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 Posted: Mon Jul 06, 2009 7:11 pm
In a secluded corner of the woods sets a large house in a sea of dirt. The place, on the outside, appears to be abandoned, decrepit, and unwelcoming, with its original white paint peeling and revealing patches of the wood underneath and its rows of dead flowers in the neglected garden in back. Once one steps inside, however, they’re treated to a lavish layout of expensive furniture (stolen), artwork (originals created by Fefnir), and the warmth of the pervasive red theme. Each object in the place has red on or in it somewhere, whether it be the cherry stained desk and bookcases in his study, the redwood sculptures in his gallery, or the throw pillows on his crimson couch placed in front of the redwood mantle and brick fireplace in his den. However, there is one particular room that breaks this norm, but it is locked securely with a key that is no longer in Fefnir’s possession.
There are several unique facets of Fefnir’s character that are taken into account in the place’s design: his natural impatience, his malformed metabolic system, and his training for his personal specialized techniques. According to these three parts, every room is easily accessible from nearly every other room around it through a walkway or door; there is no refrigerator and no beds in the entire place because they aren’t needed; His body is extremely dense from his muscles forming, instead of outward, in a sort of helix-style weaving around the bone, so even though he appears thin, he has an equivalent muscle mass to the strongest of men and endurance for days from the constant strain this puts him under. In short, Fefnir sleeps one time a week for about fifteen hours on the couch in his den, eats rarely, and must be extremely careful about how hard he steps on the cherry stained wood floors.
The doors of the home are made of synthesized sekiseki, and therefore absorb all spiritual force posed against it, as well as the walls, ceiling, and floor to the locked room, making it nearly impenetrable from the outside, and making a key necessary to enter anywhere. The cellar of the building connects to a large cave where Fefnir practices his techniques and releases in order to keep himself in top form should he need to defend himself. This cave is unique in that it never seems to change, so even if Fefnir knocks a few chunks out of the wall, when he next returns, the hole is gone. A short distance over that, above ground, is a large expanse of empty land, presumably a backyard that was once well-kept, that leads to an overgrown greenhouse no longer in use and covered with dead vines.
Only a very select group know where the home of the vaizard leader. Any human who crosses the threshold of the forest and enters the clearing is killed in sight. As such, visitors aren’t exactly welcome.
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Posted: Sun Jul 26, 2009 8:33 pm
She had been inexplicably drawn to the forest in distant Kyoto, far from her normal stopping grounds of Karakura to the south. A week had passed since her ground eating jog sped her past the sights of greater Japan and only three days since she’d located the house hidden within. Unwilling to let her presence be known, Kowabi had as per usual, reduced her reiatsu to nearly nothing and crept through the woods with only the strength of her body. Currently she was perched high in one of the far trees ringing the structure, her dark form hidden against the back drop of night. Scenting the air with a delicate flare of nostrils, she took in the same almost comforting fragrance of old wood and an unidentifiable aroma she could only associate with whatever or whoever occupied the building. Earlier in the day she’d tested the doors, finding synthetic Sekisekki barring her easy entrance, which only made her more determined to find a way in without detection.
Lingering in the treetops for a few minutes longer, the breath she held hissed out between her teeth. Her curious thirst for knowledge would be the death of her yet. Dropping from her branch perch, she landed with the tiniest chafe of her waraji against the forest floor. Silently skimming the barren ground surrounding the dilapidated structure, she skittered to a stop at the nearest wall and flattened against the wood. If the doors hadn’t been cloaking what lay inside, she would have been satisfied enough to leave and return to Karakura, but now as she slunk along the wall that wasn’t an option. A minuscule thread of light was drifting out of the door she’d just come upon. Hooking a finger at the doors edge the heavy material swung outwards on well oiled hinge, keeping her reiatsu suppressed so fully did have it’s draw backs, whatever resided within had at some point come outside while she’d been lurking in the forest and she’d had no inkling of it. Widening the entrance only enough to slip her slender form inside, Kowabi eased the door back to where she’d found it before cautiously delving farther into the lavishly furnished interior.
