Log; Complete

[thunderwitch.livejournal.com]

When; February 28th, late afternoon
Rating; PG
Characters; Cirucci {thunderwitch} & Fakir {sword_and_quill}
Summary; Il Forte drags Cirucci to the Opera House to have the tainted shard removed, and since she's hardly to be allowed near Ahiru, no matter how sorry she's been made, Fakir is the one to dance with her.
Log;

Cirucci Thunderwitch was sorry. That was all she knew, all she felt. So sorry, so regretful, repentant, morose, miserable… in need of forgiveness. And here was one who would never give it, and the very idea had brought tears to her eyes. Eyes that had never cried from anything but pain shed them now from regret, one hand clutching at her chest, the heavy, heavy weight there, beneath fabric that had darkened and now was a deep pitched black, to match the bones and blade that had darkened as well. And her voice was a tremor, soft and low, disturbed by the tears that ran down her cheeks that would burn with shame when she was in her right mind, when she wasn’t overwhelmed by this feeling she knew wasn’t hers. But now, they seemed a mere pittance, only a bare expression of how much she regretted so many things. “Fakir-“ She tried to begin, unable to put into words the ineffable emotion that suffocated her.

Fakir was still on guard - the same as he'd been since Cirucci showed up at the Opera Abandoned. The arrancar's regret for what she'd done looked real enough. And he'd been startled to see that there were tears in her eyes. But the fact remained that she was also carrying a tainted shard of Rue's heart. One likely planted by the raven girl, herself. The ex-Knight couldn't trust that she was truly sorry. Nonetheless, since she did have a piece of the shattered heart, he would need to get it back at some point. Might as well be now. ...Even if it meant that he'd have no choice but to dance with her, which was something he abhored the thought of. She'd been prancing around with Ahiru just before--

He gave Cirucci an exasperated look, fiddling with the other shard in his pocket. "Well?"

“I’m so-“ Her words stopped as she faltered. … This was wrong, and she knew it. A part of her knew it was wrong, that she wasn’t at all sorry for what she’d done. But… she was, and it was killing her, eating away at her, drowning her, one who had never before felt regret for doing something like that. She tried to wipe the moisture from her eyes, staining the black fabric of her gloves, which only reminded her of the black bones and the feathers- the feathers… she’d tried and rip the pinions from where they’d begun to grow between the softening metal of her wing’s blades, but they had only grown back. “I’m so sorry-“ The Privaron finally choked out, fist tightening over the hole between and just below her breasts that symbolized her lack of heart.

He could clearly tell Rue and Mytho had done quite a number on her when they injected the shard. This behavior wasn't like the Cirucci in the slightest. And it was actually a little disturbing to see the way she'd changed visibly and been consumed by the regret. What had those two hoped to accomplish with this? It still couldn't possibly have been the female arrancar's own feeling anyway.

There was a light noise from behind and Fakir cast a quick glance back. She hadn't woken, had she? He knew Ahiru didn't want to see Cirucci. The last thing he needed now was for her to show up and freeze in fear - or scream. Hopefully even if she had awakened, she'd stay put. That's the most he could hope for right now.

Pulling his hand from his pocket and turning his attention back on Cirucci, Fakir crossed his arms. "Sorry for what?"

He wanted her to say it, and she very near crumbled right then and there, from despair. She had to say it? But she deserved it, she knew she did, for all the bad things she’d done. Her eyes softened when he looked to the girl- oh, how could she have done that? And she knew Il Forte standing behind her probably wore a face of absolute disgust at her, but… another thing she deserved. “I’m sorry for killing her-“ Cirucci managed to get out, entreating, imploring. “I’m sorry for dropping you, I’m sorry-“ Golondrina, her, who remained a bit apart and retaining what was really the 105th Arrancar was almost screaming in her mind. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The ex-Knight sighed. At this point, personally, he really didn't care. The cruel part of his mind silently urged him just to turn Cirucci away. Let her suffer, continue to suffer, drown in suffering. And even force Rue to suffer without her full heart. Mytho too, for causing the whole mess to begin with. Let them all bloody pay for what they-

...What in the world was he thinking? He wouldn't do something like that. Not anymore. ...Right? Mentally, he shook his head. Absurd thoughts. Best not to dwell on them.

"Alright, fine," Fakir muttered, offering his hand in a polite manner, though the expression on his face showed nothing but disgust. "You remember how to do this?"

Her regret washed over her, noting the look on his face. He’d never forgive her, ever, ever, she’d always be unforgiven, drowning in this sorrow, this regret- The Arrancar’s lithe arm, gloved in the darkness she had noted creeping in, softly reached out to take his hand, fingers trembling with her sorrow, trying to stop the tears. She didn’t, she had never cried, what was she, so horrible that she had never… so heartless, so black… And Cirucci awaited the lead, entreating in her eyes for forgiveness for anything to ease the pain.

