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Oscar Saint-Just's office was two-thirds of the way across the city from the Octagon, and the office itself lay at the very heart of its own tower. Not even the eye-tearing brilliance of a nuclear detonation could penetrate that much alloy and ceramacrete, but the entire stupendous edifice trembled as if in terror as the shockwave rolled over it. The deeply buried landlines of the government's secure communications system were fully hardened against the EMP of the explosion, and Rachel Speer's image on his com display didn't even flicker.
Nor did her gaze, as she looked out of the display into his eyes.
"Detonation confirmed . . . Citizen Chairman," she said softly.

(From "Nightfall", by David Weber, published in the anthology Changer of Worlds by Baen Books.)
--- --- --- --- ---
Esther McQueen, once Admiral of the People's Navy and Secretary of War for the Committee of Public Safety, sat casually on a pile of rubble. She would have picked up rocks and tossed them at one of the other piles of rubble, but she couldn't: her fingers passed right through them, unless she concentrated on what she was doing. Which made it a poor choice of cure for boredom. What she really wanted to do was to go and throttle Oscar Saint-Just, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to get beyond the edge of the crater that used to be the Octagon. She thought it might have something to do with the piece of chain hanging from her chest, but she couldn't prove anything yet.
"Wow, they really did a number on this place." She didn't turn around, just yet. The voice was young, male, probably a teenager to judge by the sound, but that didn't mean much in a society with access to prolong therapies. Rocks ground against each other underfoot as he walked up to the hill, and then asked her, "Excuse me, miss... er," he paused, for some reason, then continued "Er, Admiral?"
Esther looked up and over at him at last. He looked just as young as his voice sounded, with slightly shaggy brown hair and dark eyes. The black robe was a particularly nice touch, she thought, and fit with the sword belted to his waist. "Can I help you, young man?"
"Ah, well, er," he said, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, laughing nervously. "Actually, I'm supposed to be here to help you, ma'am. Sorry, let me introduce myself. Keigo Asano, shinigami, eighth seat, fifth division." He bowed, one of the formal, archaic Oriental bows like she'd seen martial artists use.
"Admiral Esther McQueen, People's Navy," she offered in return. "Although I get the feeling that the rank is kind of meaningless now."
"Well," the 'shinigami' (whatever that was) mused, "It's not like we have a lot of space fleets... and I think your old boss kind of fired you."
"That's one way to put it," she agreed. "So what happens now?"
"Mmn. You can't stay here forever... you'd turn into a Hollow, or get eaten by one. That's what we shinigami do, primarily... escort souls like you to the Soul Society."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I'm not exactly expecting to go on to Heaven, kid..."
He shook his head quickly. "No, no, it isn't really like that... at least, not right away. Not even we know if there's really a Heaven like you mean... Soul Society is mostly a place for people to live while they wait to be reborn. Of course, it might take a century or two... or longer... hehhe..."
That same nervous laugh again, McQueen wondered, What is he hiding?
"Are you, ah, ready to go on, then, ma'am?" he asked, slipping his sword easily from its sheathe. She eyed it for a moment, warily, then shrugged.
"I'd like to give Saint-Just his due," she muttered, "But I don't think that's going to be very easy in this state." She stood up, dusted off her uniform trousers - another meaningless gesture - and climbed carefully down from her perch.
"Don't worry, ma'am. Everything's going to be alright." And with that, the boy took his sword, and - did not, as McQueen had feared, slice the blade down through her ghostly body. Instead he simply touched the hilt, ever so gently, to her forehead, and whispered a single word, "Konso."
And then the world went dark, and she saw no more.
--
"I give you the beautiful... the talented... the tirelessly atomic-powered...
R!
DOROTHY!
WAYNERIGHT!

--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
Soul Society must be working overtime..we're talking about casualties in the billions so far.
__________________
Into terror!,  Into valour!
Charge ahead! No! Never turn
Yes, it's into the fire we fly
And the devil will burn!
- Scarlett Pimpernell
How does the Soul Society get to everybody who died during space battles? If they don't, then does that mean that space if filled with hordes of Hollows?
----------------------------------------------------

"Anyone can be a winner if their definition of victory is flexible enough." - The DM of the Rings XXXV

Angryoptimist

In space no one can hear you call out ZANGETSU!
I dunno, it seems to me like they can open gateways to the living world pretty much anywhere. I could be wrong, or misinterpreting things, though.
Beyond that, I don't expect that Shinigami really need to breathe, and a few scenes from the anime seems to suggest that they are possibly intended as 'ground optional' sort of folk.
Space being full of Hollows would be kinda cool, though. Cool in a "wow, I wonder how they solve this" sort of way, anyway.
P.S. SPACEGHOSTS Two great tastes that go great together!
Space, heck. I wonder if they have any problems reaching hyperspace.
--Sam
"I've been the janitor to the Apocalypse for six long months, Arthur... and it's a-headin' this way!"
I had intended to include a throwaway line from Keigo about "pity the poor schlubs who have to clean up after all those space battles", but it dropped out somewhere between the initial conceptualization and here.
I may slip it back in at some point.
I do have one thought on squad formations and roles. I'm fairly sure that Soul Society, and the Gotei 13, have expanded massively over the past two thousand years (I had actually considered having Keigo claim to be from the 17th division, to emphasize this, but decided it was more likely that they'd simply have expanded the sizes of the original 13 divisions.) Each squad has its own specialty - 11th is straight-up combat, 4th is medical/support, etc. 5th under Ichigo, the logical direction seems to me (given the way plots seem to go in the series) search & rescue. 11th is sent in when Yamamoto-ojisama wants to make the sh*t hit the fan; 5th is sent in when the fecal matter has already impacted the rotating blades and the primary objective is to get everyone the heck out of its way.
Exactly how they deal with the space battles is going to have to wait until I decide just how much Soul Society itself has changed over that much time and that much massive growth (not to mention the discovery of alien races... which gives me a screwball idea. Koumamura's lieutenant once imagined him wearing a dog gigai... how about a treecat instead?)--
"I give you the beautiful... the talented... the tirelessly atomic-powered...
R!
DOROTHY!
WAYNERIGHT!

--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
It would be likely, then, for the divisions to be divided into squadrons/units or other smaller divisions. "11th division, 5th brigade, 7th squad," or something to that effect.
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No, I don't believe the world has gone mad.  In order for it to go mad it would need to have been sane at some point.
Very probable. At one point in the manga Unohana refers to Hantaro as member of a squad under 4th Division, so presumably there's already something along these lines in place. We also know (from the description of Kenpachi's ascension to Captaincy) that each Division has at least 200 members, most likely more, even in the present day.
Keigo, however, is by this point a 'seated' officer, and thus introduces himself as such (it's been two thousand years, I think he's got what it takes to make it... eventually.)--
"I give you the beautiful... the talented... the tirelessly atomic-powered...
R!
DOROTHY!
WAYNERIGHT!

--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.