ext_265180 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-12-22 11:16 pm
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-12-22 11:16 pm
Log; Complete
When; Thurs, Dec. 20th, evening
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Alfons {opfern)
Summary; With her heart once again removed, Cirucci makes good on her promise to take the heart of the one who did it in return.
Log;
There was no heart beating within her breast.
There was no painful thrumming in her chest, no regret, no remorse, no guilt, and no love. She was empty, as all Arrancar were supposed to be, or rather, it was just so much easier to pretend to be heartless when she didn’t have an organ beating thump thump hard in her chest. Her legs crossed, uncrossed, and she sighed, leaning her cheek against her palm as she made herself comfortable on his couch.
She knew she’d have to do this quick. If she didn’t, she was afraid, knew, that the memory of a heart could stall her, make her feel a little bad, and she wasn’t about to feel.
The Thunderwitch was tired of feeling.
>>>
It was a difficult walk home when he knew who was probably there waiting for him. After all, she lived in the same building, so she was much closer than him. Not to mention, he'd had to wait until Franca fell back asleep to slip out of the hospital, his only comfort knowing that she and Riful were safe from Cirucci's perverse sense of humor.
The cold did not treat his lungs well, but it did offer his mind a distraction from the strange sort of terror he was feeling. Every time the coughs ripped apart his lungs, he couldn't think about anything else. A small part of him thought it would be somewhat amusing to die in the snow, as it would take away the satisfaction from Cirucci. But, she would probably just wait for him to wake up before killing him again.
How many times before he just stopped waking up?
Though Alfons had offered nothing but smiles to those who had questioned or been concerned, in no way did he feel strong or fearless. As he waited to catch his breath while in the elevator, swallowing to soothe the rawness of his throat, he mused for the thousandth time over what he had gotten himself into, and once again he almost felt tears well up. Almost.
It was not fear of death that made his unbeating heart clench, because the City never offered true death. It wasn't the fear of torture, because he had already known a hundred different types of pain in his short life, and his pride would not let him waver at that idea. Mostly, he was scared for Cirucci, because he wondered if in some way, he had made her worse than before.
Greed had called him cowardly for not fighting to live, but Alfons knew there was no sure way around this. Hiding would only postpone it, and she could hurt people he cared for in that time. Physically fighting her would be a laugh--over in the blink of an eye.
His hand was trembling from the memory of the cold as he moved to unlock the door, only to find it was already unlocked. Of course, well, Cirucci did have a key of her own that he had offered her quite awhile back. It took all of his will power to push his terror to the back of his mind, letting a smile once again grace his features as he stepped in and closed the door.
>>>
The minute she saw him her chest wrenched, but not in a pang of remorse or guilt, but in a wresting of hatred, the sneer on her lips darkened, and her entire body stiffened.
“Wipe that fucking smile off your face.” She snarled, standing abruptly, and brows furrowing, hand immediately going to Golondrina.
Her mind was empty, she emptied it on purpose, but her anger flared up at the sight of his smile. How dare he come in here like that. How dare he smile like that, knowing he was going to die. It disgusted her, that happiness in him, the kindness. It disgusted her that he wanted love from her, her, who gave her body, who killed, who disregarded laws and morals for her own selfish wants.
He was disgusting to her more, now, than ever before, because he, the one she called selfless, had been so selfish as to give her a heart.
>>>
Hate was an ugly emotion, and he had never really much cared for it. He had always thought it a waste of time, even during the first world war, up until his seventeenth birthday. Then, little by little, he had learned what it felt like. He felt hate for his sickness, especially since it had come about because of something he loved. He hated the emotions he felt for Edward, which otherwise could have been pure. He hated that he didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to accomplish before his death. It had made him feel angry, and bitter, and ready to blame anyone around him.
He had hated because his life had been disrupted and shaken until it no longer felt like his life--because he was no longer in control. As he glanced up to watch Cirucci stand and stalk over to him, he knew he could understand a small shadow of what she might be going through.
Alfons let his smile lessen because of that, but did not let it go. "Were you waiting long?"
