False dawn had settled over the Seireitei, the sky a dull grey-blue that would not brighten for some time yet. There was a slight chill in the morning air, the first whispers of a changing season. This was the time of day when Genpaku did most of his training; there had been a time when he'd done this to avoid other people. Now it was simply a habit, and old habits die long deaths. Today's training required a specific setting though; normally, Genpaku trained outdoors where he had freedom to move about. Whenever he was training with his own Zanpaku-tous, he always left the Seireitei to find unpopulated places where his reiatsu would not negatively affect anyone accidentally. Today however, Genpaku needed to be indoors. Every Division had an indoor training area, one of those old-style dojos. And at this hour, he had the room to himself.
The Captain of the Tenth Division stood at the center of the room. After a moment, he took a step forward and flipped himself into a handstand. However, his concentration and balance were interrupted by something obvious; his clothing sagged down, instantly becoming an irritation. He sighed and shoved himself out of the handstand and back to standing. He seemed to consider the time for a moment; it was unlikely anyone would be along any time soon. So he walked to the edge of the room, removing his kosode and shitagi. He folded them neatly and placed them down on top of his Haiori and zanpaku-tous. Two things became readily apparent as Genpaku made his way back to the center of the room.
One, that the Captain of the Tenth Division was in much better shape than his slender frame would suggest. His arms were corded muscle, not the bulging things a body builder would proudly display; they were more like swimmer's muscles, or a martial artist's. They were muscles shaped to purpose. The second, and more obvious, feature were the scars. One expected someone who participated in melee combat against monsters to sport a few scars. Some displayed them with pride, some made no ornamentation of them. If you were observant and spent time around Genpaku Arishima, you would have spotted a few scars on his person. A few that poked out along his arms near his wrists and hands. A few that peered out at his collar bone. Those, however, were the least of his scars.
Naked to the waist, Genpaku's chest and abdomen were a ruin of old scars. Indeed there seemed to be more scar than skin; gashes and gouges, Genpaku had more scars than almost any other few Shinigami combined. These scars crawled up to his shoulders and down his arms. There were surprisingly few on his back, though those that were there looked more like they had been made from the front than from a blow originating behind him. While Genpaku had made peace with the event that had spawned these scars, he always covered them in the presence of others; peace or not he was not a fan of retelling the story of their creation or of dealing with the stares that it generated.
As he reached the center of the room he flipped back into his handstand, gauging his balance. His eyes became focused as he set about his training. He bent his arm, doing a hand-stand push up; as he came back up he vanished. He appeared again, in a different spot of the dojo still holding his hand-stand. In the Gotei, Genpaku was considered by many to be one of the faster Shinigami. There was a time when he'd even have gone along with someone saying he might have been one of the top three active Shinigami where speed was concerned. It was a different time. Along the same vein, there were few Shinigami who had delved into the Hohō techniques as far as Genpaku had and he was one of the few that was capable of performing a flash step using his hands and arms. He didn't seem to find this particularly impressive anymore.
Thus, this exercise. He repeated it again and again, keeping count in his head.
Last edited by Genpaku on Thu Oct 06, 2016 8:35 am; edited 1 time in total
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