tampered | COMPLETE!

COMPLETE!

When: Sun. May 6th, evening
Rating: G<—>PG.
Characters: Uryuu (

sciencedaughter)
Summary: Uryuu may think he’s got this “avoid the shinigami” think under control, but Nemu doesn’t plan to give him much of a choice.
Log;

It was easy to tell himself he didn’t regret it; after all, Ishida Uryuu hated shinigami. That simple fact had been the central focus of his character ever since the day his sensei died. He hated the shinigami, always had, and in the face of such facts it would be ridiculous to regret his promise. Kurotsuchi-san and all the rest were not his problem.

So, of course Ishida did not cast solemn looks at the small, notebook computer that had come (strangely) with the room. The seventeenth room, in the third building, on the third floor. Not as he stirred rice on his stove, his wrist unconsciously jerking round to the beat provided by the ticking. Not as he sat with a glass bowl and chopsticks at the table, and not as he threaded a needle with white and began to stitch a tear in his Quincy cape. Purchasing a standard pair of black slacks and an appropriate blue shirt had not been a problem; removing the buttons in favor of a better fastener for it had been slightly more annoying. He couldn’t go around in his Quincy garments all day, every day.

The tear was quickly enough mended, and Ishida stood so to fold up his cape and put it with the rest of his Quincy clothing. “They’ll need a little bleach,” he muttered, eying the dried, brown bloody patch on his shirt, soon covered as he patted down his cape. Sliding the drawer closed, Ishida remained standing, looking around the empty room. His head ached in a quiet, not completely adjusted way, the tick-tock-ticking not a little maddening.

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She supposed this was rather rude of her.

He said he didn't... that he had promised not to have anything to do with shinigami, and here she was, notes folded neatly in her arms, tracking his energy through the City. Nemu didn't... well, no, she did know why she wanted to see him.

The Quincy was someone she... the creation had difficulty thinking of the proper word. She did not feel about him the small amount of affection she had for the Espada Ulquiorra. She did not feel about him the content feelings she had around the ones she called friend. She did not feel about him the fear and awe she had for Mayuri-sama. She could tentatively call it... respect? Whatever she called it... he had been the first one to show her such a random act of kindness as he had in Soul Society, and that would always be something special in her heart.

And so she knocked lightly at the door behind which she felt the Quincy's distinctive signature, face trying to be blank but still holding the hints of disappointment and apprehension, her own reiatsu hidden as carefully as she could, not wanting to risk that he would feel her and not open the door.

Though he was not so accustomed to the ticking for it to no longer bother him, he was enough that, at first, he thought the knock was a trick of his mind, in response to it. He started on realizing that someone had actually knocked on his door. Not having given out the information on where he lived, Ishida let himself be fooled by reishi similar to the human world, and assumed that a neighbor wished to welcome him. It never occured to him, rather stupidly, to examine the reiatsu.

He made his way to the door, asking, "Yes, who is it?" as he jerked the knob and opened it. It took a second for him to compute the visual with which he was presented. Once he had, Ishida jumped and took a step back, his eyes widening. Panic tempted him to slam the door, but, honor too strongly embedded hissily protested, no, that would be rude. Shinigami or not.

"K-Kurotsuchi-san?"

"Ishida Uryu." Nemu met his gaze for a brief moment before demurely lowering her eyes and bowing slightly, speaking to his feet.

"I am sorry for coming, when you said you did not wish to in any way shape or form associate with a shinigami, but I wanted you to have access to my notes, despite." She did not yet offer the papers, however, long black braid slipping over her shoulder as she straightened.

"I must also apologize for my extremely inappropriate rudeness in whatI am about to do." The shinigami let herself into his apartment, using the space alotted by his stepping back to enter and gently close the door behind her.

Ishida opened and closed his mouth a few times each time she spoke, his protests dying, sometimes silently, sometimes with a strangled sound. You can't be here! How did you find me?! You should go!

The fight did not quite go out of him, the tension did not quite loose, though both diminished as he watched her bow and divert her eyes. He stepped back again as she entered, his arms seizing up, as if he meant to grab her arm and push her out, but thought better of it.

"Er--you--" He squawked out, swallowed, and tried again, his shoulders sagging into temporary defeat. Ishida looked at her as his head bowed, a hazy figure over the rims of his spectacles, and noticed that the ticking had substantially quieted. So it was true.

"You shouldn't have," Ishida protested, frowning. "I appreciate it, but, I really can't--um, see you." His eyes slid to the wall to his left, and he added, in part unconscious undertone, "really, shouldn't even talk to you over the network..."

