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BLEACH: Death and the Strawberry [PG-16. You have been warned.] Chapter 2 added!

Umbra

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Umbra

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To simplify this story; what Bleach would've been like if I had had any say in the plot, starting from the very beginning. Warning: Ichigo is now a What The Hell Hero. If this story returns in your nightmares, I cannot be held responsible.

 

[spoiler=A summary of the plot so far.]

To those who can't be arsed to read the chapters, but still want a grasp on the story, I will write quick summaries. However, as you're being lazy, I have decided not to waste much of my writing on this little side-project and will thus produce my summaries... in limerick form.

 

[spoiler=Chapter One]

Ichigo's life was alright as we knew it,

before his sister got killed, which blew it.

he's slacking in school

but is far from a fool;

He helps ghosts, like Jenny Love Hewitt.

 

The story starts from another perspective,

Mitsuhiro is following his boss's directive.

Then suddenly Yama-kun trips on a vase,

and all hell breaks loose at a ridiculous pace,

as Ichigo's being overprotective.

 

While Ichigo looks like an average guy,

(though the orange-y hair just screams of dye)

he brings Yama's face harm,

breaks Toshi-kun's arm,

and stabs Mitsu-kun in the eye.

 

Koi-kun and Kaito run away from the fight,

where to Mitsu-kun Yuzu's a terrible sight.

They escape from a stranger,

they're safe from the danger,

but they're still very far from alright.

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter Two]

 

 

They call Washa and ask what to do

Their boss is reminded of someone he knew

He arranges a call,

shortly after the brawl,

and heads out to round up his crew.

 

In his mansion sits Washa, a fabulous man.

Lots of men he has gathered for a masterful plan.

As a life on the street they feared,

Washa's offer was by them revered.

And so their time in his service began.

 

Papa Kurosaki's working the nightshift,

When a call from Tsubaki sends him adrift.

He heads back home,

where spirits do roam,

and Yama-kun broke his wedding gift.

 

Washa arrives at House Kurosaki

which is kinda run-down, on the borders of tacky.

Ichi's chilling with his little sisters,

protecting them from villainous misters,

The boss offers Ichi a job - as his lackey?

 

 

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter One: The Black Protector]

Watanabe Mitsuhiro couldn't believe what he was seeing. The five of them were out on another mission for the boss, which had gone well up until now. They'd been asked to ”retrieve” an object from a shopkeeper in Karakura's downtown area, some sort of jewelry the shopkeeper was keeping away from Washa-san. They had all agreed to do it willingly. He'd recruited the five of them from around the region, and one by one convinced them to drop out and work full-time for him. You would expect people who were forced to see each other for ten hours a day would become friends, and for a short time they were. Now, Mitsuhiro simply considered them to be Washa-san's crew. He didn't like them, but he could understand them. Like himself, they needed money, and Washa-san was offering loads of it. This job would've paid enough to get his brother the treatment he needed – if Yama-kun hadn't screwed up.

 

Washa-san had dropped them off at the outskirts of Karakura, saying that he didn't want to look suspicious. If he got too close to the shop, it might alert the keeper. The others had swallowed it wholly, but it gave Mitsu-kun bad vibes. Washa-san had given them directions to the shop; by foot, it would take no longer than forty-five minutes. Yama-kun, however, suggested they should use their skateboards. He said it'd cut it down by half, if not more, and then they could get back to Washa-san faster. Mitsuhiro thought it was a horrible idea, it made them look even less professional than they were, but to his surprise Washa-san agreed. The five of them were now rushing down the streets of Karakura lower at speeds Mitsu-kun only recently had mastered, with the latter only barely being able to cut the sharp corners. Yama-kun, on the other hand, had been a regular skater for the past eight years, and had dropped out of school to focus on his “career” even before Washa-san had picked him up. He was by far the most skilled of the five, and was speeding ahead of the rest. That's what got them into this mess in the first place.

 

By now, night had fallen, and the streets of Karakura were practically deserted. Yama-kun had gone ahead, and turned around a corner. Mitsuhiro, being slower than him, only heard the sound of pottery crashing and Yama-kun's violent swearing. When they caught up with him, Mitsuhiro couldn't believe his eyes. Yama was lying on the ground, holding his right leg and cursing. Even from this distance they could see rips in his pants. Mitsuhiro could see blue ceramics shards lying around his fallen comrade; probably the source of the crash they'd heard earlier. Toshi-kun ran up to him, and knelt at his side. Toshi-kun, nicknamed “Kangohei-san” by the others, had been enrolled in the army for about two months before joining up with Washa-san and had undergone some medical training. He shook his head.

