Vrrr
Danjūrō could not hear the vibrating sound, so entranced within his dream as he was. Instead of waking the man, it served to lure him away from his inner world into a state of half-consciousness. Floating in a world of black, it was as though he were at the bottom of the ocean. He could not find his breath, nor hear or feel anything at all. For all Danjūrō knew, he had sunk beneath the water of his bath and drowned.
'Ah, how peaceful.'
He thought to himself, appreciating the tranquility of the moment. Here, he was able to reflect on his time in his inner world, weighing heavily the words of Tachiyaku’s spirits, and considering his own hesitance at wielding the blade. They were right to feel neglected, Danjūrō actively avoided the use of his zanpakuto unless someone’s life was on the line. He hid his strength and played the fool out of selflessness for others, to avoid drawing the attention of a threat. Perhaps Tachiyaku was right too, that this was in truth a selfish act, ultimately causing more harm to others through inaction than he would if he answered his true calling.
Vrrr
There was that sound again, louder now. This time, Danjūrō could feel the shaking of the earth, caused by the vibration of the phone. He could feel cold stone pressing against his back, and experienced the sensation of gravity once more weighing down on his chest.
‘Eh? An Earthquake?'
Had he drifted so deep into the oceanic depths that he was now witnessing the shifting of tectonic plates? No, that could not be it. Just where was he, just what was he doing, and just what was that obnoxious noise? There was only one solution to these questions, and with a heavy sigh he decided to pursue it.
Opening his eyes, Danjūrō found himself laid out at the bottom of the Onsen. It seemed he had at some point fallen asleep, and did in fact slip beneath the steaming water. This explained the sensations he had been feeling. The boiling ocean of his inner world, the abyssal black void he had just been floating through in a semi-conscious state. Just how long had he been submerged under water?
Ultimately, it didn’t seem to matter. Although Danjūrō was laying at the bottom of the pool, there wasn’t any water left to fill it. He laid on bare stone, bare naked, in a puddle. Around him, the concrete steamed, not from the heat of the water, but from the source of its evaporation. The Onsen had not been drained, given that Danjūrō was alone. Rather, it seemed that at some point in his dream, Danjūrō had subconsciously released his Reiatsu. Generally he kept such power heavily suppressed, channeling the excess into his very body so as not to release it. In his dream state though, it seemed his interaction with Tachiyaku subconsciously broke these limiters. This allowed Danjūrō to release an explosion of sparks and color that only grew hotter and more excessive the longer his firework-like reiatsu was allowed to flare wildly. The gentle bubbling of the spa turned into a roaring boil as the heat only increased. Danjūrō must have been dreaming for quite the while, at least long enough for the whole of the water to convert to steam. That, or, perhaps his Reiatsu was a single burst, of such power that it evaporated the whole of the water in one go. In either case, it was a demonstration of the very carelessness of power that Danjūrō feared to express.
Vrrr
There was that sound again. Rising to his feet, Danjūrō had no time left to ponder his circumstances. Instead, finally, he looked to the sound’s source. Folded neatly on the ground outside the Onsen was his Shihakushō. He watched curiously as something moved within its folds, then took the pile of clothes and, once dressed, reached into a pocket lined within. There, he withdrew a small device, a Denreishinki, given to him by Gyōja Kuchiki.
Danjūrō paused to consider the device in his hand. A traditionalist, he was not much for the modern technology developed by the Twelfth Division. He much preferred the use of Jigokuchō to communicate, or even the Inner Court Troops of the Onmitsukidō. Gyōja, a member of Thirteenth Division, had given him the phone for exactly that reason. It was too difficult to contact Danjūrō across dimensions through the traditional methods. Still, Gyōja was aware of Danjūrō’s aversion to technology, and destructive habits. He had given him an older model of Denreishinki, one heavily antiquated at this point, compared to the new smart-technology of the modern standard issues. Danjūrō's Denreishinki was essentially a brick, a small flip-phone considered by many to be as indestructible as it was simple to use.
Flipping open the device, Danjūrō smiled at the name across the screen. To keep things simple, there were only two contacts in the phone. Gyōja Kuchiki, who gifted it to him, and Kouei Sankan, who explained how to use it. Though he framed its use as for emergencies, generally when Gyōja called it was just to get a drink and catch up with an old friend. In this case,
it was Kouei calling, who somewhat shared Danjūrō's sense of tradition. If Kouei was calling, it meant that there was a sense of urgency. The detective must have some questions for a case, or perhaps a favor to ask.
Danjūrō’s smile quickly faded though, as he tried to remember which button it was to answer the call. Working in the Eighth Division as long as he had, Danjūrō was a master at observing the nuances and functions of spiritual artifacts and relics. He could see the reishi composition of a construct down to the individual spiritual particles, and make sense of their arrangement to understand their function. Yet with technology, it was a different matter. Looking at the phone, Danjūrō could clearly see the wires that composed the phone, and the electricity that coursed through them into the circuit board. However, he wasn’t able to observe the computations that occur at each press of a button. As such, he was forced to recall whether it was the red button, or the green button, that let him speak.
Vrrr
Red, the color of passion, of emotion, connection between two souls, romance even, it made sense for this to be the color that symbolized acceptance. Yet equally it was the color of blood, of hatred, of violence, anger and scorn which seemed just as likely to refuse a conversation.
Vrrr
Green, the color of nature, of joy, of bountiful wealth. It also reflected inexperience, naivety, and a lack of wisdom. A wise man would always accept the call, and hear the words of those who wished to speak with them. Yet green was the color of sickness, of bile, and envy. To covet what others have, to be sickened by their presence, these were not conducive to conversation.
Vrrr
It was the last ring that his Denreishinki would allow before dropping the call. The last opportunity for Danjūrō to make a decision. Closing his eyes, he elected to allow fate to make the decision on his behalf. Trusting in the universe, he pressed his thumb down upon the keypad, and brought the device to his ear.
“Yooooo!~”
