Whiskey Sunrise (PG13, NDE)

[Marcelius]

Thread Title: Whiskey Sunrise (PG13, NDE)
Participants: Anastasia Solis-Kuchiki and Marcelius Despres
World: Human World
Death Setting: Non Death Enabled
Rating: PG-13
Location: Barcelona, Spain. The world renowned, Boabas Bar.
Special Conditions:
Circumstances: It is difficult losing a loved one; especially when they are still alive and hate you wholly. Such is the current stat if affairs between Marcelius one of his. The greif needs an outlet, lest it fester into something worse. Without many emotional alternatives; Marcelius travels to the Human World. Could a night of binge drinking cure his woes? Enter Anastasia. The infamous Vice Captain of Squad 6. One for the liquor scene herself, a tried and true purveyor of alcohol therapy. Perhaps she can set the codger straight? Perhaps she will just kill him for being the foul, soul-feasting monster he is? Only shots and circumstances will tell...

[Marcelius]

Barcelona, Spain

A city of passion and fire, the jewel of Spain. Few cities bore as much pride as this southern rose. Basking in golden sunlight, none outshone it in beauty. The wonder of this place, a heaven on earth. A city with history as rich and colorful as the people who wrote it. The chosen home of artists, philosophers, and greatness itself. Inspiration was the breath of the city. The goodness and splendor of life, the heart of the metropolis. In such a home, miseries were hard to come by. Family, food, and joy were always in abundance. Men went without want. Women without worry. Dreams were simpler here, and as such, always came true. Poets could never hope to conceive a place of more spectacle or majesty, when writing of worlds far better than the one at hand. It was a place to lose oneself. A trap for those unwise to her charms. A willing prison for those who knew them best.

And on this most auspicious of evenings, this city would have a new experience to add to it's magnificent tale. A story both of tragedy, and hope. The stage being set with the descent of the sun. A performance ready to begin, as softly as the sunset. The air grew weighted, as if plagued by an unseen symphony. From every doorway, to each window frame. A tone hung in the air. A building of tension. The city was sitting on strings, and they were drawn tight. Wait. Waiting for even the slightest prick(hue, "dick move") to set them off. This sort of atmosphere caused such changes in the people. Driving them, infusing their passions with action. Needless to say, the bars would do well this evening. Through every alley and thoroughfare, citizens would crowd the streets and sideways. With the coming of night, so came the booming of life.

Paris the City of Lights, bah...the French knew nothing of this heat. Of this vitality. Only those born of Spain's soil and sun, could understand the toiling of such emotional hearts. Ah...such sounds these people made. Laughter. Love. Music and dance. Everything they did, a noisy testament. The restaurants were warm with fire and communion. The bars made electric with merriment. There was a paradigm being set in this city. One of aspiration and wishful thinking. It was if the entire population of Barcelona shared a singular thought...they must escape their woes. So they did. They ate. They drank. They danced and sang. The people converged, and sought to rid their world of it's sorrows. It was astounding. It was unanimously stupendous. It was...unbelievable. Surreal. A supernaturally odd occurrence.

Squad 3 Command, Seireitei

Observation into the Human World was tedious, but efficient business for the members of Squad 3. The scouts of the Soul Society. The analysts and sentries of the Seireitei. A dedicated batch of promising minds and careful wits, with only one assignment. The monitoring of opposing worlds. A high priority task. One which they completed with unparalleled mastery. Sitting safe within their compound. Hundreds of rooms filled with the most modern technologies the SRID could provide. In this place, a spirit could feel as close to the human world as any mortal. Observing with all the senses and sciences that the afterlife brought to bear, these souls were in total sync with the living realm. It was this sync, this connection; which would prove most interesting.

For tonight, something amazing was occurring. Something which could alter sensors, and overheat servers. An event, the likes of which had naer been seen before. Within moments of detecting the anomalies, numbers were being dialed and voices were being shouted through links. The Division was entering into an uproar. "...an entire city, are you sure?" "...what do you mean, indefinable?!" "Just who do we have in the area?" Fires were being started. The delicacy of technology being the catalyst. The fervor of men being the fuel. Soon, reactions would begin.

Soon...all of those men a women would find their hearts ignited. Where before there was stress, there was no only joy. Workers and leaders alike, compelled to shirk the duties which might have normally followed. Having listened to closely to the cities music, having allowed it to influence their souls. No more calls would be made. No more alarms raised. The entire group was taken by the same jubilee which polluted the mortal city. While inside their fortress, joviality reigned...the outside world would be left in the somber dark. None would know of the celebration inside the Advance Division...but such was only fair. They were always the first to know, after all.

Back, Amongst the Living

Through bustling streets and clamouring bars, a path of partying was laid. Irresistible to those who seek the lighter side of living. A wish granted, for those who crave more joy than monotony can provide. In a place like this, scoundrels and sycophants were made gods among men. Those who possessed the talents of flattery or fallacy could do as they pleased. It seem that Barcelona had been reduced to a society of suckers. Each and every person one meets, sharing the same glad and gullible aura. Everyone craving some sort of entertainment or kindness. A city's worth of people, searching for friends. All...except one.

One soul among them all, unfettered by such voracious hopes. One individual, unaffected by the contagion of gladness. The one, old, crusty needle; crushed beneath the haystack. A man, from this place..but not this time. An ancient; hidden among the vibrant youth. A Hollow, and empty shell; surrounded by self fulfilled half wits. Sitting alone, at the corner of a bar. In front of him, a glass that never kept the fill. As soon as the bartender would top it off, he would send it bottoms up. Never allowing the mix to captivate him as it had the others. Just wanting more. More until the stock was emptied. More...until his head was as empty as the stock.

As far as scale was concerned, this gentleman was a bit more bear than brother to the other Spaniards. Standing nearly seven feet, with the broad pair of shoulders to match. The man was just a brute. It was clear. Were they not enamored by the sweeping ideals of fun and camaraderie; the other denizens of this bar would avoid him. Yet...something gave the man magnetism. Something provided on looks, with reasons to leap for it. Perhaps it was the style and cut of his suit, screaming wealth and influence? Hmph, if only they knew the truth of how he acquired it.

Maybe then, it was the peaceful way he kept to himself? A dark and mysterious stranger? Unlikely, in a city as full of: tall, tan, and handsome types such as Barcelona. Ah...what it must have been, was his face. Not for its symmetry or attractiveness, but for the kindness in it's features. There was something about this man, that simply welcomed all who saw him. So profound was this effect, that the room itself seemed to sink towards him. All perspectives lead to the kindly, ol' soul resting by himself. Such a feature was quite useful for the man in a place like this...keeping the bartender forever glancing back to him. Insuring his glass never went empty.

Blonde hair topped his head, bright and dazzling in the lighting. Rather than greys, pristine white hair shone through at the ears. This one had years on him. Years most likely spent indoors, or at least in the shade. With skin as pale as his; there was no believing that he belonged in a sun soaked territory as this. More noticeable from afar, than his size or his looks, was the distance placed between him and the crowd. Even in the confinement of the space. The bar in question, known as Boadas. A tiny hole in the wall, renowned the world over for knowing how to mix true strength into their drinks. In here, one found flavor in cocktails and sedation in straight shots. This gentleman, being here for the latter. Only on occasion did he raise his head, to see what new menagerie spilled through the doors. There was never incentive to talk to anyone, sadly. No discussing, no debating. No flirting, no nothing. Oh, but how many tried.

With his foreign looks and quiet demeanor, he was the perfect target for the locals. Supplying intrigue to their search for distraction. Time and time again, many would approach. Time and time again, his abnormal solemnity would send them away. Such was to be the case all evening, it is shameful to say. This distant traveller was not one seeking exotic, new rendezvous. He did not wish to meet the people, or share their culture. There were but two things he wanted; one within and one beyond his reach. One made of liquor, and one of blood. Until the other came close enough to catch, he would settle for the one. Another quick shot, the liquor gone as soon as it was free from the bottle. Yes. It was going to be a long and wondrous evening for most. But for him, it would seem endless. Marcelius...Fraccion and father...drinking for comfort. Drinking to forget. Endangering the lives of all Barcelona to do so.

