There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,

Yoshiya walked through the sunrise, a spring in his step, a song in his voice, his hood drawn back, exposing his face to the morning rays, the orange glow radiating over his well groomed beard.

There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,

He had opened himself up, and found himself friends. He had discovered, on his way home from work one night that a group of Rukons had taken to gathering around a campfire, socialising and dining. On the third day they had noticed him, and invited him. On the seventh he did.

The corn is as high as an elephant's eye,

Whilst he had been reserved initially, he had, over time, opened up to them, though he hadn't yet given them his name. They would sit around, eat food, sing songs and chew the cud, discussing the issues of the day, long into the night.

An' it looks like its climbin' clear up to the sky.

Today's meet had gone on longer than usual. The sun was rising as Yoshiya walked home. "Looks like I'll be having a day off." He chuckled to himself as the thought crossed his mind.

Oh what a beautiful morning,

A burning sensation arose from his chest, engulfing Yoshiya. "No! Not this! Not now! Not when I finally have the foundations of a life! Not when I have found joy, not when I am finally happy!"

Oh what a beautiful day,

The flames struck his stomach, releasing its contents, coagulating into poisonous rivers, spewing forth in a torrent, engulfing all around him, coating tree and rock in the semi-digested food he had consumed not a few hours before. He felt his memories leaving him in these streams of vomit, as his illness corrupted his brain, his being, the voids in his mind and psyche being replaced by the despair which he had disposed of not three weeks before, despair he thought he had finally gotten himself rid of.

I've got a wonderful feeling,

His body went rigid, his legs failing him, unable to stop himself falling. As he fell he thought about what would happen to him. He would lose a chunk of his memory. The memory loss would be odd, he may forget people, but he may remember events, thought they may be vague to him. Proximity to these people may trigger some memories, but not all. He was likely to remember most of his own history, and some important facts, such as where he lived. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, far from it, and it was unlikely to be the last.

"Good thing I keep journals." Of course, being 1768 meant that he had a good library, and he knew himself that he was unlikely to start reading through them all.

"I guess I won't be seeing those guys again for a while. Not that they'll miss m-NO! I cannot! No!" He hit the ground weeping, aware of how memory was being replaced by hate and despair, until he lost consciousness a second after, a restless sleep, tormented by nightmare, lying in his own vomit.

Everything's going my way.

What a day the previous day was. What a night he had just gone through without even a little bit of sleep. It had come as somewhat of a surprise, really, being offered the 5^th seat of the 4^th division. It was a pleasant surprise, to be truthful. He knew he was doing a fine job, he had been given quite a few promotions during his last few centuries of service. Still, being given such a high rank was not something that he was expecting just yet. He wasn't even really chasing the promotion in the first place, he just did the best he could every single day. It made him feel truly satisfied with himself, to see his efforts bring such praise and honour. And those were not his sentiments alone - several of his colleagues from the Division had nearly begged Kiba-taichou to give them the night to celebrate Ryōichi's promotion, as next day also happened to be the shinigami's day off. They were given permission to do so, but they were also instructed to not drink too much as they had to be capable of conducting their respective duties nonetheless - at least those that had something specific, and important, to do that day. For that reason, and because of laziness, none of them had bothered to switch out of their uniforms - Ryōichi included.

Ryōichi had the luxury to let himself loose completely and just drink and eat to sweet unconsciousness, but that was just not his style. He drank quite a bit, that was evident from the light blush across his pale cheeks. Still, he was far from stumbling around, passing out and speaking in slurrs. He also ate his fair share, but not enough to make walking around a chore. He always preferred to be a little bit reserved even during those moments, as you never know when you'll be needed. As far as he is concerned, a shinigami's duty is never truly put on hold, so it is best to always be capable of fighting properly. But he truly did have fun that night, even if he had not joined some of the less 'intelligent' activities that some of his colleagues had come up with (but watched with some delight, as much as he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone).

Yes, it was a good night. A sleepless night, but a good night. He wasn't even that tired to be frank - just incredibly relaxed and maybe a little light-headed. A nice morning walk before going to get a bit of sleep was a perfect way to start the day, he had decided.

His train of thought however is, abruptly, interrupted by the sight of a lone man lying out in the middle of the street. As it was still very early, Ryōichi was the first to come across him - and of course he didn't ignore him. With a few quick steps he came to a halt next to the still individual, his hair swaying along the gentle, cool morning breeze. It was cold, but refreshing. It sharpened his senses and quickly tossed aside any light-headedness that the drinking had brought.

