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tampered2007-11-09 12:21 am
opfern.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-11-09 12:21 am
Log; Complete
When; November 7th [Early Evening].
Rating; R [Language; Flashbacks of Gore].
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch] & Alfons Heiderich [opfern].
Summary; Alfons goes to check on Cirucci, only for her utterly pitiful state to draw out confessions he would have preferred stayed hidden. She does not react well. TL;DR log is TL;DR. You win a cookie if you actually finish it.
Log;
Considering how much stress Alfons had experienced in his very short life, he considered it a miracle that he didn't have any grey hair or wrinkles. Maybe that was the only benefit to being one of the walking dead. Nothing ever changed.
Even if he wished with all of his heart that they could.
After the day he'd had just surviving in the rural mess that the City had transformed into the day prior, the last thing he had wanted to do was get up and go to work... But he needed to bring home that pay check, and it was more productive than sitting around. So after making the children breakfast, he let himself concentrate on helping Jeane with whatever manual labor she needed for the day.
Once he was off work, he met a crossroads. He did owe Ishida for watching the children, and he felt like he ought to get him something for his birthday... But he had told Cirucci that he would check on her 'later', and a day counted as later, didn't it? Of course, lately, just being around her was a trial. There was hardly anything comfortable any longer. He had been foolish and let his guard down, and the only way he knew how to counter that was to keep it constant. He could still be nice to her and lecture her like normal, without letting himself get too involved...or so he told himself.
The knock was more out of courtesy than anything, just in case Cirucci and Luppi were in the middle of...something he really didn't want to see. When he didn't hear any suspicious sounds, Alfons tried the knob and found the door unlocked. With a sigh, he stepped inside and looked around, tired and wary. "Cirucci...?"
~
She was sleeping, she was. Fitfully, but sleeping still. She’d been up all night, and not for the usual reasons, either. No, for other reasons, for whining and complaining and realizing just how hopeless it all was. She could have laughed, at how pathetic she was, because she hated being called pathetic, but it was true. She was pathetic, she was, a broken remnant of what had once been powerful.
It had never been so clear to her, how worthless she was. Even the first time the number had been ripped from her it hadn’t been this painful, then she had been furious, blinded by rage and righteous indignation, but what did she have this time? Only confirmation that everything the Espada, everything they’d said was true.
Useless. Worthless. Whore. Pathetic. No good. Weak. Slut.
Worthless, worthless, worthless.
And staring in the face of that realization, the second time the number had left her breast, and… she had nothing. No anger, she had no anger, didn’t even hate them for calling her weak anymore, in that moment, for using her and leaving her somehow more shamed than when they’d begun. She’d been empty, truly empty like the hole in her chest, and just stared down at the bloody mess on her bosom that had been a five and felt nothing.
Shame counted as nothing, because she was always ashamed.
At the sound of her visitors’ voice, dull purple eyes, vacant and uncaring, slowly fluttered open.
~
He really had been expecting her to be on the couch, or somewhere in the main living area. It wasn't often that she was actually hidden from him upon entering...especially at this hour.
"Cirucci?" Alfons called again, sounding more troubled now as he stepped out of his shoes and wandered further in, taking care to look for any sign of a struggle anywhere, just in case she was missing or anything else horrible like that. He passed right by her bedroom, only to backtrack when he realized someone was in there. Hoping with all his might it wasn't Luppi, he stopped in the doorway to peer in. He couldn't see very well, since it was getting darker earlier now, but he was pretty sure that was her.
Staying in the doorway, knowing she didn't really like him in her room, he rested a hand against the frame and squinted. "What are you still doing in bed? Are you still injured?"
~
“No.” Her reply was immediate, albeit slow and methodical, like a plodding beast working through mire, her brain slowly waking up from a fitful sleep. She slowly moved, didn’t even bother muffling a soft groan, one bare arm, no glove or sleeve, snaking out from the rumpled sheets to smooth across the place Luppi had been when she’d fallen asleep.
She never expected him to stick around after giving her so much attention. It was contrary to both their natures, to be able to give so much without receiving, and she knew he’d gone out to get a little for himself, since he’d been so patient with her the night before, with her cries and protests, whines and muffled groans.
“… Ah.” The Privaron, Privaron, rolled over into the small, somewhat warm indent he’d left, baring a bloodstained side, she hadn’t bathed. “Luppi left early.” She sighed softly, winced and pressed the palm to her breast, as if protecting something but removed it just as quickly, as if burned, closing her eyes again and nuzzling into the pillow limply, dark curls spilled out around a face that seemed even paler, stark with the dirtied dress in the darker light.
~
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, color once more came into the picture. Minute details were suddenly visible. There was blood on her still... She hadn't even changed clothing. The missing sleeve and glove made it clean which arm had apparently been...injured, but now it did look whole and uninjured.
But that wasn't all he saw. Other bits of her clothing were torn... Just over her breast, and he could see bloodstained bandages there. "Ah--?! Cirucci?!"
Completely disregarding her distaste for having people in her room, he rushed over to her side, leaning over to try and get a better look. It was difficult, though, when she was turned away to nuzzle into what he could only assume was Luppi's side of the bed.
"Let me see..." Gently, he gripped her shoulder to try to pull her back to face him again.
~
She adamantly refused to roll over, instead snarled weakly and batted at his head with an ungloved hand, all the skin unbroken, smooth and soft, just as it had been before Ulquiorra had flicked his hand and ripped it off. How annoying, to run in to him like that, and for that fucker to forget who she was? No one did that, no one-
“What do you want, you’re in my bedroom.” She drew harsh attention to the fact that no one was allowed there without her permission, that he’d come in uninvited and she didn’t like it, letting her body go limp and heavy, rolling over onto her stomach to make it even more hard for him to see, tucking her arms up on either side of her breast to side the bandages over the gory mess on her chest, wincing as she did so.
“I’m fine. I told you.” Her voice wasn’t cold, so much as empty.
~
He flinched at the swat, but his tenacity wasn't so poor that he would let her little snarls and smacks scare him away. More worried than annoyed, he tried to lean over again, only to huff and step back with his hands on his hips. "Yes, I'm in your bedroom, but only because I can't exactly drag you out into the living room to inspect you."
Scanning her over again, Alfons bit his lip. Even if he couldn't spot any injuries, the bandaging and blood...and the fact that she hadn't even bathed and changed her clothing yet was more worrisome than anything. And what was with her tone? It was just...so...
"Cirucci, there was something you didn't tell me. You aren't fine."
~
“So if I’m not?” She still didn’t role over, still didn’t look at him, sunk into the sheets and smoothed the pillow beside her face, murmuring voice and soft squirming as she tried to find something comfortable, something that didn’t hurt, the mess of muscle and skin beneath her bandages throbbing as she ripped open fresh wounds unwittingly, as it began to blot with blood again, not so noticeable when the white breast of her uniform was already stiff with brown dried crimson.
“It’s nothing new, right?” Her voice took on a mocking tone, briefly, as she mimicked his voice. “I can’t help worrying over “what kind of trouble did Cirucci get in to today”.” She scoffed weakly, ungloved hand digging in to pillow briefly, but released just as quickly, breath escaping in an exhale and not inhaling, settling.
~
Alfons felt his throat tighten as she repeated his words right back to him. He probably shouldn't have said that... She always took everything so poorly, and it was so difficult to voice his feelings without being afraid of offending her somehow.
"I didn't... I mean... That doesn't mean I want you hiding things from me. I'm going to worry over you no matter what, and it'll be worse if you keep these things from me."
White socks shuffled against the hardwood floor as Alfons walked around the bed to move to the other side, where he might have a better chance of getting a look at Cirucci's face and bandages. He only hesitate a moment before sitting on the mattress and reaching for her shoulder again. "Please let me see."
~
She didn’t move, knew he would never leave unless she killed him, or let him see, and she really didn’t feel like having half the City on her tail again for killing something she shouldn’t have.
