Log; Complete

[thunderwitch.livejournal.com]

When; April 14th [backdated]
Rating; PG
Characters; Cirucci {thunderwitch} & Alfons {opfern}
Summary; An Arrancar and a Human go to a bookstore and out for dessert. Totally innocent, right?
Log;

Having to recollect the First World War in order to try and entertain Cirucci had not been easy. It had been hard not to lose his composure as he described it's effect on Germany's economy, but at least for a moment there had been a fire in his eyes while explaining how Germany hadn't lost, but given up due to poor leadership.

World War II was not something he had personally experienced, but he had mentioned that the day he died was the day of the uprising that would start the chain reaction leading up to said war. He had certainly done his research.

Alfons didn't think these stories were good bed time stories, but whatever cheered her and Wonderwyce up could work for him, and there had been plenty of books to offer her. He was plenty sated with his own rocketry books, pleased that his collection was ever growing.

He didn't much like plastic bags, though, since they tore so easily, so he had come prepared with a shoulder bag to hold any books they purchased. It was a bit heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle, and he checked his watch once he stepped out of the store.

"Are you hungry? It's so warm out; don't you think ice cream would be nice?"

“Ice cream?” The Privaron had been lost in thought, arms crossed under her breasts and something of a pout on her lips. She’d found a few books that looked interesting, books on human wars, with pictures for her entertainment and Wonderwyce’s understanding. But it still didn’t distract her from her mood from earlier. Her mood brought on by her conversation with the Octava Espada the night before.

To be honest, she had expected to be punished. She’d said such things to a superior… been so… candid. Normally she would not flaunt Il Forte to his brother so, nor… it was that damned curse’s fault. Making people see him say he loved her, making them see her… cry. Tears. For that matter… Cirucci’s gaze turned to the human beside her. He had seen it too. But of all that had, he bothered her the least. … He hadn’t judged, or smirked and made some kind of remark. Bless the little thing.

“… That would be nice, sweetheart.” She crooned absently, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. Stupid curses. Stupid City. … Stupid Privaron.

Alfons had noticed how distracted she seemed, but he really didn't think it his business to pry. If she didn't want to bring it up, then that was her decision. Still, he did prefer it when she smiled, and even if she was an arrancar, all girls liked ice cream, didn't they?

"I bet we can find a nice ice cream parlor. Have you ever had a parfait? Lots and lots of fruit." The dairy in the ice cream usually made his coughing a little worse, but at the same time, the cold was incredibly soothing on his throat.

And it really was the perfect day for it. It wasn't exactly hot, but the sun was so bright that he had to squint a little as they walked through the crowds.

Sun was nothing new to Cirucci. After all, she dwelt in Hueco Mundo, and… she missed Hueco Mundo. Such a dazzling desert, so barren, so clean, so white. And with that blue sky, spread out over everything with that large sun. It was a good sky to fly in. The City didn’t even compare.

“… I like fruit, that sounds nice.” The Privaron was intensely distracted, because now she’d let herself start thinking. She had managed to not think before. Just focus on those silly books, focus on going out, on being angry. … Stupid.

“Alfons?” And another thing that frustrated her was this human boy. Man. Thing. … She trusted him, which was the silliest thing. But she knew what she told him would never reach her brothers, nor anyone else. And sympathy, she could usually get sympathy, and most times attention. And she craved those things just as much, if not more, than she craved her violence and her indulgences. “… How much did you see, yesterday?”

Her question did warm his cheeks a little, if only because it forced him to recall some of the very abstract memories he'd experienced the previous day. Hers, Edward's, and so many others. It hadn't been like a movie at all, like so many others had claimed. It had been like...his own identity had been invaded.

"Ah..." Alfons' voice was quiet as he walked, and he coughed a bit into his hand before continuing. "That conversation... between you and Il Forte. There was also a...fight with someone I don't recognize." It had been amazing, too. Then he blushed even more. "And, um...some other things that most certainly weren't my business."