“This looks bad, Yama-kun. You have to look out for stuff like that on the road.”

His words got Mitsuhiro thinking. Who the hell would put a vase in the middle of a street? It wasn't that well trafficked a street, but still! Then, he saw the picture.

“Oh damn. Guys, take a look.”

It was a small, four-by-five white wooden frame, showing a picture of a young girl, possibly eleven or twelve. She had short, light brown hair with a bang hanging across her forehead, and large brown eyes. The picture laid face-up on the street next to Toshi-kun. Beneath the frame, written in black ink, were four words that made Mitsuhiro feel uneasy.

Kurosaki Yuzu. Forever missed.

Toshi-kun had knocked over an offering for a dead girl. To Mitsuhiro, who had been raised very traditionally in a superstitious family, he might as well have danced on her grave. One by one, the guys gathered around Toshi-kun and looked from him to the picture. Kaito-kun, the only black member of their five-man group, shrugged.

“Relax, Mitsu-kun. Dead girls can't hurt you.”

Yama-kun, still writhing in pain, sat up.

“My leg... bastards, look at my leg!”

Toshi-kun pulled up the leg of Yama-kun's pants, and the five guys shied in disgust. Shards of the vase had dug themselves deep in his legs in several places. Blood trickled from all wounds, leaving a stain on the ground. Toshi-kun was the first to regain his mind.

“That looks real bad, Yama-kun. We should get you back to-”

He paused. Yama-kun's eyes were wide open in shock, looking at something behind them. His eyes flickered from this undetermined point to the photo beside him and back.

“Guys... what's that girl doing there?”

The standing guys turned around, but they couldn't see a soul. Toshi-kun looked at Yama-kun.

“What'cha mean, Yama-kun? There's nothing there.”

Yama-kun was shivering, and kept his eyes fixed at something ahead of them. As he spoke, his voice got louder and louder.

“She's coming closer, guys! She's right there!”

“What the hell do you guys think you're doing?!”

 

My name is Kurosaki Ichigo.

 

Ichigo was the only one awake in Kurosaki residence. The orange-haired boy, who had apparently inherited the odd hair color from his mother, was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. His younger sister Karin had gone to bed a few hours ago, and his dad hadn't returned from his night shift at the hospital. The house was quiet, now that Yuzu was...

He tried to hold back the tears, but wasn't successful. She'd been run over on the way home from school three weeks earlier, and the funeral had been a day of sorrow. Karin had been depressed ever since, refusing to speak more than one word at a time. She was closer to Yuzu than him, which was natural; they were fraternal twins. He was sure that his friends had noticed, though. They all knew what had happened, and had started to avoid him. He had caught word that people thought their family “cursed”, with his mother being killed eight years earlier, and now Yuzu. He'd punch anyone who said it to his face, but behind his back he could only ponder it. Maybe they were cursed.

 

Age: sixteen.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash and a stream of loud swearing from outside. At first, he thought it was his dad, home from the hospital, and jumped to his feet to greet him. On the way up, he cast a quick glance at the clock they kept by the kitchen window – and froze. It was midnight, and still two hours before his dad's shift ended. He couldn't be home now. Ichigo ran into the living room without turning on the lights, and looked out the window. Some gang was outside, standing in a circle around something. That's where we put the offering for Yuzu... they messing with it? Wasting no time, he rushed out of the kitchen and entered a state of calmness. He and those who knew him called it “the calm before the storm”: whenever Ichigo would get in a fight, he relaxed completely. He slammed the door open, and turned on the hallway light.

 

My dad's been working at the hospital since before I was born. I've always been able to see it around him.

 

Mitsuhiro couldn't believe it. The situation was getting worse by the minute. Not only had they broke the offering, now they'd been spotted doing it. Washa-san wasn't going to appreciate that. To Mitsuhiro's surprise, Yama-kun climbed to his feet.

“It's... it's none of your business, kid.”

