Call it, Animal Control(Open, PG13, NDE, PvP, CTP)

(OoC: Yea...this may not be up to par with what you were hope/expecting...but I gave it my best! Which...kinda makes this whole statement more...despairing. Situational humor! \o/)

It was a sudden development, that much was assured. After a long evening of deep --often philosophical-- conversation, the intellectual exchange had come to a close. Marcelius had to commend Kuroi, who patiently listened to the various ramblings of an old Hollow. It was a relief to spend time with another of his kind, Marc had indeed become beside himself with optimism. This was a dream, sadly. One that would not only conclude, but deliver one final, sour note before doing so. Having agreed to heed the commands and respect the wishes of a superior, Marc had successful eliminated his own podium for debate. Having hastily accepted an invitation, he had given no pause for thought on what exactly that invitation might entail.

He should have known any group of Hollows willing to cooperate, would have to be made of valued members. Why else would his kind bother to keep them around? What troubled Marcelius most, was the manner in which he was to prove himself. A struggle of strength? A show of force? Though the merit of a soldier could be measured in his ability to defeat the enemy, is that really all that defines him? Matters were made worse by the facts; not only must he attempt to harm his own kin, but he must attempt such a terrible act on a vastly more powerful one at that. Seems this game was rigged against him. Yet, what kind of Hollow would he be, if he were to simply lie down and accept the odds stack against him. An expression that at first appeared as a disheartened frown, now rose to greet his onlooker with an understanding smirk.

Nodding his head; recognizing the challenge as more than simply an invitation. This was just as much an offer, as it was a command. If he was to be a Fraccion for the Segunda, he should be willing to accept this as he would any order. The lines separating such principles, were quite blurry at times like these. Still, he lifted his head and examined the adjusting position of his Espada. A casual stance, one hand even left inside the pocket. His opponent's strength was reason enough for this pose. With such a terrible difference in their combat prowess, Marcelius respected the restraint his examiner was willing to showcase. It would be quite difficult to make much of an impression on this young man, both mentally and physically. Vibrations poured off of Naito like a tuning fork, and from their strength and frequency, Marc deciphered the density of his spiritual aura. It was immense, quite easily three times the magnitude of the older Hollow's. The result was a Hierro as hard as perfect ice. Without fractures in it's bonds to weaken it, ice could be stronger than the purest steel. That was Kuroi, ice without imperfections...worse still, Marcelius had no fire that could melt it.

The time came to examine his physical qualities. Youth gave the Segunda impressive speed. Potential energy sang throughout his body, and though it was not loud enough to tell Marcelius this truth...Naito was truly faster. Less so, were the qualities of raw muscularity. Marcelius had certainly seen other with a stronger potential of arm, but he never doubted his understanding of them. With a person like his current opponent, even a shortcoming seemed to carry with it...a great many possibilities. Assuming any advantage thanks to a singular trait was both foolish, and uncalled for. Such a shame that this was the opponent he had to impress. The simple task of demonstration was becoming overly challenging.

However, there was a glimmer of opportunity...drowning in the freezing mick of harsh realities. Marcelius could sense Kuroi's motion long before they resolved. With such a unique perception and unrivaled sensitivity to change, he felt things seconds before they could even poccur. An example of this came from the Espada's stance. Before his fingers brushed the satin sleeves of his pocket, before his bending elbow creased the fabric of his jacket, while his shoulder turned in it's softened, cartilage socket...before the blood rushed to the capillaries to provide life giving nutrients and before his nerves felt the pull on their strings which brought commands to his extremities, Marc had already predicted the rising of his hand.

How then, to show him this talent? What way was best to explain this? Marcelius could out maneuver and overpower opponents, because the sounds of their effort sung to him their plans. It was a vexing concept to ponder, even for the man who utilized it. Like a composer explaining his Opus to the deaf, or a artist describing his Sistine chapel to those born blind. Such a tedious conundrum. One that Marcelius hoped he could avoid, as the effort behind it would cause impose quite the toll on his aged disposition. What then, could he employ as an alternative? His thoughts delved into this options, only to realize the pain of a swan dive into a shallow pool. "Your knowledge as a warrior could tell you everything about me in my first strike. From the way I watch you, to how I move, to the power of my blow, and finally the manner of my reaction to your counter."

