Log; Complete

[crimson-intent.livejournal.com]

When; April 29th, noon
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Alfons Heiderich [opfern], Cirucci Thunderwitch [thunderwitch] & Zolf Kimblee [crimson_intent]
Summary; Alfons wanted Kimblee to stay away from Cirucci. However, the resulting terms weren't exactly in Alfons' best interest ... to put it mildly.
Log;

Alfons: Alfons couldn't believe this predicament. Was it really worth it, to keep Kimblee away from her? After all, he was probably much better to her than any of the Arrancar or Aizen were. But yet...now it was a personal matter. This was an enemy of Edward's. Someone who had tried to hurt and kill him.

But then, so would the Arrancar if given a reason, wouldn't they? Alfons would get them away from Cirucci if he could, but they weren't willing to negotiate like Kimblee was.

It was also a matter of pride. And sometimes Alfons just had too much of it. Pride in his country, pride in his work...and pride in the people he loved. Whatever he could do to protect them, he would. It was just a shame that he couldn't do much to protect them.

He offered a light knock on her door as a warning, then tried the knob, hoping and praying she wasn't in the middle of something with someone. Relieved to find her apartment relatively quiet, Alfons stepped in. For once, he wasn't carrying any snacks with him.

"Cirucci?"

Cirucci: Pride was too familiar to Cirucci Thunderwitch, and perhaps, if she knew that was why he'd come, she would have more respect for it. She knew pride. She lived and breathed pride, it was just to her discredit that the pride she clung to so desperately was merely a shadow of what it had once been. And that was what always got her in trouble, wasn't it? She still acted like she had the pride of the 5th Espada, but there was only a scar on her breast.

A scar that, at the moment, was submerged in water. Baths. It was pathetic, the Privaron thought, how bored she could get in this damned place. Whole days could go by without a decent soul for a meal, and she was always hungry anyway. Whole days, with no blood, no passion, no nothing. She'd lounge around, hell, read something, bathe, anything to be doing something. She’d go fuck someone, just to do something.

Tch. Pathetic.

So when he called out her name, she recognized that voice, it elicited a whiny huff, her head turning to the side to raise her voice, the word drawn out and lazy.

"Whaaaaaat?"

Alfons: He paused when he heard her voice down the hall, and began to walk down it, only to stop when he saw she wasn't in her bedroom. And there was steam coming out of the bathroom. She was bathing? Of all the timing... Hopefully she was done by the time Kimblee arrived. Alfons was fifteen minutes early, though, so that ought to be enough time. He'd dress her himself if he had to. Better than letting that man lay eyes on her again.

Clearing his throat, Alfons turned to lean back against the wall beside the doorway, keeping his eyes on the wall opposite of him in the hall. "I wanted to ask you something." How could he even start going about bringing something like that up? "That man... Kimblee. What do you think of him? Do you like him?"

Cirucci: She sat up, idly moved to brush her hair back. A small hum escaped her lips, noting the length. It didn't grow, she was a dead soul, but it always seemed so long when it was wet. ... Hmm.

"Kimblee?" She never cared if he was around, looking or not looking, she stretched, slowly stood up and got out of the bath, fetching about for a small towel, moving to dry her hair, forlorn little drops of water scattering about the white tiles. What an odd topic, yet. Weren't... they from the same world? Odd, indeed.

"Do I like my toys, you mean?" Cirucci corrected, wet lanks of hair about her face as she cast about for her robe, idly swiping the towel through the hole in her chest with a shudder and a sigh.

Alfons: He heard her get out of the bath, waiting for awhile before turning to glance inside. Apparently it was asking too much to hope she had covered herself by then, and he was quick to whip back around to face the other way, catching sight of her robe along the way. Face red, he pulled it off the hook before holding it back in her direction.

"Cirucci! Good God, please cover yourself." With a shudder, he tried to remember what it was they had been talking about, as well as other very unattractive things. Yes, Kimblee and what he wanted was a very unattractive topic. "Right. Your toys. Would you care if you lost him? After all, I thought you didn't...do those sorts of things with humans. I thought I'd been the only..." He trailed off, then in a fluster tried to finish with, "I mean, I thought they weren't strong enough for you. He might be an alchemist, but he's still only human."

