Fisher
New Member
A Not So Quiet Place
Raury Feybrand
WC: 1,679
Raury Feybrand
WC: 1,679
Note
Raury sat slumped, his back against one of the poles in a temporary Fourth Division medical tent. He and his opponent had both been carted off, their wounds to be stabilized before the next set of fights began. His stomach still recoiled against any motion whatsoever, his only bleeding wound incurred in the fight against Masato Fujikawa. He had learned his opponent’s name after the fight, one of the Fourthies being kind enough to supply the name. Shame to not be introduced formally. Dude seemed kind of uptight.
Not lacking in skill, though, that’s fer goddamn sure.
As if in agreement with his mental note, his arm began to twinge painfully, reminding him that though the gutshot was the only openly bleeding wound, he had sure sustained substantially more than that. It was simply that the majority had been cauterized through either fire or...friggin’ laser.
Those boys sure fight like the devil himself.
"We are not weak."
Yer godrottin’ right ya aint. I saw that limiter. Ye’d scorched my cookies in a flash otherwise. Fuck.
A healer wandered by, tending to whatever it is that healers attend to when they aren’t attending to their attendees. Raury halfheartedly poked at the man’s legs as he passed.
“Oi, be a dear boyo an’ fetch me some drink, eh? Somethin’ with a bit o’ fire in it, mind. Keep yer water.” The Founder winked, smirking affably as he looked up at the turning medic.
“Oh no you don’t.” The medic regarded him with a severe and accusatory eye. Even did the finger waggle. Raury hated the finger waggle. “Drinking will not help you on the road to recovery, mister. And you don’t need to be drinking, anyway. Your next fight will begin shortly enough.”
With that, the man turned back to wherever he had been going, Raury petulantly (but silently) mouthing the man’s words with an offended sneer.
Bastard. Aint got no idea what he’s talkin’ on. How’s a man supposed ta recover wit’out a drink, eh?
With a shrug, the drunk reached into his kosode and withdrew a flask. They had taken his gourds. When he was still unconscious, luckily for them. Toasting to the medic (behind the man’s back), Raury popped the cap and quickly downed a few swallows.
“Grah, that’s so much better!” He sighed, maybe a touch too loudly as the healer turned around to see whom Raury had been addressing. Noting the flask, the man turned, a hand on his hip.
Raury offered up the flask, smiling. “Drinkie?”
Clearly at a loss, the healer turned back around with an annoyed huff.
‘Suit yerself.” He muttered, grin still in place.
Quit flirtin’ with the nurses and git yer ass in here, you good for nothing.
Oh, for god’s rotting nutsack, why you gotta bust balls?
I told you we needed to talk, Bitchtits, so lets get to it.
I ain’t bitchtits. Creative, though. I’ll keep that one, thanks.
I was serious about leavin’ your ass for another Shinigami, fuckwit. So take this a little less serious.
Ye mean more serious?
I mean everything and nothing. Forever everything for always and that’s my tune and I sticks to it.
I don’t even...
IN, you hamster’s sister-mother!
With a heavy sigh, Raury stopped trying to even argue. When Zhang got to the point where even Raury made more sense, it was past the point of attempting an argument. Well, one involving merit or thought, anyway.
The drunk dropped his cocked leg down to the packed earth of the tent, settling into a crossed-leg style. His hand slid down to hoist his zanpakutou up to his lap, eyes closing. His breathing regulated, becoming rhythmic. The pose was downright zen. Except for the hand that kept coming up to feed more shots of whiskey to himself. But, really. What’s more Zen than having your eyes closed when drunk?
Lots of things, lemme tell you. Talk about a tilt o’ whirl...
There was a jerk around his navel, something hard to distinguish between a real, physical feeling and one conjured in the mind, and then flash. A bar. A wooden bar. An empty (save for the chairs, bar, taps and bottles) wooden bar. Also there were barrels. And a monkey on one of those barrels. And that monkey was throwing things. Glass things.
“Whoa, mate!” Raury barked in surprise, quickly ducking the airborne vessels and throwing a table onto its side for makeshift cover. “Settl’r down, eh!?”
“That human stomped your shit, you drunk!” The chimp squealed, continuing its barrage.
“No he didn’t, you assbutt, we stomped eachother's shit! It went to decision and everything!” Raury began to return fire, stripping the table of its legs to use as makeshift missiles. “And who the hell’r ye callin’ a drunk!? Talk ‘bout the pot callin’ the kettle a racist!”
“That doesn’t even make sense, you petulant little pony-rider!”
There was a pause, Raury halting participation in the throw-war as he stared off, lost in thought.
“I love ponies...” He breathed, addressing no-one.
