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tampered2007-06-08 01:30 am
henkonasuisho.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-06-08 01:30 am
log: Completed
When; June 3rd (ish?) night (ok, so we're late by a few days XD)
Rating; PG-13 for the pillow's crude tongue
Characters; Ishida Uryuu [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anti_buttons] / Zaheela [henkonasuisho]
Summary; The destruction of a pillow and comparing of skills drew them together. Much randomness ensues.
Log;
The forest was dark, and she enjoyed it that way. While the night may of invited the more aggressive hunter out to play, it still comforted the soul. In the distance she could see the lake, perched on the tree branch, and mostly out of sight. The Pillow balanced beside her complained and insulted her ever once in a while, but it grew tired of the lack of response.
A hour ticked by, however, and the woman grew bored. So bored that she began to play, molding and shaping flickers of light into various shapes. From bunnies, to dragons, pirate ships, and maybe one overstuffed turkey, anything, it seemed that saved her from boredom and having to listen to a trash talking pillow. Just where was the Quincy?
It hadn't been his pentacle that delayed Ishida, no, not directly. It had made a comment that sent him, for the third time in as many hours, to brushing his teeth. That hadn't taken very long, but it put him enough behind schedule that he walked a little quicker down the streets, pentacle swinging around his palm and silent. It was practical for all that it was critical; it would not waste its breath, nor continuously repeat itself. Ishida thought he had gotten off rather lightly, potentially embarrassing voice posts and all, because he had quite a tolerance built up thanks to his father.
Ishida reached the designated patch of forest a little out of breath, torn between composure and the risk of his being over-late. "Zaheela-san?" He asked, into the air, his attention caught by light flickering above his head. He looked up.
Zaheela was still playing with her magic, finger dancing in the air and directing the light to shift into whatever form it wanted. In this case, it was a rather humorous scene of a obscenely fat chocobo crashing down on the unsuspecting pirate ship. Needless to say, she wasn't paying attention and the seemingly sudden appearance startled her and she tipped over backwards, the light fizzling out of sight. A hand desperately grabbed for the nearest branch and the bark rubbed harshly on the skin of her palm, earning a wince, before she let go once again to begin a more controlled decent back the ground.
Landing with a thump, she stood up straight and stared at the young man for a moment. This was the first time she was seeing him in person, really, and she took in his appearance. Somewhat wiry, taller then herit seemed MOST males were, glasses. Nothing visually impressive, but there was something in the way he stood that seemed off. Her observation was cut short by a loud cry.
”GET ME DOWN FROM HERE BITCH BEFORE I MURDER YOU!” Ah right, her pillow. It was still up in the tree.
Ishida jumped, his mouthing opening wide as his face contorted with panic. "Z-Zaheela-s--" He started, loudly, scrambling to find the proper place beneath the tree branch as she slipped. She would fall! It would be his fault, because he had surprised her, and-- as she clearly found a better hold and managed her fall, Ishida only just jumped out of the way, tension bleeding out of him as relief took its course.
"Sorry," he said, gasped really, his eyes still wide with the shock he'd almost had. Or, really, did have. He returned her appraising look, then, realizing not quite simultaneously that outside of the highschool curse, he was seeing Zaheela-san for the first time. Perhaps it was reflex, even knowing better, to expect human, but his eyes caught on her ears first. He reached for his glasses, sliding them back up his nose as the pillow took his attention.
Ishida glanced up. "Looks like it isn't mobile."
She shrugged and turned her back for a moment.
“Easily remedied.” She muttered, tail twitching for a moment before she glanced at her palm. The skin was already repairing herself and she focused. Purposely she took it slowly, gathering energy from around her into the center of her palm. Zaheela wondered if he could even see what she was doing, since most people couldn't see such things.
“It's just needs something to help gravity latch it's claws into it.” She almost purred, eyes easily pinpointing the accursed thing in the Darkness before making a drawback motion, much like drawing a bow and launching the held energy. It shifted from indefinate to holy light in an instant and struck the pillow earning a mighty bellow of pain. As soon as the impact had done the damage intended, the energy once again shifted back, dispersing into the air. The pillow itself hit every single branch on it's way down, cursing and crying out before landing with soft thump.
“Problem solved~” She said offhandedly, once again watching the young man from the corner of her eye.
”BITCH! PUSSY! WHORE! WHERE'D YOU GET OFF DOIN THAT TO ME?” The pillow protested from it's spot on the ground.
Ishida lacked night-vision, but his eyes had adjusted well enough to the dark as he walked to the forest, and spirit-energy was not only visible through sight. His eyebrows shifted, eyes widening again as he the energy, her "mana" and his spirits to her skin. Ishida thought of the his neck, a spontaneous thought, then thought better of it; he wouldn't bring attention to it, admit that it existed, even to have it so effectively removed.
He would have remarked on that alone, noting it as impressive, but her focus remained on the pillow and thus, so did his. His brow furrowed, concentration split as his gaze shifted between her and the pillow above. The energy was immense, and he squinted as the light appeared and in the same instant, struck the pillow, the sudden brightness causing his eyelids to move together in instinctive protection of the pupil. His head jerked and nodded to follow the pillow's path, until he caught himself at it and steadied, and forced his eyes from wide to almost narrow, cool rather than awed.
"Impressive," he was finally able to comment, his tone analytical and pleased rather than overwhelmed with her display. "Only, it doesn't seem to have .. quite done the trick." Ishida resisted the urge to stomp on, or, kick the wounded pillow.
If the pillow could of Squirmed or bitten Ishida, it would of. But it was still a pillow, and thus just lay there. She shifted a bit, not wanting to admit that her power here was... weaker? Normally, in her own world, it would of easily done the trick, but here. Something wasn't right, but no one had to know that, and she wasn't about to admit it.
“I promised you a show, as well as examples of how my... magic worked.” She stated, using it as an excuse of why the banish spell hadn't obliterated the stupid pillow.
“Unfortunately, as I am, it won't be as flashy as what I just did. Healers... or white mages, don't possess many offensive spells. We're more inclined towards standing in the back row and helping the front line fighters in battle.” She was babbling, badly. She paused for a moment before attempting to calm herself.
“Best to show by example... I suppose.” She muttered before focusing, muttering under her breath. Once again, the spirits began to gather around her, but this time, they settled around her legs before almost crawling upwards, stone seeming to appear out of nowhere and covering her skin, only to fade out of sight again once it had covered the entirety of her body. She flexed her arm, demonstrating it's flexibility.
“And as a healer, we specialize in healing and protection spells mostly.” Taking out a thin scalpel from her pouch, she held it up. It was perfectly normal, though sharp enough to slice skin and flesh from bone. For a moment she held it up, then her hand blurred, dragging the blade across her arm. One would expect blood, but the scalpel in her hand was now blunt and chipped, and her skin unharmed.
It was difficult to have any pity for such a heinous creature as her pillow had proved to be, and so Ishida looked at its body, dirty and with twigs and leaves riding its lumps, without compassion. This was made easier by the fact that, regardless of everything else, it was… a pillow. Weaker power Ishida would have understood: here, the reiatsu was not only lower than that of Hueco Mundo, but somewhat weaker than even the human world. It was also not something he would discuss.
Ishida nodded, accepting her excuse, and her following explanation. It was logic, whatever world one came from, that in a battle the arrangement would be so, and it would be useful to healers to become masters of that art, rather than dabble overmuch in offense. The show of stone covering her opened his eyes wider again, marveling at the technique. He had yet to see a shinigami, Quincy, or arrancar capable of such a technique. A protection spell, obviously, but one far different from the shield produced by Orihime’s abilities.
