Intermission - Care Ethics
That there was running water at all in Las Noches was a miracle.
Therefore, it was difficult to complain about the state and convenience of that same water. Only two rooms in the Red Chamber had access to it - and thus one had been designated as the kitchen, and the other as the bathroom. Where that water came from was unclear; that there was underground water beneath the fortress had only been known after Harribel joined the Espada, and it was unclear if she had actually filled these caverns herself or simply found them through her affinity with water.
Still, water was carried underneath miles and miles of empty sands to solitary fortress, and it was difficult to complain that this feat had not been accomplished satisfactorily.
Cirucci, of course, complained nonetheless. To find the world around her wanting and call it out on its flaws was the God-given right of a Princess, after all. The water had a chalky taste; it didn't flow fast enough; the kitchen tap sometimes jammed; the showerhead did not have enough pressure; and so on.
So today was a rare moment of freedom from the hell of having running water that wasn't quite convenient enough, because today was a bath day. The Red Chamber was empty of everyone but Ren and the silent, mindless Calaveras, and so Cirucci took that opportunity to relax and enjoy herself. It helped her not think about whatever madness Nemo had been running off to in such a hurry.
Yes, there was only the warm water, scented foam, warm sunlight, and satisfaction of private time. Cirucci let out a sigh of contentment as she sunk into the massive, rough-edged stone tub and immersed herself wholly into the water, letting it undo her intricate construction of wavy curls. Her sophisticated appearance dissolving away into the simple fact of being.
She came back to the surface with a long breath, resting her back against the stone. She smiled to herself and started humming a song, wordlessly, and the wind brushed the foam-covered water and began to dance and sculpt it. Elegant spires of whirling water rose and collapsed, foam formed banks and soon mountains and the vague outlined of cities, to which Cirucci lay waste like an angry god by simply lifting her foot through them, giggling. Her song ended, she leaned back, letting herself soak in simple comfort.
Truly, this was bliss.
Truly...
She was already bored.
This was not fair. There was a time when she would have enjoyed this bath for the better part of the afternoon. But now she had too much on her mind. She'd been in there for five, maybe ten minutes, and she was already playing out her next conversation with Grimmjow in her mind, trying to figure out how to use his pride to her advantage. Or maybe pride was the wrong word - could Luppi be of use?
She groaned in frustration. Even thinking about the fact that she was thinking too much only made her think about it more. She'd wanted to relax, but clearly that wasn't on the day's agenda.
And where was Nemo, anyway? And how hurt was she going to be when she came back? Because, if Cirucci was honest with herself, she knew that no matter how well-intentioned and sincere her promise, her lover was going to get herself into trouble regardless. Caring for her could, at times, be maddening.
No. None of that. She wasn't going to obsess over Nemo's safety while she was gone like some stranded princess in her castle pining for her knight. She was a princess, sure, but not that kind of princess; really she was both the princess and the knight, while Nemo was… The metaphor was swiftly breaking down. The point was she was the Espada of the two.
Actions. That's what she needed. Decisive action designed to effect change upon her circumstances. She couldn't take a breather when so much had yet to be done. Grimmjow was a tough nut to crack, but she would get there soon, or Luppi would, if they had not already. Barragan, of course, might only need the right nudge. Starrk might be a lost cause but it was still worth trying, right? And there was Szayel, who was busy studying her transformation. The knowledge of how to replicate Golondrina Ascendente's change, if it could be replicated at all, could not be allowed to be obtained by Aizen…
...no, it could not, could it? She had to do something about it.
That would be a productive afternoon.
Screw this soapy foam and placid water. She was a storm, and a storm had to lash out. Cirucci stood up in her bathtub, water dripping from the mess of her hair, and took on a stalwart pause, hand on her hips. Yes, she knew just what she was going to do.
...after she showered off the bathwater. There was
sand in it. Why did people even take baths? Disgusting.
***
It felt good to be outside, clean and strong and motivated. She hadn't had a chance to wear that uniform before - it was on the edge of the minimum acceptable amount of white to still be called a 'uniform,' with intricate wind-like patterns of dark blue, a layered creased skirt with black embroidery at the hems, her usual twin-tailed hairstyle abandoned in favor of a whirlwind-like knot at the back of her haid letting ringlets fall down to her neck.
