Musings Of A Drunken Brat (Kalama, Open to 1)

“Another.” The petite green haired woman would say, offering the bartender her empty glass. She’d been hanging around the place for quite a while, still in Paris, spending most of the evening simply drinking or muttering to herself. Honestly, she was still trying to figure out the woman that she’d met the day before. So kind and cheerful, traits that were very rarely ever shown to the assassin and despite stating all she’d done to her, the other Shinigami had still treated Kalama almost like a daughter. It didn’t make any sense and as Kalama fumbled with the card that the woman had left her, she was none the wiser as to what her fellow relic had been trying to get from her.

The bartender would give Kalama a look, as though he wanted to tell her that she’d already drunk too much but as soon as the Shinigami’s eyes rose to meet him, the man had second thoughts and did as she asked. Frankly, the assassin wasn’t in the mood for violence that evening but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t act if she was irritated. Alcohol seemed to be quite effective at easing the flames of anger within her but it only went so far…

...About now seemed right to approach.

Her eye had been on the Shinigami for quite a while, having come to the bar herself for some food after a large delivery to a client here. Didn't expect to catch sight of one here, much more a clear deserter - unless they're hiding in a Gigai they're never in anything but their uniforms with small variations between them. To say she was interested in what was up with that was an understatement.

Getting up, she'd make a casual approach to the bar, having done everything in her power to make this look like a move of happenstance, "Hey, tender, same thing she's having."

With that, she'd hop into the stool next to her, fixing her gaze proper on her subject, "Tried to cut ya off, huh? Annoying as hell when that happens."

“Asshole has been trying to do it for the last hour or so. Don’t think he has the balls.” The assassin replied, her gaze flicking towards the woman who’d taken a seat beside her. Naturally, Kalama’s spiritual senses were on the prowl from the get go, attempting to figure out just what the woman was in terms of race. Yet, since she detected no sign of fucking Quincy energy from the redhead, the petite warrior’s guard didn’t go up half as much.

The woman was gazing at her rather intently and Kalama tilted her head slightly in response. It was unusual but the assassin didn’t sense any hostility. That was a change, she guessed, for how often was it that she went anywhere these days when she wasn’t looked at with precisely that kind of look?

Curious about the woman, she’d ask, placing the card she’d been fumbling with away. “Are you here for a drink or you got some business with someone?” It was a casual enough question and while Kalama wasn’t inherently nosy, she was in a relaxed enough mood to inquire.

"I'd sooner say you look like you're about to slice them off than him lacking the spirit to do it," She'd speak in a candid tone as her own glass was passed over, a slow sip taken to appreciate the flavor some - not terrible; definitely seemed more for the alcohol content than the flavor. Rather small build; whatever she did in her daily life, it definitely wasn't particularly exertive, either her Shinigami biology was throwing her off or her state of appearance gave the impression of a stealth killer, "Even if it's been bout a hundred years of you lot being visible to the public, i'd hardly call them used to it."

Swishing her drink a bit before taking another swig, a refreshed breath would precede her answer, "Oh i've got my people business done for the day, it's food n' drink hour for me before I gotta shove off from this patch of land. I'm more interested in what a Shinigami out of uniform's doing here."

A snort escaped the Shinigami at the woman’s initial response. In truth, she wasn’t all that far off and should the mood take her, Kalama might’ve done just that. The bartender was a rather lucky man to still be in one piece already and on another day, his face probably would look rather different at this point. Still, the assassin was mellow enough this evening not to instantly rip his head off and instead just gave him the evil eye whenever he looked at her funny. “I suppose I can’t blame him for feeling rather wary.”

In answer to the woman’s question, Kalama would take a sip of her latest drink before offering a response. “Just enjoying the evening with a drink like anyone else. I got nowhere else to be tonight so might as well spend it here. Won’t catch me wearing one of those uniforms either. Been a long time since I last wore one of those and I have no interest in doing so again. I work freelance nowadays.”

Yeah, real shocker lady. Looked just about prepared to lop everyone's head off from the vibe she gave, not that she'd expect a Shinigami to be personable at all.