(OoC: Marc's drunk state prevents the filtering of his emotions. Emotions which pour onto others, just like his Spiritual Pressure. Just so your clear, he is causing all of Barcelona to party hard, and crave distraction from their problems. Just like he is his...just, without the heartache and sulking. XD )

[Deleted]

“Ha ha~!”

If only it was like this every day. If only life was just as wild as this every day!! Barcelona was practically on fire. As the skies darkened, spirits just became more and more lit up. The streets were alive with merriment. It was practically electrified if you wanted to call it that. There was not a soul who was down in the dumps as far as one’s eyes could see. The atmosphere was infectious in its own way. Misery may have loved company but happiness said “Nah, bitch.”. Everyone kept each other happy it seemed. That was the way to keep the peace and prosper. When you were absolutely happy, no one could bring you down. Hearty laughs echoed for miles on end along with ringing laughter. It was weird. Almost as if the city just suddenly decided to party their hearts out and chase their hardships away with a little dancing and a whole lot of liquor para un noche. It was going to be a long and lively night.

“..Bailar contigo, tener contigo~! Una noche locaa~ Con tremenda notaaaaa~!” A very happy Anastasia Kuchiki sang her heart out, parading down the streets and into a Boadas with not a care in the world just like everyone else did. Fortunately for her, her voice wasn’t scathing or terrible. It was decent and even if it was horrendous, she would not only know, but continue to sing. She didn’t give a fuck. Anastasia was currently having the time of her life~! Spain is and forever will be he favorite place in the human world. After all, there’s no place like home. The feeling of familiarity and warmth resided in the thrill-seeking Kuchiki. Lights of every color painted the scene. Some strung from building to building and some coming from small fireworks being set off. Against the night sky, they gave her shivers. Excitement and anxiousness seemed to take over and calmly, she strode over to multiple party goers and snatched yet another drink of her own.

Anastasia may as well be the party goddess of the night. She was everywhere. Dancing. Drinking. Dallying. Boadas was the place to be. She was the life of it all and she sure as hell felt like it. This was her element and no one did it better than the fearless Spanish Kuchiki. Here she had everything she could possibly want in one night. Good liquor. Good music. Ridiculously good-looking men. Geez. Raion would’ve loved this. Kagami would have as well. Maybe she should go back and get them here…? Mmm.. but she had no idea what either of them were doing at the moment. Also, all of these people would freak at a 700 pound lion roaring drunk. Despite this party being earth bound, it was definitely out of this world. Anastasia was already in a gigai. Sleeping on top of Squad 3’s roof had its perks and pros. Slacking off always did. While they were busy wondering what in seven hells was going on in Barcelona, Anastasia snatched up the opportunity to enjoy herself.

Anastasia, in her own way, stuck out like a sore thumb. Spain was her home but she certainly wasn’t tanned. Her hair was white and her eyes were no different. Jean shorts and a dark red top that hugged her body was tonight's attire. Add some strappy, flat gladiator sandals and bam. That was it. Simple. She knew she spooked a few people but once she started drinking and sining and dancing her ass off, they knew she belonged to the festive atmosphere. The best part of tonight? Shoku-chan wasn’t even angry or upset or even annoyed in the slightest! He was calm and she knew he was fairly happy in his own stick-in-the-mud ways. Shoku-chan may have been his name but the man was Spanish as well. In some life of another. She didn’t know why. His accent just spoke for him sometimes. Of course he wanted her to be safe, but tonight, he’d hold off a little. The man was in solace. Being in their favorite place in the whole wide world was just had that sort of effect on them.

Alas, there was one soul who caught Anastasia’s eye. She’d stopped in her tracks, watching him for a moment. She was somewhat dancing to the music that resonated throughout the bar. He made her slow down though, even making her tilt her head curiously at him. What was his story? Was he just way too drunk? It couldn’t have been. She drank once more. The pirate already had a few drinks in her system but she was far from drunk. Seeing this man almost sobered her up a little. Not only that, but how could she ignore the stares he got and the people approaching him, only to their avail, be sent away with confused expressions etched onto their faces? There was one man in the midst of this bar who didn’t belong. Not in the wrong way. He just seemed to have the burden of the world on his poor shoulders.

Well, she should do something, shouldn’t she? That was her job and most of all, it was what she did best~! Anastasia marched right over to him and as she got closer and closer, she could feel it. He wasn’t of this world. He was an arrancar. Well, that meant next to nothing to her. She’d met some pleasant arrancar before. Kuroi, although 100% unpleasant, was her favorite. Something about gambling with the man and just owing him an assload of money. Oh, you know how this jaded, song goes already. She played with fire and even though she didn’t get burned, she has a good fucking reason to run from it. Anastasia quietly approached him, her face tilting and turning in an attempt to search his face for some kind of answer. It might not be welcome, but she took a seat next to him and scooted as close to him as she good. Invading personal space was her specialty.

“Now…I can’t possibly fathom why you’d ever have such a look on your face.” she had this look on her face like she was absolutely ready to be that person and stick to him like glue. Her fingers found their way to his face and gently guided it in her direction before falling. She started to drum them to the beat of the current song that was currently blaring through the speakers. “Que paso, mi amor?” Something was on his mind. She eyed the shot glasses laid out before him. He’d already had a bit to drink and he was still sad. She propped her arm up on the table, fully turning towards him. She was smiling. It wasn’t the smile the belonged to a trickster. Not her usual mischievous smile. It was genuine and reassuring. It may seem new, but it wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d done this sort of thing for many people. Bars either for the extremely depressed or the extremely happy. There was no such thing as a middle ground here. “You should be having the time of your life, handsome. What’s got you so down?” She’d wait a moment, giving him a chance to answer if he wanted to. She set on finishing her current drink and setting it aside.

“You look good when you’re down but… I think I’d wanna see you smile more. Have some fun? Party? All ‘o that stuff they’re doin’ over there.”

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stats & Abilities}

Strength - 55 Points

Speed - 300 Points

Spiritual Pressure - 360 Points (540)

Reiatsu Strength - 280 Points (420)

Light Aura - 70 Points

Dark Aura - 30 Points

Instinct - 115 (74.7) Points

Senses - 115 (74.7) Points

Energy sensory - 30 (19.5) Points

Healing Expertise - 0 Points


Total SP: 1255 Points

Skills

-Add more if necessary

To add more, use [Insert Skill #X Here] [Insert Level Here]

] Weapons : Nagamaki [3]

[♣] Battle Analysis [3]

[♣] Stealing [3]

[♣] Martial Arts: Kali [2]

[♣] Calm Mind [2]

[♣] Pain Tolerance [1]

[♣] Heat Tolerance [1]

[/ul][/font][/font][/blockquote][/spoiler]

[Marcelius]

"Stoic as the stone." Even as the party within the bar broke out in a hearty, new chorus. The peoples taken in by the energy of some composer. In their state, they were quick to join the rhythm of any brandished drum. The air became cheers and songs, laughter and lyrics becoming the native tongue to all. Yet, the elder did not move. Even when life swirled as a cascade around him, he would not be drug down. Down to the ocean floor. For he, truly, rested already on that bleak bed. A place so low, that none should ever go. That none ever would find hi...

“Now…I can’t possibly fathom why you’d ever have such a look on your face.”

The touch of her finger, so smooth and still, was enough to draw his eyes. The words spoken had failed to reach him. They were but muttered flatteries, drowned in the commotion. The look to which she addressed, had certainly began to shift. While the softness of his features did not vanish, the spellbound distraction had. No more were those empty blue eyes as lost. No longer was the brooding stranger wandering the conscientia infintus. Plucked away from his intoxication fixation; Marcelius was left to sit in confusion. Who was this person? What boldness did she possess that would lead her to so uncouth an action? These questions scribbling themselves hastily within his mind, but none ever spoken.