Mitsu-kun looked at the guy standing in the door. He had orange hair, something which freaked Mitsuhiro out. When he was five, the building his family had lived in had burned down, killing four people. Ever since, he had associated orange with a cruel, destructive death. There was something else, though. He vaguely recalled hearing about someone with orange hair, a troublemaker who got into fights... and won. The black protector. Kurosaki Ichigo. He suddenly started shivering, worse than Yama-kun had done earlier. He looked at the others; they didn't seem to recognize Kurosaki, nor care about it. Ichigo looked from Yama-kun to the street, then to Yama-kun's exposed leg.

“Two questions.”

Mitsuhiro didn't even see the guy run up to them, nor his leg moving. Suddenly, Yama-kun had simply been kicked in the face. Mitsuhiro's partner in crime could only let out a shriek in surprise from his bloody lips as he, once again, fell to the ground. Holy freaking goddamn sonnuva-

“Yama-kun! What the hell, man?”

Toshi-kun, who was standing right beside Yama-kun and thus not even two feet from Kurosaki, swung out his right arm.

“You'll pay for that, you-”

He didn't get any further. Kurosaki had grabbed his hand, stopping the swing completely.

“Question one, smellface. What's that thing your friend broke?”

Cold sweat had broken out on Toshi-kun's forehead. The other two guys, Kaito-kun and Koi-kun, were as nailed to the street. Mitsuhiro couldn't move a muscle. Toshi-kun, stuttering, managed to squeeze out a few words.

“A vase... an offering to some dead kid?”

Kurosaki's arm moved, barely visible to Mitsuhiro, and Toshi-kun screamed in pain as he was thrown to the ground. His arm was in an unnatural angle, and within moments he passed out.

“Great answer!”

Kurosaki turned to face Mitsuhiro, who suddenly saw his life flash by before his eyes.

“Second question. Why is it broken?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitsuhiro saw Kaito-kun and Koi-kun run off to where they came from. Kurosaki smiled.

“That's some sucker loyalty you got. Answer the question, you bastard.”

Mitsuhiro's voice was reduced to a mere mumbling.

“Yama-kun... he couldn't see where he was going... he was on his skateboard... he broke it.”

Kurosaki suddenly became grim.

"Shitty answer."

He knelt beside the knocked-out Yama-kun and reached for his leg. Before Mitsuhiro realized what was going on, Kurosaki grabbed one of the vase pieces stuck in the leg and pulled it out. Blood started to gush out of the wound. He stood up, and turned to Mitsuhiro.

“There is an afterlife, you know. Where people go when they're dead, and have finished everything they've left behind. My sister didn't have anything to finish before she got herself run over. Life's not fair. Not to me, not to you, not to my sister. The least you can do...”

He took a single step, and was now next to him, holding the bloody piece between his fingers.

“... is to apologize.”

Kurosaki's hand moved again, but this time Mitsuhiro was able to see the movement. However, he was nowhere near fast enough to react in time. Kurosaki's hand went forward and upward... toward his face. Instinctively, Mitsuhiro closed his eyes. As he closed it, he could see that Kurosaki went for his cheek – no, further up

splosh

Mitsuhiro's muscles finally caught up with his brain, and his hands immediately flung up to the left side of his face. He could feel something hard there, something that hadn't been there before... and some sort of gelatine, viscous fluid, but he couldn't open his left eye. He opened the right eye; Kurosaki was still standing there, a completely calm expression on his face. Mitsuhiro was struck by fear.

“I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun! I'm sorry, very very sorry!”

Kurosaki smiled.

“You recognize me, huh? Anyhow, it's not me you should apologize to. When a ghost is still linked to our world, an offering allows it to appear to those who enter it. All that's needed is that a part of the offering enters someone's body.”

He took a step to the side.

“It's her you should apologize to, punk.”

Mitsuhiro's right eye looked past him – and directly at the little girl standing behind him. He recognized her from the photo; this was Kurosaki Yuzu. Was being the key word; he was only able to put things together because the face was partially intact. She looked almost as if she had been cut in half; her right arm was severed at the shoulder. The right leg, on the other hand, was only partially cut, showing a straight incision through the thigh, the knee and ending halfway down the shin. Mitsuhiro could clearly see the pulsating muscles and the painfully white circle that must be the shinbone sticking out near the bottom. That side of her head was practically skinned clean; the cranium was visible, sticking out through burned patches of skin and hair, while the eyeball still moved and followed the surroundings.