>>>
“Shut up.” Cirucci snapped. She hated that he was trying to act like she wasn’t here to kill him, like she was just by for a visit, for some attention, like she wasn’t planning to shove her talons through his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” Her hand reached, grasped, and pulled him by his collar, slammed him back against the wall and snarled close to his face. “Don’t come here and act like everything’s fine, like you weren’t a fucking idiot.”
Viciously, vindictive, Cirucci slammed him back again, the snapping noise of wires as she uncurled Golondrina at her side, a loud cluck as the iron wheel hit the floor.
>>>
He didn't have much of a chance to properly respond before he was shoved against the wall hard enough to make the back of his head thump against the wood. Alfons opened his mouth after that to try to speak again, only to have his teeth clack together at a second slam to the wall, this time enough to wind him temporarily.
And air was a precious comodity to him. Dead he may have been, but his lungs didn't seem to care. They needed air now, because once again they were slowly dying, though they would never die. Quickly turning his face away, Alfons struggled to regulate his breathing pattern so that he didn't have another fit, and so that he didn't have to look at her weapon.
"Nothing's fine about any of this, but I'm not going to cry or beg forgiveness if that's what you were expecting."
>>>
“Just shut up.” Cirucci snapped again, unable to make up her mind. She didn’t know whether she wanted to make him scream, or just get it over with. So she grit out the release trip to her sword, smirked as she felt the wonderful, all encompassing feeling of coming home, of returning to her true state, the hand holding his collar bursting into bone white talons, the cascade of feathers, metallic sheen of feathers and the heavy thump of her tail, writhing anxious across the floor.
“You should have seen this coming, I hope.” Her talons ghosted over his throat and then down, poked hard, enough to break skin, into his chest, over his heart.
“I almost wonder what the fuck you thought you were doing, pulling something like that.” Guilt, that was best for him, she thought. “I could tell you how much it hurts, to have something put there when it doesn’t belong. I could tell you how it feels to have an Espada try and rip it out, because he thinks you crying is funny.”
>>>
The guilt did work, and it showed in the cloudy flicker of his eyes and a downward twitch of his lips, but that also could have been from feeling the slight puncture to his skin. It made him visibly stiffen, at the very least, and teeth clench, but he made no sound.
He could apologize for all of that, but now was not the time for that. If he did, it might have looked like he was hoping for some sort of leniancy--begging for mercy and all that. In truth, he just wanted it to be over. Just because he thought he could handle torture didn't mean he wanted to. She had mentioned decapitation before, or ripping out his heart. Either of those would make it quick.
Managing a shaky breath, Alfons shut his eyes and let his head rest back against the wall. Wanting to die quickly, or hope she changed her mind...they were thoughts kept silent, but they were still moments of shame and weakness. It was hard to be human. He knew it must have been even harder for her, but he wasn't justifying anything. Now was not the time.
>>>
She stared at him for a long time, once he closed his eyes. Normally, she didn’t mind him. In fact, she’d liked having him around. He was useful, yes, and good to go to if she needed something, and honestly, she’d taken advantage. But she took advantage of everyone that wasn’t anything much. But she’d started to take it for granted, that he would coddle and pay attention, and she hadn’t paid attention to his feelings.
Cirucci just didn’t really care, about other people’s feelings.
Slowly, her grip tightened, and her talon wormed deeper into skin. Her lips pursed, and she remembered the sound of her heart beating, thump-thump-thump in her veins, and that memory made her so angry that she shoved the talon completely through his chest in a small snarl.
He should have known better.
>>>
After his eyes had slipped shut, it felt like time could have stopped, if not for the sound of his own ragged breathing. But the moments did stretch, allowing enough time for him to recall happier moments. Moments was all they were, of course, because happiness never lasted.
Even some memories that had been sad at one point now carried a fond warmth. Most of them involved his family, his work, and Edward. But there were some with Cirucci, and those were running through his mind when they were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp pain too sudden to even make him cry out.