The time simply did not come. This young woman was too swift with her words. To precise with her advances. Such a veteran she was. Knowing just how to coax a response, and stimulate reaction. How many lives had turned to putty in her ivory digits? How her words like the tonic in his glass. Honeyed and detrimental to sensibility. The siren's call holding all the power to sway him whichever way she pleased. Her intrigue being her own guide; having already begun to pry at him like a safe. So close she was. So well her tricks would have worked...opening his vault of secrets for the first time this evening. Had it not been for his wandering eyes. His eyes betrayed his thoughts, and in turn their seducer. His every curiosity and intention undermined by a brazen stare.

Crafting a look which might unsettle his guest more than all the thirsty glaces of the typical watering hole hooligan. Eyes studying her, but for all the wrong reasons. A glare that could not care for her beauty or charm. A look that discredited the suggestions of her own demeanor. It was though he saw a loved one whom was never supposed to return. Peering at her as though his aching heart might break, under the crushing weight of his joy. An irony of the grandest caliber, considering her mocking declaration of affection. Claiming him in amore. Surely...it was the sort of expression that Ana knew nothing of. Not with a life so devoid of genuineness, or sincerity as hers had been. What could she possibly think? What would she dare say...

Nothing, perhaps. Nothing before the calamity in his expression began to settle. Slowly the fading, with the coming of clarity. The sudden joy now crumbling back into silent pause. Leaving room for interest to build. What had been the cause of that momentary love? What could have ever inspired him to gaze at her so unequivocally relieved? The love of a father is what. The infinite adoration that only comes from a selfless love such as that. It was her hair which first attracted such sentiments. So rare it was to see a color so fair. Beautiful and perfect, like the purest snow. So bold a statement it made, that he could not ignore. It had to be his little girl.

What other soul could have hair like that? Especially in a place like this. From so simple a coincidence, his impression continued to falsely grow. Soon, everything about her matched the idea of his daughter. He knew that her skin was so pale and flawless. That her choice in clothes was as fun and gaudy. That she would find equal entertainment in approaching him as a stranger. Ignoring how fearful her absence had made him. But Ana was not his child. She was not the one he hoped to see again. It was but the delusional hope of a mind, swimming in liquid optimism. That is why his face turned sullen once more. Realization that he had given in too quickly to his daydream. The foolhardy fellow was about to greet this white-eyed stranger as his kin. Well...he was. That being before he heard something, that did not quite add up.

What...what was this new racket? There had come a great commotion, see. One the did not ring in the ears or even shake in the bones. It was not made of singing or even words. It was something more. Sound that was not sound; which could only be heard by the soul. A spirit had descended unto the mortals, bringing with it loud and enticing pressure. Pressure, that the oldster was not so inclined to receive. Pressure that contradicted his own. "Shinigami..." Were it possible to breath a word into a sigh, then such a happening would have occurred. Uttering their formal title with the expected amount of respect and exasperation fitting an enemy. Especially one so consumed by problems. Someone seeking nothing more than isolation for the realm of spirits, and the wars of angels. With a few blinks, his tired eyes adjusted to her image. Soon, his whispered voice responded as best he could manage.

"Perdona. Usted me recuerda a alguien." This was not Llusia. The child was elsewhere. Still hating him...never wanting him to be near her again. And here he was. Powerless to chase her. Sharing his time with yet another being who, he figured, wanted him just as dead. Ah, but wisdom should have told him. Experience and knowledge should have prepared. There was no escaping reality. Not even for those beings of myth and fantasy, such as monsters and gods. He should have expected one of their kind to intrude upon his evening, such was inevitable. The presence of a Hollow like him...it never goes unnoticed. More so, for a presence that makes no attempt to hide itself.

A soul like Marcelius'; which bled onto the world around him like an open heart. Much like that of his new guest. Anastasia Holding up his hand, signalling with two fingers. "¿Me gustaría tener dos más, por favor?" Turning his head away from her soft touch, making sure the barman heard him. With such a lady at his side; though, such would not be a concern. "Dos para mí y otro para mi...amore." The pause had him turn back to her, not sure what to address her as in such a public place. Ana's own suggestion being an acceptable substitute. "Gracias..."

It brought him more comfort to watch the drinks be poured, rather than look at the specter to his side. Llusia or not, identical or not...his mind projected too much of his grief at the sight of her. The only other thing that might quell this extension of guilt, was the splashing sound of liquor. As the night had gone on, it became a soothing lullaby. "¿Beber tanto como usted, puede ella? Ey, Marc?" The barman seemed older himself. A master of the craft to handle a place like this. When paired with the Arrancar, they seemed like great old friends.

There was the feeling of bond and friendship between them. One that should not exist between the living and the dead. Especially when the dead is a killing machine, hungry for the misery of other souls. Yet, here they were. The barman teasing his elder customer and calling him by his first name. Showing a little worry about the girl, and whether he would have enough to keep serving them. Assuming she was anything like her senior date. "No, somos diferentes." In so many ways, that his human friend could not possibly understand.

With a little laugh, one to replace the answer he could not think of; Aristeo poured them their drinks. Rum con limon. Extra lemons in this case. All placed on the side. The zesty mix was usually weakened by the lemons, but not tonight. He had not been here to savor each sip. Still, he loved those bright, yellow lemons. Just had to have them served on the side. Grabbing one of the icy glasses, he extended his finger to nudge hers towards her with the same hand. In such a hurry to have the refreshment enter his system, he almost cut off his own words with the lip of the glass. "Yo no baile...yo soy demasiado viejo para eso. " This one was in the winter season. The " time of his life" was long forgotten. The antics of youth, and taunting invitations to join, had all lost their power. "Usted no pertenece aquí...not anymore, at least. Your accent sounds right at home; however. Might we say this is...just a little vacation for you?"

Even when his eyes were away, there was a sense that he still stared. Just being near him made the soul feel naked. While it could be seen as friendly and concerned; it could also be harsh and critical. Whichever the case being quite dependant on the soul in question. How did they take to feeling so closely watched? Was it shameful or reassuring? "Maybe you, and some friends. Or perhaps someone more special..." Giving a glance back over his shoulder, the Hollow's eyes swept the room cautiously.He did not survey the room, he surveyed everything for a vast distance. Filtering through those with high spirits...and those who were spirits.

One Shinigami had hidden in the rambunctious crowd already. What was there to deny the existence of more. Eventually his entire focus came to rest on her, unable to detect any accomplices she might have. Haunted by the threat of an ambush. "Even if this is not a holiday, I would ask you to pretended as such. For a while longer at least." That gloom that hovered around him finally coming out through his tone. Without a sound, he reached for the second glass that had been set for him. Eager to taste the numbing nectar again..."I cannot much stand the company of death, when it is hard at work."..before his cohort could adjust the mood to something...a little more hostile.

[Deleted]

Ah! So he speaks! Naturally, he had the tongue of a native; something Anastasia greatly appreciated. It wasn’t everyday she encountered that. Sometimes a little slice of home was nice. Her true home was in Madrid but Barcelona was just as nice and just as beautiful. To the pirate, all of Spain was hers… just as it was so many centuries ago. “Ah, hablas así!” she exclaimed excitedly, her face lighting up. For a second, she was a little worried he wouldn’t be able to communicate with her. Anastasia spoke many languages. The language of thugs. The language of money. The language of love… Oh my… those are all the same weren’t they? How troublesome for everyone else~!

The look he gave her was something she seemed to recognized. Haunted. He was a haunted soul who seemed to carry the weight of something immense upon his old, tired shoulders. The real mystery was what. Could the answers be here in Barcelona or was it something else entirely? Anastasia wouldn’t know. She’d only been able to take bits and pieces from what was being shown to her. She came in unexpectedly to his brooding. Maybe he just really needed someone to talk to. Someone to cheer him up. Someone who would listen without a single judgmental thought. Anastasia could certainly manage that. She was a shoulder to cry on when most needed it. It made her subordinates easy to come to her with any little problem they had. Even if she did a shit job at paperwork and all the formal stuff, she wasn’t all that bad underneath. She figured she might have to pry but getting him to talk would probably make him feel better.

