriented in a circle around the middle of the room, where a square raised platform is found -- the perfect setting to put on a show.
Zanpakutō
Name: Kiyohime
Zanpakutō spirit:- Spoiler:
A rather serious spirit, perhaps a mistress in a past life, it's definitely difficult to distinguish just who is the master in their relationship. Their rather icy personae seem to fit each other well, they seem to understand where each is coming from. Despite that, Kiyohime does tend to mother her "child" (Lychee) from time to time, though she claims that it's in her best interest; not her wielder's. She's just as selfish as her bearer, often blurring or bending the lines of morality to fit her needs, this often times makes it seem as if their relationship is some what distant, but they both know the others' feelings and where their allegiances are. Kiyohime is perhaps the only thing the shinigami lets close to her, especially for such a long period of time: Kiyohime gives her back the mother figure she had lost so long ago.
Sealed form: Quite different than other zanpakuto in that it lacks the distinctive curvature the more Japanese style katanas tend to wear. Her's takes its roots from the Chinese
Jian "sword". The blade is straight, with the working section measuring around 80 centimetres; about 10 centimetres just above the guard is unsharpened. The flat of the weapon is a deep blue, with hints of turquoise. It meets the white butterfly styled guard before transforming into the hilt of the sword: just long enough to encompass her right hand and a few extra fingers. The hilt of the blade is wrapped in immeasurable layers of delicate silk, forming quite a comfortable grip. The weapon ends in a rounded jade pommel, with a rather large tassel attached through an opening. The tassel is, of course, made of silk, and measures to be around twice as long as the handle. In the moonlight, the weapon emits a light emerald glow. The entire weapon is housed in a dark wooden sheathe, capped with an ivory at the tip, and jade accents around its body.
Shikai Call out phrase: "Dance"
Shikai description: Her single zanpakuto is replaced with twin hook swords: the guard is the shape of an upward facing crescent. The pommel protrudes approximately ten centimetres from the end of the hilt, sharpened to a point. The length of the straight section of the weapons measure to be about a metre. The tip of the blade curves back onto itself, with a radius measuring around five centimetres.
Ability: A scaly layer of reiatsu covers her skin, providing a thin layer of protection from attacks, the "armour" also has a rather slippery texture, making it easier for her to slip out of bindings. It also provides her some defence against blunt force attacks, as they tend to have a hard time retaining their direction of force.
Techniques: None, other than the standard ones she has?
BankaiBankai name: Okami Kiyohime
Bankai description: A fraction of a second after she tosses her shikai into the air, the heavens reply with a loud crack akin to thunder. What follows is a storm of metal instruments -- military arms -- falling from above as if the very sky had shattered and broken into thousands of pieces. The easy part is not being cut by the hail of metal; the hard part is having to battle on
her playing field. Once the storm stops, the area on which she stands lays littered with all her weapons. They recognize her reiatsu, allowing only her to remove them.
Her physical appearance also changes rather drastically. The thin layer of scaly reiatsu is thickened, providing her further protection. Her lower body, starting at the hips, is replaced by a serpentine tail measuring several metres in length, giving her increased mobility on the ground.
Ability: Her serpentine tail is covered with sensory receptions, which pick up slight vibrations from the earth, allowing her to sense movement on the ground several hundred metres away, like radar. The thickened scales also have sensory organs which are able to detect subtle changes in the heat of her surroundings, but this is to a much smaller scale, only a couple metres around her body.
In this form, she has the ability to freely control any of the weapons she sees, moving them physically allows her to essentially have a third or fourth hand. Though, the more weapons she controls simultaneously, the lower the degree of control she has over each one, sacrificing quantity over quality.
She gains the ability to call upon any of the scattered weaponry on her playing field to her hand near instantaneously. This is achieved by scattering of the reiatsu which makes up the weapon, transporting them to her hand, then reforming them. While the weapon travels, it is just harmless spirit particles, not until they regain their physical form are they able to do any harm.
Techniques: The outer layer of scales is able to be separated from its wearer, leaving behind an almost identical copy of the shinigami -- like a snake shedding its skin. The protective layer does reform, but quite slowly, leaving her more vulnerable after performing the decoy technique. Since the "armour" is made of reiatsu, it is not only visually difficult to distinguish, but sensorially as well.
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