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 12:16 am
Deep inside of the house, a soft melody drifted gently outwards, almost in waves of sound. It was deep, and sad, very indicative of a cello, and that's just what it was. Fefnir sat alone, his hands working furiously on the fretboard of an instrument that barely could be called that. The sound, while distinct, was not even very good, nor was it what you could call a song. Really, it was an amalgam of notes seemingly played at random more than a song, but to him, it was the most beautiful song ever played at the Arena Grand, and later, he would be lauded for his progressive themes. He took his bows, walked backstage, and picked up his daughter, giving her an affectionate squeeze. His wife joined him shortly after that and they spoke lightly of things to come, what to do in the next few days, and his little girl, so young and full of energy, played with whatever toys she could get her hands on. She wasn't finicky; she was only four, and the world was full of wonder. Amie was all the time finding more ways to get into trouble, and it was difficult for Fefnir to go back to working in the Sereitei after she was born, but they had to get cash from somewhere, so back he went. Really, it tortured him every day to be away from the two shining lights of his life, but as they say, the show must go on.
And on it did go, that fantasy of his. Fefnir's fingers bled as he repeated the notes again and again, trickling down the body of his cello. He was emaciated, like he hadn't eaten in many days, his eyes sallowed with lack of sleep, and the room he was in was full of his audience: the corpses of those who had ventured into his woods were sitting, faces frozen in that same terror they felt on pain of death, eternally listening to his music. It was by some sick compulsion that he had kept these bodies, but he never considered them dead. No, they were just... good listeners. Good listeners were hard to come by, after all, and everyone deserved a show.
He was so absorbed in such delusions that he didn't even realize that his home had been breached by another of his kind, a Vaizard. She would be hard pressed to cause him to emerge from his fabrication of reality, and she would basically be able to roam the house as she pleased.
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 3:29 pm
Upon entrance into the house two blaring facts hit Kowabi, first was the strong scent of nasturtiums assaulting her delicate senses. The scent alone told her that the being dwelling within was of the same make as her. Hollow all carried a lightly sweet aroma laced with a peppery spice just like the brightly hued nasturtium flower found in the Living World, a scent that had always seemed out of place to her. The second was the almost incoherent wail of a stringed instrument echoing towards her, it grated at her nerves with unrelenting force as it entered her overly sensitive ears, but what rode the unorganized melody didn’t escaper her. The pain and unadulterated sadness had her impassive eyes watering with the need to shed tears she’d forgotten she even had. Urging the liquid film threatening to block her much needed vision away, Kowabi paused and meticulously collected herself before pushing onward towards the source of haunting chorus. Passing by open doors leading to immaculately furnished rooms, each one pervaded with the homes gorgeous red theme, she became more and more puzzled. Her thoughts weren’t on why the place seemed perfectly preserved but concentrating solely on determining the affliction the Vizard tucked into the far rooms possessed. Kowabi was under no illusions that those of her kind were ever mentally stable; they each had a level of insanity imprinted on them from the moment the black taint first crept across their eyes.
Breathing in slowly as she rounded a corner the ever present stench of rotting flesh made her gasp, tasting the putrid tang as air rushed past her tongue and coated the back of her throat with the stench of death. She was close. A few more silent steps had her facing a cherry wood door and a gentle twist of the knob unveiled a windowless room, a semi circle of corpses in various states of decay propped generously in expensive chairs listened eternally in warped fascination. Mentally prepared for the depravity of it all, the extent of the madness the carmine haired man displayed even sent Kowabi off kilter. She’d witnessed countless grotesque acts but this by far was the most disturbing in her experiences. Stepping lightly into the room she bypassed ‘death’s gallery’ and with little concern for what may happen, reached out and tugged the bow away from hand feverishly drawing it along the charred cellos strings. She'd been drawn to the forest and what was within for a reason, Kowabi simply wanted to expedite the discovery of why.
