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tampered2007-05-27 09:18 am
strongestespada.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-05-27 09:18 am
Log; Completely Ongoing?
When; Early in the day, Sunday May 27th
Rating; PG-13 for cursing? I mean this is Noitora we're talking about.
Characters; Noitora (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
strongestespada) and Darth Bane (baneofmyexist)
Summary; Noitora has decided today is the day he and Darth Bane will face off, in retaliation for what has been done to Tesla. But Noitora has not taken into account the whims and wiles of the City...
Log;
His reiatsu pumped through him as he scoured the city for signs of the Sith, his sonido swiftly sweeping him through the City.
I'll get that fucker. The sole thought that ran through his mind as he sped through the city. Anger tickled the back of his eyes, teasing him, begging him to pull out his scythe and sweep the City down to destroy Darth Bane. Tesla was his. His servant, his Fraccion, no matter what Tesla was his. Only Noitora himself were allowed to kill Tesla. A week of training, and now Noitora would exact his revenge.
At the edge of his mind he felt the dense spot that signaled the Sith lord. He abruptly stopped and twisted to where he believed the Sith to be.
For days Bane had done not left his lair. Some might say he was a coward, hiding out from the wrath of the Arrancar, but anyone who thought such did not know Darth Bane. After his fight with Tesla he'd meditated in the Force, seeking its guidance, and he had forseen his battle with Noitora. As with most Force visions the details had been fuzzy and indistinct, but there was no mistaking the bone-thin white-uniformed creature. And so he had split his time between training, making sure his fighting prowess was in top condition, and meditation, immersing himself in the Force. He was in the best fighting shape he could recall ever being in, and the time had finally come.
Bane could feel the Arrancar searching for him, his anger called out to him like a siren at sea. It was not difficult for Bane to find him, and he made no effort to mask his own power as he approached Noitora. "Greetings Espada," he said with a predatory grin as the creature turned to face him. "It seems the time has come."
"Damn fuckin' right." Fear flared up under the anger, but Noitora quickly squashed it; the lost months were lost to the City, not this human. He left himself with only the vestiges of anger, and his devastatingly possesive pride.
A hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the hilt of his zanpakuto. He whipped it around and the black tether whipped to the side as he wielded before him--
A microphone.
Bane laughed heartily at the sight of Noitora's 'weapon.' "If you intended to do battle you should have brought something more formidable!" he said. He grinned and drew the metallic cylinder from his belt, flipping the activation switch. He frowned and flipped it again. He looked down, and to his dismay, his lightsaber was not what it should have been. "Well then," he said simply.
His anger that Bane had killed Tesla was nothing compared to the rage that now filled Noitora. A week. A whole goddamn week of training, and the fucking City decides to pull this bullshit.
He glared at Darth Bane as though it was his fault. "I trained for a motherfucking week and I'm not waiting a day longer. It's fucking on, bitch."
He turned to the console and before Bane could say a word he picked a song. "Hello," by Hyde. Sounded innocent enough.
Bane glared, the urge to crush the microphone in his fist almost overwhelming. But a voice in the back of his mind said that might still be your lightsaber, and so he resisted the urge. "Very well," he said. "Let's sing."
Noitora pressed the button. He was player A, Darth Bane was (suitably) player B. The first song would be chosen by A, and sung alone, then sung by B. The second, chosen by B and sung first alone by B, and then by A. The last was to be random, and sung together.
And so it happened that Noitora found himself on a platform surrounded by screaming fans. A veritable rainbow of lights flickered across his figure, and as the song consumed him he closed his eyes and moved to the beat. He opened his eyes and his hair flew out behind him, glinting red and passionate as screams nearly drowned out his song. All anger was lost from his mind, and confidence and simple pleasure in the attentions of the mass replaced any previous thought of revenge. He'd always been a bit of an exhibitionist, doing anything for attention. Somehow, this struck him somewhere deep inside, and felt like the perfect battle.
Bane stood just off-stage, out of the spotlight that had appeared. He pulled his hood up over his face and glared at Noitora as he began his song, a strangely catchy tune in a language he didn't understand. He held his hand out in front of him and floated the microphone above it, spinning it end over end as he waited. Noitora's anger seemed to have melted away, not so with Bane. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, screaming for a release. As he watched the screen of the game he noticed that it didn't seem to be recording the actual words sung, just the sound itself and the timing of the song. He resovled that if he muddled his way through it he would be fine. If this was how the City wanted him to resolve his conflict, then this was how he would do it.
Noitora's eyes were alive with the battle as he turned to Bane at the end of his song. "Beat that, Lord," he sneered with his eyes laughing from beneath stray black hairs. Any doubts he had had about facing Bane disappeared with the roar of the crowd.