Reaching down, his hand clasping the grip of his blade, and easing it free from the sheath. A grinding sound accompanied the draw, something peculiar that identified it from other blades by sound. The weapon was broad, with more handle than necessary for it's reduced length. It was ideally wielded with two hands. Most interesting enough was the tip, or lack thereof. The blade simply came to a flattened end, not sharpened point or smoothed surface. Stabbing was impossible with this design. Holding the weapon caused a noticeable chill throughout Marc's spine. He did not enjoy situations like this.

"One strike, and this should be done. However, I am and have trained in a very particular skill set. Striking you won't show case that at all..." Not one ounce of his swordsmanship was devoted to aggression; yet this was not the reason for his hesitation. He was expect to showcase talents, and he aimed to do so. With his blade gripped firmly in his hand, he drew into a defensive pose. With his free hand, relieved from holding the blade as was expected by it's design, he charged a Bala. To Kuroi, there was no actual threat. The Segunda's ability to sense Marc's lacking spiritual strength would show that. On top of it all, someone who achieved the rank of Espada must be amazingly well informed on the nature of Hollow techniques.

This Bala, was even weaker than a standardized production. No harm could come from this attack Marc prepared in the breadth of a second. However, a clever eye would spot a change in the energy. What had started as a yellow, fluxing orb of energy, became quickly erratic. The form began to shiver and twitch, and the hue of it's glow switched to a redden tone. In a flash he was released, split the air between them. Aimed to burst upon Kuroi's hand, and contact with this attack resulted in a mild burst of energy. Not even an explosion, more like a harmless rush of heat. This was Modo Bala, and represented Marc's individuality quite well.

What could not be known to the uninformed eye, was that the bala had gained identity. A soul of it's own. Though it was not living, nor did he feel, it did have thought. It lived with only one expression of consciousness, the emotion that had been used to birth it. That Bala, the Modo, was a living expression of emotion. In this particular incident, it was Annoyance. Marcelius gave it this mood, so that it would inflict it upon the target. As Marc observed the Segunda, he established his Emotional State as interest. Needing him to deliver the first attack, while also displaying his talents, required the shift to something more proactive.

Again, Marcelius was truly blessed that Kuroi was showing restraint. For it would not be outright anger that fueled him, but impatience. Marcelius should have no fear of an unbridled Espada, charging madly to bring his life to an end. No, it would merely encourage his opponent to go first. Which is what Marc needed to begin his performance. By all accounts, it should work. To someone who buries their Emotions as the Espada does, this would be an unsettling moment. In his experience, no amount of power can ignore the shift. Awareness of it, and struggling against it were all too common, but simply denying internal feelings had never dismissed the condition.

Obviously, Kuroi had the means to dodge. Marcelius, and the rest of the world, knew it. Seeing as the intent was to initialize the conflict, it succeeded even when it failed. Albeit the result of the miss would be far less educational. Regardless, Marc stood prepared and determined. His senses were his focus now, not the attack he issued. For however Naito's response came to present itself, Marc had to be ready. He would feel the strength of the younger Arrancar as soon as his mind made it's decision. He would follow the patterns of whatever thought or emotion he could grasp from that mind. It would be unpleasant, but reading that overwhelming grey for it's subtle changes was possible. There was a force surrounding Kuroi, as with all powerful spirits, that pushed outward on the world has they moved. This pressure could be felt long before the body producing it would come into focus.

Others, Marc had observed, could feel and react to this. He did the same, with the added insight of knowing how the pressure felt and why it felt that way. If there was confidence propelling a strike, or anticipation in the results of a technique, or even delight in the lead up to a deceitful trick. To not only know the direction and force of an assault, but also to comprehend it's foundations and identity. This was his gift, and he knew how to use it well. It would be only seconds now, before he learned how well his new Espada could learn and react to it. However, Marcelius mood had yet to be mentioned. What was filling his heart right now was excitement. An opportunity to discover the weaknesses he possessed, with only a moderate fear that his failure would result in death. Training was truly a great priviledge.

His plan was not completed yet. There was still the second of time Kuroi would use to deliver a humbling attack. In those moments, Marc readied an alternative. A second Bala, one without a mood or a soul, already being prepared. Having no need to condensation of it's power, Marc was willing to produce a weak Bala for the sake of producing it faster. He needed it ready, before the Segunda interrupted him. It was by no means a secret, or any form of special technique. It would not kill, nor even harm his opponent, but it's purpose was crucial. Crucial, at least, in the pending reality caused by his rival's retort. In the event some form of direct combat began, Marc would have to try and level the role of speed.