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Posted: Sun Aug 09, 2009 3:42 pm
The bow was wrenched away, and as the the song faded away, so did his fantasies. He was trapped again by the harshness of a reality he couldn't accept, and all the pain Fefnir had held at bay for a hundred and thirty years crashed down on him all at once. Almost as if it was connected to what shreds of happiness Fefnir had constructed, the broken down cello fell to pieces on the floor, accompanied by its owner as his entire perception of things broke. His theatre, his daughter, his wife... all illusions, never real. Nothing was real. Maybe he wasn't real either, maybe none of this had happened, none of it, none of it, none of it... His head swung to his left. Just offstage, his family was walking toward the exit, not a glance backward or anything, as the scene dissolved, and them with it. There were nothing but red walls, bloody walls, stifling, confining, choking walls all around, all around, no escape, no way out. His head turned right, and the encroaching truth of the room traveled like a wave over his audience. Their faces screamed silently with terror and pain, gaping wounds teeming with pestilence and decay ever mirroring those he'd lost, those he'd killed, those he couldn't protect, those he loved and hated and respected and feared that he'd outlasted, mocking him, the first and last, the strongest coward, the gate left open...
His head reached the far right, to the woman next to him. Suddenly, it was like any strength he had left him. He wanted to leap foreward, grab her throat, add another casualty to his list, rip, stab, break, torture, burn, kill her for this, but he couldn't. All he could to was, with a voice that was scratchy and unused, whisper a disjointed sentence broken by sobs; "W-why... wou-ould... y-y-you... d-d-d-d-do-o-o... t-t-thissss?!"
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Posted: Wed Aug 12, 2009 8:53 pm
Kowabi teetered backwards when the man came spilling out of his seat awash with misery, she couldn’t help but be disgusted and register no pity for his feebly held form and racking sobs. Instead she let him mope there, hand tightening around the bow she’d taken to the point of snapping the wood. Then she heard him speak and even her ears were strained to catch the broken whisper. “Why?” she intoned dryly, “I was drawn here and have spent the past week observing this house hold.” Kowabi paused, gathering her thoughts, when she’d walked into the room she’d seen a fantasy being played out, one she wasn’t unfamiliar with. At one point in her thousands of years of life she’d entertained the fancy that she wasn’t different, that she was and would always be a Shinigami. The truth had wiped that clean from her mind the first time Rimen had challenged her. Letting her caustic orange gaze resume it’s targeting on the vermilion haired man she crouched to his level before continuing. “Do you know what you are?” Kowabi questioned lightly, inhaling again and basking in the scent of nasturtiums.
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Posted: Sat Aug 15, 2009 11:24 pm
Slowly, things were turning over in Fefnir's resetting mind. The falsehood broken, he was struggling to re-assemble who knows how much he'd seen but not seen, heard but not heard. Even worse, he was dimly grasping, like a child, death. All the people... he thought as crimson tears flooded from his eyes, All the dead people here... they all had a family too... a family just like me... I did to them what I did to all those other people... people who trusted me... people who relied on me... friends, allies, confidants... And I did it to myself, too... A fresh pang of anguish. The thought of his wife and daughter had haunted him for so long. He loved them both so much, so much that he couldn't live in a world without them, so much that he would go crazy without them, so much that he would slay anyone who so much as looked at them wrong, anyone who dared to insult them. He loved them so much that he was haunted by it, every moment of every day. He was covered with the metaphorical blood of hundreds of people...
And he felt dirty.
There was blood everywhere, all around, all over him. It's scent was overpowering. He could taste its metallic sting on his tongue, harsh compared to the saliva that had caked around it for years. He was disgusting, and nothing could wash this blood away. Nothing about him was clean, nothing was free of this all-consuming guilt. His hands were trembling, shaking wildly as he reached up toward his neck, grasping roughly for something... A key. An ornate purple key hung tightly beneath the clashing blue goggles around his neck. The key to his heart, the key to his soul, the key to his hate, his self-loathing, his guilt, his anger, his fear... The key to the purple room.