Mitsuhiro would never forget that night.

 

 

[spoiler=Two: Midnight Call]

Fujimoto Kaito and Kuninobe Koibe stopped. They'd been running for at least ten minutes by now, as fast as they could without pause. Now, they were finally coming to a halt, incidentally not far from where Washa-san had dropped them off. It had been less than half an hour ago, but to the two young men it felt like a lifetime. Night had now fallen completely over the small town, and the street lamps cast intimidating shadows. Kaito thought he could see that orange-haired guy out of the corner of his eye, running after them and ready to jump at them. Kaito tried to catch his breath.

”You... you heard him too, right?”

Koibe nodded. Mitsuhiro's scream, not a minute after they'd managed to escape – chicken out, Koibe-chan, you big baby – wasn't something he'd forget in years.

”There was nothing we could do... He'd have killed us too, if we'd stayed. That guy's crazy.”

Kaito shook his head.

”I don't think he killed them. Not Yama-kun or Toshi-kun, at least.”

He sat down on the sidewalk, and buried his face in his hands.

”What should we do, Koi-kun? We can't get to that shop with just the two of us, it'd never work.”

Koibe sat down next to him.

”Mission failed, I guess. We oughtta call Washa-san.”

Kaito nodded.

”Yeah, he'll probably think of something. He could help us get the others to a hospital, at least.”

Koibe reached into his pocket. Washa-san had given them cell phones when they first started going as a group, with short numbers to him and to each other. Koibe noticed his hand was shivering. In the back of his head, he still heard Mitsu-kun's scream. He gulped, and dialed 1.

 

A room covered in darkness. Washa-san's private study could best be described that way. The only window was curtained off, and almost all electronics had been removed. He preferred sitting in the dark, and only kept a fluorescent lamp on his desk for show. His night vision was trained to excellence. Days could pass without him leaving the study, sitting by his desk and making phone calls. The servants would come in with lunch and dinner, which he would often leave half-eaten or not touched at all. This particular evening, Washa-san was at his desk. A bowl of tomato soup was growing cold beside him. The records he was looking through dated back to the eighteen-forties, and listed strange happenings in the greater Karakura region. Brutal murders, disappearances, conflagrations, and the like. There was an unusually high amount for the countryside. He had read through the eighteen-sixties this evening, and found over eighty entries each year. One entry was only listed as chunks, which sent shivers down Washa's spine. He was just about to move on eighteen-sixty-nine when the phone rang. The electronic display showed 17. Washa frowned. That was someone in Mitsuhiro's group. They couldn't possibly be done already. Urahara-san's far too stubborn to give in that easily. He picked up the phone.

”Washa speaking.”

The voice on the other side was stressed.

”Washa-san, it's Kuninobe Koibe. We blew the mission. ”

Washa gasped.

”Blew it?! What do you mean, you failed? Put Mitsuhiro on the line!”

Koibe was silent. Washa could hear his quick breathing on the other side. Something bad happened.

”I'm not sure if Mitsu-kun is alive, Washa-san.”

He explained how Yamamoto Ryounochi, known to them as Yama-kun, had destroyed an offering, and how he and Chiba Toshiro had been assaulted by a local, most likely a relative of the dead. Koibe and Kaito had managed to escape unharmed, but Mitsuhiro was still there. Most likely injured. When he was finished, Washa nodded.

”Fine. Stay where you are. I'll come and pick you up. You know who this orange-haired kid was?”

Koibe was silent. Washa heard Kaito's voice in the background.

”Don't know his first name, but Kaito says the girl's last name was Kurosaki.”

Kurosaki? Washa smiled. It's been a while since I heard that name. Maybe it's time to pay a visit. He cleared his throat.

”Alright, Kurosaki. I'll look it up. You just stay where you are, and I'll get you back after I find the others.”

He cut the call. Reaching for the phone's stationary unit, he pressed the internal call button.

”Yes, Washa-san?”

Washa looked at the curtain, and visioned the new moon he knew was up tonight.

”Hello, Kazuma. Ready the car. I'll be coming down in five minutes.”

”Certainly, Washa-san. Where will you be going?”

Washa smiled.

”I'm going to visit an old friend in Karakura. Ask Tsubaki to look up Kurosaki Isshin's address and phone number.”

”Gladly, Washa-san.”

