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tampered2007-03-10 01:17 pm
garrisoned.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-10 01:17 pm
Log; Complete
When; Today~ March 10th
Rating; PG-13, for violence and language
Characters; Il Forte [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
garrisoned] & Cirucci [thunderwitch]
Summary; Cirucci pays a visit to Il Forte to talk about the last curse day. Il Forte proceeds to be an unreceptive asshole, as usual. Things, surprisingly, begin to go back to "normal"
Log;
Cirucci had decided earlier that sometimes she despised this City. Despised what it made her do, made her think, made her feel, made her miss. And she certainly hated what she was about to do. She grimaced, raised her hand to knock on the door in front of her, and hesitated. It took her a full moment before she slumped against the hallway wall, covering her face with her palm for a moment, taking a few breaths. This was so foolish, so… disgusting. So… with a half sigh the Privaron grit her teeth, tried to erase the frown from her face, and knocked once on the door of Il Forte Grantz.
He felt her reiatsu the moment she entered the building. He had been expecting it, but it didn't stop him from tensing at the sound of the knock on the door. His eyes narrowed, and for a long time he didn't move from where he sat on the couch near the window. He wasn't interested in seeing anyone right now, let alone her, even the ticking not deterring him from seeking solitude. The laptop was cast aside on the table, turned off and untouched since yesterday. A headache. Everything about this fucking place was a headache. The ticking was a headache, the deities were a headache, the shinigami were a headache, the fact that he was pleased she had come of her own accord without him asking -- Tch. He sneered at himself, glancing over his shoulder as he muttered a "Come in" just loud enough for her to hear.
She put her hand on the doorknob, opening it softly and slipping in, closing it silently behind her. Quiet. He liked quiet. … Which made her want to be loud, but she quashed the feeling, for now. Cirucci stood there, for a minute, unsure of what to do. She finally slunk into the living room, maneuvering into a corner of the couch and sitting. She waited for him to say something, anything, knowing he probably wouldn’t listen to a damned word until he was fine and ready to. The something of a pout and something of a frown came back to her face as she settled. … She may have to start, damn him.
He let his eyes close as the ticking vanished, forgetting she was there momentarily to revel in the silence. He didn't bother looking at her, barely acknowledged her presence. He knew why she was here, there was no need to ask. It was a conversation that was, in his mind, not worth having. He could feel traces of Grimmjow's and Zaera Polo's reiatsu still clinging to her from the night before, and it made him livid. Resuming normal behaviour, it was all fine and well, why was she here wasting his time now? He opened one eye, casting a sidelong glance at her, irritation only showing in the clipped tone of his voice. "What."
Cirucci turned to face him, tucking up her legs and laying her head between the crook of her knees, eyes closed. “We have to talk about that curse day.” She murmured, keeping clear on her end of the couch, not daring to try and touch him, even though she was a sensual thing, and the touch was what she enjoyed, what solved things for her. But… goddamnit, that wouldn’t solve anything here, would it?
"Do we?" He asked coolly, mind stubbornly locked down and refusing to let a single thought surface surrounding that particular curse. "But you've already recovered from it, Thunderwitch." He almost winced at his own words the moment they came from his mouth, at how pathetic they sounded in his head. Disgust and unease weighed heavy on him, the feeling as pleasant as the taste of bile. "I see no reason to bring it up."
She gave him a weak glare, looking up and blowing air to move a stray lock of her hair that had curled into her vision. “… You know what I do, Il Forte.” She didn’t feel like adding how I deal with things. That implied it bothered her. And as obvious as it was, she would never actually admit it vocally. “You want to just ignore it, then?” She asked, as if they were discussing something exceedingly mundane. Like groceries. Yes, groceries. … She hated groceries. Human food. Not real meals. “Never speak of it again?"
He returned her glare with a withering look, shrugging off her first statement and stopping short at the question she followed it with. He turned his head slowly to look at her and all but stared. Straight at her, everything about him for each moment the silence stretched on unreadable. "What do you think." He cursed his own weakness in this moment, a mere modified foot soldier. He wanted to kill her. Not softly, not so he could watch her skin turn gray, but so he could see red. He shifted where he sat at the thought, refraining from licking his lips and forcing himself back to the conversation at hand. "Were you going to suggest something else?"
