Example roleplay

[Deidara-Chan]

alright some people do not understand what I would like to see of this forum. I understand we will not always get this, but these following posts are from a roleplay I was in a few months ago. I was playing Ikkaku Madarame in it.

Please enjoy, and note the imagry in the posts.

[Deidara-Chan]

After dark the Rukon was a mindfield, heaving, smelly, pockmarked with little potholes and twisting alleys the entrances of which were misleading, maintained with a level of relative care and attention, floodlit and noisy with all that main-road detritus. You could trip down a cute street decorated at the front with jack-o-lanterns and wil'o'wisps and fall out into the middle of a junkyard full of real nasty folk, the type that wore trackmarks like bracelets and missing teeth like medals, twitchy tweaks all jumped up on dirty narcotics. If you didn't know where you were going you were either stupid or dead, and not to state the obvious, but both states were potentially inclusive.

Up in the corridors of central Rukongai the atmosphere was almost priggish, posh twats pretending they were privileged for being born in a district hedging the Seireitei walls, kicking about in their handstitched robes and their silk slippers, followed by that ubiquitous soap stink that screamed running water and spare cash.

Well... that was hyperbole. Renji couldn't escape his inner city street brat, still bitter about his background and those who didn't share it. People strutting the streets after the sun had hit the horizon, indifferent to the dangers lurking down there in the filthier Rukongai corners, swanning around like royalty in their pretty togs and their unscuffed footwear, they just pissed him off something rotten. He exaggerated their level of comfort: the Rukon was a shitheap, no matter which way you looked at it. No one was that rich. Maybe the gangsters, but even their affluence was illusory.

A world of bullshit and make-believe. Soul Society in a nutshell. Renji couldn't appease the stray in him, but the mutt and his stomach had a hard time reconciling.

Fucking noodles.

Renji watched steam ghost above pans and pretended his hypocriticism was entirely shameless. This pokey little bar in the southern corner of the fifteenth district, West Rukon, with its quirky bead curtains and its burnt butter smell and its misshapen lanterns that hung cockeyed and dim from red-tiled eaves, they served some of the best damn ramen on this side of the bridge. It sat adjacent to a modest dango shop, holding up the corner of a crooked sake bar that seemed to sag under the weight of a rusty tin roof, indistinguishable from the street beyond.

Apparantly he was missing that ginger dickhead and his endless melodramatics. Everyone here and further in towards the slums functioned on a high level of retardation that could only possibly be achieved through inbreeding. It reminded him of Karakura Town and its inhabitants. In the kitchen, someone broke something, pottery clattering wetly across the floor, the owner spitting a string of unintelligible obscenities. He caught wages and burnt and fired, the rest untranslatable.

"Oi," Renji leaned over his table, picked up a bread roll and tossed it hard over the counter. "I ain't getting any younger. Seriously, someone die in there?"

A leathery face peered around the corner, glasses foggy with condensation. He squinted and jabbed an accusatory finger in Renji's general direction. "You wanna come cook this shit yourself?" He metronomed the ladel, brandishing it like a cudgel. Snorting, Renji slumped into his stool, shrugged and knocked back a mouthful of sake, mock saluting with his cup.

"Y'aint that hot, old man," he called after the wizened chef, who yelled something about skill and not having it and spitting in his meal. Renji grinned, hating this nostalgia, the sentimentality of old memories and bad attitudes not entirely unlike heartburn. It was just as irritating. Maybe he was going soft.

[Deidara-Chan]

He had grown up in this place, and yet it still hadn't changed even after he left. Perhaps crime rate had gone up since he no longer beat down the punks that lurked in the deepest darkest shadows of this garbage dump. Not that it mattered, life here sucked then, and it still sucked now. After all, everyone around him lived in poverty. The adults were thugs, and the kids were thieves. It's always been like that, but even so, it was still disgusting. He abhored the smells of over-powering decay. Despised the crying of the young left on their own. Abhored just about everyone that stood on the streets around him as he walked down one main path, back towards seireitei and away from the 79th district. Away from the most rotten of all of the slums. Away from where perhaps his life as a shinigami began.

