Swordsmen Aren't My Type [Catherine, Isamu]

Always felt nice to get a post-payout meal and drink, and she happened to be in the corner of the country where one of her colleagues recommended a place to eat, just not to order anything with eggs. Upon arrival, she wasn't terribly impressed - place looked like any old joint, had old smell too. Either it was pretty good or the worst, and if the latter was true she'd give that old geezer a kick in the shins for fibbing, that was what she decided. Not like he ever got mad at her for that.

Going in and taking a seat, she'd just order a ramen bowl - if that was good surely other things had to be, yeah? Leaning back in her seat, she'd take a sip of water as she calmly waited for her food, scanning her surroundings...

Oh shit not him.

She quickly averted her gaze as not to be caught. Eh.. Whatever she was already sitting down, she wasn't interested in missing out on dinner over some dweeby weeb being here. Maybe he wouldn't even see her.

A pair of perceptive eyes recognized the woman immediately. Even from afar, the familiar image of her slight frame would have sufficed. Skilled as he was in remembering a face when one compared it with his ability to recall the minute details of the female form, there was no contest.

Hyperbole aside, he chuckled as he passed through the door. Despite the old odor and dated decor, telltale signs of an "old joint", Isamu found it reminiscent, calling to mind memories of halcyon days spent celebrating with his old gang.

Turning to a waitress, he placed his order for a few appetizers - Yakitori and a plate of dumplings - before finalizing his order with a bowl of ramen. Humorously, he pointed to his table of choice, grabbed a chair and an empty table, and set his coordinates for Catherine's location. Setting it down opposite her table, turned at an improper angle, Isamu languidly leaned against the top of the chair.

"Long time no see, Cath."

"Close your legs if you're sitting near me, dumbass." A hiss of a statement was given instead of any proper greeting, something that would've been perfectly expected of the bright haired woman for any who knew of her - always first to jump to scathing than cordiality, "I don't want anybody getting the wrong idea."

With that expression of annoyance out of the way, an audible thump would come from the server quickly coming by to give her a bowl; was a good size and smelled good at least. Tasted good, as she slurped a few noodles, her greenish eyes looking up to still see that he hadn't gone or moved tables, "Oh, ew, you're still here. Whatever, fine, hi."

Slurping more noodles, she'd stare at him with calculating eyes, "Thought a hollow ate you or you got your guts spilled out by now. What're you doing in Japan?"

"You're still as mean as ever, aren't ya? Wrong idea? What? Afraid to call me a friend, Cath~?"

His flamboyant tone, a stark contrast to his deep timbre of a voice, echoed across the table with playful nonchalance as he heeded none of her instructions. No stranger to the familiar hostility, he simply waved his hand in casual dismissal. At least she wasn't attempting to shoot a fist across the table in an attempt to level his jaw. When her meal arrived, so too did Isamu's plate of appetizers. Drawing one of the Yakitori sticks to his mouth, Isamu chewed into the first line of grilled meat at the top. Maintaining his languid position, cocking his head to the side, Isamu answers her inquiry with ease.

"Nah. I'd be a terrible hitman if the first thing that kills me is some random hollow. As for why I'm here, well, beyond this being my homeland, work's been kinda' dry lately. Blood money's runnin' kinda low. Typical stuff. What about you, Cath? What brings our cute Irishwoman to the land of the rising sun?" He questioned with a grin.

"I don't make friends with sloppy womanizers who-" She was caught off with having inhaled a noodle, coughing briefly and downing her cold tea, clearing her throat and pointing her chopsticks at the man opposite of her, "-waste their money on drugs and more sex."

Her irritated gaze pointed to his legs again, of course the jackass didn't listen to her. He had a minute to correct, she'd think as she slurped on noodles and drank some of the broth. Yeah old guy was spared a bruised shin, this place didn't seem so bad. At least the service was in the safe zone of speed.

"For the millionth time, not Irish." The lines on her face only seemed to grow more intense and rigid with her response, "And don't announce your profession to the heavens dumbass. Anyway, work never dries for me, because i'm smart and have my own way of getting around. I was just stopping for dinner after work."

Thankfully today was just good ol monster slaying and flaying, someone had an eye on a hollow apparently. She wouldn't be as talkative if it was an execution job.

"Careful. Don't go croakin' on me now. Can't meet your end to a ramen noodle, Cath. You know I'd never let you live it down in the afterlife."

That small error brought him no small amount of laughter as he ate away at the Yakitori on his plate. His languid, unprofessional stance remained largely the same while he listened to the woman lay into him. It wasn't anything he was unfamiliar with, nor did it particularly phase him in the slightest. No, if anything, it reminded him of those mean felines that were ready to attack at the slightest inconvenience. Mockingly waving a hand to her pompous response, Isamu still his laughter as he regarded her with a curious gaze.