He crouches, face calm and gaze focused, before checking the pulse. At that, he lets a barely noticeable sigh of relief escape his thin, tightly-closed lips. The man is alive and well, just unconscious. He gently turns him around to lie on his back so that he can see the face, ignoring any existing bodily fluids - or dried up remains of them.

Vast spears of his being shot from Yoshiya, piercing the trees around him, setting alight whatever they touch. They melted and consumed the Rukon, forming a pillar of death, a pillar which towered above the heavens, reaching well beyond the walls of Seireitei. A torrent of searing blood erupted from his gullet, coating the camp-site where he had came from, boiling his friends with his guts. His reiatsu spewed from every orifice from his head, engulfing all of his body in its redness.

The flames burned at his skin causing deep agony upon his flesh, the coating of his body blistering and flaking off, rising in the burning wind, settling on the fields of the First District, coating it in a leprous blight.

A torrent fell from the base of the pillar, an unholy tsunami of blood, reiatsu and vomit, raging down to the houses of the third district. The air was filled with the screams of the deaths of a million Rukons, the haze from the septic flow blacking out the sun. The faces of each and every Rukon, of every single person he had failed in his pathetic one and three quarters of a millennium of his life were burned upon his eyes.

The flow reach the wastelands, but where it had brought death to the Rukons, it brought life to the Hollow, as they grew in size and power, striding forth to slash at Yoshiya with tooth and claw, crushing any still standing building in their wake, the blows nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

They struck a deadly blow, causing Yoshiya to fall through his tower, the liquid not slowing his fall at all, as he hit the ground with a slam, breaking every bone in his body.

And all the while, the Shinigami in their gleaming white city sat back and laughed.

SPOILER: Click to show

Spoiler
If it wasn't obvious, this is a nightmare sequence.

Ryōichi was no stranger to nightmares. He was also not a stranger to how -some- people tend to act while they're having a nightmare. Of course there are always differences between individuals that depended both on the personality as well as on the nature of the dream; some move around nervously, others mumble gibberish in their sleep, they form odd facial expressions etc. In the end however, there were always common signs that someone was having an uncomfortable sleep and in the Rukon's case it was sweat. Yoshiya Watson was sweating quite a bit, even if he wasn't moving much. That was enough of a tip for the shinigami, as it wouldn't make sense for someone to sweat on a cold winter morning. It was actually dangerous, as he could catch a bad cold, or worse.

Now, the first course of action to come to anyone's mind would be to grab the man and carry him to a warmer place. Unfortunately however, in all of his training Ryōichi had neglected his physical strength for the sake of his technique. As embarassing as it may be, he really doesn't think he can move the man to any place better than this even if he were to pull half the muscles in his entire body.

"Cover him up with something extra to ensure that he doesn't get cold? No, I don't have anything to cover him with other than my shihakushō. I also have no idea when he will wake up, so chances are -I- will come down with a disease by then. Looks like I have to do this the hard way." he thinks for a bit, halting the train of thought with a small sigh. He moves his right hand to hover right next to the man's left cheek, as if to caress it.

"...Sorry about that." he mumbles before his hand moves upwards - and then downwards with a quick, sharp movement. A loud smacking sound echoes through the silent street as the unconscious man receives a rather harsh slap which the shinigami hopes will wake him up. But hey, it is better than catching pneumonia.

The white city crumbled, to be replaced by the face of a fierce Shinigami and a sharp pain over his left cheek. Yoshiya tilted his head back and let out a scream, a blood curdling yell of horror. A loud noise was heard in the forests around them, as birds noisily fled from the noise.

His hands clawed at the dirt in the ground around him, his hands becoming rigid talons. Horror gave way to weakness, and the scream subsided. The Rukon swooned in the cold earth for a moment, catching his breath, trying to salvage what he could of his memories. Little came to him at this time, all he knew was that he was a failure, and that Shinigami and Hollow were scary. As to his name, his home, who he was, that was absent for the time being. Despite this he seemed to be aware that his memory would return, at least in part, in the next few minutes.

His breath being caught, he turned his head to face forwards again. The fierce Shinigami was not an imagination. Or was this all still an imagination? His heart raced again, his feet kicking at the dirt, trying to gain traction to get away from the face staring at him.