His style made the most that it could out of simple motion, cutting down all necessary movements to their most simple form. This did not give him advantage, only a chance. However, a Bala with it's destructive forced reduced by haste and a restrained desire, would produce a blast of only a square foot or so. This was Marc's design, at least. Using such a weak attack, he would go for the dirt and soil beneath Kuroi's feet. To attempt nothing more than to shake a mountain, lowly Marc would sunder the earth beneath it. Disrupt his footing, and unbalance his speed. Maybe then he could hold his own...seeing as Death was kind enough to not wield his Scythe...

Reiatsu - 2550/3000

-400 Hierro Resonanica
-50 Modo Bala
-50 Bala; weakened to reduce blast radius and damage. (Pending)

When an object falls from a significant height, it casts a shadow upon the surface of it's destination. As it nears the ground, speed increasing and lending to it's inevitable impact, the shadow it produces begins to grow. This is how Marc felt, when Kuroi approached. A tremendous shadow was over him once more, growing as it came closer. Though in his circumstance, the spreading shade was the design of his defeat, not the objects. Nevertheless, he still saw the growing darkness of an impending impact. More than seeing it, he could feel it. As a tingle in his spine; as the shivers running along his nerves. His plan had worked, he had indeed encouraged his Espada to strike.

Having to deal with the unsweetened critique of an analytical rival, Marc's thoughts suffered the words with peaceful resilience. The time had come, a moment where he might expose his capabilities and earn the respect he believe himself due. For he had made a summation of his own, much like the Segunda. His guess was in regard to the open palm which welcomed an attack from Marcelius. Why had did he choose such a gesture, if he did not have a plan? It was a hunch, of course, but one that happened to pay off. A good many times Marc had been rewarded for his initial insight, and this time he was even more grateful for it's success.

Such a flash of speed, far exceeding the scope of mere eyesight. It could not be seen, such a fleeting motion...but it could be heard. When his bones let out and his tendons released, they created vibrations that hummed through the air on the waves of sound. Faster still, was the shift in color in his soul, the dim red flare that both burst and traveled. By the time Naito landed, Marc had squinted his right eye...and dropped his head to divert his ear. These were mechanical, animal reactions to the sensations that filled his mind. Neither of these physical organs truly felt what his mind witnessed. Still, one can not help but react as youth has instructed. This particular response was crafted long before his new perception was born. It seemed he could grow forever, and yet never outgrow his less needless instincts. Thank goodness for that. Either way, Marc's arm began shifting. Not to follow the sound, but to pull at the hand he knew was coming. He felt the palm gripping his Hierro even when he was first preparing the Second Bala. In truth, that was what it was for...to Pull to the right.

Next would be the toss, Marcelius' strength used to lash him onto his back. He would suffer for his any aggression, having all his energy guided by physical suggestion. Attacking, retaliating as response, would lead to an embarrassing follow up. Marc new this trick, it was on of his favorites. He even indulged it, if only briefly. His captured wrist, belonging to his right arm, would pull to the left. His elbow would already be pressed into Kuroi's, forcing a reverse bend in the limb with the most efficient, and least taxing force needed. Such a maneuver, in such a basic display, would be quite known to the true martial master between them. On a less prepared opponent, it was a lock to bind the one arm.

However, Marcelius was not interested in this...no, he was releasing his Bala. Discarding the weak and fluttering bolt; which went careening through the forest to the north. Some poor tree was about to burst and splinter at it's base. Regardless, Naito had only been slightly pulled, but in that simple act he would undoubtedly feel the physical strength that exceeded his own by threefold. Had this not been enough to demonstrate the Segunda's complete accuracy on Marc's muscularity; beside his foot had already crashed the completely blunted end of the old Espada's blade.

It missed Kuroi's foot, though it displayed a stupendous amount of precision. It was noted that he left openings in his stance, and that no effort was made to prepare his blade's position beyond leaving the sheath. He had not planned to race an Arrancar's arm with the heft of his steel. The appendage would be faster, tougher, and more agile. Like trying to parry a snake made of iron. Rather, gripping it inversely, readying to plummet it straight down into the earth. Having a blade with no honed tip, meant he was incapable of impaling his opponents. This suited Marc more, as crushing individual points could prove far more useful.

