The weather was crisp and cool. Silvery clouds hung overhead, blanketing the sky in a canopy of subdued gloom. The air tasted and smelled sharp. For most, this wasn't ideal weather, but this morning felt just right for Shuya. Holding his sword in both hands, he practiced kata, making repetitive gestures with his blade in order to further bake the movements into muscle memory.

His practice zone of choice wasn't really a training zone, however. Instead, he'd gone and found a rather secluded field in which to train. An area that no one was using, and, hopefully, no one would use. He was mostly interested in training this morning, and not in idle chat. Still, it was difficult to completely get away sometimes, and if he were interrupted here, it wouldn't really come as a surprise, to be honest.

Kishibe enjoyed a morning walk; once a habit born of isolation, and now a daily routine. It allowed for clarity of the mind, a silencing of the thoughts; brief reprieve amid the busy life of the Shinigami. The air was crisp and cool, bringing with it the moisture that hinted towards a potential shower to come. Though it was overcast, the heavens above blanketed in various shades of greys and whites, Kishibe paid it no mind. It was almost ironic, the pallette as subdued as his demeanour.

Kishibe's trek eventually brought him to a field, sparsely populated and with ample seclusion. This seemed a good enough spot to train, or to rest and enjoy some tobacco from his pipe. The latter the more agreeable choice of the two, he would indulge the habit. But alas, he was not alone. Another individual stood but a few paces away, running through various kata drills. Kishibe would sit in silence and observe for the time being, if not for the amusement but for educational purposes. Not every lesson need be contrived.

It wasn't until the familiar scent of tobacco hit his nose that Shuya realized he had an audience. So dazed by cathartic training, he didn't bother sensing anyone around him. Upon finishing that kata, then, he stopped, before sheathing his zanpakuto quickly and fluidly.

He looked at the one watching him, his gray-red eyes indicating annoyance, albeit subtle. "Good morning." He said, running a hand through his hair and ponytail to make sure he wasn't overly sweaty. Upon realizing that he didn't recognize the individual in front of him, he introduced himself. "My name's Kitakaze, 4th seat 2nd squad." Then, with only the tiniest bit of snark: "May I help you?"

A rather abrupt tone from the individual afore him, Kishibe's brows briefly furrowed with confusion, though his vacant expression would only convey nonchalance. Had Kishibe's presence proved to be an irritation? He was but a mere spectator, after all, and had he continued to practice, Kishibe would have gladly remained as such.
"Likewise" he replied, simply, a courteous bow to compliment the sentiment.

Kishibe took another drag from his pipe, promptly discarding the small burnt lump of ash to the ground before returning the pipe to its rightful spot within his robe.
"Yamada Kishibe, fourth seat of squad six. A pleasure."
Kishibe continued, placing slight emphasis upon the final word so as to return the subtle hint of sardonicism with which Shuya had displayed. He extended a hand towards the man, uncharacteristically forward of Kishibe to have initiated the gesture, but he would nonetheless deign to uphold an air of respect throughout the interaction.

Shuya took his hand and shook it. What else was there to do, really? Particularly when his question went unanswered. Shuya could only assume that mean that no, in fact, this gentleman named Yamada needs no help from Shuya, thank you very much. So be it then.

Still, the air between them had suddenly grown rather awkward.

He had intended to practice kata and all that, but now, suddenly, the moment was gone, and now the inclination to train was fading. Perhaps it was the smoke sabotaging him.

Shuya simply sat down on the grass with a sigh. It had been a while since he'd gone out on a mission of any kind. Maybe he was just getting antsy. After a moment of silence, Shuya cleared his throat. "Apologies, if I came off a little, uh... irritable. I suppose I can't blame you for looking for a nice, quiet place. Not much of that left here in the Seireitei, is there?"

Kishibe offered something akin to a smile in response to Shuya's apology, believing that the expression alone would serve a greater purpose than wasted words, a that Kishibe often chose to forego; a known trait of his. Besides, the moment had passed, and Shuya need not apologise anyhow, for his irritation was justifiable. Kishibe could empathise, he knew just how it felt to have one's training interrupted by an encroaching presence.