“There’s nothing there.” Cirucci hissed, but she meant it literally, unless ruined flesh counted as something, and there was a lot of that. Underneath the bandages on her breast was the shape of a five re-rent by nails and talons, scraped away again with the sickening plop-plip of ruined flesh hitting the floor, the dripping of blood onto the floor beside it, harsh breathing and the soft sounds of her own fingers digging in only to rip the last ounces of pride from her body, with the fluttering of her lashes the only signal of her life now.
~
Had he become any paler, Alfons would have been as white as a ghost. Upon seeing the stained bandages at first, he hadn't quite understood, but when it hit him, he felt sick. Of course, he had never seen it, but Cirucci had told him about regaining her number. She had seemed so happy about it. And now... No wonder.
"Oh..." Alfons pulled his hand back, head shaking a bit as he tried to regain composure. What could he do? What could he say? His own helplessness was a constant slap in the face. "Look, maybe... Maybe you should go take a shower, and we can give you some fresh bandages, and I'll find you something sweet to eat. How does that sound?"
~
“…” She tsked in the back of her throat and hauled herself up, brushed past him on bloodied legs and into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. Her dress rustled when she tore it from her, dropped it with disgust on the floor and watched it fold around stuff brown patches, a sneer on her lips. The bandages followed, roughly cut from her breast as she turned on the water as hot as it could go, unwinding the stain white with soft whimpers as bits of scar tissue came off with it, bringing fresh blood to the surface, trickling down as she stepped into the bath.
She didn’t think it very possible to get clean, anyway.
And it hurt, she had to grit her teeth when the water reached her breast, as it stained pink in little swirls as the blood blended in to the water, that ragged wound of talon, ripped asunder, so haphazard and casual, parts of it deep enough to bare the muscle beneath, some shallow only to scrap the barest black ink from her, the littlest amount of pride to pass as worthless, her head lolling back onto the tiles and panting lightly from the pain, legs writhing as the near boiling water baptized her new scar, eyes squeezed shut to hide it from her sight.
~
Looking after her as she left the room, Alfons could feel his heart clench at the full sight of her. She was an absolute mess. As soon as she began to lose the clothes, he quickly averted his eyes and walked out of the room. He needed to see if there was anything in the kitchen to quickly prepare for her.
During his visits, he had stocked her kitchen full with anything he could that wasn't perishable so that he didn't have to be constantly carrying his baking supplies back and forth. Still, even with a mostly stocked kitchen, he just didn't have the energy or time to make her anything really fabulous.
After digging around in the cupboards for a bit, he found some cookies and chocolate bars. Once the double boiler was set up to begin melting the chocolate, Alfons went about setting the cookies up on a plate, trying to make them look perfect. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, really, considering the last time that Cirucci had been this bad off.
~
She wasn’t quick about it, and she didn’t get out, let the steam burn her, the water was scalding hot but it hardly felt it, not to that sullen, dead body, cared, it was barely that hot at all. Eventually she stopped whining, it stopped flaring white hot pain and settled to a dull throbbing of ruined flesh, and she settled somewhat, damp dark hair hanging heavy, clinging to the back of her neck where beads of sweat slipped down.
Cirucci’s eyes were half open now, and they couldn’t stop looking at that scar. Not a scar anymore, an open wound, and her fingers came up, tentative hovered over it, but couldn’t bear to touch it, her hand fell away and she simply stared at it.
Worthless.
~
Of course, his obsessive desire to arrange the cookies in such a fashion was rather silly, considering he just had to pull them right off again to dip them in the chocolate once it was melted. He went about it slowly and carefully, trying not to let his mind wander too much. It hurt, knowing this was all he could do for her. This was all.
When Alfons finished, he washed the dishes and dried his hands, beginning to get concerned when he didn't hear any sign of life coming from the bathroom. Was she just taking an extra long bath? If it were a normal person, he would have feared the threat of suicide, but he felt fairly confident that Cirucci wouldn't bother. Suicide couldn't free you from the City.
Finally having nothing left to do in the kitchen, he left the chocolate to harden on the cookies and moved towards the bathroom. He stopped just next to the door, not daring to peek in, and leaned against the wall. "Do you want me to bring you fresh clothes?"
~
“No.” She was just as vacant, leaning against tiles, painted mouth softer without that tone, eyes softer when she had no anger even left there, whole body, petite and small, drained of everything that drove her, everything that motivated her, anger, hate, even emotional pain.
“… I think I’ll stay here.” And she meant it, too, wouldn’t even notice when the water grew chill around her, as long as it kept that scar from aching, from throbbing pain into her breast, slipping down farther into the steaming water to try and hide it from her own sight.
~
With a shake of his head, Alfons pushed away from the door to wander back into her bedroom anyway. Normally, he wouldn't have dared to go through a lady's dresser, but a part of him just felt so...numb at the moment. Almost mechanically, he looked through the drawers to find fresh undergarments for her, stockings and all, then went to the closet to find a simple dress that she could wear to bed.
Folding everything into a neat pile, he kept his eyes to the floor as he set the clothing just inside the bathroom door. Then, he moved back out to lean against the wall again, waiting silently. She wouldn't really stay in there, would she?
Absently, Alfons checked his watch. What was he going to do if she really did just stay in there? This was far worse than before... Amazing, how this could traumatize her more than actual rape. He would never understand how her mind worked, though he did try very hard sometimes.
"...The water will get cold if you just stay like that," he whispered.
~
“I’ll add more hot water, then.” Another automatic response, knowing he’d placed clothes for her and uncaring, eyes vacant and reflecting only water.
She wondered, idly, if this was all because of her worthlessness. If she hadn’t been completely worthless from the beginning, if she’d been a pawn, all this time, and never even knew it, didn’t want to know it, and thusly, had never let herself see it. How… odd of her, how hugely stupid, but it seemed almost clear now, that she had done that, thrown herself into pursuit of worth not even realizing that no matter what she did, no matter who she killed, who she fucked, she would always and forever remain a :Privaron Espada.
There was no chance to regain her number. There was no chance to regain the respect she commanded once. There was no chance to be worth anything ever again, and that knowledge hurt along with the wound on her breast, the water slowly dyed pink in soft swirls of rippling blood.
~
Slumped against the wall, Alfons waited for as long as he could, watching as the second hand ticked by on his watch, each minute taking longer than the last. Finally, unable to just wait any longer, he moved back into the bathroom, keeping his gaze averted as best he could. "Cirucci, come on. It's time to get out of the tub now... There are cookies. You don't want them?"
It was purely by accident that he saw the pink tint to the water out of the corner of his eye, and both hands clenched into fists. She wasn't the only one who felt utterly worthless right then.
~
“…” She noticed his hands, barely, heaved out the effort to move her leaden body to turn her head, idly settling her gaze in his direction and slowly, slowly because it hurt and because her movements were slow, sluggish, now just because, because she was worthless, and slowly she covered the disgusting wound, untreated, unseen, and gouged out haphazardly, slowly dying pink in the water.
“I don’t think I’m very hungry, Alfons.” Cirucci murmured dismissively. She wanted him to go, and she wanted him to stay, and she cared and she didn’t care, and she hurt.
~
Her words drew his attention to her face, and her gaze struck a chord in him he hadn't even known existed. His heart might have been unable to beat, and his skin was cool, but he was far from being dead. Truthfully, he wondered if it was possible for even a living human being to experience as many emotions as he was right then.
Alfons could remember her false smiles and her mocking laughter as she blathered on about things he would really rather not hear about, and he had always known that it was a front, but suddenly he missed it. Seeing her as she was right then...she could have been wearing ten layers of clothes, and still she would have been bare in his eyes.
The movement of her hand forced his gaze to drift elsewhere, and he could see her hiding the wound. The wound that apparently hadn't closed all the way. The young man sunk down onto his knees right then, for they began to feel weak, and as he crouched beside the tub and stared at her in a light he thought he would never see, his voice sounded desolate.
"What can I do?"
