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thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-02-28 05:43 pm
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-02-28 05:43 pm
Log; Complete
When; February 28th, afternoon
Rating; PG
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Il Forte {garrisoned}
Summary; Since Il Forte is the one who got stuck with babysitting a slowly maddening/darkening Privaron Espada, he gets to be the one who decides when enough it just damn well enough.
Log;
Cirucci had barely moved all day. Unless moving from lying in the bed to lying on the floor to lying on the couch counted as moving. She wasn't sure. She didn't really feel much like doing anything, merely sitting, eyes half closed, breath a mere whisper, even though she didn't have to breathe, staring down at herself. It had started earlier, the darkening, she didn't know what to call it. Regret gnawed at the corner of her mind constantly, trying to weigh her down, suffocating her in its emotion. And her chest hurt; like she had something there she wasn't supposed to. And now... the fabric of her uniform had turned black. The white fabric had started to shift, the color darkening... and that wasn't it. Golondrina was black, too. Her release was black, her wings... and that scared her. The bones were changing. The metal softening. Itching, as if something was trying to grow there. ... And she saw pinions. Feathers. She'd promptly sealed the sword again and sat. Quiet. Still. Morose. ... Something was so wrong... so wrong... and she wasn't even sure what it was anymore, just this regret tearing at her, threatening to drown her if she didn't put every effort of her mind to something else. And at the moment, that something else was wondering where Il Forte had gone-
The next room over, Il Forte gave the screen of his laptop a disgusted look before snapping it shut, rising and making his way back to where Cirucci was. She was still clearly unwell, but the clinging and whispering had grated on his nerves until the need to get away from her, even a room away, overpowered any feelings of concern for her wellbeing he might have had. Upon stepping through the doorway, he wasn't quite sure the few hours of peace had been worth the sight that met his eyes. "Shit." What the fuck did they do to her? Her clothes, the remnants of the mask, once a barren bleached-white colour... All black. He frowned, moving to kneel before her, to see if she was even still there. In the back of his mind he wondered why exactly he was the one taking care of this. Where was that bitch Rori? Where was Aizen-sama? Ulquiorra? Staying with her wasn't as bothersome as he liked to let on, but he was a killer, not a healer, and by just sitting here she was only getting worse. "Cirucci?"
“Il Forte…” She murmured softly, reaching out a black gloved hand and slowly grasping the white fabric of his uniform. “… I don’t like this…” Her voice was low, barely abouve a whisper. She had drawn up her legs, her chin resting propped on her knees, eyes fluttering as if she could barely stay awake, gaze vacant and slightly glazed, her other hand in a fist at her chest, slowly her palm flattening before returning to a fist over and over. “… I’m not supposed to feel like this-“ Her gaze slid down to her uniform. “It got dark… Golondrina is dark, too…”
He frowned, taking her hand from where it clung to his uniform and holding it, examining the blackened fabric of her glove. He looked past it at her downcast eyes, brow furrowing before he released her again, standing. "Don't move."
Back in the next room, he waited impatiently for the computer to start up before logging onto the network and making his inquiries. Minutes slid by, accompanied by a faint ticking in the back of his head as he waited for his answers. Having received them, he returned to the Privaron, not bothering to mask the look of irritation on his face. "Get up, we're going."
She had merely sunk back into herself, humming softly, fingers arcing against her breast, squeezing at what felt like a pulsing heart, but wasn’t quite. She was singing, almost, a breathy song that didn’t seem to be a language understandable, eyes growing vacant again. Regret, regret, regret… so much burden, so much weight…
Her eyes snapped open again when the other Arrancar entered the room, as if suddenly shocked by him. “Where are we going Il Forte?” Cirucci asked, not yet beginning to move.
"We are going to see the child you killed. You are going to offer your apology to her and fix this." He sneered, impatiently waiting for her to stand. He knew perfectly well how pride played into this, but it was her pride at stake, against his time. The conclusion was pleasantly simple on his end.
“…” Cirucci pressed her back into the cushion, her hand one still on her chest and the other spasming. “I won’t-“ She hissed, eyes wild now. “No, no, no, I won’t apologize, I won’t feel sorry for killing her-“ And what hurt most was the sinking feeling in her chest. The emotions weren’t hers, she knew they couldn’t be hers, but they were dark whispers in her mind that spoke of regret for her actions and sorrow for her misdeeds.
"You will, Cirucci, love." His voice was low and dangerous, patience worn thin over the past days snapping at her resistance as he reached to grab her arm, jerking her roughly to her feet. With his free hand he caught hold of her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "We will be done with this, and you will pick your enemies more wisely next time, precious, or you will find yourself in the hands of someone far less forgiving."