With a swift jerk, the necklace broke off, and he shambled to his feet, swaying left and right on atrophied legs. Fefnir took a few jerking steps toward the intruder, caring no longer for her reason for being there, and rather wanting for some kind of contact with another person. His voice had regained some small amount of strength, and he spoke in a guttural scratch, "Go to the room, and see. See everything I am," A thin hand pointed toward the only closed door visible, and the other held the key up for her to take.
(( The purple room is made to show a fleeting vision of what the person most wants to see at the time, so if Kowabi wants to know what's drawing her, it would be there. The interior is purple floor, purple ceiling, purple walls, a red and purple cradle, and a small purple dresser with pictures of Fefnir, his wife, and his daughter Amie. Outside that, it's barren, no windows, and no other doors. ))
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Posted: Mon Aug 17, 2009 1:23 pm
Snatching the proffered key away with care to induce no skin on skin contact, Kowabi followed the red eyed mans instructions and traced the path his finger pointed too. The door looked no different than the other tinted doors she’d passed while infiltrating the oddly placed structure. Letting her neon eyes drift down to her hand, she thoughtfully turned the ornate violet skeleton key in her grasp from side to side as she stood at attention before the door. Inserting the key into the lock she twisted the tinted metal and was met with the soft click of the tumblers turning and the door shivering as it was released from the door frame. Removing the key slowly she held it securely in the palm of her right hand and silently pulled the door open, stepping inside without heed of what she might find.
Instead, Kowabi was met with lilac walls and amethyst carpeting that shifted with each step she took. The room was immaculate, designed for an infant to occupy and as she padded further within her eyes came to rest on a wine and lavender cradle. As expected it was empty, the bedding inside crisp and never used, the stuffed toys in shades of purple as well. The scent of the room was uniquely different, no windows, no doors, nothing from outside could drift in and even the scent of rotting flesh hadn’t pervaded the soft surfaces. Next, Kowabi’s eyes tracked to the only other furnishing, a tiny dresser painted mauve and the arrangement of frames set on top. Coming to rest before the dust free surface, her left hand reached out to the family portrait in the center of a myriad of happy moments forever incased in wood and glass. Raising the frame to eye level she immediately recognized the Vizard still residing in the other room. She could hardly see the emaciated being as the man standing proud and smiling with true happiness at the camera while holding a child aloft. He’d obviously been a Captain, not that long ago from the cut of his haori. How she hadn’t realized who he was the moment she saw him was a laps on her part.
Another thousand years had passed in her long life time since she departed from Soul Society, giving up her place at the Sou Taicho’s side for her own purposes. Yet, Kowabi had still received news from her former home and the most devastating being the announcement of the decimation of the Ninth Division. The report had been inaccurate, but she read between the lines and found the truth. Hollofication had taken place and in the ensuing inner battle the shifting body had destroyed anything and everything in its way. Turning on her heels she stared out the door at the man she now recognized as Fefnir Kamashiro-Shihouin before returning her gaze to the portrait. Tracing a finger over the woman cuddled up at his side and her near doppelganger in Fefnir’s arms. A family that had been torn apart, and as her finger traced over their faces a memory of old entered Kowabi’s mind. She’d always wanted a family, she’d had one once but the details of who they had been became sketchy over the millennia’s of her life. She wanted to go back to those days, she wanted a renewed lease on life that never involved being hunted and bound. She wanted a chance to be a Shinigami, to be normal, to be seen as something other than a creature barely tolerated by Soul Societies finest.
Kowabi hadn’t realized it but she was grasping her head as if in pain, her body shaking as the wants she’d locked away as irrelevant came flooding back. Dropping to her knees, a scene played out before her eyes so vividly she could almost smell the woods, see her superiors taking the time to train their squad members. Then there was her, Kowabi without her fears, wearing the most basic of Shihakushou and enjoying a sparing match with her Fukutaicho. She hadn’t been subjected to Hollowfication, she hadn’t been seen as a threat, Kowabi had been welcomed with open arms and accepted. Then as quickly as the vision came it cleared from her now black tinted eyes, dark tears tracking down the sides of her face as her orange eyes were overwhelmed with neon blue. In her mind she could her malicious laughter as she shakily stood and returned the picture to its resting place atop the dresser.