“You’re wide open!” The chimp crowed, quickly hoisting itself over Raury’s sanctuary of a table and planting its little monkey-feet into the Founder’s face.
“Aaaaough! Hoouahguih!” Not really words, but you try talking with a mouth full of monkey feet. See how it works out for you.
Madly batting at his face, Raury eventually rolled, swiped and careened his way to freedom, tossing the chimp from his face. Zhang landed with barely a sound, sailing across the room back onto its barrel.
“See, ya got distracted by a fuckin’ pony, shiteater.”
“My name is Raury, ya puffed up primate.” He stated, patting at his fresh monkey-face-scratches.
“Pft, as if that matters. You don’t call me by my name, why should I call you by yours?” The chimp quested, pulling a thimble sized cup from the barrel and taking a shot. It’d be adorable if it weren’t for the loud mouth. And turban. Why was he suddenly wearing a turban?
“I called you Zhang like, not even a minute or two ago.” The drunk stated, still standing across the room and on-guard. Never trust an ape.
“Well, that’d be wonderful, Princess, if my goddamn name were Zhang!” Punctuating its outburst with a few more flying bottles, ‘Zhang’ glared at Raury. At least, he thought it was a glare. Hard to tell. Turban was in its eyes.
“Wha...what’re ya even jabberin’ ‘bout now?”
Tossing the tiny turban aside, Zhang jumped down from his barrel, hopping onto one of the still intact tables, motioning Raury to join him. The drunk eyed his spirit with suspicion, but crept forward to take a seat at the table. He decided to not join Zhang on the table. That’d be silly.
“Alright, listen up here Raury. We’re gonna be...be,” the wee beastie looked to be choking on its word, “serious, for a moment.”
Raury leaned forward, elbows on the table and now totally paying attention. To say this was odd would be dramatically underplaying the situation. Serious? His monkey? And what was this about names? Shocked into agreement, Raury nodded.
“Alright, mate. Have yer word, then.”
Punctuating Raury’s agreement came a wild trumpeting. But not like a trumpet as in instrument. More like a trumpet from a trunk. An animal trunk.
“Was that an elephant?”
The chimp shrugged a tiny little shrug. “The moment felt too serious.”
“But ye jus’...”
Before he could finish, a tiny paw lashed out, slapping the Founder flush on the cheek, sending his head rocking back.
“What...even the fuck!?” Raury bellowed, rubbing his quickly reddening cheek.
“Don’t sass me, Feybrand. I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’ve been keepin’ things to myslef. Namely, my name.”
Confused, Raury shook his head. “But you’ve given me your name...”
Grunting, the chimp sidled closer, causing Raury to lean back for fear of monkey-backhand.
“I gave ya a name. Weren’t my name. Y’see,” it continued, settling onto its haunches and pulling another tiny cup from nowhere, “we spirits impart power through our names, yeh? Well, I gave ya a false one.”
“But why would you even do that?”
“‘Cause ya weren’t ready! When we started talkin’ ya were just a goofy drunk. Goofy drunks don’t get my full strength.”
Raury leaned forward again, getting annoyed.
“Now see here, mate, you yerself are a goofy drunk. How can ye make some kinda wild statement like that?”
“Pay attention, hey? There’s a difference between a goofy drunk, and a useful goofy drunk. I aint askin; ya ta change the drunk part. Or the goofy part. But ya gots ta find a balance. Drink, be merry and all that. It’s fine, but ya gotta remain...eh, capable. Even your own style preaches that. Drink, but stay in control. Instead, when we met ya drank, but ya also wallowed in it.”
Feeling chided, Raury frowned. “I’ve been workin’ on that...”
“True!” The chimp agreed. “Which is why we’re chattin’ now. I think its about time we got down to the real bitties. The real trainin’. Time for ya ta learn my real name.”
Not sure if he was glad to hear that last bit or a bit frightened, Raury nodded. “Okay, then. What now?”
“Step outside the bar. And yes, there’s an outside. The bar was for you. Familiarity.”
Raury followed the gesturing paw, looking to the right at one of the walls. There was a door; one that hadn’t been there previously. With an incredulous glance at the monkey, the drunk stood, making his way over. A momentary pause, then he reached out, grasping the handle with a slightly damp hand. Over his shoulder, the Zhang he knew spoke.
“Also, I ain’t a monkey.”[/COLR]
When Raury glanced over, door half open, the chimp was gone. A voice rumbled from beyond the door, deep enough to shake the walls of the bar.
“Come in, Raury. Or maybe out.”
Turning back, he fully opened the door, his eyes alighting on the one who spoke from the darkness beyond the doorway of the bar.
The drunk’s eyes widened in shock.