04-02-2016, 11:07 AM
Well now, that wasn't so bad was it?
Rou's echoeing voice, rebounded within the walls of Renji's cranium. Schizophrenics have it easy. Although the bartender did have to admit that this job wasn't as completely boring as he first imagined it. In fact the liveliness of ambrosians seemed to have rubbed off upon the stoic swordsman. With a gentle whistle he turned out the lights and left into the crisp night air. The small flakes of snow had finally accumulated into a small crunchy pathway beneath Renji's feet. Shivering reminded him of how poorly designed his outfit was for the winter. Though, to be fair, one would be foolish to bet on snow in the Tangled Green. On the other hand, however, one would be foolish to completely dismiss such an oddity in the Omniverse.
Still the snow was of no consequence to the ancient bladesman. No the scent of blood upon the wind sent chills through his spine, more visceral than any blast of cold air could. A crumpled bleeding body sat, a frozen testament to a horrid deed. Carefully Renji approached, hand at his sword and keen eyes scanning his surroundings. If a battle were to break out, his current outfit would no doubt restrict his movement ever so slightly. In a conflict to the death, ever so slightly was all that was needed to put one's foot into a casket.
“Oooh a dead body,” Wanda cooed, floating above Renji, “how spooky.”
Marshall Woodrop was an aspiring guardsman, barely wet behind the ears before he was cut down. Large shards of silvery metal sat scattered across the snow, all that remained of his sword. Deep cuts were carved into the man's flesh and tacky blood mixed with the snow, creating a macabre slushy. Clearly a battle had transpired, but it appeared as if poor Marshall had never stood a chance. Either a skilled swordsman or a terrifying beast had done the young man in. There were only a handful of warriors that Renji had every met that could turn their opponent's blade asunder. He would also be lying if he didn't say he felt a hint of excitement at the thought of dueling a ruthless opponent. His thoughts turned back to that green-skinned warrior, Retane, that man brought the first real challenge that Renji had faced in centuries.
“Halt criminal!” a diminutive, but commanding voice declared.
Renji turned around to face the voice. A flying cat creature floated precariously above the ground and next to him two guardsmen stood with their weapons drawn. The fuzzy creature sported a fashionable plaid deerstalker and puffed smoke from a cruved pipe. Next to his hat bobbed a bright red pom of fuzz attatched to his skull by way of a thin black wire. Draped across his cream color body a little brown vest was pulled tight. He pointed accusingly at Renji, who took a step away from the body and raised his hands in deference.
“You've got the wrong guy, I just got here.”
A small crowd had begun to gather around them, the occasional gasp cut through the muttering. Instinctively Renji reached for his sword, his veins pumped adrenaline and he could taste the blood in the air. How many could he take? There were only two guardsmen, and most of the civilians were frail beings. How many gallons of blood could he spill if he slashed outwards? That smell of blood, Marshall's blood, the blood of a man he had never even met. Heat, a flushing of red raced across Renji's skin and sweat turned his collar damp.
Kill
Them
All
“You gonna play this the hard way kupo?” the moogle detective asked, blowing a plume of smoke into the chilled air.
"No," Renji snapped his hand away from the hilt of his blade, "sorry you just startled me is all. Though you've got the wrong guy, I didn't kill him, I've been working at the bar all night."
The detective raised a fuzzy eyebrow and asked, "so you're the new bartender eh? New in town yeah?"
"I mean, I've been here for a few weeks, but I suppose I'm still pretty fresh."
"I see," the moogle pensively puffed his pipe before speaking again, "well my name is Detective J.E. Kupo, and I'm investigating a string of murders kupo. Maybe you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I can't take that chance kupo. Would you mind coming with me and answering some questions?"
There was a pause in the air as the spectating crowd watched with bated breath. Gentle snow flaked down from the heavens, oblivious to the tense standoff below it. Renji kept his hand away from his blade, the urge to draw fresh blood was strangely intoxicating. Even with his inner demon subdued the scent of blood brought memories of carnage and slaughter to his mind. More guardsman arrived, nearly surrounding the samurai-turned-bartender.