Sweat beaded his forehead, as the day had been hot. He was relieved that night had finally came, but also very alert. The worst of the trash always surfaced at night, when most would never be caught. In fact, he was very certain he heard footsteps behind him, and made sure to not lose track of them, for they may be devious. His left hand, which had been resting on the scabbard of his zanpakutou which in turn rested on his neck and shoulders, glided down the length of the scabbard slowly, reaching for the guard and hilt of his zanpakutou. He did not like these slums in the least.

He continued to walk down the dirt path, feeling the dust gather between his toes. His sandals making a muffled tapping noise on the dirt. Still even as ten minutes had gone by, he could still here the distinct tapping of bare feet behind him. What? Was someone looking for his autograph or something? Or perhaps, one of the literbugs decided to pick a fight with him. None-the-less, he abruptly stopped and turned on the ball of his foot, zanpakutou swiftly coasted out of its scabbard, and aimmed it's tip at the man behind him.
"Why are you following me," he snapped, clearly irritated with this garbage dump and its inhabitants. The man simply lunged at him, dagger in hand.

With a smirk, he whacked the guy's dagger away from him with ease, and drove his zanpakutou through his side. It was once fluid movement, like a symphony. However, as the symphony ended, Ikkaku's smirk quickly faded, replaced by a scowl. Standing up straight and sheathing Houzukimaru back into its scabbard, he gazed at the woulded man whom laid on the ground. This pathetic whelp wasn't even worth killing if he passed out so easily just from being cut in the side. It made him sick that there was no longer anyone strong to fight in Rukongai. Of course, that was the whole reason behind why Zaraki Kenpachi, Ikkaku's Captain, became a shinigami in the first place. To fight stronger opponents.

Still it made Ikkaku wonder, just when would a good strong opponent show up? Or would he be curse to roam the streets of this abomination for the rest of his damned life. It was infuriating to not be able to do anything, but fight weak opponents. At times like this he wish that Ichigo were around, then he could at least spar. Still, wishing was going to get him no where, he had to come up with ideas on his own, and surely if he slaughtered a whole section of the 80th district, he'd probably be something similar to court marshalled or something. What a pain in the ass.

Even more so, this place was boring. Every last bit of it. Even the shops around the trash heap were dull, but still... He couldn't ignore the fact that he was starting to grow hungry. So instead of continuing to mull over the several hundreds of ways one could kill people and have fun with it, he looked for a place that would have decent food. Eventually ending up in front of a noodle shop. Muttering something obscene under his breath, he entered the shop, and soon found a seat. This place had at least decent food, even though noodles weren't much of the third seat's forte.

As he laced his fingers together and rest his elbows on the table, his brown eyes surveyed the small shop. Of course, they ended up spotting the oh-so familiar red headed Lieutenant that once was his pupil. Soon after spotting the Lieutenant of Division Six, he cocked his head to get a better view.
"YO! Renji, I didn't expect to see you out here in the slums. What did you get stuck with duty in Rukon like I did?" A hint of cockiness was added to his voice.

[Deidara-Chan]

This place was pathetic, always had been. Its murderers, gangsters, thieves, and all around lowlives weren't even the worth the air they breath or the dirt they walked on. Kenpachi knew this better than anyone, having grown up in the dirtiest and bloodest section of the Rukon District he had been a part of their numbers. He had lived and fought amongst them every day of his life before cracking into Seireitei and becoming a Shinigami. These people bored him to no end and even though it'd been years since he last set foot there Zaraki still felt that same dislike for all that lived there. Some might think it was because of the way they lived, stealing from and killing whoever they pleased, that bothered the 11th Division Captain. But that wasn't it, he'd loved the killing aspect. It wasn't because of the poverty or the absence of trust between those that lived there either.

