Now You Feel Like Number None [Bleach Arrancar Quest]
- Thread starter Omicron
- Start date
- Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Ah I think its more people trying to see a conceivable way to actually use the notes we stole even though those other options would have been thousands of time better! But on you omake I thought you did pretty well on it maybe you dont think so but it actually sounded like an actual interview.
- Location
- This thread
Well, for what it's worth I thought the concept was fantastic, and I like how you translated a lot of the elements of Number None into actor drama and throwing stuff in and oh god we have no money.
- Location
- in the trash
"But didn't he have some other works in the interim? Like that cyberpunk short film? Or that other TV show that just got a new season-"
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Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
Sure, we have a facination with babies because we voted for the Artificial Souls notes, and not the other way around. Definitely not a product of excessive shipping, nope.
Pay no attention to the above, it has no relevance to this subject.
Argidoll
And hast thou slain the Jabberwocky?
- Location
- Dreamland
[X] Work with Szayel. In exchange you will ask for…
-[X] Nothing. By feigning pure scientific interest in his work and an eagerness to help him, you will please him greatly and make him less likely to scrutinize your work, putting you in a better position to make the Sacrophagus less inhumane, and perhaps giving you the opportunity to pilfer Szayel's notes on other subjects for your own use.
-[X] Nothing. By feigning pure scientific interest in his work and an eagerness to help him, you will please him greatly and make him less likely to scrutinize your work, putting you in a better position to make the Sacrophagus less inhumane, and perhaps giving you the opportunity to pilfer Szayel's notes on other subjects for your own use.
Pathetic King
"I Speak To The Audient Void."
- Location
- Colorado
[X] Work with Szayel. In exchange you will ask for…
-[X] Healing your crippling injuries. With the Quinta as your mistress, there is no risk of him offending her by turning you into a freaky mutant, but letting Szayel play around with your insides might still have consequences, even - especially - if he believes he's helping you doing so. Then again, these consequences could be positive…
-[X] Healing your crippling injuries. With the Quinta as your mistress, there is no risk of him offending her by turning you into a freaky mutant, but letting Szayel play around with your insides might still have consequences, even - especially - if he believes he's helping you doing so. Then again, these consequences could be positive…
Lexica
Persevere
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Work with Szayel. In exchange you will ask for…
-[X] Nothing. By feigning pure scientific interest in his work and an eagerness to help him, you will please him greatly and make him less likely to scrutinize your work, putting you in a better position to make the Sacrophagus less inhumane, and perhaps giving you the opportunity to pilfer Szayel's notes on other subjects for your own use.
-[X] Nothing. By feigning pure scientific interest in his work and an eagerness to help him, you will please him greatly and make him less likely to scrutinize your work, putting you in a better position to make the Sacrophagus less inhumane, and perhaps giving you the opportunity to pilfer Szayel's notes on other subjects for your own use.
AmineHsu
A worm, not a man, scorned and despised.
- Location
- NoVA
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
Your link isn't displaying properly, at least for me.
LXXXI. Cackling
- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
LXXXI. Cackling
You look at the blasphemy, the prison-armor, the device through which torture is made into strength. You look at its creator, the smiling madman, eyes shining with the cold light of his demented designs.
You cannot allow this horror to proceed unhindered. Even if you should taint your own art, it will be a worthwhile price, although painful. It is not even about Yammy himself; he was always a monster, what little love he had in him spent on a dog, and now he's gone, turned into a beast who could not even understand what you would do for him.
But the horror you see in this Sarcophagus is your own. The thing sealed within Polilla whispers in your mind, a thing not separate from you but interwoven with your whole being, an instinct always suppressed. That thing, that side of you, the hunger you were before meeting Mantis, it would drink of Szayel's principles like sweet nectar and twist your art into something as grand as it is monstrous.
You cannot ignore that it exists. That one day you might lose your way and corrupt your craft to such awful ends. You must confront it, and in this confrontation, assert your way. A kinder way.
You build your mask with care. The way of propriety is one of deference and politeness most of the time, but it does not mean you are helpless to play other roles. The core of your training is to read the expectations of others in their eyes, and shape yourself so as to meet them. This is why interacting with the Numeros was difficult; those weaker than you expect you to be a haughty, cruel mistress, and you must violate their expectations and make a role out of whole cloth. With Szayel, it is much easier. You look at him, read that light in his eyes, the turn of his lips, the tools and devices in the room around you, and you contort yourself in a shape that will please this cancerous place.
It all comes together with a snap, and you follow the script before your eyes, the deterministic chain of actions and reactions.
You tilt your head and the smile comes easily, that knife-sharp twist of the mouth, a blade gleaming beneath slightly too-wide eyes.
Forget the healing. You have too many duties to attend to; you can't afford the time spent on surgery.
Especially not if you are going to work with Szayel on his amazing invention.
"...really?" He asks, and for a moment he is surprised, his mad cheer faltering. "You're talking about working with me, without compensation?"
Compensation? Your eyes widen and you spread out your arms, one showing the armor, the other encompassing the room as a whole. This opportunity is all the compensation you need. Yes, you meant to hide your crafting skills; but now that he has seen through you there is no reason to keep such secrecy. You can admit that you want, crave to work with him and learn from his work. To ask for a reward would be… crass. It would sully the purity of learning, the beauty of the search for improvement, for an ever-more perfect art.
The surprise you see in Szayel's eyes slowly transform, and you feel cold satisfaction when it becomes obvious that said surprise is not disbelief. It is the shock, the unexpected joy, of finding a kindred soul in a world so bereft of those like him. It was not a difficult thing to notice - you have seen Szayel's Fraccion, seen that he works alone in his workshop. He has no assistants; his Fraccions are broken, their minds twisted, he has no lesser Arrancar to understand his 'genius,' only simple-minded tools through which to expand his mind. The only one who could match or surpass him and see the world through his eyes is Aizen, and a scientist cannot talk shop with God.
Szayel laughs, shrill and earnest.
