Quietly, trickling water runs between folds of rock and branches of small Bonzai Trees. The sound of the flowing, crystal-clear liquid fades into background noise beneath the voices of multiple women exchanging the latest gossip—barking at each other while leafing through SCC articles. Blended in as well were the sounds of several machines; blow dryers, apparatuses that are used to combine multiple hair products, and even the sizzling of flat irons and curling wands. While the world outside of this humble salon was fawning over the primitive Kenpachi games, those with their head on straight were focused on the important things: Glamour, of course! One could not serve their purpose to the best of their ability without absolutely looking their best. This alone was a mantra that was evident in every little thing Kaisou did—every day of his life. His eyes squint as a natural defense mechanism against the beads of residual shampoo that trickle down from his head, guaranteed to burn profusely should they invade his sockets.
The machine above him stops its whirring, the motor winding down to become still and mute. As he sits up in the chair, a woman comes from behind him, roughly sculpting the back of his neck to get any uneven, stray hairs into her grasp. A loose ponytail of a sort is formed, as any remaining water is drained from his mane in a single twist of the hairs. Kaisou’s face is immediately becoming a disgruntled one—his expression sour and cynical beneath the veil of a pale blue towel that was violently placed on his head by the salon worker tending to him. He mumbles briefly under his breath, a few words can be picked out of the rubble. He jests about her strong, man-like hands along with that confused look she seemed to always have rested on her stupid face. The narcissistic man scoffs—the huff of his breath pushing against the towel and swaying it away from him. The woman—who may or may not have heard the male’s rather harsh comments—continued to rummage through his head of hair with the towel, ensuring that his entire head was dry.
“You know, you could be a bit more gentle; A bit more lady-like.”
Kaisou—who could surely resort to ungentlemanly acts at times—was still a delicate flower. As such, he would like to be treated like one. Furthermore, this was a paid service; how could they hire individuals like this that have no sense—no awareness of what their customer likes and enjoys? His murmur falls on deaf ears, the brawny woman continuing as if nothing had changed, or as if there wasn’t a squealing brat in her chair. She pulls the towel off of his head, snapping it in the air beside her as the residual liquid splashes around her workstation. Kaisou’s head of hair seems messy, unkempt, and rather unpleasant as he looks in the mirror. He saves his gripes, knowing the process is not yet finished. A large bottle of Kurosheen rests on an isolated shelf. The woman squeezes the bottle with olympian-like strength, a large blob of the gel substance resting in her large, rough palm. Immediately her hands are once again on his head, combing through his roots and ends with her fingers, spreading the product vigorously throughout his scalp. The ray of light peaking through the salon’s window acts as a spotlight on the illustrious shine his hair now boasts.
‘That’s more like it.’
He leaves the thought to himself—this time. The woman grabs the stray hairs in the back of his head and fashions them in a style similar to that of a topknot, binding the hair with a lavender-hued hairband. Kaisou couldn’t jump up fast enough, he was so excited to be out of the chair and away from the grasp of that.. Monster. He’d make sure that by the time he came in for his appointment next week that she no longer had a job; this, he would make his mission. His dark, indigo Kimono swayed in the small winds generated by a central fan within the salon, fluttering behind the man as he galavanted toward the receptionist. It was here that, most individuals would usually pay for their services. Kaisou—unsurprisingly—had other plans. The woman at the desk seemed to already anticipate his arrival. She notices the moment he jumps out of his chair, notices when he is taking his final steps towards her; she notices every. Single. Detail. Her eyes seem glued to the man, her cheeks flushed in red as she fidgets with the papers on the desk as a distraction for herself. When he finally arrives directly in front of her, she struggles to even formulate her words.
“Er- Ermm… H-Hey Kaisou! You just ha-have the usual? Th-That’ll be 4300 Kan, p-please.”
She stutters endlessly, her pitchy, whiny voice like nails on a chalkboard to the man. However, she was pleasant to look at; plus, he needed a favor.
“Hey, Uhh….”
He inconspicuously attempts to locate her nametag, trying to be as personable as possible to the girl who was clearly a fan of his.
