Welcome to Bleach Society Role-Play, BSRP for short. We're a Beginner to Advanced canon site with non-canon elements for maximum roleplay enjoyment. We focus on characters' individual stories; however, there are many more than your own. Best viewed in Google Chrome!
Bleach was created by Tite Kubo. All site systems were created by current and former staff members of BSRP to enhance the roleplay experience. Banners and theme coding belongs to Kaz, inspired by Timetables, with credit to Smangii for the sidebar and Pyxis of Gangnam Style for the Thread List. General site coding and plugins are from various support sites like Smangii and Proboards Support, all credit to their creators. All characters, threads, and ideas on this site belong to their respective creators. Various images were taken from sites including but not limited to Zerochan, Photobucket, deviantART, all credit to original creators. Do not steal the original work found on this site. We'll find you.
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Cyrell was not strong. But after her last close encounter, she had vowed that she would attain at least enough combat proficiency that she would not be a sitting duck. Becoming top quartile was possible, even for a being as stunted as she was, with sufficient effort. And that was what Cyrell was doing now. Little did she know that, as an arrancar, she was in fact predisposed to combat. Her basis for comparison? It had always been her peers. As clever as Cyrell was, she had internalized her relative "ineptitude" but inept compared to whom? Compared to the engineered super-soldier arrancar of Aizen's army? Of course any being that was not absolutely cream of the crop was discarded as she was. While she didn't know this, she would still try to get to a point where she wasn't merely dinner for the next hollow that decided to come along and decide that she looked like a tasty snack. She had chosen an isolated area of the menos forest, littered with the skulls of hundreds of enormous hollows, from some time long forgotten. Yes, this would be the perfect place. She had already begun the preparations, and everything seemed to be ready.
She had set up a kind of... Athletic stadium. The skeletons cleared, and the area was devoid of trees for several hundred meters. She had dragged a bone across the floor, to make the sand as flat as it could be and had discovered that underneath the top layer, was a much firmer bed of sandstone. Her dress had been discarded for the moment, and she wore a stolen sports bra and lycra shorts, taken from some human supermarket. She looked at the track laid out before her. There were markers for distance, and just enough sand remaining that she would be able to see every step she took. Of all of the ways of improving the speed and range of her sonido, Cyrell thought this was the most methodical and the easiest to track, to boot. She had a setup of a small pistol as well as a laptop, and a robot to pull the pistol. The idea being she would be able to track her time. Like a human on a sprint track. But unlike a human, who would take many many steps, her goal was simply to reduce the number of steps she took; hence the sand as a marker.
She began. Pressing a button on the laptop, and crouching down to begin, there were three beeps. Three. Her heart raced with anticipation. Two. Her blood squeaked in her ears. One. Her muscles tensed. Bang! The gun fired, and she lurched forwards. With the sound of static, she blurred out of existence. She willed herself forward, and exited the step slightly off-balance. But no matter, she recovered and took into another step. Exiting this one slightly better, she struggled to retain focus- she could see the finish line ahead, and stepped forwards once more, exiting fairly short of her goal, before taking a final step through the ribbon at the end, triggering the computer to finish recording her time. She fell sprawling to the floor, panting profusely. That hadn't been easy to do at all. She had recovered a remarkable distance, and she walked back slowly to get her breath back. Her calves were already sore. It was with a slight buzz of triumph that she looked at her time; a little under one second. She knew, of course, that the timing would be so fast, it would be difficult to measure but she'd double and triple checked for latency already.
Okay, so 0.9989 and four steps. Not too shabby, but she would have to set herself a goal. What did she want to be able to achieve? The pleasant thing about training, she pondered, was that overall her fitness was already at its peak. It was more technique she had to consider. This told her, mostly, that the easiest way to shave time was to cut down the number of steps she had to perform. Cutting down to three seemed to be a reasonable goal at this juncture. Her penultimate step last time had brought her close. Firstly, she would try again, without messing up the first step, so as to cut down on sloppiness. Then she might be able to address her technique. And so she set the rig up once more, re-cocking the gun and hitting the space bar on the laptop.
One. She got into position. Two. A bead of swear rolled off her chin. Three. Mind empty. The gun went off and she shot forward. A perfect exit to the first step before she seamlessly blended into the second. Then she got a little over excited, and stepped quickly forward without performing sonido, oh dear.
Her recovery had been fairly successful and her landing wasn't the cleanest but it would do the job before with an extra surge of adrenaline, she stepped forward to complete number four. When she exited four she noticed that she had erased approximately three quarters off the distance between herself and the finish line and so five was a doddle. Crossing the ribbon, she leisurely stepped back using sonido this time, excited to see the time. She took it gently and did it in eight or nine steps, she wasn't exactly sure.
The time for this time was longer- 1.2324. But as she had done a much larger portion of it not in Sonido, a step could make all the difference, she was overall still pleased with the result. She wiped her face down with a towel. Okay, it was time for try number three. When she had gotten it without messing up, then she would take a better look at her form and technique which would be a little more difficult. Taking a sip of water from her bottle, she performed several muscle stretches and did a cursory pesquisa for foreign presence but found absolutely nothing around her.
Now she was absolutely sure the perimeter was safe, no nasty surprises here thank you very much, she readied herself once more, setting up her rig and getting into a runner's position. She hit the key on the laptop to once again start the countdown. One. Two. Three. And with a bang, she launched herself into sonido, lithely exiting the step when it had taken her as far as it could, and instantly pivoting into the next. The transition between the second and third was perhaps even smoother as only a single foot touched the ground, it was apparent that she was really getting the hang of this. She exited her third step and saw the finish line was even closer for her efforts, and with a final push, she sailed through the finishline, amazed at having been able to cut down the number of steps for her long-distance sprint down already. With the wind, seemingly, at her heels Cyrell headed back to where her setup was to check her time and it was indeed lower, by a couple of seconds. She realized the precision of her watch wasn't especially helpful; it seemed very do-or don't. All she had to do now was repeat her performance.
And repeat it she did. As she sailed through the finish line, she realized that her initial target had been beyond optimistic. That had been a series of perfect steps, and she had improved her initial performance severalfold; her steps were graceful, effortless now. She leapt not with the timid trepidation of a lamb but with the bold confidence of a lioness. She felt each muscle flex and fold, fitting seamlessly into one another like the most well engineered machine. For the first time in her entire life, Cyrell considered that perhaps... Perhaps she was powerful, or she could be if she wanted to be. She traipsed back to her computer and it confirmed that she had far exceeded all earlier performance. For fun she re-set the rig and ran it again. All tight. Not a drop of sweat out of place. With a rising sense of glee, Cyrell stopped bothering with the setup and dashed at top speed, back and forward on the sand. Each footstep was deliberate and focused. Occasionally there would be a misstep but she could see why that happened; she was aware of her body, she could fix mistakes. And as time wore on, each overreach, each wrong footfall, every accidental shift of balance faced to nothing and she became speed, kicking dust into the air with endless footsteps.
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CBOX RULES
I. DON'T START/ENGAGE IN DRAMA.
II. DON'T ASK FOR GRADINGS.
III. RESPECT EVERYONE.
IV. NO BIGOTRY.
V. NO IMITATING PEOPLE.
VI. KEEP IT PG-13.
VII. NO ADS/LINKING OTHER FORUMS EXCEPT RESOURCE SITES
VIII. DON'T SPOIL NEW CHAPTERS.
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XI. IF STAFF ASKS YOU TO STOP OR MOVE ON, DO IT.
XII. NO TROLLING/FLAMING.