The reason Kenpachi Zaraki so despised this place of his upbringing because of its inhabitants weakness. There was no strength, no power, no force, for all that the place may have well been completely empty; and in Zaraki's eyes it was. Nothing in this place was at all worth his time or focus. If only someone had had the good sense to wipe out this entire district, they'd be doing Soul Society a favor. Unfortunately, though those living there might think it the opposite, Kenpachi was not there to do that very deed he saw as appropriate.

Instead the spiky haired Shinigami was there for a bit of a stroll. Odd? Perhaps, given his views and severe hatred for the place. But it was quite often that Kenpachi would disappear from Seireitei without explanation, sometimes he was just sleeping during important Captain meetings, but other times....he ventured into Rukongai. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd started doing it in the beginning but after meeting Kurosaki Ichigo he began to think there was a purpose to his sporadic Rukon visits. He was still a man without a true name, something he'd come to terms with a lifetime ago, but his Zanpakutou....

Kenpachi lived to fight and if he wanted to keep doing that he'd need to be stronger, he could never be quite strong enough. But as long as his Zanpakutou mirrored him and continued to be without a name Kenpachi knew that he was cheating himself out of a great power. Would walking the dusty and insignificant streets of the Rukon district help him in the slightest? Maybe, maybe not; but Zaraki felt that the secret to unlocking his Zanpakutou's name and its true power lay somewhere in his past.

For the most part the area was quiet, save for the few shuffles of footsteps that eagerly fled Zaraki's path. Many times these people would attempt an attack on a Shinigami, a complete suicide mission, but today they seemed to be smarter than they ever were and simply stayed out of the Captain's way.

The cool wind rustled gently past Kenpachi's tall hair, the bells that adorned the tips jingled a tune of caution to any of those who did not know the man was near and those who wished to cause trouble. Zaraki knew that none of these people were worthy enough to die by his nameless blade but the bored side of him was itching for someone - anyone - to step out of line and attack him first. Of course it would be quick and meaningless, but at least it would dead the boredom; if even for but a moment.

Zaraki's footsteps through the dirt road came to a sudden stop and the man sighed. There was no one there. Another day another useless trip. Through the corner of his eye Kenpachi glanced at his sheathed sword, staring at it as if to will it into sharing its name with him. "Heh. This is more upsetting than I'd thought." He dropped his head slightly with a sharp smirk on his lips, it appeared his weapon was about as stubborn as he was. "Not gonna tell me, huh? Pain in the ass." Well then it was time for him to return from where he came and call it a day, maybe there was something more interesting going on in Seireitei anyway. He doubted it.

After the Bounto business everyone was still practically running around trying to make repairs to all the damage done, and fixing things were the opposite of fighting. His haori flapped in the wind after him as he traced his footsteps back toward Seireitei, but there was something stopping him. As he passed by a shop he noticed something familiar. The bright hair for a moment made him think of Ichigo, the one person to cut him with his blade and defeat him. Excitement quickly pulsed through the Gotei Captain. A rematch would finally be had between the two!

Unfortunately as he got closer he realized that bright colored hair was of the wrong shade. A fiery red instead of a stark orange. Zaraki released his hold on his Zanpakutou and strolled into the shop with his eye closed, stopping behind Renji and Ikkaku. "Whats a Vice-Captain doing out in Rugonkai?"

[Deidara-Chan]

Well hell, if it wasn’t his old teacher emerging from the night like a hairless ghoul. Ikkaku slumped at a table behind him, that big bald head reflecting moonlight and flickering lantern flames. Renji stared, not bothering to hide his surprise, splitting his chopsticks in one languorous flick of the wrist.

“Oi, Madarame.” He turned in his seat, twiddling one wooden utensil in his fingers, eyeing his erstwhile superior with something between wary regard and bemused intrigue. He wasn’t displeased to see the guy, it was just unexpected.

“Nah, Six ain’t exactly the sweep n mop type, if you catch my drift. I did this to myself. Startin’ to wonder why,” he raised his voice: “The service here sucks balls.”

From the kitchen, the old chef hollered, “How’s about you suck my dick, Abarai?”