"Yeah, yeah. What can I say? A man's vices are his worst enemy. Work, eh? I don't smell the scent of blood on you. Must of been a simple enough task. Or was it a hollow, maybe? That's usually my go-to when my pockets are cryin' for salvation. Depends on the size of those bad boys, though."

He wasn't exactly expecting her to expound on her exploits, but he posed the question anyway, for no particular reason other than to annoy her further. Why? It amused him greatly.

Time's up.

With little indication or malice, a booted foot would lay a sharp kick that would definitely shock the senses to his knee, herself sipping down the warm broth contentedly. Upon placing her bowl down, she'd look at him unamused, "You think I go out in the same clothes I work in like your stinking ass? I went home to take a shower. Which reminds me, i'm probably gonna need another shower from just being near you. No idea how guys can tolerate being sweaty all day."

She gave a bleak grin to the idea of an afterlife to live, "You're jabbing your lips as if we're gonna be in the same place. Can assure you, according to those so called death god guys, i'd probably be rotting in hell. Do wonder if it happens when ya die, or if you gotta get dragged there. Never really seen it happen."

Son of a...

Bitch. A voiceless insult. He didn't find much desire in voicing it, though. If anything, he simply played it off with a grunted chuckle as he lifted his knee backward to rub against it. Honestly, he'd been hit by far worse, but that didn't make the stinging emotion any less painful. Turning the chair around while flashing her the middle finger, he sat properly.

A moment or so after, his bowl of ramen had arrived. Breaking apart his chopsticks, he leaned against the chair as he took a moment to reflect on her words. If there was an afterlife, he certainly doubted he was going anywhere nice, unless the spirits were willing to excuse the mountain of bodies he'd built over the years. Maybe.

"Heh, and you think I'm destined to go anywhere better? If my spirit's allowed to pass on into that nice place up in the sky, somethin' is genuinely wrong with the system they're runnin'. Whatever it looks like, I don't imagine it'll be pretty. Look at you, though. Cute ginger talkin' about rottin' in hell. Pretty scary stuff."

She gave him that look, even with her passive expression it was clear her eyes were asking what ran through her mind, 'Gonna cry, baby boy?'. Guy was a lazy undignified idiot, but he wasn't a flincher - nobody in this line of work survived long without backbone, especially someone this pervasive and annoying.

Rhythmically tapping her chopsticks on the emptied bowl, she'd consider Isamu's perspective on the whole 'afterlife' thing; her own knowledge was full of hearsay and twisting coils of logic and stories - even with knowledge an afterlife existed everyone sure did have a billion things to say about it. Nobody had a concrete answer, and she wasn't particularly compelled to talk to it's gatekeepers for answers, not that she believed they had any real answers.

"First of all, call me cute again and it's one of your eyes I jab out next," Pointed chopsticks made the threat clear, before being calmly placed down, herself coming into a relaxed (but proper) posture, "Second, I don't give a shit where I go, as long as it isn't being corralled by those dipshits with swords. Maybe it'll be hell. Maybe i'll be a hollow - don't care, as long as those jackasses don't get to tell me what to do, and if it's a Hollow, I can keep killin' em."

"Mm..."

Isamu pondered his philosophy on the matter, blowing away the clouds of steaming heat that rose from his fresh bowl of ramen. Reflecting on his past for a momentary instant, he recalled a time when he wished to rise to prominence as a swordsman of great import, where in his childish youth - compelled by delusions of grandeur - he vowed to be some symbol of valor that fought beside those soul reapers in vanquishing the same hollows that terrorized him and his mother long ago. That felt like such a distant memory now. He was a far cry from honorable now. His blade only knew the familiar taste of blood.

"What? I'm just callin' it like I see it. If ya want to make a scene in this lovely establishment, then by all means, be my guest, Cath. It's adorable seein' ya talk so ill about those soul reapers. Interesting, too. Can't imagine what led you up to this point in life, but... it's still interesting to listen to you go off on em."

A momentary pause followed as he slowly enveloped the beef-flavored noodles within his mouth, savoring the nostalgic taste of broth that layered his tastebuds with a symphony of flavors. This, too, was a familiar taste he rarely grew tired of. Pointing a chopstick in her direction, he posed a question. Two, to be exact. First question went first, though.

"What did they do to earn your ire exactly? As our so-called "balancers" of the realm as the books call them, It's rare to see anyone regardin' them with such vitriol. They fuck you over in the past or somethin'?"

It was worth the venture.