He swung the microphone around by the chain that attached it to his hip and moved aside, gesturing for Bane to take his place on the platform.
Bane glared at Noitora as he moved past him to take his place in the light. He lowered his hood as the microphone floated from his hand to just in front of his face, and the song started. He tried to keep up with the tune he'd heard, but for some reason he couldn't quite keep pace with the machine, and he watched in mild dismay as all kinds of negative images scrolled across the screen as he went. The urge to simply destroy the machine and move on was strong, but the knowledge that this one song would not decide the contest kept him going as he muttered his way through the end of it.
Noitora gloated. His smug glee pervaded everything in the room with a malicious joy. As Bane finished the song and the machine showed that Noitora was the winner, he shouted to the Sith, "Can't even sing a fuckin' song you pussy. Go ahead, pick a hard one. I'll kick your ass every damn time. Know why? Cuz I'm the fuckin' best." Noitora didn't really care how Bane reacted, it just felt good to say as he leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.
Pick a hard one, the phrase reverberated in Bane's mind, and he resolved to find the most difficult song there was on this game, just to show Noitora how wrong he was. He moved slowly through the list, listening to the sample tracks from each, and he smiled as he settled on what he thought was the perfect track. Taking hold of the microphone with his hand this time, he chose the song and took a deep breath. Throwing his cloak off with a flourish, he began to sing "It's the End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."
Noitora's smug sneer turned to incredulity as he listened to the song Bane had chosen. That's okay, he thought. As long as I pay close attention now and don't try to say the words, I'll be the one feelin' fuckin' fine. His pride, however, left no room for doubt, not even the cliche "Easier said than done."
As the song ended and Bane threw his hands out wide to accept the praise of the crowd (or to smash them with a large piece of the stage, he hadn't quite decided yet), their cheers assured him that he had not done nearly as badly on this song as he had on the previous one. He walked off-stage and gave Noitora a smug grin as he passed him. "Your turn," he said simply.
Noitora sneered back as he stepped onto the stage. With a flourish he garnered the cheers of the fans, and grinned as the song began.
But as the song wore on, Noitora realized that perhaps he wasn't as good at this as he liked to believe. He didn't do awfully, per se, but, well... When the machine started booing at him, Noitora didn't react well. In fact, a fan sitting a little too close to the stage learned that quite abruptly when Noitora flung the microphone away and it collided with the poor kid's head and left 'em with a rather nasty concussion. Noitora jerked on the chain and caught the microphone as it flew by. He stalked to the edge of the stage, glaring but still prideful.
Bane folded his arms in front of him and smirked at the annoyed Arrancar. "Not quite as perfect as you thought, eh?" he said condescendingly. "Let's see what the game has in store for us now."
Noitora sneered once more at Bane without gracing him a reply, and slammed on the button for the next song.
The screen flashed every song ever to be in a Karaoke Revolution game. From ABC (The Jackson 5) and Believe (Cher), all the way to Yasashisa ni tsutsumareta nara (Kiki's Delivery Service) and Zutto futari de (Glay). The machine finally stopped on--
--♪--Billie Jean--♪--
--♪--Michael Jackson--♪--
The beat began. Soon the two men were singing at the top of their voices, belting out note after note of the pop song. The lights flickered across the two; blue tinged Noitora's hair and body as Darth Bane was drenched in red. They sang passionately of a woman who was not their lover, perhaps for a moment wondering exactly what cruel joke the City claimed to play with such a ridiculous song, but the moment could only have been passing. The two were locked in a fierce battle to be the best at what they did, and they needed complete concentration.
As the song ended, Darth Bane's side of the screen flashed red and Noitora exulted. He had won. Two out of three he had come out superior, and this last proved that he was indeed the best.
"If you want another public beating feel free to call me out." Noitora breathed with a superior smirk as he tucked the microphone into the top loop of the chain. He walked on without a look at Bane into the crowd that was half-dissipated, and half still enraptured at his lean figure, glistening slightly with the heat of the lights on him.
"Oh I'll call you out," Bane said under his breath, hatred seething within him. Without thinking he crushed the microphone in his hand into pieces, as easily as if he had crushed an egg. He glared down at the still cheering crowd, and without a sound he let the pieces hover in the air for a moment before sending them at lightning speed into the nearest crowd member's face. The metal shards stopped about halfway, and then the crowd member was standing next to him, microphone in hand, the most ridiculous grin on his face. Bane screamed and, ripping the gaming machine from the stage with the Force, he sent it hurtling into the sky with all the power he could muster. He stood there a moment, waiting to see if it would come down, then he stalked off the stage, deciding it wasn't worth the wait.
