Post by Goro Tachibana on May 31, 2020 12:34:18 GMT -8
Shinigami
Basic Info
~Balance Through Order~
Name: Gorō "Taichi" Tachibana.吾朗 '太一' 立花
Chronological Age: 1497-Present (524 Years Old)
Biological Age: 20-25.
Division and Rank: 11th Division, Recruit
Physical Info
~Order Through Law~
Hair:
Thick and heavy, Goro's hair constantly escapes its trappings, falling and bunching about his face in a haphazard tangle of thin black ropes. Long ago he took a razor to it and was mocked for the difference. Since then he's kept it long. Aside from tying it up to keep it out of his face and letting loose to relax, he doesn't change it up. If his duties have kept him particularly busy he may skip brushing it in the mornings, and his split ends and tangles grow thicker, giving him a slight caveman aesthetic.
Build:
Lithe and short compared to the other warriors around him, Goro is the runt of Rukongai's litter. Nevertheless he carries himself with a pride bordering on petulance, a shrewd gaze scanning every face and a scowl quick to pounce in anger. Perfect posture completes the package of arrogance, with hard sinewy muscle hiding beneath the surface.
Uniform/Clothing:
While on duty Goro makes it a point to perfectly obey the dress-code of the Shinigami, with not a single thread out of place. In his off time Goro takes to soft, loose fitting, fabrics for lounging, and simple, muted colors that don't make too much noise. He'll either walk around bare foot or, in cases where dirt is a concern, geta sandals. He's learned not to make them too tall to keep people from noticing. If his day involves physical activity he'll wear more form fitting clothing for easier movement. Regardless, he'll have his zanpakuto at all times.
Gigai:
Goro sports rimless glasses in his gigai, not because he needs them, but because they tend to help mortals feel more at ease around him. A dress shirt, colored black at Goro's preference, helps sell the look of casual intelligence along with dark red and green tartan, not at Goro's preference, dress pants. Sturdy black boots complete the look, smooth and with rubberized soles, their laces hide under the leg of his pants for a neater finish.
Extras:
Proof of his dedication is a body honed for battle, almost perfectly preserved were it not for the faint scars of his early training mistakes; a thin white slug of flesh across his knuckles where he'd narrowly avoided losing his fingers, and a patch of knotted skin at his flank where a hado spell he'd failed to dodge had hit.
Emblazoned upon the skin of his right shoulderblade, in black ink, is the circular seal of the gang he ran with in Rukongai. A black flowering quince, surrounded by a simple circular border. The flower itself symbolizes rebirth, though the profound connection to the criminal organization has been all but forgotten.
Spiritual Info
~Law Through Society~
Zanpakuto:
Perfectly adhering to the standard-issue katana, Goro's zanpakuto hasn't changed since it was first awarded to him in the academy. A long, gently curved, single edged, blade polished to a brilliant sheen, tsuba; blank and smooth with just as much dedication put into it's dazzling shine, and clean blue braiding around the tsuka. Similarly the sheathe is made of wood, painted a deep blue.
Zanpakuto Spirit:
Nisekunshi, (偽君子/Pretend Prince) is a regal suit of armor, empty but for the blue orbs that peer through the visor, above which is a crown of silver and gold flowers. Standing 12 feet tall, easily large enough to fit into the throne of Goro's inner world, they tower over their wielder, a fact that brings an indignant flush to his cheeks. Despite the perfect fit Nisekunshi never sits in the throne, and neither will they allow Goro. Nisekunshi is made of silver and so immaculate that they're reflective, crawling with golden inlay that depict important moments in Goros existence. Currently only their pauldrens have inlay, and flowing from beneath them is a cape of royal crimson.
Acting as a mentor for Goro, Nisekunshi prefers to let their wielder make their own mistakes, educating them by drawing out the lessons those mistakes have imparted. This approach can spark Goro's ire, but both he and his zanpakuto have little patience for childishness, so Nisekunshi puts a stop to any petulance on the spot. The methods Nisekunshi employs are born of kindness, though they tend to be displayed with heavy doses of arrogance and sarcasm, sometimes bordering on violence when Goro is particularly frustrated with what he considers to be a cryptic way of teaching. One such violent outburst is how Goro learned the name of his zanpakuto, however, so even the occasional butting of heads can be a lesson.
The dynamic between Goro and his zanpakuto, Nisekunshi, has similar airs to close brothers born of nobility, squabbling in refined tongues and using refined insults, but ultimately Nisekunshi is the elder and has the final say.