 

Ichigo took a deep breath. He had dragged the three unconscious gang members off the street and onto the sidewalk from across their house. There was still a lot of blood on the street, and he was sure it would draw attention when people got up, but he couldn't bother. They wouldn't talk. They had no reason to be here. As long as he'd wash his hands and clothes – which weren't exactly crimson but far from clean – nobody'd think he was involved. He looked at the last one, who was still bleeding from his left eye.

”Or what's left of it.”

He smiled. His humor had grown darker during the past few months.

 

Maybe I went overboard on that last one. He would probably be blinded permanently. Lose his depth perception and never work for that gang again. Ichigo had probably done a great good for society by getting these people off the streets. He looked up; the sky was perfectly clear and starry, and the new moon shone brightly. It was actually cold; a breeze went down his shirt and gave him shivers. He looked at the broken offering, now only a few shards of pottery and some flattened flowers. The blue-green vase had been their mother's; she and Isshin had bought it on their honeymoon, in Hawaii. It had no memories of her, unlike Ichigo. He sat down on their side of the sidewalk, the broken vase next to him. He'd taken out the shards from the guy's leg and cleaned them off with the other guys' t-shirts.

“Thank you, Ichigo.”

Yuzu was sitting next to him, on the sidewalk. She looked exactly as he'd remembered her, before the accident; that same orange-blonde hair, those worried brown eyes, looked exactly like before. He had never seen her body after she died, nor did he want to. He preferred remembering her as a living person. As he'd touched the vase pieces, he saw her true appearance; the burned head, the cut off arm and leg that made her limp, and the spinning eyeball. It scared him, but he quickly suppressed the images. He had been able to see ghosts ever since he was born, and strongly suspected that Karin and Yuzu could as well. He patted his little sister on the back.

“No problem, Yuzu. No problem at all.”

 

No more than five minutes later, the phone at Karakura Medical rang. The secretaries redirected the call, coming from a ”Wataya Tsubaki”, to Kurosaki Isshin's office on the third floor. Kurosaki had been offered a job at the hospital after he shut down his clinic a month earlier. No one but Kurosaki and the hospital's director, Ishida Ryuuken, knew the full story about Kurosaki's promotion, but there were as many rumors as doctors in the hospital. Isshin picked up the phone.

“Kurosaki speaking.”

He thought he recognized the voice of the young girl on the other side.

“Kurosaki-sensei, my name is Wataya Tsubaki. I have called you on behalf of my master, Washa.”

Isshin was confounded. The name didn't ring any bells.

“I don't think I know a Washa. If he wants to meet me, I can schedule an appointment for him tomorrow.”

He heard Tsubaki giggle.

“Washa-san knows you, Kurosaki-sensei. He said you wouldn't remember that night when you fought a Hollow and couldn't win. You owe your life to Washa-san, but you don't remember it.”

Isshin gulped. This girl knows about Hollows? And worse, about me? He clenched his hand.

“Urahara told you about me, eh? What does your master wa-”

She giggled again.

“Washa-san is on his way to your home, Kurosaki-sensei. He expects your son and daughter to greet him well.”

Click.

She'd hung up. Isshin waited for a few seconds, then slammed the phone back in its handle. Damn that Urahara. He picked up the phone again, his fingers moving quickly over the numbers.

“Yes, Isshin?”

He sighed.

“Ryuuken, I need to head home. I think my family's in danger.”

He heard Ryuuken mutter something on the other end.

“You'll have to work extra tomorrow, then. I'll move the rest of your hours to the day pass. And that's Ishida-san to you, shinigami.”

Isshin smiled.

“Alright, Ishida-san. Thank-”

Click.

 

Ichigo heard steps coming down the stairs. He sat in the kitchen, as before, and turned around. Within moments, his sister appeared in the doorway. The eleven-year-old Karin didn't look much like Yuzu or Ichigo; her hair and eyes were black, just like their father's. She had heavy bags under her eyes, which barely kept focus on Ichigo.

“I heard someone scream, Ichigo.”

Ichigo sighed. Sure, that last one did scream a lot, but she doesn't need to know.

“Well, it wasn't me. You probably just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Karin shook her head.

“I haven't slept for two days. I saw you, Ichigo. I saw everything.”

He shrugged.

“You really should sleep, Karin. It's not good for you to stay awake.”

She looked into his eyes.

