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[10th] Week 253 - Toride Satoru 砦 秩序
Contact Info - [email protected] (e-mail/AIM)
Age - looks 24, is actually 79
Persona - The best word to describe Satoru is inquisitive. He always has a question at the ready and typically seeks a second opinion. He hates gossip, however, as it often clouds the way of the true answers. He has skill in and appreciation for poetry (especially soliloquies) and absolutely adores puns. The boy takes pride in his ever-growing knowledge base. He tends to go a tad overboard when it comes time to work on a project, idea, or person that has caught his interest, and his curiosity can easily be perceived as nosiness. He often has a tough time seeing alternative perspectives which leads to inflexibility in battle and in life. He also has a habit of humming when he isn’t paying attention.
Physical Stature - Satoru is around five foot eleven inches. He has a rather bronzed skin and a slim, yet defined form. His face almost looks like it was built to deliver a sarcastic smile every time and he always has a smirk at the ready. His eyes are a stormy gray color that are often difficult to pull away from, whether that be in unease or fascination. You will never see him without his trademark headphones which blast any kind of music in various genres (except country... never mention country around Satoru). His hair is black in color and coarse in nature. His hair is ridiculously curly and unmanageable without serious help and typically forms into an afro.
Background - As a human, he was the son of a Brazilian capoeira practitioner and a very intelligent but horribly unlucky Japanese father. Upon his arrival in Soul Society, he survived a few decades on his own in the middle districts of Rukongai. His natural curiosity led him to wander the streets for a decade and to assist those who could catch his attention. He has made many enemies and several allies during his travels, but the one thing he is not is forgettable. It is likely that Satoru would have continued that existence... unless someone intervened. A shinigami deposited Satoru directly in the Spiritual Academy partially against his will after a small growl gave away his growing spiritual power.
Zanpaktou - Like its wielder, Satoru’s zanpaktou is rather straightforward. It is an odd size, being around the size and proportion of a tanto with a royal purple wrapping over the well-polished silver of his hilt. The blade is an odd grey that matches his eyes in their strange and mesmerising glint. The tsuba is engraved with patterns similar to that of a circuit board.
Toride Satoru -10th Division, Unseated
Reiatsu: 100
Zanjutsu: 5
Hakuda: 45
Hohou: 35
Kidou: 15 (Threshold: 30)
Items:
-10th Division Item Pack
- Satoru’s Fan
Sample Chap - The High Inquisitive
“Toya, why are we here?”
A song by the name of “P.A.R.T.Y” by Lack of Afro was playing from the royal purple headphones around the neck of the inquirer (which, considering the man’s foul mood, was rather inappropriate for the occasion). This male shinigami in freshly issued robes sauntered behind his hand-to-hand combat instructor with no small amount of annoyance. His skin was a mildly golden color due to his constant adventures in the sun. His jet black afro swayed slightly in the breeze, making a slight whistling sound as the wind tried and failed to pass through the coarse hair. The soul reaper’s fierce grey eyes bored into the cranium of their target as if to drill their way to the answers sought by the man.
“You know, if you had actually turned down the music while I was talking, you might have caught the reason,” quipped the other man as they ascended an ever steeper hill. The man was around an inch shorter than the younger shinigami but his smooth confidence added to his perceived height. Wrapped around his waist was a belt of fan holsters, each fan possessing different kanji written on them. Though it wasn’t visible through his robes, Tatsuhiro Toya shared the same lithe form and grace as a panther on the midnight hunt. His raven locks were messily strewn about and he was not the prettiest figure, what with his almost square-like face and unusually spaced eyes, but there was no mistaking his prowess.
“That still doesn’t answer my question though,” the boy noted as they neared the summit of the hill. “My kidou scores were adequate, I’m quick enough to stay ahead of a fair amount of my classmates, and my aptitude for hakuda more than made up for my poor skill with a blade.”
“That you did.”
“So then why am I still being led about as if I’m still-”
The two men finally stood at the crest of the hill and the resulting image stopped the question about halfway up his throat. Of course, this was not just any old hill. The legendary drown soil, the endless view of Sereitei beneath the expanse of the dusky sky, and of course the colossal yet depressing red pillory worked together to create the most scenic view in the whole of Soul Society. Student and master stood side by side on Sokyoku Hill, one of the most hallowed grounds in the realm.
Toya sighed wearily and turned to his former student. The combat expert placed a broad hand on the shoulder, deftly lowering the volume switch on his pupil’s headphones before speaking.
“Satoru, I’ve brought you here because I don’t think that you know what it means to be a death god.”