Black against white. That’s what it was now. Her hand left her chest to push against him, not much force behind it, a mere instinctive behavior as her eyes locked tenuously with his before looking away, trying to meet his gaze again, and failing repeatedly. The shard had worn her own personality away, and where normally this situation would elicit some coy smirk and a snappy remark, her bottom lip trembled instead. “I’m sorry-“ She murmured, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry…” And she words disgusted her, that was clear on her face, even as her chest, her heart?, told her to say them.
He looked away, the words no more appealing to him than they were to her. His grip loosened on her arm as he pulled her along towards the door, anger fading as quickly as it had come. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it."
She resisted a little, broke from his grip for a moment to grasp her blade. Golondrina’s sheathe, hilt, and cross-guard had blackened as well, darkened to a dull black sheen. She lingered a moment, fingers stroking the sheath before she slowly padded back to Il Forte, instead of grabbing onto his arm meekly grabbing his fingers. “Why do I have to apologize to them…” Cirucci whispered, not herself, this wasn’t her, but she was unable to do anything but feel heavy-hearted, being consumed by a shard tainted by raven’s blood. “They can make me feel this regret, but I don’t- I don’t want it-“
"Because if you do it will go away." He replied simply, watching her out of the corner his eye in case she decided to draw Golondrina. "And if you don't, it will get worse. If you really want that, be my guest," He murmured, words clipped even as he slid his fingers between hers, returning her grip, "but I want nothing to do with it."
Cirucci weighed her options, fingers dancing down the hilt of her blade, black, black, knowing, able to see her Hollow form in it, twisted, bones black, feathers black, and metal being replaced by feathers. Raven’s feathers. She squeezed the other Arrancar’s hand, trying to anchor her mind grown fragile, first just by the sheer weight of the regret she had been saddled with, and second by the temptations of the demon Crowley and the girl Kraehe and the boy Mytho who called her raven sister, who’d managed to make her own brain turn against itself. Her brow furrowed and her gaze fell. “… How do I- I won’t- What do I even-“ She mumbled low, quick, trying to get out of it, but knowing it wasn’t possible. And her pride suffered as her shoulders slumped, face falling with her gaze like some timid child. “… Alright.”
And that was the only word needed for the other Arrancar to drag her off to the Opera House.
Rating; PG
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Il Forte {garrisoned} Summary; Since Il Forte is the one who got stuck with babysitting a slowly maddening/darkening Privaron Espada, he gets to be the one who decides when enough it just damn well enough.
Log;
Cirucci had barely moved all day. Unless moving from lying in the bed to lying on the floor to lying on the couch counted as moving. She wasn't sure. She didn't really feel much like doing anything, merely sitting, eyes half closed, breath a mere whisper, even though she didn't have to breathe, staring down at herself. It had started earlier, the darkening, she didn't know what to call it. Regret gnawed at the corner of her mind constantly, trying to weigh her down, suffocating her in its emotion. And her chest hurt; like she had something there she wasn't supposed to. And now... the fabric of her uniform had turned black. The white fabric had started to shift, the color darkening... and that wasn't it. Golondrina was black, too. Her release was black, her wings... and that scared her. The bones were changing. The metal softening. Itching, as if something was trying to grow there. ... And she saw pinions. Feathers. She'd promptly sealed the sword again and sat. Quiet. Still. Morose. ... Something was so wrong... so wrong... and she wasn't even sure what it was anymore, just this regret tearing at her, threatening to drown her if she didn't put every effort of her mind to something else. And at the moment, that something else was wondering where Il Forte had gone-
The next room over, Il Forte gave the screen of his laptop a disgusted look before snapping it shut, rising and making his way back to where Cirucci was. She was still clearly unwell, but the clinging and whispering had grated on his nerves until the need to get away from her, even a room away, overpowered any feelings of concern for her wellbeing he might have had. Upon stepping through the doorway, he wasn't quite sure the few hours of peace had been worth the sight that met his eyes. "Shit." What the fuck did they do to her? Her clothes, the remnants of the mask, once a barren bleached-white colour... All black. He frowned, moving to kneel before her, to see if she was even still there. In the back of his mind he wondered why exactly he was the one taking care of this. Where was that bitch Rori? Where was Aizen-sama? Ulquiorra? Staying with her wasn't as bothersome as he liked to let on, but he was a killer, not a healer, and by just sitting here she was only getting worse. "Cirucci?"