He knew better than to wince as she used the scalpel, instead, a smirk began to curl along his mouth as he listened to the scalpel go blunt, skidding against stone. As much as his experience with scientific individuals had been largely negative, he could not help but admire it with a similarly inquisitive attitude, a fascination that was intellectual, scientific, and practical. How does it work, the definition of the energy… His eyes swept her body, appreciating only the art he had been shown.
“Not a little useful,” Ishida said, shaking his head, appreciation all over his face.
She exhaled a little heavily, a spark of energy cracking the stone and causing the mana which created the stone armor to fragment and shift back into what it was before
. Zaheela, however, couldn't stifle a sneeze caused by the cloud of dust that lingered in the air for a moment.
“Not without it's problems to.” She grumbled, trying not to sneeze again. A moment of thought before she tilted her head, “Of course, that's a of an exaggerated casting, really. If all spells took so long, with such exaggerated casting, then I may as well be... dead.” She began to calmly explained calmly, seemingly doing nothing, but to eyes trained in sensing and seeing spiritual energies, it was more then obvious she was doing more then talking. Spirits from the earth were once again swirling around her, but this time it wasn't becoming stone. The wind began to pick up, kicking up more dust and settled around her.
“This one... needs a little help. You said you were able to attack using another form of spirit energy, right? Could you attack me?”
He did not often wish for more than two eyes, but in following the energy from the earth, he wished he could have had five, ten, twenty, scattered around the forest and catching every angle. His hesitation over her request did not linger for long; Zaheela-san was a woman, true, and his friend, but he had fought a female and this one had proved herself more than capable. “I will,” he said, lifting his hand and ignoring the surly mutter his pendant gave, “Directly?”
Even as he asked it, the bow spread through the air, it’s shape somewhat counter-intuitive to what one expected from a bow. It began in sudden sparks from each edge of the pentacle and surged up, in a bright near-explosion of energy, forming the strange, webbed, eight-pointed star-like shape around his right hand. Drawing the reiatsu in the air between his fingers of his left hand, Ishida aimed and let the highly dense energy-projectile loose. It was as simple, as natural as breathing, this, even with the throb of disapproval beginning with his bow’s formation.
People would of thought her insane, really, for standing still when there was something POWERFUL, ACCURATE, and by golly, DEADLY, flying towards you. Really, she should of moved, but the moment it came within a hair breath of her chest, it suddenly met resistance. Wind laced with magic shoved the attack away, diverting it to the side and sending a poor tree to it's splintering doom.
“Only direct attacks work with this spell, really. So the scalpel wouldn't work...” She explained, letting the wind linger, if only because it felt good against the skin on warm nights. “There are a lot of other spells, but they work best in battle situations...” But then again...
“If only I hadn't damaged my Scalpel that badly. I could demonstrate a healing spell...” Zaheela muttered to herself, a twinge of fear as she remembered of a prior curse. Her tail twitched in irritation before she sighed, hands on her hips.
“May as well as get to the point. If you could please clear the area of the pillow.” She eyed the pillow is distaste, mentally sorting which of the few attacks spells she had would serve to end the crass pillow's cursed life.
Ishida did not flinch at the tree’s crashing descent to the forest floor, but he did react with some surprise at what had become of the attack. It was not unusual, exactly, as any direct attack should be easily diverted. It was not, precisely, unexpected, as he had estimated such an effect by watching the movement of the energy, and by her request. He very much doubted that Zaheela-san was suicidal. Nonetheless, the technical aspects were fascinating, the fact of this different but same magic able to serve so many functions.
“No need to harm yourself for the display,” Ishida answered, even as he directed his attention to the pillow. Well, more of a side-long glance, his arms shifting to point toward the pillow more than did his body. It was best not to think of it as alive. Gathered, shaped, “I witnessed one, I believe, when you fell from the tree” released. Though the arrows shot by the Quincy bow could puncture as neatly, as precisely, as a needle in the hands of the experienced, the pillow exploded into a volcano of feathers, the feathers falling like ash in the wind, settling on and past leaves.
Without so much of a blink, the bow shrank, fading back into the minute pentacle that hung, warm and bitter, against his wrist as his fiddled with his glasses. “There we are,” he said, lenses glinting from whatever of the moon reached them beneath the trees.
A eyebrow raised as she watched the feathers explode. In a way, he has stolen her kill, but she was already feeling the drain of casting so many spells at once. Her eyes twitched as something shattered like glass around her, light or something close to it, a second skin that covered her body.
“I think I phrased that wrong... I kind of wanted to make the thing explode, but it's alright. Seeing as my protect spell shattered of it's own accord, I'm most likely draining too much personal mana to keep all my spells active while casting more.” She tried to laugh it off, but it was hard to do considering it could have been seen as a lack of trust.
“The way you shoot out the energy is rather unique. I've never seen anything like it.” Zaheela tried to change the subject, incase he actually had taken offense.
Offense? Quite the contrary. Ishida, previously wearing a look of something like smug satisfaction, evident in the shape of his mouth and the cock of his eyebrows, immediately changed face. After startling at the break of the spell. His eyebrows shot together, and his mouth opened, pinched, and opened again, as he only just kept from a flail. He regained composure by fumbling with his glasses, but looked abashed a low branch to his left. “Ah, my apologies, Zaheela-san! I minsunderstood. It was yours to destroy.”
Still clutching at the rectangular frame, Ishida lifted his chin, now perturbed by his overreaction and returning to a calm. “Is it? Mine is the way of the Quincy, but, I could say the same for how you work your magic. Very unique.”
“Anyone in my world can learn to use Mana, both healing and destructive, though few master it. We're born from mana, will return to it when we die... normally... and it would only make sense that we can become it's lover and life partner.” Zaheela stated, feeling lethargy creep into her bones. “Yes, from what I can tell, it's a kind of focusing channel, the pendant that is. It compacts and draws in the energy from the environment around you, from which you launch it. Kind of like what the spell I used to get the pillow down from the tree.” She began, scanning her memory of what she had witnessed, noting the few things she could compare.
She remembered how the certain spirits of mana, or spiritual particles was what he had called it in a previous conversation, had been gathered towards him. A magnet, it worked in the same way. “It seemed to gathered the energy, focused it, and once its task was done, the energy dissipated back into the environment. Of course, this is all based off of my world's understanding and there is still something that defines its own special frequency...” By Altana, she was such a dork. She had the urge to slam her head into the nearest tree. Really, what kind of person rambles off theories?
Her explanation of her mana did fit well with his understanding of spirit particles. After all, every person and creature began as a spirit and returned to that form. He would have stumbled over the fact that anyone in her world could learn to use Mana, while not every human had much spiritual power, but Ishida remembered the exponential increase of students in his very class, merely from association with Kurosaki. Had his father not called him talentless, not so many years before that detestable shinigami had called him a genius? In that light, it was difficult not to wonder what the potential of each human could be.
“Very astute,” he said, more a murmur, his mind distracted by his miniature revelation. It was not a long distraction, as Ishida soon regained the light of respect in his eyes as he admired how impressive her talent at observation was. Ishida smiled, glancing down to the pendant. “I am lucky you are not my enemy, Zaheela-san,” he said. “For you to understand all that by observing only two shots, I daresay you would have me completely analyzed in three.”
It was modesty, and a bit of a lie; Ishida knew he had far too much at his disposal for that to be true. That he was glad she was not his enemy—if not a certain ally, his mind reminded him, a skeptical voice that had thought little of this display in the first place, and would have been much stronger had she not reciprocated—was complete truth, however.
