He didn’t know how it was that he came to be standing there, on that glowing circular platform within the a building he had never before seen, only that he was certain he had not been mere moments before. He had not even been standing before, relegated to the constrictive bindings of the most powerful nature and fastened to the chair that would be his only company, Aizen had lost sense of his prison the moment he was placed into it. His senses deprived, he knew he was in Hell only because he had been told he was being sent there. He didn’t even know how long he’d spent like that before he was suddenly… here.
Dazed by the abruptness of the return of his senses, uncertain which to focus on, Aizen followed the smiling guide woodenly. Too distracted by the scuffs of his boot against stone the floor, his eyes had lowered, lingered on the black and white stitch of the boot he wore, the white and flowing hakama that covered all but his foot. He marveled at the softness of the fabric and the reassuring familiarity of the garments, the weight of them. His hands came up unbidden to press into the coat and the shirt, and Aizen’s gaze turned to them next, marveling at each deft movement, each artful muscle as his fingers flexed free of restriction, for the span of a heartbeat.
Needless to say, he missed most of the tour. Only the weapon restored his focus, however briefly. Yet, once that was in his hands, his attention became so focused he paid little attention to the remainder. But items were pressed into those hands: a key, a curious piece of technology he had yet to see the like of, currency; and the smiling guide was leaving, off to assist the next arrival, and Aizen...
Well, he was left to stand there. What this place was did not hold the same relevance as why he was there, yet he wondered both. He wondered, as he stowed what he had been given in his sash, but he wasn't troubled. His now free hand closed around the hilt of Kyouka Suigetsu, the sword that was once more sheathed as his side, and Aizen's posture relaxed somewhat. It was still exacting, but the surety returned to his bearing, and the fog in his mind peeled back.
Even as the smirk curled the corner of his mouth. Yes, this was quite the development, wasn't it?
Open! Any format/tense is fine with me.
Dazed by the abruptness of the return of his senses, uncertain which to focus on, Aizen followed the smiling guide woodenly. Too distracted by the scuffs of his boot against stone the floor, his eyes had lowered, lingered on the black and white stitch of the boot he wore, the white and flowing hakama that covered all but his foot. He marveled at the softness of the fabric and the reassuring familiarity of the garments, the weight of them. His hands came up unbidden to press into the coat and the shirt, and Aizen’s gaze turned to them next, marveling at each deft movement, each artful muscle as his fingers flexed free of restriction, for the span of a heartbeat.
Needless to say, he missed most of the tour. Only the weapon restored his focus, however briefly. Yet, once that was in his hands, his attention became so focused he paid little attention to the remainder. But items were pressed into those hands: a key, a curious piece of technology he had yet to see the like of, currency; and the smiling guide was leaving, off to assist the next arrival, and Aizen...
Well, he was left to stand there. What this place was did not hold the same relevance as why he was there, yet he wondered both. He wondered, as he stowed what he had been given in his sash, but he wasn't troubled. His now free hand closed around the hilt of Kyouka Suigetsu, the sword that was once more sheathed as his side, and Aizen's posture relaxed somewhat. It was still exacting, but the surety returned to his bearing, and the fog in his mind peeled back.
Even as the smirk curled the corner of his mouth. Yes, this was quite the development, wasn't it?
"So it is..." he commented absently.