At this, his eyes lit up and he began to speak but Toya raised a single hand to silence him.
“You mean to tell me that after all these years, you still don’t you see it?” Toya asked incredulously. “Shinigami are soldiers, not journalists.”
At this, Satoru titled his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”
The all too familiar vein of irritation began to protrude from Toya’s neck as he tried to maintain his composure.
“Whenever I or anyone else gave you an assignment in class, you never just simply accept what you’re given without an insane amount of interrogation. You-”
“And how the hell am I supposed to go into the field without enough background information?” burst the taller death god. “Better yet, why? You of all people always stressed that ten seconds of observation can save your life!”
“You’re still missing the point!” shouted the man hotly. “If you want to make anything of yourself as a shinigami, you need to learn to follow orders! It’s our job to react to anything, not question everything!”
Satoru, whose confusion had now overtaken his better judgment, continued. “You still haven’t-”
Faster than the eye could follow, Toya reached for the fan in his belt with the name “Toride Satoru,” flicked the fan open, and struck the young student on the cheek. Toya cracked a grin at the satisfying PAP sound that it made. To his credit, Satoru instinctively rolled with the impact, but the force of the blow still caused him to stagger backwards.
“Rule number three kid! Where should your focus be?” barked the instructor as he folded his arms.
The former student, now taken aback mentally and physically, rubbed his cheek and mumbled, “On the hands and the weapons.”
Toya’s face softened a little. “Good, so I did manage to beat that into you.”
Satoru’s face was absolutely unreadable. He simply stared at his mentor for quite some time. After awhile, he cracked his trademark sarcastic grin and quipped, “Don’t you think ‘beat’ is a bit of an understatement? I still remember the time when I pointed out a mispronunciation of yours and then you chose me as the demonstration for the wrist lock.”
Satoru quickly dropped into a crouching position and attempted to sweep his instructor’s legs but, of course, Toya was ten meters away at that point. “You and your damn flash steps... how do you do that anyway?”
Toya simply chuckled and then flickered out of sight once, then twice. Satoru grimaced as he watched his former teacher standing atop the red pillory with his hands on his hips and a daredevil smile.
“Way too advanced, kiddo. Especially for you, who thinks way too much.”
Satoru simply hung his head in defeat, then shouted, “I think I know why we’re here.”
Toya cocked his ear and, as Satoru began to speak, flash stepped back to his original position then said, “You were about to say something?”
Ignoring the blatant attempt to bait him, the former student gestured at the Sokyoku and responded, “You brought me here to remind me that some people are terminated because they either know too much or they try to know too much.”
He sighed discontentedly. “That’s usually why we do this anyway.”
The instructor squared his jaw and quickly embraced his former student before drawing back. “I just wish I had more time to train you. I feel like you could be a real powerhouse if you just stopped thinking through everything and started moving first.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Satoru hesitantly unfolded his arms. “So wait... all those times that you beat me with that damned fan and tested my patience were to try and train me? I thought you were just a miserable, miserly old coot.”
“Catch!” barked the instructor with his typical stone face. Satoru barely reacted in time to catch the foreign object. He examined it and his eyes widened as he realized what Toya had given him.
“This thing has been the bane of my existence for six years... so why on Earth are you giving it to me?” he asked with the familiar tone of curiosity. “And what do I even do with it?”
Toya waved breezily and flash stepped away without another word.
In Satoru’s hands lay the fan with inscribed with his kanji. The handle, unlike most of the other fans that Toya carried, was slightly worn due to Satoru’s initial resistance to instruction in the early days of his education. It was black piece with stark white paper-like material in the middle that was surprisingly durable for something so frail in appearance. It had survived six years of abuse and several attempted thefts on the part of its new owner.
How unusually generous and heartfelt for him! I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do with this harbinger of pain and frustration. I should honestly just trash it for the sheer satisfaction! But he wouldn’t have possibly given it to me if there was no use for it. I suppose I could view it as a going-away present... but wouldn’t that be too easy? I also don't see what's in it for him. He obviously didn't think too highly of me. Well, Toya is pretty simple-minded; only he would give me something without it having a direct benefit to him.
Satoru simply shrugged and, after much deliberation, tucked it into one of the inner pockets of his robe. He was never one to throw away a gift after all. He descended from the hill and decided to make his way to the division to which he had been assigned after much appeal.
After all, what better way to learn about the world than through the spirits that compose it?
With that, Toride Satoru set off for the Tenth Division with his robes, his blade, a fan, a thread of enthusiasm, and a spool of anxiety.