Wrapping her arms around her shivering form was all she could do as she vacated the purple room, propping herself in the door way and extending her right hand out, dangling the key from her finger tips. Blinking away those black tears her eyes slowly cleared while her head hung low. So this had been why she’d been drawn to the woods.
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Posted: Thu Aug 20, 2009 11:26 pm
Fefnir, slowly, was returning to some semblance of what he once was... a captain. He remembered that much, but it was so hard to find what he once knew to be fact. How much had he invented, and how much had he forgotten to create the ideals he strove for, the fictions he desired? His head was clouded by an unknown fear or what he didn't know, and of what he did know, and of learning any more about himself. He didn't want to be awakened... he just wanted to live in harmony with his wife and child... he wanted to work his cello back together and crawl back into that hole of self deceit... but he knew he couldn't. There was no returning to his denial. He was drug out of happiness by someone he had never seen before, and fro better or for worse, he would have to deal with that.
He would have killed her on the spot if he wasn't so weakened and malnourished. His ribs were clearly visible through tattered red cloth, barely even considered clothing anymore as it had slowly begun to rot off his body, leaving sores and disease in their wake. His face was sallowed with a lack of sleep, his eyes dim with a dullness of senses. His fingers were still bleeding rather badly, and his crimson hair was matted with sweat and oil. The stench of death clung to him, inescapable... Why? Why had he done all this? What could have possessed him to justify killing with more killing? How could the taking of more life possibly redeem him?
-many years before-
There was no thought within the creature's head past consuming, devouring, chewing, swallowing, digesting anything with the slightest hint of spiritual power. How unfortunate that it should have roamed to one of the higher concentrations of spiritual energies in Japan. It was unlike any other Hollow the local soul reapers would have ever faced, and certainly more powerful than they could handle. The Kyoto area soon became known as a deathtrap, the area you never wanted to be assigned to, and at the same time, because of that reputation, encouraged you shinigami who wanted to prove themselves to enter the area as a test. Very few ever returned, and those that did professed that they would rather desert than patrol there ever again. The story was always the same from those survivors: "We were attacked so fast there was no way to even see what was hitting us!" Some of the more acute would mention ghastly wails of anguish as well, but the truth of the matter had been suppressed quickly and completely.
-exactly 534 days before the last scene-
Fefnir was in his office, carefully detailing his paperwork and preparing to wrap things up for the day. In just a few minutes, he'd be heading over to pick his daughter up from the care of his adoptive mother, Yomiko, and he would be meeting his wife Amie just outside. Suddenly, he clutched his head as a sharp pain shot through it, searing like a white hot ember had just been shoved into the center of his skull. Then, just as quickly, it went away, and the captain laughed it off. Maybe Amie's right... he mused as he rose lightly from his seat, his carmine hair shimmering in the dim light, Maybe I should stop working by candlelight. She always says it's gonna give me a headache, and I think today she was right! I'll take a few days off next week, and we'll try and go do something together to unwind... He could see it already; a nice a little camping trip in the backyard, just barely in the woods enough to make it feel detached from the normal routine. Maybe he'd plan a little scavenger hunt for his daughter to enjoy, or.... or..... fire..... Fire shooting through his mind again, this time more fierce, more... strained... and then... blackness.