"I-I'm s-s-s-sorry. P-p-please don't hurt me."

He managed to roll over and ran ungainly, fleeing Ryōichi, his cloak billowing like a ghost. Though, being filled with fear, and still week, his run lacking stability caused the inevitable. He made about a meter and a half, before tripping over his own feet, spiralling back down to the earth with a thud, the impact knocking the wind from his sails.

The shinigami had expected this sort of reaction at first. As it seems, the man had a severely fierce dream and Ryōichi had woken him up right in the middle of it. He also knows that seeing his steely and overly somber face right after waking up from such a dream could also scare someone. He can't help it if he more intimidating than he wants to be sometimes, even if he tries his best not to. But still, he has to admit that this reaction is slightly -if not more so- stronger than what he initially had in mind. True, Rukons are not all that fond of the black-robed weapon-bearers but actually running away from him like that is a little beyond his expectations. A punch in the face was the most expected reaction, though he is pretty glad he didn't actually get smacked in the face.

As the bearded male attempts to hightail his way out of there and fails in a rather spectacular fashion, Ryōichi just calmly stands up and brushes some hair out of his face in one graceful motion. After the man crashes on the ground, the shinigami starts to walk towards him - not too slowly as to look like he is prowling but not too quickly either as to look like he is chasing him. No, just short, light steps, walking as naturally as naturally can be (for him anyways).

"Are you alright sir? Do you need help getting up?" he says calmly, neither too quietly nor too loudly, his facial expression reflecting complete neutrality. There is no big smile, neither a frown. His eyebrows are on their normal level, and his eyes are neither narrowed nor widened. A calm expression to fit in with his tone. Hopefully the Rukon won't get even more scared by this tactic. He can't fully predict the man's actions when he is under such an emotional state after all. He can only try to not look, or sound, threatening and hope that he calms down soon.

Yoshiya had calmed down somewhat, as memories returned to him. However, these memories weren't exactly recent.

"Nah, you're all right mate," he said, propping himself up against a tree, wincing at his injuries, though they were not more serious than a few scrapes and bruises. He rested against its bark, breathing heavily. "Thanks though."

The man let out a sigh, the cold air condensing his breath in front of his face in a small cloud. He began to speak, though in a way which seemed to completely forget about Ryōichi.

"Apologies, I've been having funny spells since those guys wanted to split. I guess it's just stress."

A small chuckle passed his lips.

"I guess it was all for nothing though. They have left us, seeking freedom. Freedom, " he almost seemed to spit out the word. "Freedom, that's just some people talking. They'll end up tying themselves to something. Enslavement is inevitable so long as the Economic Problem exists."

He released another sigh and looked to Ryōichi, his eyes screwing up slightly as he stared at his chest, in mild puzzlement.

"Hey, why do you have a yellow 4 stitched to your clothes?"

Ryōichi merely observes the man as he goes on to ramble about seemingly random things. While there is clearly some logic to what he says, the Shinigami doesn't know of what exactly this man is talking about. That is mostly due to a lack of information as per this individual's origins and history. He doesn't know that this man is old enough to have lived the Shinigami-Rukon split, so he can't tell that he is talking about it right now. As far as the younger male is concerned, the older one might very well still be busy thinking that he is dreaming, or maybe he ingested some odd-looking mushroom by mistake and is in the middle of a daze. At the very least the possibility of him being drunk is out of the question, as he would be able to tell from the smell. Or he could be talking about something private of his.

"Split....is it family matters? Clan matters? Freedom? I guess that can be a reason for a split, a group seeking individuality and thus breaking off from the whole, or the 'core'. But why would he expect me to know what he is talking about...? And...economical crisis...?" he can only think in slight confusion, though of course his expression remains perfectly neutral, calm and focused - just like always. But then comes a question that almost throws him off completely.

"A yellow four...? That...is a sign that I belong to the 4th Division of the Gotei 5. The 4th Division is responsible for keeping the Shinigami populace under control and ensure that they are following the rules. Seireitei's 'police', if you would..." he explains, pausing in order to study the man. His clothing is in proper shape, he doesn't look too dirty or too unkempt. He doesn't look like someone who hasn't been in touch with civilization for a long time. But how else can he not know about the Divisions? Every adult does as far as he knows - even the Rukons.