Having known his discarding posture would require both a willful use of his strength and the undesirable crossing of his arm across his chest, he would have prevented a lesser opponent's upcoming hurl by fracturing their foot and driving their balance into the unsettled soil. Once more, fracturing the earth beneath their feet. Having retorted as such, he patiently stood in anticipation of the Espada's retort. His aura oozed respect, as the presence of Kuroi's reiatsu strength was even more unnerving at such close proximity. How many Bala could the superior speed of the you produced, two? Maybe four, given that Marc made such a long motion to be rid of his own Bullet. Still, Marcelius had clearly felt the approach of his superior.

Whether his reactions were close enough to succeed in a response was questionable. But Naito used his full speed, and Marc knew where it would drop him...and that a hand would clasp his body. A single grapple could achieve so much, it was the clear choice. Both a defense from the Bala, a counter for a misguided counterstrike, or simply the start of a more devastating technique or trick to follow. "It was the most advantageous choice..." Marc added with a warm smile, already sensing the shifting emotion of his comrade through the direct link that had been established. "I felt your pressure push away the energy to my right, before I noticed you had even moved. You're feared for you speed and quick wit, more than your power...aren't you? Well..the wise fear you besides your power anyways." The products of his actions just now, one's the Espada had undoubtedly used to great success so many times before, Marcelius could feel them on his hands as if the blood of those past victims still dripped from his steely skin. This man was something else...and honestly, Marcelius hoped his tone did not come off too offensively.

Considering the way his reiatsu hummed in such uniform, perfect tone...Marcelius was sure that his mastery of his spiritual powers was just as great as his physical technique. It was only when he could get this close to the aura, where his "ear could press against the glass", that the vibrations could ring through to paint a more definitive picture. "I can hear how managed you energy is. I believe you could have produced a Cero just now, yes? Possibly more than one?" His exhilaration made him talkative, the spurred energy of momentary combat causing his mind ignite. If given the chance, he might keep rambling. Waiting for the Segunda to hand back his wrist, he considered what an awful reality it would be to struggle against this man in Ernest. Indeed, no matter Marcelius' own skill, it would be a struggle...not a fight. What could produce such a warrior as this? In Kuroi's past, there must be quite the story. Certainly one worth unravelling...maybe even written down to inspire future members of their kind. Strange, that in a situation as this, Marc's thoughts would waft into his love of good fables. Such a being as the Segunda...he'd make a fine Arrancar legend.

"I've spoken with them already..." Standing with eyes closed, Marcelius seemed more alert and aware of his surroundings than even before. Sometime while the Segunda spoke, he gave away a sense of curiosity that Marc could truly relate too. In all honesty, it was the first emotional link the two shared. Sure they had agreed on a mutual desire for a better Hueco Munro, but ambition is the fuel of emotion...not an identity. It was from the connection that Marcelius found himself listening to the surface thoughts once more. With such guard feelings, Naito made himself rather difficult to read for the larger percentage of their time spent together. A product of war, possibly hurt, Marc was still to early in his examination to feel confident about either possibility. Deciphering another living soul's motivations and attitude, is a science that he takes very seriously. He would never rush a judgment without extensive evidence.

So for now, more observation into the rarely open window of the Espada. From what he could hear, there were some lingering questions filling his mind...and they all pertained to Marcelius' unique gift. Something Marc himself, always had difficulty describing. A talent that as of right now, made him quite the rude conversationalist. "My apologies, I rarely outburst like that. The secret, however, you must already understand. With respect, I'll share the finer points of it to spare you valuable time." Nodding his head once more, he showed his respect in asking for a moment to speak freely. Raising his head back up, his eyes opened once again.

"I am much like the Exquias you had momentarily considered. I have even meet one of their members, a Second in their ranks. His name was...well, I do not think he would like me discussing it openly. Even to someone who already may know of him and his work. Still, I knew his name before he greeted me...just as I know yours when I first asked for it. I asked, because I fear it would be rude not to." A small laugh eased between his words, breaking up the changes in his topics. "I see things. I can see the emotions and desires of living things. From the basic instincts of those who are like animals, to the complex workings of philosophers and poets. You...have mastered your emotions in a way others can not grasp. Yet, I can not help but see the small feelings that linger in the deepest parts of your past. In your memories." To further explain his next point, he closed his eyes once more.