"You are not seeing me." Nemu murmured, her voice as soft and quiet as it always tended to be, never wanting to be loud, to be a bother, an annoyance.

"I am forcing you to interact with me, you have, of course, no choice in this matter." She stood still, not moving in the slightest, back straight, hands folded over the papers in her arms, eyes still averted.

"In addition, you may turn away so that in the literal sense of the word, you are not seeing me." Loopholes were easy to find, when one looked for them, and... she wanted to find one. Wanted badly to find one. To not see him, be of use to him, help him...

Since he had departed Soul Society she had wondered after him, wondered what he was like, if she knew him better, if she merely dreamed of how he was, or if her perceptions had perhaps been affected by her bloodloss, slumped against that wall. But she wanted to find out.

His fingers clenched at his sides, convulsively, and he fought to steady them by adjusting his glasses. His brow furrowed; Ishida was sure that, as simple as her logic was, it didn't hold up. After all, he was sure he could force her out, if need be. Accepting her help would most certainly be a violation. He reasoned it, in a blank, uncommitted way, the words dull, certain but unmotivated in his head.

When she suggested that he turn away, Ishida felt his mouth twitch. He nearly smiled, and wanted to clap his palm over his mouth to deny it. "That doesn't--" Ishida began, shaking his head, "You must know that it isn't that easy."

He said it and looked down at her, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was difficult not to feel stirred, in some strange way, by this shinigami whom he should have hated. Did hate, of course. She had so small a sense of self-preservation, that he-- Ishida shook his head again. Ryuuken wasn't here, which did not legitimize it, but perhaps, just this once.

Ishida strove to sound stern, unyielding. "You shouldn't, can't do this again." Softer, a little nervous, "Er---but, would you like to sit down?"

Moving back again, he gestured to the table, foregoing the stiff, uncomfortable couch in favor of a surface on which to put her notes.

"I would like that, thank you." She sat down, laid the notes out in front of her, began sorting them into seperate files, each neatly organized, labeled, cross-referenced. Her gaze still would not meet his, dark eyes hooded by lashes as she stared down at her hands, diligently seperating papers written on in a fine, precise, hand.

"... I apologize once more for asking something of you that is not easy, for asking anything of you." Her voice grew even quieter. "I wished to see you, but if you truly do not wish my presense, I will recuse myself." She hoped he did not accept that offer, for the last thing she wanted now was to leave, not when she had found him and he was here, and he was safe.

Ishida stood for a moment longer after she took a seat, watching her hands as she began to set down her notes. Blinking out of his temporary reverie, he walked around the table to take the adjacent seat.

He fought with an appropriate response. Ishida looked down at the table, at one of the papers and the way she had dotted her i's. He couldn't say it was find, no need to apologize, because it wasn't. And he ought to urge her to leave. Musing over it, he finally lifted his eyes to hers, even if they would not meet. it would be rude to kick her out, taking advantage of her kindness of offering her notes. "No, I've already broken it this far, and..."

Ishida schooled his features into something habitual, carefully cool, indifferent. "If you leave now, I would be forced to break my promise again when returning these to you." Well, he could have left them at her door, or in her mailbox, assuming she had one. He would overlook that.

She did not reply at first, not until she had sorted the notes in to three seperate files. Arrancar. Shinigami. Other.

"... Thank you." The creation finally murmured, knowing but not saying that he was breaking his promise. And she'd come knowing she would ask him to break it, silently beg for him to break it, for her own petty selfishness, a selfishness she'd never learned she'd had until coming to this City, getting away from Mayuri-sama, and living a life of only her own.

"... You haven't had any trouble yet, have you?" Nemu tried to be conversational, she was awkward with conversations, but she had been trying to become better skilled at them, allowing her gaze to rise for the briefest second before it fell again, hands folding now neatly on the table, one wrist held slightly at a seemingly awkward angle, fingers occasionally twitching ever so slightly.

He would not acknowledge her thanks, except with a nod. Acknowledging it would recognize that this was happening, and he preferred to think that it wasn't. His honor, and thus his pride, was suffering enough.

Recognizing the order into which she had placed her notes, Ishida thought that he could, at least, strive to keep to his promise on some level. Gesturing to the Shinigami file, he said, quietly but firmly, "I won't be needing those."

"No," he replied, reaching out to shift the notes on the Arrancar closer. "Cirucci Thunderwitch has threatened me, but I'm not concerned."

Ishida blinked, looking at Nemu with sudden surprise--thinking of Cirucci had reminded him that he had been mum on his location for a reason. "How--" But, as soon as he had opened his mouth, Ishida realized, and felt rather thick-headed. How pointless. "Ah, ...never mind."