~
“Nothing.” Cirucci watched him impassively, was impassive to anything then, and smiled, as kindly as she could manage and especially now, it was not kindly at all, merely a blank and worthless turn of her mouth, that was all, and a quirk of her nails, finally clean, her own ruined blood and flesh free from beneath those talons, lightly shielding that bright red wound, fresh and ragged.
“I did it myself.” To say she sounded slightly mad would be correct. Slightly insane, but she was the Thunderwitch, goddamnit, and she was insane, a desperate, harsh, weak, strong, submissive, dominant, contradicting insanity, and she could smile heartless in that moment.
“I did it… it’s gone now. Ah…” She paused, let her hand fall away to stare at it. “… I didn’t want it anyway.” Lies.
~
"Tch." Alfons shook his head again and grabbed onto the sink to pull himself up so that he could grab a wash cloth. Settling back down, he forced his hand to stop trembling from nerves, and pressed the wash cloth against the wound on her chest. It was only because he was so focused on the situation that he didn't think to look lower. He was still a gentleman, damnit.
"I know better than that." And he wasn't going to ask for details. He didn't want them. He just wanted... What did he want? To make all of her problems go away? To give her a reason to be proud of herself? What could he even say that mattered? Did she care at all what his opinion was?
Firmly pressing the cloth against her chest, Alfons glanced back up to her face, no matter how much it broke his heart. Even if she wouldn't really hear him...he could still try. "You know... You're important to me. You'll always be important to me."
~
A wince.
“…That hurt, Alfons.” She reminded him blankly, chided that he was pressing that cloth onto her breast, against raw and damaged skin and thankfully it was mostly numbed at this point, but it still made her twitch, made her hand spasm into a fist ever so briefly.
“You’re hurting me.” Cirucci said it again but this time, she didn’t mean physically, she meant the way the hole in her chest, inches from his hand, ached when he said things like that. Things like “you’re important”.
~
Quickly, he lessened the pressure he was putting on her chest, chiding himself. Of course, he was so used to Cirucci so much stronger than him that it had never occurred to him that he could actually hurt her. Still, though he tried to lessen the pressure, he kept it firm. It wouldn't stop bleeding if he didn't...not while she sat in warm water.
"I'm sorry," Alfons murmured, looking away again for modesty's sake. "I'm sorry for not being able to help you. You always say that you don't need help or protection, but I'll still always want to. And you say you don't want me loving you, but I do and I can't stop it. Sometimes it's all that keeps me warm at night, and then other times it just makes me bitter and angry. I don't want people touching you. I don't want people insulting you, or hurting you, or even watching you sleep."
Even though he could breathe just fine, it still felt like he was choking. "But there's nothing I can ever do, except watch it all unfold, waiting on standby and making a fool of myself because I know I can't fight for someone who doesn't want me. But even if that's all fate will offer me for the rest of eternity, if all I can do is make you snacks and watch you sleep, I'll take it. Just don't... Don't push me away."
~
The Thunderwitch stared. His words registered, on some level, but she didn’t want to acknowledge them, look at them, realize what they meant, or even hear them. They hurt her, being worth anyway, when she was so worthless, was physically painful for her, and she hated it, hated being worth something almost but not nearly as much as she hated being worthless.
“…You sound sort of like a stalker, Alfons.” She finally smirked out, fake smile, fake indulgent look, fake tsk tsk, batting his hand away and hauling herself up, crimson, bleeding, altogether disgusting flesh of her five clear and undeniable, going for a towel and drying slowly, tossing a roll of bandages at him and waiting, eyes steady, unable to face him, rather, unwilling to acknowledge what he had said beyond insulting.
“Men will always touch me, Alfons. Espada will always, whoever wants to will always. They’ll always insult me, and they’ll always hurt me.” Watching her sleep? She rarely slept with her males, only a few, too afraid that to close her eyes she would never wake up again.
~
Immediately, his gaze went to the ground when he stood up, waiting until her towel covered at least most of her before he glanced back. A stalker? He hadn't really thought of it like that... He hoped to God she was joking. He was only a stalker if she didn't already know about all of that, right? And he never was around without her permission.
Steeling his nerves, Alfons unrolled the gauze and stepped up behind her. If she didn't want to make eye contact, then fine. This was hard enough even without her looking at him. At least he was taller that her, so he could see the injury over her shoulder, allowing him to reach around from behind. He was no doctor, but he knew the basics of how to bandage someone, knowing how to overlap and just how tight to make it.
"Only because you've let yourself believe that's all life has to offer you. You could fight them. You could protest. I know that they're stronger than you, but...I'm sure if you truly rebelled, if you truly tried to break away and stand for something more, then people would help you. I work in a magic shop for God's sake. There are other ways to live and to fight, Cirucci... What will it take for you to see them?"
~
“Because it’s not worth it.” Cirucci lifted her arms for him to bandage properly, held perfectly still until he finished and she pulled away, pulled the dress he’d provided over her head and slunk back to her bed, crawled under the covers carefully, speaking softly, level as she arranged herself with some measure of comfort.
“I don’t care if they use this body.” Another lie, said smoothly and without catch. “I don’t care if they break it.” As long as it could be fixed again. “I don’t care if they insult it.” It happened enough, dull eyed and anger response, but she had none of that today, just the naked shell of apathy, of shame, and worth stripped down, tucking under covers.
~
Any other day, she might have convinced him... Maybe. But there was no chance in Hell that he was buying her words, not when she was acting so...dead.
After draining the water in the tub, Alfons rolled his sleeve back down and abandoned the bathroom for now to follow her back into the bedroom. The bedroom. She didn't want him there. He wasn't a stalker.
So he halted just in the door frame, his hand gripping the wood frame so tightly that his hand was beginning to go numb. "But I care! I look at you right now and it hurts. Aren't you even interested what it might be like to tread a different path? It can be worth it, even if it sometimes doesn't seem like it."
~
“I’m really not.” She smiled, soulless, and lay her head on the pillow, wet hair dampening the fabric, dark curls splayed across the white fabric in stark contrast. Pale knees tucked up and she curled in on herself, let her eyes close so they dead in them wouldn’t give her away.
“This is how it’s always been, and it will always be like that.” She had no reservations to say this, and it was true. She would always give her body to the more powerful bidder, she would always have to take the insults and the injuries from those stronger than herself.
It was how things were.
~
In his entire life, he had never met anyone quite so...maddening. Even Edward's stubbornness had it's limits, and he could provide more valid arguments than 'because that's how it is'. Edward. Damn him! If only he hadn't left, Alfons wouldn't have had to face these feelings for Cirucci.
If only, if only. He was going bloody insane, and he was beside himself with frustration. She wasn't listening. She wasn't even really responding. All she was doing was acting like a mechanical doll, giving him answers that had been programmed into her.
"Damnit!" The oath was hissed out as he slammed his fist against the door frame, the stress alone enough to draw a shuddering cough out of him. Like he needed any more pain in his chest.
He didn't care if she called him a stalker again, but he wasn't going to keep observing like this. "What do I have to do, to make you listen. To make you understand just what this does to me? What you do to me?" Moving from the doorway, his footsteps were heavy as he moved over to her side to grab her wrist to pull her to face him.
~
To say she was surprised was an understatement, no, Cirucci Thunderwitch was shocked. She looked at him, slowly expression, bewilderment, crossing her face, the set of mouth, furrow of brow, the way she looked at him, as if upset he’d interrupted her nap.
“… I thought you knew that, already.” She murmured, free hand calmly tugging down the front of her dress until it exposed the hole through her chest, partly obscured by bandages, rumpled sheets visible on the other side of her body, through her body.
“I can’t understand.” It was an excuse, but a pretty good one, lacking a heart, made from her very beginning unable to fully understand human emotion, to fully understand things like love and compassion and selflessness and guilt, could sometimes feel shadows of them, but never truly, not as humans loved, as humans felt.
~
He quickly glanced away when she first tugged down her collar, only to let his gaze wander back when he realized she was actually making a point. Maybe his denial was great, but what else could he do?
"Fine. I can accept that you can't understand... But I know you can feel. Right now, inside of you, I know you're feeling something. And I've seen you express hate. If you can feel an emotion as strong as hate, then I know you can love."