She chuckled, shaking her head. “In my world, it pays to be observant, especially when fighting something dangerous when you're in the back lines. Weaker, slower, we lack in brawn, but excel in wit. It's only natural for me to be able to compare things to what I know, even if they turn out to be inaccurate. All I am sure of now is that it is a good thing I am not interested in becoming your enemy.” She eyed his hands, remembering that he had once mentioned injuring his hands. She disregarded the tang of blood in the air as what had been drawn of her own, however.
“There is no warrior in existence without more then 3 aces up their sleeve. Only a fool would believe they know everything about someone's technique by seeing it once or twice, and while I may not be any sort of genius, I'm far from a fool.” She added, before caving into the problematic worry that most healers and medics possessed , as well as some cliched feline curiosity. Kneeling down and taking one of his hands without asking, her eyes scanning the skin for any visible signs of swelling or discolorment.
“Hold still for a moment. You mentioned hurting your hands, and I did want to make sure it healed alright.”
Ishida realized that he had, perhaps, allowed himself to be impressed too easily. A direct result of being surrounded by idiots, he supposed, that he would marvel so at something as obviously useful as keen observation. He berated himself in his mind, surprised that the pendant had not chimed in with greater scorn. “A very good thing,” he agreed, genuine even with his smile.
She had caught his false modesty, but Ishida did not look ashamed for that, his smile merely thinned—“Quite right,” he said, response simple, if a little apologetic for having even briefly implied that she was a fool. It was forgotten as she suddenly grabbed his hand. Ishida reacted much better to spontaneous (especially aggressive) physical contact from males, that is, he could prevent himself from reacting much at all, outside of the immediate surprise. With women it was less simple; following his eye-openeing, his cheeks flushed pink and hot. “Er, Z-Zaheela-san, I’m sure it…”
He obeyed nonetheless, keeping still as she kneeled in front of him and clutched his hand. It wasn’t anything but medical, strictly business, and as it had little to do with either doctors or hospitals, Ishida could find little to complain about. He thought to ask if it had, but, however quickly she had said it could be done, Ishida had no intention of distracting her. As long as she kept her attention on his hands, where his fracture finger had been in a slow mend, rather than his neck.
She focused, hands glowing blue as she poked and prodded the bones of his arm, finding a minor injury here and there, but nothing serious. Once her scan was completed, she clasped the hand between her own, she seemingly staring at the hand she held as the blue grew smaller and paler as she pinpointed the injury. Helping the crack seal at a unnaturally fast pace. Feeling the cells composing his bones completely mend, she tapered off the flow of magic, the warmth of the magic quickly fading from her cold hands. She had felt another injury somewhere, but it was higher up, and to get a better idea of what it was... She'd have to get closer.
“It seemed to be healing alright, but as you could most likely guess, it doesn't need to do such things anymore.” She said with a half smile, but her tail was twitching and her ears laid flat against her skull. Her mind wracked itself for an excuse, but her eyes caught sight of the bandages around his neck. She didn't say anything but it was obvious she saw the thing, and her half smile faded away, replaced with concern. She squeezed the hand still between her own, unsure of how to approach the subject. “Your neck...”
Blue. Ishida thought of the way in which his finger had been broken, for an easily overlooked moment. It was guilt that furrowed his eyebrows, for her doing this for him when the break had been purposeful, when the door had been avoidable. He had not dismissed the concern of others for no reason, and it had been interesting to use in his training, interesting and painful. Ishida had little tolerance for his weakness, and resolved to keep his injury to himself the next time. He could not see the bones repair but he could feel it, the sensation strange and painless as he listened to the small cracks of adjustment.
“I’d guessed as much,” Ishida answered, returning her smile, if veiled in a lie. He would be unable to promise that it wouldn’t do such thing, that any of his fingers would not. Strange as it was to be paying attention to feline ears moving, Ishida had seen enough cats to assume that Zaheela was agitated, and though concern flickered on his expression, he hesitated to ask. It might have been he who offended, now. Ishida only realized she still held his hand when she squeezed it, and his blush darkened. He meant to tug free, with an apology as if it were his err, when she mentioned it.
Ishida went very still, the muscles in his back tightening and drawing up straight and hard. “Oh, that? It isn’t anything,” he said, his attempt to sound casual ruined by the stiffness that seeped from his bones and into his voice.
Her teeth clenched a bit before closing her eyes and taking another breath of air. Again the tang of blood. And it wasn't hers, now that she had taken the time to compare it to her own. When she had mentioned it, he had reacted in a negative way. His hand had tensed, as did the muscles in his arm and the constricted tone in his voice. The would was either something very personal or was worse then he was willing to admit. Humans didn't bother with things like mating marks or anything like that, so the latter seemed more likely.
“You're lying.” She muttered, standing up, but didn't let go of his hand. “Besides...Neck wounds are prone to reopening as well as getting infected, not to mention scar easily.” She would of added she knew from experience, but that was from a long time ago. It was somewhat an irritation to think of.
The strength of his pull increased, not enough to be a noticeable, insistent tug, but distinct enough to give the message that he would really rather have his hand back, now that she had finished. “Thank you for your attention,” he said, curtly, only just refraining from being rude in his instinctive defense, “but it’s a small thing. A nick.”
However, he had no attachment to it, and had little problem with the idea of her taking care of the thing. “I doubt it will scar, but, if you insist…” No, so long as she asked no questions, Ishida would be glad to have it gone. He did not need a physical reminder to take the lesson from his experience.
She let his hand go, noting how clipped his tone had turned. She bit her tongue before motioning for him to lean down, due to the fact she was... shorter then he was, and healing while balancing on your toes was never an intelligent thing to do. One too many stories of people tripping, falling, and exploding body parts off had been told in the taverns of her world, and she wasn't keen on proving them false.
“I'm afraid that I am going to, and also ask if you could lean down a bit. I don't think climbing or hugging you would be very comfortable to do this. ...They do scar... badly. I... should know.” She stopped there.
His heart was making quite the clamor in his ears, thrumming through the thin vessels, against bright red skin, not a reaction entirely for his leaning down, closer to her, allowing her examination of his neck. He had little time to be relieved that she had released his hand, as he could assume with some legitimacy that she would need to touch his neck. Ishida resisted the urge to bite his lip, to work his fingers and fidget, instead reaching up and, as if absolutely calm, pulling off the band-aid.
He had studied it but been unable to tell if its cause was obvious; or, perhaps, he had told himself that it could not be, regardless of the truth. "Very well," he acquiesced, voice more quiet than he would have like as he bent at waist and neck, tilting his head to the right, allowing the skin to stretch and show. His eyes slitted at her halted sentence, and his teeth pressed together, raw gums above, with the effort to not question it. To deny it overmuch would only make it seem more likely.
She let a soft hiss escape. It wasn't horrible, but it was uncomfortable in it's placement. She cupped a hand over it, barely letting her hand touch the skin before focusing on closing the wound itself. The skin seemed to complain, but slowly rewove itself over the gash. Minutes passed before she removed her hand, the wound gone and the skin looking like it had never even been touched.
“Done.” She said simply, stepping back. It was then she realized that, as much as she would never admit it, he was rather... striking. Stomping down the need to flush red, she fidgeted, playing with her collar.
“Your... pendant or charm has been awfully quiet it seems. It has no complaints to lodge against me I suppose?” She shifted topics, unsure of what to say.