"I really had underestimated you, Elcorbuzier. I think we will do great work together."
You smile again and bow theatrically, a touch of arrogance which you know he will appreciate as flair. But as you straighten and look at the armor, about to make a comment, you pause and frown; your hand has come on your purse. You sigh, look inside, and shake your head.
You are still Cirucci's Fraccion, and you have a task to fulfill. You will be too busy to help Szayel right away; especially considering that you would have to acquaint yourself with the blueprints and the theoretical aspect of the design before trying to improve on its implementation… You trail off, rubbing your chin, deep in thought as you contemplate the armor.
"Ah," Szayel sighs, reluctant but resigned, "I would not offend the Quinta by snatching away her Fraccion when she has been so fruitful to me - indeed, when she is the reason I met that Fraccion in the first place! Still, we should try to make the most efficient use of our respective times…" He saunters over to a table, swipes away a huge stack of documents to retrieve another stack and almost shoves it into your arms. "Here. My blueprints and notes. Study them carefully, and the next time we meet, I will be very interested to hear your comments and proposals."
You beam, and thank him profusely; he waves his hand dismissively.
"It's nothing; I already memorized their entire contents anyway." He pushes his glasses up with the heel of his hand and sighs deeply, an almost sensual gesture. "And please, please, do deliver my gratitude and compliments to your mistress when you return to them. To think Cirucci of all people would have brought me so many good things! I never expected it, and I feel shameful for it, really."
You bow again, sliding the documents into your purse, and Szayel calls one of his Fraccions to escort you out. You walk through the fortress with a spring in your step, clouded eyes already full of daydreams as to all you can accomplish, distracted only by the sudden surge of energy and motivation you discovered on what was meant to be a simple errand run.
Only when the doors have closed behind you, when you have raced across the sands out of range of the spying devices which you now know fill its corridors and likely its outer walls, only then do you pause and fall to your knees in the sands, in the shadow of a dune. You let the mask fall and the disgust and nausea seize your chest with a spasm. You spill the contents of your stomach on the ground; they taste of bile and are as black and liquid as the living shadows of your monstrous form.
***
You did the right thing. You have to be sure of that. Even if you don't know how you will go forward with Szayel thinking of you as his companion in mad science, you have to focus on the step ahead of you. When you have alleviated the horror of his work, you can afford to care about the next step.
Before you take even that one step ahead, though, you have to finish the current step. You rummage through your purse, past the Sarcophagus files, and retrieve the few invite cards you have left. One for Jackelton (and by extension Gantenbainne), one for Dordonni, one for Alphonse (at your own request; Cirucci had not even thought of him), and the last one…
The last one. You've been putting it off for too long. You went through the entire roster of the Espada before even thinking of tackling this one. You don't really know how to do it. You don't even know where he lives. You only know…
And then, by fate or happenstance, he comes to you before you can come to him.
You hear the terrible clash in the sky, steel against steel, bone against bone. The detonation of it is so startling you find yourself leaping prone behind a dune, instinctively pulling your mantle of stealth to you. A second later a meteor comes crashing down, sending a geyser of sand high enough into the sky to briefly hide the sun; you pull yourself to your knees, watching fearfully, as a giant of a man stands up, rippling muscle covered in sharp, bristling fur, tusks made to gore any enemy shining white out of its snout, a golden mane cascading down his back. His reiatsu is thick, visceral, musky like a beast of the wild; it hides nothing, reveals in its own brutal strength, a bestial fury kept sealed by shackles of manner and respect for too long.
That reiatsu is smothered in an instant. Night settles on your shoulders and knocks you to the ground, oblivious to your presence, its mere existence cowing you. Your breath unspools out of your throat, an invisible thread of your life flicking away in the wind that sucks in everything around it. At the heart of this void you see the devil himself. He has disguised himself as a man, but you are not fooled; at his back you can see great, ephemeral, leathery wings, and at his waist the ghost of a tail. But it is the horns that betray him, tall like the crown of some King of Hell. Only one thing can bring you hope in such a sight; there is a chain around his heart, a lock without key, and you cannot see what lies beyond. This is a blessing; the form of the devil promises only agonizing death, but if that lock where opened, that chain cast aside, you would know a death that is worse than death, a death of the mind; you would know oblivion.
The boar-man roars and hurls himself against the devil, and the devil raises one hand against which an anvil-like fist comes to a stop. With one flick of his hand, he tosses the boar away like a speck of dust, and the colossal body hits the sand like a pebblestone on the river, skipping across its waters, sending ripples through the desert.
Words are spoken. You cannot hear them. You can only see the devil of the void and the night he has brought. You float in it, an empty shell devoid of feeling, of emotion. You are not even afraid. To be afraid would be to retain yourself. You are… Not.
You close your eyes, force yourself to become blind. It is painful, ripping yourself out of that trance, away from that terrible vision. Your mind screams as you pull away from the yawning void, cold wing scraping against your skin. Feeling returns to your soul, and with it terror.
The boar-man dashes across the sand, his body like a falling rock in motion, hammer-fists pounding away at a fleeting image. Ulquiora Cifer does not seem to move at all; his silhouette merely blurs and he is a few steps away, again and again. Away, further away… And then the boar extends himself too far, and Ulquiorra is there close up against his chest, pushing him with one finger. Bones crack horribly and the boar is tossed head over heels.
You no longer see the awful outline of the horned, winged devil. Ulquiorra is his simple self, unassuming short man with black hair and tear-like makeup, with only one horn, that of his broken fragment of mask.
"If you keep this up," he says, "you are going to die, Tesla."
It does not sound like a warning or even a reproach. Only a bored statement of fact.
The boar - Tesla? Nnoitra's Fraccion? You remember him as a slim blonde Arrancar, nothing to hint at this monstrous half-beast - stands up from a crater, sand dripping off his bulging muscles.
"I may die," Tesla says in a deep rumbling voice, "but not without you acknowledging my resolve."