[ooc: Pick your favorite: Original, Tropical, or Smoothie flavour.I'd ask for anatomy critique but Noi is anatomically special ~.~;;
Feel free to add reactions/etc. Also feel free to be the concussed fan or the untouchable target. x) ]
Rating; PG-13 for cursing? I mean this is Noitora we're talking about.
Characters; Noitora (
strongestespada) and Darth Bane (baneofmyexist)Summary; Noitora has decided today is the day he and Darth Bane will face off, in retaliation for what has been done to Tesla. But Noitora has not taken into account the whims and wiles of the City...
Log;
His reiatsu pumped through him as he scoured the city for signs of the Sith, his sonido swiftly sweeping him through the City.
I'll get that fucker. The sole thought that ran through his mind as he sped through the city. Anger tickled the back of his eyes, teasing him, begging him to pull out his scythe and sweep the City down to destroy Darth Bane. Tesla was his. His servant, his Fraccion, no matter what Tesla was his. Only Noitora himself were allowed to kill Tesla. A week of training, and now Noitora would exact his revenge.
At the edge of his mind he felt the dense spot that signaled the Sith lord. He abruptly stopped and twisted to where he believed the Sith to be.
For days Bane had done not left his lair. Some might say he was a coward, hiding out from the wrath of the Arrancar, but anyone who thought such did not know Darth Bane. After his fight with Tesla he'd meditated in the Force, seeking its guidance, and he had forseen his battle with Noitora. As with most Force visions the details had been fuzzy and indistinct, but there was no mistaking the bone-thin white-uniformed creature. And so he had split his time between training, making sure his fighting prowess was in top condition, and meditation, immersing himself in the Force. He was in the best fighting shape he could recall ever being in, and the time had finally come.
Bane could feel the Arrancar searching for him, his anger called out to him like a siren at sea. It was not difficult for Bane to find him, and he made no effort to mask his own power as he approached Noitora. "Greetings Espada," he said with a predatory grin as the creature turned to face him. "It seems the time has come."
"Damn fuckin' right." Fear flared up under the anger, but Noitora quickly squashed it; the lost months were lost to the City, not this human. He left himself with only the vestiges of anger, and his devastatingly possesive pride.
A hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the hilt of his zanpakuto. He whipped it around and the black tether whipped to the side as he wielded before him--
A microphone.
Bane laughed heartily at the sight of Noitora's 'weapon.' "If you intended to do battle you should have brought something more formidable!" he said. He grinned and drew the metallic cylinder from his belt, flipping the activation switch. He frowned and flipped it again. He looked down, and to his dismay, his lightsaber was not what it should have been. "Well then," he said simply.
His anger that Bane had killed Tesla was nothing compared to the rage that now filled Noitora. A week. A whole goddamn week of training, and the fucking City decides to pull this bullshit.
He glared at Darth Bane as though it was his fault. "I trained for a motherfucking week and I'm not waiting a day longer. It's fucking on, bitch."
He turned to the console and before Bane could say a word he picked a song. "Hello," by Hyde. Sounded innocent enough.
Bane glared, the urge to crush the microphone in his fist almost overwhelming. But a voice in the back of his mind said that might still be your lightsaber, and so he resisted the urge. "Very well," he said. "Let's sing."
Noitora pressed the button. He was player A, Darth Bane was (suitably) player B. The first song would be chosen by A, and sung alone, then sung by B. The second, chosen by B and sung first alone by B, and then by A. The last was to be random, and sung together.
And so it happened that Noitora found himself on a platform surrounded by screaming fans. A veritable rainbow of lights flickered across his figure, and as the song consumed him he closed his eyes and moved to the beat. He opened his eyes and his hair flew out behind him, glinting red and passionate as screams nearly drowned out his song. All anger was lost from his mind, and confidence and simple pleasure in the attentions of the mass replaced any previous thought of revenge. He'd always been a bit of an exhibitionist, doing anything for attention. Somehow, this struck him somewhere deep inside, and felt like the perfect battle.
Bane stood just off-stage, out of the spotlight that had appeared. He pulled his hood up over his face and glared at Noitora as he began his song, a strangely catchy tune in a language he didn't understand. He held his hand out in front of him and floated the microphone above it, spinning it end over end as he waited. Noitora's anger seemed to have melted away, not so with Bane. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, screaming for a release. As he watched the screen of the game he noticed that it didn't seem to be recording the actual words sung, just the sound itself and the timing of the song. He resovled that if he muddled his way through it he would be fine. If this was how the City wanted him to resolve his conflict, then this was how he would do it.
Noitora's eyes were alive with the battle as he turned to Bane at the end of his song. "Beat that, Lord," he sneered with his eyes laughing from beneath stray black hairs. Any doubts he had had about facing Bane disappeared with the roar of the crowd.