[1453]
Contact Info - [email protected] (e-mail/AIM)
Age - looks 24, is actually 79
Persona - The best word to describe Satoru is inquisitive. He always has a question at the ready and typically seeks a second opinion. He hates gossip, however, as it often clouds the way of the true answers. He has skill in and appreciation for poetry (especially soliloquies) and absolutely adores puns. The boy takes pride in his ever-growing knowledge base. He tends to go a tad overboard when it comes time to work on a project, idea, or person that has caught his interest, and his curiosity can easily be perceived as nosiness. He often has a tough time seeing alternative perspectives which leads to inflexibility in battle and in life. He also has a habit of humming when he isn’t paying attention.
Physical Stature - Satoru is around five foot eleven inches. He has a rather bronzed skin and a slim, yet defined form. His face almost looks like it was built to deliver a sarcastic smile every time and he always has a smirk at the ready. His eyes are a stormy gray color that are often difficult to pull away from, whether that be in unease or fascination. You will never see him without his trademark headphones which blast any kind of music in various genres (except country... never mention country around Satoru). His hair is black in color and coarse in nature. His hair is ridiculously curly and unmanageable without serious help and typically forms into an afro.
Background - As a human, he was the son of a Brazilian capoeira practitioner and a very intelligent but horribly unlucky Japanese father. Upon his arrival in Soul Society, he survived a few decades on his own in the middle districts of Rukongai. His natural curiosity led him to wander the streets for a decade and to assist those who could catch his attention. He has made many enemies and several allies during his travels, but the one thing he is not is forgettable. It is likely that Satoru would have continued that existence... unless someone intervened. A shinigami deposited Satoru directly in the Spiritual Academy partially against his will after a small growl gave away his growing spiritual power.
Zanpaktou - Like its wielder, Satoru’s zanpaktou is rather straightforward. It is an odd size, being around the size and proportion of a tanto with a royal purple wrapping over the well-polished silver of his hilt. The blade is an odd grey that matches his eyes in their strange and mesmerising glint. The tsuba is engraved with patterns similar to that of a circuit board.
Toride Satoru -10th Division, Unseated
Reiatsu: 100
Zanjutsu: 5
Hakuda: 45
Hohou: 35
Kidou: 15 (Threshold: 30)
Items:
-10th Division Item Pack
- Satoru’s Fan
Sample Chap - The High Inquisitive
“Toya, why are we here?”
A song by the name of “P.A.R.T.Y” by Lack of Afro was playing from the royal purple headphones around the neck of the inquirer (which, considering the man’s foul mood, was rather inappropriate for the occasion). This male shinigami in freshly issued robes sauntered behind his hand-to-hand combat instructor with no small amount of annoyance. His skin was a mildly golden color due to his constant adventures in the sun. His jet black afro swayed slightly in the breeze, making a slight whistling sound as the wind tried and failed to pass through the coarse hair. The soul reaper’s fierce grey eyes bored into the cranium of their target as if to drill their way to the answers sought by the man.
“You know, if you had actually turned down the music while I was talking, you might have caught the reason,” quipped the other man as they ascended an ever steeper hill. The man was around an inch shorter than the younger shinigami but his smooth confidence added to his perceived height. Wrapped around his waist was a belt of fan holsters, each fan possessing different kanji written on them. Though it wasn’t visible through his robes, Tatsuhiro Toya shared the same lithe form and grace as a panther on the midnight hunt. His raven locks were messily strewn about and he was not the prettiest figure, what with his almost square-like face and unusually spaced eyes, but there was no mistaking his prowess.
“That still doesn’t answer my question though,” the boy noted as they neared the summit of the hill. “My kidou scores were adequate, I’m quick enough to stay ahead of a fair amount of my classmates, and my aptitude for hakuda more than made up for my poor skill with a blade.”
“That you did.”
“So then why am I still being led about as if I’m still-”
The two men finally stood at the crest of the hill and the resulting image stopped the question about halfway up his throat. Of course, this was not just any old hill. The legendary drown soil, the endless view of Sereitei beneath the expanse of the dusky sky, and of course the colossal yet depressing red pillory worked together to create the most scenic view in the whole of Soul Society. Student and master stood side by side on Sokyoku Hill, one of the most hallowed grounds in the realm.
Toya sighed wearily and turned to his former student. The combat expert placed a broad hand on the shoulder, deftly lowering the volume switch on his pupil’s headphones before speaking.
“Satoru, I’ve brought you here because I don’t think that you know what it means to be a death god.”