Cirucci: "Would I care?" Her voice was skeptical, almost amused, though, one finger hooked her robe off his hand and she slipped into it, tied it loosely and tousled her hair a bit more before she tossed the towel at his face playfully as she passed, on her way in to the kitchen.

Of course not. What kind of question was that anyway? He should know the answer, but she couldn’t help tease again.

"I don’t know?~ He's no comparison to an Arrancar, of course, but he's nice and destructive, don't you think?" Small, bare feet, padded into her kitchen, rummaged through her fridge.

"And his soul is nice enough to nibble on when I've the inclination."

Alfons: He twitched as the towel hit his face. What an insufferable woman. Alfons pulled it off of him and went about hanging it on the hook her robe had just been on, following after he slowly.

What did she mean she didn't know? And she...ate his soul? And he liked seeing her? Kimblee was a sicker man than Alfons had originally thought. A sadomasochist? His stomach churned, and he rubbed at it nervously.

"Right. Nice and destructive. He certainly did plenty of damage in Edward's world, including trying to kill him! Of all the humans you have to pick from, why did it have to be him? Can't you pick some other human?" With a frown, the blond folded his arms over his chest and glanced towards a window.

"I've made a deal with him. He's going to be here soon."

Cirucci: She didn't give a flying fuck if he'd tried to give Edward, wouldn't he know that? She’d never even liked Edward. Hmmph. But a deal?

Now that gave her pause.

“... You made a hnn?” The Privaron unbent slowly, stood, hip cocked, one hand on her hip and the other delicately plucking a peach from her fridge, idly stopping to check for bruises before she bit into it, only a little angrily.

Alfons: She was going to be mad, he knew it. But maybe that was best. Maybe this would be easier if she was mad at him. He could only hope it didn't end in him dying again. Steeling his nerves, Alfons looked up at her stubbornly.

"I can't control what you do. But if he's nothing but another toy to you, you won't mind losing him, right? He promised he would leave you alone completely, but only if you..." He dropped his hands and clenched his hands into fists. "But only if you feed on my soul...within inches of my life. And he wanted to watch. It shouldn't... It shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Cirucci: What. The. Fuck.

She looked at him a moment, up, down, around, before she bit snappily into the peach again, chewed slowly. He had to be on something. Or being threatened, she couldn't tell what, but her foot tapped irritably before she swallowed, gestured with the hand holding the savaged fruit.

"What the fuck?"

Alfons: "That's all you have to say?" He hated when she swore like that. "I don't care. You've done it to me before... True, it wasn't for very long, but I'm not scared." He was lying. He was terrified. Dying seemed less scary than the pain involved in that sort of torment. In comparison, his illness was nothing.

"It's not something I would have offered, but I told him I'd give him something if he stopped talking to you, and that's what he demanded. You don't care, right? So...please?"

Cirucci: "Why does it matter to you, if I deal with someone like that?" The Privaron pressed, brushed past him with another annoyed bite of her snack, back into the living room, speaking to him over her shoulder.

"What's such a big deal, that you'd offer me a meal, to get him away from me." But then she had a thought, that gave her pause enough to look over her shoulder back at him.

"He treats me nicer than most. So, why?"

Alfons: So many reasons. But none she would like. Because he loved her. He would keep them all away from her if he could. 'Nicer than most' really wasn't saying much. Because he had hurt Edward. But she didn't even like Edward. What reasoning could she possibly understand?

"Because he insulted me." He kept his back turned instead of following after her again, knuckles white. "My pride is on the line, and I won't let him win."

Cirucci: He said the magic word.

Cirucci paused, her chin tipped up slightly, and her next bite was slow. Thoughtful. ... She was hungry. And he was human. He was a meal. Kimblee was a meal, too, but.

Pride. Alfons had only damned her pride before. Always damning her pride, always damning what it made her do. Maybe. Just maybe, if he experienced those consequences, that feeling, when you're lying so goddamned broken, but you're still proud, he would understand.

... Not that she cared if he understood her.

"Fine." Her lips twisted up savagely. She was hungry.

Alfons: Her response made him relax, and a smile tugged at his lips as he turned back around to face her. There was a pause as that familiar heat scratched at his lungs, and he quickly covered his mouth in lieu of the small coughing fit.