“-Numiko! That’s it. Hey, how are you.. Yes, yes. The usual, you see.. I could possibly give you that but the most unfortunate thing happened to me on the way here! You see.. I was robbed! Oh the horror, the tragedy! I might just be traumatized forever!”
She responds positively to even hearing him say her name aloud, hardly paying attention to the fact that it’s pinned to her Shihakushou. He puts on an entire act, his hand rising to cover his forehead as if he was feeling faint, and couldn’t stand the thought of the imaginary events that transpired.
“Oh you poor thing! Well don’t you worry! I-I’ll handle it for you this time. I-I’m sure it’ll be okay!”
His act seems to immediately cease after his goal is accomplished, his tone and demeanor returning to normal. He takes his right index finger and gently taps it against her chin, winking at her while he spoke.
“What a doll. Bye Ladies!”
He turns his back, having bid the entire roster of women that occupied the salon a farewell, he couldn’t be rude and leave without speaking, after all.
"Bye Kaisou!"
"Oh he’s so cute."
"Bye Kaisou!"
"I wish he’d come in every day"
"Bye Kaisou!"
"I want to find a man like him!"
"Bye Kaisou!"
The murmurs increase in intensity as the door closes behind him. He was surely going to be the topic of discussion now that he had left. They could gossip about the man to their hearts’ content now that he wasn’t around to hear the gritty details. He exhales, crossing his arms in front of him so that each of his hands rests within the opposite Kimono sleeve. His Zanpakuto dangled and clacked its metals as it bounced with each stride tucked within his pink Obi-sash. The salon was only about a block or so down from the Fourth Division Barracks entrance, allowing him to get back home rather quickly. He was hoping Nakamoto-Taichou had surrendered during his Kenpachi Games fight and made his way back towards the barracks. After all, he was forced to join the stupid sport. All of this, for some old man’s amusement. He’d never understand. He simply scoffs at the thought, immediately noticing that the barrack was still somewhat barren upon his arrival. He supposed that many of the medics were deployed out to act as a recovery unit for the contestants. He’d rather not, after all this beautiful hair wasn’t going to do itself! He found one of the many isolated gardens within their facilities and plopped down onto a bench, watching the trees, listening to the birds, and waiting for someone to arrive to compliment him on his hair. He fiddled with it briefly here and there, straightening the edges and moving any stray hairs back into place. He soon had no choice but to break into thought. Wasn’t it close to or about time for Tosu’s next treatment? And wait, wasn’t Lieutenant Izumi still supposed to be here while Taichou was gone? He soon became confused, with only one thought in mind.
Just where was everyone—and what were they doing?
The machine above him stops its whirring, the motor winding down to become still and mute. As he sits up in the chair, a woman comes from behind him, roughly sculpting the back of his neck to get any uneven, stray hairs into her grasp. A loose ponytail of a sort is formed, as any remaining water is drained from his mane in a single twist of the hairs. Kaisou’s face is immediately becoming a disgruntled one—his expression sour and cynical beneath the veil of a pale blue towel that was violently placed on his head by the salon worker tending to him. He mumbles briefly under his breath, a few words can be picked out of the rubble. He jests about her strong, man-like hands along with that confused look she seemed to always have rested on her stupid face. The narcissistic man scoffs—the huff of his breath pushing against the towel and swaying it away from him. The woman—who may or may not have heard the male’s rather harsh comments—continued to rummage through his head of hair with the towel, ensuring that his entire head was dry.
“You know, you could be a bit more gentle; A bit more lady-like.”
Kaisou—who could surely resort to ungentlemanly acts at times—was still a delicate flower. As such, he would like to be treated like one. Furthermore, this was a paid service; how could they hire individuals like this that have no sense—no awareness of what their customer likes and enjoys? His murmur falls on deaf ears, the brawny woman continuing as if nothing had changed, or as if there wasn’t a squealing brat in her chair. She pulls the towel off of his head, snapping it in the air beside her as the residual liquid splashes around her workstation. Kaisou’s head of hair seems messy, unkempt, and rather unpleasant as he looks in the mirror. He saves his gripes, knowing the process is not yet finished. A large bottle of Kurosheen rests on an isolated shelf. The woman squeezes the bottle with olympian-like strength, a large blob of the gel substance resting in her large, rough palm. Immediately her hands are once again on his head, combing through his roots and ends with her fingers, spreading the product vigorously throughout his scalp. The ray of light peaking through the salon’s window acts as a spotlight on the illustrious shine his hair now boasts.
