Mask of Persuasion I [Possible CW - ND]

New York. Thurstan liked New York, the city at least. It reminded him of his inner world, in fact, he was pretty sure that it was his inner world. He didn’t much care for the people though. They were plain and boring for the most part, even the artists were predictable. No matter how he felt about the city, though, the visored was here. He smiled as he stepped off of the train at Central Station. The ride from DC had been reasonably pleasant. He’d slept for most of the three hour trip and woke with a sore shoulder from his weight being set against the window of the car.

His hands were tucked away in the pockets of his jacket while his head and shoulders were held high. It smelled like rain, and when he took his first step into New York after 13 long years, he looked up and saw the sky was thick with dark clouds. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it rained today. He tugged his left hand from its pocket and raised his wrist towards his face. 8:26. He smiled to himself because he knew that there was plenty to be done in New York City.

As Thurstan started to make his way down the street, through the crowds of people that passed him by, he couldn’t help but notice a powerful flair of reiatsu in the distance that faded as quickly as it had appeared. He was in his gigai, so there wasn’t much he could do about it without people freaking out at the lifeless body he’d leave lying in the dirt. So, he deemed the wiser decision would be to slowly make his way towards the energy signature while he let off a signal of his own. The reiatsu was another visored, so similar to a shinigami, but at the same time, there was something slightly off about the aura.

Thurstan flaired his own reiatsu, aiming it upward as he moved in order to prevent the civilians all around him from feeling the weight. Still, he couldn’t help but notice people beginning to stumble.

Thurstan paused for a moment and snapped his pupils to his right. There, leaning against the window of a jewelry store, was a man with grey skin and scars across his forehead. He looked the man over before following up with the rest of his head, now exposing his whole face to the man. This was the visored he was looking for. He seemed so calm and collected, warm and inviting. It was a nice feeling to see someone like that among the many cold and selfish people that travelled these streets on a daily basis. He dropped his reiatsu signal and turned towards the man, keeping his hands in his pocket.

“I could say the same to you.” Thurtsan smiled and began exerting his reiatsu differently, expressing the emotion of calm and comfort. He could feel the tension about him dropping, making the tense office workers relax there shoulder briefly as they passed him, only to tighten up again when they escaped the range of his influence, which wasn’t all that far when he was doing this, maybe a hundred feet at maximum. Still, he was glad he could help people around him for at least a brief moment in time.

He lifted his right hand from his pocket and held it out to the kindly stranger, only to have a droplet of water crash onto his thumb. “The name’s Trace. Nice to meet you.”

A pleasant smile set itself upon Thurstan’s face. Who’d have guessed that he could make an acquaintance so quickly in this massive city. He reached back and scratched his head before looking up the street in the direction he was going. Perhaps Times Square could wait. The visored turned back to the grey-skinned man. “Alright, I could go for a drink.” As Thurstan made way to keep pace with Ezekiel, he continued. “It’s been a good thirteen years since I last came to New York, just thought I’d stop by and enjoy the sights for a few days.”

This guy was pleasant enough. His skin and scars were a tad menacing, but Trace didn’t judge. He simply continued to release his reiatsu in that comforting manner, altering the wavelengths and levels to adjust the feeling that he gave off.

“And what about you? What brings you to New York this time around?” He was curious, after all, why a man with grey skin would want to be in a place like this with so many people. A smaller town would certainly be more excepting of his unique complexion. Although, a place like this, the people might just be too ignorant and self-centered to even notice. A small town could be worse, too, if they don’t happen to be excepting of new folk. Thurstan also began to wonder at how the man had gotten those scars on his face. They were strange, not much like old wounds, but rather similar to tattoos. Perhaps he tortured at some point in his life, or maybe they were just strange birthmarks.

Thurstan’s lips arced slightly at Ezekiel’s mention of his own complexion. At least the guy wasn’t ashamed of his situation. He seemed to have accepted it and probably used humor as a means to adjust or take his mind off the fact that he was literally the color grey. “Nice to know that you’re not worried about being judged, and, don’t worry. I’m not one to pass judgment based on appearance. You seem nice enough.” Thurstan just continued to follow the man, not really having much else to do thanks to his incredibly flexible schedule. He was just here to visit after all, and making friends generally happened to be part of enjoying oneself.

“To answer your question, I’m three-hundred and eighty six. You’re pretty young for a visored, you know that? I don’t know many of our type as young as you.” They stopped at the short stairway that lead down to the pub entrance from the sidewalk. Thurstan took a second to examine the door. It was a plain dark green and was set with a 4-square design. It was a little dull, but there was enough noise coming from inside that the place seemed to hold the prospect of entertainment. Then, out of nowhere, Ezekiel asked about the war and mentioned watching his quincy mother die.