When he recovered, though, he was still smiling. "Good! Then can you at least...do me a favor and put on some actual clothes?"

Kimblee: Kimblee hadn't really expected Alfons to accept. Well, he had in a way, or he wouldn't have offered the terms. But it had been a push, a leap beyond what he solidly judged the young man capable of ... this was going to be interesting.

The alchemist approached Cirucci's apartment. He tested the doorknob, and smiled as it gave and the door relaxed in. He loved how she didn't locked it ... for the principle, not the reality. Manners still dictated knocking.

He rapped sharply against the inside of the doorjamb with his knuckles.

Cirucci: "Kimblee."

Purple gaze fell on him and her lips, she looked much different freshly bathed, no, not painted lips, this time, and not styled hair, hanging damp and curled about her face and shoulders. The scar she bore was only somewhat visible, peeking over the top of her short robe.

"You had this planned the entire time." That was directed to Alfons, mouthed not spoken, as she turned back to her bedroom, waving her hand in greeting to the alchemist.

"Alfons wants me clothed." The Privaron hummed. "You boys make nice for a moment."

Alfons: His smile was sheepish as she turned to head towards her room. "Cirucci, you say such mean things!" But his tone was surprisingly light. It hadn't ended yet, but Alfons had already won.

In the smallest of ways, a way nobody else would ever notice or care about, he had protected her.

And for once, the smile he directed towards Kimblee was genuine. Alfons was still scared, but he could endure this. He had endured pain in the City several times over... And he knew he could take this.

"You're a few minutes early. How punctual."

Kimblee: "My dear ..." he said, bowing slightly into the apartment, and politely slipping the hat from his head.

Kimblee made no effort to disguise how he looked at Cirucci. She was beautiful. More for reasons beyond her physical beauty, but that didn't make the Privaron any less stunning to admire with the eyes. The thought of her bathing stirred memories of their second liaison, but he let his gaze linger on the Arrancar's freshly-bathed form more for Alfons' sake than his own ...

As Cirucci trotted off to dress, the alchemist considered chastising Alfons for obviously not briefing her on their deal sooner. But the blond's calmly smug expression stopped him. Kimblee decided to give the young man his moment of victory.

"No," he said softly, eyes absently drifting their attention elsewhere. "I do believe I was right on time."

Cirucci: She loved attention. And Cirucci Thunderwitch wouldn't play with Kimblee if he didn't give it to her. So she took her time getting to her bedroom because she knew he'd look, because hell, she half expected Alfons too, tossing her hair and moving her hips the way she was wont to, before the tips of her fingers touched her door and shut it gently.

Lips pursed, and she riffled about for something, taking her time. She wanted to see if they'd snap at each other, because, hmm. She couldn't help enjoying fighting over her, should she? No~ Not~ at~ all.

Which is why, even after she'd tugged the little dress over her head, smoothed over her breasts, down the hem, she waited, dallied with her hair, with primping, just to see what would happen.

Alfons: Alfons made a point of not looking at Cirucci, and he shot Kimblee a mildly sour look, smile fading at the way he had looked after the Arrancar. There were a number of things Alfons could have said, but he kept his mouth shut.

He had already won. There was no reason for him to get petty. So he merely sat back on the couch's arm rest, looking towards the door and waiting. He wondered if she was purposely taking awhile or something...

Alfons knew how much she liked attention. After all, she used to always complain when he tried to sneak out while she was sleeping.

"Cirucci, I hope you aren't eavesdropping in there!" he scolded from his spot.

Kimblee: Kimblee ignored Alfons' glare. The young man was so amusing ... willing to offer a heavy price so the alchemist couldn't admire the Privaron, but unwilling to enjoy the view himself.

Without being offered a seat, he remained standing, stance relaxed. Kimblee knew what Cirucci was doing, and he loved her for it. They would both savor this encounter, extend it for as long as possible, but for different reasons ...

"Now, Mr. Heiderich," he said calmly. "It's not polite to rush a lady."

Cirucci: "It really isn't." Cirucci pouted, coming out to join them in her living room. The Privaron looked between them, eyes lidded, lips, now painted lips, tugged into a smirk.