Kishibe's choice to refrain from smoking had been a good judgment call, it seemed, Shuya's slightly upturned nose conveying his distaste. Though it was possible other members of his squad were smokers, he surmised, as Shuya had not overtly stated as such. He would happily offer some wisdom, however, where and when it was applicable. Such as now.
"Solitude is dynamic. It can be found wherever one pleases, one need only will it so. I enjoy walking, whether or not anyone interrupts me is of no concern, for I may choose to pass them by and willfully ignore their words."
He began, Kishibe straightening his posture, a short grouping of satisfying 'clicks' following as his back readjusted.

"The very same could be said of you, Kitakaze-san. You need not have indulged me with conversation, you could have continued with your training, regardless of my appearance."
Kishibe commented, a slight grin creasing his features for but a moment. Beyond that of his duties and subsequent formalities, the opportunity to conversate was a luxury not often awarded to Kishibe; mostly by personal choice, however, but it was rare that he met an individual worth talking to in the first place. He would not lie, though the atmosphere had been uncomfortable at first, he was beginning to enjoy himself.

Shuya raised an eyebrow in mild confusion as, once the leaves had settled so to speak, this new man unleashed upon him a philosophy on solitude whlch Shuya wasn't quite sure he agreed with. Surely someone persistent enough would manage to find a way in, right? Still, he did not have the philosophical chops to argue this point, so he left his response at "Yeah... Sure... If that's what you reckon..." and didn't bother to discuss it any further.

To his next point, Shuya actually leaned back, looking up. "I'm not too worried about it. Maybe it's time to take a break anyway. There's only so much that drilling kata can do for you, yknow." He chuckled. "I might go back to barracks and look for a sparring partner. But there's no rush really." He shrugged.

Kishibe held back a chuckle at Shuya's reply. In truth, he hadn't meant to verbally dog-pile his colleague, Kishibe's tongue was a muscle not oft flexed. Surprisingly, Kishibe found himself enjoying their interaction, a rarity unto itself, Shuya would have to grin and bear it for the moment.

"Well, provided neither yourself nor your partner causes too much of a ruckus. I'd have to scold you, otherwise."
Kishibe responded, simply, his tone even and his words wholly blunt. He hadn't meant no offense, nor was the statement one of arrogance. A simple fact. One that held some weight within their society, too often had Kishibe encountered an overconfident shinigami, something to prove and all too eager to overstep the boundaries.

"Not that you seem the type. It's just an aspect of my job."

Shuya shrugged. "Hopefully. If I'm causing a ruckus then i'm in trouble. A Shinigami in my division is meant to finish the job quietly and efficiently. My captain would definitely have words with me if I made too much of a scene." He noted with a laugh. It wouldn't be the kind of words most fear -- being straight up yelled at. No, Ika Mazi would just coolly mock him for failing to live up to the standards of a true Stealth Squad officer. At least, that's what Shuya feared. Perhaps he was making things up "I'd rather not deal with that, personally."

He leaned forward. "And you? If you were going to spar or, perhaps, dispatch of your enemy, how would you go about it?" Shuya asked.

Well, that was certainly a loaded question. Kishibe paused a few moments, ruminating upon that which he'd been asked, exactly how would he dispatch his would-be foe? And, perhaps more importantly, how would Shuya respond to Kishibe's answer? This required a smoke break. He shuffled a few paces away from his colleague, retrieving his pipe from its hiding place, filling the receptacle and taking a few short puffs.

The stem of the pipe perched between his teeth, he used this window of opportunity to push his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and wipe the small sheen of sweat from his brows. Clearing his throat, he readied a response.
"I'll operate under the assumption that we're talking about Shinigami or otherwise humanoid targets capable of reason. I suppose I'd attempt to use my tongue first. After all, one of my primary duties is diffusal."
He began, his shoulders shrugging slightly, a few clicks following. It was then that he got to his feet, his legs having grown rather numb from the lack of movement.
"Where words should fail, however, there is my weapons"
Kishibe continued, a small wave of his hand gesturing towards the paired zanpakuto tied to his left hip.

Kishibe began to pace about in small circles, the numbness gradually receding with each step; with each completed lap came a fresh plume of smoke from his pipe.
"I much desire to witness the efficiency of those dedicated to the arts of subterfuge and assassination. Although, I suppose it would be considered a failure should I ever truly observe them in action."
He pondered, halting once more and turning to face Shuya. His free hand discarded the ashes and returned the pipe to its usual slot within his shihakushō, the other resting upon the hilts of his swords.