Even with his bulk, his Sonido is impressive. In the blink of an eye he is behind Ulquiorra, bringing down an enormous fist, and Ulquiorra pivots on himself, raising one arm. The impact of the blow sends a shockwave around them, but the Quatro does not flinch.
"What are you looking for?" the Espada says, cocking his head. "I have never taken a Fraccion. I never intend to. You are throwing your life away in a futile display of passion."
"That is… Exactly… Why I want to serve you!" Tesla says, huffing and puffing, straining against Ulquiorra's arm… And then gone in a flash, sliding across the sand behind him, one open palm sweeping at his legs.
Ulquiorra glances down, unconcerned, and shifts his feet to a more rooted stance. Tesla's awesome strength collide with his frail legs, and fails to uproot the Quatro.
But he does push him. Only two inches. But he's made Ulquiorra move. Green eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he smacks Tesla's snout with the back of his hand, hurling him away. The boar comes up coughing white sand.
"I served… Nnoitra," he says, panting. "A man who never sought a servant, who despised my weakness, who showed me contempt time and time again. Because whatever he felt, he needed me. We Arrancars… Are not Hollows. We cannot exist alone. You are Espada, and you need a Fraccion. That is simply how it is. Someone to serve under you. Someone to be your support. Someone to anchor you to the world."
"I need nothing," Ulquiorra says, "and this farce has gone on long enough."
He lifts one lazy finger, and a pearl of green light shines before it.
You jump out of the sand before taking the time to think about what you're doing. The bead of light dies. The two Arrancars stare at you with blank surprise.
Fear comes next, but you've become quite good at not letting it show. You hastily rummage through your purse, dig out Ulquiorra's invite, and hop across the dune to hold it out before him, looking down to avoid giving offense. For a few moments nothing happens; Ulquiorra is just staring at the card. Then he snatches it from your hand, holds it up to his face, and you quickly glance at him. His eyes are narrowed.
"A… gala? What nonsense is this? Who does your mistress think she is?"
You arch your back and puff your chest. She is the Quinta, only one rank below him, and she believes that the Espada need such events to learn how to better work together.
"A belated pang of guilt for taking out two of our most valuable pieces in her hunger for prestige? Fascinating, if pointless. We are soldiers. We have no need of festivities."
On the contrary. A thriving culture has been characteristic of armies all throughout history. From commemorative art, memorial monuments, to marching song and performers following troops on the march…
"Enough. I get your point. But we are Hollows, not humans. These rules do not apply to us."
You are Arrancars.
Ulquiorra looks down at you, green eyes sliding down at you like some worm whose squirming is unusually annoying, and for a moment you believe he might smite you down where you stand for contradicting him. Then a shadow stretches over you, and you look up at the form of the giant boar-man, breath steaming out of his mouth.
"You should attend, Quatro," he rumbles. "Or if you do not, send me in your stead."
"You are not my Fraccion, Tesla, and you just came inches from death. Do not further test my patience."
The boar inclines his head, and Ulquiorra flicks the invite back to you. You look at him questioningly.
"I will attend," he says coldly, "if only so I can watch it all crumble around your mistress and keep up Aizen's law when it inevitably devolves into chaos."
You bow in stiff, polite thanks, and he dismisses both you and Tesla without a word, turning from you and kicking the ground, gone into the sky with Sonido too fast for you too follow. His departure lifts a weight off your shoulders as his reiatsu fades; by contrast Tesla's presence seems faded, washed-out by Ulquiorra's proximity, even though you can feel his strength. You swallow nervously and turn to face him.
The boar looks at you through two beady eyes you cannot read. Will he strike you, taking this opportunity to steal from Cirucci as she stole from him?
No. In the end Tesla says nothing, but turns away and leaps into the air. His speed you can follow, though the distance of his bounds are impressive. He follows in the same direction Ulquiorra left, and you wonder if you will ever see him again, or if he will find the death he seems so eager to chase.
Your task is almost done now. Only three invites to give out, and you can go home.
***
The good news is that the rest of the delivery went well. Dordonni was pleasantly surprised, Jackelton was very happy (although you had to explicitly confirm to Gantenbainne that he was welcome to come with him), and you only made a quick drop at Alphonse's workshop, knowing you will need to bring up your collaboration with Szayel eventually but unwilling to do so just yet.
The bad news is that you are currently frantically waving your arms in anger while Luppi hangs upside down from a platform, popping biscuits into his mouth with a bored look on his face. Thankfully Cirucci is not home yet to see you argue and ask why he is here.
"I don't see what the problem is," Luppi drawls. "I just pushed them a little harder than you did. It's the second day of their training, we should ramp things up a little, yeah?"
It's not about 'pushing them harder.' It's about the way he did it. You explicitly asked him to turn off his weird aura, and the moment your back was turned he threw it at the Coro Nocturno! You are positively seething that he would endanger your work like this, and of course your anger amuses him, which only makes him angrier.
"I didn't do it 'the moment' you turned your back. I waited for an appropriate time! And I only did it for a little while!"
That doesn't make it any better. Now you will have to work to fix what he broke…
"Listen, darling," Luppi says, twisting his body and landing on the ground with all the grace of a cat, "Your bleeding heart is cute, but it's kinda useless here. I listened to your speech, your fancy rationale. You don't want just a group of one-off performers doing one song, mercenary-like, yeah? You want to build a group. Well, you can't do that with just nice words and slices of cake. You need to understand these Numeros. You need to know their flaws. You need to know what can tear them apart, not just what brings them together, or else it will blindside you and your group will implode on you the first time they're under real stress. 'cept I knew you'd never have the heart for it, so I tested them for you."
You pause, staring at him, fuming. You hate what he's saying - but you also can't quite deny it. You can challenge his method, the way he did it behind your back, but you know the underlying motive is correct and you might not have time to do things completely the way you want to. That frustrates you even more, because Luppi knows it and is unabashedly smug about it.