"Freelance, you say?" She'd speak with a raised brow as the liquid in her cup went down to about half, leaning over the countertop with an arm to rest over, "Didn't know the uptight Gotei allowed for that, they seem pretty pressed on their rules and orderliness. Makes me wanna vomit, acting like they're doing anything useful for anybody but themselves."

She'd scoff, though hardly a smirk crossed her lips - she seemed more annoyed than as cocky with the inclination of her tone, "So, what made you ditch?"

“I didn’t like the way the Gotei was changing.” Kalama answered honestly, taking another sip of her drink. “When I joined the organisation, the Shinigami who recruited me filled my head with tales of violence and bloody battles, of a group who took no shit and brutally beat down anyone who stood in their path. For a while, it was exactly like that but over time, the situation changed. The Gotei seemed to lose its edge and became more passive. That wasn’t something I was willing to do and so I left, after a rather unpleasant last encounter with my mentor.”

“It’s just as you said.” She’d go on. “All they care about now are rules and covering their own asses. Nothing else matters to them and I doubt that’ll change any time soon. Fuck them.”

There’d been a time where Kalama had been proud to refer to herself as a member of the organisation but frankly, she barely even recognised them even more. It was such a shame as the assassin honestly believed if the Gotei was a little firmer then perhaps the world of the living wouldn’t have been through as much shit as it had. As always, the Soul Society either did nothing or turned up too late.

Wow. That did NOT sound like the Gotei she knew of now, or even many choppy historical records from one-hundred years ago. Not even accounts she squeezed out of ex members or her victims came close to that kind of descriptor - there was a consistent picture of an orderly, mightier-than-thou gaggle of goons pretending they knew what the hell they were doing with this supposedly preordained task of managing the cycle. Something something, some sort of 'Soul King' mentioned here or there, not like that illuminated anything but being another reason to find them obnoxious.

Curse that old man for keeping all of those certainties from her... The oldest account had to be...

"Sounds like you were from a pretty tumultuous time," Her drink swirled in her grasp before she got another drink, "Pardon me, i'm probably a rosy-cheeked infant by comparison."

Regardless of how she felt about what this woman could have done, she wanted that information quite badly, and that meant playing to her approval, "Never heard of the Gotei having outstanding enemies outside of the Demons, or even Hollows - but that's more like keeping the rowdy predator population down than an actual force against you. Arguably, i'd call the Demons no better of a disorganized lot."

Memories came of popping their heads, thrilling battles against what felt like a pesky virus. Ah, sweet turmoil.

The mention of Demons brought a smile to Kalama’s face, bringing back her own memories of fighting that particular bunch of cretins. They’d been a ferocious group and the assassin would have to admit that she rather admired that quality in her foes. The same could be said for Hollows and Arrancar in truth, resulting in the green haired woman sometimes feeling more akin to the enemies of the Shinigami rather than her own race. An unusual situation but when had Kalama’s situation ever been so? Not for as long as she could remember.

“There was a time where we thought of Quincy in a similar light.” Kalama eventually answered, her tone eerily calm considering the subject matter. “They were the major enemies of my time and I’ve probably ended the lives of more of them than I have of any other race. I guess it could be said that I was trained to kill them and to this day, I still have trouble keeping my composure when I feel their spiritual pressure.” An enormous understatement.

Drinking once more from her glass, she’d add soon enough. “Demons, Shinigami, Quincy, Hollows. All of them are just pains in the ass. I bet you guys must be stick to fucking death of all of us at this point.”

Her cup gently touched the table with that casual admittance to her suspecting; Ah, so she was one of the lot who reveled in the deaths of her ancestors. Though that was about three-hundred years ago at this point, wasn't it? But her attitude doesn't seem to quite match those of that time... Then again, she could just be a sick freak who liked doing that stuff. Good lot of them were no better than the Hollows they slayed, after all.

"Major enemies?" She had to be cautious with how she asked questions, careful; she was already convinced she wasn't at all related to them, this was her in for something new, "Quincy I know of at that point were practically pocket tribes. I'd hardly call their might comparable to the Gotei; they still haven't really recovered from that, all this time later."

Arms folding in front of her, she'd look at Kalama with an intrigued expression, "Oh believe me, most people probably are. I'm not most people; i'm interested in you lot."