Her hiss, her acknowledgment of it as anything but an easily overlooked nick, made him uncomfortable. It was all Ishida could do to resist withdrawing, slapping his hand over the mark and muttering a never mind, too pink, too flushed, too distressed over its existence in ways he pretended fervently that he was not. He already felt his neck growing hot, no doubt red, beneath her hand. As he felt his skin come together, the sensation bizarre but not unpleasant, Ishida forced himself into his mind, rather than his body, into observation, into what he could see in front of him. There was something on her neck, he realized, and Ishida blinked. He realized it almost in the instance of her finishing.
"Thank you," Ishida said, straightening, his hand lifting to run the tips of his callused fingers over his now smooth neck. The surge of relief was not as strong as he had hoped; it did not erase the knowledge. He startled again, glancing down to his wrist. "It... doesn't like to repeat itself," he offered, his smile both thin and only just amused.
“I'm sorry that I... basically forced myself upon you.” She ground out, not realizing just how wrong those words sounded. “It's a rather bad habit. I always find myself... worrying over others.“ Backing off to lean against a tree, tail unmoving except for the occasional twitch to the tip. She let the conversation trail off, unsure of what to say and out of habit, moved her hand to brush against her neck and only catching herself, moving the fingers to play with a stray lock of hair. She wound it over two fingers before tossing it behind her shoulder,
“Or just doesn't wish to discuss things in front of strangers in person I take it?” A moment to shift into a more comfortable position, “Kind of sounds like some men I used to know back in Bast...” She trailled off there again.
“Did you find any clues on how one exits this place?” Zaheela asked solemnly, eyes focused upwards on the moon. It was white, like most nights here.
Had Ishida been eating anything, swallowing even spit, he might have choked. An interesting choice of words she had selected, and Ishida refused the highly unnecessary association that now must come of it. "No," he managed, and scowled at how strangled he sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again, "You've warned me in the past that you were like that, right? It was nothing I shouldn't have expected." His quickened heartbeat calmed, beat back to something normal.
Bast, Ishida caught, and wondered, the logical deduction unable to decide on world, city, country, town. It wouldn't do to make an assumption based on the probability that served in his world. "I won't try to understand it," Ishida said, tone flat, "dull of me, maybe, but so long as it quiets for good at midnight, I'll have understood enough."
Ishida shook his head at her question, his chin lowering toward his chest. "Nothing concrete. Nothing useful. It's completely random. I mean to inquire after those who left in what some call the mass exodus, those who returned."
“As clueless as those who arrived. Some disappear for months, others mere days. The Dead cannot leave, merely disappear. Memories incomplete, littered with holes, or confusion. Neither magic, science, force, or bribery works. There was once a dealer who would take all your memories for an escape. Trapped in a fishbowl with no idea which way is up or down.” She prattled off, eyes still focused on the moon, wishing it to shift to the familiar blue it sported in her world once ever 8 days. “The gods, however here, are far more fickle, far more... tainted, and the earth screams in pain, though I have yet to know of someone who hears it screaming. Nothing like my world of origin.”
She was growing frustrated with her forced captivity, and her snarling tone only helped hint at it further. “It drives us all mad at times, with the city's attempt to tame us and engulf it in it's folds. Those who escape are best never to return, in my honest opinion. However, there was one person who I know of who actively sought out to return. However, he is one of those who you... dislike.” A Shinigami, and she had only heard of this in passing, but it still was something to keep in consideration.
How encouraging. It would be too simple to accept it, to bow his head and shoulders beneath the pressure of overwhelming evidence. The only thing that remained the same for each case, the only conclusion to be drawn, was the deliberate absence of commonality, the randomization, that it would never happen when one meant for it to happen.
“Each one just the same” he stated, didn’t ask, not hopeless but not pleased, either. There was little else to look at; watching her for too long made him feel odd, nervous, and so Ishida followed her eyes to the moon. “The gods of my world aren’t gods at all,” he remarked, the shinigami as ever in his mind. Death Gods, fickle in an entirely different way. Curiosity struck him, about her world, but Ishida hesitated to ask.
Her tone expressed his feeling. “Why would anyone want to return?” He asked, his disdain obvious, and not only in how it turned his lip. “It would be a shinigami,” Ishida caught on to her reference immediately. “Which one?”
“And I killed several gods in my own. But it seems that the label of god and the power behind it differ from world to world.” Eyes flickered to glance at her companion, only to return to the moon, ever constant in it's change. “The door opens and drags new fish in, but how do we leap out? There is also the problem of many of the returnees having lost the memories gained here previously. It invites heartbreak and agony, as well as grudges gained in that other 'life.' You, yourself were here before, did you know that?” Zaheela absentmindedly mentioned the last part.
To his question, she answered as truthfully as she could. “The short one, I believe his rank was a captain and the blade he carried was classified as a snow and ice type. If my observations are correct, then he and the shinigami Hinamori have a close friendship, or a relationship, I wouldn't know seeing that I avoid almost most of the Shinigami here in the city. In either case, it should be obvious the motivator.”
Ishida raised his eyebrows up his forehead at that revelation. He would not discredit or underestimate her ability, but she had admitted herself that she lacked offensive power, given her focus on defense and restoration. It forced him to conclude that, either the gods in her world were weak, or she was one herself. He favored the former, without any clear reason to do so.
“Ought to be a window for every door,” he said, the input useless and flavored only with his tight, wry smile. Close a door and a window opens, that was how the saying went. But it seemed far more came here than ever left. Ishida frowned, bobbed into a nod. “I’ve been told more than once.”
The thought was disturbing, that he could have entire chunks of his memory missing, of this place. He seemed to have been lucky, in that his previous visit had been uneventful. Yet Ishida felt a strong vein of resentment toward that Ishida, the one who had come and left, who had found a way out without much contamination from the City.
He found himself unable to criticize that reasoning, though he wanted to, though his mouth opened to do so. Ishida could tell himself he would not come back for them, the faces that flashed in his mind, that he did not care.
“Windows tend to be too far out of reach for children.” Was her tired response. “I suppose it's... merciful of them to hide the window from view.” She waited for him to say what he wished, but nothing but air passed from it and she raised an eyebrow. She tilted her head, confused, just what was it he was trying to say?
"For them, perhaps," Ishida said, fighting temptative of tired, of defeat, for defiance that made the muscles in his jaw tight. Defiance that believed, should the window be visible, it would be impossible to keep them from it. And yet, the tale of the short shinigami, a captain Ishida believed, put a second light on the city. He turned his eyes from the moon to the stars dotting around it, wondering if they were meant to be the planets from which the City's population had been taken. Doubtful.
"For some, this City may be a blessing," Ishida mused. "For the dead, or, for those who loved the dead."
Something, however, twitched at that, in her and her patience seemed to disappear. “There is no blessing in being DEAD or being REMINDED you are. Even if it WERE a blessing, the gods can go to HELL for it.” She snapped, eyes blazing for a moment and the spirits around her became agitated as they responded to her anger. It took another moment to realize she had, more or less, lost control. She struggled for control and quietly calmed herself, muttering something under her breath.
“... Sorry for my outburst.” She apologized, jaw tight. “I think this is a sign we part ways for tonight.” Turning to her left, she let the mana settle around her. “Invisible.” And seemingly winked out of sight, before she turned away to leave, presence hidden by magic particles.
Ishida jumped, and had the decency to look abashed, though it had not been his intention to offend her. He had not forgotten that Zaheela was dead, necessarily, but he had not meant it in that sense. Ishida had meant those who had died in their own worlds, those with regrets, those not ready for it. In some ways this City provided them and theirs with a second chance. Then again, it also forbade the peace of death.
