ongoing; closed [backdated!]

[anti-buttons.livejournal.com]

When; January 22nd, Friday, late night; possibly carrying over into Sat. AM
Rating; PG
Characters; Kuchiki Rukia {wingstock} & Ishida Uryuu {anti_buttons}
Summary; Separately caught in the stare of the catoblepas, a Shinigami and a Quincy find themselves in the Shadow City, wherein they use their heads. AND SUCH COOL THINGS. SUPER DUPER COOL, Y'DIG. Due to oncoming possible hiatus & Haku sick tiemz, this will be slooooow rolling. ... PS remember me? Yeah TL;DR big time!
Log;

At this point in his life, it could justifiably be said that Ishida Uryuu did not believe in luck for the sake of his sanity. (That, of course, was not the reason, the reason which persisted even after speaking with Fortune's son). If he were to believe in luck, then surely, he would have to accept that his was terrible. Beyond any and all expectations. Perhaps not beyond karma, but happily for a few of his less noble past deeds, Uryuu chose also to deny karma its right to be.

Only twenty-two hours prior had he been freed from a cat that now refused to share a room with him; twenty-two hours ago that monster had left with no word, only a well-aimed kick to his shin and the remains of his door in her wake. And the moron had a picture. Now, not a full day later, on his return trek from work, he turned a corner and before he could process the literal beast in front of him, he stood elsewhere.

The transition was as abrupt as blinking. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he stood in the City, or a bizarre replica; the air had not been thick with fog before, near-impenetrable and yet strangely lit. The lighting was dim, thin, and oddly, did absolutely nothing to abet his vision. A quick check of his belongings then followed; everything in its right place.

Still deplorably belated, when his hand moved in reflex to adjust his glasses, and only then, did Uryuu realize that he was glowing. Happily for his dignity, there was no one near to watch him jump spasmodically back, as if he could somehow escape himself.

The Quincy pendant glowed brighter still, and that helped him to connect the dots. Spirit power, spirit concentration, spirits -- all visible in an unnatural manner. Dots became lines, and lines a shape soon enough. Once able to accept and look past the shift in atmosphere and spirit presence, Uryuu could pay enough attention to the city around him (read: a cursory glance being more than enough) to realize it was -- well, the City.

A curse? The network had mentioned nothing, but perhaps he had been the first. Alert, and far from panicked, Uryuu fished his device from his bag. If this place were separate, would it be affected, would users visible change? When trapped beyond the barrier, the device had worked as usual - so it wasn't much to go on, but a start.

Comments

[wingstock.livejournal.com]

Knowing what was going on was not an easy thing to keep aware of in the City to begin with, but running into a particularly irate bull might have been more expected on a day filled with network posts about said raging animal. As it happened, one Kuchiki Rukia did not see the thing coming so much as almost run into it face-to-face. After that, she found herself standing in very much the same place, minus the angry quadruped, minus many things in fact, including the general sense of light that previously substantiated the area within a hundred yard radius--at least. The way her surroundings puzzled themselves back into vision as if opening her eyes in the dark made things feel shallow, the way ankle deep water throws shadows in ways that make them seem closer and broader than they really ought to be.

"Strange," she uttered to no one, not expecting an answer so much as to test her own lucidity. It wasn't a dream anyway, but the way she felt and heard her voice paralleled her perception of things visually, a frown crossing her features as she paced a few yards in one direction and then several more in another. There, she could see the fountain, and there she saw the carousel, all landmarks that told her one thing: she was still bound to the City. The other effects however presented another thought: she might be bound but she was not in the same place, this one littered with distant glows and sparks here and there, among other things, not the least of which was her own appearance. Looking down at her hands, she wondered if being corporeal to the eye meant anything id she could, from a certain angle, loophole through that and half not see herself at all; there but not there, just as a death god was meant to be. Eluding her notice for the moment, a butterfly marked her if the disappearing act didn't, but escaping her scrutiny as she headed off again, to the carousel to be specific, it was almost as if it wanted to be missed, following her at an easily missed distance.

"Checking for response," she lifted her network device to say, only to lower it a little as she walked, glancing every which way as if it might tell her something more, refusing to acknowledge that really, it didn't. Not yet anyway.

[anti-buttons.livejournal.com]

[NOTES: 1) SWITCHING TO PRESENT TENSE & 2) ASSUMING THAT DEVICES ALLOW USERS TO IDENTIFY OTHER NEARBY USERS ]

The device functions as normal. A quick look at the recent network posts tells him nothing. There has been no mention of a beast, of sudden displacement, of the City changing. Navigating toward making his own post (less out of responsibility, surely, as the thought that it might incite some other quieter person to reply), Uryuu pauses at the list of active users.

He recognizes one ID easily. His lips thin and he straightens, keeping out the device but closing his bag. That it could be immature does not cross his mind, because it has never been an issue of maturity in his perspective -- but Uryuu cannot help but resist contacting a shinigami.

It would be worth noting how similar and dissimilar this city was, and so he walks toward the Square with its many shops. Did they function, could one purchase a latte and a croissant? He doubts it; glances down at the device.

There are few others, too few considering the size of the city. Another beat, and he opens a connection.

"Kuchiki-san?"

[wingstock.livejournal.com]

She wonders at the voice responding, arching a brow and pausing near the carousel's edge, arms folded with device clutched neatly in pale fingers.

"Ishida-san," she replies not necessarily because formality holds much place between them but because it is something to fill space with for the moment, looking around to see if she can spot him, wondering if he is aware that on the network she knew him not by name and voice so much as by signature of an off-blue glow she cannot yet account for. Keeping it to herself, she stops rather suddenly, turning, eyes narrowing at a flicker in the dark that isn't there anymore before she settles on the edge of the carousel, just barely in front of a unicorn that seems lustrous even in the shadowy quality of things around them.

"I wonder how long this has been here." It's a reasonable jumping point, a place to make conjectures from without having to admit to caring about one another, which is something she has noticed even loosely about the quincy; he prefers not to, that is.