However, she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy his reaction. The look in his azure eyes coupled with genuine surprise was something Anastasia lived for. Being the trickster she was, she loved to catch people off guard and throw them for a loop. The sight of their cheeks going red and the sheer fact of knowing their hearts skipped just a beat faster was just too entertaining to the female Kuchiki. Too sweet to pass up and not sweet enough to give her cavities. She was never going to stop. Such a shame that her new compadre here was going to be her victim tonight. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it either. Even if she knew what he was, there was no stopping her. Besides, everyone’s a liar when they say arrancar are mean, ugly monsters. Kuroi wasn’t ugly! Certainly, this man didn’t seem to have a mean or ugly bone in his body. Maybe they were on the verge of developing osteoporosis or somethin’ but certainly not ugly or mean.

He was signaling someone to come over to their table. She dropped her hand moving it over to the glass she had previously and played around with it, moving her finger around the rim idly. Her attention was drawn to the barman and she nodded curtly. That merry look never once leaving her face. "Dos para mí y otro para mi...amore." What a surprise! She looked at him, grinning. Well, free drinks were free. If they weren’t on her, it was absolutely fine. He looked back at her as if he was unsure of his word choice and she merely cocked an eyebrow before looking up at the barman, watching him walk off. “Amor?” she smiled wickedly. Was he playing her game or was he just unsure of what to do next? She was going to tease him for it. “Por supuesto que se mueve rápido, guapo. Creo que me gusta eso~” she snickered. ”Anastasia, do not ruin this night. Te juro que no se oye al final del mismo.“ his voice was steely and stern and rich with a certain accent not unlike many here. It only made her want to smile shamelessly even more. That was going down the drain.

The barman was back and she could see the relief in her friend’s eyes. Or …Marc’s eyes? That was the name the barman used.. At the same time, Anastasia would wait for him to introduce himself to her… Or something. He took solace as the intoxicating liquids filled each of their glasses. He seemed almost too afraid to look at her again. Like, really look at her. Should she make him and push his buttons? Anastasia stared at her glass as she mulled over the thought of it. She could stir trouble. She could absolutely ruin the exuberant atmosphere of this bar. The jovial shouting and singing would turn to screams if she started some shit. Hm. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea at the time. She picked up her glass, raising it and looking at him before lightly clinking it against his own. “Cheers~” she took one hard gulp, like it was water and set it down. Starting shit…Heheh.. Oh, it was still a good idea… just, not now. Heh. "Yo no baile...yo soy demasiado viejo para eso. " Anastasia feigned a gasp. She raised a hand to her mouth, surprise clearly on her face. “¿Qué? ¡Tonterías! Parece que eres lo suficientemente joven para bailar a su manera en el corazón de cualquier chica! No aparenta más de treinta años!” It was a shameless, charming lie. The kind you tell to old people to lighten their mood.

He seemed a little serious, but Anastasia’s spirits were never dampened. They grew brighter and spread everywhere like wildfire. "Usted no pertenece aquí...not anymore, at least. Your accent sounds right at home; however. Might we say this is...just a little vacation for you?" Now they would more than ever. Anastasia laughed loudly. It was one of genuine amusement. Her company tonight was interesting. Here she was speaking spanish to the man when she could’ve used english. Not that she’d complain. Both were nice. She shook her head. “Not quite~ I was born in Madrid.” Ditching the accent was difficult. It would remain….forever. Even when she said vulgar things. It had a pretty ring to it. She picked up her glass, taking a sip before speaking again. “Every day is a vacation for me. Ah! Just don’t tell my Captain~” Oddly enough, she hadn’t noticed before but she liked what she was drinking. “You have good taste~ Better than most.” She motioned her head to the glass before setting it down once more. She could tell he was reading her. Reading her like a book. Anastasia didn’t know the depth of it but, she didn’t care. She had nothing to hide… just didn’t tell anyone too much about herself. Very few people knew about the inner workings of the wicked pirate of Squad 6.

"Maybe you, and some friends. Or perhaps someone more special..." Without missing a beat, the white-haired vixen responded. “Someone special like you~? I’m afraid I cannot think of anyone else~” There was no one else here. Though she would suspect Raion or Kagami hearing word of the shenanigans going on in Spain… but none of them were around. She would know. Just like Anastasia, they were like tornados; their presence would be recognized from miles away. You knew they were coming and they stormed the place and took charge. She looked at him expectantly, curious as ever. Did he react well to her remarks? Cat got his tongue? Anastasia was someone who always had something to say no matter what the situation. This man, despite the fact that he seemed to be a man of very few words, seemed as though he possessed a great deal of things to say. A well that would never run dry… maybe until his last breath. She liked people like that.

The most disappointing thing to her however, was that he seemed to be on his guard. He’d barricaded himself with glass walls; where he could see and read people from his own safety and keep people out. The way he spoke sounded as if he had far too many stories to tell. Far more than the average soul should be burdened with. Perhaps it was the natural instinct that Shinigami and Arrancar were always at each others throats. They didn’t always have to be. At least, not to Anastasia. “I promise I’m great company, handsome~ You’ll find I’m a little different.” she said quite happily as she sat back into her chair, relaxing. She had a delighted little smile on her face when she looked at him. “My friend, you don’t need to be on your guard around me~ If there’s anything I chase with all my heart, it’s happiness” She took her glass and raised it. “To happiness~!” ..and her never-ending pursuit of it.

Anastasia drank, finishing her glass. “What about you..?” she propped her arm up on the table and rested her head in the palm of her hand. She was as interested as ever to hear from him. Story time was always fun time. She helped herself to his tie, picking it up and letting it slide through her fingers as she spoke. It reminded her of her time as a fearless pirate. She’d told tall tales and even taller tales and heard them and hear ones fearsome enough to shut a man up for a good week. How fortunate that she was a woman. A fearless one at that. “You on vacation? You seem right at home here~” It was certainly obvious. Everyone had a home once. Even if people called hollow monsters (which, to some degree, they were), one had to remember that they had to have some degree of humanity to them… and if you had a bit of that, you had something you called home. Perhaps this was it.

She stood up, holding her now empty glass, waving it. “Nos gustaría un poco más! Por favor~!” she shouted to the bar man eagerly before sitting down again. “Do I look strange to you?” She asked him in a low voice as she moved herself closer, her head moving around to face him completely. He had…lots of wrinkles. Wrinkles like a 31 year old. Huh. Anastasia wasn’t far off then~. She knew she stood out. White hair coupled with the unnatural, matching white eyes. Anastasia remembered when she took advantage of it in a mission to a snowy place. She’d dressed in nothing but white. It was all in the name of scaring her comrades. It worked. A smile slowly worked its way on to her face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost~ Care to share?” She wasn’t moving either. It then donned on her that she hadn’t introduced herself. Here she was, sitting all carefree and happy next to this troubled stranger. Who cares? “I do. Have some damn manners for once.” Yeesh. The priest has spoken..

“Anastasia-Solis Kuchiki~ Don’t forget it~”

[Marcelius]

Guapo. Would he live a million years, such a word he never thought he would hear again. Not in sobriety. Yet, here he was, hearing it for the second time. Yet again, off the rolling tongue of a Spanish spitfire. Did he simply scream gullible? Was his appearance really so desperate for such gracious lies? Regardless of the truth of it, it was exceedingly entertaining. Enough so that his mind skipped a beat. Throwing the tune towards jolly, but failing to make the shift stick. The word had meant a lot, but...it came from an unacceptable source. Well, one he could not accept. But acceptance was never a barrier for this girl. It was as milemarker on her ever stretching road of success. A sign to let her know she had struck him deep. Right where she wanted. Already getting his thoughts to pivot. Ready to be pushed right off their balance.

