Log; Complete

[thunderwitch.livejournal.com]

When; Oct. 18th
Rating; PG-13/R
Characters; Cirucci {thunderwitch} & Il Forte {stronger_grantz}
Summary; After Nel's game of sorts with Il Forte concerning rank and worth, Cirucci extracts the payment she warned she would collect if he dared to say that the other Arrancar was worth more than she.
Log;

Cirucci Thunderwitch was not angry.

She was furious, she was livid, incensed and enraged. Il Forte- How dare he, how dare he sit there and tell that pathetic excuse for an Arrancar, Neriele, Nel, she didn't give a fuck what she was called, but her mask was fucking broken and she was a loving little shit and she deserved to die, how dare he tell her that she was better than a Privaron, better than her?

... She'd warned him.

I swear, Il Forte, if you don't shut your mouth- But had he? No, of course he hadn't. It was Il Forte, for fuck's sake, of course he didn't listen to anything she said, never had, probably never would, and god did she hate it. Which was what had her striding through Los Noches' counterpart in this city, reiatsu blazing, her small bootsteps echoing off white walls, her pretty face twisted into a mask of fury.

Aizen-sama had said he wouldn't mind if she got blood on the walls.

>>>

Il Forte cut down the last of the little scaly things that had evolved out of the fuzzy rats that had multiplied from the one he'd found yesterday. The room was a mass of dead little monsters. They had hardly been worth the effort, but the quickest way to take care of so many was to use excessive force. Something he was good at.

Smirking at the mess he'd made, he turned and exited the slaughtering grounds, walking down the pristine white corridor outside of that little room that would probably just disappear rather than someone go through the effort of cleaning it. Stopping mid stride, the self confidant look fell right off his face, and he felt a shudder run through him instinctively.

Cirucci Thunderwitch.

Her reiatsu was flaring wildly, he could feel it through walls and around corners, and it was getting closer. Fuck. He'd forgotten about that. She was a bit angry with him, and now he had to sweet talk her out of killing him, again.

This was going to be fun.

>>>

She felt him, of course she could feel him, he whom, it could be said, she was perhaps most intimate. Il Forte, perhaps not this one, but the previous, had been as close as any lover had ever been to her, and now there was simply two, but this one... this one would always be that one. Which made her all the angrier, that he would betray her, despite her expecting it, all the angrier that he would say those things, despite her expecting that as well.

"Surprise, surprise." She rounded the corner in a hiss of reiatsu, fairly boiling, unchecked and flaring wildly. She was torn, between shoving him against that wall and making him beg for his life, or perhaps just stabbing him. She wondered which one, perhaps both? Would it be a little unfair to make him beg then kill him anyway?

No, not really.

"Expecting me?" One taloned finger pointed to the blood staining his clothes. "You got all dressed up for me, Il Forte." Her voice was already beginning to inflect that wicked crooning that could only spell demise. "I'm so flattered."

>>>

"I hadn't realized I was wearing your favorite color." Il Forte tried to relax a little, he'd forgotten she was coming, too busy worrying about the pests that were running free in the apartment. "Not really expecting you, either. I got a bit distracted." It was an off hand reply, one like he didn't care if she were there or not, and he continued walking, hoping she'd just let him by. He wasn't ready for a confrontation with her, he didn't know how long she'd been here, or how strong she was. He didn't know what affects dying would have on him.

"Clean up is already done." He didn't look at her, but around her, almost like he was only giving her his attention because she was there and he really had something important waiting for him. Her flaring reiatsu was enough to tell him she was out for blood, his blood, given recent happenings. She was easy enough to derail, he'd get her mad about something else, seduce her a bit, and everything would be like it was before.

No problems.

>>>

No problems? No problems?

Cirucci Thunderwitch liked to think that she was a very big problem.