"Of course." Nemu demurely slid that file to the side, silently rearranging the two remaining once more. Espada. Privaron. Numeros. Others - Neutral. Others - Friendly. Others - Enemies. Her right hand trailed slightly in motion to her left, stiffer.

"Cirucci Thunderwitch, as you will learn and probably know already, is the most troublesome of all Arrancar present." She suppresed the urge to shrink in on herself, remembering an encounter with the Sexta Espada and the 105th Privaron that had left her near death, bleeding out onto concrete.

"However, with curse days, it may be best to be concerned."

Begin with the small fry and move up, that seemed logical. Ishida, hesitating lest she prefer he not actually handle her notes, slid the file on the Numeros closer.

"Is she?" He asked, his tone dismissive. "I've... handled her before. Again, she doesn't worry me." Not beyond refusing to list his lodgings publicly, but that was a stupid thing to do in any world. He lifted his eyebrows and gaze, "Curse days? Concerned about what, exactly?"

Nemu nodded slightly in encouragement, gestured stiffly with her right hand for him to help himself. The file contained all the information she had on Rori, Di Roy, Il Forte Grantz, Nell Tu, and the newley arrived Fracción. Known strengths, skirmishes, conflicts, cursed activities, everything she had discerned.

"You-" Her gaze actually rose in consternation. "No one had briefed you yet on the nature of the City's curse days?" If no one had, goodness, that was gross negligence that needed to be hastened to be corrected.

Taking the papers more firmly in hand, Ishida began with Di Roy. He would skim the information on the Numeros, focusing on strengths and whether or not their conflicts and skirmishes had involved anyone he might care about. A lot of it was extraneous, but all exceedingly thorough.

"Hm, that's not it," he replied, distraction evident in his voice, in his eyes dashing over the ink. "I've been briefed, but I'm not sure what you meant. Did you mean the curses that cause friends to behave like enemies?"

"Oh-" She quieted, noddingly slightly to herself, chastising mentally. Of course he would have heard of the curses, how thoughtless of her to think he could not have.

"There are... many curses that have potential to make one vulnerable to attack." She murmured, speaking from experience.

"Curses that, as you mention, cause friends to behave as enemies and visa versa, curses that remove your powers, change your personality, transport someone into your vicinity, arrange citizens into preset actions, and allow for other handicaps such as sensory loss." She had been through several of these.

"Most are not as honorable as to not take advantage of these oppurtunities."

Shoddy swordwork, easily pinned, no threat under normal circumstances. Ishida shifted the notes on Di Roy to the bottom, impressed with nothing but Kurotsuchi-san's attention to detail. If all the Numeros provided such displays, he thought he could just as well skip them. He skimmed more quickly, looking now at Rori.

"These are very impressive," he said, offhand but sincere, glancing up at the shinigami. Looking down again, his eyes narrowed not at the content but what he heard from Kurotsuchi-san. The curses sounded impossibly frustrating, but as something he could, apparently, do nothing to change or avoid, there was no use worrying.

"Hn. Of course not." His frown bore a distinct, scowling twist. "How annoying."

"Thank you." The response was immediate, a condition response warmed slightly by the fact that she really did care what he thought of them.

She tried not to fidget, anxious.

"Curses such as that have, of late, proved useful in two instances." The thought occured to her and she turned to the file shoved aside and began riffling through it.

"Once, when Cirucci Thunderwitch had her tongue cut out by Matsumoto Rangiku during the curse day in which one percieved enemies as friends..." She found Aizen Sousuke's file and placed with the Espada's. "And when Aizen Sousuke was killed by Darth Bane while powerless due to a curse."

Often with Di Roy, killed a shinigami. He could keep his face neutral for that information, his index finger bending to turn the page on Rori, however--

"Her tongue?" Ishida asked, his eyes widening despite himself. He wasn't sure if he was amused at how appropriate it was, disgusted, or horrified, and his tone reflected it. He felt, however, a grim satisfaction at the thought of a powerless Aizen. He stopped that train of thought before he could wish for a repeat of that curse, as no doubt wanting it would result in an unaffected Aizen and a powerless Ishida.

Eying the transfer of Aizen's file, he flashed her a grateful if slightly abashed look. Shameful of him to forget. Ishida flipped to Il Forte Grantz.

"Yes, her tongue. She was unable to speak for a period of nine days." Nemu had a rather substantial file on Cirucci Thunderwitch, as she was easily the most vocal and loud of the bunch.