"Well J.E. I suppose I don't have much of a choice, I'll tag along with you."
Rou's echoeing voice, rebounded within the walls of Renji's cranium. Schizophrenics have it easy. Although the bartender did have to admit that this job wasn't as completely boring as he first imagined it. In fact the liveliness of ambrosians seemed to have rubbed off upon the stoic swordsman. With a gentle whistle he turned out the lights and left into the crisp night air. The small flakes of snow had finally accumulated into a small crunchy pathway beneath Renji's feet. Shivering reminded him of how poorly designed his outfit was for the winter. Though, to be fair, one would be foolish to bet on snow in the Tangled Green. On the other hand, however, one would be foolish to completely dismiss such an oddity in the Omniverse.
Still the snow was of no consequence to the ancient bladesman. No the scent of blood upon the wind sent chills through his spine, more visceral than any blast of cold air could. A crumpled bleeding body sat, a frozen testament to a horrid deed. Carefully Renji approached, hand at his sword and keen eyes scanning his surroundings. If a battle were to break out, his current outfit would no doubt restrict his movement ever so slightly. In a conflict to the death, ever so slightly was all that was needed to put one's foot into a casket.
“Oooh a dead body,” Wanda cooed, floating above Renji, “how spooky.”
Marshall Woodrop was an aspiring guardsman, barely wet behind the ears before he was cut down. Large shards of silvery metal sat scattered across the snow, all that remained of his sword. Deep cuts were carved into the man's flesh and tacky blood mixed with the snow, creating a macabre slushy. Clearly a battle had transpired, but it appeared as if poor Marshall had never stood a chance. Either a skilled swordsman or a terrifying beast had done the young man in. There were only a handful of warriors that Renji had every met that could turn their opponent's blade asunder. He would also be lying if he didn't say he felt a hint of excitement at the thought of dueling a ruthless opponent. His thoughts turned back to that green-skinned warrior, Retane, that man brought the first real challenge that Renji had faced in centuries.
“Halt criminal!” a diminutive, but commanding voice declared.
Renji turned around to face the voice. A flying cat creature floated precariously above the ground and next to him two guardsmen stood with their weapons drawn. The fuzzy creature sported a fashionable plaid deerstalker and puffed smoke from a cruved pipe. Next to his hat bobbed a bright red pom of fuzz attatched to his skull by way of a thin black wire. Draped across his cream color body a little brown vest was pulled tight. He pointed accusingly at Renji, who took a step away from the body and raised his hands in deference.
“You've got the wrong guy, I just got here.”
A small crowd had begun to gather around them, the occasional gasp cut through the muttering. Instinctively Renji reached for his sword, his veins pumped adrenaline and he could taste the blood in the air. How many could he take? There were only two guardsmen, and most of the civilians were frail beings. How many gallons of blood could he spill if he slashed outwards? That smell of blood, Marshall's blood, the blood of a man he had never even met. Heat, a flushing of red raced across Renji's skin and sweat turned his collar damp.
Kill
Them
All
“You gonna play this the hard way kupo?” the moogle detective asked, blowing a plume of smoke into the chilled air.
"No," Renji snapped his hand away from the hilt of his blade, "sorry you just startled me is all. Though you've got the wrong guy, I didn't kill him, I've been working at the bar all night."
The detective raised a fuzzy eyebrow and asked, "so you're the new bartender eh? New in town yeah?"
"I mean, I've been here for a few weeks, but I suppose I'm still pretty fresh."
"I see," the moogle pensively puffed his pipe before speaking again, "well my name is Detective J.E. Kupo, and I'm investigating a string of murders kupo. Maybe you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I can't take that chance kupo. Would you mind coming with me and answering some questions?"
There was a pause in the air as the spectating crowd watched with bated breath. Gentle snow flaked down from the heavens, oblivious to the tense standoff below it. Renji kept his hand away from his blade, the urge to draw fresh blood was strangely intoxicating. Even with his inner demon subdued the scent of blood brought memories of carnage and slaughter to his mind. More guardsman arrived, nearly surrounding the samurai-turned-bartender.
"Well J.E. I suppose I don't have much of a choice, I'll tag along with you."