«•F for Fucked Fridays•» »Limited to 2-5 People« -Two Spots Reserved-

Step, step, step, step...

The stygian cloak billowed behind the shady figure as it weaved in and out throughout the thrall of bodies, despite the fit being tight.

A plethora of sounds assailed the subject's ears with incessant regularity, proving to be loud ever through the fabric of the cloak's hood. Aerial vehicles whizzed past above her head, the Doppler effect sounding by their engines. Police sirens and industrial racket sounded at the edge of earshot, while the jumbled voices of the masses sounded all around. The occasional scream burst out from the scene, and the crux of the matter was that such an occurrence happened with stunning consistency; so much so, in fact, that our subject had stopped bothering with it and just resolved to keep her head down. These cries were generally the indicator of a shameful scuffle, filled with drunkards and dipshits whom didn't know the first thing about fisticuffs... with dignity, anyways. Also among the contenders for loud noises in this area were the stray currents of wind that got trapped between the tall buildings of Downtown Karakura and were forced to ride down the streets below, accosting ears as much as they chilled them. This combined force of cacophony was easily overpowering the nimble steps of our subject, which was an unfortunate thing indeed.

The night wasn't just alive in volume; there was more than enough eye candy for any one individual down here, especially when the sun set below the horizon and the metropolis was dipped in darkness. Darkness... could never have been more luminous. The buildings were ablaze with colors of all shades, as fluorescent signs strove to cover every inch of wall there was to advertise each their respective service, or perhaps simply point a fellow the right direction. They weren't bothersome to our lovely subject when she didn't trouble to stare into the neon lights, yet the strength of high beam head lights threw some flare into her eyes. She was much more pleased when the cars were moving away from her than when they were moving toward her; after all, with red being the most muted of the visible spectrum, it was much easier on her eyes when she was presented only with tail lights. Yeah, there was a lot of light, so what about the reality that it illuminated for our subject? From headstrong teens to inebriated adults, rowdy males to indecent females, and the few decent individuals among them all, there was simply no shortage of people for the eye to take in. The place was packed with night life motion.

What was that smell? Was it something burning, preparing to become a life-threatening fire or simply a burnt steak? In just a dozen steps that scent would change, and our subject would now be inhaling what she deigned to be ambrosia prepared just for her. She moved a foot in the smell's direction, and the smell would change just as quickly as before, now bearing the aroma of distasteful exotic food. Frustrated, she continued on through the throng, suffering from the ever-changing, never-constant incense of the twilight streets. Though, with the most commonly appearing scent being that of lingering sulfur, our subject tended to keep her breathing through her mouth, opposing whatever might next ambush her nostrils. This was not something she would get used to anytime soon, but since this was her first time...

Our subject's name was Fantasia, Fantasia Nevermore of Irokisa town. Irokisa was a much humbled and very isolated shanty town that she had once called home. Having come to a capital that possessed nothing short of high-standard living (or at least from what Fantasia has witnessed), came with a dozen surprises and an entirely new setting to get used to. In the past few days she had been wistfully travelling between the different sects of Karakura Central, so this turn belonged to downtown, and all was a fresh experience. It was seeming as if some of the residents of Karakura didn't come out at night because of how startlingly different they were from the rest, and it showed. Fantasia sought not to mix herself in with this bunch, and so she kept to herself and for the time being just allowed herself to slip in and out of the crowds to explore what the place had to offer... not that she'd take any.

Not that she'd be offered any either. It was quite clear that Fantasia was different: The people here unabashedly came here knowing what the standard around here was. Fantasia did not. Not having had this explained to her prior, she went in blindly with a notebook and pen, ready to take notes—metaphorically of course. But back to the point, one would look at her extensive black cloak, compare it to the next guy who wore jeans and a button down shirt, and see the obvious difference. In Fantasia's attempt to not draw attention to herself by wearing the overgrown cloth, she had achieved the opposite. At the very least, she threw her hood over her head to conceal her otherwise moonlit blonde hair, as well as hide the various features of her face within shadows. As the cloak flowed loosely down her entire body, there was not much else descript about Fantasia's appearance at the moment. Still, her movement had unmistakable grace, evident by her ability to weave around the thicket of city-goers without disturbing them. And that was as good as any factor that went into describing the teen.

A good few minutes into the night, and a disturbance rose a block or so down from her current position. There was a racket of many a voice, even out of the ordinary for the commotion she had already witnessed. Her interest the slightest bit piqued, she began her twine through the flood and toward the source of all the yelling and screaming. Managing to push herself through toward the front of the expanding congregation, she was granted a front row seat for what appeared to be nothing less than bad news. Her head tilted up, and gray hues overlooked the posse of brutes before her, scanning each warily. Nearly all of them were swinging around weapons of all types and sorts, like it was nobody's business. Others of darker practices seemed to be controlling some form of... energy. Fantasia did not dabble in such things and thus lacked understanding of these powers, but judging from the rest of the group, she knew they were at the very least destructive.

Fantasia's hand twitched, slowly pushing aside one of the flaps of her cloak. It revealed part of the apparel beneath—though they both shared the same inky black color. Modern, sleek, and lithe body armor. All the while she kept her eyes focused on the group, and it appeared as though with each second past, the more antagonistic they would become, pushing aside innocents foolish enough to get within arm's length, and shouting profanities at those who weren't. They were moving somewhere; there was easily a destination they were trying to reach, and people were starting to get that picture while they opened a path for these savages. Fantasia herself made sure not to step on any toes, and they were soon past. From that point, she could have walked away and have been fine, but she was tethered to this event somehow... something was going to happen. And she had no clue whether it was going to involve her.

Her hand grasped the handle of her Claymore, audibly rustling the metal within the scabbard on her back. Fantasia's frown deepened, and her muscles tensed in preparation. In any second now...

A shot was fired, and the next thing Fantasia knew a dozen men—not any bystanders or unfortunate shopkeepers, but rather a dozen of the bungling thugs—were obliterated in a fraction of a second. The chaos that ensued was between the remaining ruffians and some opposing force that she could not make out among the entire scuffle; there was simply too much motion. What she could see, was one man after another brought to his knees as the mystery force smited them down. It did not last long, no, not very long at all. The center of the street that once was arena for the showdown, now lay covered in a pile of bodies of the dead and the groaning. Yet still Fantasia could not find the perpetrator of this mess, up until a voice sounded out from atop a nearby street light, announcing just who she was looking for. Loud, cocksure, witty, and condescending... he gave all his victory speech, just before the street became mystically clear of his clutter.

She stared directly at the snowy-haired one from under the hem of her hood for a while, as much intrigued as she was surprised, slightly evident by her expression. When she finally looked away and was brought back to herself, she realized that she had been brandishing her sword a little. She did not remember removing the weapon from her scabbard, but she would be hasty to swing it back over her shoulder and into its holster with its usual metal tone. Her arm withdrew beneath the cover of her cloak and she relaxed the various taut muscles along her body as a result of the tension. Hey eyes shifted back up toward he with a big mouth yet who managed to fascinate her. She held one unspoken question in that look; the mundane but classic...

"Who are you?"

Oh ho ho, smooooth...