He shook his head at her apology, but was unable to say anything, an apology on his tongue but unspoken as she disappeared. "Goodnight," he managed, eventually, but suspected she was long out of range. Minutes passed until he had quieted his mind enough to allow him to focus on walking, moving back to his apartment.
Rating; PG-13 for the pillow's crude tongue
Characters; Ishida Uryuu [
anti_buttons] / Zaheela [henkonasuisho]Summary; The destruction of a pillow and comparing of skills drew them together. Much randomness ensues.
Log;
The forest was dark, and she enjoyed it that way. While the night may of invited the more aggressive hunter out to play, it still comforted the soul. In the distance she could see the lake, perched on the tree branch, and mostly out of sight. The Pillow balanced beside her complained and insulted her ever once in a while, but it grew tired of the lack of response.
A hour ticked by, however, and the woman grew bored. So bored that she began to play, molding and shaping flickers of light into various shapes. From bunnies, to dragons, pirate ships, and maybe one overstuffed turkey, anything, it seemed that saved her from boredom and having to listen to a trash talking pillow. Just where was the Quincy?
It hadn't been his pentacle that delayed Ishida, no, not directly. It had made a comment that sent him, for the third time in as many hours, to brushing his teeth. That hadn't taken very long, but it put him enough behind schedule that he walked a little quicker down the streets, pentacle swinging around his palm and silent. It was practical for all that it was critical; it would not waste its breath, nor continuously repeat itself. Ishida thought he had gotten off rather lightly, potentially embarrassing voice posts and all, because he had quite a tolerance built up thanks to his father.
Ishida reached the designated patch of forest a little out of breath, torn between composure and the risk of his being over-late. "Zaheela-san?" He asked, into the air, his attention caught by light flickering above his head. He looked up.
Zaheela was still playing with her magic, finger dancing in the air and directing the light to shift into whatever form it wanted. In this case, it was a rather humorous scene of a obscenely fat chocobo crashing down on the unsuspecting pirate ship. Needless to say, she wasn't paying attention and the seemingly sudden appearance startled her and she tipped over backwards, the light fizzling out of sight. A hand desperately grabbed for the nearest branch and the bark rubbed harshly on the skin of her palm, earning a wince, before she let go once again to begin a more controlled decent back the ground.
Landing with a thump, she stood up straight and stared at the young man for a moment. This was the first time she was seeing him in person, really, and she took in his appearance. Somewhat wiry, taller then her
”GET ME DOWN FROM HERE BITCH BEFORE I MURDER YOU!” Ah right, her pillow. It was still up in the tree.
Ishida jumped, his mouthing opening wide as his face contorted with panic. "Z-Zaheela-s--" He started, loudly, scrambling to find the proper place beneath the tree branch as she slipped. She would fall! It would be his fault, because he had surprised her, and-- as she clearly found a better hold and managed her fall, Ishida only just jumped out of the way, tension bleeding out of him as relief took its course.
"Sorry," he said, gasped really, his eyes still wide with the shock he'd almost had. Or, really, did have. He returned her appraising look, then, realizing not quite simultaneously that outside of the highschool curse, he was seeing Zaheela-san for the first time. Perhaps it was reflex, even knowing better, to expect human, but his eyes caught on her ears first. He reached for his glasses, sliding them back up his nose as the pillow took his attention.
Ishida glanced up. "Looks like it isn't mobile."
She shrugged and turned her back for a moment.
“Easily remedied.” She muttered, tail twitching for a moment before she glanced at her palm. The skin was already repairing herself and she focused. Purposely she took it slowly, gathering energy from around her into the center of her palm. Zaheela wondered if he could even see what she was doing, since most people couldn't see such things.
“It's just needs something to help gravity latch it's claws into it.” She almost purred, eyes easily pinpointing the accursed thing in the Darkness before making a drawback motion, much like drawing a bow and launching the held energy. It shifted from indefinate to holy light in an instant and struck the pillow earning a mighty bellow of pain. As soon as the impact had done the damage intended, the energy once again shifted back, dispersing into the air. The pillow itself hit every single branch on it's way down, cursing and crying out before landing with soft thump.
“Problem solved~” She said offhandedly, once again watching the young man from the corner of her eye.
”BITCH! PUSSY! WHORE! WHERE'D YOU GET OFF DOIN THAT TO ME?” The pillow protested from it's spot on the ground.
Ishida lacked night-vision, but his eyes had adjusted well enough to the dark as he walked to the forest, and spirit-energy was not only visible through sight. His eyebrows shifted, eyes widening again as he the energy, her "mana" and his spirits to her skin. Ishida thought of the his neck, a spontaneous thought, then thought better of it; he wouldn't bring attention to it, admit that it existed, even to have it so effectively removed.
He would have remarked on that alone, noting it as impressive, but her focus remained on the pillow and thus, so did his. His brow furrowed, concentration split as his gaze shifted between her and the pillow above. The energy was immense, and he squinted as the light appeared and in the same instant, struck the pillow, the sudden brightness causing his eyelids to move together in instinctive protection of the pupil. His head jerked and nodded to follow the pillow's path, until he caught himself at it and steadied, and forced his eyes from wide to almost narrow, cool rather than awed.
"Impressive," he was finally able to comment, his tone analytical and pleased rather than overwhelmed with her display. "Only, it doesn't seem to have .. quite done the trick." Ishida resisted the urge to stomp on, or, kick the wounded pillow.
If the pillow could of Squirmed or bitten Ishida, it would of. But it was still a pillow, and thus just lay there. She shifted a bit, not wanting to admit that her power here was... weaker? Normally, in her own world, it would of easily done the trick, but here. Something wasn't right, but no one had to know that, and she wasn't about to admit it.
“I promised you a show, as well as examples of how my... magic worked.” She stated, using it as an excuse of why the banish spell hadn't obliterated the stupid pillow.
“Unfortunately, as I am, it won't be as flashy as what I just did. Healers... or white mages, don't possess many offensive spells. We're more inclined towards standing in the back row and helping the front line fighters in battle.” She was babbling, badly. She paused for a moment before attempting to calm herself.
“Best to show by example... I suppose.” She muttered before focusing, muttering under her breath. Once again, the spirits began to gather around her, but this time, they settled around her legs before almost crawling upwards, stone seeming to appear out of nowhere and covering her skin, only to fade out of sight again once it had covered the entirety of her body. She flexed her arm, demonstrating it's flexibility.
“And as a healer, we specialize in healing and protection spells mostly.” Taking out a thin scalpel from her pouch, she held it up. It was perfectly normal, though sharp enough to slice skin and flesh from bone. For a moment she held it up, then her hand blurred, dragging the blade across her arm. One would expect blood, but the scalpel in her hand was now blunt and chipped, and her skin unharmed.
It was difficult to have any pity for such a heinous creature as her pillow had proved to be, and so Ishida looked at its body, dirty and with twigs and leaves riding its lumps, without compassion. This was made easier by the fact that, regardless of everything else, it was… a pillow. Weaker power Ishida would have understood: here, the reiatsu was not only lower than that of Hueco Mundo, but somewhat weaker than even the human world. It was also not something he would discuss.
Ishida nodded, accepting her excuse, and her following explanation. It was logic, whatever world one came from, that in a battle the arrangement would be so, and it would be useful to healers to become masters of that art, rather than dabble overmuch in offense. The show of stone covering her opened his eyes wider again, marveling at the technique. He had yet to see a shinigami, Quincy, or arrancar capable of such a technique. A protection spell, obviously, but one far different from the shield produced by Orihime’s abilities.