Her gaze was as blank as she could make it. Which wasn’t as blank as his, she had never been good at hiding her true intents, thoughts, feelings, anything. She switched positions, sprawled, legs hanging off the couch edge and head now resting on the backing and the crook of a gloved elbow. “I don’t know what to suggest. So no, I wasn’t.” Her voice was low, mere murmurs. Quiet. And she felt like she should be trying harder to annoy him. Flaunt Grimmjow, Zaera-Polo, something to make him angry. But she was tired. Sore. Not… in the mood to be annoying. That was it. Idly toying with one of her garters, she sighed, eyes closing. “I said the wrong name yesterday.” She mentioned suddenly.
"Your failures don't interest me." He snapped almost immediately, bristling, trying not to wonder exactly what something like that was even supposed to mean, or why she decided to tell him. A small part of him was pleased, however, with the thought of the expression on Grimmjow's or his younger brother's face when the name that rolled off the Thunderwitch's tongue that certain way wasn't theirs. It was almost enough to put him in a better mood. Almost. "If that's all, tell me, why are you still here?"
Cirucci almost smirked. Il Forte, there he was. Instead she opened her eyes, looking at him sharply, no softness like there had been during the curse day, not that utter weakness, that love on her expression. And if she had her way, she would never wear that look again. It was shameful, degrading, and… not at all pleasant. “I’m not sure.” She finally said, still quietly. “If you want me to forget the curse day and leave, then tell me too.” The Privaron stretched with a grimace, wincing at the pain in her side and neck from her fight earlier, shifting to avoid aggravating the still healing wounds. “I’ve told you before, if you want something from me, to ask.”
"Get out." He said, simply. Everything about her was winding something inside him taut right now, and he was uncertain how much more it would take for it to snap. His fingers twitched, the ever-present urge to draw Del Toro and rip, tear, skewer something was intensified by his dissatisfaction with the way the Thunderwitch's visit was drawing to an end.
“As you wish.” Cirucci slowly raised herself off the couch, another grimace coming to her face, hand gently holding her side. She made her way to the door, not allowing her pout to show until she had her back to him. Disappointing. … Sort of, not actually. He was just an ass. But she paused anyway, hand on the door knob, still holding her side. … If she’d opened the damn thing stretching- “… Come by if you need to be tended to.” She said as casually as she could manage. This was just what she always did, Grimmjow had said it correctly. Who did she belong to? Who claimed her? No one, she was theirs to share.
The moment she paused was all the time it took for his sonido to bring him directly behind her, slamming her against the door and dipping his head down to bite down on her neck painfully. His hand slid down to where she held her side, digging his fingers into where she had clearly been injured and letting his reiatsu heal even as he tore her open again. "You. Disgust. Me." He snarled against her ear, knowing only that his words were absolutely true, even if the reasoning behind them was uncertain. He had never concerned himself with such things, anyway, starting now would be foolish.
She whimpered, eyes closing in pain and pressing against him, struggling to get away from the painful position against the door, hissing at the sensation of his fingers reopening the wound in her side, ripping even as they healed and soothed, his bite narrowly avoided the wound on her neck. “And I-“ She grit out, twisting her head to nip sharply at his lips before she whimpered again in pain, “Think you’re a egotistical ass.” But she was in no position to seem intimidating, holding in gasps and writhing to try and remove his touch from her wound.
He all but purred at the sound of her whimpering, licking where he had bitten and pressing his hand even harder against her side the more she tried to fight it. "Finally, a breakthrough. You understand." He whispered, biting back a harsh laugh as he did. Red was slowly beginning to seep through the white fabric of her uniform, and he watched as the spot slowly grew in radius, waiting until it got to be just a certain size. At that, he twisted his fingers inside her just so and then released her, allowing her to turn around and leaning over to press a single, chaste kiss to her lips. "Dismissed now, Thunderwitch."
Just so drew out a low moan, even still against his lips, though even then she tried to draw him back closer, to more than something simply chaste, hand coming back to her side to press tightly, aggravated as she slumped momentarily back against the door. She’d just cleaned the damn thing, too. “Sure?~” She murmured huskily, trying to regain breath from those moments too occupied with whimpers to think of such things.
"Quite." He opened the door, placing his hand on her shoulder and all but shoving her out into the hallway. "Tell Rori-chan to stop by sometime, would you?" He added as an afterthought, before tugging the door shut again and heading to the sink to wash the blood off of his hand.
Now that was disappointing. The Privaron harrumphed, crossing her arms across her chest, a pout on her lips. Mean, to get her all excited like that and then not deliver. But he had only been nice one day, and that one day was more trouble than anything was worth. She angrily flipped her thick hair out of her face, heading back to her apartment with a slight limp of pain. Rori? Inexperienced Rori? Hmmph. Well, if anything, she supposed it would make him appreciate her more. … Ass.