This was a continual puzzlement. This man spoke of such things as if Yoshiya should know what he was talking about. He did not.

"Fourth Division? Gotei Five? What are you on about? Are you some sort of militia? Does the Taichou know of this?" 

The sun rose further into the sky, their shadows shortening in the dawn light.

Who is this man? He is a splitter, and I've had enough of them. But, he does seem earnest enough, and I doubt he is a threat. Besides, with these injuries, I probably couldn't take him anyway. He has a sword, and I am unarm-"

At this moment, Yoshiya became aware of a large rod against his back. Shaking, he moved his hands up his back, and slowly drew his staff, laying it in his hands, observing it for a moment, quivering at its sight.

"W-what is this?!"

He tossed it to the ground like it were a hot potato, emitting a scream, staring at it for a moment, until he noticed his arms, raising his left above his eyes to look at his cloak, then spinning around to check the other side. His eyes were wide with fear.

"Why am I wearing a cloak?"

His face began to itch. His hands moved up to his jawline, trembling, feeling a hairy mass across his neck and cheeks.

"Why do I have a beard?"

A pain shot through Yoshiya's chest, his hands darting down to clutch it, a groan escaping through mouth, as if he had received a hard blow to his stomach. Once again, he keeled over, falling back to the earth, unconscious.

Ryōichi could probably sympathize with the part about being told things he does not know while expected to do. As the man continues to talk, the shinigami can only stay silent and mask his bewilderment under an expression of calm and neutrality.

".....Is he insane?" he can only think as the man starts to have something akin to a delirium, treating his beard, clothes and staff like some sort of nightmarish creatures that are trying to suck him dry of blood. While screaming his lungs out like they really are sucking him dry of all blood. And then he drops down on the ground and passes out - again.

".......This is...just...." he says with a sigh, trailing off for he is unable to find the proper words to describe how he feels about the entire situation. All that he knows is that he can't leave the man alone, both for his own good as well as for the good of others. For the moment he does nothing but just stand about 3 meters away from Yoshiya and just observe him. He will not try to wake him up again, at least not for another couple of minutes. Hopefully he will wake up on his own before the shinigami is forced to slap him into consciousness - again.

And as he lay, the cold sun rising ever further into the sky, Yoshiya's mind was filled with more memories, illuminating his life, just as day illuminated the surroundings. Though light came to the forest, Ryōichi would find himself in what was perhaps Yoshiya's darkest hour, the day he fled from Seireitei.

Yoshiya stirred, his mind groggy, like he had just been knocked out. His vision was blurry and dizzy, he let out a groan as he focused.

"Where am I?" His eyes darted about, taking in the vegetation. "This concentration of trees, I must be in the second district." He couldn't recollect crossing the First District. He couldn't even recall crossing the gates. Yoshiya charted this discrepancy in his memories to him losing consciousness. Alas, this assumption was only half right, for he was unaware that he was not missing a few hours, but rather 833 years.

The Ex-Shinigami raised his head, to see someone who had, only hours before (or so he thought), been one of his comrades. His eyes focused enough to see the yellow four upon his chest.

"This guy must have been the one to knock me out. How did word get out so fast? No matter."

Yoshiya grabbed his staff, which lay just infront of him, and in one motion, grabbed his staff and ran towards the man, swinging. His attack was...pathetic, to say the least. Between his physical and mental weakness, the movement of his weapon was desperate, the talent below amateurish. A beginner could avoid the attack easily, such was its sloveliness and predictability. The only thing impressive about it was his battle cry, filled with his passion.

"I am not going back!"

Those words echoed through the forest as he charged, desperation coursing through his body. He meant it. He would not be dragged back to Seireitei. He would not let this policeman arrest him.

The time passes and as the sun slowly continues to rise, Ryōichi decides he should just get it over with and slap the man into consciousness again. Before he can take  single step however, Yoshiya wakes up and stands up. On the plus side, that means he won't have to do the awkward thing of slapping him again. On the minus side however, the man looks just as lost as before. His gaze is unfocused, his movement woobly as he tries to stand up.

Still, he has managed to wake up and stand after but a few seconds. That should be a good thing overall, right? The shinigami observes with a cool, calm expression as the man checks his clothes, analyzes his surroundings and...grabs his staff and charges at him. While screaming some sort of nonsense with a considerable amount of passion. Well, at least he is now certain that the man can't be left without the supervision of a trained man until he snaps out of this...whatever this is. He hopes it is a phase and not some sort of permanent psychosis at least.