"She eventually regained the muscle by trading sexual intercourse to a healer, one angel Raphael." Nemu was also of the opinion that far too many citizens in the City made things far too easy for her to hack into. Not that... she was trying to pry. She had to keep detailed notes, and one never knew when something pertaining to one's enemies could crop up.

At the look she merely smiled, a wane thing, but a smile nonetheless, one that excused.

While he wouldn't necessarily wish the experience of one's tongue being cut out--Ishida pressed his against the roof of his mouth and over his teeth, assuring himself of its presence and connection--Ishida had a feeling that, when the day came that Cirucci confronted him physically, he would be wishing her tongue had been removed again.

He almost bit his tongue at the newest revelation. "Trading--" Ishida coughed, flushing. "Er--" Swallowed. "All right."

Il Forte Grantz had quite a relationship with Cirucci Thunderwitch. Ishida struck the idea of sex from his mind and flipped past Il Forte, as his being no longer in the city made him irrelevant.

She shifted slightly, rubbing her wrist absently, uncomfortable that he was uncomfortable.

"Needless to say, curse days can... interfere with things." She added with a small clearing of her throat.

"Also, as evidenced, some of the other citizens are... ecclectic, to say the least. One must never be too careful in making deals with them, including dealing with the deities."

Ishida nodded, allowing the validity of that assertion. He didn't look forward to curse days, not a bit. "What do deals with the deities generally consist of?"

Nell Tu's file was less than alarming--she was not an enemy, as he already knew, and so he gave the information the most perfunctory of examinations before moving past her to Tesla.

Brief and satisfying--he would not attack unless attacked or ordered to do so. "There's a truce, correct? Unless better described in these, could you give me more information on that?" Shifting her notes back into their prior order, he directed his attention to her as he exchanged the file on the Numeros for the Privaron.

"The most common ones I have made note of are for life." Nemu replied softly. "The deities usually trade power, life, or memories in exchange. Other deals vary, I myself traded memories in exchange for my zanpakutou." Her hand fell briefly to the hilt of the blade, a fond gesture. Mayuri-sama did not allow her carry it, and so it had not arrived in the City with her, something that she had soon realized needed to be remedied.

"As for the truce..." The Privaron's file contained only one entry, but it was heftier than the Numeros combined.

"We try and follow it, somewhat." Her voice was low. "The Arrancar do not in the slightest. We have been attacked numerous time, with casualties. It was originally a simple non-agression pact, because we did not wish to involve citizens in our war."

Ishida caught himself before he asked which memories she had traded. Obviously, as she had her zanpakutou, her memories had gone in exchange. It also was none of his business. It was a strange idea, something that should have been impossible--that memories could be taken away, just like that. Illogical, but this place defied logic, and as ever, he had no choice but to accept it. He thought back to the information he had read, and volunteered, "I understand it is normally inadvisable to deal with the deities?"

It was all Cirucci Thunderwitch. Though the ticking had been almost muted, Ishida could feel a headache building behind his brow. At least ten pages, and Kurotsuchi-san had small handwriting. The Privaron certainly kept busy, and here he knew precisely what he felt: disgust, with only a touch of horror, tempered with something else he chose not to identify. His lip curled. Violence may have been in her nature, but the excess was staggering. If not for the fact the dead walked here, he might have thought it best that she be killed, after all.

"Hm," to let he knew he was listening, otherwise quiet beneath the burden of this information. As for the rest--the information beyond her aggression, even through his disgust Ishida felt wary. It would be unfair to gain this advantage of intruding on her privacy. Not that he, of course, cared, except in the way that the information might prove userful in any way in the time coming. It was only because it could, and it was better to be sure while he had the opportunity, that Ishida read on, skipping only the section relating her strengths, as he knew those well enough.

"Not much of a truce if they don't follow it, is it?" Ishida raised his eyebrows, at the page rather than at Kurotsuchi-san. Il Forte again, and sex, for which Ishida again went pink--not as deeply as last time, but his fingers were quite quick in turning the page.

"It is not advisable unless one is willing to risk much for something they need." Nemu's hand stayed briefly at her zanpakutou hilt, glad he had not asked her what she had traded. She did not want to admit to it, not in the slightest, and though she tended to have no shame, nor sense of humiliation at such things, she did not wish him to think such things of her, curse day or no curse day.

"As for the truce..." She noted his reaction to the Privaron's file and had expected as much. Of all the Arrancar present she was the most openly violent, the one most openly sexual, and the one most openly vocal about every which thing. Not to mention, she was rather bad at encrypting her private thoughts, at least, Nemu found it easy enough to hack into them and record them.

"It is a sham. A farce." She shook her head a bit, braid shifting. "We... know this. But there is not much we can do about it."

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