Rating; PG-13, for violence and language
Characters; Il Forte [
garrisoned] & Cirucci [thunderwitch]Summary; Cirucci pays a visit to Il Forte to talk about the last curse day. Il Forte proceeds to be an unreceptive asshole, as usual. Things, surprisingly, begin to go back to "normal"
Log;
Cirucci had decided earlier that sometimes she despised this City. Despised what it made her do, made her think, made her feel, made her miss. And she certainly hated what she was about to do. She grimaced, raised her hand to knock on the door in front of her, and hesitated. It took her a full moment before she slumped against the hallway wall, covering her face with her palm for a moment, taking a few breaths. This was so foolish, so… disgusting. So… with a half sigh the Privaron grit her teeth, tried to erase the frown from her face, and knocked once on the door of Il Forte Grantz.
He felt her reiatsu the moment she entered the building. He had been expecting it, but it didn't stop him from tensing at the sound of the knock on the door. His eyes narrowed, and for a long time he didn't move from where he sat on the couch near the window. He wasn't interested in seeing anyone right now, let alone her, even the ticking not deterring him from seeking solitude. The laptop was cast aside on the table, turned off and untouched since yesterday. A headache. Everything about this fucking place was a headache. The ticking was a headache, the deities were a headache, the shinigami were a headache, the fact that he was pleased she had come of her own accord without him asking -- Tch. He sneered at himself, glancing over his shoulder as he muttered a "Come in" just loud enough for her to hear.
She put her hand on the doorknob, opening it softly and slipping in, closing it silently behind her. Quiet. He liked quiet. … Which made her want to be loud, but she quashed the feeling, for now. Cirucci stood there, for a minute, unsure of what to do. She finally slunk into the living room, maneuvering into a corner of the couch and sitting. She waited for him to say something, anything, knowing he probably wouldn’t listen to a damned word until he was fine and ready to. The something of a pout and something of a frown came back to her face as she settled. … She may have to start, damn him.
He let his eyes close as the ticking vanished, forgetting she was there momentarily to revel in the silence. He didn't bother looking at her, barely acknowledged her presence. He knew why she was here, there was no need to ask. It was a conversation that was, in his mind, not worth having. He could feel traces of Grimmjow's and Zaera Polo's reiatsu still clinging to her from the night before, and it made him livid. Resuming normal behaviour, it was all fine and well, why was she here wasting his time now? He opened one eye, casting a sidelong glance at her, irritation only showing in the clipped tone of his voice. "What."
Cirucci turned to face him, tucking up her legs and laying her head between the crook of her knees, eyes closed. “We have to talk about that curse day.” She murmured, keeping clear on her end of the couch, not daring to try and touch him, even though she was a sensual thing, and the touch was what she enjoyed, what solved things for her. But… goddamnit, that wouldn’t solve anything here, would it?
"Do we?" He asked coolly, mind stubbornly locked down and refusing to let a single thought surface surrounding that particular curse. "But you've already recovered from it, Thunderwitch." He almost winced at his own words the moment they came from his mouth, at how pathetic they sounded in his head. Disgust and unease weighed heavy on him, the feeling as pleasant as the taste of bile. "I see no reason to bring it up."
She gave him a weak glare, looking up and blowing air to move a stray lock of her hair that had curled into her vision. “… You know what I do, Il Forte.” She didn’t feel like adding how I deal with things. That implied it bothered her. And as obvious as it was, she would never actually admit it vocally. “You want to just ignore it, then?” She asked, as if they were discussing something exceedingly mundane. Like groceries. Yes, groceries. … She hated groceries. Human food. Not real meals. “Never speak of it again?"
He returned her glare with a withering look, shrugging off her first statement and stopping short at the question she followed it with. He turned his head slowly to look at her and all but stared. Straight at her, everything about him for each moment the silence stretched on unreadable. "What do you think." He cursed his own weakness in this moment, a mere modified foot soldier. He wanted to kill her. Not softly, not so he could watch her skin turn gray, but so he could see red. He shifted where he sat at the thought, refraining from licking his lips and forcing himself back to the conversation at hand. "Were you going to suggest something else?"