Inner World:
A grand palace straight out of fantasy, with gigantic spires spiraling up into the clouds, and towers squatting miles apart, all made of shiny blue marble and impossibly large, with rooms and hallways that go on forever and ever. The paintings on the wall have blue frames that house blank blue canvasses, even the furniture is cold and hard and ever so blue. At the epicenter of this castle is a throne room, far larger than even the ostentatiousness of royalty could demand. The further away from the throne room the castle stretches the more haphazard the architecture becomes. Wander far enough and it eventually flattens out into a blank empty world of blue. Goro has never seen the outside of the castle, lacking the patience and the time it would take to reach that point from his origins in the throne room.
Historical Info
~Society Through Death~
The Past:
Rukongai is a difficult place for a lone child at the best of times, in the lower numbered districts it's downright impossible to survive without throwing your lot in with one of the roving gangs. Some find a way out via the Shinigami Academy, but they're few and far between. Rarer still are the people that actually make something of themselves, earn enough money to bump themselves up a few districts. What many don't know, is that no matter how you survive, it's impossible to do so legally.
Fool me Once, Shame on You:
For Goro's part, he was taken in by a group of children who put him to work performing petty theft; sometimes food, a valuable commodity despite it's near universal lack of need. It made people feel whole, somehow. Like a small, yet essential part of life was still intact. Mostly, though, it was money, drugs, or small valuables. All of which was passed off to the "older kids" who managed the distribution. An unspoken code of "screw adults" kept the younger kids angry and loyal, while the older kids parceled out the weekly take to the Rukongai gang that supervised them. Big burly men, not unlike the general idea of the yakuza, who picked the members of their ranks from the older kids, who were once the children.
Centuries went by and Goro grew in size, finding his way into the older kids club as a middle man between the children and the adults. It was around this time that he began to feel the pang of hunger in his belly and had to, what his bosses called, literally eat into the profits. The realization that the "screw adults" mantra was fake jaded him a little, but it was nothing he couldn't quickly grasp. The slums exposed him to worse. What Goro gained in street-smarts, though, he payed for in trust. Loyalty made him obey when they told him to guard the warehouse alone, it made him defy the Shinigami that came to investigate, and it ultimately lead to him being carted off with his arms bound by rope. It wouldn't be until his duties as a Shinigami began that Goro would learn that he was a scapegoat.
Goro spent a long time in darkness. Initially he was refused food, but that quickly changed when they saw him wasting away, and the phenomena began to turn the heads of the higher ups. A choice was presented to him during his incarceration. To this day he doesn't recognize it for the manipulation it was, but he was allowed to choose between the loss of his life, or service to the Gotei 13. Naturally, he chose the Gotei. Even in the academy, he was the runt, but he was the talented runt. Accepted, and revered for his skill with the blade, Goro felt at home in the cleanliness of Soul Society proper. The sting of betrayal had left him with a wound that his lessons and peers helped to heal, and for that he couldn't help but feel grateful to the Gotei for the offer they'd extended to him. Wholeheartedly, Goro threw himself into his learning and absorbed the propaganda like a sponge. Shinigami were the arbiters of peace, irrefutable and all powerful, benevolent and fair. They maintained balance and their voice was the voice of justice, their laws perfectly calculated to provide safety and happiness for all. Superior. Goro had forgotten where he'd come from.
Fool me Twice:
In just six short years Goro had taken everything the Academy could throw at him and asked for more, a model student, with no grade falling below the average. In his eyes the Gotei had saved him and could do no wrong, and with recommendation letters over-stuffing his pockets he could apply to join any division he wanted. He chose the 6th division, and was awarded a seated position almost immediately. For decades he served, until a grown version of a child he knew in the slums turned up for duty one day, decked out with a uniform and a standard issue asauchi just like him. Had he knew then what he knew now Goro would have seen the tinge of fear in their surprise when they reunited, the faint hint of animosity. Without it, though, he agreed to go back to the slums and see how his old gang had turned their lives around. Both shinigami put their names down for patrol duty in the lower districts, and with their first assignment mere weeks away the excitement was palpable. Then the reports found their way into Goro's hands.
Records of his crimes, along with the eye-witness accounts. The older kids had convinced the children to rat him out. "Screw adults." He remembered the words well, and to them that was what he was. Just an adult that needed to be screwed over, the children neither knew nor cared why, but the bosses did. "Eating into our profits." They'd said. The report had a laundry list of crimes all tied to his name, very few of which he'd actually committed. They'd tried to pin it all on him to save their own asses, it was the only conclusion he had.