Both eyes opened quickly to stare at the face in front of him, not even wasting a moment to try and see what she had done. Death had approached him before, and he was familiar enough to know when it was near again. For someone who was already dead, who had nothing to lose from it, it was still an unpleasant feeling, because he knew it would upset others. And of course, it hurt. It would hurt more if he tried to breathe, and so he didn't.
Instead, he struggled to list his hand, aware that every second that passed was one step closer to darkness. The physical effort was enough to make him choke on the blood that bubbled up, but still he fought against gravity, not looking away from her face. Her transformation wasn't as unsettling as it once had been, and the look he gave her was a familiar one. It was as if she was telling yet another one of her stories that shoul have been meaningless or horrible, and of course he was listening. Even when upset, he would always listen. Only this time, he didn't smile.
Finally, his hand touched hers, fingertip grazing a talon curiously. He wanted then to cry, apologize, or to ask her why she hadn't tortured him, but he had used all of his lasting energy for that small touch. A pale hand rested over hers, as if to hold it against his heart rather than pull it away.
Gravity finally triumphed, though, as his energy gave out, and Alfons' hand slipped down to drop to his side. His eyes, still open, became glassy. He could no longer listen.
>>>
She stood there, for a long time, too, once his eyes had closed. She did not slam his body about to wrest his gaze, her eyes were hard, tinted dark with anger, but she didn’t rob him of them. She didn’t quake, or shudder at his touch. The hard bones of her talons and release her not capable of feeling, she couldn’t even feel the touch of his hand, though she saw it. Slowly, she frowned, watching the crimson run down the white, and gently tugged her talon free of his chest with a wet lurch.
“… I hate stupid men.” Cirucci muttered, staring down as his body crumpled to the floor. Slowly, she released hold of Golondrina and sealed the sword back, sighing and tossing back her hair as she finally felt it, the warm crimson on her skin. Blood, and she did so love blood, but his didn’t excite her.
He just deserved it. He should have known this would happen.
“Don’t do that again, Alfons.” The Privaron reminded his corpse, deciding, after a moment, not to bother moving his body. Stupid selfish humans didn’t get that.
She didn’t look back when she stepped over his body and out the door.
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Alfons {opfern)Summary; With her heart once again removed, Cirucci makes good on her promise to take the heart of the one who did it in return.
Log;
There was no heart beating within her breast.
There was no painful thrumming in her chest, no regret, no remorse, no guilt, and no love. She was empty, as all Arrancar were supposed to be, or rather, it was just so much easier to pretend to be heartless when she didn’t have an organ beating thump thump hard in her chest. Her legs crossed, uncrossed, and she sighed, leaning her cheek against her palm as she made herself comfortable on his couch.
She knew she’d have to do this quick. If she didn’t, she was afraid, knew, that the memory of a heart could stall her, make her feel a little bad, and she wasn’t about to feel.
The Thunderwitch was tired of feeling.
>>>
It was a difficult walk home when he knew who was probably there waiting for him. After all, she lived in the same building, so she was much closer than him. Not to mention, he'd had to wait until Franca fell back asleep to slip out of the hospital, his only comfort knowing that she and Riful were safe from Cirucci's perverse sense of humor.
The cold did not treat his lungs well, but it did offer his mind a distraction from the strange sort of terror he was feeling. Every time the coughs ripped apart his lungs, he couldn't think about anything else. A small part of him thought it would be somewhat amusing to die in the snow, as it would take away the satisfaction from Cirucci. But, she would probably just wait for him to wake up before killing him again.
How many times before he just stopped waking up?
Though Alfons had offered nothing but smiles to those who had questioned or been concerned, in no way did he feel strong or fearless. As he waited to catch his breath while in the elevator, swallowing to soothe the rawness of his throat, he mused for the thousandth time over what he had gotten himself into, and once again he almost felt tears well up. Almost.
It was not fear of death that made his unbeating heart clench, because the City never offered true death. It wasn't the fear of torture, because he had already known a hundred different types of pain in his short life, and his pride would not let him waver at that idea. Mostly, he was scared for Cirucci, because he wondered if in some way, he had made her worse than before.