"It's too clean in here." She spat, her knuckles cracking onto the hilt of her sword, Golondrina humming in her grip, and then she as tired of waiting and a sonido had slammed her into the larger male, one fist in his hair, slamming his skull into the white wall behind him and her lips, dangerous, poisonous painted lips hissing out furiously into his ear. "It could use some more blood, don't you think?"

"Fuck-" She looked at him, he was disgusting to her in that moment, how dare he, and that was all she could think about, was how dare he? How, how, how, when she had given things to him, allowed him in her bed and he would dare-

"You're such a little bitch, Il Forte." She spat into his face.

>>>

Il Forte's head hit the wall with a resounding crack, he could feel the white stone giving way at the force of the impact and a trail, warm and sticky, making it's way down the back of his skull. He snarled back at her, hand coming up to grab her wrist and the other going for the hilt of Del Toro. "Look who's fucking talking, you're the biggest bitch in all of Hueco Mundo."

He didn't try and pull the hand from his hair, he didn't want any of it to come away with. She wouldn't let go. "Getting jealous because I don't want my balls ripped off by a number three. It's pathetic." So much for getting her mad over something else, let alone seduction.

>>>

"She isn't any fucking number." Cirucci snarled louder, jerking his head up only to slam it back harder, didn't care if he bled, wanted him to bleed, reveled in the sound of bone cracking as her other hand ripped Del Toro from his grip and then slammed a knee into his gut.

"She's a stupid sniveling brat who wants to play at Espada, get it through your fucking skull, Il Forte!" She was screaming now, voice too high-pitched, too avian to be anything but a screech.

"She's a worthless bitch who's mask is fucking broken, you absolute fool!"

>>>

If not for Cirucci's grip on his hair, he would have fallen, the knee to his gut knocking the wind out of him so hard he couldn't breathe back in for a long moment. "I haven't...haven't... seen her si...since before I left Hueco Mundo." He gasped, causing his words to be broken and hard to hear, especially in comparison to her loud voice. "How was I... supposed to... know?" There was no way, really. Nel had gone missing, the chain of command had gone into affect, and life had gone on. He never knew the details, about the Shinigami and her broken mask, he wasn't even sure if it was all true.

Il Forte glanced away from Cirucci for half a second, just a flicker of his eyes, to where Del Toro lay, only a few feet away, almost close enough to reach. If he could draw, if he could release, he'd stand a chance. Like this, with him caught off guard and her already at the advantage... well, it wasn't going to end nicely for him.

>>>

"I don't Care." The Privaron hissed, and it was in that moment that she punched her hand through him, that taloned claws ripped through flesh and tore muscle and hit bone, blood slicking her fingers and down her pale wrist. The look on her face was conflicted, torn, both furious and sad, both hysterical and calm.

"... Why couldn't you have just listened when I told you to shut up?"

>>>

Il Forte tasted blood, it filling his lungs and mouth, dribbling down his chin as he could only stare at her in a mixture of disbelief and anger. That bitch! She'd actually done it, what she'd always threatened to do, she actually killed him. The shame that filled him was unbearable, to the point where the hole in his chest hurt more than the one she'd made through his gut.

He opened his mouth to speak, to respond, but only more blood came up, garbling his words beyond comprehension, the last of his strength fading from him and black filling his vision, though his eyes remained open.

>>>

Cirucci stared back.


"... Goddamn you." She snapped, wrested her hand from him and let him crumple to the floor. God, he looked like shit. ... Not really. She stood over him, his blood coating her dress, and she wondered why she was torn between laughing hysterically and crying. She kicked him, not hard, but it was unsatisfying. She bent to shut his eyes with a muttered "stop staring", but that too left her wanting.

She hated him, she did, and yet, she could do this, could feel like this, slowly slipping to her knees beside him, scooting to lean her back against the blood-stained wall, watching him.

"... You're such an asshole." The Privaron kicked him again, as if he could feel it. "I told you not to say-" Another kick. "... that bitch was worth more than me." Her fingers found the newly healed tattoo on her breast, head bowed.