"Now," She picked up her half eaten fruit from earlier, took a nip and appraised them both, perching on the arm of her couch.

"I hear you two have something of a bet going... that I can... facilitate?" Her grin was far worse than wicked.

Alfons: Another irritated look was shot in Kimblee's direction before he gazed over towards Cirucci as she wandered back out. Really, if Edward found out about this, he could only imagine the world of trouble he would get into.

Quickly standing, Alfons once again folded his arms across his chest. "Not a bet. A deal. You've already agreed to it after all, Cirucci."

Kimblee: Bet? How vulgar, what had Alfons told her?

"Mr. Heiderich feels I'm a bad influence on you, love." Kimblee spoke softly, eyes on Cirucci, words slipping from between his lips like greased silk. "So, I've negotiated for a parting gift, of sorts. Though ..." He let his gaze wander to the side, towards Alfons. "... it's perhaps more of a farewell brunch." Kimblee focused again on the newly-primped Privaron. "You are free to reject the offer, of course."

Cirucci: "Mm. So I hear, you're..." She cocked her head, couldn't help tease, the both of them. "An awfully dreadful man." Her lips tugged up, and she couldn't help further.

"But, could this be jealousy?" Eyes blinked wide, so falsely innocent. "Cirucci has to wonder, since Alfons was so surprised she would play with humans other than him-" She sighed, tsked tsked.

"Ah, it doesn't matter~" Pride, he'd said, and she had to test that pride. It couldn't be anything like hers.

"We can get to it~" A sharp nail jerked in Alfons direction, beckoning him closer.

Alfons: Alfons felt his throat suddenly go dry at Cirucci's words, his own embarrassment making his muscles tense, and a coughing fit would soon ensue. How could she say that right in front of him?! He would get the wrong idea!

"Cirucci, you...!" He stopped again, chest feeling like it was in a vice as he coughed into his hand. Finally, it subsided, and he shot her an icy glare. "Don't go giving people the wrong idea! A curse doesn't count!" She knew he never would have done that if he hadn't been cursed. Opposite morals, after all.

And then he once again froze as she beckoned him over. There was the promise of pain with that motion, and he didn't want it. And even more, he didn't want Kimblee to enjoy it. But there was no stopping that. He just had to remember what he would be getting out of this.

Quiet again, he walked towards her, carefully observing her face before stopping just in front of her. With all her strength, she was still a petite woman. A woman, not a monster. That's what he had told Kimblee.

So Alfons sighed and shut his eyes. He could only pray that Cirucci had the mercy to not draw it out. ...Pray as much as a scientist could, anyway. "Remember not to kill me again," he muttered under his breath, but there was a chiding smile to his tone.

Kimblee: "Yes," Kimblee said as he shifted a bit, taking up Alfons' post at the couch armrest. "The agreement is that he remains alive, but only just."

The alchemist knew there was more between these two than he knew. He could surmise most of it, but cared little to. The spectacle unfolding before him now was all that mattered.

He settled into his seat, arms and legs crossed, the latter at the ankle. "And please, my dear, take your time. Enjoy it. May I be so bold as to suggest it as a parting gift to me ..."

Cirucci: "Not too bold, Kimblee." She murmured seductively, reaching out to Alfons and wrapping her hands around his neck. After all, she hated men who weren't. Loud, proud, brave, any way to say it, but she fancied bold. To the point it became annoying, of course.

"My sweet," She had to arch, lean up to press a kiss to Alfons' cheek, "Sweet," and then the other cheek, lingering, "Alfons." She left it out, but she was thinking it. Proud.

The Privaron nestled against him a moment, a gift for him, before she tucked her face against the side of his neck, her eyes focusing to points on nothing, though she was facing Kimblee, the most predatory of looks to her face as she slowly inhaled.

Latched on to his soul and bit.

Alfons: His memory of how it had been before was fuzzy at best, considering he had been cursed and not himself, but it hurt far more than he had recalled. The pain could be comparable to having each bone in his body broken, but it was something deeper than that. It was more than physical.

There was a strangled sound in his throat at the beginning, but he quickly hushed it at the realization that Kimblee would enjoy it more if he cried out. So he stiffened, eyes squeezed shut tightly as he resisted the constant impulse to yell, to beg for it to end already. One second more would be too long.