Were he a normal man, he might not catch the triumphant ego in her cheer. Were he not so included in her thoughts, he might have thought the hurrah innocent. Devoid of the self satisfaction that clearly spawned it. Hoisting his glass, the old Hollow nodded. It was the smallest gesture, but the only one she would get. There was more reaction from the bar around them, as her plaudit sent a rise through the crowd. Language need not be understood for the crowd to join in the ovation. Such was the setting of this evening. But not with them. Well, not with both of them. Honestly, her efforts to lift his spirits were off to a poor start. Seeing her there, from the corner of his eye. How she was dressed and dolled, she was meant for much better things than a bar stool. Like seeing a decorative bottle of wine. Oh the grandiose joys one could have, if they just removed it from the shelf. Were Anastasia to be anchored next to this old slum all evening, that is what she would become. A pretty bottle, missing out on the fun she could spark.

Heh, such troubling thoughts. Riddled with such inaccuracies. Cuan necio...as if Ana would allow herself to be wasted. She knew what she was doing. Whether it was a party of souls, or only one; the pirate was always applying her wickedness to the fullest. Bottle on a shelf, hmm? Not at all. There was no seal on her foolery. No bottom to her jollity. She was a tap for that sort of thing. The contents of which would drown his soul in mirth and confidence. Till he was as happy as her. Like liquor from a faucet, her flatteries were a constant, delighting pour. Each word was another sip from the liquid delirium. This one was quite agile with her wit, and oh so eager to have it show. Listening to her could be a guilty pleasure. Something that should cause more shame than the pride it fosters.

Something he would feel much worse about...once she and her charms had left. Like the ache of a hangover, her absence would be unpleasant and regrettable. Just the sort of thing he was hoping to avoid. The sort of fate he had already had plenty of. All of it without this young beauties help. "Escuche ahora...", laying his glass back to the counter. Addressing her once more, without a look. "Those compliments are worse for me than these drinks, y más costosos." Costly, for who knew what she charged for such kindness. Would he be purchasing her playfulness with cash, secrets, or might reactions be all the treasure she needs? She already got her first free drink...maybe he had already been duped. Either way, knowing her motives was a working progress. A process very much hindered by his polluted blood. ¡Dios maldito, ron!

The night was only beginning. There was still so much more that could occur. For the large, ol' fella, this was equally true. The expectations of his size would be quite accurate. It would take a lot before his body started feeling the effects of the drinks they shared. Could the same be said for her? Glancing to the emptied glass on the counter, the answer seemed clear. Not a surprise. Not entirely. It was the common thing that Spaniards could hold their spirits. In his case, it was doubly true. So if she possessed a talent equal or exceeding, he should find no great shock in discovering it. Knowing of it's possible existence; however, was not discouraging to his curiosity. A another round was ordered for them both; while she spilled the truth behind her accent. A sweet courtesy she paid her new friend. Especially since he only asked if she were on vacation...or no. Seems he had guessed right. Right on the reales.

She was as native as his memories. Coming from this beautiful land, with far more connection than he could dare claim. How funny, then...that neither of them looked the part at all. Oh, but there was no denying it. They were children, to some extent, of the same motherland. To his downfall, this might mean her tolerance is rivalling his own. Perhaps exceeding it. But with the cons, her especially, there also came the pros. Being from such a hot and passionate home as this, she would know of emotions as deep as his. A fervor that foreign souls found far too vigorous to relate. "Madrid...", already his eyes glazed as his memories resurface. "I have not seen her in years." Though his recounting was enough to give him distraction, his words did not hassle her in the least. Rather she continued to her jaded boast. One which received much of her character. Much that had been hiding behind the haze of his foggy, gafas de cerveza.

Suddenly, her attire and attitude were puzzle pieces. Coupling with her admission, forming an image of what Anastasia wanted him to see. A very easy sell, on her part. "I know that feeling...", a smug grin weaseling onto his lips. "Boss blues." Tilting his head closer to her, offering the next bit as a whisper. "My own and I...well, our methods do not often match." Eyes aimed straight at the wall beyond the bar, still not locking with her own. Though by now it was starting to get clear, that it was not fear which drove this division. Something far more unsettling was the culprit. An awkwardness more difficult to explain. Hearing her comment on his taste reminded him of her flattery before, and once more made him draw away. Just in time for a fresh serving to arrive. "Mmm...", thinking in reference to the quality taste, "I had stopped noticing it, actually."

Then came the fatal slip. The kind often writ into great poetry, or drama. The moment of trust in a traitor. Faith in a fool. The flash of love in the tragic couples' eyes. The Fraccion's choice, of words in this case, set him up for disaster. A much deserved calamity, given his ill-preparedness. No sooner had he asked her of her possible accompaniment, did she turn him on his toes. Verdaderamente, cayó en la cuenta. The sudden tease was enough to drum up his pulse. In a way, it was surprise. Surprise that she would say such. The surprise that he would believe, for a second, that she might not. Was he really that clouded? The rest of his enticement came from the furthered uneasiness he felt. That same awkward presence that existed before. Stoked like a kindling fire. Turning to a blaze of pure discomfort. Oh yes, she got the reaction she craved. At this point, he was losing his desire to try and restrain them. To stop tipping and toeing around her goading.

Raising his head, sweeping those deep, azule eyes her way. Through them all color faded. Like the darkness of the ocean floor, expanding evermore. "Do not...", what? The idea incomplete. Time passing. Nothing. A fleeting speech. Where could his words had gone? What could keep stripping them away. The answer, was her. The pale eyed stranger, and her menacing advances. Leaving such a composed soul as him stammering. Whether he could answer did not seem to matter to her, as she pressed on with her amusement. Twisting him further, with every following word. Till the point, Do not call me handsome." Said with the same half hearted laugh that anyone denying a compliment might employ. "Una palabra como...hmm, no se aplica a mí." Grabbing up the glass before him, it was quick to drop. That voice of his turning gruff as a satisfying breath poured out from his lungs. Another few drops in the sea he was trying to fill. Still not quite enough for her comments to not come from the image of his little one.

Oh, but damn...then came the big guns. There was no way to decorate or embroider it. Sensing his resistance, Ana worked up a plan to scale the walls. Rather than be turned away by them, something in her was eager to assail them. Something rebellious. A scoundrels prerogative. Love for danger and challenge. With it, pressure. An unintended consequence of interaction between their kinds. The foundation of why souls like theirs are not meant to mingle, or cross. Spiritual conflict. A stifling exchange of force. One that could go unfelt to those not blessed with the presence of Reiatsu. A clash of auras and energies, exaggerated by their spiritual strengths. Oh, how impressive hers was. How heavily it laid on him, despite the lightheartedness of her behavior. As soon as she set onto him with assertions of his raised guard, the match began.

What she noticed was indeed a barricade. The expulsion of force between oppositely aligned souls. The claims she made, of being different. They were enough to cause him a genuine laugh. The first of the evening so far. Enough of a release to ease off the spiritual tension that rose and feel between them. "Ah-ha. Oh I know how different you are. And you me.", spoken with intentional nonchalant. With no indication that anything should be amiss for the mortals around them. "It is that difference...and your blatant disregard of it...that has me so concerned." Eyes hovering on the totality of her figure. Grinning as he glanced back to his glass. Hoping to find just enough remnants for him to avoid an "empty" toast with her. "To happiness." Polishing off what remained, he went right back to his counter. Soon to realize, she was not deterred. That the mutual knowledge of their identities was not enough to spurn her. Or initiate an assault. What a happy revelation, indeed. What terrible things was she really after, then?