As expected, Ryōichi deftly dodges the attack with a bit of leaning and proper footwork - Yoshiya's attacks merely hit the air as he runs past the black robed male like an enraged bull. It is a rather sad attempt and, on the inside, the shinigami can't help but feel sorry for the man's downright pityful condition. Still, he doesn't let that show on his face.

"You are in no condition to fight, and I'm not taking you anywhere. Calm down." he ushers the man with a neutral tone. He would rather not fight but, if he is attacked again he might be forced to defend himself. Nothing lethal, his potential opponent is far too weakened but he would rather not have to render him unconscious or anything of the sort.

As anyone could have predicted, Yoshiya's attack missed, and he went charging right past his target. He would have gone on, making good his escape, except for two factors. The first was obvious, he was worn out, and it was probable that his foe would be able to intercept him. The second was that he was lost. He didn't have anywhere to go, save away from Seireitei, but in what direction was Seireitei? For all he knew he could end up running straight into more trouble. There was a hole in the Shinigami's logic, and exploiting these holes was Yoshiya's speciality!

He turned around and faced his foe, his staff ready in a defensive pose. His nostrils were flared, the caked mud and sweat in his hair made him look like a bull. Appropriate, since he had just charged like one. He stared down his opponent. One would have almost expected steam to flow out in great puffs from his nose.

He yelled at Ryōichi in an angry, savage voice.

"If you are not taking me anywhere, then why did you knock me out?"

There was no-one else about, who else could it have been? His blurred head meant that it wasn't a natural sleep. Besides, why would he be in the second then? He was in danger, and he would not trust this man. His best shot was to take him down, then he could at least move cautiously, rather than barrelling straight back at the land he was fleeing.

Ryōichi studies the man opposite of him with cool, calculating eyes. He is tall, close to his height, but also more muscular. Probably stronger than him, or at least he could be if he wasn't so exhausted. Still, best to not risk anything so he will not let it come down to a fist-fight.

"I didn't knock you out. You passed out on your own after going through a delirium about a split, fools talking about freedom and an economical crisis. And screaming. That was right after I woke you up, so this was the second time you passed out on your own. It is the truth. Did you even check you head for a wound serious enough to cause unconsciousness?" he says with a flat tone. He is honestly wondering for how longer the man will test his patience. True, he has plenty of it to spare but this whole situation has started to become utterly ridiculous. This could very well be considered as abuse of someone's own priviledge - at least from the shinigami's point of view.

Still, he doesn't think the man will believe him. He shall try to tell the truth again, as many times as he has to. He will try and provide as many arguments as he can. But he expects everything to fall into deaf ears. It's not just that Yoshiya is in a condition that makes rational thinking hard - it is also that the entire explanation is quite absurd. Even Ryōichi himself finds what he says a little silly, and he knows that it is the truth.

As such he places his hand on the hilt of his sword and allows his face to lose all expression. It's not about being neutral, calm or anything like that. Blank - that is the only word that can describe his face right now. It is the moment that some people have told him he is the most intimidating. Not when smiling, neutral, frowing or anything of the sort - just that cold, blank and emotionless look.

"I don't want to hurt you. I also don't want to keep you from going anywhere. No one is. Sit down and collect yourself for as long as you like. But if you attack me any further....I will be forced to defend myself." he says, his voice like ice. He won't kill the man of course, putting him down relatively harmlessly shouldn't prove to be too much of a challenge as he is right now - but it is best to show that he will not back down if he keeps being attack. It is quite clear, from his stance, that he is not intending to see reason. If only the Rukon could just calm down everything would be so much easier....

He stared his opponent down, watching him speak. It was just the two of them in the clearing, his erratic movements having scared anything in the near vicinity away. What the man said to Yoshiya may have sounded nonsensical, but he knew what he was like, he had the context, he had, to his knowledge, been suffering for half a millennium.

His hands moved up to his head. They did find a hot liquid from his body, but it was vomit, not blood. Consistent with him having an attack. It did seem likely that it wasn't 1037. He looked up at the man. It was evident that his patience was waning, though the Rukon guessed that the other may be willing to endure a little more. He did say "Sit down and collect yourself for as long as you like," suggesting that he was not about to abandon Watson.