"I was born blind as a Hollow...I did not even possess eyes. Only later did I learn, I had been born deaf as well...sounds as you and others hear, are truly new to me. I was forced to develops an ulterior sense of the world. I saw what you might describe as lights...occupying every distant place in the world. I could see, hear, and even feel the existence of others within a great distance of myself. Things such as walls or doors, presented no obstacle or even interruption. Only with distance, could the sensations avoid me." Eyes opening once more...

"I learned that the lights, which held shape and figure, were the essences of life itself. Brightness determined both strength and quality. What you describe as color, is how I determined how they felt and what they believed. Emotion, passionate or only suggestive, I could read them all. As I began hunting stronger and stronger adversaries, a task you might remember yourself, I discovered I could learn their secrets. I knew which were strong. Which were fast. Which were powerful. I even knew the ones who were wise. That is why I have been so cautious, in the presence of someone like you."

Marc lifted his hands. First his left, so that he might sheath his sword. Then the right. To prepare yet another Bala. This one, as Kuroi expertly noted, was quite modified. Where he held it, he would not release it. Instead, he would give an example of how he saw things. The beauty of his perception, was that it was indeed based in reiatsu. If not the foundation of his power, spiritual energy was at the very least, a viable conduit. For in his hand, the Bala grew. It turned first, a pale shade of yellow. This color would be clear to Kuroi, as the shade of Marc's usual energy. Then it began to turn, first shifting a dull green. "Fear, or rather, a mild version of that more base feeling. You may see, how the energy his shakey and weak. This Bala has never traveled a direct path...it always curves and struggles against the targets I assign it. The color you see, is much the same as what I saw when hunting inferior prey. I'm sure you would have grown sick of this color by now in your life, if you had the ability to see it as I do." A small joke, to try and break the constant drum of a long explanation.

Marcelius continued, showcasing each emotion through the different hues they expressed themselves with. The bright, almost blinding gleam of yellow; which embodied joy. A burning flash of red, anger in it's primal nature. The a cool, albeit mute blue; a depiction of grief in the most tangible fashion. "Of course, as years went by, I had to learn how to employ my knowledge as a weapon. My desires have shifted since when I first learned the craft, and I find it's potential suits my needs much more now." Naito could see, that the influence of Marcelius' power was neither capable nor appropriate in straight conflict. Devastating power than can crush any enemy in it's path...this was the furthest from that.

"I tried to incite you earlier, with an Agitated little Bala. My apologies for that, but in my age I do not find it beneficial to begin confrontations. Fortunate for me, i have not come across opponent's such as you. I felt it polite to explain that technique, and it's connection to me...given the rather personal circumstances surrounding it. I promise, I do not find any thrill in the unnecessary manipulation of any soul's emotions." Still, it did fit Marc's personality...even from what little the Segunda might know or believe of him. A flicker of ego came forth; the old Arrancar hoped that his new Espada would see the potential in such a gift. It was unlike him to think highly of himself, but he did wish to avoid the disapproval of others. He had enough voices in his life, already telling him of his worthlessness.

Crushing the Bala, dispersing it's energy in a harmless way, the Numero raised his eyes back to his superior. He awaited what questions or comments might come, already prepared for the cold tone that this young Arrancar lived by. He knew what he had displayed, was going to severely affect both his role and position in Las Noches. Would he become a Fraccion of note and worth? Would his assignments ever grow in importance or his responsibilities expand. These were the concerns of a soul as committed as his...he wanted to be apart of the revolution. If Hueco Munro was to rise and grow, he did not want to sit at the sidelines and observe only the works of others. To help those who pursued great ambitions, to give his own effort to the cause, this was his greatest hope.

A Cero, large and terrible, ripping through Marcelius' body. It burned on his skin, and scraped at his Hierro. His insides felt as if they would boil, and fitting his life, the end would come in a blinding flash of light. It was enough to cause a rise in his brow. Looking towards the younger, Marc pondered why such an image exchanged between them. It was quick, gone in a moment. The idea had been tossed away as soon as it was concocted.

A strange afternoon was on the approach for this already busy day. There was not much time for Marcelius to examine the lyrics he heard. No, Kuroi had spoken, and now turned to walk away. Marc broke into a long stride, having a much slower pace that compensated with the reach of his limbs. "Hollows, let me see..." Shaking the reiryoku within his body, disturbing it with the sudden injection of a specialized Pesquisa, Marc's eyes and ears went numb. His pace however, did not slow or falter from the Segunda's path.