She usually found some humor in his embarrassment, he really was so very… innocent seeming. Especially concerning sex, which made him easy to fluster. There was no amusement in her face now. With a frown, she reached over to fiddle with the strap of the shoulder bag, indicating that she wanted it.

“Conversation.” Cirucci echoed. Conversation. She could still remember every word, every touch, every whisper, every time that damnable man had said he loved her. Looked her in the eyes and lied, just to hurt her. She knew that was why, that it had to be why. It was so disgusting, so horrible, and so… beautiful. And she missed it, missed him hurting her, missed him touching her, degrading her, loving her...

“Does Alfons love me?” She asked suddenly, not at all teasing or any such thing.

Cirucci's question startled him enough to make him completely stop pay attention to where he was walking, and he looked over at her just in time to slam right into a taller man. The impact knocked him back flat on his ass, the books scattering every which way as the bag landed on his leg with enough force that would probably bring about a bruise later.

Alfons looked up sharply, but whoever he'd walked into was already gone, and he sighed, looking sheepish at his own clumsy misfortune while trying to shove the books back into the bag before people could step on them.

"I...suppose I do."

The man had already gone because Cirucci had shot him a glare that most humans did not enjoy. Especially human males. She would have demanded an apology, but she didn’t ever see points in stupid apologies like that, they didn’t mean anything.

“Ah.” Was the Arrancar’s only response, waiting until he’d gotten all the books into the bag before snatching it away, slinging it easily over one shoulder. She was built for power, and even as she was, induced to sickness at the motion to violence, her power and innate abilities remained untouched.

“Why?” She continued as if it were such a mundane conversation. “We haven’t slept together, you know.”

Alfons blinked as the book bag was taken from him, and he rubbed a little at his sore leg while standing back up. He wanted to argue, but what was the point? Cirucci was stronger than him, and she was terribly stubborn.

Her question made him terribly sad, but the topic was not something made for public, and his face felt hot as he glanced nervously around them. In Munich, this definitely wouldn't have been tolerated, but things were so different here...

Still, his voice was practically a whisper as he brushed off his pants and began walking again. "Love and sex don't exactly go hand-in-hand, Cirucci. They can, but they don't have to. My love for you is different than..." Another nervous glance around, as if he expected some sort of punishment for his words. "...than my love for Edward."

Cirucci’s voice remained at its constant tone, which was certainly not quiet. She was shameless, through and through.

“How does Alfons love me?” She was both… genuinely curious and seeking attention. She never liked being alone, liked having no one around to talk to, to talk to her, flatter her. Truly a selfish creature, she told herself. But in all honesty, she didn’t comprehend how one could love and not bed, to love someone for themselves and not for their bodies, what they could offer in return through pleasures and occupations.

"How...? Mm... I don't know. Maybe sort of like a sibling?" He flushed and reached up to rub at the back of his neck nervously. "I was an only child, though, so I'm not sure if that fits... But I want you to be happy. I'd like for your smile to reach your eyes one day."

The topic was incredibly embarrassing, and he was relieved when he spotted an ice cream parlor, and was quick to dart over to it, stepping aside while holding the door open for Cirucci.

Shaking her head gently, the Privaron sauntered in with a small chuckle. Silly Alfons. Love? Her? Almost on instinct, flirtations and small things like that were in her nature, Cirucci let her fingers ghost across the human’s chest as she walked by. Silly Alfons.

She always felt so… strange in public. As surely as she knew that, when human, she must have gone out, walked in crowds, gone to do things not missions or orders, she wasn’t used to it, still wasn’t. Always felt as if she stood out, with her uniform, her bone mask, her blade. (Though truly, the scandalous amount of leg couldn’t have helped.) Claiming a table, she shot a glare at anyone who even glanced in her direction. She hated them.

“Of course it does.” The comment about her eyes confused her. As if to demonstrate, Cirucci smiled.

He was growing rapidly accustomed to Cirucci's random touches and looks, but it still left him feeling flustered. Always best not to comment, though, and telling her to stop would probably make it worse. At least it had yet to ever get as bad as that one time that had ended up with him passed out on her floor.