Ah, there it was. Like sudden sunshine; through the parting storm. The reveal, blinding to the eyes. "What about you..?" Simple enough question, but an answer to most all of his worries. The motivation, or at least one, was curiosity. This Soul Reaper sincerely wanted to pick and pry for information. To disassemble the defenses he had erected. Crawl beneath the wire. To what purpose, he could only guess. Very easily. It was no secret she was taking delight in his every action. So far this evening, the happiness she celebrated had been earned time and again. Each momentary pause or stumbling, on his part, elating her from head to toe. It was her only desire. The pursuit of that satisfaction. Looking deeper into his soul, learning what there was to discover, would only further this fascination. All of his issues and insecurities, turned on him like perfected poison. Yet, it was the sort of poison he wanted to drink. The creation of the toxin, alone, his great desire. It was something he, a mind obsessed with his identity as a monster, longed to experience.

The consideration and intrigue of others. Interest from souls other than his own, over what was really going on inside his head. Most times, empathy was a lonely one way street. A thoroughfare devoid of passersby. One empty of warm greetings and treasured company. Mercy, how many other lonely men before him had succumbed to such an act? The notion was enough to persuade a chuckle from him. ”How good she is...this Anastasia.” Eyes widening with the donning of comprehension, ”What if Miho was more like this…” Neither the world, or himself, would be ready for that sort of Miho. One who found ways to kill with kindness, as much as malice. Even just imagining her behaving as flirtatiously as this Shinigami...bwuaah, it made the elder cringe. A noticeable display of queasiness. Thankfully, it was short lived and with no lasting results. Shaking his head, both to answer her...and to fight back the taste left in his mouth. "I have many, many...fond memories of this place. I suppose I just started blending with them over time." A little smile, one that was far warmer than the amused bits before. "I will take "belong" as a compliment, given the beauty of the natives."

That silken hand, pale as moonlight. Seeing it writhe itself through his defenses was problem enough. The presence made worse by the gentle clutch she put on his tie. Twisting it in her fingers, as if examining it's quality. A pointless gesture, considering his knowledge of her. The Hollow knowing it was just a leash to her. An expensive one, almost as soft and smooth as her digits. A means to torment him above and beyond the limits of mere words. For her it was play, for him dismay. Yet, he was strong willed. Keeping that slight smirk from before, but eyes staying off of her. That was...well, it did not last long. The snowy vixen leaned herself further on the bar, placing herself square in the middle of his visual sanctuary. The unorthodox closeness forcing his eyes to turn up to hers. A linking between the blue and the bleached. Staring into those pearly orbs, there was no way for Marcelius to avoid the similarities. Strange, she asked. A ghost, she says..."No." The affection that gave him so much color before, had returned. The previous warmth of his eyes began to glow anew. It was not an effect of charm or flattery, but one of nostalgia.

"You look like someone I know...", the elder's face turned a bit tired. "Someone I fear, will become a ghost." Now his smirk became a placid smile. One of forced happiness and clear disguise. "A daughter...whom would prefer me dead." Revelation. Bold and to the point; as well as interrupted. The barman returned, delivering the requested drink for Ana...and a full bottle for Marc. Seems his new "love" was indeed, quite the drinker. The kind who can refill for themselves, rather than continue to bother the poor, serving soul. "Looking at you. Sitting there...", he cocked his head and bit his breath. An exaggerated expression, that gives hesitation before saying unwelcome words. Words that hurt their speaker, like they might the listener. "Just reminds me how far she really is." Glass filled, straight. No twist of limon or flavor. Pure, liquid knockout. Quick to be tossed back. Followed by a reenergized sigh." Aah, so I am here. Drinking till I think of a solution. Or die. Either result, it's all for her." Empty glass clinging on the counter, head turning to face her in earnest. Watching, much as she had. Eager to record the effect he instilled. Curious what mark he would leave on here.

Dropping his head a bit, another chuckle trailed off. "But now...I am drinking with a Shinigami." Then came the pressure. Resurging as it had before. "And...the outcomes seem expressly limited." The nature of this pressure was very personal. Highly concentrated. Affecting only the Vice Captain, and no other. Appearing as a shifting, struggling aura of gold. One which would be met by her own bluish emission. A force that felt strong, and lethal. It pressed against her. Demanding that her own energy push back. Otherwise, she would simply be crushed under the weight. Though, there was little fear or worry of that. This young woman was very strong, such was clear. Resisting his strength would be nothing. Not even distracting enough to impede their conversation. Not for her, at least. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Kuchiki. I am Marcelius Despres." Still smiling, an odd mix of comfort in his smile; while grief filled his eyes. "I know that family name well. Especially what it means to a Hollow, such as myself."

Connected to it, a legacy of death. Something far more gruesome than whatever trifle his name could claim. Of the two, only she would bear any fame. "So...I wonder if you are here to kill me?" Reaching for the bottle of untampered ron, pouring himself another glass. "I wonder...if I could convince you otherwise." Placing down the bottle, sliding it across the bar to her. "Or if my sad story and shared spirits are payment enough for your mercy." By this point, the old man was lost between amusement and sorrow. Not sure if he should be pleased with his jokes, or braced for oncoming demise. Truly, a fiendish pickle to find oneself in. A situation that would not resolve well, but nor did it have to resolve now. Their clashing pressures hardly strained at this point. Of the conflict, no one was the wiser. Perhaps their evening would be exciting. Dangerous and memorable. Maybe; however, Ana was one for...prolonged engagements...

[Deleted]

”Escuche ahora…”

He didn’t need to look at her. Just hearing him address her was enough to know that she’d succeeded in her attempts to throw him off. Anastasia loved to to toy with people and she loved to flirt. To say shameless things to another was far too much fun. Extra points if the person was serious or had easy feathers to ruffle. Yet, this man’s reaction was downright delicious to the pirate. She had to mess with him more. No ifs and buts about it.

“That’s not a problem is it?” she asked almost teasingly. Was he just used to hostility from Shinigami? It was understandable. Some of them weren’t so smart. Many of them were narrow-minded. Anastasia was free. Liberated. She didn’t share the hive mind of “All races are bad and only the Shinigami are good”. No. Anastasia, while she still did her missions and occassionaly did good things, was still herself. She was her own person and she thought for herself. Everything she did was her own decision. For her, someone being concerned with something like that was such a foreign feeling. “Opposites attract and all that. Oh, you know that goes already~.” she waved her hand nonchalantly as if it were no big deal. Anastasia was hitting on the man and she was treating it as if it were a normal every day conversation. Of course, there was a slightly more manipulative twist to all of this… but it was something that didn’t make her embarrassed at all. Anastasia felt as though she had no reason feel that way.

For someone as calm as he was, she was a little surprised that he made that point. Anastasia had seen her fair share of good people and bad people. They were everywhere. All you needed to do was think with a cool head and don’t jump to conclusions. There were no saints. None except for her spirit. “Honestly, my friend, you needn’t worry about that silliness. There is good and bad everywhere. People are too caught up in their fears to notice it.” She shrugged, her fingers moving to her chilled glass, idly spinning it slowly as she spoke in hushed tones. “Usted encontrará que soy diferente .... y disfrutar plenamente.” She marveled at the thought of Marcelius being at a loss for words because of HER words. Her shameless, amusing words. Anastasia could sense his uneasiness. With so much going on around them, the noises and the music and the cheers the thing that screamed volumes were his own actions. It was all smiles on the Kuchiki’s end. She felt triumph and thoroughly enjoyed the hell out of it.

Anastasia raised her glass to the barman, “Gracias~” she beamed, watching him push himself through energetic party goers to make his way back to his station. Anastasia was perpetually in a good mood. Even more so in an atmosphere like this. It was a party all night and she wasn’t going to stop! No one was allowed to stop. Not even Marcelius. She was going to make the man party his heart out until his pacemaker can’t pace no more. #WasThatWrongOfMe. Either way! She was going to make sure he had the time of his life. Drink, dance, more drinking, more losing things that magically found their way into her pockets. Yeah. This should be a good night. Speaking of witchcraft, Ana had a plan in mind and it involved the tie around his neck. Heh. Hello.