Yoshiya kept a grip of his staff. His face had relaxed slightly, though he was still ready to attempt another strike, should Ryōichi make another move. One question passed his lips, his words filled with a twinge of worry, rather than a complete infusion of rage.

"Forgive me for asking this, but what year is it?" He hoped the Shinigami would be used to his apparent oddities by now to entertain him.

The shinigami closely observes Yoshiya as he starts to show slight signs that he is calming down. Ryōichi can tell, he has learned to read the subtle signs of the body's language over his time serving in the Division responsible for handling criminals. It was an important skill that just came to him naturally during those past centuries of service. Still, it is also obvious that he is not quite there yet. The message has actually passed, but one wrong move may drive the Rukon into a panic once more - for it is clear that he is ready to spring into action at any moment.

It is for those reasons that he chooses to, once again, adopt an expression of neutrality. He even goes as far as to risk letting go of his zanpakutō's handle in a show of good will. Hopefully the older male is not just pretending and won't try to take advantage of Ryōichi's small display of faith. From his state, the attempt would probably fail but it is still a risk regardless of the circumstances.

"It is the year 2000 of the New World, season winter." he calmly answers the question he was asked. He has questions, many many questions, that he wants to ask as well. Still, it is best not to push his chances for now. An opportunity to solve the situation without the use of violence has been presented and he'll be damned if he doesn't make the best out of it. So for the moment he stays silent, waiting for the bearded male's reaction to the -apparently- newfound information. Another cold breeze blows, numbing his cheeks slightly and causing his hair to sway a little along with it.

2000nw? Could he be really missing a millennium's worth of memories? He had one way to check. Aoyama had taken his hand off his sword, perhaps Yoshiya could afford to take a risk. He looked straight at the Shinigami as he spoke, delivering an ultimatum.

"I am going to move away, and then check myself for a book. If what you say is true, I should have a written record of it. I request you stay where you are."

With that, he started to back away from Ryōichi, his staff still drawn, still watching his foe, his eyes only darting away to check his footing. Five meters. Six. Seven meters. Eight meters. He continued to walk, until he was around ten meters away from Aoyama. If he made a move, Yoshiya would hopefully have time to react.

He took his left hand from his weapon, and started to check his pouches. He knew he should have it, but where was it? He checked a few of his pockets, before finding something warm...and furry. A meow came from the pouch, audible to the Shinigami.

"Why...hello there." He spoke with some surprise, as he met Yggdrasil for the first time. "Guess I got myself a cat in the intervening years."

The data was enough to convince him that it wasn't 1037. He sheathed his staff, using both hands to check his pockets. Eventually he found it, an old scrapbook. The Rukon flicked through the pages, skimming through them briefly, taking in information. A few minutes went by. Some of the text in it was hard to believe, but he trusted himself. Having got what he needed for now he shut the book and replaced it in its pouch. A second book lay there. He didn't need it for now.

"It appears I owe you an apology," he said, approaching Ryōichi. "I apologise profusely for my assault upon you." His voice carried both regret at his attack, and confusion at what he had learned.

It was morning, both upon the day, upon the year, and upon his mind. Hopefully his memories would return as the other two progressed.

Ryōichi indeed doesn't make any sort of movements whatsoever. He just stays still, carefully observing the Rukon's movements for any sign of an escape attempt. After all, he has yet to confirm the man's sanity, though from what he has seen and heard in the last minute or so he may just be fine.He hears the cat meowing and allows his left eyebrow to move upwards for about a milimeter or so. Hardly anything noticeable, but it is still there nonetheless. And as the minutes pass and he ways for Yoshiya to confirm whatever he wants to confirm, he carefully plans out his next words.


"It is alright. I'm just glad that we didn't have to hurt each other with this entire mess. Now....this may be far too bold of me to ask but...no, it is too bold of me to ask. But still, I would like you to tell me what all of this was about. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow if you're feeling too uncomfortable. One day however, if possible, I would like to." he says with an even-tempered tone, his expression one of calm and serenity. Afterwards he takes a few steps towards the man and outstretches his right hand, "Aoyama Ryōichi. Shinigami, member of the Gotei 5 and Fifth Seat of the Fourth Division. Good to meet you, even under those unusual circumstances."