His grip on her wrist weakened as his own resolve did. "And you act like you care for me, in some way. You've put yourself in danger for me. You comforted me when Edward returned. You act like you don't want to upset me. Is that all it is?" Now, his voice was hoarse, waiting for an answer he didn't want to hear. "An act?"
~
“I don’t understand.” Cirucci whispered, didn’t rip her arm away, let her dress fall back where it willed, still faced him, looked at him. When had this happened? When had she gotten involved? When had he stopped being some human and become her human? When had she stopped calling him her human and started calling him Alfons- It had been too long…
“You never wanted love from me before.” Her voice was hesitant, confused, that was evident, clearly, in the way she almost seemed to recoil from his anger, torn perilously between that recoil and an attack, a cornered beast’s reaction. “I can’t love, Alfons, I don’t know why you think I can. Hate isn’t love… Arrancar can hate.” Another voice, whispered in her ear, I love you, and knowing it was a lie and wanting it anyway, that was shameful, too, made her look more strained, more confused, more angry, more everything, a volatile mix of emotion swirling up.
~
The more she protested, the more angry he became, though he knew better than to direct that anger at her. She was only this was because it was all she knew. It wasn't her fault. It was--
"Do you have any proof? Proof that Arrancar can only hate, and not love? Just because that's what they tell you...and just because you haven't experienced it, that doesn't mean you're incapable." Letting go of her wrist, he slammed his hand against the mattress. He was putting it all on the line here, even if a part of him knew it was futile. Maybe he could blame the City for turning him into something so pathetic and foolish.
"I know that I'm useless when it comes to protecting you, but I'll try. Even if I hate magic, I'll use it anyway. I'll find magic users to keep you safe. I can do my best to show you love, and only you. If there's anything I've learned in life and in death, it's that anything's possible. And don't call me your stalker, or your pet, because I'm not any of those things! I'm the man who's in love with you, and for the life of me, it's driving me mad."
~
A flurry of emotion, change, flit across her face.
Confusion, anger, confusion, blank, confusion, abuh, confusion, and then she erupted, snarled and grabbed his collar, something snapping inside her, something deep-seated and primal and she seized him and shook him firmly, ripped her other wrist from his grip and grit her teeth, lifting him bodily off the floor.
“I’ve been around since before your grandsire screamed in his mother’s womb.” She hissed, gaze blazing with pent up rage, released by his impassioned rage. “I’ve been eating human souls since before you were born, for hundreds of years, and I’ve hated.” Her fist tightened. “I live by hating, I killed everyone weaker than me and I consumed them to make myself stronger.” Her smile took on a manic crook.
“And you know what?” She could have choked on this, but she would say it, to get it through his thick, human, skull, to make him stop loving her, hurting her with that worth he wanted to bestow on her. “You know why I do that, Alfons, why I let them use me?” The Privaron leaned in close, smiled coy, her best act, the most perfect act, subservient and sensual, her breath crafted warm and caressing, her words shaped smooth as silk.
“Because I like it.” Lips tugged into a lying smile. “I like them fucking me, you know, I don’t care how they do it.” The briefest hint of her disgust was hidden behind shame, which was hidden by her anger. “Whores, Alfons, well, you wouldn’t know.” Her lips brushed his ear. “It’s exciting, being dominated, being hurt- Knowing that if you say one wrong thing, make one wrong move, cry out the wrong name… you’re dead~” She hated that, hated the threat of her death on her back in bed. “And you know, I go back to them, and offer myself again and again. I even go to Nnoitra, of my own volition.” A pause, and she giggled, the act was flawless. “Safe sex just gets so bo~ring~”
She imagined he would be disgusted, more than she was. She wondered how disgusted. She wondered if this was what he needed to understand that she could never give him what he wanted, even if she wanted to.
~
The grip to his collar and hard shake was definitely enough to make his mouth snap shut, lest he bite his tongue by accident. And as she lifted him, the best he could do was grab at her wrists again, though by no means was he trying to pull them away. Alarming and slightly painful, maybe, but he was under no threat. Not physically, anyway.
Her words were like barbs, and they hurt like she intended. But not for the reasons she believed. As he stared at her, listening to her words, he was careful not to watch her mouth, instead looking at her eyes. Of course, her acting was flawless. Her tone, her execution... All of it was brilliant. But--
"I don't believe you," he whispered in response. And really, he didn't. Even if her explanation might have made sense as to why she did things, he knew it wasn't true. He had observed her behavior for far too long, watching her for things she never knew about. And so it was because of everything he had witnessed up to this point that he knew her words were a lie, and maybe it would have been better to pretend he believed. But he just...didn't. As he gazed at her, for all the monster she was and wasn't, he knew he was damned. It would have been simpler to doubt.
~
“You’d best start.” Her act, once she donned it, was not easily shaken, and she smirked coyly, released him and let him drop to the floor, hit how he would, stretching luxuriously, lithe, tawny body bent and supple.
“Ask Nnoitra who came to see him the other night.” She smirked wickedly, drawing attention to bite marks on her shoulder. “Ask him who begged him for more.” She was disgusting. “Ask him who got on her knees and begged for it.” She wanted him to understand, that she could never love, that sex beyond a tool was a concept beyond her.
“And get the notion that I can love out of your head while you still can.” Fingers curled over her breast, pressed fabric into that empty space where she should have flesh and a heart, and smiled demurely. “I loved Il Forte, it was said. And you know what I did to him?” Her eyes darkened. “I punched my arm through his chest. He died, it was very sad.” Her hand flipped her hair back, dismissive, stretching out casually again. “Now, if you want that…”
No, Cirucci Thunderwitch could love, in a sense. But everything she loved she ultimately destroyed, unable to control, to handle emotions like that with no heart to guide her.
And Cirucci Thunderwitch truly loved only herself, the one she destroyed the most.
~
He didn't land smoothly, legs buckling as soon as he hit the floor, his hands against the floorboards being the only things to keep him from entirely sprawling on his back. As she spoke, he couldn't look at her. Not out of disgust, really... Not for her, but for himself. After all, he was the idiot who had fallen for Edward and her.
The idea of being punched through the chest was not a pretty one...but it hurt so much that it felt like she might as well have. His brow crinkled as he tried to keep himself from losing his composure once more, and he pushed himself to stand, staggering for a moment as he steadied his legs.
Still, he couldn't look up. For all his pride, what little was left, he looked like a defeated man, and his tone was hushed. Shaken. "It's so hard to care anymore...what you do to me. I might even deserve it. But say you don't want me, and I'll leave. Stop making excuses and just say it."
~
She was hurting, but she didn’t let it show, instead sighed softly, rebuking gently. Her hand reached out, caressed the side of his face, and raised it, met his gaze evenly, suppressed her anger and her shame, back to the empty hollows of her heart.
“I don’t want anyone to love me, Alfons.” The Privaron murmured firmly, released him to let him do as he will, and lay back down, spots of red showing once more on the breast of her dress.
It scares me. Hung in the air. Makes me weak. She sighed. Makes me vulnerable.
It made her hurt.
~
That seemed answer enough for him. A few quiet seconds stretched out as he stared at her before he turned away to stare at the window. He had said that he would accept this role in her life... Nothing but the person who made her snacks and comforted her when she was down.
"...People rarely get what they want." Another glance was cast back towards her, weary and sickened by his own recklessness, and Alfons walked out of the room to get his shoes and go. He couldn't even find it in him to sound bitter as he called out, "Cookies are in the kitchen. You can enjoy them with Luppi," before pulling the front door shut behind him.
~
“…” Cirucci closed her eyes, pulling up the covers and sinking down into sheets, let the reopened wound slowly blot crimson on her white bandages, white dress, white flesh.
She didn’t want to be loved. She’d never asked for it. She didn’t want it. She would never wish for it. She would never understand it.
And she didn’t want to, rolling over onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow.
Stupid. Humans were foolish creatures, to love.
Arrancar would be foolish if they tried to understand.