The black-clad arrancar was definitely unnerving him now. She looked like she was ready to collapse into a sobbing mess - much like Ahiru had been the past few days. The thought made his expression soften against his will. Skillfully avoiding her eyes, Fakir closed his hand around her more securely, even borderline roughly, and initiated the start of the dance.

The shard he carried with him grew warm in his pocket, having sensed the presence of another. He hoped it would help draw the other piece out more quickly, since he certainly wasn't going to indulge in some insightful monologue like Ahiru commonly did in these dances. He wanted it to be done and over with. Hands lifted and arms arched at an angle, twirl the female partner once around and change positions, pull apart, repeat.

How long did these stupid heart shards take to come out, anyway?

Cirucci knew how wrong it was, at least, her body did. She followed his lead, stockinged feet soft on the floor and arched, concentrating. Because this was important, wasn’t it? He wanted what was in her, right? The raven girl and boy… the very thought of them made her expression fall even more. They wanted her to be their family… she wasn’t their family, she’d reached behind her and ripped those nasty feathers from her release, over and over and over again, because the pain was deserved, she deserved it for all she’d done, and didn’t regret enough… as she danced, the place marked by her Hollow hole remnant began to glow a soft, muted, red.

Fakir hated it, more and more with each step. He was a solo dancer, for the most part. Ahiru and Mytho were more accustomed to doing a pas de deux. Not that he couldn't perform them, but he disliked the pairing dances. The ex-Knight had only done two of them back in Kinkan. Both with the same person. His only partner. And she was...out of commission for awhile. Now he was stuck dancing with Cirucci - not that he would have let Ahiru dance with her again, but if that weren't bad enough, it was up to him to track the rest of the shards down as well. How annoying.

With another turn, his eyebrows drew together, catching the faint red luminesence that came from Cirucci. The shard was responding. That was a good sign.

Now how had Ahiru done this before...? He didn't have to spout any of that idealistic crap, did he?

The turn sent her black skirt twirling out from her body, only to return and settle, the glow beginning to brighten as she continued to follow the human boy’s lead. She met his gaze, her own lidded as if her very eyelids were weighed down as well, her body felt like lead, despite moving as normal. “I’m sorry.” She mouthed again, just begging for forgiveness, needing it, craving it, that one small thing that she would never, ever, want if she were herself, if she were truly Cirucci Thunderwitch. And as she formed those words on painted lips she gave a sudden shudder, the shard materializing from her chest and hovering softly. The Privaron froze, another shudder passing through her body, unable to move as her mind suddenly blanked.

Fakir halted the dance almost immediately when her words released, dropping the Pivaron's hands. The heart piece had exitted and het met it with one hand, to which it materialized to a ghostly red version of Rue. Regret's gaze held more unspoken apologies as it faded back to shard form in his hand. He curled a fist around it, turning his attention back to Cirucci.

"You're forgiven," he said simply. The ex-Knight could see a change had taken effect. And he hoped she wasn't going to try anything now that her right mind had been returned. He met her eyes with a firm glare. Just turn and go, he urged silently. Not a word. Just leave.

The Privaron’s eyes dilated, her mind slowly draining of an oppressive weight. Her gaze was out of focus, not looking at anything, staring through Fakir, even as her regret died. As it did she began to lighten. First the remnant of her mask retained it’s dull ivory color, then her dress, her gloves, her stockings, the sword at her waist… all white once again. She paused, looking down. … Where was- Who was- Ah… her face instantly contorted into one of blatant disgust. What had she done? Apologizing, regretting- her hand flew to her face. Crying? It was almost too shameful. Wordless, she unsheathed Golondrina, peering into the metal of the blade, finding her Hollow form locked within and gazing upon it in her mind’s eye. White. Ivory. Bone. Blades. Metal. Hard, sharp, metal. … Good. The pinions, the raven’s feathers… all gone.

“Hmm…” Cirucci smiled, taking a deep breath and exhaling as she resheathed her zanpakutou. … It was almost overwhelming just to be free of it. To feel like she usually felt, to be as she usually was… ah. … The Opera Rat. “… Do tell your woman when she awakes that I give her my most fond greeting?~” Her voice had instantly regained it’s smug tone, tinted with cruelty. And she wanted to rip into him, tear him, kill him, too… but if it was one thing she had learned, it was that she needed to be more careful, who she killed. And as vexing as that was…

With a huff, Cirucci Thunderwitch turned to Il Forte and motioned out the door. And they were gone in the brief wind of a sonido. And it seemed to the Privaron she moved a bit lighter.