There was something powerful and romantic to the feeling of hair blown in the wind, but it also got into her eyes and mouth, and some concessions had to be made for practicality when gliding at near-sonic speed across the sands of Las Noches. Shaping the wind ahead of her into a shield deflecting the sand so that it didn't get into her outfit was second nature by now, she barely realized she was doing it.
Her destination swiftly appeared before her, and she slid to a stop in a great burst of wind, sand raining out away from her as she transitioned from her easy glide to mere walking.
She definitely should have gone for the boots. Stiletto heels on sand was the devil's own design. But the day when Cirucci Thunderwitch would make concessions to practicality at the cost of style was the day when… Well, probably the day she openly started her rebellion, because she wasn't
stupid. But still.
Even having come there regularly in the past weeks, Cirucci still couldn't help but think of Szayel's laboratory as a cancerous growth sprouted from the ground of Las Noches. Human buildings had clean, right angles, they had sheer walls and windows. They were not a mass of stone in a dome-like shape protruding with smaller domes like a tumor infected by secondary tumors of its own, a blind building devoid of any apertures save for its massive, reinforced doors.
She pressed the doorbell. Intercom? How was it called again? She waited.
She pressed it again. She folded her arms, humming to herself. After a while, her knife-like heel started tapping the sand at a rhythm.
She pressed again, frustration rising. At last, the metal box crackled.
"Master's not here!" yelled out a panicked voice. She frowned. That was one of Szayel's cloned Fraccions, she was fairly sure.
"Well where
is he?" she asked impetuously. There was a frightened squeak at the other end of the line.
"Aizen's throne room! Gone for a while! Very important stuff!"
Cirucci's frown deepened. Trying to convince Szayel to join her rebellion was always going to be a long shot, and she had intended to make her approach subtle and cautious, ready to pull away or settle for a lesser advantage if his loyalty seemed too entrenched. But if he had gone to Aizen in private…
"What stuff?" she asked.
"Uh, uh, stuff!" the Fraccion practically shrieked. Cirucci rolled her eyes.
"Can't you open the door? I am here on important business and I'd like to have this conversation face to face."
"I can't let strangers in!"
"Yes, but I'm not a stranger, am I?" she said sweetly. "I have been here many times, as has my Fraccions. Really, we're good friends."
"But I'm not supposed to…" the Fraccion mumbled. Cirucci knew them to be stupid things - perfectly functional for whatever role Szayel had designed them for, with very little capability to adapt beyond that. It didn't seem this one had been designed as a doorguard.
"Come on, I've been inside before. Szayel has a damned
airlock on the other side of that door, it's not like I'm asking you to let me in. Just come out."
The Fraccion mumbled to itself for a moment - and from a few static-obscured sentences, tried to get advice from its brethrens - before finally saying:
"Okay. Stand back!"
Cirucci sighed and took a few steps away from the door, absently playing with Golondrina's handle. A minute later, the great steel gate slid open, revealing a second steel gate behind it and in between a small, rotund, terrified little… Well, "Arrancar" felt like an exaggeration. Its features were barely human, more of a rough sketch stretched over an oversized face. It took a few hesitating steps outside.
"What's your name, little one?" Cirucci asked in a kindly tone.
"L-Lumina," the Fraccion said.
She didn't need to ask for a last name. Szayel's more functional clones only got the one, while his most mindless models only had a designation, usually some number or color. These things filled Cirucci with visceral disgust - she did not know if their original 'templates' had once been true Arrancars, broken down in the multiple iterations of cloning, or if they had been mindless Hollows implanted with just enough consciousness to serve Szayel's purpose, but either way they were mockeries of the Arrancar condition, failed humans.
It was pathetic, really, but she had less compassion for them than she had anger at Szayel for making them in the first place.
"What business has your master with Aizen?" she asked.
"I sh-shouldn't say…"
Cirucci stepped closer, and the Fraccion gulped.
"Is it related to his study of my ascended form?"
Despite herself, Lumina nodded rapidly.
