A hiss filtered through her teeth as Chessebelle weaved the needle into her forearm, stitching up the large gash she had acquired from her most recent outing to the world of the living. The amount of hollows infiltrating Karakura Town recently were off the charts, and the head-captain was starting to send out order for the twelfth division to explain the numbers, as if they could produce the answer from their asses after visiting the world of the living a few times.
Captain Kurotsuchi had sent the fourth-seat by herself today, insisting that she didn't need any help with this child's mission, and if she did then she had no right to come back to his barracks. She hadn't objected to the idea, and instead carried out her orders without another thought that night.
It was a breezy night in the Seireitei, moonlight soaking the grounds of the barracks, and only the occasional sound of shinigami training could be heard.
Continuing her stitches, the woman meticulously worked. The wind only made the wound sting more as she mended it. She preferred the old fashioned ways of healing when it came to less severe, like the humans did with their fragile bodies. She liked to see how her injuries fared with the barbarian ways rather than healing kido-it was like her own personal experiment on herself to keep track of. The shinigami had scars all over her body but she was holding up in her skin just as the humans did.
Once finished with her mending, the woman cut the thin transparent thread and stared out her window at the twelfth division's grounds. She had a nice room in the barracks; a decent bed, a desk next to the window, wardrobe, and a bathroom down the hall just for seated officers. While Chessebelle preferred her laboratory over all other environments, her personal room came second. Her fingers danced over her new stitches mindlessly as she stared out into the night. 'Another one to add to the ever-growing collection.' The thought came and left the woman as she stared blankly into the night, her dark circles pronounced in the dim lighting.
Glancing at her desk, the stack of papers she had to fill out about her mission were taunting at her. She found the motivation to drag herself from the window, wishing to fill them out thoroughly and give the report to the captain before daybreak.
She continually paused to graze her new wound, as if it was a nervous tick.