Arguing with Cirucci was something he liked to avoid if unnecessary, but this was something he was going to have to be firm on as he sat down across from her. "It doesn't. Not when you force it like that. And your smirks really don't count."

Glancing up to the server as their menus were set down, he smiled politely. "Do you have Italian soda? I'd like...um...creamsicle flavor, please!" He really loved all the culinary options this city offered, if nothing else.

She frowned. Forced? No, she’d just done it, hadn’t she? Smiled?

Glaring at the server, she merely pointed at the parfait. Alfons said it had fruit in it, and she trusted he at least knew what he was talking about in that respect. She didn’t deign speak to the other human. She didn’t deign speak to many humans.

“… Why?” Cirucci may have sounded childish, asking questions like that. But in all honesty, she didn’t understand many things, and it was all too apparent when she was put in “normal” situations.

Alfons watched as the server took their menus and walked off, then glanced back to Cirucci. She just had to ask all the difficult questions, didn't she? "Why? I don't know. And I can't really tell you how to make it happen, either. It's just something that does. A true, pure happiness that just lights up your eyes."

Resting his hand against his cheek, the man glanced out the window. "Getting Edward to smile that way is hard as well, but it might be the rarity that makes it so special."

Happy? Pure happiness?

“Come with me next time I kill a shinigami, then.” Cirucci answered dismissively, idly turning to adjust her gloves, pausing in consternation as she looked at her fingers. … The skin was very dry. A look of worry crossed her face before she hid her hands in her lap. Alfons didn’t know about that curse, she didn’t think. … Didn’t want to think about it, either. And as long as she didn’t try anything violent, she wouldn’t-

“I smile.” She did it again, just to prove it, let her painted lips curl into as soft an expression as she could manage. Which, admittedly… wasn’t that soft.

It was hard not to laugh at her effort, but he was too afraid she might take it in a derogatory fashion, so he clamped his lips tightly shut while shifting in his seat and trying to soothe the urge.

Finally though he spoke again and shook his head, reaching out to tap her cheek. "You do smile. But it doesn't reach your eyes in the way I mean. I don't really know how to explain it... I'm sorry."

He probably never should have brought it up.

She frowned again.

“… Alfons.” She had a special tone for his voice when she was slightly displeased. Frustrated, if you will. Forgetting she was hiding them, her fingers tapped on the counter as she sighed. Now she would have to change the subject and everything.

“Did-“ Cirucci paused. “… Did you see all of the fight?” She wanted to be sure, had to know again, reconfirm, that what she’d done was right. That she’d had herself killed her to avoid being made a disgrace in her world, being killed at home.

Alfons' gaze was drawn to her fingers thanks to the excessive tapping, but then they immediately flew back up to her face at the question. "The fight?" ...Oh. With that man, the one with the black hair and glasses.

He had been human, but those powers...

"...Um, yes." He shifted uncomfortably, and smiled and thanked the server when he brought the Italian soda and parfait over to them. Rather amused at the twisty straw, Alfons pulled his glass over to have a sip.

She brought it up, so...did she want to talk about it? "I could feel things, too...the way I think you felt them, but...why did you want that?"

Cirucci smiled at the parfait. Fruit. Looking at her fingers, damn it, why were her gloves cut there, she picked up the small spoon and poked it lightly. It amused her.

“… Why did I want what?” Now she was interested. She didn’t know, well, she should have, she’d felt his… peace, when he’d died, but it simply hadn’t occurred to her he would feel anything of hers. The very idea of anyone feeling how she’d felt when Il Forte- That made her squirm in her seat.

He wasn't feeling it right now, and it was hard to remember the details considering how many other memories he'd experienced the previous day, but when he shut his eye and knitted his brow, he could recollect her memory rather well. It was still fresh, after all.

"Confused and...Upset? Over...what?" He opened his eyes. "Mercy? Why would you prefer death over that?"

She stiffened, paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. … Mercy. A spark of anger flashed in her eyes at the very thought and she slowly lower her spoon.