"He has made a breakthrough!" she shouted excitedly. "From you and his brother and he is showing it to Lord Aizen!"
Cirucci's eyes narrowed. She'd hoped that the secret of her transformation might elude such obsessively rationalistic a mind as Szayel's, but that had been a feeble hope. That he would have already broken its codes, and was even now showing his conclusions to Aizen, without even contacting her or Nemo to boast about it and thank them first…
The chance of making him an ally was too slim in these circumstances. In his own twisted way, the Octavo seemed to like her, but not more than he worshipped their master.
She smiled a knife's edge smile, and her reiatsu waxed over the sand, wrapping her and the tiny, frightened thing in front of her in its wind. It whispered with a gentle voice, the voice of the whole world whispering her glory. The creature stared at her in rapt fascination, beady eyes turning wide, the same kind of look that human girl had given her when she'd asked to be brought to Kurosaki Ichigo.
It was even easier on such a feeble-minded target. Cirucci took the Fraccion by the chin, tilting her head.
"Lumina, dear Lumina. Your master must trust you much, to leave his gate for you to keep."
"H-he took the guard models," Lumina mumbled distantly. "To protect him. On the way to the th-throne. A-and set the o-others to watch the exp-perimental subjects…"
So Szayel was afraid of traveling alone, more than he'd been previously. Interesting.
"Experimental subjects? Like Yammy?"
"Yes-yes," Lumina said, blinking.
"And others," Cirucci whispered as she understood. "Lesser works. Combat clones, like the ones he brought to the Exequias's contest - improved, I imagine, from what he learned then."
Lumina nodded frantically.
"Th-they're not… Reliable," she said. "Always angry."
Angry? The best explanation the Fraccion had, but likely not quite accurate. How had Szayel's clones been defeated again?
Ah, of course. Their Hollow hunger brought back and turned against them. Drawing from this and the data from experimenting on Yammy… Berserker-clones? So infused with bloodlust it could not be turned against them? Anger and hunger, channeled, harnessed as a weapon. That would explain why they were kept under locks and guard.
Her smile widened, her grip on Lumina's chin tightened, and she let more of her reiatsu seep out and into the creature's mind, its own meek reiatsu completely suppressed by it, shot through even with threads of Cirucci's own power.
"Lumina, Szayel clearly trusts your judgement, and I am a good friend of his. Would you show me these experimental subjects?"
"I… I don't know if I…" the Fraccion tried, and Cirucci gently brushed her cheek.
"It's fine. You can even introduce me to the other Fraccions, if you're afraid of deciding that yourself, yes? Let them decide if they can trust me."
There was a struggle, but it was brief. Lumina nodded slowly.
"Okay," she said, and Cirucci released her grip. The Fraccion turned, and staggered back towards the gate.
Cirucci followed, smiling, her hand again on Golondrina's handle.
***
Everything was on fire and it was beautiful.
Rock crumbled from the ceiling and rain lashed through the opening, flames cowering under this assault. Sparks flew from boxy, metallic devices that had been gutted open in the fight. Chemicals sizzled, beakers exploded as their contents reacted violently with the downpour.
Cirucci laughed, jumping away from an enormous claw raking four deep furrows in the ground.
This one was particularly feisty. It stood three times her size, with four plated, clawed arms, and a mask that wholly covered its eyes; as far as she could tell it was blind and hunted her through its spiritual senses alone. From its unmasked, tusked mouth dripped a stream of bubbling black acid, eating the ground where it walked.
It kicked off with its backbent legs, roaring its fury as he swept the air with his claws, and Cirucci easily jumped above him and past, a lazy flick of the wrist bringing Golondrina after her and slicing one of the creature's arms; it landed on the ground undaunted and took in a deep breath, spitting the black acid in a wide arc across the room, carving a deep furrow in the wall.
"So I give you my storm," Circucci sung to herself, the wind buoying her and sending her straight back up, above the arcing spit. She raised one hand to the mangled roof and the open sky- and lightning fell from above, a pure white bolt spearing the beast through its chest.
It staggered back, bleeding from one arm and with a charred hole in its chest, as Cirucci landed softly.
Then it howled, a new arm erupting from its stump, the hole closing itself.