He swung the microphone around by the chain that attached it to his hip and moved aside, gesturing for Bane to take his place on the platform.
Bane glared at Noitora as he moved past him to take his place in the light. He lowered his hood as the microphone floated from his hand to just in front of his face, and the song started. He tried to keep up with the tune he'd heard, but for some reason he couldn't quite keep pace with the machine, and he watched in mild dismay as all kinds of negative images scrolled across the screen as he went. The urge to simply destroy the machine and move on was strong, but the knowledge that this one song would not decide the contest kept him going as he muttered his way through the end of it.
Noitora gloated. His smug glee pervaded everything in the room with a malicious joy. As Bane finished the song and the machine showed that Noitora was the winner, he shouted to the Sith, "Can't even sing a fuckin' song you pussy. Go ahead, pick a hard one. I'll kick your ass every damn time. Know why? Cuz I'm the fuckin' best." Noitora didn't really care how Bane reacted, it just felt good to say as he leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.
Pick a hard one, the phrase reverberated in Bane's mind, and he resolved to find the most difficult song there was on this game, just to show Noitora how wrong he was. He moved slowly through the list, listening to the sample tracks from each, and he smiled as he settled on what he thought was the perfect track. Taking hold of the microphone with his hand this time, he chose the song and took a deep breath. Throwing his cloak off with a flourish, he began to sing "It's the End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."
Noitora's smug sneer turned to incredulity as he listened to the song Bane had chosen. That's okay, he thought. As long as I pay close attention now and don't try to say the words, I'll be the one feelin' fuckin' fine. His pride, however, left no room for doubt, not even the cliche "Easier said than done."
As the song ended and Bane threw his hands out wide to accept the praise of the crowd (or to smash them with a large piece of the stage, he hadn't quite decided yet), their cheers assured him that he had not done nearly as badly on this song as he had on the previous one. He walked off-stage and gave Noitora a smug grin as he passed him. "Your turn," he said simply.
Noitora sneered back as he stepped onto the stage. With a flourish he garnered the cheers of the fans, and grinned as the song began.
But as the song wore on, Noitora realized that perhaps he wasn't as good at this as he liked to believe. He didn't do awfully, per se, but, well... When the machine started booing at him, Noitora didn't react well. In fact, a fan sitting a little too close to the stage learned that quite abruptly when Noitora flung the microphone away and it collided with the poor kid's head and left 'em with a rather nasty concussion. Noitora jerked on the chain and caught the microphone as it flew by. He stalked to the edge of the stage, glaring but still prideful.
Bane folded his arms in front of him and smirked at the annoyed Arrancar. "Not quite as perfect as you thought, eh?" he said condescendingly. "Let's see what the game has in store for us now."
Noitora sneered once more at Bane without gracing him a reply, and slammed on the button for the next song.
The screen flashed every song ever to be in a Karaoke Revolution game. From ABC (The Jackson 5) and Believe (Cher), all the way to Yasashisa ni tsutsumareta nara (Kiki's Delivery Service) and Zutto futari de (Glay). The machine finally stopped on--
--♪--Michael Jackson--♪--
The beat began. Soon the two men were singing at the top of their voices, belting out note after note of the pop song. The lights flickered across the two; blue tinged Noitora's hair and body as Darth Bane was drenched in red. They sang passionately of a woman who was not their lover, perhaps for a moment wondering exactly what cruel joke the City claimed to play with such a ridiculous song, but the moment could only have been passing. The two were locked in a fierce battle to be the best at what they did, and they needed complete concentration.
As the song ended, Darth Bane's side of the screen flashed red and Noitora exulted. He had won. Two out of three he had come out superior, and this last proved that he was indeed the best.
"If you want another public beating feel free to call me out." Noitora breathed with a superior smirk as he tucked the microphone into the top loop of the chain. He walked on without a look at Bane into the crowd that was half-dissipated, and half still enraptured at his lean figure, glistening slightly with the heat of the lights on him.
"Oh I'll call you out," Bane said under his breath, hatred seething within him. Without thinking he crushed the microphone in his hand into pieces, as easily as if he had crushed an egg. He glared down at the still cheering crowd, and without a sound he let the pieces hover in the air for a moment before sending them at lightning speed into the nearest crowd member's face. The metal shards stopped about halfway, and then the crowd member was standing next to him, microphone in hand, the most ridiculous grin on his face. Bane screamed and, ripping the gaming machine from the stage with the Force, he sent it hurtling into the sky with all the power he could muster. He stood there a moment, waiting to see if it would come down, then he stalked off the stage, deciding it wasn't worth the wait.
[ooc: Pick your favorite: Original, Tropical, or Smoothie flavour.
Feel free to add reactions/etc. Also feel free to be the concussed fan or the untouchable target. x) ]