He knew better than to wince as she used the scalpel, instead, a smirk began to curl along his mouth as he listened to the scalpel go blunt, skidding against stone. As much as his experience with scientific individuals had been largely negative, he could not help but admire it with a similarly inquisitive attitude, a fascination that was intellectual, scientific, and practical. How does it work, the definition of the energy… His eyes swept her body, appreciating only the art he had been shown.
“Not a little useful,” Ishida said, shaking his head, appreciation all over his face.
She exhaled a little heavily, a spark of energy cracking the stone and causing the mana which created the stone armor to fragment and shift back into what it was before
. Zaheela, however, couldn't stifle a sneeze caused by the cloud of dust that lingered in the air for a moment.
“Not without it's problems to.” She grumbled, trying not to sneeze again. A moment of thought before she tilted her head, “Of course, that's a of an exaggerated casting, really. If all spells took so long, with such exaggerated casting, then I may as well be... dead.” She began to calmly explained calmly, seemingly doing nothing, but to eyes trained in sensing and seeing spiritual energies, it was more then obvious she was doing more then talking. Spirits from the earth were once again swirling around her, but this time it wasn't becoming stone. The wind began to pick up, kicking up more dust and settled around her.
“This one... needs a little help. You said you were able to attack using another form of spirit energy, right? Could you attack me?”
He did not often wish for more than two eyes, but in following the energy from the earth, he wished he could have had five, ten, twenty, scattered around the forest and catching every angle. His hesitation over her request did not linger for long; Zaheela-san was a woman, true, and his friend, but he had fought a female and this one had proved herself more than capable. “I will,” he said, lifting his hand and ignoring the surly mutter his pendant gave, “Directly?”
Even as he asked it, the bow spread through the air, it’s shape somewhat counter-intuitive to what one expected from a bow. It began in sudden sparks from each edge of the pentacle and surged up, in a bright near-explosion of energy, forming the strange, webbed, eight-pointed star-like shape around his right hand. Drawing the reiatsu in the air between his fingers of his left hand, Ishida aimed and let the highly dense energy-projectile loose. It was as simple, as natural as breathing, this, even with the throb of disapproval beginning with his bow’s formation.
People would of thought her insane, really, for standing still when there was something POWERFUL, ACCURATE, and by golly, DEADLY, flying towards you. Really, she should of moved, but the moment it came within a hair breath of her chest, it suddenly met resistance. Wind laced with magic shoved the attack away, diverting it to the side and sending a poor tree to it's splintering doom.
“Only direct attacks work with this spell, really. So the scalpel wouldn't work...” She explained, letting the wind linger, if only because it felt good against the skin on warm nights. “There are a lot of other spells, but they work best in battle situations...” But then again...
“If only I hadn't damaged my Scalpel that badly. I could demonstrate a healing spell...” Zaheela muttered to herself, a twinge of fear as she remembered of a prior curse. Her tail twitched in irritation before she sighed, hands on her hips.
“May as well as get to the point. If you could please clear the area of the pillow.” She eyed the pillow is distaste, mentally sorting which of the few attacks spells she had would serve to end the crass pillow's cursed life.
Ishida did not flinch at the tree’s crashing descent to the forest floor, but he did react with some surprise at what had become of the attack. It was not unusual, exactly, as any direct attack should be easily diverted. It was not, precisely, unexpected, as he had estimated such an effect by watching the movement of the energy, and by her request. He very much doubted that Zaheela-san was suicidal. Nonetheless, the technical aspects were fascinating, the fact of this different but same magic able to serve so many functions.
“No need to harm yourself for the display,” Ishida answered, even as he directed his attention to the pillow. Well, more of a side-long glance, his arms shifting to point toward the pillow more than did his body. It was best not to think of it as alive. Gathered, shaped, “I witnessed one, I believe, when you fell from the tree” released. Though the arrows shot by the Quincy bow could puncture as neatly, as precisely, as a needle in the hands of the experienced, the pillow exploded into a volcano of feathers, the feathers falling like ash in the wind, settling on and past leaves.
Without so much of a blink, the bow shrank, fading back into the minute pentacle that hung, warm and bitter, against his wrist as his fiddled with his glasses. “There we are,” he said, lenses glinting from whatever of the moon reached them beneath the trees.
A eyebrow raised as she watched the feathers explode. In a way, he has stolen her kill, but she was already feeling the drain of casting so many spells at once. Her eyes twitched as something shattered like glass around her, light or something close to it, a second skin that covered her body.
“I think I phrased that wrong... I kind of wanted to make the thing explode, but it's alright. Seeing as my protect spell shattered of it's own accord, I'm most likely draining too much personal mana to keep all my spells active while casting more.” She tried to laugh it off, but it was hard to do considering it could have been seen as a lack of trust.
“The way you shoot out the energy is rather unique. I've never seen anything like it.” Zaheela tried to change the subject, incase he actually had taken offense.
Offense? Quite the contrary. Ishida, previously wearing a look of something like smug satisfaction, evident in the shape of his mouth and the cock of his eyebrows, immediately changed face. After startling at the break of the spell. His eyebrows shot together, and his mouth opened, pinched, and opened again, as he only just kept from a flail. He regained composure by fumbling with his glasses, but looked abashed a low branch to his left. “Ah, my apologies, Zaheela-san! I minsunderstood. It was yours to destroy.”
Still clutching at the rectangular frame, Ishida lifted his chin, now perturbed by his overreaction and returning to a calm. “Is it? Mine is the way of the Quincy, but, I could say the same for how you work your magic. Very unique.”
“Anyone in my world can learn to use Mana, both healing and destructive, though few master it. We're born from mana, will return to it when we die... normally... and it would only make sense that we can become it's lover and life partner.” Zaheela stated, feeling lethargy creep into her bones. “Yes, from what I can tell, it's a kind of focusing channel, the pendant that is. It compacts and draws in the energy from the environment around you, from which you launch it. Kind of like what the spell I used to get the pillow down from the tree.” She began, scanning her memory of what she had witnessed, noting the few things she could compare.
She remembered how the certain spirits of mana, or spiritual particles was what he had called it in a previous conversation, had been gathered towards him. A magnet, it worked in the same way. “It seemed to gathered the energy, focused it, and once its task was done, the energy dissipated back into the environment. Of course, this is all based off of my world's understanding and there is still something that defines its own special frequency...” By Altana, she was such a dork. She had the urge to slam her head into the nearest tree. Really, what kind of person rambles off theories?
Her explanation of her mana did fit well with his understanding of spirit particles. After all, every person and creature began as a spirit and returned to that form. He would have stumbled over the fact that anyone in her world could learn to use Mana, while not every human had much spiritual power, but Ishida remembered the exponential increase of students in his very class, merely from association with Kurosaki. Had his father not called him talentless, not so many years before that detestable shinigami had called him a genius? In that light, it was difficult not to wonder what the potential of each human could be.
“Very astute,” he said, more a murmur, his mind distracted by his miniature revelation. It was not a long distraction, as Ishida soon regained the light of respect in his eyes as he admired how impressive her talent at observation was. Ishida smiled, glancing down to the pendant. “I am lucky you are not my enemy, Zaheela-san,” he said. “For you to understand all that by observing only two shots, I daresay you would have me completely analyzed in three.”
It was modesty, and a bit of a lie; Ishida knew he had far too much at his disposal for that to be true. That he was glad she was not his enemy—if not a certain ally, his mind reminded him, a skeptical voice that had thought little of this display in the first place, and would have been much stronger had she not reciprocated—was complete truth, however.