“It meant I was weak.” Cirucci hissed, looking him square in the eyes. “That I wasn’t deserving of death, that some human boy had to have pity on me, think to spare me from death because I wasn’t-“ Her voice lowered, and it was barely detectable that it nearly broke. “Because I wasn’t worth killing.”

Her eyes lowered back to her food. “Wasn’t worth it.” She muttered again. The Privaron would never admit to it, but she had fears. And chief among said fears was uselessness. That she would be discarded, ignored, be… worthless.

That explained the way those feelings had filtered through during that violent and painful memory. "Hm..." Alfons needed a but of time to muse over that while he sipped at his soda.

This was a really good flavor. Maybe he ought to bring something home for Noah.

Licking a stray drop from his lips absently, Alfons crossed his ankles and slid them under his chair. "I can't pretend to know what he was thinking, but maybe it wasn't like that. Maybe he just wanted to hope for you." His eyes were warm as he looked at her.

"Maybe he thought you were better than death?"

Cirucci laughed. Full on laughed that turned into a smile of a dangerous variety.

“Better?” She always got a half-crazed look in her eyes when she spoke on such topics, spoke of her mercy, her last fight, of that boy.

“He was a naïve fool, then.” Her grip on the dessert tightened. “If he spared me I would only have lasted long enough for my superiors to notice I had been. He would have only delayed my death, passed it on… kept the blood off his hands and put it on the Execution Squad’s.” She was muttering now.

“A Privaron, any Arrancar, without reiatsu is powerless. Worthless.”

Alfons really didn't like the hierarchy and 'rules' of the shinigami and arrancar. All they ever seemed to do was degrade each other.

With a smile that edged on sadness, he let his shoulders rise and fall with a sheepish shrug. "I suppose I'm a naïve fool as well, then." Edward was always calling him an idiot, after all. It was probably true.

Looking back down to his soda, Alfons stirred the straw around. "I'll always have hope for you. I know you're better than that. No matter what anyone takes from you, you're still you, and it's you that I love."

Her mouth opened soundlessly, struggling for words. She made quite a funny sight. But then she’d stood abruptly, nearly toppling her chair. With a frown, the Privaron actually stomped several feet away as if intending to walk out.

But she paused, turned around sharply in a twirl of skirt, and fairly flopped back down into her seat, angrily tasting the parfait.

It was good.

“… Saying such silly things, Alfons.” She muttered darkly.

Alfons had just been moving to stand, mind racing as he tried to search for an apology that wouldn't also take back when he said. After all, he had meant it, and didn't regret it, but maybe he had worded it all wrong. Offending her had not been his goal.

When she returned, though, he relaxed back in his chair and watched her eat the parfait as if it had just insulted her mother. ...If she had a mother.

"Not silly. It's the truth. I'm sorry if I upset you, though."

“…” Cirucci didn’t reply to that. Apologies. … Worthless from anyone but Alfons, because he meant them.

“… What would Alfons do if Edward left?” She finally asked after eating some in sullen silence, mulling over whether to ask or not. … The Privaron had always been social, a talker, and… now she had someone who would listen. Someone who wouldn’t give word back to her brothers concerning her weakness, at the very least.

Alfons' eyes clouded over a bit at that question, and he sat back. He didn't want to talk about it, but considering how much Cirucci had opened up to him, it would have been horribly unfair to hold out on her.

"...Mm. I'd...miss him." He paused to cough into his hand. "I don't really know what I would do. What I already do, just...without Edward." It was a miserable thought, but... "He doesn't belong here. His life has been hard enough. Him and his brother deserve to be home, with their friends."

“… Alfons.” It was that tone. “You’re being selfless-like again.”

But she didn’t press it, knew he would make that face and smile and say silly pointless human things.

“Would Alfons cry?”

He chuckled, trying to keep his features from twisting with the pain he felt at merely thinking about this. "I don't know." He would have liked to say no. After all, he didn't cry the first time, but he really hadn't been given enough time. Maybe if he had lived, he would have gone home later that night and curled up in the bed Edward used to occupy and cried until there was nothing left.