Archangel froze up. Now was a time to start judging people. Where the hell had that question come from, and the way he so darkly mentioned his mother’s death. They’d just met and he was already being depressing? That usually didn’t start until they’d at least had a couple drinks together. Nonetheless, bringing up the Quincy war, if it could be called a war, more like the Quincy holocaust, made Thurstan’s mood drop to a low. With it, his reiatsu fell too. The wavelengths altered again, and the feeling of comfort faded into a feeling of sorrow and regret. Everyone around him would feel this and their emotions would change to match it. At least, the humans would.

“Honestly, man, I’d rather not talk about the war. I’m sorry about your mother. Believe me, I did all I could to protect your people, but one guy can only do so much.”

Thurstan hadn’t realized he was still releasing his emotional reiatsu. It tended to shift with his feelings if he wasn’t careful. He pulled it back, adjusting it and letting it flow at a normal level. He had no reason to hide it, but he wasn’t going to blast it everywhere anymore. His shoulders fixed themselves and his posture adjusted to its natural noble state. He smiled and tried to shrug off the bad memories of all the quincy he couldn’t save, including the only girl he ever thought he’d really loved. It was so long ago, but the memories were vivid enough. Unlike the others that started to drift away over time, he remembered these likely because they had so much to do with the person he is today.

The visored smiled at the comment brought up by his kin. “I suppose you’re right; it is difficult meeting others like us.” He still felt a little sullen, but he took his metaphorical hands and brushed the dirt from his emotional knees. He couldn’t afford to feel shitty today, he had come to enjoy himself, after all. I just hope I can maintain my composure after I’ve had a bit to drink. Don’t wanna let this get to me. He smiled at the man, now showing no sign that he was at all unhappy.

Then his expression went blank and his cheeks flushed a little. He wasn’t usually bad when it came to social interactions and wasn’t one to blunder easily, but when Ezekiel corrected him on his assumptions Trace couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He laughed as a reaction, to try and ignore his own embarrassment. Reaching up and scratching the back of his head, he spouted jokingly. “Yeah, I guess we do age like snails. I’m really sorry if I offended you, I didn’t mean anything by it I just...” He stopped, realizing that he was started to talk incessant nonsense. He lowered his hand and let his vocal chords relax, letting him speak in his usual calm and friendly tone. “Alright, my bad. Why don’t we go inside and get a drink? That’s what we’re here for, right?”

Trace marveled at the way the whole bar appraised Ezekiel for simply walking into the room. He suddenly felt less like a guest in this city and more like the new kid at school again. He didn’t particularly like the feeling, but he ignored it rather easily. It wasn’t enough to make him truly uncomfortable. Something like that was always hard to accomplish, especially after several hundred years of social experience.

They bartender called the grey-skinned man Zeky. Well, I suppose that’s no worse that Tracy or Tracers. It was sad to hear that Ezekiel couldn’t even go near his child’s school without making his son’s life worse. The skin was bad enough, apparently, and even a place as densely populated as this wouldn’t keep someone from being noticed. He couldn’t understand why Ezekiel would continue to live here if his son was being bullied. Trace’s thoughts brought him back to the idea of living in a small town where there weren’t enough kids for clicks to form. It certainly would’ve been better.

Thurstan took a seat next to Ezekiel and ordered a Black and Tan, his usual whenever he didn’t think the situation was right for a coffee/vodka drink. “That’s great,” Thurstan replied at Zeke’s mention of the spiritually aware human, “It’s nice to meet you.” He held his hand out over the counter. “The name’s Trace.”

Trace had thought about the statement for quite some time. There were plenty of possibilities. He’d been a believer when he died. He was a full fledged catholic. Yet, the aspect of God never really escaped him in the SS. Even most of the Shinigami referred to God as a singular all creating being. Somebody must have created the whole cycle and all the worlds. It wasn’t like the Shinigami or even the soul king could have created the world and Hueco Mundo and even Hell. Still, there had to be some kind of God.

Thurstan remembered hearing that Aizen often talked about being even stronger than God. Trace had also heard about the human girl that revert reality and counter even the creation of God himself. It was an interesting idea and a heavy topic that had a lot of meat behind it. “I dunno.” he said, finally, “I guess that makes some sense. But then they’ll wonder who made the SS and Hueco Mundo and Hell, I mean, how do you explain that stuff? That sure as hell isn’t aliens.”

“I mean, even the Quincy believe they were given those powers by God, right?” Thurstan took another swig of his beer.