She chuckled, shaking her head. “In my world, it pays to be observant, especially when fighting something dangerous when you're in the back lines. Weaker, slower, we lack in brawn, but excel in wit. It's only natural for me to be able to compare things to what I know, even if they turn out to be inaccurate. All I am sure of now is that it is a good thing I am not interested in becoming your enemy.” She eyed his hands, remembering that he had once mentioned injuring his hands. She disregarded the tang of blood in the air as what had been drawn of her own, however.
“There is no warrior in existence without more then 3 aces up their sleeve. Only a fool would believe they know everything about someone's technique by seeing it once or twice, and while I may not be any sort of genius, I'm far from a fool.” She added, before caving into the problematic worry that most healers and medics possessed , as well as some cliched feline curiosity. Kneeling down and taking one of his hands without asking, her eyes scanning the skin for any visible signs of swelling or discolorment.
“Hold still for a moment. You mentioned hurting your hands, and I did want to make sure it healed alright.”
Ishida realized that he had, perhaps, allowed himself to be impressed too easily. A direct result of being surrounded by idiots, he supposed, that he would marvel so at something as obviously useful as keen observation. He berated himself in his mind, surprised that the pendant had not chimed in with greater scorn. “A very good thing,” he agreed, genuine even with his smile.
She had caught his false modesty, but Ishida did not look ashamed for that, his smile merely thinned—“Quite right,” he said, response simple, if a little apologetic for having even briefly implied that she was a fool. It was forgotten as she suddenly grabbed his hand. Ishida reacted much better to spontaneous (especially aggressive) physical contact from males, that is, he could prevent himself from reacting much at all, outside of the immediate surprise. With women it was less simple; following his eye-openeing, his cheeks flushed pink and hot. “Er, Z-Zaheela-san, I’m sure it…”
He obeyed nonetheless, keeping still as she kneeled in front of him and clutched his hand. It wasn’t anything but medical, strictly business, and as it had little to do with either doctors or hospitals, Ishida could find little to complain about. He thought to ask if it had, but, however quickly she had said it could be done, Ishida had no intention of distracting her. As long as she kept her attention on his hands, where his fracture finger had been in a slow mend, rather than his neck.
She focused, hands glowing blue as she poked and prodded the bones of his arm, finding a minor injury here and there, but nothing serious. Once her scan was completed, she clasped the hand between her own, she seemingly staring at the hand she held as the blue grew smaller and paler as she pinpointed the injury. Helping the crack seal at a unnaturally fast pace. Feeling the cells composing his bones completely mend, she tapered off the flow of magic, the warmth of the magic quickly fading from her cold hands. She had felt another injury somewhere, but it was higher up, and to get a better idea of what it was... She'd have to get closer.
“It seemed to be healing alright, but as you could most likely guess, it doesn't need to do such things anymore.” She said with a half smile, but her tail was twitching and her ears laid flat against her skull. Her mind wracked itself for an excuse, but her eyes caught sight of the bandages around his neck. She didn't say anything but it was obvious she saw the thing, and her half smile faded away, replaced with concern. She squeezed the hand still between her own, unsure of how to approach the subject. “Your neck...”
Blue. Ishida thought of the way in which his finger had been broken, for an easily overlooked moment. It was guilt that furrowed his eyebrows, for her doing this for him when the break had been purposeful, when the door had been avoidable. He had not dismissed the concern of others for no reason, and it had been interesting to use in his training, interesting and painful. Ishida had little tolerance for his weakness, and resolved to keep his injury to himself the next time. He could not see the bones repair but he could feel it, the sensation strange and painless as he listened to the small cracks of adjustment.
“I’d guessed as much,” Ishida answered, returning her smile, if veiled in a lie. He would be unable to promise that it wouldn’t do such thing, that any of his fingers would not. Strange as it was to be paying attention to feline ears moving, Ishida had seen enough cats to assume that Zaheela was agitated, and though concern flickered on his expression, he hesitated to ask. It might have been he who offended, now. Ishida only realized she still held his hand when she squeezed it, and his blush darkened. He meant to tug free, with an apology as if it were his err, when she mentioned it.
Ishida went very still, the muscles in his back tightening and drawing up straight and hard. “Oh, that? It isn’t anything,” he said, his attempt to sound casual ruined by the stiffness that seeped from his bones and into his voice.
Her teeth clenched a bit before closing her eyes and taking another breath of air. Again the tang of blood. And it wasn't hers, now that she had taken the time to compare it to her own. When she had mentioned it, he had reacted in a negative way. His hand had tensed, as did the muscles in his arm and the constricted tone in his voice. The would was either something very personal or was worse then he was willing to admit. Humans didn't bother with things like mating marks or anything like that, so the latter seemed more likely.
“You're lying.” She muttered, standing up, but didn't let go of his hand. “Besides...Neck wounds are prone to reopening as well as getting infected, not to mention scar easily.” She would of added she knew from experience, but that was from a long time ago. It was somewhat an irritation to think of.
The strength of his pull increased, not enough to be a noticeable, insistent tug, but distinct enough to give the message that he would really rather have his hand back, now that she had finished. “Thank you for your attention,” he said, curtly, only just refraining from being rude in his instinctive defense, “but it’s a small thing. A nick.”
However, he had no attachment to it, and had little problem with the idea of her taking care of the thing. “I doubt it will scar, but, if you insist…” No, so long as she asked no questions, Ishida would be glad to have it gone. He did not need a physical reminder to take the lesson from his experience.
She let his hand go, noting how clipped his tone had turned. She bit her tongue before motioning for him to lean down, due to the fact she was... shorter then he was, and healing while balancing on your toes was never an intelligent thing to do. One too many stories of people tripping, falling, and exploding body parts off had been told in the taverns of her world, and she wasn't keen on proving them false.
“I'm afraid that I am going to, and also ask if you could lean down a bit. I don't think climbing or hugging you would be very comfortable to do this. ...They do scar... badly. I... should know.” She stopped there.
His heart was making quite the clamor in his ears, thrumming through the thin vessels, against bright red skin, not a reaction entirely for his leaning down, closer to her, allowing her examination of his neck. He had little time to be relieved that she had released his hand, as he could assume with some legitimacy that she would need to touch his neck. Ishida resisted the urge to bite his lip, to work his fingers and fidget, instead reaching up and, as if absolutely calm, pulling off the band-aid.
He had studied it but been unable to tell if its cause was obvious; or, perhaps, he had told himself that it could not be, regardless of the truth. "Very well," he acquiesced, voice more quiet than he would have like as he bent at waist and neck, tilting his head to the right, allowing the skin to stretch and show. His eyes slitted at her halted sentence, and his teeth pressed together, raw gums above, with the effort to not question it. To deny it overmuch would only make it seem more likely.
She let a soft hiss escape. It wasn't horrible, but it was uncomfortable in it's placement. She cupped a hand over it, barely letting her hand touch the skin before focusing on closing the wound itself. The skin seemed to complain, but slowly rewove itself over the gash. Minutes passed before she removed her hand, the wound gone and the skin looking like it had never even been touched.
“Done.” She said simply, stepping back. It was then she realized that, as much as she would never admit it, he was rather... striking. Stomping down the need to flush red, she fidgeted, playing with her collar.
“Your... pendant or charm has been awfully quiet it seems. It has no complaints to lodge against me I suppose?” She shifted topics, unsure of what to say.
Her hiss, her acknowledgment of it as anything but an easily overlooked nick, made him uncomfortable. It was all Ishida could do to resist withdrawing, slapping his hand over the mark and muttering a never mind, too pink, too flushed, too distressed over its existence in ways he pretended fervently that he was not. He already felt his neck growing hot, no doubt red, beneath her hand. As he felt his skin come together, the sensation bizarre but not unpleasant, Ishida forced himself into his mind, rather than his body, into observation, into what he could see in front of him. There was something on her neck, he realized, and Ishida blinked. He realized it almost in the instance of her finishing.