Renji jerked his thumb in that general direction, “Real pleasant, too.” He leaned backwards, tossing his head, red spikes flaring like crimson jags around his shoulders. “Hell, it’d taste better than your horse crap!” He glanced back at Ikkaku, flashed his canines; “S’one reason I like this place. Seireitei restaurants got that better-than-you rich-cunt feel. Sure, you get a pearly white smile n some posh chick askin’ how you like your steak done all polite like… but I ain’t really into all that nicey-nice bullshit.”

That he had to come down into the Rukongai for a reality check threw things into perspective.

There was a tinkle of bells, preceded by a harsh spatter of reiatsu that clinched Renji’s stomach into a hard knot, his tendons niggling tense, muscles reacting on default to the sudden change in air pressure, reflexes slamming his guard into place. He recognised that white-noise crunch of energy long minutes before Zaraki entered the shop, that one good eyelid of his drifting.

"Whats a Vice-Captain doing out in Rugonkai?"

Renji frowned. He’d have asked Zaraki the same damn question; apparently Eleven were descending on the Rukon in groups now. He wondered if they’d chase each other into the bathroom, hold hands while they powdered their noses and chat shit about the other girls. His contempt was only partly malicious; Eleven had played a massive part in his development and he often missed the loutish bastards. There hadn’t been as much clear-cut class division, and Renji had never felt out of place as much as he did elsewhere amongst all the wealthy families and their privileged kids.

“Kenpachi Taichou…”

Ceramic struck the table, broth slopping hot over the edges, Renji snatching his hands away from the scalding eruption. Through his spectacles the chef peered at the lieutenant in disgust, shooting each of the other shinigami a suspicious glower before retracting his tray and turning, muttering obscenities, stomping back towards the sweltry fonts of steam, which folded around him, swallowing his arthritic frame.

“Food, man, food.” Renji snipped his chopsticks over the bowl and shovelled a huge mouthful, talking around it, “Thisha street scum reunion or shumthan?”

They all had this in common, their mongrel backgrounds- Rukon folk, hard-edged and rough and worn, manners wrung out of them by decades of nasty crap. An hour in the slums was more than enough time to learn that the afterlife was a bitch with teeth; living here for the better part of fifty years soured you inside, got right down underneath the warm parts and twisted until anything like compassion or optimism or even hope mouldered and popped. They understood each other. That was perhaps why they'd so easily bounced off of one another, especially he and Ikkaku, Renji recalling (with faint derision at his schmaltzy nostalgia) the countless hours they had spent training together... Madarame's final dismissal still ringing scornful somewhere in the back of his mind.

Renji swallowed noisily and tilted on his chair, arm sprawled insouciant across its back. He regarded the pair of them with a grin that bordered on obscene.

"This ain't some cutesy recruitment drive is it? You girls ain't gonna start bawling about how the place ain't the same without me around are ya? Cause I gotta tell you, waterworks don't fly with me, man.”

[Deidara-Chan]

A smirk was hidden by the hairless warrior’s hands as his anterior subordinate turned to see him. By the look on the guy’s dumbfounded face, he knew he didn’t expect to see him here. Of course, most people wouldn’t expect someone from squad eleven to show up here. No, they just expected the ruffians to originate from the deepest trash heaps of Rukongai, become shinigami, then stay out of their matted hairs of the rest of their insignificant lives.

Prejudice was nauseating.

Still as Renji spoke to the chrome-dome commando, he could help but stifle his laughter when he heard the Red Pineapple Head make a comment about the service and get feedback from the chef in the kitchen. Renji’s jest was most likely to have been true too, if it were not such a disquieting depiction. He too bore his canines when the Lieutenant continued to speak. It was completely true and completely repulsive how goody-goody they were in the seireitei restaurants. Another reason to come to Rukongai for sure, and one he could relate to.

“Heh. Seireitei nobles are the lowest of the low. They’re just a bunch of figure heads with no true skill.” He paused as he leaned back in his chair, contemplating on what next to say. As if on cue, the air thickened with the oh-so-familiar feel of reiatsu pounding down upon every fiber of your being. It was strong enough to make the weak lose their lunch, and possibly their insanity if they let it. Yet, it was that same pressure that he respected most. Especially when the tiny little tinkering of bells could be heard behind him, and a shadow of the humanoid form of the devil himself cast upon him. His head turned to view the gargantuan man, a crooked smile on his face.

