tenshusuto asked:
ㅤThere is a looming silhouette leaning against the balcony railing in the upper part of S.R.D.I. But the Captain sure recognized who the voice belonged to even without properly seeing the bearer.
ㅤThe not-so-phantom presence uttered, '' Do you think 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 painted himself into 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐬 because he considered himself equal to the great masterminds ( that either /he/ or society admired ), or the opposite? He never considered himself worthy to climb the same stairs and reach their level? ''
@tenshusuto ／ unprompted ／ always accepting.
Always a fan of the dramatics...
It seemed that some things never changed.
Whether that would be for better or for worse, however... would remain to be (unfortunately...) seen. There was nothing to be done about it, anyway, especially since Urahara's already here. What could he have possibly done-- chase him out? Tch! That was something only a moron (and mayuri wasn't even close.) would believe in. Optimism, once upon a time, was welcomed within the Twelfth's barracks -- perhaps, when someone other than Mayuri was rudely taking up space, hmm... -- but those times were long gone.
They were lost to the metaphorical sands of time, only capable of being drenched up by those that were bold enough to remember. Some may wonder, too, where did Mayuri stand on this so-called "spectrum"?
Well, the middle, obviously.
"No," he responded after allowing for a few moments of silence to drift by, occasionally intercepted by rapid plonking of fingers to keys. Not once did Mayuri bother to look up from his spot (what's the point? urahara's going to do whatever he wanted, and who was mayuri to say anything? it's not like he was captain or anything, tsk...) nor did he truly work to engage any further. "Instead of pondering on something with an answer..."
Hands would pause then, freezing in an instant. Even if the blond were to attempt to (thinks about cutting him off, metaphorically with his words but, also, literally with the sprinkler that was found a mere, few inches above his head.) to respond, Mayuri deemed it worthy enough to ignore, anyway. It wasn't anything out of the usual, honestly-- if anything, he was offering the other man a little too much leniency but... whatever.
It didn't matter nor would it matter in the long run.
"Shall I look it up for you?"
Be it out of the kindness (invalid. unknown query. 404 error.) of his own heart or, rather, because Mayuri wished to end this meddlesome interaction, he's already proceeding to "look it up". Fingers remained within their stilted, rigid position as his head raised. It was only by a few centimeters, but those with a keen eye should've been able to catch on. Why wouldn't they? Some of those "people" had already decided that breaking and entering was completely fine, after all.
No, he wasn't angry.
A little aggravated, yes... but not angry.
That comes later, if Urahara decided to push his luck.
Illuminated by nothing but the bright, neon blue hue of his largest monitor, honeyed eyes were abrupt in how they rolled up into the back of his skull. All signs of white that were found upon his body (his paint, the whites of his eyes, his gums...) were subtly tinted, fading into a color that attempted to mirror his LED. All that remained, now, was beats' worth of silence that was occasionally cut in by the gentle whirring of some machinery that was nowhere to be seen and yet... was audible, as clear as day.
A few wheezes of air here... and a few clinking of data flashing on screens there... All of that was nothing more but ambiance, serving as what remained of the captain's latest projects. When those were finished, he'd merely begin anew with fresh eyes, fresh ideas, and fresh methods. Who's to say, too, that he hasn't thought to start more already? Answering a question better akin for a debate class held very little weight in comparison and, quite frankly, Mayuri thought it within his right to grow offended.
Whatever it was that Urahara Kisuke had to gain from this, surely it wasn't worth the amount of time Mayuri was (and he'll admit. it was on purpose.) wasting. Rummaging throughout the vast nothingness known as the "world wide web", of course, took some time. He was sure that his little, uninvited guest wouldn't mind.
Ultimately, he did ask a question, so... the polite thing to do was to answer it. That was basic cause and effect, honestly. Mayuri would simply hate to feed him misinformation. In some ways, with that in mind, he was actually doing him a favor.
Perhaps he ought to thank him after all was said and done.
Time was hard to track, especially with all sources of telling time facing the "misfortune" of suddenly shutting down. That wasn't meant to happen, no... no, obviously not. It certainly had nothing to do, either, with how the scientist appeared to be having trouble "finding" (he's found it since a while, now, and has been holding onto it.) an answer most befitting to Urahara's standards.
His monitor's grown a bit darker since, dimming in its brightness as it steadily strayed into its sleep mode. Contents of its screen (basic data entry; mayuri was busying himself with... ah, "busy work". basic inventory, in layman's terms.) remained visible but barely legible, with its translucent, white text on top of a blue backdrop. Its scheme was meant to nauseate, to discomfort-- it was something meant for Mayuri's eyes only, and the defense mechanism was simple, easy, and clean to script.
What made it reliable, too, was that while it was a beginner's task to script, it was best suited for the so-called experts (he's seen a few attempt. none cracked the code as of yet.) to decipher.
Lower lip quivered in subtle twitches, implying that an active search was still in progress. At this point in time, though, all that Mayuri was done was casually scrolling through the rest of the results that popped up. Some were mildly laughable, others somewhat plausible, while some... well, the rest were hogwash.
"... Ah, here it is. I finally found it," he suddenly chimed in, irises revealing themselves in mere seconds right after.
Fingers resumed their typing as his head lowered, seamlessly continuing from where he last left off. Teeth bore in a faint grimace (he hoped it was as annoying for urahara as it was for him to put up this stupid, childish façade.) before, with a cluck of his tongue, he proceeded.
"Hmmnn... The majority believed that it was, simply put, a signature; nothing particularly special. The School of Athens was commission work, proffered by none other than a pope-- Pope Julius II, if you were a stickler for that particular detail... not that it matters, seeing as he's long dead now," he pauses to lean away from his work, entwining his fingers and straightening his arms in order to entice a long, drawn out yet much needed crack out from his knuckles. "Mainly painted as a decoration... hence its eccentric location... it was also intended to "praise" the church, because-- well, I'm sure you know why."
All of this effort, and Mayuri was well aware that it wouldn't bare much fruit. He's sure that he was doing this, majorly, for sake of Urahara's "amusement". Whatever the absolute hell that was, anyway.
"I stopped reading after a few paragraphs, because it was starting to grow repetitive," came the lackadaisical "confession", lacking in its expected remorse, "but, to be blunt, it was a blatant "self-insert", because how else would he include a signature? By signing it? Pfft... That would've gotten him executed, I'm sure, for being so bold."
Placing his hands back upon the keys, he straightened his back only to hunch it seconds later. There were no signs of discomfort arising (why? he's fine like this.), and he'd most likely be here for some time to come.
"Is that all? Any more asinine questions?"
In spite of the retort, Mayuri doesn't wait for a response.
A certain shopkeeper's overstayed his welcome, and it was time he took his leave.
As if to encourage a hasty retreat, the sprinkler above the man's head springs to life (the clocks, too, returned to normal. it was as if nothing happened-- besides, well, showing that ten minutes had passed.) and immediately drenches him in water.
He huffed a sigh and hung his head. Stopping in his ministrations, he rubbed his lips together (how annoying.) before raising a hand, snapping its fingers twice in rapid succession.
"Now then, if you'd be so kind as to--"
Without warning, the sprinkler's increased in intensity (it can go further, too, if mayuri wanted it to.) and narrowed its focus, almost like it honed in on Urahara and Urahara only.