"High-Speed Regeneration? Really?" Cirucci said with exasperation.
Bone plates shifted as the arms stretched out, more spears than limbs, a flurry of blow aiming to cage her in.
She swept her hand up and Golondrina cut a clean path as she slid against the ground, then rose up from underneath the creature's body and up, before gently coming back to Cirucci's hand.
"Regeneration is just a cheap delaying tactic for weak Arrancars," she scoffed as the monster fell into two halves, its mask split cleanly in two.
A smaller creature with even more limbs took advantage of that moment to hop from a wall, its many needles and quills and hooked claws dribbling with all sorts of venoms and contagions, a weak creature made to sneak upon the enemy and disable them in one assault.
"I give you my hail," Cirucci hummed, waving her hand at the living projectile as a gust of wind slammed it into a wall. She pointed her finger at it, and its body exploded into gore and poisons from a single Bala. She raised her hand to her lips and blew smoke off her fingertip.
"And in this mud you'll pray," she kept singing, scanning the doorways and broken walls where more creatures were gathering. This wasn't really a fight, more of a slaughter, but apparently the berserkers were not implanted with any kind of survival instinct.
"What is going on here?!" shouted a voice behind her, and she whirled on her feet to find Szayel Apollo-Grantz, his hair soaked, his eyes boggling, his hands open in a gesture that failed to encompass the sheer extent of the confusion he clearly felt at this instant. "What are you doing, Cirucci?"
Cirucci's eyes narrowed, her grip tightened on the leather handle, and she lashed out - Golondrina's golden disk streaked the air as Szayel froze in surprise and fear.
The shadowy assassin-model fell to the ground, cut amidst its leap towards Szayel's back. Its eight-eyed face rolling apart from the bladed limbs of his body. Golondrina flew back to Cirucci's hand.
"Saving your pasty scholar behind,
apparently," she hissed. Szayel blinked in confusion.
More clones were on the move, but before any could attack, Szayel reached into his uniform and pulled out a small whistle; he inhaled deeply and blew into it as hard as he could, turning his cheeks pink. The high-pitched shriek of the whistle was enough to make even Cirucci clasp her hands on her ears and clench her teeth. As for the clones, they all fell to their knees, or whatever most like knees their body had, and grew still.
The shriek ended and Szayel pulled the whistle down, panting.
"What," he said with a twitch of his eyes, "is going on. Here."
His right hand clutched the hem of his jacket reflexively, fraying at the threads without him seeing it. Lightning flashed above, reflecting bizarrely in his eyes, making them bright and opaque as a night-sighted beast.
"You tell me!" Cirucci shouted, waving her arms wildly at the crumbling roof, broken walls, lashing wind, and dead bodies scattered all around and deeper into the complex.
"You're the one standing in the middle of my laboratory while it is on fire, surrounded by my dead experiments," Szayel hissed, his voice rolling with new tones, ones she'd never heard before as if his voice were coming not from him but from
something squirming inside his throat. Cirucci took a step back, her eyes widening, instinctively holding Golondrina's wire before her body.
She blinked and shook her head, forcing herself to regain her composure.
"Look around you!" she shouted again, waving at the sky. "There's a storm! Why is there a storm?
Because your laboratory was on fire! So I tried putting it out! The door was wide open, which it never is, so I entered! And then I saw your monsters wrecking everything, so I tried to step in!"
Szayel looked around the room, bewilderment briefly taking over his anger - and saw the deep claw marks in his equipment, the bodies of some of his assistant-models killed in gruesome ways, and his eyes rested on Cirucci again.
"You mean to say you weren't attacking…"
"Szayel," Cirucci said, breathing more harshly than she meant to - half to make herself look more tired than she was. Half because she had forgotten how it felt to be
looked at by the madman, peered into, peeled apart under his gaze. "I made it rain. Why would I make it rain on your laboratory if I wanted it on fire. You've seen me fight Nnoitra, you know how fast I am. If I wanted to wreck your place I would already be far away, not bogged down in a fight with your disgusting monsters."
"You're…" Szayel shook his head, sighing. His eyes dropped, and she breathed. "You're right. I apologize."