"I have many, many...fond memories of this place. I suppose I just started blending with them over time. I will take "belong" as a compliment, given the beauty of the natives." He seemed to be warming up which made Ana beam. “Well, you’ll make new ones here, handsome. The night’s young and this party’s bound to get out of control… somehow. I have thought of how yet.” Her whole face lit up as she insinuated that she would be the sole cause of a little chaos and craziness in this bar. If it kept going like this, maybe he’ll shed the whole ‘I'm sad about something’ shell and try to have a good time. Of course, she could make all of that come crashing down. He kept his eyes off her? She made him look at her. It was rude after all… Not that Ana cared, but if he asked, that was her excuse. "You look like someone I know...Someone I fear, will become a ghost. A daughter...whom would prefer me dead. Looking at you. Sitting there... Just reminds me how far she really is. Aah, so I am here. Drinking till I think of a solution. Or die. Either result, it's all for her." Okay. By some grace of god, this pale ghastly Kuchiki looked like his daughter. How in the hell? She was legitimately stumped and it cause her to raise an eyebrow. What slick, witty line could she fire back at him… after learning she looked like his daughter.

She turned her head away, looking at her glass, laughing for a moment. She picked it up and downed it quickly before looking back at him to speak once more. The first thing she could do was…. be honest. “She’s not as far as you think. I don’t think any daughter wants their father dead.” If she could have it differently, she’d have her real father with her. But he died from yellow fever so many years ago alongside her mother. She’d been alone with Antonio, whom she still never found, ever since. Never in a million years, even after her life of hard knocks, would she want him dead. “They might be mad and just scream it… but I guarantee you, she doesn’t feel that way.” Sure, it was easy to say. She was someone’s daughter. It was all she had to show that maybe she didn’t hate him. Maybe it was petty stuff. Maybe it was over a boy. Fights always started with a girl in love and boy who’s heart was broken. Who knows what she was doing or where she was… all she could say was “I’m sure she loves you. Even if it doesn’t seem that way. People get angry and they do very stupid things. Love makes us do extremely stupid things. It doesn’t make us clear in the head and we act irrationally. But! I’d like to think that when that person comes to their senses, they see the things they really want to keep around.” She poured herself another full glass. “Maybe she’s somewhere out there hoping you’d come talk to her again.” she smiled and then, bottoms up. She lapped it up like water. Something told her this was going to be a very, very long night and she was totally down for that. She eagerly refilled his glass before she filled hers.

”But now…I am drinking with a Shinigami. Did her race really matter that much? Since he was making such a fuss about it, she was going to make him pay in her own little way. In addition to showing him just a taste of her own spiritual pressure, she was going to embarrass him. “Marcelius Despres, eh~?” she said slowly as if his name needed to be tried out properly with her native tongue. She grinned wickedly. “The pleasure is all mine.” Once again, her hand slowly made its way over to his tie. “I do not like to kill…. Or fight much. I like to talk, as you've noticed~” She was carefully trying to steal his tie, loosening it and working it off of his neck. “As I’ve said, you’ll find that I’m quite different. I hope that doesn’t scare you. I just like having a damn good time~” The last sentence she spoke was half hearted. She had every intention of scaring him with her bold actions. She decided to move closer as she finally started to get the rest of his tie off. She was using the same tricks again, making him look at her with her other hand. Only, she’d decided to get too close, moving her face much closer to is. Ha. The tie was hers! “Us? Fight? Oh, mercy me—”

She jolted considerably, pushing herself back away from Marcelius. With good timing too. The day was saved for Marcellius. Nothing happened at all. Anastasia was sitting there blinking with his tie in her hand. Her eyes were no longer white. They were this jaded shade of purple. Her eyes looked like there was much experience and wisdom behind them. They were not her eyes. Still, she was blushing. It was such scandalous behavior that neither of them could help themselves. Anastasia would’ve kept going and Shoku-chan was more firm on his stance of not engaging in anything… period. He was the one occupying her body at the moment. Marcelius would hear only the manliest of sighs. “You’ll have to excuse her. She is.... a handful.” He groaned, clearly annoyed with her actions. Here she was, ready to have him eating out of the palm of her hand and Shoku-chan just intervened. Ah~ That’s alright~ It would be interesting to see how he handled the world

“I am known as Shokubai-En. I am the spirit which lives in her sword.”

Heh. Talk about divine intervention…

“I am truly..erm…sorry. Until Anastasia sobers up a little, I’m afraid I’ll have to take over.” Shoku’s voice was very similar to Anastasia’s. Rather, one aspect of it was. His accent was the same, if not, stronger than her’s. A man from Spain whose memories of his home were beyond him. All he knew was that Spain was home to him. Barcelona specifically. He hadn’t the slightest idea as to how it all happened or what happened but he only went by one name and it wasn’t even his native name. He was a man of virtue and she was living happily in sin. Shoku and Anastasia couldn’t have been anymore different. Polar opposites of each other and yet, they had such a trusting connection to one another. Spending their years watching out for one another, mostly getting Anastasia out of her own mess, teaching the girl, reprimanding her, reminding her she was a walking lunatic. He hated to say it but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Their friendship worked and despite her actions, he was fine with it… for the most part.

“Your story troubles me… but it is as she says. My prayers are with you. Is there nothing I can do to quell your worries?”

[Marcelius]

(OoC: Gonna apologize for the delay! Had to finish that Vizzay! Let's get this going again!)

She...was different. An idea which held so much meaning and possibility. One his companion sought to recite like a breath, as if the very thought within it was a necessary for her continued survival...as the air filling her lungs. She wanted him aware of her identity. That she, Anastasia, was nothing of within the norm. As much as he tried to dwell on her spiritual fingerprint, she tried to distance herself from it. The more he peered at the Shinigami Reiatsu, the more she acted out. Soul Reapers, sworn defenders of the Soul Society, and hunters of Hollows. There was no way one of her kind could ever be so involved with on of his. Yet, she pushed against such nature.

Opposites attract, hah, anything attracts when driven by such passion as hers. Looking at him though he were a person, not a monster. Going further still, to lace every glance with the most suggestive qualities. Implying with each meeting gaze that they could be more than monster and hunter. More than man and woman. Gracious, she was a talented succubus. Shame then that. Marcelius had grown well beyond the furey charms of youth. The old Hollow would see any trace of humanity which remained, suppressed under the tyrant of wisdom. Whatever spontaneity or impulses younger days once held, now buried.

Yet still, she tried. Continuing her seduction unabated, as if she knew a secret to his behavior that he could not consider. Like a carver, whittling away the marble to some new masterpiece emerged from ancient slab. Every expression of her face, each beautiful glimmer of her smile. The way her hands slithered, like smoke from some intoxicating herb, enticing eyes to follow. The breathy calm of her voice, tickling his ears as much as the words might tingle his nerves. It was art, what she endeavored to produce. To what end, however? What possible motivation could she have? As talented as she was, it was hard to imagine she was naive. There was no way she saw anything of worth in the scarecrow beside her. No value in friendship with the enemy. No satisfaction in the attention of a mope about.

No excitement in the possibility of romance, not with someone so extraordinarily older. These ideas and more should have rolled about in his head. Yet they did not. Rather, they all seemed to sink away as the Shinigami free close. How close? Enough to be intimate time, and time again. Far closer than a blade would need to find the soft place between the ribs. Far closer still, than Marc would have preferred her to be. The touch of her hand upon his chest, despite the complexity of chore there endeavored, went unnoticed. The tie that once clung comfortably to his neck, now sank as loose and relaxed as her attempts at flattery should have left him. Rather envious, the Arrancar should be, that his tie find such solace in a situation that left him bound and twisted inside. The irony being that he was the one now in knots.