It didn't take long to find them, running the same scams in the same places. They never expected to see him again, perhaps expecting the Gotei to give him the death sentence, or maybe it was the uniform, either way they didn't recognize him. But when sharp steel rasped against wood they knew what would happen next. He hated the feeling of being used up and tossed away by these disgusting people, he was better than that and better than them. He was a Shinigami. He was superior. He hadn't crawled out of the muck and the grime for them to show up decades later and drag him right back into it, he wouldn't give them the chance.
Whatever happened next Goro found himself in a flat world, with a blue sky. An empty suit of armor stood before him and, in an androgynous tone that resonated throughout it's own metal, said "You didn't learn." Still filled with the rage that drove his body on the outside, Goro and the entity clashed, his furious red face reflected in the marvelous silver of the armor. Goro didn't win that fight, but his journey towards understanding himself began when he learned the name of his Zanpakuto: Nisekunshi.
Shame on Me:
Before he knew it he was back in the defendants chair. Nobody had been killed thanks to the efforts of the old friend that had accompanied him, but his outburst had been reported, and Goro was to face punishment for what he'd done. Unleashing a Shikai against civilians was a heavy offense, though he didn't recall doing it. He watched as all of the accolades he'd gathered over the centuries were lifted up to the light, scrutinized, then spent like currency on pardons and excuses, until he was left with none of them. His rank was stripped and he was transferred to the 11th division, where his Shikai could be "put to better use."
He still felt the throbbing of his wounded pride, allowing the people that had framed him to be the cause of his downfall yet again, and unable to teach them the error of their ways. Goro was a Shinigami. He was superior. He'd raked himself out of the mud and he'd allowed himself to be pulled back into it. Never again. This feeling would never weigh on his heart, oh so heavy, ever again. He'd gather up all of his pain, collect the pieces of his shame, and polish them until they glimmered like marble, and with the bricks, he'd build a magnificent palace of blue.
Snapshot:
They patrolled the trails of Rukongai in tandem, Goro allowing his partner to drone on nervously while the blood boiled in his veins. He couldn't hear the topics over the sound of his own heart beating furiously in his ears, an anger that he couldn't place welling up from his breast to place an icy fury beneath his skin. What did he have to be mad about? His talent had been noticed, his work rewarded, he was finally where he should be, and yet there was a dark purpose in his footsteps, evil intent in the eyes that scanned the street for anybody he recognized.
Suddenly a gloved hand pierced his vision, waving up and down frantically. Goro noticed, as if for the first time, that his partner was attached to the hand, standing a foot further than he had before and looking concerned.
"This isn't our route, Goro." His partner said, having finally become the focus of attention, his warbling tones mixed with a hint of suspicion. "We need to go back before we run into somebody else."
"It's fine," Goro said. "We won't be long." He nudged his partners hand away with the knuckles of his own, stepping under it as if he were climbing into a derelict house ripe for looting, his steps taking on a more urgent pace. His partner ran after him, spluttering and bleating, but Goro tuned him out again to listen to the melody of his rage. He knew the tune, but what was the beat? What kept it so consistent?
Alleys and roads grew more familiar to him and he turned corners with a confidence that left his partner out of sight. Probably for the better, since the unexplainable wrath that Goro felt eating a hole in his heart found it's name. The moment he locked eyes on the old man sitting before a group of children, the black stamp of membership poking out from their clothing, he knew. It was shame. This was where he came from. This was what he was, and no amount of accolades could change that, the stain of their betrayal was a constant reminder that he was nothing more than lesser.
A larger, younger, man stepped out of the building behind the group, he was gruff, and his eyes were partly shaded by a bandana wrapped tightly around his head. He spat on the ground and shoo'd the children away, who jeered and spat back. The larger man hooked his thumb under the older's arm and lifted him to his feet, but before he could send him on his way his eyes found Goro's. He nearly fell over himself to rush back inside, yelling words Goro couldn't hear.
In a furious red haze Goro slipped his blade from it's sheathe with the angry rasp of a snakes hiss, and then the world shifted.
When he came to his blade had taken the red from the world. A noise from behind him, perhaps toppling boxes, or- For a moment he thought it might be the children rushing through the building, and clarity returned to him for a moment. He gripped his blade, ready to spare them their fate, but the voice of a stranger, barking and deep, halted him.
"What happened here, state your name and rank!"
Reflex compelled him to answer, the drills had been bored into his skull over and over, but what came out was not his name.
"Nisekunshi."