"I am worth it. I am worth just as much as they are." Cirucci hissed angrily, but it wasn't... her metaphorical heart wasn't in it.

She dragged Il Forte's body close and pillowed his head in her lap to wait for him to wake up.

>>>

It felt like an eternity later when a soft crooning, almost like singing, lured him out of his dark and lonely hell. Memories, and more importantly, more painfully, feeling beginning to return. He didn't open his eyes, concentrating on the voice, and the hand stroking through his hair. It was singing, but nothing he recognized.

The pain pulled him back down, closer to the darkness he had only just escaped. He focused on the voice, trying to make it out, to understand who's lap he was using as a pillow, and slowly it became clear.

He was still with Cirucci.

She'd killed him, but she hadn't left him. Now the City had given him life anew, and he gained with it this confusing moment. He could not recall, sure it wasn't just the fog of misery in his brain, once seeing her like this. He doubted anyone had. It almost made it worth it, knowing he held this little bit of her just for himself.

>>>

She hadn't left.

She was tired, she'd been up for a day, waiting, waiting, waiting, idly rearranging his uniform, cleaning wound, nursing by coaxing her own reiatsu into his body, speeding healing and invigorating torn flesh, his head in her lap.

Small, pale, fingers had combed out his hair, had laid blonde neatly over the white and bloodstained fabric of her skirt. And she'd been so bored, so happy, so sad that she had ended up humming something, she wasn't sure what it was but she knew it, seemed she had always known it, this crooning soothing noise of a song, a lullaby for love, perhaps, for hatred and loathing and all that was wrong in her world, so tired that she didn't even notice he was stirring, half asleep and voice soft and low.

>>>

He knew it was wrong that some part of him wanted to stay like this, even after she'd ripped out his guts. He was almost content, with her so close, but at the same time he was disgusted with himself. Disgusted that he'd died, disgusted that even now he still wanted her. He should just toss her aside and be done with it, knowing she wasn't worth the trouble, but he didn't want to.

He groaned, low, almost inaudible, as he shifted ever so slightly. Maybe it was her that had moved? He couldn't tell, he only knew that it pulled at the still healing wound in his stomach, setting his nerve endings on fire. It was colder now, colder than even before. Maybe because he hated more, probably because he'd managed to get himself killed again.

>>>

He was waking...

Cirucci bent over him to press her lips against his forehead, dark hair spilling about him, in some eerie, half-dazed calm about her, fingers still soothing through his hair, petting and caressing as the song died in her throat, as she stifled the evidence of softness, of something like true peace, so odd and twisted that she could find some sort of peace after killing a lover, only to then turn around and treat him like this.

"Good morning." She crooned, watching carefully, purple eyes dark and distant.

>>>

Il Forte wasn't sure how to respond. This was... different than what he had expected of her. It was, well he didn't know, he wasn't even sure if he liked her like this or not. Though, like this, she was his and his alone. So, weakly, on hand came up, fingertips brushing against one tear like marking on her cheek, and something akin to a smile on his face. "Good morning."

For now he could pretend he hadn't just been humiliated, hadn't just died by Cirucci's bare hand. He'd just enjoy this moment, pain and all, and assume that this was what it must feel like to be content. He had what he wanted, her all to himself, and that should be good enough. Right?

>>>

"Go back to sleep." She urged, nuzzling briefly into th touch of his hand before sitting back up and leaning her own head into the wall, hands on his in her lap, soft and kind in blatant contrast to her usual, to the fact that those hands had harmed his flesh not a day prior now.

"You need more rest, ll Forte." She could go from furious to pleased in so many seconds, and in the day it had taken him to revive, all of her anger at him had drained out, left to simmer until the next time she found it incensed.

But until then, she would like to sleep, knowing the person who's head was in her lap had to watch his mouth, lest she decided to shove a cero down it.

... That was a comforting thought. Or maybe the comforting part was that she was stroking his hair and her own breathing has stilled.

She didn't want to know.