Greed had called him cowardly for not fighting to live, but Alfons knew there was no sure way around this. Hiding would only postpone it, and she could hurt people he cared for in that time. Physically fighting her would be a laugh--over in the blink of an eye.
His hand was trembling from the memory of the cold as he moved to unlock the door, only to find it was already unlocked. Of course, well, Cirucci did have a key of her own that he had offered her quite awhile back. It took all of his will power to push his terror to the back of his mind, letting a smile once again grace his features as he stepped in and closed the door.
>>>
The minute she saw him her chest wrenched, but not in a pang of remorse or guilt, but in a wresting of hatred, the sneer on her lips darkened, and her entire body stiffened.
“Wipe that fucking smile off your face.” She snarled, standing abruptly, and brows furrowing, hand immediately going to Golondrina.
Her mind was empty, she emptied it on purpose, but her anger flared up at the sight of his smile. How dare he come in here like that. How dare he smile like that, knowing he was going to die. It disgusted her, that happiness in him, the kindness. It disgusted her that he wanted love from her, her, who gave her body, who killed, who disregarded laws and morals for her own selfish wants.
He was disgusting to her more, now, than ever before, because he, the one she called selfless, had been so selfish as to give her a heart.
>>>
Hate was an ugly emotion, and he had never really much cared for it. He had always thought it a waste of time, even during the first world war, up until his seventeenth birthday. Then, little by little, he had learned what it felt like. He felt hate for his sickness, especially since it had come about because of something he loved. He hated the emotions he felt for Edward, which otherwise could have been pure. He hated that he didn't have the time to do everything he wanted to accomplish before his death. It had made him feel angry, and bitter, and ready to blame anyone around him.
He had hated because his life had been disrupted and shaken until it no longer felt like his life--because he was no longer in control. As he glanced up to watch Cirucci stand and stalk over to him, he knew he could understand a small shadow of what she might be going through.
Alfons let his smile lessen because of that, but did not let it go. "Were you waiting long?"
>>>
“Shut up.” Cirucci snapped. She hated that he was trying to act like she wasn’t here to kill him, like she was just by for a visit, for some attention, like she wasn’t planning to shove her talons through his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” Her hand reached, grasped, and pulled him by his collar, slammed him back against the wall and snarled close to his face. “Don’t come here and act like everything’s fine, like you weren’t a fucking idiot.”
Viciously, vindictive, Cirucci slammed him back again, the snapping noise of wires as she uncurled Golondrina at her side, a loud cluck as the iron wheel hit the floor.
>>>
He didn't have much of a chance to properly respond before he was shoved against the wall hard enough to make the back of his head thump against the wood. Alfons opened his mouth after that to try to speak again, only to have his teeth clack together at a second slam to the wall, this time enough to wind him temporarily.
And air was a precious comodity to him. Dead he may have been, but his lungs didn't seem to care. They needed air now, because once again they were slowly dying, though they would never die. Quickly turning his face away, Alfons struggled to regulate his breathing pattern so that he didn't have another fit, and so that he didn't have to look at her weapon.
"Nothing's fine about any of this, but I'm not going to cry or beg forgiveness if that's what you were expecting."
>>>
“Just shut up.” Cirucci snapped again, unable to make up her mind. She didn’t know whether she wanted to make him scream, or just get it over with. So she grit out the release trip to her sword, smirked as she felt the wonderful, all encompassing feeling of coming home, of returning to her true state, the hand holding his collar bursting into bone white talons, the cascade of feathers, metallic sheen of feathers and the heavy thump of her tail, writhing anxious across the floor.
“You should have seen this coming, I hope.” Her talons ghosted over his throat and then down, poked hard, enough to break skin, into his chest, over his heart.
“I almost wonder what the fuck you thought you were doing, pulling something like that.” Guilt, that was best for him, she thought. “I could tell you how much it hurts, to have something put there when it doesn’t belong. I could tell you how it feels to have an Espada try and rip it out, because he thinks you crying is funny.”
>>>
The guilt did work, and it showed in the cloudy flicker of his eyes and a downward twitch of his lips, but that also could have been from feeling the slight puncture to his skin. It made him visibly stiffen, at the very least, and teeth clench, but he made no sound.