Rating; R [Language; Flashbacks of Gore].
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [
thunderwitch] & Alfons Heiderich [opfern].Summary; Alfons goes to check on Cirucci, only for her utterly pitiful state to draw out confessions he would have preferred stayed hidden. She does not react well. TL;DR log is TL;DR. You win a cookie if you actually finish it.
Log;
Considering how much stress Alfons had experienced in his very short life, he considered it a miracle that he didn't have any grey hair or wrinkles. Maybe that was the only benefit to being one of the walking dead. Nothing ever changed.
Even if he wished with all of his heart that they could.
After the day he'd had just surviving in the rural mess that the City had transformed into the day prior, the last thing he had wanted to do was get up and go to work... But he needed to bring home that pay check, and it was more productive than sitting around. So after making the children breakfast, he let himself concentrate on helping Jeane with whatever manual labor she needed for the day.
Once he was off work, he met a crossroads. He did owe Ishida for watching the children, and he felt like he ought to get him something for his birthday... But he had told Cirucci that he would check on her 'later', and a day counted as later, didn't it? Of course, lately, just being around her was a trial. There was hardly anything comfortable any longer. He had been foolish and let his guard down, and the only way he knew how to counter that was to keep it constant. He could still be nice to her and lecture her like normal, without letting himself get too involved...or so he told himself.
The knock was more out of courtesy than anything, just in case Cirucci and Luppi were in the middle of...something he really didn't want to see. When he didn't hear any suspicious sounds, Alfons tried the knob and found the door unlocked. With a sigh, he stepped inside and looked around, tired and wary. "Cirucci...?"
She was sleeping, she was. Fitfully, but sleeping still. She’d been up all night, and not for the usual reasons, either. No, for other reasons, for whining and complaining and realizing just how hopeless it all was. She could have laughed, at how pathetic she was, because she hated being called pathetic, but it was true. She was pathetic, she was, a broken remnant of what had once been powerful.
It had never been so clear to her, how worthless she was. Even the first time the number had been ripped from her it hadn’t been this painful, then she had been furious, blinded by rage and righteous indignation, but what did she have this time? Only confirmation that everything the Espada, everything they’d said was true.
Useless. Worthless. Whore. Pathetic. No good. Weak. Slut.
Worthless, worthless, worthless.
And staring in the face of that realization, the second time the number had left her breast, and… she had nothing. No anger, she had no anger, didn’t even hate them for calling her weak anymore, in that moment, for using her and leaving her somehow more shamed than when they’d begun. She’d been empty, truly empty like the hole in her chest, and just stared down at the bloody mess on her bosom that had been a five and felt nothing.
Shame counted as nothing, because she was always ashamed.
At the sound of her visitors’ voice, dull purple eyes, vacant and uncaring, slowly fluttered open.
He really had been expecting her to be on the couch, or somewhere in the main living area. It wasn't often that she was actually hidden from him upon entering...especially at this hour.
"Cirucci?" Alfons called again, sounding more troubled now as he stepped out of his shoes and wandered further in, taking care to look for any sign of a struggle anywhere, just in case she was missing or anything else horrible like that. He passed right by her bedroom, only to backtrack when he realized someone was in there. Hoping with all his might it wasn't Luppi, he stopped in the doorway to peer in. He couldn't see very well, since it was getting darker earlier now, but he was pretty sure that was her.
Staying in the doorway, knowing she didn't really like him in her room, he rested a hand against the frame and squinted. "What are you still doing in bed? Are you still injured?"
“No.” Her reply was immediate, albeit slow and methodical, like a plodding beast working through mire, her brain slowly waking up from a fitful sleep. She slowly moved, didn’t even bother muffling a soft groan, one bare arm, no glove or sleeve, snaking out from the rumpled sheets to smooth across the place Luppi had been when she’d fallen asleep.
She never expected him to stick around after giving her so much attention. It was contrary to both their natures, to be able to give so much without receiving, and she knew he’d gone out to get a little for himself, since he’d been so patient with her the night before, with her cries and protests, whines and muffled groans.
“… Ah.” The Privaron, Privaron, rolled over into the small, somewhat warm indent he’d left, baring a bloodstained side, she hadn’t bathed. “Luppi left early.” She sighed softly, winced and pressed the palm to her breast, as if protecting something but removed it just as quickly, as if burned, closing her eyes again and nuzzling into the pillow limply, dark curls spilled out around a face that seemed even paler, stark with the dirtied dress in the darker light.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, color once more came into the picture. Minute details were suddenly visible. There was blood on her still... She hadn't even changed clothing. The missing sleeve and glove made it clean which arm had apparently been...injured, but now it did look whole and uninjured.
But that wasn't all he saw. Other bits of her clothing were torn... Just over her breast, and he could see bloodstained bandages there. "Ah--?! Cirucci?!"
Completely disregarding her distaste for having people in her room, he rushed over to her side, leaning over to try and get a better look. It was difficult, though, when she was turned away to nuzzle into what he could only assume was Luppi's side of the bed.
"Let me see..." Gently, he gripped her shoulder to try to pull her back to face him again.
She adamantly refused to roll over, instead snarled weakly and batted at his head with an ungloved hand, all the skin unbroken, smooth and soft, just as it had been before Ulquiorra had flicked his hand and ripped it off. How annoying, to run in to him like that, and for that fucker to forget who she was? No one did that, no one-
“What do you want, you’re in my bedroom.” She drew harsh attention to the fact that no one was allowed there without her permission, that he’d come in uninvited and she didn’t like it, letting her body go limp and heavy, rolling over onto her stomach to make it even more hard for him to see, tucking her arms up on either side of her breast to side the bandages over the gory mess on her chest, wincing as she did so.
“I’m fine. I told you.” Her voice wasn’t cold, so much as empty.
He flinched at the swat, but his tenacity wasn't so poor that he would let her little snarls and smacks scare him away. More worried than annoyed, he tried to lean over again, only to huff and step back with his hands on his hips. "Yes, I'm in your bedroom, but only because I can't exactly drag you out into the living room to inspect you."
Scanning her over again, Alfons bit his lip. Even if he couldn't spot any injuries, the bandaging and blood...and the fact that she hadn't even bathed and changed her clothing yet was more worrisome than anything. And what was with her tone? It was just...so...
"Cirucci, there was something you didn't tell me. You aren't fine."
“So if I’m not?” She still didn’t role over, still didn’t look at him, sunk into the sheets and smoothed the pillow beside her face, murmuring voice and soft squirming as she tried to find something comfortable, something that didn’t hurt, the mess of muscle and skin beneath her bandages throbbing as she ripped open fresh wounds unwittingly, as it began to blot with blood again, not so noticeable when the white breast of her uniform was already stiff with brown dried crimson.
“It’s nothing new, right?” Her voice took on a mocking tone, briefly, as she mimicked his voice. “I can’t help worrying over “what kind of trouble did Cirucci get in to today”.” She scoffed weakly, ungloved hand digging in to pillow briefly, but released just as quickly, breath escaping in an exhale and not inhaling, settling.
Alfons felt his throat tighten as she repeated his words right back to him. He probably shouldn't have said that... She always took everything so poorly, and it was so difficult to voice his feelings without being afraid of offending her somehow.
"I didn't... I mean... That doesn't mean I want you hiding things from me. I'm going to worry over you no matter what, and it'll be worse if you keep these things from me."
White socks shuffled against the hardwood floor as Alfons walked around the bed to move to the other side, where he might have a better chance of getting a look at Cirucci's face and bandages. He only hesitate a moment before sitting on the mattress and reaching for her shoulder again. "Please let me see."
She didn’t move, knew he would never leave unless she killed him, or let him see, and she really didn’t feel like having half the City on her tail again for killing something she shouldn’t have.
“There’s nothing there.” Cirucci hissed, but she meant it literally, unless ruined flesh counted as something, and there was a lot of that. Underneath the bandages on her breast was the shape of a five re-rent by nails and talons, scraped away again with the sickening plop-plip of ruined flesh hitting the floor, the dripping of blood onto the floor beside it, harsh breathing and the soft sounds of her own fingers digging in only to rip the last ounces of pride from her body, with the fluttering of her lashes the only signal of her life now.
