Shun
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Reference image for Kyoshiro
The venture was short lived.
Freedom can at times be nonexistent. One moment, you have it within your grasp and the next its whisked away.
Despite his unparalleled speed, he was not able to get to the Eleventh Division's headquarters as soon as he would have liked. The Seventh's holding cells were on the easternmost part of Seireitei while the Blood Templars' home was located on the westernmost sect. To add to that, the wounds that he had sustained from having been bludgeoned more than once in prison had still shown no signs of clearing up.
Coming to a halt just past the end of the Eight Division, Ryoujin tried to catch his breath, which was oddly surprising. He had felt fine just a few moments ago, but now that he was on the outside, it seemed as if his energy was being sapped from some sort of source. Perhaps being confined within those bloodstone walls had a more drastic effect on him than he would have ever imagined.
It was right then when he realized how ignorant he truly was. For someone who held the ranking of an upper tier officer, news surrounding his act of “treason” had surely spread by now. Search warrants would probably take up to a few days to carry out, but shinigami were already on the prowl, hunting for him, and there was no way of guaranteeing that they would not recognize him as the savage that had been responsible for that massacre a few days ago.
As a result, his first task before even considering investigating the Eleventh’s grounds was to find some sort of disguise in order to cloak himself. Finding something suitable was going to be hard given the fact that his pink hair made him stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd.
After pushing through some foliage and finding one of Seiretei’s more finer markets, he noticed that many of the civilians were out mingling with one another and enjoying the festivity and security that the White Walls had to offer - so much so that it was absolutely the best opportunity for him to blend in somewhat without attracting much unnecessary attention.
Scanning the many patrons in the various shops and open booths and bars, he tried to find a vulnerable target, namely one who was wearing a cloak of some sort so that he could cover his face.
With what seemed like forever, he finally found said individual, who seemed to have placed his wide-brim hat and cloak on the table that he was seated in. The man appeared to be very haggard in appearance, his face flustered up from heavy drinking. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a very stupid fashion.
Would you look at that? This couldn't have been any better, Ryoujin thought, satisfied as he slowly but surely advanced towards the vulnerable man. The others around him seem to pay neither of them any mind.
With a very innocent and chesire grin spread across his face, Ryoujin finally reached the table, noticing that the man was staring off into space. Waving his hands in front of the drunkard to see if the poor soul was truly out of it, he was relieved to see that that was indeed the case.
Quickly grabbing the hat and the matching cloak, he put both items on before striding away.
Unfortunately, things weren't exactly going to be that simple.
“Oi lad, where’re you headed with that?” the drunkard piped up, opening his startled grey eyes as his words came out in a very slurred and indistinguishable manner.
Freezing in his tracks, Ryoujin seemed to curse under his breath, as he debated whether or not to book it right there or stay while risking being caught.
“Hrmm, not one for the words...?” the haggard-looking man began, standing up on wobbly feet as he ushered Ryoujin to take a seat, “You look like a weary traveler. Here...why don’t you sit down and rest a while.”
Ryoujin shook his head in response. “No - I’m fine, really. I’ve got somewhere to be, and I’m already running late.”
“Nonsense!” came the retort, “I’m sure wherever you need to be can wait.”
“Ehh, no I really should get going. Thanks for the offer though, maybe next time-” he began, his auburn eyes narrowing in on a particular photo pinned by a nearby billboard. Sure enough, it was a wanted list filled with convicts of all sorts on the loose, and while the others seemed to look worn and faded, the picture that he was concentrated on stood out. It was a snapshot of none other than himself with his thumbs up and one of his trademark grins.
Funny how he had underestimated how quickly the Gotei could respond.
As he prepared to leave, the old man began making a ruckus of the whole thing, attracting unnecessary attention until eventually all eyes were set on the flustered elder.
They should have an age limit for drinking. Good god Oji-san, Ryoujin thought, feigning ignorance and pretending like he hadn’t even conversed with the man a few moments ago. As he seemed to gain some distance from the drunkard, the old man with surprisingly quick reflexes grabbed his wrist with a vice-like grip. Struggling to break free, Ryoujin finally managed to do so but not without allowing his hat and cloak to slip free.
Freezing up, the Blood Templar watched as heads turned towards the bounty list. As murmurs started to spread through the increasing crowd, a high-pitched voice finally shouted, "Aye! That's him - that there Ryoujin, one of Tsubaki's. The one that killed his own comrades in broad daylight!"
"Pft, you serious? I don't believe it," someone else argued.
"Look for yourself!"
"Crap.. it is him!"
Before long, footsteps could be heard nearby. In what sounded like a stampede, dozens of armed shinigami appeared with a flash step, their blades menacingly poised at him. In very brief moments, the old man that had been responsible for blowing his cover had vanished altogether.
“Well shit, so much for a disguise, huh?” he said, his hands on the pommel of his own zanpakutou prepared to draw it at any moment in order to fend himself. Before he could so much as unsheathe Kazeoni though, a heavy spiritual pressure seemed to weigh down on him, and what was more it held the exact same traces of the one that he had detected back when he was imprisoned - the very same one that had taken the liberty to free him.
In the distance, he could hear someone clapping. Behind it all, there was a boisterous laugh and a smug grin. As if rehearsed many times prior, the armed soliders parted to create a straight pathway of sorts for their commander. Ryoujin took note of the all-too familiar ebony mop of hair that rested on his head and the slate-colored eyes that shook many eneies with fear and apprehension.
“Kyoshiro...”