"Thank you," Ishida said, straightening, his hand lifting to run the tips of his callused fingers over his now smooth neck. The surge of relief was not as strong as he had hoped; it did not erase the knowledge. He startled again, glancing down to his wrist. "It... doesn't like to repeat itself," he offered, his smile both thin and only just amused.
“I'm sorry that I... basically forced myself upon you.” She ground out, not realizing just how wrong those words sounded. “It's a rather bad habit. I always find myself... worrying over others.“ Backing off to lean against a tree, tail unmoving except for the occasional twitch to the tip. She let the conversation trail off, unsure of what to say and out of habit, moved her hand to brush against her neck and only catching herself, moving the fingers to play with a stray lock of hair. She wound it over two fingers before tossing it behind her shoulder,
“Or just doesn't wish to discuss things in front of strangers in person I take it?” A moment to shift into a more comfortable position, “Kind of sounds like some men I used to know back in Bast...” She trailled off there again.
“Did you find any clues on how one exits this place?” Zaheela asked solemnly, eyes focused upwards on the moon. It was white, like most nights here.
Had Ishida been eating anything, swallowing even spit, he might have choked. An interesting choice of words she had selected, and Ishida refused the highly unnecessary association that now must come of it. "No," he managed, and scowled at how strangled he sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again, "You've warned me in the past that you were like that, right? It was nothing I shouldn't have expected." His quickened heartbeat calmed, beat back to something normal.
Bast, Ishida caught, and wondered, the logical deduction unable to decide on world, city, country, town. It wouldn't do to make an assumption based on the probability that served in his world. "I won't try to understand it," Ishida said, tone flat, "dull of me, maybe, but so long as it quiets for good at midnight, I'll have understood enough."
Ishida shook his head at her question, his chin lowering toward his chest. "Nothing concrete. Nothing useful. It's completely random. I mean to inquire after those who left in what some call the mass exodus, those who returned."
“As clueless as those who arrived. Some disappear for months, others mere days. The Dead cannot leave, merely disappear. Memories incomplete, littered with holes, or confusion. Neither magic, science, force, or bribery works. There was once a dealer who would take all your memories for an escape. Trapped in a fishbowl with no idea which way is up or down.” She prattled off, eyes still focused on the moon, wishing it to shift to the familiar blue it sported in her world once ever 8 days. “The gods, however here, are far more fickle, far more... tainted, and the earth screams in pain, though I have yet to know of someone who hears it screaming. Nothing like my world of origin.”
She was growing frustrated with her forced captivity, and her snarling tone only helped hint at it further. “It drives us all mad at times, with the city's attempt to tame us and engulf it in it's folds. Those who escape are best never to return, in my honest opinion. However, there was one person who I know of who actively sought out to return. However, he is one of those who you... dislike.” A Shinigami, and she had only heard of this in passing, but it still was something to keep in consideration.
How encouraging. It would be too simple to accept it, to bow his head and shoulders beneath the pressure of overwhelming evidence. The only thing that remained the same for each case, the only conclusion to be drawn, was the deliberate absence of commonality, the randomization, that it would never happen when one meant for it to happen.
“Each one just the same” he stated, didn’t ask, not hopeless but not pleased, either. There was little else to look at; watching her for too long made him feel odd, nervous, and so Ishida followed her eyes to the moon. “The gods of my world aren’t gods at all,” he remarked, the shinigami as ever in his mind. Death Gods, fickle in an entirely different way. Curiosity struck him, about her world, but Ishida hesitated to ask.
Her tone expressed his feeling. “Why would anyone want to return?” He asked, his disdain obvious, and not only in how it turned his lip. “It would be a shinigami,” Ishida caught on to her reference immediately. “Which one?”
“And I killed several gods in my own. But it seems that the label of god and the power behind it differ from world to world.” Eyes flickered to glance at her companion, only to return to the moon, ever constant in it's change. “The door opens and drags new fish in, but how do we leap out? There is also the problem of many of the returnees having lost the memories gained here previously. It invites heartbreak and agony, as well as grudges gained in that other 'life.' You, yourself were here before, did you know that?” Zaheela absentmindedly mentioned the last part.
To his question, she answered as truthfully as she could. “The short one, I believe his rank was a captain and the blade he carried was classified as a snow and ice type. If my observations are correct, then he and the shinigami Hinamori have a close friendship, or a relationship, I wouldn't know seeing that I avoid almost most of the Shinigami here in the city. In either case, it should be obvious the motivator.”
Ishida raised his eyebrows up his forehead at that revelation. He would not discredit or underestimate her ability, but she had admitted herself that she lacked offensive power, given her focus on defense and restoration. It forced him to conclude that, either the gods in her world were weak, or she was one herself. He favored the former, without any clear reason to do so.
“Ought to be a window for every door,” he said, the input useless and flavored only with his tight, wry smile. Close a door and a window opens, that was how the saying went. But it seemed far more came here than ever left. Ishida frowned, bobbed into a nod. “I’ve been told more than once.”
The thought was disturbing, that he could have entire chunks of his memory missing, of this place. He seemed to have been lucky, in that his previous visit had been uneventful. Yet Ishida felt a strong vein of resentment toward that Ishida, the one who had come and left, who had found a way out without much contamination from the City.
He found himself unable to criticize that reasoning, though he wanted to, though his mouth opened to do so. Ishida could tell himself he would not come back for them, the faces that flashed in his mind, that he did not care.
“Windows tend to be too far out of reach for children.” Was her tired response. “I suppose it's... merciful of them to hide the window from view.” She waited for him to say what he wished, but nothing but air passed from it and she raised an eyebrow. She tilted her head, confused, just what was it he was trying to say?
"For them, perhaps," Ishida said, fighting temptative of tired, of defeat, for defiance that made the muscles in his jaw tight. Defiance that believed, should the window be visible, it would be impossible to keep them from it. And yet, the tale of the short shinigami, a captain Ishida believed, put a second light on the city. He turned his eyes from the moon to the stars dotting around it, wondering if they were meant to be the planets from which the City's population had been taken. Doubtful.
"For some, this City may be a blessing," Ishida mused. "For the dead, or, for those who loved the dead."
Something, however, twitched at that, in her and her patience seemed to disappear. “There is no blessing in being DEAD or being REMINDED you are. Even if it WERE a blessing, the gods can go to HELL for it.” She snapped, eyes blazing for a moment and the spirits around her became agitated as they responded to her anger. It took another moment to realize she had, more or less, lost control. She struggled for control and quietly calmed herself, muttering something under her breath.
“... Sorry for my outburst.” She apologized, jaw tight. “I think this is a sign we part ways for tonight.” Turning to her left, she let the mana settle around her. “Invisible.” And seemingly winked out of sight, before she turned away to leave, presence hidden by magic particles.
Ishida jumped, and had the decency to look abashed, though it had not been his intention to offend her. He had not forgotten that Zaheela was dead, necessarily, but he had not meant it in that sense. Ishida had meant those who had died in their own worlds, those with regrets, those not ready for it. In some ways this City provided them and theirs with a second chance. Then again, it also forbade the peace of death.
He shook his head at her apology, but was unable to say anything, an apology on his tongue but unspoken as she disappeared. "Goodnight," he managed, eventually, but suspected she was long out of range. Minutes passed until he had quieted his mind enough to allow him to focus on walking, moving back to his apartment.