"So yeah, they finished their day frustrated and grumpy. This was going to happen anyway, because you're cramming months' worth of lessons down their throat in days. I made it happen earlier in a way that lets you build up on it to improve their cohesion as a unit. No, it's fine, I don't expect thanks. I did it all…" He curtseys deeply, "for the love of the art."
You pinch the bridge of your nose, biting down the many retorts you want to throw at his face. You don't have time for this. What happened, happened, and you'll deal with it tomorrow.
"What took you so long, anyway? You were just delivering a few invites. Shouldn't have taken you all day."
You stare. As he seen the size of Las Noches? And you had to hit all the Espadas in one go, while they were scattered everywhere, and with your Sonido not what it used to be…
"Poor thing. So, am I getting my introduction to Cirucci today?"
You really don't want to deal with this now on top of everything… But you can't keep putting it off forever. You check a hanging clock for the time, then make a few calculations in your head. Your day has moved a little out of sync with Cirucci's; you and the Coro Nocturno woke up a few hours before her. This means that what is for you the evening is likely the afternoon for her, so she is probably back at Barragan's hall training with him, and should be home in a couple hours, while the Coro Nocturno are asleep.
Yes. He can bring his request to Cirucci. When she's home. For now, Luppi is to stay put. You have things to handle before she arrives, and the liquid reiryoku is still buzzing in your stomach, making you incapable of lying down and catching some rest.
"Fine by me," Luppi says, throwing his hands in the air and jumping up a few platforms. "Hey, Ren! Did I ever tell you the one about the dragonfly and the monkey…"
You sigh wearily. You're probably going to need to skip sleep for a while during the coming week. You can do it - you've done it before; your body isn't as hard-locked to regular sleeping pattern as that of a living being. That said, it's much easier when pursuing consistent, mindless activities such as running across Hueco Mundo for a few days than when tackling emotionally taxing encounters and a variety of different physical tasks. The oddities of being a ghost, you suppose.
You have a little time before Cirucci comes home, and you have something important to deal with in that time. With Luppi safely in discussion with Ren and the Numeros in their rooms, you lock yourself inside your own workshop. Bracing yourself mentally, you pull Szayel's notes out of your purse and fan them out on your desk.
Browsing these files is one of the most depressing things you've done lately. Here, laid out under your eyes with cold, callous precision, is the design for an efficient machine of pain and destruction, beautiful in its function, hideous in its purpose. Szayel gave you a quick overview of the overall design, but here you can glimpse all the complexity of each individual mechanism of horror.
You are not an engineer, and so part of it flies over your head, but you nonetheless follow the principles of the way it captures energy and sustains the body in spite of injuries and pain - even enhancing the latter. You jot down a quick note on how these aspects could be mitigated; simple preliminary thoughts, broad outlines. Some of the energy could be recycled to numb Yammy's sense of pain; you might be able to move the overall design from a focus on pain-induced rage to a kind of euphoric trance… Maybe you could induce disassociation, so that what is left of Yammy's consciousness is unaware of the pain feedback his body is experiencing.
When you look up, two hours have passed, and you feel strangely drained. And yet, it is not a negative feeling.
Here, on several sheets of paper covered in scrawling, stream-of-thought scripts and haphazard drawings, are your feelings, a way of exorcising the awfulness you witnessed today and in which you volunteered to take part. It is freeing in away, and affirmation of the self, that you have not yet corrupted yourself with that choice. Most of these ideas likely won't work, or will be insufficient, but it's a basis to work from. You carefully file away everything and sets the papers on your priority pile, and walk out of your workshop.
Luppi lands at your side, grinning.
"She's here," he says, and you realize he is right. You had not consciously felt Cirucci's approach; some deep part of you took notice of her distant spiritual presence, rousing you from your working trance, and you were walking out to welcome her before knowing she was here. You steel yourself for explanations, wave for Luppi to stick behind you as you explain things, and…
There she is. Her body is an outline of shadow against the sun as she enters, then that shadow slides and she appears as she is, regal and strong, beautiful. She flicks a curl of her hair, smiles at you when she sees you, and you smile back with a feeling of warmth that washes away the anxieties of the day.
Then she sees Luppi, and freezes in surprise. You clear your throat.
"What is he doing here?" she asks, and in that stressed 'he' you feel all the injurious epithets she wishes she could say but cannot for he has, indeed, helped save your life.
You straighten yourself, solemn and as neutral as you can appear. Luppi has come to make a very special request, and you have tested him to make sure it wasn't some fluke of which he would get tired within a day; but his request is Cirucci's to grant or refuse, and so… You step away from between the two, Cirucci frowning in confusion, Luppi grinning.
"Nemo, that explained nothing. I am still confused."
"It's simple," Luppi says grandly. "I want to be your Fraccion!"
You expect confusion. You expect a dumbfounded stare. You expect pointed questions and distrust.
Although Cirucci does stare, it is not in confusion. It is with bizarre, rising intensity.
And then she starts laughing. And laughing.
And laughing.
She's cackling by now, really. Cackling like only someone with "witch" in her name could ever cackle.
You sigh wearily, collapse into a chair, and rub your temples as the headache starts coming.
Congratulations! You have reached the end of Arc 11. For Nemo's efforts in trying to bring something wholly new to Las Noches - art - as well as her visit of several Espadas in the worst of circumstances, and her decision to assist Szayel in his works hoping to reduce their evil, you gain 600xp. Cirucci and Luppi each gain 300xp. As said collaboration has not yet truly started, you are not getting a Marana bonus yet.
[ ] Allocate XP.
Additionally, while the next arc is predetermined, I'm going to let you vote on its opening scene. Luppi is now officially Cirucci's Fraccion, and needs to be given the appropriate accomodations. Pick a scene to feature in the next update.
[ ] This is the first time Luppi is sitting with you and Cirucci at the dinner table. The situation is volatile, but you can handle it. Hopefully.
[ ] Luppi has a talent for offense, and so you need to explain to him Cirucci's situation, the people she knows and relies on, and the expectations that you, she, and now Luppi himself must fulfill.
[ ] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
You look at the blasphemy, the prison-armor, the device through which torture is made into strength. You look at its creator, the smiling madman, eyes shining with the cold light of his demented designs.
You cannot allow this horror to proceed unhindered. Even if you should taint your own art, it will be a worthwhile price, although painful. It is not even about Yammy himself; he was always a monster, what little love he had in him spent on a dog, and now he's gone, turned into a beast who could not even understand what you would do for him.
But the horror you see in this Sarcophagus is your own. The thing sealed within Polilla whispers in your mind, a thing not separate from you but interwoven with your whole being, an instinct always suppressed. That thing, that side of you, the hunger you were before meeting Mantis, it would drink of Szayel's principles like sweet nectar and twist your art into something as grand as it is monstrous.
You cannot ignore that it exists. That one day you might lose your way and corrupt your craft to such awful ends. You must confront it, and in this confrontation, assert your way. A kinder way.
You build your mask with care. The way of propriety is one of deference and politeness most of the time, but it does not mean you are helpless to play other roles. The core of your training is to read the expectations of others in their eyes, and shape yourself so as to meet them. This is why interacting with the Numeros was difficult; those weaker than you expect you to be a haughty, cruel mistress, and you must violate their expectations and make a role out of whole cloth. With Szayel, it is much easier. You look at him, read that light in his eyes, the turn of his lips, the tools and devices in the room around you, and you contort yourself in a shape that will please this cancerous place.
It all comes together with a snap, and you follow the script before your eyes, the deterministic chain of actions and reactions.
You tilt your head and the smile comes easily, that knife-sharp twist of the mouth, a blade gleaming beneath slightly too-wide eyes.
Forget the healing. You have too many duties to attend to; you can't afford the time spent on surgery.
Especially not if you are going to work with Szayel on his amazing invention.
"...really?" He asks, and for a moment he is surprised, his mad cheer faltering. "You're talking about working with me, without compensation?"
Compensation? Your eyes widen and you spread out your arms, one showing the armor, the other encompassing the room as a whole. This opportunity is all the compensation you need. Yes, you meant to hide your crafting skills; but now that he has seen through you there is no reason to keep such secrecy. You can admit that you want, crave to work with him and learn from his work. To ask for a reward would be… crass. It would sully the purity of learning, the beauty of the search for improvement, for an ever-more perfect art.
The surprise you see in Szayel's eyes slowly transform, and you feel cold satisfaction when it becomes obvious that said surprise is not disbelief. It is the shock, the unexpected joy, of finding a kindred soul in a world so bereft of those like him. It was not a difficult thing to notice - you have seen Szayel's Fraccion, seen that he works alone in his workshop. He has no assistants; his Fraccions are broken, their minds twisted, he has no lesser Arrancar to understand his 'genius,' only simple-minded tools through which to expand his mind. The only one who could match or surpass him and see the world through his eyes is Aizen, and a scientist cannot talk shop with God.
Szayel laughs, shrill and earnest.
"I really had underestimated you, Elcorbuzier. I think we will do great work together."
You smile again and bow theatrically, a touch of arrogance which you know he will appreciate as flair. But as you straighten and look at the armor, about to make a comment, you pause and frown; your hand has come on your purse. You sigh, look inside, and shake your head.
You are still Cirucci's Fraccion, and you have a task to fulfill. You will be too busy to help Szayel right away; especially considering that you would have to acquaint yourself with the blueprints and the theoretical aspect of the design before trying to improve on its implementation… You trail off, rubbing your chin, deep in thought as you contemplate the armor.
"Ah," Szayel sighs, reluctant but resigned, "I would not offend the Quinta by snatching away her Fraccion when she has been so fruitful to me - indeed, when she is the reason I met that Fraccion in the first place! Still, we should try to make the most efficient use of our respective times…" He saunters over to a table, swipes away a huge stack of documents to retrieve another stack and almost shoves it into your arms. "Here. My blueprints and notes. Study them carefully, and the next time we meet, I will be very interested to hear your comments and proposals."
You beam, and thank him profusely; he waves his hand dismissively.
"It's nothing; I already memorized their entire contents anyway." He pushes his glasses up with the heel of his hand and sighs deeply, an almost sensual gesture. "And please, please, do deliver my gratitude and compliments to your mistress when you return to them. To think Cirucci of all people would have brought me so many good things! I never expected it, and I feel shameful for it, really."
You bow again, sliding the documents into your purse, and Szayel calls one of his Fraccions to escort you out. You walk through the fortress with a spring in your step, clouded eyes already full of daydreams as to all you can accomplish, distracted only by the sudden surge of energy and motivation you discovered on what was meant to be a simple errand run.
Only when the doors have closed behind you, when you have raced across the sands out of range of the spying devices which you now know fill its corridors and likely its outer walls, only then do you pause and fall to your knees in the sands, in the shadow of a dune. You let the mask fall and the disgust and nausea seize your chest with a spasm. You spill the contents of your stomach on the ground; they taste of bile and are as black and liquid as the living shadows of your monstrous form.
***
You did the right thing. You have to be sure of that. Even if you don't know how you will go forward with Szayel thinking of you as his companion in mad science, you have to focus on the step ahead of you. When you have alleviated the horror of his work, you can afford to care about the next step.
Before you take even that one step ahead, though, you have to finish the current step. You rummage through your purse, past the Sarcophagus files, and retrieve the few invite cards you have left. One for Jackelton (and by extension Gantenbainne), one for Dordonni, one for Alphonse (at your own request; Cirucci had not even thought of him), and the last one…
The last one. You've been putting it off for too long. You went through the entire roster of the Espada before even thinking of tackling this one. You don't really know how to do it. You don't even know where he lives. You only know…
And then, by fate or happenstance, he comes to you before you can come to him.
