Those Who Can't [Shio/Tatsuya]

The training ground was a familiar place for most shinigami, filled with familiar sounds and smells.  The faint scent of oiled steel, of thinly-restrained violence and aggression.  The stench of sweat and blood, of pain and dissapointment.  The faint, ever-so-faint sounds of countless people, all trying their best to make their aching bodies respond and transcend.  But today, all of this was masked and mingled by less familiar sounds, less familiar smells, less familiar sights.  Today, many of the sounds were replaced with good-natured ribbing and jeers, of people who seemed to have almost no ill intent whatsoever as they sparred.  It was filled with the unmistakable smells of combat, yes...but underneath it was a pleasant, nose-tickling melange of old worn leather and tobacco, something strangely soothing.

And Shio Mora, of the first division, was sitting off in a corner, clapping his hands politely and exuberantly every few minutes, doing his best to urge on his fellow shinigami.  One or two were doing quite poorly, but Shio rooted and cheered all the same.  There wasn't anything to be gained by remarking on their disgraceful displays, and besides.  That was the role of their commanding officer, not Shio.  He had little desire or interest to start interfering with these people's carefully constructed worlds.  There would be no benefit from making enemies of these people, these ones he'd one day have to rely on to be by his side.

Join them, child!  It will be fun!  I know how badly your fingers itch to pick up your sword and get swept into the revelry.

Ah, but if I did that it wouldn't be revelry.  Not anymore.  These people need a tempering influence.  One to keep their spirits high and their tempers low.

There was only silence in response to his comment, but Shio was used to this sort of silence.  It was the silence that came from someone trying very hard not to speak, of Taroba doing her damndest not to leave his day spoiled by some sharp-tongued, lashing comment.  The very thought that she would be so concerned about -his- feelings discomfited Shio no small amount.

"Ooh, I felt that one all the way from over here!  I honestly think you're worse than a charging bull when you use that technique, Ludo!  Do you have a name for it, yet?  How about...'Ushi Oni'?"

Shio rose his hands in a gesture of capitulation, taking the jeers and light-hearted tossing of objects with a winning smile.  Of course the joke would've made most of them groan, or want to shut him up.  But at the very least, it wouldn't linger in any of their heads, turning into a festering seed of...something.  Whatever it had been that had driven good men to bad deeds.  Whatever communal madness had snatched the hopes of a fair and proper world from Shio's hands.

Ludo stepped forward, sword resting over his waist in what Shio recognized as one of the sloppiest attempts at an 'at-rest' stance that he'd seen in years.  The shinigami remained tight-lipped, tilting his head ever so slightly as he watched his comrade's face for any sign of disappointment or anger.  But there was only a wide, good-natured grin there.

"Get up here, Shio!  Grab your sword, and join us!  There's room for a whole division to train in here, but you're always on the sidelines!"

"That's because I've got you on the front lines, Ludo.  There's no shame in being a bench-warmer.  I'll take my place when you've finished with yours.  For now, worry about yourself.  I'm learning plenty, just from watching all of you."

Once more, Shio managed a good-natured, careful smile.  This one, he felt would likely get seen through in a moment.  But before Ludo or anyone else could comment, another shinigami had flung themselves from a nearby mat, wrapping their arms around Ludo's neck, their legs around his waist, and screaming something about 'human-style' combat.  Shio turned away, retreating once more into his thoughts before he was forced to find out more about what this sort of thing would entail.