“Taichou… What brings you here?”

To be honest, Ikkaku probably couldn’t care less what brought his commanding officer out into the slums of Rukongai. He truly only hoped his little pink haired lieutenant, more like a demonic imp, was not accompanying the man today. If she was, then he would probably have to split the scene, either that or suffer complete and total humiliation at the hands to the damn brat. Still he let out a mental sigh when no pink hair could be spotted, then again, he didn’t really have a good view from his position, but he was quite hopeful.

“Renji, what would be your opinion on Anarchy?” It was a complete question out of the blue, but still, Ikkaku wanted to hear his response, after all, perhaps the Lieutenant agreed with him in thinking it would be total chaos and confusion.

[Deidara-Chan]

Kenpachi hadn't figured that anyone worth anything would actually be found out here, but finding both Renji and Ikkaku out here was a little bit interesting at least. He wasn't sure what they were doing there and honestly he didn't even care, but perhaps this unlikely meeting of the three Shinigami could evolve into something even more interesting like the other customers in the shop picking a fight; though it wasn't like any of these Rukon rats would cause any trouble for a Captain and the other two. Still in all maybe Zaraki would stick around for a bit just in case, he didn't have anything else to preoccupy himself with anyway.

"Is that what you call it?" He eyed the noddles that Renji shoveled into his mouth like some sort of wild boar. Kenpachi wouldn't trust the food in this place for anything, not if it were prepared by the decrepit hands of anyone living in the Districts.

"Hm?" If Kenpachi had cared to notice he would have immediately picked up on what it was the Vice-Captain was referring to. All three of the men, now Shinigami, had grown up in this rough and rugged streets; this was almost like a homecoming for the trio. Zaraki and Ikkaku had left the place because it bored them; Zaraki because there no one else worthy to kill in the shithole and Ikkaku because the only worthy one he could find was Kenpachi. In that respect Renji was different from both of men of Division 11. He was more pathetic. He wanted a better life or some crap like that. Kenpachi really didn't bother to recall the facts of someone else's life.

Finally entering the dimly lit place of business Kenpachi strode slowly between the tables where angered and frightened eyes watched him without the ability to do much of anything else. If he was going to be hanging around there a bit longer he might as well make himself more comfortable. The eatery was pretty wide open, doors at the sides of the building remaining open so that customers could come and go simply enough. This made the shop catch much of the night wind that breezed about gently outside, though it still managed to hold much of the heat slipping out from the back kitchen quite well. Making for a moderate temperate inside of the hut.

His eye shifted to Ikkaku lazily as the man finally took a seat, "Seireitei's been too boring lately." He shrugged one shoulder and left it as simple as that. After Aizen's betrayal and the invasion of the Bounto things were all too smooth sailing and quiet for the man who had a (perhaps) unhealthy thirst for conflict. What was a guy with all his power supposed to do with no way to properly exercise it? For a moment Zaraki's mind wandered, it was very muddled with no clear thought however; he was simply thinking of the battles he would wish to have.

The empty thought seemed to shatter up against the comments spewed out by Abarai Renji, causing the Captain to glance over at the former 11th division member. "Dumbass. You think we'd take you back?" Zaraki grinned a jagged grin as he stared toward the back kitchen, "Besides the division has been its best yet since you left." The grin remained even as Ikkaku interjected with his question toward Renji. Kenpachi didn't know what that was about but anarchy was certainly something on the "fun list", so now he was as interested in hearing the answer as the bald man beside him.

[Deidara-Chan]

Sadly the forum died before we got to finish our rp... I still don't know what became of Renji (I'm worried), however, I thank Renji and Kenpachi of Soul Slayer for have an awesome rp. Also for teaching me a few pointers in how to make an rp awesome.

This roleplay is purely for example, however, I would like to see our rps become like this one.