The Rukon stood, face to face with the Shinigami. Despite his own words, words which he had written, he was still somewhat nervous. Despite this, he complied, his left hand grabbing the fingers of his right glove and pulling it off, before grasping Ryōichi's hand, giving a firm handshake to him, and a slight bow.

The formalities done, he released and took a step back, eyes slightly vacant.

"I suppose I owe you something of an explanation." He sighed, he did not want to give too much information away.

"I suffer from an illness. One of the symptoms of an attack is memory loss. It appears I have lost just under a millennium's worth of memories. Unfortunately, the time I think it is, I am, or rather was, running from the Shinigami, though it appears that this is no longer the case." He let out another bow.

"Thankfully I have written down information should this happen, so I should be OK. Also, some of my memories should return in time. I should warn you that I am liable to forget this incident, so be aware if we ever meet again. Once again I apologise profusely for attacking you. And thank-you for being as patient as you have been."

He bowed again towards the man, then looked about, having realised something. He spoke again, cautiously.

"Umm...sorry to ask more of you, but I don't know where I am. Could you point me in the direction of the Third District?" He let out a shy chuckle. "Sorry to be a further burden."

The shinigami allows his arm to fall back to his side after the handshake is over. After that, there really isn't much for him to do other than listen to Yoshiya's explanation. As he hears what the man has to say, he gently brings up his right hand and strokes his sharp chin with his long finely clipped fingers.

"It does make sense....over 1000 years worth of information. That means he is far older than I had expected. Does that mean the split he was talking about was the Rukon-Shinigami split? It could be, it adds up. And him running from the shinigami....no, if he was some sort of criminal there would be records of him and I would remember them. It checks out." he thinks to himself as he processess the newfound information.

After a few more minutes of carefully studying the man he lets his arm drop to his side once more and nods.

"I see....I believe you. Quite a troubling disease you have there, but at least you are prepared. Sorry if I frightened you, if I do come across you having lost your memories again I will immediately explain things to you. If on the other hand you can remember me...maybe we will go out for a drink or something." he says with a cool tone, the very corners of his mouth turned upwards to form a visible but still incredibly light smile as he bows his head slightly.

"The Third District is right towards there -", he points, "- just stay on the path and you will soon see the buildings. See you later....I don't think I got your name - if you don't mind." he adds.

Ah. This was...had he befriended this man? This...was not good. Though, he would have to be gentle, this man had been overly kind to this old Rukon.

"I'm afraid I must decline your offers. I don't drink, and this illness can be triggered by social interaction. It appears I had been socialising with a group of my fellow kinsmen recently. I really should know better..." He let out a small sigh.

"I'm also somewhat reluctant to give out my name, Aoyama-san. I regret doing this, after you have been so kind to me, but I cannot. I will say though, if you are typical of all the members of the Gotei, then 2000nw is a far better world than 1037nw was. Thank-you for your assistance."

Yoshiya left the clearing, in the direction Ryōichi had pointed. Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, he found himself in the third district. Thankfully he emerged not too far from his house, and was able to find his abode easily enough.

Sadly, the recent events had interrupted his usual transition. It had already been a rough attack, and having the healing process stalled by his encounter resulted in a terrible time for Yoshiya. The following days were rough. He was violently ill, bedridden, fading in and out of consciousness. His waking hours were filled with spasms and vomit, his sleep tortured by nightmares. Dream and reality faded into each other. This condition persisted for eleven days.

[EXIT]

The shinigami would just nod once at that. The Rukon's refusal didn't really offend him, or anger him, or sadden him. Why, he was even given a reason as to why it was happening and, as he is no doctor, he couldn't really provice any counter-arguments about it either. He will just let the man make his own decisions, for better or for worse.

He turned around and walked towards the opposite direction, towards Seireitei, the city of the white walls. A gentle wind blew and slightly ruffled his hair, forcing him to straighten them with his hands. Strangely enough, he got out of this event feeling oddly optimistic about the next few days. And it turned out he was right, Ryōichi's couple of next days would be spend in joy. His parents would send him a letter to visit and, when he did, it was quite an uplifting moment. They were incredibly proud of their son taking the Fifth Seat, and the showed it quite a bit. As a matter of fact, a good number of friends and other relatives attented what could only be described as a small party.

Soon enough, of course, he would return to his duties with full force, more motivated to excel than ever before.

[EXIT]

Rewards:

Yoshiya - 11 RP
Ryouichi - 11 RP

Thread locked, points to be added.