Her gaze was as blank as she could make it. Which wasn’t as blank as his, she had never been good at hiding her true intents, thoughts, feelings, anything. She switched positions, sprawled, legs hanging off the couch edge and head now resting on the backing and the crook of a gloved elbow. “I don’t know what to suggest. So no, I wasn’t.” Her voice was low, mere murmurs. Quiet. And she felt like she should be trying harder to annoy him. Flaunt Grimmjow, Zaera-Polo, something to make him angry. But she was tired. Sore. Not… in the mood to be annoying. That was it. Idly toying with one of her garters, she sighed, eyes closing. “I said the wrong name yesterday.” She mentioned suddenly.
"Your failures don't interest me." He snapped almost immediately, bristling, trying not to wonder exactly what something like that was even supposed to mean, or why she decided to tell him. A small part of him was pleased, however, with the thought of the expression on Grimmjow's or his younger brother's face when the name that rolled off the Thunderwitch's tongue that certain way wasn't theirs. It was almost enough to put him in a better mood. Almost. "If that's all, tell me, why are you still here?"
Cirucci almost smirked. Il Forte, there he was. Instead she opened her eyes, looking at him sharply, no softness like there had been during the curse day, not that utter weakness, that love on her expression. And if she had her way, she would never wear that look again. It was shameful, degrading, and… not at all pleasant. “I’m not sure.” She finally said, still quietly. “If you want me to forget the curse day and leave, then tell me too.” The Privaron stretched with a grimace, wincing at the pain in her side and neck from her fight earlier, shifting to avoid aggravating the still healing wounds. “I’ve told you before, if you want something from me, to ask.”
"Get out." He said, simply. Everything about her was winding something inside him taut right now, and he was uncertain how much more it would take for it to snap. His fingers twitched, the ever-present urge to draw Del Toro and rip, tear, skewer something was intensified by his dissatisfaction with the way the Thunderwitch's visit was drawing to an end.
“As you wish.” Cirucci slowly raised herself off the couch, another grimace coming to her face, hand gently holding her side. She made her way to the door, not allowing her pout to show until she had her back to him. Disappointing. … Sort of, not actually. He was just an ass. But she paused anyway, hand on the door knob, still holding her side. … If she’d opened the damn thing stretching- “… Come by if you need to be tended to.” She said as casually as she could manage. This was just what she always did, Grimmjow had said it correctly. Who did she belong to? Who claimed her? No one, she was theirs to share.
The moment she paused was all the time it took for his sonido to bring him directly behind her, slamming her against the door and dipping his head down to bite down on her neck painfully. His hand slid down to where she held her side, digging his fingers into where she had clearly been injured and letting his reiatsu heal even as he tore her open again. "You. Disgust. Me." He snarled against her ear, knowing only that his words were absolutely true, even if the reasoning behind them was uncertain. He had never concerned himself with such things, anyway, starting now would be foolish.
She whimpered, eyes closing in pain and pressing against him, struggling to get away from the painful position against the door, hissing at the sensation of his fingers reopening the wound in her side, ripping even as they healed and soothed, his bite narrowly avoided the wound on her neck. “And I-“ She grit out, twisting her head to nip sharply at his lips before she whimpered again in pain, “Think you’re a egotistical ass.” But she was in no position to seem intimidating, holding in gasps and writhing to try and remove his touch from her wound.
He all but purred at the sound of her whimpering, licking where he had bitten and pressing his hand even harder against her side the more she tried to fight it. "Finally, a breakthrough. You understand." He whispered, biting back a harsh laugh as he did. Red was slowly beginning to seep through the white fabric of her uniform, and he watched as the spot slowly grew in radius, waiting until it got to be just a certain size. At that, he twisted his fingers inside her just so and then released her, allowing her to turn around and leaning over to press a single, chaste kiss to her lips. "Dismissed now, Thunderwitch."
Just so drew out a low moan, even still against his lips, though even then she tried to draw him back closer, to more than something simply chaste, hand coming back to her side to press tightly, aggravated as she slumped momentarily back against the door. She’d just cleaned the damn thing, too. “Sure?~” She murmured huskily, trying to regain breath from those moments too occupied with whimpers to think of such things.
"Quite." He opened the door, placing his hand on her shoulder and all but shoving her out into the hallway. "Tell Rori-chan to stop by sometime, would you?" He added as an afterthought, before tugging the door shut again and heading to the sink to wash the blood off of his hand.
Now that was disappointing. The Privaron harrumphed, crossing her arms across her chest, a pout on her lips. Mean, to get her all excited like that and then not deliver. But he had only been nice one day, and that one day was more trouble than anything was worth. She angrily flipped her thick hair out of her face, heading back to her apartment with a slight limp of pain. Rori? Inexperienced Rori? Hmmph. Well, if anything, she supposed it would make him appreciate her more. … Ass.