‘That’s more like it.’
He leaves the thought to himself—this time. The woman grabs the stray hairs in the back of his head and fashions them in a style similar to that of a topknot, binding the hair with a lavender-hued hairband. Kaisou couldn’t jump up fast enough, he was so excited to be out of the chair and away from the grasp of that.. Monster. He’d make sure that by the time he came in for his appointment next week that she no longer had a job; this, he would make his mission. His dark, indigo Kimono swayed in the small winds generated by a central fan within the salon, fluttering behind the man as he galavanted toward the receptionist. It was here that, most individuals would usually pay for their services. Kaisou—unsurprisingly—had other plans. The woman at the desk seemed to already anticipate his arrival. She notices the moment he jumps out of his chair, notices when he is taking his final steps towards her; she notices every. Single. Detail. Her eyes seem glued to the man, her cheeks flushed in red as she fidgets with the papers on the desk as a distraction for herself. When he finally arrives directly in front of her, she struggles to even formulate her words.
“Er- Ermm… H-Hey Kaisou! You just ha-have the usual? Th-That’ll be 4300 Kan, p-please.”
She stutters endlessly, her pitchy, whiny voice like nails on a chalkboard to the man. However, she was pleasant to look at; plus, he needed a favor.
“Hey, Uhh….”
He inconspicuously attempts to locate her nametag, trying to be as personable as possible to the girl who was clearly a fan of his.
“-Numiko! That’s it. Hey, how are you.. Yes, yes. The usual, you see.. I could possibly give you that but the most unfortunate thing happened to me on the way here! You see.. I was robbed! Oh the horror, the tragedy! I might just be traumatized forever!”
She responds positively to even hearing him say her name aloud, hardly paying attention to the fact that it’s pinned to her Shihakushou. He puts on an entire act, his hand rising to cover his forehead as if he was feeling faint, and couldn’t stand the thought of the imaginary events that transpired.
“Oh you poor thing! Well don’t you worry! I-I’ll handle it for you this time. I-I’m sure it’ll be okay!”
His act seems to immediately cease after his goal is accomplished, his tone and demeanor returning to normal. He takes his right index finger and gently taps it against her chin, winking at her while he spoke.
“What a doll. Bye Ladies!”
He turns his back, having bid the entire roster of women that occupied the salon a farewell, he couldn’t be rude and leave without speaking, after all.
"Bye Kaisou!"
"Oh he’s so cute."
"Bye Kaisou!"
"I wish he’d come in every day"
"Bye Kaisou!"
"I want to find a man like him!"
"Bye Kaisou!"
The murmurs increase in intensity as the door closes behind him. He was surely going to be the topic of discussion now that he had left. They could gossip about the man to their hearts’ content now that he wasn’t around to hear the gritty details. He exhales, crossing his arms in front of him so that each of his hands rests within the opposite Kimono sleeve. His Zanpakuto dangled and clacked its metals as it bounced with each stride tucked within his pink Obi-sash. The salon was only about a block or so down from the Fourth Division Barracks entrance, allowing him to get back home rather quickly. He was hoping Nakamoto-Taichou had surrendered during his Kenpachi Games fight and made his way back towards the barracks. After all, he was forced to join the stupid sport. All of this, for some old man’s amusement. He’d never understand. He simply scoffs at the thought, immediately noticing that the barrack was still somewhat barren upon his arrival. He supposed that many of the medics were deployed out to act as a recovery unit for the contestants. He’d rather not, after all this beautiful hair wasn’t going to do itself! He found one of the many isolated gardens within their facilities and plopped down onto a bench, watching the trees, listening to the birds, and waiting for someone to arrive to compliment him on his hair. He fiddled with it briefly here and there, straightening the edges and moving any stray hairs back into place. He soon had no choice but to break into thought. Wasn’t it close to or about time for Tosu’s next treatment? And wait, wasn’t Lieutenant Izumi still supposed to be here while Taichou was gone? He soon became confused, with only one thought in mind.
Just where was everyone—and what were they doing?