Had he become any paler, Alfons would have been as white as a ghost. Upon seeing the stained bandages at first, he hadn't quite understood, but when it hit him, he felt sick. Of course, he had never seen it, but Cirucci had told him about regaining her number. She had seemed so happy about it. And now... No wonder.
"Oh..." Alfons pulled his hand back, head shaking a bit as he tried to regain composure. What could he do? What could he say? His own helplessness was a constant slap in the face. "Look, maybe... Maybe you should go take a shower, and we can give you some fresh bandages, and I'll find you something sweet to eat. How does that sound?"
“…” She tsked in the back of her throat and hauled herself up, brushed past him on bloodied legs and into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. Her dress rustled when she tore it from her, dropped it with disgust on the floor and watched it fold around stuff brown patches, a sneer on her lips. The bandages followed, roughly cut from her breast as she turned on the water as hot as it could go, unwinding the stain white with soft whimpers as bits of scar tissue came off with it, bringing fresh blood to the surface, trickling down as she stepped into the bath.
She didn’t think it very possible to get clean, anyway.
And it hurt, she had to grit her teeth when the water reached her breast, as it stained pink in little swirls as the blood blended in to the water, that ragged wound of talon, ripped asunder, so haphazard and casual, parts of it deep enough to bare the muscle beneath, some shallow only to scrap the barest black ink from her, the littlest amount of pride to pass as worthless, her head lolling back onto the tiles and panting lightly from the pain, legs writhing as the near boiling water baptized her new scar, eyes squeezed shut to hide it from her sight.
Looking after her as she left the room, Alfons could feel his heart clench at the full sight of her. She was an absolute mess. As soon as she began to lose the clothes, he quickly averted his eyes and walked out of the room. He needed to see if there was anything in the kitchen to quickly prepare for her.
During his visits, he had stocked her kitchen full with anything he could that wasn't perishable so that he didn't have to be constantly carrying his baking supplies back and forth. Still, even with a mostly stocked kitchen, he just didn't have the energy or time to make her anything really fabulous.
After digging around in the cupboards for a bit, he found some cookies and chocolate bars. Once the double boiler was set up to begin melting the chocolate, Alfons went about setting the cookies up on a plate, trying to make them look perfect. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, really, considering the last time that Cirucci had been this bad off.
She wasn’t quick about it, and she didn’t get out, let the steam burn her, the water was scalding hot but it hardly felt it, not to that sullen, dead body, cared, it was barely that hot at all. Eventually she stopped whining, it stopped flaring white hot pain and settled to a dull throbbing of ruined flesh, and she settled somewhat, damp dark hair hanging heavy, clinging to the back of her neck where beads of sweat slipped down.
Cirucci’s eyes were half open now, and they couldn’t stop looking at that scar. Not a scar anymore, an open wound, and her fingers came up, tentative hovered over it, but couldn’t bear to touch it, her hand fell away and she simply stared at it.
Worthless.
Of course, his obsessive desire to arrange the cookies in such a fashion was rather silly, considering he just had to pull them right off again to dip them in the chocolate once it was melted. He went about it slowly and carefully, trying not to let his mind wander too much. It hurt, knowing this was all he could do for her. This was all.
When Alfons finished, he washed the dishes and dried his hands, beginning to get concerned when he didn't hear any sign of life coming from the bathroom. Was she just taking an extra long bath? If it were a normal person, he would have feared the threat of suicide, but he felt fairly confident that Cirucci wouldn't bother. Suicide couldn't free you from the City.
Finally having nothing left to do in the kitchen, he left the chocolate to harden on the cookies and moved towards the bathroom. He stopped just next to the door, not daring to peek in, and leaned against the wall. "Do you want me to bring you fresh clothes?"
“No.” She was just as vacant, leaning against tiles, painted mouth softer without that tone, eyes softer when she had no anger even left there, whole body, petite and small, drained of everything that drove her, everything that motivated her, anger, hate, even emotional pain.
“… I think I’ll stay here.” And she meant it, too, wouldn’t even notice when the water grew chill around her, as long as it kept that scar from aching, from throbbing pain into her breast, slipping down farther into the steaming water to try and hide it from her own sight.
With a shake of his head, Alfons pushed away from the door to wander back into her bedroom anyway. Normally, he wouldn't have dared to go through a lady's dresser, but a part of him just felt so...numb at the moment. Almost mechanically, he looked through the drawers to find fresh undergarments for her, stockings and all, then went to the closet to find a simple dress that she could wear to bed.
Folding everything into a neat pile, he kept his eyes to the floor as he set the clothing just inside the bathroom door. Then, he moved back out to lean against the wall again, waiting silently. She wouldn't really stay in there, would she?
Absently, Alfons checked his watch. What was he going to do if she really did just stay in there? This was far worse than before... Amazing, how this could traumatize her more than actual rape. He would never understand how her mind worked, though he did try very hard sometimes.
"...The water will get cold if you just stay like that," he whispered.
“I’ll add more hot water, then.” Another automatic response, knowing he’d placed clothes for her and uncaring, eyes vacant and reflecting only water.
She wondered, idly, if this was all because of her worthlessness. If she hadn’t been completely worthless from the beginning, if she’d been a pawn, all this time, and never even knew it, didn’t want to know it, and thusly, had never let herself see it. How… odd of her, how hugely stupid, but it seemed almost clear now, that she had done that, thrown herself into pursuit of worth not even realizing that no matter what she did, no matter who she killed, who she fucked, she would always and forever remain a :Privaron Espada.
There was no chance to regain her number. There was no chance to regain the respect she commanded once. There was no chance to be worth anything ever again, and that knowledge hurt along with the wound on her breast, the water slowly dyed pink in soft swirls of rippling blood.
Slumped against the wall, Alfons waited for as long as he could, watching as the second hand ticked by on his watch, each minute taking longer than the last. Finally, unable to just wait any longer, he moved back into the bathroom, keeping his gaze averted as best he could. "Cirucci, come on. It's time to get out of the tub now... There are cookies. You don't want them?"
It was purely by accident that he saw the pink tint to the water out of the corner of his eye, and both hands clenched into fists. She wasn't the only one who felt utterly worthless right then.
“…” She noticed his hands, barely, heaved out the effort to move her leaden body to turn her head, idly settling her gaze in his direction and slowly, slowly because it hurt and because her movements were slow, sluggish, now just because, because she was worthless, and slowly she covered the disgusting wound, untreated, unseen, and gouged out haphazardly, slowly dying pink in the water.
“I don’t think I’m very hungry, Alfons.” Cirucci murmured dismissively. She wanted him to go, and she wanted him to stay, and she cared and she didn’t care, and she hurt.
Her words drew his attention to her face, and her gaze struck a chord in him he hadn't even known existed. His heart might have been unable to beat, and his skin was cool, but he was far from being dead. Truthfully, he wondered if it was possible for even a living human being to experience as many emotions as he was right then.
Alfons could remember her false smiles and her mocking laughter as she blathered on about things he would really rather not hear about, and he had always known that it was a front, but suddenly he missed it. Seeing her as she was right then...she could have been wearing ten layers of clothes, and still she would have been bare in his eyes.
The movement of her hand forced his gaze to drift elsewhere, and he could see her hiding the wound. The wound that apparently hadn't closed all the way. The young man sunk down onto his knees right then, for they began to feel weak, and as he crouched beside the tub and stared at her in a light he thought he would never see, his voice sounded desolate.
"What can I do?"
“Nothing.” Cirucci watched him impassively, was impassive to anything then, and smiled, as kindly as she could manage and especially now, it was not kindly at all, merely a blank and worthless turn of her mouth, that was all, and a quirk of her nails, finally clean, her own ruined blood and flesh free from beneath those talons, lightly shielding that bright red wound, fresh and ragged.