You hear the terrible clash in the sky, steel against steel, bone against bone. The detonation of it is so startling you find yourself leaping prone behind a dune, instinctively pulling your mantle of stealth to you. A second later a meteor comes crashing down, sending a geyser of sand high enough into the sky to briefly hide the sun; you pull yourself to your knees, watching fearfully, as a giant of a man stands up, rippling muscle covered in sharp, bristling fur, tusks made to gore any enemy shining white out of its snout, a golden mane cascading down his back. His reiatsu is thick, visceral, musky like a beast of the wild; it hides nothing, reveals in its own brutal strength, a bestial fury kept sealed by shackles of manner and respect for too long.
That reiatsu is smothered in an instant. Night settles on your shoulders and knocks you to the ground, oblivious to your presence, its mere existence cowing you. Your breath unspools out of your throat, an invisible thread of your life flicking away in the wind that sucks in everything around it. At the heart of this void you see the devil himself. He has disguised himself as a man, but you are not fooled; at his back you can see great, ephemeral, leathery wings, and at his waist the ghost of a tail. But it is the horns that betray him, tall like the crown of some King of Hell. Only one thing can bring you hope in such a sight; there is a chain around his heart, a lock without key, and you cannot see what lies beyond. This is a blessing; the form of the devil promises only agonizing death, but if that lock where opened, that chain cast aside, you would know a death that is worse than death, a death of the mind; you would know oblivion.
The boar-man roars and hurls himself against the devil, and the devil raises one hand against which an anvil-like fist comes to a stop. With one flick of his hand, he tosses the boar away like a speck of dust, and the colossal body hits the sand like a pebblestone on the river, skipping across its waters, sending ripples through the desert.
Words are spoken. You cannot hear them. You can only see the devil of the void and the night he has brought. You float in it, an empty shell devoid of feeling, of emotion. You are not even afraid. To be afraid would be to retain yourself. You are… Not.
You close your eyes, force yourself to become blind. It is painful, ripping yourself out of that trance, away from that terrible vision. Your mind screams as you pull away from the yawning void, cold wing scraping against your skin. Feeling returns to your soul, and with it terror.
The boar-man dashes across the sand, his body like a falling rock in motion, hammer-fists pounding away at a fleeting image. Ulquiora Cifer does not seem to move at all; his silhouette merely blurs and he is a few steps away, again and again. Away, further away… And then the boar extends himself too far, and Ulquiorra is there close up against his chest, pushing him with one finger. Bones crack horribly and the boar is tossed head over heels.
You no longer see the awful outline of the horned, winged devil. Ulquiorra is his simple self, unassuming short man with black hair and tear-like makeup, with only one horn, that of his broken fragment of mask.
"If you keep this up," he says, "you are going to die, Tesla."
It does not sound like a warning or even a reproach. Only a bored statement of fact.
The boar - Tesla? Nnoitra's Fraccion? You remember him as a slim blonde Arrancar, nothing to hint at this monstrous half-beast - stands up from a crater, sand dripping off his bulging muscles.
"I may die," Tesla says in a deep rumbling voice, "but not without you acknowledging my resolve."
Even with his bulk, his Sonido is impressive. In the blink of an eye he is behind Ulquiorra, bringing down an enormous fist, and Ulquiorra pivots on himself, raising one arm. The impact of the blow sends a shockwave around them, but the Quatro does not flinch.
"What are you looking for?" the Espada says, cocking his head. "I have never taken a Fraccion. I never intend to. You are throwing your life away in a futile display of passion."
"That is… Exactly… Why I want to serve you!" Tesla says, huffing and puffing, straining against Ulquiorra's arm… And then gone in a flash, sliding across the sand behind him, one open palm sweeping at his legs.
Ulquiorra glances down, unconcerned, and shifts his feet to a more rooted stance. Tesla's awesome strength collide with his frail legs, and fails to uproot the Quatro.
But he does push him. Only two inches. But he's made Ulquiorra move. Green eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he smacks Tesla's snout with the back of his hand, hurling him away. The boar comes up coughing white sand.
"I served… Nnoitra," he says, panting. "A man who never sought a servant, who despised my weakness, who showed me contempt time and time again. Because whatever he felt, he needed me. We Arrancars… Are not Hollows. We cannot exist alone. You are Espada, and you need a Fraccion. That is simply how it is. Someone to serve under you. Someone to be your support. Someone to anchor you to the world."
"I need nothing," Ulquiorra says, "and this farce has gone on long enough."
He lifts one lazy finger, and a pearl of green light shines before it.
You jump out of the sand before taking the time to think about what you're doing. The bead of light dies. The two Arrancars stare at you with blank surprise.
Fear comes next, but you've become quite good at not letting it show. You hastily rummage through your purse, dig out Ulquiorra's invite, and hop across the dune to hold it out before him, looking down to avoid giving offense. For a few moments nothing happens; Ulquiorra is just staring at the card. Then he snatches it from your hand, holds it up to his face, and you quickly glance at him. His eyes are narrowed.
"A… gala? What nonsense is this? Who does your mistress think she is?"
You arch your back and puff your chest. She is the Quinta, only one rank below him, and she believes that the Espada need such events to learn how to better work together.
"A belated pang of guilt for taking out two of our most valuable pieces in her hunger for prestige? Fascinating, if pointless. We are soldiers. We have no need of festivities."
On the contrary. A thriving culture has been characteristic of armies all throughout history. From commemorative art, memorial monuments, to marching song and performers following troops on the march…
"Enough. I get your point. But we are Hollows, not humans. These rules do not apply to us."
You are Arrancars.
Ulquiorra looks down at you, green eyes sliding down at you like some worm whose squirming is unusually annoying, and for a moment you believe he might smite you down where you stand for contradicting him. Then a shadow stretches over you, and you look up at the form of the giant boar-man, breath steaming out of his mouth.
"You should attend, Quatro," he rumbles. "Or if you do not, send me in your stead."
"You are not my Fraccion, Tesla, and you just came inches from death. Do not further test my patience."
The boar inclines his head, and Ulquiorra flicks the invite back to you. You look at him questioningly.