But Alfons grit his teeth. He would not shame himself. No matter where he was, his actions still represented where he was from, and what he had strived for. It was his own pride that had made him ill, after all. Too proud to quit, knowing his work was killing him, he had carried on. He was always...too proud to quit.

But he needed something to latch onto, lest his legs buckle, and so he quickly reached up to grab onto her, arms wrapping around her smaller form and holding her there, as well as holding himself up. Even with his eyes closed, everything was turning white.

Kimblee: It was riveting ...

... or as much as anything outside the realm of his alchemy could be for him. That was a rapturous assault to flesh and earth, this ... hearkened back to his brush with Greed's "heart" to erect an enterprise. There, Kimblee had effectively helped someone "die" for their chosen end ... felt life thrum beneath his fingers and transmute into purpose. He'd used a philosopher's stone before. One was nestled in his stomach right now. But utilizing a disembodied stone was far different from exploiting one another counted on for their existence. The latter was much more delicious ...

Here, a degree of separation, and a difference in magnitude, existed. But in principle ... the willing risk, and open sacrifice, of life and soul to a chosen battlefield ... it remained the same.

The Privaron, as always, was breathtaking. A predator distilled by her own strength and force of will. Indeed a monster, but more so in the same way homunculi were, or even him. To be branded a demon meant survival was something you never took for granted, and fought continuously to maintain.

The alchemist watched Cirucci's delicate face as the man in her clutches sagged ... meeting lavender eyes lost to feeding. He'd orchestrated this exchange, and any "death" you facilitate needs to be faced, embraced by mind and memory ...

The slightest of warm shivers danced up Kimblee's spine, but he forced his breath even.

Cirucci: Her eyes still had that too focused look, and what she was focusing on was something neither of them could see. Reiatsu. Spirit energy. Every human had it, pitiful amounts, compared to Arrancar, but a soul was a soul, and she was always so hungry.

Her breathing was slow, deep, steady inhales, because rather than gnawing on his soul, it seems she was breathing it in. The corners of her lips were curled up, and she was a strong creature, it was easy enough to support a human's weight, even if it was more than her own, her dark nails, claws, dug in to his shoulders, claiming.

To her, there was a glow, of sorts, of a soul, that she took in, but she doubted they could see it. Only those from her world would be able. Other Arrancar, shinigami, those damnable ryoka. She knew it hurt him, so she clutched him still, to feel body struggle beneath her hands, soul struggle to be free, and she devoured, greedy, quick bites, but perhaps that was more merciful, for him.

It could have felt like a lifetime, but after a few long moments her eyes finally focused on something real, Kimblee, in front of her, and her teeth clicked close.

"Delicious."

Alfons: To pass out would have been merciful, but he could not allow it for himself. Not yet anyway. So Alfons knew he had to focus on things to keep him sane. It was a difficult struggle to think of anything other than what was going on, but he managed. Thinking about Cirucci would just make it harder. But Edward was a good distraction.

Not the Edward of now. The Edward in Romania. In Munich. In all the places they worked together, argued together, and lived together. All those times he had thought those theories insane, simply because Edward had been thinking with alchemy. Too simple.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him from making any noise or fainting, but by the time it was through, there were tears in his eyes as he opened them again. Breaths ragged, he hoped his already weakened lungs didn't collapse on him. What a silly thing for a dead man to worry about.

Alfons was still clutching to Cirucci, so he weakened his grip, whispering something in her ear that nobody would have expected. It took him a long time to manage out, but once he did, he pushed oh-so-weakly away from her, only to collapse onto his hands and knees, entire body trembling with the will to stay conscious.

But he was smirking, and the look he was shooting Kimblee was one of triumph, however weak.

...Thank you... Cirucci.

Kimblee: "I'm glad," the alchemist responded to Cirucci's declaration, voice a bit distant, lips curling into a mirthless smile.

However, as Kimblee studied Alfons, and meet his oddly triumphant look, the grin faded. Though, this was due more to focus than any change in emotion, for his cold eyes still possessed an excited glint.

Contrary to what many believed. Kimblee didn't exactly enjoy pain. He respected its power, and possessed ample appreciation for what it could achieve, reveal, temper ... physical discomfort was a reliable means to a variety of worthy ends. And today was no exception ...