“I did it myself.” To say she sounded slightly mad would be correct. Slightly insane, but she was the Thunderwitch, goddamnit, and she was insane, a desperate, harsh, weak, strong, submissive, dominant, contradicting insanity, and she could smile heartless in that moment.
“I did it… it’s gone now. Ah…” She paused, let her hand fall away to stare at it. “… I didn’t want it anyway.” Lies.
"Tch." Alfons shook his head again and grabbed onto the sink to pull himself up so that he could grab a wash cloth. Settling back down, he forced his hand to stop trembling from nerves, and pressed the wash cloth against the wound on her chest. It was only because he was so focused on the situation that he didn't think to look lower. He was still a gentleman, damnit.
"I know better than that." And he wasn't going to ask for details. He didn't want them. He just wanted... What did he want? To make all of her problems go away? To give her a reason to be proud of herself? What could he even say that mattered? Did she care at all what his opinion was?
Firmly pressing the cloth against her chest, Alfons glanced back up to her face, no matter how much it broke his heart. Even if she wouldn't really hear him...he could still try. "You know... You're important to me. You'll always be important to me."
A wince.
“…That hurt, Alfons.” She reminded him blankly, chided that he was pressing that cloth onto her breast, against raw and damaged skin and thankfully it was mostly numbed at this point, but it still made her twitch, made her hand spasm into a fist ever so briefly.
“You’re hurting me.” Cirucci said it again but this time, she didn’t mean physically, she meant the way the hole in her chest, inches from his hand, ached when he said things like that. Things like “you’re important”.
Quickly, he lessened the pressure he was putting on her chest, chiding himself. Of course, he was so used to Cirucci so much stronger than him that it had never occurred to him that he could actually hurt her. Still, though he tried to lessen the pressure, he kept it firm. It wouldn't stop bleeding if he didn't...not while she sat in warm water.
"I'm sorry," Alfons murmured, looking away again for modesty's sake. "I'm sorry for not being able to help you. You always say that you don't need help or protection, but I'll still always want to. And you say you don't want me loving you, but I do and I can't stop it. Sometimes it's all that keeps me warm at night, and then other times it just makes me bitter and angry. I don't want people touching you. I don't want people insulting you, or hurting you, or even watching you sleep."
Even though he could breathe just fine, it still felt like he was choking. "But there's nothing I can ever do, except watch it all unfold, waiting on standby and making a fool of myself because I know I can't fight for someone who doesn't want me. But even if that's all fate will offer me for the rest of eternity, if all I can do is make you snacks and watch you sleep, I'll take it. Just don't... Don't push me away."
The Thunderwitch stared. His words registered, on some level, but she didn’t want to acknowledge them, look at them, realize what they meant, or even hear them. They hurt her, being worth anyway, when she was so worthless, was physically painful for her, and she hated it, hated being worth something almost but not nearly as much as she hated being worthless.
“…You sound sort of like a stalker, Alfons.” She finally smirked out, fake smile, fake indulgent look, fake tsk tsk, batting his hand away and hauling herself up, crimson, bleeding, altogether disgusting flesh of her five clear and undeniable, going for a towel and drying slowly, tossing a roll of bandages at him and waiting, eyes steady, unable to face him, rather, unwilling to acknowledge what he had said beyond insulting.
“Men will always touch me, Alfons. Espada will always, whoever wants to will always. They’ll always insult me, and they’ll always hurt me.” Watching her sleep? She rarely slept with her males, only a few, too afraid that to close her eyes she would never wake up again.
Immediately, his gaze went to the ground when he stood up, waiting until her towel covered at least most of her before he glanced back. A stalker? He hadn't really thought of it like that... He hoped to God she was joking. He was only a stalker if she didn't already know about all of that, right? And he never was around without her permission.
Steeling his nerves, Alfons unrolled the gauze and stepped up behind her. If she didn't want to make eye contact, then fine. This was hard enough even without her looking at him. At least he was taller that her, so he could see the injury over her shoulder, allowing him to reach around from behind. He was no doctor, but he knew the basics of how to bandage someone, knowing how to overlap and just how tight to make it.
"Only because you've let yourself believe that's all life has to offer you. You could fight them. You could protest. I know that they're stronger than you, but...I'm sure if you truly rebelled, if you truly tried to break away and stand for something more, then people would help you. I work in a magic shop for God's sake. There are other ways to live and to fight, Cirucci... What will it take for you to see them?"
“Because it’s not worth it.” Cirucci lifted her arms for him to bandage properly, held perfectly still until he finished and she pulled away, pulled the dress he’d provided over her head and slunk back to her bed, crawled under the covers carefully, speaking softly, level as she arranged herself with some measure of comfort.
“I don’t care if they use this body.” Another lie, said smoothly and without catch. “I don’t care if they break it.” As long as it could be fixed again. “I don’t care if they insult it.” It happened enough, dull eyed and anger response, but she had none of that today, just the naked shell of apathy, of shame, and worth stripped down, tucking under covers.
Any other day, she might have convinced him... Maybe. But there was no chance in Hell that he was buying her words, not when she was acting so...dead.
After draining the water in the tub, Alfons rolled his sleeve back down and abandoned the bathroom for now to follow her back into the bedroom. The bedroom. She didn't want him there. He wasn't a stalker.
So he halted just in the door frame, his hand gripping the wood frame so tightly that his hand was beginning to go numb. "But I care! I look at you right now and it hurts. Aren't you even interested what it might be like to tread a different path? It can be worth it, even if it sometimes doesn't seem like it."
“I’m really not.” She smiled, soulless, and lay her head on the pillow, wet hair dampening the fabric, dark curls splayed across the white fabric in stark contrast. Pale knees tucked up and she curled in on herself, let her eyes close so they dead in them wouldn’t give her away.
“This is how it’s always been, and it will always be like that.” She had no reservations to say this, and it was true. She would always give her body to the more powerful bidder, she would always have to take the insults and the injuries from those stronger than herself.
It was how things were.
In his entire life, he had never met anyone quite so...maddening. Even Edward's stubbornness had it's limits, and he could provide more valid arguments than 'because that's how it is'. Edward. Damn him! If only he hadn't left, Alfons wouldn't have had to face these feelings for Cirucci.
If only, if only. He was going bloody insane, and he was beside himself with frustration. She wasn't listening. She wasn't even really responding. All she was doing was acting like a mechanical doll, giving him answers that had been programmed into her.
"Damnit!" The oath was hissed out as he slammed his fist against the door frame, the stress alone enough to draw a shuddering cough out of him. Like he needed any more pain in his chest.
He didn't care if she called him a stalker again, but he wasn't going to keep observing like this. "What do I have to do, to make you listen. To make you understand just what this does to me? What you do to me?" Moving from the doorway, his footsteps were heavy as he moved over to her side to grab her wrist to pull her to face him.
To say she was surprised was an understatement, no, Cirucci Thunderwitch was shocked. She looked at him, slowly expression, bewilderment, crossing her face, the set of mouth, furrow of brow, the way she looked at him, as if upset he’d interrupted her nap.
“… I thought you knew that, already.” She murmured, free hand calmly tugging down the front of her dress until it exposed the hole through her chest, partly obscured by bandages, rumpled sheets visible on the other side of her body, through her body.
“I can’t understand.” It was an excuse, but a pretty good one, lacking a heart, made from her very beginning unable to fully understand human emotion, to fully understand things like love and compassion and selflessness and guilt, could sometimes feel shadows of them, but never truly, not as humans loved, as humans felt.
He quickly glanced away when she first tugged down her collar, only to let his gaze wander back when he realized she was actually making a point. Maybe his denial was great, but what else could he do?
"Fine. I can accept that you can't understand... But I know you can feel. Right now, inside of you, I know you're feeling something. And I've seen you express hate. If you can feel an emotion as strong as hate, then I know you can love."
His grip on her wrist weakened as his own resolve did. "And you act like you care for me, in some way. You've put yourself in danger for me. You comforted me when Edward returned. You act like you don't want to upset me. Is that all it is?" Now, his voice was hoarse, waiting for an answer he didn't want to hear. "An act?"