At this, his eyes lit up and he began to speak but Toya raised a single hand to silence him.
“You mean to tell me that after all these years, you still don’t you see it?” Toya asked incredulously. “Shinigami are soldiers, not journalists.”
At this, Satoru titled his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”
The all too familiar vein of irritation began to protrude from Toya’s neck as he tried to maintain his composure.
“Whenever I or anyone else gave you an assignment in class, you never just simply accept what you’re given without an insane amount of interrogation. You-”
“And how the hell am I supposed to go into the field without enough background information?” burst the taller death god. “Better yet, why? You of all people always stressed that ten seconds of observation can save your life!”
“You’re still missing the point!” shouted the man hotly. “If you want to make anything of yourself as a shinigami, you need to learn to follow orders! It’s our job to react to anything, not question everything!”
Satoru, whose confusion had now overtaken his better judgment, continued. “You still haven’t-”
Faster than the eye could follow, Toya reached for the fan in his belt with the name “Toride Satoru,” flicked the fan open, and struck the young student on the cheek. Toya cracked a grin at the satisfying PAP sound that it made. To his credit, Satoru instinctively rolled with the impact, but the force of the blow still caused him to stagger backwards.
“Rule number three kid! Where should your focus be?” barked the instructor as he folded his arms.
The former student, now taken aback mentally and physically, rubbed his cheek and mumbled, “On the hands and the weapons.”
Toya’s face softened a little. “Good, so I did manage to beat that into you.”
Satoru’s face was absolutely unreadable. He simply stared at his mentor for quite some time. After awhile, he cracked his trademark sarcastic grin and quipped, “Don’t you think ‘beat’ is a bit of an understatement? I still remember the time when I pointed out a mispronunciation of yours and then you chose me as the demonstration for the wrist lock.”
Satoru quickly dropped into a crouching position and attempted to sweep his instructor’s legs but, of course, Toya was ten meters away at that point. “You and your damn flash steps... how do you do that anyway?”
Toya simply chuckled and then flickered out of sight once, then twice. Satoru grimaced as he watched his former teacher standing atop the red pillory with his hands on his hips and a daredevil smile.
“Way too advanced, kiddo. Especially for you, who thinks way too much.”
Satoru simply hung his head in defeat, then shouted, “I think I know why we’re here.”
Toya cocked his ear and, as Satoru began to speak, flash stepped back to his original position then said, “You were about to say something?”
Ignoring the blatant attempt to bait him, the former student gestured at the Sokyoku and responded, “You brought me here to remind me that some people are terminated because they either know too much or they try to know too much.”
He sighed discontentedly. “That’s usually why we do this anyway.”
The instructor squared his jaw and quickly embraced his former student before drawing back. “I just wish I had more time to train you. I feel like you could be a real powerhouse if you just stopped thinking through everything and started moving first.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Satoru hesitantly unfolded his arms. “So wait... all those times that you beat me with that damned fan and tested my patience were to try and train me? I thought you were just a miserable, miserly old coot.”
“Catch!” barked the instructor with his typical stone face. Satoru barely reacted in time to catch the foreign object. He examined it and his eyes widened as he realized what Toya had given him.
“This thing has been the bane of my existence for six years... so why on Earth are you giving it to me?” he asked with the familiar tone of curiosity. “And what do I even do with it?”
Toya waved breezily and flash stepped away without another word.
In Satoru’s hands lay the fan with inscribed with his kanji. The handle, unlike most of the other fans that Toya carried, was slightly worn due to Satoru’s initial resistance to instruction in the early days of his education. It was black piece with stark white paper-like material in the middle that was surprisingly durable for something so frail in appearance. It had survived six years of abuse and several attempted thefts on the part of its new owner.
How unusually generous and heartfelt for him! I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do with this harbinger of pain and frustration. I should honestly just trash it for the sheer satisfaction! But he wouldn’t have possibly given it to me if there was no use for it. I suppose I could view it as a going-away present... but wouldn’t that be too easy? I also don't see what's in it for him. He obviously didn't think too highly of me. Well, Toya is pretty simple-minded; only he would give me something without it having a direct benefit to him.
Satoru simply shrugged and, after much deliberation, tucked it into one of the inner pockets of his robe. He was never one to throw away a gift after all. He descended from the hill and decided to make his way to the division to which he had been assigned after much appeal.
After all, what better way to learn about the world than through the spirits that compose it?
With that, Toride Satoru set off for the Tenth Division with his robes, his blade, a fan, a thread of enthusiasm, and a spool of anxiety.
[1453]
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