He could apologize for all of that, but now was not the time for that. If he did, it might have looked like he was hoping for some sort of leniancy--begging for mercy and all that. In truth, he just wanted it to be over. Just because he thought he could handle torture didn't mean he wanted to. She had mentioned decapitation before, or ripping out his heart. Either of those would make it quick.
Managing a shaky breath, Alfons shut his eyes and let his head rest back against the wall. Wanting to die quickly, or hope she changed her mind...they were thoughts kept silent, but they were still moments of shame and weakness. It was hard to be human. He knew it must have been even harder for her, but he wasn't justifying anything. Now was not the time.
>>>
She stared at him for a long time, once he closed his eyes. Normally, she didn’t mind him. In fact, she’d liked having him around. He was useful, yes, and good to go to if she needed something, and honestly, she’d taken advantage. But she took advantage of everyone that wasn’t anything much. But she’d started to take it for granted, that he would coddle and pay attention, and she hadn’t paid attention to his feelings.
Cirucci just didn’t really care, about other people’s feelings.
Slowly, her grip tightened, and her talon wormed deeper into skin. Her lips pursed, and she remembered the sound of her heart beating, thump-thump-thump in her veins, and that memory made her so angry that she shoved the talon completely through his chest in a small snarl.
He should have known better.
>>>
After his eyes had slipped shut, it felt like time could have stopped, if not for the sound of his own ragged breathing. But the moments did stretch, allowing enough time for him to recall happier moments. Moments was all they were, of course, because happiness never lasted.
Even some memories that had been sad at one point now carried a fond warmth. Most of them involved his family, his work, and Edward. But there were some with Cirucci, and those were running through his mind when they were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp pain too sudden to even make him cry out.
Both eyes opened quickly to stare at the face in front of him, not even wasting a moment to try and see what she had done. Death had approached him before, and he was familiar enough to know when it was near again. For someone who was already dead, who had nothing to lose from it, it was still an unpleasant feeling, because he knew it would upset others. And of course, it hurt. It would hurt more if he tried to breathe, and so he didn't.
Instead, he struggled to list his hand, aware that every second that passed was one step closer to darkness. The physical effort was enough to make him choke on the blood that bubbled up, but still he fought against gravity, not looking away from her face. Her transformation wasn't as unsettling as it once had been, and the look he gave her was a familiar one. It was as if she was telling yet another one of her stories that shoul have been meaningless or horrible, and of course he was listening. Even when upset, he would always listen. Only this time, he didn't smile.
Finally, his hand touched hers, fingertip grazing a talon curiously. He wanted then to cry, apologize, or to ask her why she hadn't tortured him, but he had used all of his lasting energy for that small touch. A pale hand rested over hers, as if to hold it against his heart rather than pull it away.
Gravity finally triumphed, though, as his energy gave out, and Alfons' hand slipped down to drop to his side. His eyes, still open, became glassy. He could no longer listen.
>>>
She stood there, for a long time, too, once his eyes had closed. She did not slam his body about to wrest his gaze, her eyes were hard, tinted dark with anger, but she didn’t rob him of them. She didn’t quake, or shudder at his touch. The hard bones of her talons and release her not capable of feeling, she couldn’t even feel the touch of his hand, though she saw it. Slowly, she frowned, watching the crimson run down the white, and gently tugged her talon free of his chest with a wet lurch.
“… I hate stupid men.” Cirucci muttered, staring down as his body crumpled to the floor. Slowly, she released hold of Golondrina and sealed the sword back, sighing and tossing back her hair as she finally felt it, the warm crimson on her skin. Blood, and she did so love blood, but his didn’t excite her.
He just deserved it. He should have known this would happen.
“Don’t do that again, Alfons.” The Privaron reminded his corpse, deciding, after a moment, not to bother moving his body. Stupid selfish humans didn’t get that.
She didn’t look back when she stepped over his body and out the door.
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On the contrary, that is rare.
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Ah, actually, that would be great.
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... no.
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