"...But," Alfons pointed, smile returning. "Your parfait's going to melt if you don't eat it a little faster."

She realized he was trying to distract her. But she let him, for the most part, returning her attention to her dessert, using the spoon to pick a strawberry out and pop it in her mouth.

But she couldn’t stand the silence of eating, never could stand silence in general, and she wanted… to talk to someone, about things.

“… I haven’t.” She finally said.

Alfons glanced back up to her, observing her for a moment as if gauging what was all right to say and what wasn't. Then, he shrugged a bit as he sipped on his slowly draining soda

"I haven't since the war. Crying is a waste of energy. Doesn't help and just gives you a headache."

Okay, that wasn't totally true. He had cried that one day after being shot in the arm, and Nill had discovered him on his kitchen floor. He didn't want to think that counted, though... It was humiliating and the blood loss had obviously kept him from being in his right mind.

“What does Alfons cry about, when he does cry?” The Privaron picked another piece of fruit, a blueberry, rolling it around with the tip of her spoon. No one had ever told her not to play with her food. Then again, what she’d rather eat was souls. She cast a look about, hunger evident in her gaze as she watched the other people. Public areas always made her hungry. So many souls about, and-

Irritably she toyed with the berry. Nowhere near as tasty.

That was an uncomfortable question, but Cirucci was always full of those. "Oh... Well, I cried when my parents died." His soda was almost gone. He probably shouldn't have been drinking it so quickly.

The urge to cough again was sudden, but he loathed how often it seemed to interrupt conversations, so he just concentrated on breathing evenly while looking at his straw.

"It's getting later. Why don't I walk you home after you finish that parfait?" It wasn't even dusk yet, but Alfons didn't like to be out after dark here.

“Don’t want to stay out long with me, Alfons?~” Cirucci teased on instinct, making a show of finishing her parfait. Decent, for human food. That was all she would allot human food. Decency.

The Arrancar flipped her hair back, crossing her legs and adjusting a garter. If her parents? Well, she didn’t have any, she had Aizen-sama, but if he died she surely would not weep. “Trying to get rid of me, hmm?” But her tone was light, if only slightly miffed.

The guilt that flickered in his eyes was hard to miss as he quickly shook his head. "No no... I just..." He coughed just a bit into his hand. Maybe it would just stay that way. One cough.

"I was going to..." Another cough. There wasn't enough air. "...make dinner tonight..." Alfons tried to explain as his fit slowly grew worse, and he barely had enough time to slap what little payment he had down on the table before abruptly standing and moving outside. "Excuse me."

Cirucci sighed. She stood, slung the bag over one shoulder and slipped out after him, deft fingers picking up the payment he’d left and taking it out with her.

“Breathe, darling.” She crooned after him, as if by her very instruction he should be able too, though she always made an effort in these cases to sound paticuraly soothing.

It was embarrassing whenever this happened out in public. Bad enough whenever anybody else had to see it...but out in public there were eyes all over.

Of course, in a city as jaded as this, someone standing around and coughing was hardly noteworthy.

When it finally faded enough so that he could talk, his voice was scratchy as he smiled thinly towards Cirucci. "Sorry about that. Must have been the carbonation." He really wasn't feeling good anymore, though. The cold sweat was hard to shake off.

"Did you at least enjoy the parfait?"

She shifted. Never did know what to say after he coughed, he always acted like it was so important and she didn’t know how to respond properly.

“… It was lovely.” The Arrancar murmured reassuringly.

"Good!" He smiled and reached out to touch the small of her back in an attempt to guide her with him as he began walking. Conversations about these things, the small things, were always what helped him feel better.

"I bet they wouldn't be too hard to learn to make. Most of the effort with them is the presentation, I believe."

Pursing her lips, Cirucci allowed herself to be led, pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t often Alfons initiated anything remotely resembling physical contact with her. A shame that, he was ever so shy sometimes.

“It did look lovely, as well.” She answered, content to allow him his small talk. She liked talking.