SCRITCH. SCRITCH. SCRITCH.
gentle clawing could be heard in the darkness of the hidden basement, vacant and rather clean, in all truthfulness. unusual for such a place, to have no boxes, and no dust. there were no rats, or insects. cobwebs were unheard of in this vacancy, the only light peeking in from the open door above. the noise came again. scritch, scritch, scritch. like something scuttling forward. eyes. eyes were peering at him, leering. a voice came from the dark back, where things ceased to be to the mortal eye – gentle, but fierce. demanding, but feminine in nature. ‛ – – MASTER? ‚ no. it wasn’t him.
doll-boned fingers, larger than he began to come out, wrapping themselves around the sides of the basement – before a figure lunged at him. large nose was only mere inches away from his face, head tilting as cascading locks of ebony fell to the floor. ‛ WHO ARE YOU –?!. ‚ her voice boomed, she was modeled like a ball-joint doll, a puppet. and giant in size. palms hit the floor before she hit her stomach on the wooden planks – laying down before him. balled elbows rolled as her arms came up, hands hanging before her face just slightly. ‛ a zanpakuto spirit. is your master nosy too? ‚ the princess snapped, fingers wriggling just so. ‛ how dare you enter my domain, when my master is not here? who gave you the permission to see ME? ‚
her fingers began to curl and draw back – like pulling something apart. stitches began to form along her face and body, stretching it open as her body began to disassemble itself. slicing her figure apart. it was as if she had unzipped a hoodie, the skin and all fell apart. a figure stood – only a little shorter than he, a more humble size of the original giantess. she lingered quietly, peering at him, as the large skin around her laid still. until it didn’t. like something drug it into the darkness, it was drawn back at a quick speed, dragging and scratching along. the doll spirit extended her leg out, bare foot pivoting the ball joint as she began to close the distance between them. benihime said nothing, stopping momentarily to inspect him.. and then, begin to circle around him. studying him intently.
Mouth agape, teal brows creasing down. Such a raw sound, like fingernails to a chalkboard. Immense spiritual residue filling the atmosphere. If his blood could chill over, it would. Hyorinmaru never expressed fear let alone any other emotion.
Always so stoic and cold, callous. Silent was the zanpakuto spirit as a voice drifted upon the darkness like a sheet being thrown across a bed, gentle. Master? Who did she mean? Was the man in the hat what she called Master? Confusion swirled within the depths of his mind for a brief few seconds.
Unsettling was this feeling within his being. The sweat bead upon his brow froze, flaking off into a small flake before disappearing. What was this? Whatever it was couldn’t pose a threat to his Master, could it? No or else he wouldn’t have let him stray from his side. All was safe and well within Urahara’s shop.
Or that’s what he was told. Stood his ground did he not waver from the spot. Icy, frosted colored irises looked upon the oddly enormous face of. . .another spirit? Spiritual pressure, his own, was shot forth, blasting the air with a eerie chill like the most harshest of winters yet to come. Afraid of this one, he was not nor seemed to be. Unsettled, uneasy? Yes.
How..queer was the sight before him as she reassembled herself. He did not speak until he found the moment ripe to do as such. The spirit was garbed as if he were royalty; long was the mane of teal hair, large X across a stoic and flawless face. Frozen claws hidden within the sleeves of his robes; frosty gray eyes closed as she inspected him. He posed no threat, but he did send out a sudden chill from his being.
Mouth opened to speak now, voice soft, cold; ‘ i am Hyorinmaru. i apologize for i know not where places are here in your Master’s shop. i meant no ill intent towards your precipice here so please excuse my ignorance of where i walk. my Master said it’d be alright if i walked around to gain a sense a familiarity. ’
Ah but was his way of speaking as polite as any Zanpakuto’s could be. If one ignored the callousness within his tone. Those frosted eyes landed upon the other sword spirit, unwavering but the emotion within his eyes showed that he was uneasy at best. As well as he should.