“Il Forte…” She murmured softly, reaching out a black gloved hand and slowly grasping the white fabric of his uniform. “… I don’t like this…” Her voice was low, barely abouve a whisper. She had drawn up her legs, her chin resting propped on her knees, eyes fluttering as if she could barely stay awake, gaze vacant and slightly glazed, her other hand in a fist at her chest, slowly her palm flattening before returning to a fist over and over. “… I’m not supposed to feel like this-“ Her gaze slid down to her uniform. “It got dark… Golondrina is dark, too…”
He frowned, taking her hand from where it clung to his uniform and holding it, examining the blackened fabric of her glove. He looked past it at her downcast eyes, brow furrowing before he released her again, standing. "Don't move."
Back in the next room, he waited impatiently for the computer to start up before logging onto the network and making his inquiries. Minutes slid by, accompanied by a faint ticking in the back of his head as he waited for his answers. Having received them, he returned to the Privaron, not bothering to mask the look of irritation on his face. "Get up, we're going."
She had merely sunk back into herself, humming softly, fingers arcing against her breast, squeezing at what felt like a pulsing heart, but wasn’t quite. She was singing, almost, a breathy song that didn’t seem to be a language understandable, eyes growing vacant again. Regret, regret, regret… so much burden, so much weight…
Her eyes snapped open again when the other Arrancar entered the room, as if suddenly shocked by him. “Where are we going Il Forte?” Cirucci asked, not yet beginning to move.
"We are going to see the child you killed. You are going to offer your apology to her and fix this." He sneered, impatiently waiting for her to stand. He knew perfectly well how pride played into this, but it was her pride at stake, against his time. The conclusion was pleasantly simple on his end.
“…” Cirucci pressed her back into the cushion, her hand one still on her chest and the other spasming. “I won’t-“ She hissed, eyes wild now. “No, no, no, I won’t apologize, I won’t feel sorry for killing her-“ And what hurt most was the sinking feeling in her chest. The emotions weren’t hers, she knew they couldn’t be hers, but they were dark whispers in her mind that spoke of regret for her actions and sorrow for her misdeeds.
"You will, Cirucci, love." His voice was low and dangerous, patience worn thin over the past days snapping at her resistance as he reached to grab her arm, jerking her roughly to her feet. With his free hand he caught hold of her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "We will be done with this, and you will pick your enemies more wisely next time, precious, or you will find yourself in the hands of someone far less forgiving."
Black against white. That’s what it was now. Her hand left her chest to push against him, not much force behind it, a mere instinctive behavior as her eyes locked tenuously with his before looking away, trying to meet his gaze again, and failing repeatedly. The shard had worn her own personality away, and where normally this situation would elicit some coy smirk and a snappy remark, her bottom lip trembled instead. “I’m sorry-“ She murmured, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry…” And she words disgusted her, that was clear on her face, even as her chest, her heart?, told her to say them.
He looked away, the words no more appealing to him than they were to her. His grip loosened on her arm as he pulled her along towards the door, anger fading as quickly as it had come. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it."
She resisted a little, broke from his grip for a moment to grasp her blade. Golondrina’s sheathe, hilt, and cross-guard had blackened as well, darkened to a dull black sheen. She lingered a moment, fingers stroking the sheath before she slowly padded back to Il Forte, instead of grabbing onto his arm meekly grabbing his fingers. “Why do I have to apologize to them…” Cirucci whispered, not herself, this wasn’t her, but she was unable to do anything but feel heavy-hearted, being consumed by a shard tainted by raven’s blood. “They can make me feel this regret, but I don’t- I don’t want it-“
"Because if you do it will go away." He replied simply, watching her out of the corner his eye in case she decided to draw Golondrina. "And if you don't, it will get worse. If you really want that, be my guest," He murmured, words clipped even as he slid his fingers between hers, returning her grip, "but I want nothing to do with it."
Cirucci weighed her options, fingers dancing down the hilt of her blade, black, black, knowing, able to see her Hollow form in it, twisted, bones black, feathers black, and metal being replaced by feathers. Raven’s feathers. She squeezed the other Arrancar’s hand, trying to anchor her mind grown fragile, first just by the sheer weight of the regret she had been saddled with, and second by the temptations of the demon Crowley and the girl Kraehe and the boy Mytho who called her raven sister, who’d managed to make her own brain turn against itself. Her brow furrowed and her gaze fell. “… How do I- I won’t- What do I even-“ She mumbled low, quick, trying to get out of it, but knowing it wasn’t possible. And her pride suffered as her shoulders slumped, face falling with her gaze like some timid child. “… Alright.”
And that was the only word needed for the other Arrancar to drag her off to the Opera House.