One of the larger monsters presently kneeling stirred, trying to stand up, and Szayel furiously blew the whistle again, making it fall whimpering on the ground.
"Sound off! Who's alive?" the scientist shouted; from nearby rooms, a handful of the clones perked up above rubble or collapsed tables to look at their master, and hesitantly responded with their names. "Where's Lumina?" Szayel said with a frown, and the Fraccions looked at each other, then all at once shrugged. Szayel grunted heavily. "Fine. You, take the experimental subjects back to their pens. You, check the surveillance footage and important data. The rest… I don't know. Gather the dead, identify the extent of the damage, make sure the Old Decima and the Sarcophagus are safe."
Cirucci looked at him curiously as the Fraccions scurried away. Szayel sighed deeply and turned to her.
"What a disaster. Why were you here, anyway?"
Cirucci looked mildly uncomfortable at this question, and he raised an eyebrow.
"I wanted to know," she said reluctantly, "if you had finally figured out the process behind my transformation. I was hoping... " She sighed. "I was hoping to share it with my Fraccions. When I came here, the door was wide open, and the further I progressed the more I heard fighting sounds… And then I saw the fire. I broke through the ceiling and conjured rain, which drew your monsters to me."
"They're not monsters, they're… Ah, forget it," Szayel said, anger and frustration rising again in his features. They came in erratic waves, and the rain shifted directions with them.
Cirucci suddenly became disturbingly aware that Szayel, whose outfit and hair and looks were always perfect, seemed at the moment not to care about his rain-slick hair, about the drops of water obscuring his glasses, about the blood on his uniform from the assaillant she'd killed.
"This shouldn't have happened," he whispered to himself. "A break-out or two from such fierce creatures is an accepted risk, but none of them are smart enough to open the other pens - and if the front gate was open, it can only mean…"
"Enemy action," Cirucci said calmly. Szayel nodded without a word.
"Master!" shouted one of the Fraccions, scampering over the rubble. "The surveillance data, it's - it's been expunged!"
Szayel's face sunk.
"And the backup?" he asked.
"The back up too!"
His lip twitched. The gleam in his eye was a bonfire now. There was something in his features, in the shifting of muscles behind the skin, that was unnatural.
"What about the Ascension data?" Szayel said, his voice dropping to perfect, icy calm.
"G-gone too," the Fraccion said taking a step back, visibly terrified. "The backup as well."
Cirucci watched with horrified fascination as Szayel passed a hand in his matted hair, showing for a moment throbbing veins under his scalp that seemed to move across his skull. His reiatsu was become cloying out of proportion with its raw power, like it seeped under the skin, worming its way into the bones. The bones of his back cracked and shifted as something moved within him.
"B-but!" The Fraccion said hastily. "The secondary backup is fine!"
There was a moment of heaviest silence. Cirucci blinked.
"The secondary backup," she muttered. "Of course you have that."
The cloying spiritual pressure receded back into Szayel's body, his flesh shifted again, smooth and toneless and ordinary, and he smiled joylessly, his stare so intense it felt like it might burn holes into the Fraccion's chest.
"It's fine, then," he whispered to himself. "It's fine. Aizen trusts you. Aizen gave you orders. You did not fail yet. The secondary backup is there. This is fine. Nobody has to know. Nobody. Has to know."
"Szayel?" Cirucci asked cautiously, and he visibly started. When his eyes set on her, the intensity was gone. He seemed even a little lost.
"Oh. You're here," he said absently.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I am!" he said smiling brightly, almost manically. "Oh, of course, I was an idiot. I knew I should have had a double-redundancy for the surveillance data too, but it takes up so much memory and storage space, I figured it was too costly, unnecessary, ha! Shows what I know!"
Then his fists struck out, punching a crumbling wall, and cracked the stone.
He was still smiling.
"I still have a backup. Everything is fine."
Cirucci forced herself to nod, staring.
"This has to be the work of one of the other Espada," he said, his eyes flicking across the room. "Lord Aizen told me there were seditious thoughts among our ranks, but I'd never have imagined…"
"Seditious thoughts?" Cirucci said, frowning, and he turned to face her, a glint of madness in his eyes.