When he awoke, there was nothing but fire everywhere. The buildings of squad nine, unrecognizable corpses and innards littered the ground, cremated unceremoniously by wave after wave of anger incarnate as it emerged from the ominous form that replaced the Captain of the rapidly dying squad. The worst thing? Fefnir was aware of everything, and in control of nothing. His heart was wrenched with every movement as he fought himself for control to no avail... and slowly the beastly form turned on the only remaining person, the last one standing, the one with a distinct aura of purple energy, like lilacs, gently caressing the beast even as she prepared to strike with her warhammer. Even then, with all his might, he tried to call out to her, to warn her to run, to leave him behind, to save herself, but nothing but the slightest warble of lament and a small trickle of tears emerged. and then, a blow that would push the monster Fefnir had become over the edge, into the insanity he dwelled in for uncounted years:
A clawed hand came down, shattering the hammer's shaft, and the life of it's wielder. A horrid screech of agony and anguish filled the air, and Fefnir tried to close his eyes, but couldn't look away. The love of his life, his soulmate, the only one who had ever understood him, stood in shock, attempting to gather the shredded intestines that were torn from her stomach, failing as the segments fell away to the ground, and she dropped to her knees, trying to catch them like wet snakes with shaking hands. It was with the realization that she was going to die at the hands of her lover that she went, but the creature that possessed Fefnir's form wouldn't let it stop, couldn't let it stop. As if it sensed the sanctified nature of this singular shinigami, instead of letting her lay in what peace could be had, it bounded over to her, and with a howl, slowly began devouring her, starting with the legs, the ones she was so proud of because she ran every day to get them, then worked up to her stomach, where she'd carried their only child for for almost ten months before going into labor... It greedily devoured her, down to the last bit of skin that could be found. And then... Then everything was black again...
-The Present-
What remained of Fefnir had reached its breaking point. He had to become calloused, or he would kill himself. He either had to learn to deal with what he had done, or he would have to end himself. There was no way to be in between in this instance. No... he would accept what had happened, or he would die trying. He couldn't undo the past, nor could he bring his wife to life again. In a way, because he'd eaten her, she had found a way to live on with him forever. Their bond was more complete than ever. They had become one in body and soul, and they could never be separated again.
He brought himself up to his full height in a attempt to seem more intimidating that he had up until now, and with the strongest voice he could muster, he called, "Woman! Come to me. I have a request to make of you," As he spoke, from his decrepit sleeves, he pulled a pair of tarnished golden gauntlets and pulled them onto each arm. Then, Fefnir retrieved a pair of angular blue goggles, shattered lenses and all, and slung them around his neck. These were the last remnants of what his connection was to the Sereitei. These were the last remnants of his mentor and his vice captain. These were his reminders of his guilt.
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Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2009 1:15 am
Gray tones nearly gone from her bright eyes, Kowabi turned her gaze from the floor to Fefnir, huffing out what was left of her breath before straightening. Out of habit she hastily fixed her half jacket, pulling the sides even while tucking the purple key securely in the palm of her hand. Felling that slight weight reminded her that the door was still open and groped behind her for the door knob. Once in her grasp, Kowabi pulled the door gently shut before her dark fingers dug into the metal, deforming the knob. She would not be venturing there again.
Acutely aware of Fefnir’s position before her, the Assassin snapped to attention when he drew himself up, easily topping her smaller frame. Undeterred by such a paltry display Kowabi remained motionless, only her eyes drifting over the Vizard’s poor state of being. As contradictory to her years of training and self imposed exile, she wanted nothing more at that moment than to clean away the filth coating his body. The thought played over and over until he spoke, voice rasping but by far more authoritative than what she’d been expecting. Readily complying with his first command she bypassed numerous corpses and stopped in her tracks just outside of striking range. Cocking her head to the side lightly, “One normally states their request, I will not oblige until you’ve given me reason too.” Curt as always, her left hand drifted to the tsuka of her zanpakutou. Distrusting of everyone and everything, she was on alert as Fefnir pulled out a set of gauntlets and placed them on, she wouldn’t be deceived by the strength that could be mustered from a fragile and unnourished body.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 4:37 pm
Fefnir's red eyes had regained some of their sharpness. Even in his derelict setting, he was a sight to behold; His hair had grown much longer through the years, nearly reaching his ankles, and his once powerful form had withered, though he still had ridiculous amounts of spiritual power emanating from him. He could probably, if he chose to, enhance his body with that burning reiatsu and kill Kowabi, but he wouldn't. He was a killer, but he would not kill what didn't deserve it. Besides, he hadn't called her over for nothing. He was unaware of who the person was, what her place was here, but if she had found him, she definitely had skill in tracking detection. She might prove to be someone he could use in the future. For now, though, he had another need for her.