"Foolish," Kimblee said evenly, in his usual soft tone, gaze sharply on the blond. Back home, Edward had exhibited the resolve not to kill, and though admirable, it didn't stand the test of battle. Alfons' convictions seemed to possess even graver flaws. "Though still commendable ... in a way."

He leaned out of his seat, the gesture smoothly turned into something that could easily be construed as a bow.

"I'd offer my assistance," the alchemist exclaimed without trying to catch anyone's eyes. Busy smoothing his suit, the words almost seemed meant for the air rather than a particular ear. "But Mr. Heiderich would likely view that as a breach of our agreement."

Kimblee turned to leave, but not before flashing a contented smile at Alfons ... an expression more unnerving than any chill one could, or should, have been.

"It's been a pleasure, my dear. I'll see myself out."

Cirucci: Cirucci smirked, sat back in her own seat and crossed her legs, tipped her head back and slowly very slowly, exhaled. Petite body quivered excitedly, the abrupt flow of a soul into her own, it was beautiful. The hunger in her belly, always gnawing, biting, growling, quieted. For the moment.

"Aaaah~" She acknowledged Kimblee as he went to go, blew a kiss. What a shame, to lose a man like that. Not that she'd honor the agreement, if she felt a strong inclination to be breaking it. But, for the time, the attention this had brought her, ooh, how delightful, was enough to sate her beyond the physical need for food in her stomach, fingers traced the hole in her chest delicately, nodding to herself as she nodded.

A foot moved, to push on Alfons shoulder, in case he decided to pitch forward.

Alfons: He did feel a chill when Kimblee smiled at him again, but he forced himself not to look away. It wasn't until the door closed that he finally stopped trying to hold himself up, but before he could fall forward he felt something stop him.

A weak glance to his shoulder revealed a dainty foot, and that was enough warning for him not to look up. As weary as he was, he wasn't in the mood for being teased at accidentally peeking up her skirt. He had no energy. It was difficult just to talk. It reminded him of what dying felt like, only stable.

"When will I...be back to normal...?"

Cirucci: "Hmm." Cirucci put a finger to her lips, looking up, foot still firm against his shoulder.

"I don't really pay attention to how long food takes to recover." She mused, toes curling against her shoulder. "So I don't know. Days... ?" A shrug, and she just sat there, making sure he didn't fall.

"You did nice~ No screams or anything, you screamed last time, I think."

Alfons: Days? He would need to call into work... And no doubt, Meme would be worried. If anyone came by, though, he could simply say he was sick. Maybe with the flu or something. The dead could get the flu, right?

"Nn..." His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious. "Last time I... I wasn't myself." And he took a sharp breath as he pushed against the ground, trying to stand. He needed to return to his apartment, after all.

Unfortunately he was pushing it too far, and he just ended collapsing again, barely having the energy to mutter out a foul oath, language he usually kept quiet when around women.

Cirucci: "... Are you going to faint?" Cirucci pursed her lips, took her feet away. She supposed she might have to actually... get someone to come... Get him, or something. Or take him to the damned hospital, she supposed.

... Troublesome, but, she supposed he'd earned a bit of care.

Alfons: The last thing he wanted was Cirucci to take him to the hospital. Too many people would see him like this...and if Cirucci was taking him of all people, it would certainly look suspicious. He didn't need anyone knowing about what she'd done.

But he was going to faint. He'd reached his limit. With an irritated gasp, he glanced over to her, "...Edward. Get him for me." He only lasted another couple seconds longer before his energy completely gave out and he slumped to his side, the only saving grace being that his lungs hadn't given out on him. Even if Edward would be the most angry with him, he was the only one Alfons could trust to see him in this condition.

With anyone else, it would be too humiliating.

Cirucci: Cirucci sighed heavily. He'd have to go an faint, didn't he? Of course he did.

The Privaron sighed, moved and bent down to pick him up, an easy enough act, casually slinging him on to the couch cushions. But instead of going off to call Edward, she plopped down in the opposite chair instead, nails drumming thoughtfully in the rents those same nails had left last time Aizen Sousuke had paid the Privaron a visit.

... But she didn't call Edward just yet. No. ... She'd consider whether to call him or not.