The world was as night, only more perfect and true. There was blackness in every direction. Not that his world was dominated by this color, but rather by a lack of anything else. It was a void, one quickly being filled. Lights sprang up in every direction. The began to sing and chime in the glory of their continued existence. From each of them, beautiful words would come drifting through the absent country. The message was each different, but all interesting. There was variety and character in them as well. Having been asked to find Hollows. He had certainly done that much.

His success was drawing his focus in truth, having located them, he began studying. While his "eyes" were elsewhere on other life, he kept pace with his leader. A glance at his body language would be enough for any analyst to tell he was blind. There was no motion in his eyes, no life. His head did not waiver to and fro. There was no squinting in the shimmer of the sun, and no raising of his ear too some distant noise. His feet, however, disturbed no stone and snapped no twig. He could flow between the trees and the shrubs, never impeded by a tangle of foliage. It would appear as if he were unfettered by distraction, attuned to the world that no longer held surprises.

In the distant places of this great forest, echo's called out in proud hearaldry. Beneath the trees and amid the crevices, wherever shadows loomed to conceal their motives, Hollows were looming in wait. Some tried to hide, others flaunting themselves. It did not matter for Marc's eyes. He saw them all. The strength in their bodies, and the presence of their soul. Some of them even remembered their names. Of the lot, however, there were no exceptional candidates. Most were Hollows of the primary level. They wandered in the Wilderness, trying to find more delicious spirits for consumption. Kuroi would be made aware of all of these. Not only the location, distance and strength, but also the details concerning their activities.

Few of them were aggressive, being driven to anger by the encroaching hunger. Others were mildly pleasant, full from a recent meal. Listening to them was like enjoying music. Their songs were a treat for his ears. Then there were some...whose sound was less common for their breed. Fear, shaking and skittish, had enveloped a few of them. It took only a moment to determine the reasoning for the abnormal attitude. They were being hunted, and unlike Hueco Mundo, here Hollows were hunted by a diverse variety of things. Namely, the Shinigami. Mixed in with the fearful Masks, the sounds of Death Gods flexing their spiritual muscle. All of this, far off into the distance. Well beyond the stretch of his 5 mile parameter.

Marcelius begin to share, in concise details, the whereabouts and behaviors of not one, but many Hollows. He reiterated size, spiritual strength and even individual capacities for intelligence. Hesitation grasped his chest, when time came for him to illuminate the lives he witnessed beyond his assigned boundary. Reapers hunting Hollows. Marcelius' personal feelings were of concern, ones he wished to act upon. However, he had agreed to follow the instructions of the other. His values for such notions as respect, made him stomach his own wishes at this inopportune moment. Instead he merely mentioned what he had sensed, giving details of the Shinigami and Hollows both. There he left hit up to his Espada, to continue with whatever point he desired to make. Remaining ready, prepared, for what all could come from the young Arrancar's next request.

There was no strangeness in the Segunda's words, except maybe the smallest sliver of concern than seemed to flutter about in it's stern tone. It was not surprising that he should be asked to maintain a false visage of himself for others. It was tactical. It was an advantage. For Kuroi, it was appropriate. So, without a second thought, the older Arrancar nodded his silent consent. It would be easy for Marcelius to uphold this request. Many of his many years, have each been spent in the shadows where none would ever bother to look. Remaining out of sight and out of mind became not only a talent, but a hobby as well. Convincing his Espada of this fact, of his expertise in the field of misdirection, seemed unnecessary. Naito must be confident of Marc's abilities, he did not carry himself with any aire of doubt. The matter was settled. As if to cap their conversation with a more dramatic punctuation, the sound of Gargantua ripped through the evenings melodies.

Stepping into the open portal, Marc took a moment to glance at his clothing inquisitively. He was adorned with the same white garments that most Arrancar were dispatched upon joining Las Noches. Up until now he had not put much consideration into how he was dressed. In truth, the white color was not the kindest compliment to his pale skin. Still, he had not realized it was such an issue...or more so, that he was in fact clothed in rags. Smiling a bit as the darkness closed off on them, "The job comes with a uniform, that's nice." The tone was comical, like an amused elder might be, but there was no hint of disrespect. Quite frankly, his current situation was something of a blessing. Honestly, the old Hollow could not wait to see what would happen next.

(OoC: Easy TP grab, go! Alright, thread concluded! Bring on the rewards and the Brunch!)