“Those other two didn't do anything. The first one crashed into Yuzu's offering. The others were just trying to help him.”

Ichigo nodded.

“There you go. Assisted violation. Those guys shouldn't have been out there, and now they won't do any harm.”

Karin sighed.

“How can you be sure they weren't just on their way home from something, Ichigo? That you didn't just stab an innocent guy in the eye?”

Her older brother shrugged.

“That first guy told me to buzz off. Don't think the average kid would do that. But I guess I can't be sure. You can see ghosts as good as me, can't you?”

It was her turn to shrug.

“Maybe. Probably better. I can sense their emotions, too. I know how Yuzu felt when she broke the offering, Ichigo, but that doesn't mean you can beat them up like that.”

The doorbell rang before he could respond.

 

Washa stood outside the Kurosaki residence. The black limo that Kazuma had taken him there with was now parked on the other side of the road. His slim, yet strong servant had started dragging Yama-kun into the passenger's seat, doing his best at keeping the leather-coated seats free from blood. The house was unfamiliar to him, but he could recognize Kurosaki Isshin's spiritual pressure. He was here... or had been, recently. He must've moved from that place long ago, to avoid suspicion. He rang the doorbell, unsure what he would see.

 

After a good few seconds, Ichigo got out of his chair and walked to the door. As he passed Karin in the kitchen doorway, he nodded at her.

“It might be some of those guys' friends. Stay out of this.” Don't think they'd use the bell, though.

Karin nodded, and went up the stairs. She sat down at the top, overlooking the hallway. Ichigo slowly opened the door, readying his right hand for a swing. To his surprise, an old man was standing there. He was wearing an unusually large black coat with long sleeves, which was open to reveal a standard black suit. He didn't wear a tie, and was smiling at him, but Ichigo didn't trust him the slightest. The man's gray hair was receding, with a large bald spot on top. He wore white, thick-rimmed glasses.

“Good evening, Kurosaki-kun. My name is Washa, and I'm here to offer you a job.”

 

 

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Dr. Cakey Newbie

Dr. Cakey

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Wow. You weren't kidding. It's...different. Good, very good, but...different.

 

Two items:

1. Mitsuhiro wouldn't be referred to with honorifics by narration.

 

2. Freaking stabbed him in the eye? Seriously? I get what you're trying to do here, but I think that's overdoing it. I was riding with this until that bit - Ichigo was still Ichigo, just a lot darker - but that's just creepy. Even with a dark character like this, you need to maintain some sort of connection between protagonist and audience. I could see him acting like he was about to stab him in the eye, but not actually doing it.

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Umbra Newbie

Umbra

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@Cakey:

1. I wasn't sure about that. Will edit as soon as possible.

2. This, on the other hand, was too awesome to slip up once I'd thought of it. Ichigo has taken Yuzu's death far harder than he thinks; he has more or less reverted to his old self, only a lot worse. I will either edit that into chapter One somehow, or expand upon it in future chapters.

 

@Phantom Roxas:

No, I didn't kill Yuzu, she killed herself. Here's your sign.

 

In all seriousness, though: To me, Yuzu was and had always been the Kurosaki whose name I'd forget. She had no overall impact on the plot. This, combined with the already existing dead girl in the chapter, was two birds with one stone to me. It ties Ichigo down a little.

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Umbra Newbie

Umbra

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unless necessary

 

Those two words intimidate me more than the entire chapter.

 

Let me put it this way. Splosh wasn't planned. Splosh spawned as I was writing Toshi-kun being owned. Splosh wouldn't go away from my mind until I put it in. To me, splosh was necessary.

 

I've also put this up on FF.net, and surprisingly I've already got a review. What I've learned from my comments so far is that the most disturbing thing so far was done prior to pilot. I am somewhat appoint.

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Umbra Newbie

Umbra

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I don't mean to be a pest...wait yes' date=' I do. But, uh, when's the next chapter going to be up, you think?

[/quote']

 

Approximately... NOW.

 

Chapter Two, Midnight Call, has been posted. And no, it wasn't necessary.

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Umbra Newbie

Umbra

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I think I'm going to skip the "omg ur teh best riter evar 10000/10" and move directly to:

 

Is Washa an original character? I don't recognize the name off the top of my head.

 

Washa is indeed an original character. I'm glad the character feels immersive to the level that you actually have to ask.

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