"Woman, I hunger. Fetch me something to eat so that I may regain my strength,"
He he gave the woman a look that basically equated to 'please?', and disregarded her strange appearance completely. Looks were nothing. Skills were everything. He needed her obedience and loyalty, not a pretty face. She was required, and she would have to listen, or he would do away with her.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 5:54 pm
Eyes narrowing marginally at the command to ‘fetch’ but none the less she backed towards the door. Kowabi hadn’t receive orders in more years than she cared to remember, yet she immediately complied, her obedience towards any Captain whether they be former or not, deeply ingrained in her consciousness. Reaching the door frame she paused and lifted a hand to lazily point towards Fefnir, “Sit.” That was all she said while her form blurred and she was gone, racing back to the door she’d entered through. Hopefully he’d heed what she’d said and rest while she was gone, so emaciated as he was it was nothing but reiatsu keeping him upright. Stepping outside, the night was in full swing and edging towards twilight, only a few places in the nearest neighbor hood would be open. Releasing just an insignificant amount of her reiatsu she reproduced her move, this time stretching the distance directly into town.
Returning not more than five minute later, three plastic bags slung over one shoulder, Kowabi pushed her way back inside and traversed the linking doorways until she stood in the door frame where she’d left Fefnir. Letting the plastic announce her presence as she let the bags slip down side until she could rummage through one for a moment before withdrawing a ready packed onigiri, Kowabi slowly extended the morsel into the corpse filled room. “Fefnir,” she began sternly, “eat slowly and only small amounts at a time, unless you’d like to end up consuming the food only for it to come up again.” Hopefully her use of his name wouldn’t cause and adverse reactions, but the Assassin wouldn’t budge from the doorway. Using the food as a lure she was determined to pull him from the corpse filled room and into the closest bathing facility.
Pulling her hand back she meticulously began to unwrap the nori covered rice, “I must apologize for not introducing myself, it seems I’m out of practice.” Pulling away the last bits of plastic she let it fall the to floor, extending her hand once again. “My name is Jichou Kowabi.” Ending it there, she would be mildly surprised if Fefnir knew her name at all. She had been a part of the Seireitei’s history for two thousand years, but was certain the writings about her had been kept secret and away from prying eyes.
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Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 9:13 pm
The defiance of the crimson ex-captain was evident, even as his slender form wobbled nearly imperceptibly under it's own weakness. He wouldn't take an order from her no matter who she was, nor would he sit after having been so inactive for so long. Instead, he fought to remain fully upright in a state of complete control of himself, extending the fullness of his still imposing form as long as he could stand to. He folded his arms over his chest and waited, his vision going in and out of focus as his reiatsu faded lightly from its initial high and his normally subpar vision returned. With a little effort, he re-honed that energy into them again, sparking a slight burning sensation in muscles that had been mostly dormant for many years as they slipped back into their old form, bright red once more.
Then, she returned. She was fast, but Fefnir knew he was faster, once upon a dream of times gone by. This woman with skin of dark onyx and caustic eyes setting a stark contrast, seemingly glowing like Fefnir's own empty ones. As he felt her enter the abode again, and then subsequently saw what appeared to be onigiri in her hand extended through the doorway and heard her introduction, something stirred within him, and unknown rage that simply brought to his mind the word 'God'. With a strength he hadn't thought still dwelled within him, he rushed forward and grabbed her outstretched arm silently, with immense force. The entire weight of his spiritual pressure bore down upon the place, shaking it like a leaf barely attached to a tree as a typhoon hit. His voice growled out, guttural and filled by fury, "Condescending trash! Are you so holy that you can't even face me, that you can't even look on my broken countenance?! LOOK AT ME! Look me in the face!" And he pulled her around the corner, hands digging into her arms as he held her in place, attempting to force her to deal with him, his flaws becoming all too real, but then... his grip weakened, his power faded. His spiritual power had all but been expended in these sudden bursts, and without any food to fuel himself, he was on the verge of death. His hands dropped to his sides, and with his left hand, he slowly retrieved the onigiri he'd caused her to drop. With a tiny, measured bite, he slowly began to eat the dirty food, and almost absently, added, "...I'm sorry..." as he dragged his feet past her, out into the hallway, to fresher air.