Still, the young woman went on about her taunts and pleas. Rolling her tongue and pursing her lips with the speech. Behaving like a true native, in manners and accent alike; using both to consolidate her claim. She was different. She belonged here, in this sort of moment. Not in the solemn walls of the Gotei's fortress. No. Here, among the rabble and the holler. On the hot streets of a Spanish town, basking in the lights of celebration and candor. Her pale skin and dazzling charms reflecting every joy and excitement of the nightlife, back onto those who shared it with her. She. Was. Different. There was no need for him to think of her as the enemy. To consider her wiles anything but a gift. To interpret her suggestions as earnest fun, rather than malicious betrayal. Honestly, as her advances took on more of the allure of romance...he almost fell. The situation was too weighed against him. Within his head was a cluttering of noise. Noise which was made foggy by the ever intoxicating presence of the devil to his right.

Though he had been called "fathead" before, only now did his neck feel troubled by the weight. Mmm, seems the alcohols might finally be reaching his system. Otherworldly endurance doing little to numb him to the effects, especially not a half-dozen bottles worth of it. As such, when she drew near, he could not think of anything else. Except the little one he had lost...his reason for being here all along. To that end, there was no reaction but retreat. Were her prize not already in her grasp; were she intent on seeing through with the implications her movement suggested, he may have fallen flat from his stool.

Balance lost thanks to his tonic-fueled stupor. There was no way, he could see this individual as someone different right now. It was the only thing saving him from becoming a permanent ornament on her little finger. Each time he took an extended look at her, he felt the ripples of memory trickle in. Each time her appearance muddled by the history which stained his conscience most considerably. Though her goal of unnerving him was triumphantly achieved, it was at no little cost of his own sentiments. Salvation was needed. An escape from her torments and the past grievances they inspired. Fortunately, for every sinner in Spain, there is a priest...

Though worn and out of practice, the old man's ears perked to the sound of a new voice. The deep and grimacing tone was one too familiar to deny, and too unexpected to miss. With a jerk of his head, the elder set his eyes back upon the Shinigami. Without need of the wearing ol' orbs, the Hollow inspected this newcomer through more telling means. Gazing deep into the altered shade of light, pondering the emergence of the oft hidden shade of purple. What would cause this change, on which turned so lovely a voice into something so unfitting? What could have possibly happened...to summon forth the Spirit within? "Shokubai-En...I had thought an introduction would not be necessary." Pausing to allow the Spirit a moment for interpretation.

After all, a spirit as conscientious as Shoku should know when they are being watched. One as knowledgeable and driven as he, would have felt Marc's focus shortly after arriving in Barcelona. By now, through the most awkward of feelings, Shoku-chan must have discovered he was being studied by an unseen eye. "Though, it is refreshing to be greeted with sincerity for a change." The large bodied Arrancar shifted upon his stool. With a moment more, he began to rub his tired eyes. Behind large fingers glimpses of their redness could still be peaked at. In time, the Fraccion adjusted to the change in conversation. The flushed expression of embarrassment from before now lifting. The softness of his features, the ones which most often adorn his expression, fast returning. It seemed, with the temptress gone, that Marcelius was beginning to look as much like himself as he felt.

Harmony was returning, and the senior could once more breath clean air. "Were I not to properly express my gratitude for your arrival...I would never forgive myself." Looking back now towards the spirit possessed...spirit, Marc nodded his head. "Your Ana is something else." From there, it seemed only right to let the Spirit speak. To let Shoku explain, or not, what might have drawn him out. Maybe he would shed light on why he took so rash an action, as to possess the vulnerable mind of his Shinigami. The answer to such a mystery was in no way disappointing. "I...", stumbling, as the kindness gripped his throat.

"I am grateful. Truly. I would venture to say, you are the only one measurably sympathetic to my plight." Turning away now, his large hand going for the bottle Ana kept near herself. While reaching to pour himself another full glass, he mused. "I have gathered that you are not as approving of alcohol as myself or Ana. Your friend hinted as much." Raising the bottle, beginning to tilt, "On second thought..." Setting the bottle back down, Marcelius looked towards the possessor. "I should not repay your prayer with presumption. Would you care for some more?"

There would be a shift most noticeable for the priest. Something disturbing in nature. Invasive even. It was much like the feeling that should have occupied the Zanpakuto since they first arrived in Barcelona. The feeling of being observed, only...worse. Possibly it was made worse because Shoku decided to bring himself to the surface? Unaffected by the alcohol that washed through his ward's system, what could the feeling be? Looking around for answers would be the provide the greatest help. For there was a silence now. One unplagued by the trifles of human joviality. As they were, still at the bar from before, the two of them could see each other more...clearly. Shoku placed at the stool where Ana's figure would have rested. On the other, well, it was safe to assume. With a build identical to the elder from before, give or take the composure of his posture, this new persona must be the old Spaniard.

Only now, those dark eyes didn't look so tired anymore. In fact, they didn't look at all. Rather, there was nothing where the eyes ought to have been. Just bald fields of bone, stretching from the tops of his cheeks to halfway up his forehead. There were no eyes, no sockets...it was if they had never existed at all. Yet, the rest of the face seemed much the same. The wrinkles across the forehead, the creases around the mouth which depicted years of vivid expression. Were Shoku the way Ana's soul chose to express itself, the identity that best suited her conscience and being...then this was the same for Marc. This is what laid beneath that handsome, venerable exterior the Shinigami had doted on so much. Perhaps Shoku could find reason to be as accepting as his partner had been leading up to this moment. Well, maybe he would have before.

Now...now it was only a hope. See, there was a lot to have to forgive. Perhaps. For it would be clear that they had excited the reality from before. They were somewhere new, but yet, still appeared as Boadas. Putting one and two together, especially for a wise Inner Spirit, would lead him to conclude they were in an inner world. Trouble was, there was no sensation which might determine whose it was. If anything, it still felt like the bar...still felt like the human realm. Regardless of where they had been placed, the result was the same. The eyeless soul offering over the bottle he held from before. [smear:ffcc00]"With the way I feel, I do not know if I should have any more."[/smear:ff3300] Whether the Spirit accepted or not, the Hollow was done indulging.

[smear:ff3300]"Did you mean it...what you said about helping me?"[/smear:ffcc00] When he spoke, the voice came from everywhere. So, pouring from every direction, came a flow of words that mimicked a calm river. That was the impact of his tone, the emotion in his voice. "I imagine...there might not be anyone better to do so. [smear:ffcc00]I certainly would prefer the advice come from you, rather than the child..."[/smear:ff3300] Seems now, the suave and subtlety had left his word selection. In here...he was more forthcoming than when drunk. Imagine that. "It is not that I dislike her, your ward. It is simply...", and like a rush of color the scenery twisted. In fantastic and impossible manners, with style similar the epica of Fantasia, images were created within reality itself. Depictions of time long lost, memories that only Marcelius could confirm or deny.

It started with darkness, like dangling over a pit that has no end or conceivable depth. Only as nausea and vertigo reached their worst, did a bottom come into view. As if built beneath them, right before their very eyes, a mountain of bodies did rise. The population of the heap, entirely Hollow...with each new addition seemingly blossoming out from under the rest. Each of the monsters lifeless, of course, but disfigured as well. Grievous injuries and bloodless wounds littering each and every figure. Only after several seconds of countless corpses rising from the deep, did something distinct emerge. Like a star amid the darkness of an empty, lifeless universe, a star of white.

A visage of white, singular among the death, one that eventually took the form of a young woman. Shoku might even for a moment perceive the being as Marc intended. The similarities of pale body, snowy hair, and a life abandoned. This was the first memory he had of his lost little one. Just maybe, it would remind Shoku of when he first found Ana. Aimless in the afterlife. [smear:ffcc00]"I wanted to rescue her. I wanted to be there for her, and to keep her from living a life like mine."[/smear:ff3300] There was a pause, before the two of them found themselves sitting on bar stools once more..."Just like you...I wanted better for her." The eyeless spirit tightened the grip of his empty hand, till the knuckles went whiter than the bone.

[Zeich Yajuu]

Bunch of old threads asked to be graded so...

There was no combat in this thread, so it cannot be graded as a PVP. It is also an incomplete story, so no reward.