“I don’t understand.” Cirucci whispered, didn’t rip her arm away, let her dress fall back where it willed, still faced him, looked at him. When had this happened? When had she gotten involved? When had he stopped being some human and become her human? When had she stopped calling him her human and started calling him Alfons- It had been too long…
“You never wanted love from me before.” Her voice was hesitant, confused, that was evident, clearly, in the way she almost seemed to recoil from his anger, torn perilously between that recoil and an attack, a cornered beast’s reaction. “I can’t love, Alfons, I don’t know why you think I can. Hate isn’t love… Arrancar can hate.” Another voice, whispered in her ear, I love you, and knowing it was a lie and wanting it anyway, that was shameful, too, made her look more strained, more confused, more angry, more everything, a volatile mix of emotion swirling up.
The more she protested, the more angry he became, though he knew better than to direct that anger at her. She was only this was because it was all she knew. It wasn't her fault. It was--
"Do you have any proof? Proof that Arrancar can only hate, and not love? Just because that's what they tell you...and just because you haven't experienced it, that doesn't mean you're incapable." Letting go of her wrist, he slammed his hand against the mattress. He was putting it all on the line here, even if a part of him knew it was futile. Maybe he could blame the City for turning him into something so pathetic and foolish.
"I know that I'm useless when it comes to protecting you, but I'll try. Even if I hate magic, I'll use it anyway. I'll find magic users to keep you safe. I can do my best to show you love, and only you. If there's anything I've learned in life and in death, it's that anything's possible. And don't call me your stalker, or your pet, because I'm not any of those things! I'm the man who's in love with you, and for the life of me, it's driving me mad."
A flurry of emotion, change, flit across her face.
Confusion, anger, confusion, blank, confusion, abuh, confusion, and then she erupted, snarled and grabbed his collar, something snapping inside her, something deep-seated and primal and she seized him and shook him firmly, ripped her other wrist from his grip and grit her teeth, lifting him bodily off the floor.
“I’ve been around since before your grandsire screamed in his mother’s womb.” She hissed, gaze blazing with pent up rage, released by his impassioned rage. “I’ve been eating human souls since before you were born, for hundreds of years, and I’ve hated.” Her fist tightened. “I live by hating, I killed everyone weaker than me and I consumed them to make myself stronger.” Her smile took on a manic crook.
“And you know what?” She could have choked on this, but she would say it, to get it through his thick, human, skull, to make him stop loving her, hurting her with that worth he wanted to bestow on her. “You know why I do that, Alfons, why I let them use me?” The Privaron leaned in close, smiled coy, her best act, the most perfect act, subservient and sensual, her breath crafted warm and caressing, her words shaped smooth as silk.
“Because I like it.” Lips tugged into a lying smile. “I like them fucking me, you know, I don’t care how they do it.” The briefest hint of her disgust was hidden behind shame, which was hidden by her anger. “Whores, Alfons, well, you wouldn’t know.” Her lips brushed his ear. “It’s exciting, being dominated, being hurt- Knowing that if you say one wrong thing, make one wrong move, cry out the wrong name… you’re dead~” She hated that, hated the threat of her death on her back in bed. “And you know, I go back to them, and offer myself again and again. I even go to Nnoitra, of my own volition.” A pause, and she giggled, the act was flawless. “Safe sex just gets so bo~ring~”
She imagined he would be disgusted, more than she was. She wondered how disgusted. She wondered if this was what he needed to understand that she could never give him what he wanted, even if she wanted to.
The grip to his collar and hard shake was definitely enough to make his mouth snap shut, lest he bite his tongue by accident. And as she lifted him, the best he could do was grab at her wrists again, though by no means was he trying to pull them away. Alarming and slightly painful, maybe, but he was under no threat. Not physically, anyway.
Her words were like barbs, and they hurt like she intended. But not for the reasons she believed. As he stared at her, listening to her words, he was careful not to watch her mouth, instead looking at her eyes. Of course, her acting was flawless. Her tone, her execution... All of it was brilliant. But--
"I don't believe you," he whispered in response. And really, he didn't. Even if her explanation might have made sense as to why she did things, he knew it wasn't true. He had observed her behavior for far too long, watching her for things she never knew about. And so it was because of everything he had witnessed up to this point that he knew her words were a lie, and maybe it would have been better to pretend he believed. But he just...didn't. As he gazed at her, for all the monster she was and wasn't, he knew he was damned. It would have been simpler to doubt.
“You’d best start.” Her act, once she donned it, was not easily shaken, and she smirked coyly, released him and let him drop to the floor, hit how he would, stretching luxuriously, lithe, tawny body bent and supple.
“Ask Nnoitra who came to see him the other night.” She smirked wickedly, drawing attention to bite marks on her shoulder. “Ask him who begged him for more.” She was disgusting. “Ask him who got on her knees and begged for it.” She wanted him to understand, that she could never love, that sex beyond a tool was a concept beyond her.
“And get the notion that I can love out of your head while you still can.” Fingers curled over her breast, pressed fabric into that empty space where she should have flesh and a heart, and smiled demurely. “I loved Il Forte, it was said. And you know what I did to him?” Her eyes darkened. “I punched my arm through his chest. He died, it was very sad.” Her hand flipped her hair back, dismissive, stretching out casually again. “Now, if you want that…”
No, Cirucci Thunderwitch could love, in a sense. But everything she loved she ultimately destroyed, unable to control, to handle emotions like that with no heart to guide her.
And Cirucci Thunderwitch truly loved only herself, the one she destroyed the most.
He didn't land smoothly, legs buckling as soon as he hit the floor, his hands against the floorboards being the only things to keep him from entirely sprawling on his back. As she spoke, he couldn't look at her. Not out of disgust, really... Not for her, but for himself. After all, he was the idiot who had fallen for Edward and her.
The idea of being punched through the chest was not a pretty one...but it hurt so much that it felt like she might as well have. His brow crinkled as he tried to keep himself from losing his composure once more, and he pushed himself to stand, staggering for a moment as he steadied his legs.
Still, he couldn't look up. For all his pride, what little was left, he looked like a defeated man, and his tone was hushed. Shaken. "It's so hard to care anymore...what you do to me. I might even deserve it. But say you don't want me, and I'll leave. Stop making excuses and just say it."
She was hurting, but she didn’t let it show, instead sighed softly, rebuking gently. Her hand reached out, caressed the side of his face, and raised it, met his gaze evenly, suppressed her anger and her shame, back to the empty hollows of her heart.
“I don’t want anyone to love me, Alfons.” The Privaron murmured firmly, released him to let him do as he will, and lay back down, spots of red showing once more on the breast of her dress.
It scares me. Hung in the air. Makes me weak. She sighed. Makes me vulnerable.
It made her hurt.
That seemed answer enough for him. A few quiet seconds stretched out as he stared at her before he turned away to stare at the window. He had said that he would accept this role in her life... Nothing but the person who made her snacks and comforted her when she was down.
"...People rarely get what they want." Another glance was cast back towards her, weary and sickened by his own recklessness, and Alfons walked out of the room to get his shoes and go. He couldn't even find it in him to sound bitter as he called out, "Cookies are in the kitchen. You can enjoy them with Luppi," before pulling the front door shut behind him.
“…” Cirucci closed her eyes, pulling up the covers and sinking down into sheets, let the reopened wound slowly blot crimson on her white bandages, white dress, white flesh.
She didn’t want to be loved. She’d never asked for it. She didn’t want it. She would never wish for it. She would never understand it.
And she didn’t want to, rolling over onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow.
Stupid. Humans were foolish creatures, to love.
Arrancar would be foolish if they tried to understand.
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HOMG.
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Looooove him, Cirucci, love him!
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But she's terribly afraid of loving back.
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Cake is all he gets. Cake or death.
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... Okay, Alfons. You just try to kill Ishida. ;P
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...Eddie Izzard will kill him. HE CAN DO IT, MAKE NO MISTAKE.