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Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 1:37 pm
A low kneeing escaped Kowabi the very instant that Fefnir's hand gripped her forearm, crushing, bruising her dark skin. His display of strength wasn't what caused her to wilt, to slide down the wall as he increased his hold on her and yelled into her face. Shrinking back with each successive shout, her eyes were wide and growing wider. Kowabi was seeing double, not the former captain, but an overlay of a fair skinned man, his lavender eyes malicious while his overwhelming reiatsu kept her young body pinned. She could feel his evergreen hair dragging along her naked skin, his fingertips teasing as he played with her and the harsh sting of his sword cutting shallow lines endlessly along her arms, legs and back.
Her kneeing increased in pitch and fervor as she failed against his iron like hold, to incensed to even contemplate the myriad of ways she could escape. Then that crushing grip was gone and she fell, crumbling against the door frame like a forgotten rag doll. Shivering, the bags still slipped over her arm crinkled in time with her body's warming convulsions, and she whimpered as the ingrained feeling of her tormentor dissipated. More then two thousand years had passed since her childhood, but she would never forget, never loose the feeling of cold hand exploring her against her will. Lifting her numb arms, Kowabi rubbed the bruising flesh gently as she stared wide eyed at the floor, her debilitating fears keeping her rooted in place.
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Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2009 9:25 pm
Fefnir swayed with every motion, every step, dragging his feet heavily across the mahogany flooring. Everything he heard fell into time, time fell to rhythm, and rhythm was king of the movement.
One, two, three, four, one two three four, onetwothreefour...
It all began to blend together; the sense of eternal timing, that sensation of being the smallest gear in an inevitable machination beyond control. All at once, no part of him seemed important, and no part was his to control. He was the guide for the endless march of armies into oblivion. Absently, as he swooned, Fefnir's hand would pat his thigh lightly, marking the fourth of every measured step. With the other, he ravenously devoured the onigiri, not bothering to remove the bits of stray rice from the corners of his mouth. Not like it mattered to have some small amount of substance marring his skin. He was absolutely filthy, and dust had even settled on his slumped shoulders over the long days and nights of inactivity.
Fefnir's legs burned, and with perfectly executed beats, he hit the wall, and his feet stepped quickly out, easing him down with a measured set of eighth notes. A window, frosted with years of neglect and smoke, allowed just the slightest amount of light in, the coming of dusk casting mixed purple and red across the floor. Only a single onigiri was not enough. He needed more food, more energy, and something in his head had forgotten that little bit when he had left his theater... no, his gallery. It wasn't a theater, and never was. Only in his mind was it anything more than a gallery of the dead and damned, damned by his hands for being a mite too curious, for wanting privacy, for simply wandering too far...
His stomach growled loudly, burning and churning as it did a job not done for a century. "You. Kowabi, was it?" His voice betrayed no emotion, as he had an almost irrational irritation with her, "Get up. Bring me the rest of my food, and while I eat, I want you to do something with my hair. It's too long, and I can't deal with it myself right now. Fix it for me, would you?" Still in time with an unheard beat, Fefnir shifted his back off of the wall enough to allow access to his long, greasy locks, once soft and manageable, now tangled and thick. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to look at least semi-decent for some inexplicable reason. "Err... On second thought, I'll need you to drag me to the shower first. I need to bathe before you can do any sort of damage control on my hair. Let me finish my meal first, though, and then we'll go,"
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