"I will attend," he says coldly, "if only so I can watch it all crumble around your mistress and keep up Aizen's law when it inevitably devolves into chaos."
You bow in stiff, polite thanks, and he dismisses both you and Tesla without a word, turning from you and kicking the ground, gone into the sky with Sonido too fast for you too follow. His departure lifts a weight off your shoulders as his reiatsu fades; by contrast Tesla's presence seems faded, washed-out by Ulquiorra's proximity, even though you can feel his strength. You swallow nervously and turn to face him.
The boar looks at you through two beady eyes you cannot read. Will he strike you, taking this opportunity to steal from Cirucci as she stole from him?
No. In the end Tesla says nothing, but turns away and leaps into the air. His speed you can follow, though the distance of his bounds are impressive. He follows in the same direction Ulquiorra left, and you wonder if you will ever see him again, or if he will find the death he seems so eager to chase.
Your task is almost done now. Only three invites to give out, and you can go home.
***
The good news is that the rest of the delivery went well. Dordonni was pleasantly surprised, Jackelton was very happy (although you had to explicitly confirm to Gantenbainne that he was welcome to come with him), and you only made a quick drop at Alphonse's workshop, knowing you will need to bring up your collaboration with Szayel eventually but unwilling to do so just yet.
The bad news is that you are currently frantically waving your arms in anger while Luppi hangs upside down from a platform, popping biscuits into his mouth with a bored look on his face. Thankfully Cirucci is not home yet to see you argue and ask why he is here.
"I don't see what the problem is," Luppi drawls. "I just pushed them a little harder than you did. It's the second day of their training, we should ramp things up a little, yeah?"
It's not about 'pushing them harder.' It's about the way he did it. You explicitly asked him to turn off his weird aura, and the moment your back was turned he threw it at the Coro Nocturno! You are positively seething that he would endanger your work like this, and of course your anger amuses him, which only makes him angrier.
"I didn't do it 'the moment' you turned your back. I waited for an appropriate time! And I only did it for a little while!"
That doesn't make it any better. Now you will have to work to fix what he broke…
"Listen, darling," Luppi says, twisting his body and landing on the ground with all the grace of a cat, "Your bleeding heart is cute, but it's kinda useless here. I listened to your speech, your fancy rationale. You don't want just a group of one-off performers doing one song, mercenary-like, yeah? You want to build a group. Well, you can't do that with just nice words and slices of cake. You need to understand these Numeros. You need to know their flaws. You need to know what can tear them apart, not just what brings them together, or else it will blindside you and your group will implode on you the first time they're under real stress. 'cept I knew you'd never have the heart for it, so I tested them for you."
You pause, staring at him, fuming. You hate what he's saying - but you also can't quite deny it. You can challenge his method, the way he did it behind your back, but you know the underlying motive is correct and you might not have time to do things completely the way you want to. That frustrates you even more, because Luppi knows it and is unabashedly smug about it.
"So yeah, they finished their day frustrated and grumpy. This was going to happen anyway, because you're cramming months' worth of lessons down their throat in days. I made it happen earlier in a way that lets you build up on it to improve their cohesion as a unit. No, it's fine, I don't expect thanks. I did it all…" He curtseys deeply, "for the love of the art."
You pinch the bridge of your nose, biting down the many retorts you want to throw at his face. You don't have time for this. What happened, happened, and you'll deal with it tomorrow.
"What took you so long, anyway? You were just delivering a few invites. Shouldn't have taken you all day."
You stare. As he seen the size of Las Noches? And you had to hit all the Espadas in one go, while they were scattered everywhere, and with your Sonido not what it used to be…
"Poor thing. So, am I getting my introduction to Cirucci today?"
You really don't want to deal with this now on top of everything… But you can't keep putting it off forever. You check a hanging clock for the time, then make a few calculations in your head. Your day has moved a little out of sync with Cirucci's; you and the Coro Nocturno woke up a few hours before her. This means that what is for you the evening is likely the afternoon for her, so she is probably back at Barragan's hall training with him, and should be home in a couple hours, while the Coro Nocturno are asleep.
Yes. He can bring his request to Cirucci. When she's home. For now, Luppi is to stay put. You have things to handle before she arrives, and the liquid reiryoku is still buzzing in your stomach, making you incapable of lying down and catching some rest.
"Fine by me," Luppi says, throwing his hands in the air and jumping up a few platforms. "Hey, Ren! Did I ever tell you the one about the dragonfly and the monkey…"
You sigh wearily. You're probably going to need to skip sleep for a while during the coming week. You can do it - you've done it before; your body isn't as hard-locked to regular sleeping pattern as that of a living being. That said, it's much easier when pursuing consistent, mindless activities such as running across Hueco Mundo for a few days than when tackling emotionally taxing encounters and a variety of different physical tasks. The oddities of being a ghost, you suppose.
You have a little time before Cirucci comes home, and you have something important to deal with in that time. With Luppi safely in discussion with Ren and the Numeros in their rooms, you lock yourself inside your own workshop. Bracing yourself mentally, you pull Szayel's notes out of your purse and fan them out on your desk.
Browsing these files is one of the most depressing things you've done lately. Here, laid out under your eyes with cold, callous precision, is the design for an efficient machine of pain and destruction, beautiful in its function, hideous in its purpose. Szayel gave you a quick overview of the overall design, but here you can glimpse all the complexity of each individual mechanism of horror.
You are not an engineer, and so part of it flies over your head, but you nonetheless follow the principles of the way it captures energy and sustains the body in spite of injuries and pain - even enhancing the latter. You jot down a quick note on how these aspects could be mitigated; simple preliminary thoughts, broad outlines. Some of the energy could be recycled to numb Yammy's sense of pain; you might be able to move the overall design from a focus on pain-induced rage to a kind of euphoric trance… Maybe you could induce disassociation, so that what is left of Yammy's consciousness is unaware of the pain feedback his body is experiencing.
When you look up, two hours have passed, and you feel strangely drained. And yet, it is not a negative feeling.