"Madness," he said. "Foolishness. But I can no longer deny it. But who would…"
"Szayel," she said coolly, and he blinked, coming out of his thoughts again.
"Do you know anything?" he asked, his tone almost pleading.
"No, but I can guess," she said with a shrug. He narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You'd come to the same conclusion. Your gate is secure, but it is not Espada-secure. Nothing is. Most of our numbers could have broken through it and your other defenses. But
opening the gate? And who even knows where you store your data?"
"No one," he said, rapidly shaking his head. "Only me and... " He paused. "And my Fraccions," he said thoughtfully. Cirucci nodded grimly.
"And who among the Espada," she asked, "is a known shapeshifter, who could trick his way into your fortress while you're away? Who could somehow
acquire your Fraccion's knowledge?"
"Aaroniero," Szayel whispered, a look of understanding dawning on his face. "He's the Noveno, sitting just below me. He's always been resentful of my position, always been hungry for the knowledge I have, for the special abilities of my clones."
"And he was just emboldened by acquiring the power of a Captain," Cirucci said, her eyes shining in the shadows cast by dying flames, the beating rain giving her words a dark echo.
Szayel's face contorted into a grimace of rage. All around him, Fraccions were busy moving equipments and displacing rubbles, but they were a far cry from the dozens of servants that once kept his laboratory in perfect order, and when they saw his face they all stepped back and found work to do elsewhere.
"Lord Aizen told me. He told me he could not be trusted! He told me he could not be given the knowledge of ascension! And now… The deceitful, backstabbing little… I will wring his neck between my hands, I will show him just what he stole from me…"
Then the wrathful face contorted into a smile as his hands grasped something unseen, tugging at it, wringing it, taking it apart. He did not even seem conscious of his gestures.
"Oh, but what I could learn from him. What secrets inside that strange little Gillian brain of his! To crack it open and unspool all the…"
Cirucci's heart skipped a beat. This was, perhaps, too far. Szayel, allowed to use Arroniero as a test subject, allowed to learn from him…
"Szayel," she said softly. He paused and turned to her, seeming lost again. "Why do you think he waited for you to be gone? You know we are not allowed to attack each other.
Especially if there is sedition brewing. Do not let him bait you into a trap."
Szayel clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles went white, then forced himself to take a deep breath. When he looked at her again, his gaze was firm.
"You're right. I have lost too many of my experimental subjects, too much data, too many assistants, and my fortress is no longer fully secure. I need to hunker down and make my domain secure again as quickly as I can."
Cirucci nodded slowly.
"Just as soon," he said grudgingly, "as I have fulfilled Lord Aizen's direct orders."
"His orders?" Cirucci echoed', her expression curious, and Szayel sighed.
"I am sorry. You have been a valuable ally, but I am ordered to secrecy. You know how our master is."
Cirucci looked a little hurt, but that expression faded quickly, and she nodded again.
"Of course," she said. Then she raised a hand and gripped the scientist's arm, looking seriously at him. "Don't worry about my request for help for my Fraccions. It can wait. If you need anything…"
"Thank you, Cirucci," Szayel said with a faint smile. "Without you, today might have gone much, much worse. I appreciate your offer, but this needs to stay strictly between us. If Lord Aizen learned that the data he expressly asked me to keep secure has been leaked…"
"What, you don't trust Luppi?" Cirucci said with a chuckle, which he returned.
"Should I?"
"Not on your life," she said smirking.
"I don't know how you handle him, honestly." Then Szayel's smile faded and his face fell. "I'm sorry. I'm still processing this. I think I need…"
"Of course," Cirucci said, her tone returning to seriousness. "I will leave you to it. Do not hesitate to call on me."
He nodded, but without saying anything, his gaze already returning to his devastated laboratory. Cirucci released his arm, gave him one last look, and turned away.
As she walked out of the fortress, she found herself shuddering and smiling at the same time, though that expression had a nervous tinge to it.
There was something changed about Szayel, something that made her skin crawl. And she hadn't managed to destroy his research on her transformation after all.
But she'd cracked the fortress of the most paranoid of Espadas like an egg, and some of its yolk had spoiled in the sun.
That had to count as a victory.