Here, on several sheets of paper covered in scrawling, stream-of-thought scripts and haphazard drawings, are your feelings, a way of exorcising the awfulness you witnessed today and in which you volunteered to take part. It is freeing in away, and affirmation of the self, that you have not yet corrupted yourself with that choice. Most of these ideas likely won't work, or will be insufficient, but it's a basis to work from. You carefully file away everything and sets the papers on your priority pile, and walk out of your workshop.
Luppi lands at your side, grinning.
"She's here," he says, and you realize he is right. You had not consciously felt Cirucci's approach; some deep part of you took notice of her distant spiritual presence, rousing you from your working trance, and you were walking out to welcome her before knowing she was here. You steel yourself for explanations, wave for Luppi to stick behind you as you explain things, and…
There she is. Her body is an outline of shadow against the sun as she enters, then that shadow slides and she appears as she is, regal and strong, beautiful. She flicks a curl of her hair, smiles at you when she sees you, and you smile back with a feeling of warmth that washes away the anxieties of the day.
Then she sees Luppi, and freezes in surprise. You clear your throat.
"What is he doing here?" she asks, and in that stressed 'he' you feel all the injurious epithets she wishes she could say but cannot for he has, indeed, helped save your life.
You straighten yourself, solemn and as neutral as you can appear. Luppi has come to make a very special request, and you have tested him to make sure it wasn't some fluke of which he would get tired within a day; but his request is Cirucci's to grant or refuse, and so… You step away from between the two, Cirucci frowning in confusion, Luppi grinning.
"Nemo, that explained nothing. I am still confused."
"It's simple," Luppi says grandly. "I want to be your Fraccion!"
You expect confusion. You expect a dumbfounded stare. You expect pointed questions and distrust.
Although Cirucci does stare, it is not in confusion. It is with bizarre, rising intensity.
And then she starts laughing. And laughing.
And laughing.
She's cackling by now, really. Cackling like only someone with "witch" in her name could ever cackle.
You sigh wearily, collapse into a chair, and rub your temples as the headache starts coming.
Congratulations! You have reached the end of Arc 11. For Nemo's efforts in trying to bring something wholly new to Las Noches - art - as well as her visit of several Espadas in the worst of circumstances, and her decision to assist Szayel in his works hoping to reduce their evil, you gain 600xp. Cirucci and Luppi each gain 300xp. As said collaboration has not yet truly started, you are not getting a Marana bonus yet.
[ ] Allocate XP.
Additionally, while the next arc is predetermined, I'm going to let you vote on its opening scene. Luppi is now officially Cirucci's Fraccion, and needs to be given the appropriate accomodations. Pick a scene to feature in the next update.
[ ] This is the first time Luppi is sitting with you and Cirucci at the dinner table. The situation is volatile, but you can handle it. Hopefully.
[ ] Luppi has a talent for offense, and so you need to explain to him Cirucci's situation, the people she knows and relies on, and the expectations that you, she, and now Luppi himself must fulfill.
[ ] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
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- Location
- Nebraska
What is with Telsa and picking some of the worst people to follow?
Also if I'm reading what nemo saw when looking at ulquiorra right he has the potential to become something truly terrifying to just about everyone. The only question is how could he find the key to that power?
Also if I'm reading what nemo saw when looking at ulquiorra right he has the potential to become something truly terrifying to just about everyone. The only question is how could he find the key to that power?
- Location
- Here & There
Well that's not enough exp for anything. Which means it can be put in anything.
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[X] Stealing Knowledge from a Madman's Notes
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
I'm voting here mostly for thematics - Nemo directly learned this Medicine XP through Szayel's notes. It's also a path to healing her wounds that takes (steals) his knowledge, and uses it for her own goals. Plus, this'll leave her nearly ranking it up - and some omake XP will be enough to get her there.
Also, speaking generally, this makes it even more clear that Nemo's friends and loved ones and even people she vaguely cares about need someone who can do medical things without giving themselves to Szayel's tender mercies.
[X] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
WACKY MEXICAN GHOST DOMESTIC TELENOVELLA
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
I'm voting here mostly for thematics - Nemo directly learned this Medicine XP through Szayel's notes. It's also a path to healing her wounds that takes (steals) his knowledge, and uses it for her own goals. Plus, this'll leave her nearly ranking it up - and some omake XP will be enough to get her there.
Also, speaking generally, this makes it even more clear that Nemo's friends and loved ones and even people she vaguely cares about need someone who can do medical things without giving themselves to Szayel's tender mercies.
[X] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
WACKY MEXICAN GHOST DOMESTIC TELENOVELLA
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
[
] 600 XP to Style
Okay, but I actually think:
[X] 600 XP to Marana
Or possibly HSR. We have some leftover points in both of those. And either way, we can work on healing or being honest and helping with the monstrous torture device.
[
] 600 XP to StyleOkay, but I actually think:
[X] 600 XP to Marana
Or possibly HSR. We have some leftover points in both of those. And either way, we can work on healing or being honest and helping with the monstrous torture device.
- Location
- U.S.
Cero is love~ Cero is life~ Cero is DAKKA~
[x] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
That one friend we don't want but end up having anyway.
[X] Stealing Knowledge from a Madman's Notes
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
That one friend we don't want but end up having anyway.
[X] Stealing Knowledge from a Madman's Notes
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
- Location
- Here & There
But I want nurse Nemo
[X] Stealing Knowledge from a Madman's Notes
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
[X] Luppi is living with you now. That means you must arrange his personal space, show him around the place, endure his comments, and get used to the fact that he is part of your home now.
And spanish Telenovella.
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- Location
- Nebraska
[X] Stealing Knowledge from a Madman's Notes
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
[X] This is the first time Luppi is sitting with you and Cirucci at the diner table. The situation is volatile, but you can handle it. Hopefully.
-> [X] 600 XP for Medicine
[X] This is the first time Luppi is sitting with you and Cirucci at the diner table. The situation is volatile, but you can handle it. Hopefully.
