Post by Marcelius on Sept 11, 2013 0:33:19 GMT -5
(OoC: This is a training thread to describe the development of the Modo Bala. This will also act as a training thread to help Marc master the said technique.)
His Cero had been a complete success. Whilst alone in the desert, separated from the distractions of the numerous souls of Las Noches, Marcelius had produced a living, feeling Cero. To achive this masterpiece, he had to succumb to the form of his previous life. With endless stamina, he produced wave after wave of energy. Observing each with a tender, and interested eye. As he poured more and more of his life force into each attack, he began to notice their patterns. Previously, his Cero always produced a similar noise to all the other Cero used by Hollows everyday. It was too loud, and shrieking for him to make sense of the song. While alone, and separated from the senses which burdened him most, he could observe each one to the core. That is where he found the tune, a tune which existed within all living things. One that had been given to his attacks, as they had been made from his own spirit. Once found, it was the simple matter, of plucking the chord just right.
Walking, exhausted, the old Hollow carried himself victoriously towards the palace. His feet were still heavy, weighed down by the sheer fatigue that inhabited his constitution. Nevertheless, he was proud and gleaming with triumph. He had accessed a part of his former self, one that possessed great potential for conflict resolution. He remember now, a disagreement he played spectator to, some time before. Two young Arrancar, whom Marcelius exploited for knowledge and a chance to study, that could have been talked down from their enraged positions. If the Modo Cero had been available to him then, he could have made a grand show of it. They would have survived too, with their impressive resilience. That, and the fact that Modo Cero seemed to share Marcelius’ penchant for avoiding unnecessary death. Either way, he could have forced them into a less temperamental state...before forcing down their arrogance with stern words and a threat. Repeating the scenario in his head, did not help convince him he would have been any more successful. Hollows...were so stubborn. Even more so in youth.
Having not taken another step since his daydream of, heroically resolving the fight with a mighty blast from his special Cero, that a new problem occurred. Not so much as a problem, really, as more of a curiosity. Bala was a modified Cero, one far more agile and far less taxing on the nerves. What if Bala could be given the same property as Modo Cero? Then even the more pesky rugrats, whose speed and agility offer them ignorance to his suggestions, could be struck by his sympathetic reiatsu. Yes, it would prove much more efficient and practical if he could slip his suggestions through Bala. Without hesitation, and still bubbling with the confidence given by his recent success, he raised an arm and loaded a bullet. the energy hummed to life, highly compressed and agitated. When he examined the mass of energy, he noticed that it was much more difficult to pierce through the layers of it’s formation. Indeed, trying to find the string within this instrument, was quite the vexing search. Several times he thought he had heard it, but each time it moved away before he could reach to grasp. Yet more difficulties to restrain him.
Deciding that too much energy had been expended for this day, he resolved to conserve his strength and move on to bed for the night. One quick stop had to be made beforehand, one he had hoped not to forget in his dizzying world of distractions. He made his way to the Infirmary once again, the thought of Bala bringing back old and mildly unpleasant memories. Still, he had not gone by yet today...and his weary bones did not have reason to rush to bed so hastily. So he made his way to the medical quarters, and took up his post outside of the door. Having grown so used to feeling that hateful, cold aura of the head healer, he found today’s warmth to be quite surprising. Pleasant, but a shock all the same. Where he had planned to mull over his complications with Modo Bala, now a better opportunity awaited. Peeking around the corner of the massive open archway, he scanned the room for signs of authoritative life. The coast appeared clear, maybe it would stay that way long enough, for him to slip through unnoticed. The reward was worth the risk, he had not seen Mei since the day she first woke up. Well, he had seen her and heard her...but she had not been aware of it. Maybe now he could have his chance to show her that someone, in all of Las Noches, was concerned for her.
No opposition was presented to him today. Despite the staff filling the rooms and passages, no one came to halt or prohibit Marc's access. In fact, the only obstacle that truly presented any resistance, was Marcelius' own reservation. He cautiously moved about, concerned what each an every Arrancar within the Medical area thought of his presence. None of them gave him a second thought, few honestly gave him the first, and yet each and every time he felt exposed and observed. Navigating through the uninterested eyes, which felt like cold ivce pressed on bare skin, he found himself at Mei's door. Here his hesitation grew into paralysis, hand reached out for egress and yet unable to push it to. Where he stood, represented the closest he had been to his young friend...since she first arrived here. He had come by, most every day, and did what he could to observer her through several layers of wall and obstruction. Each time, his own restiveness had proved quite the mental block. It always obscured what he could read from her own emotions. For the most part, she had appeared to be in a lull. Often resting, her thoughts never reflected much more then hazy boredum. She was difficult to understand, and interpret...what thoughts came through. Up until Marcelius had conceded to believe she was simply dreaming.
Now, things were different. Having come this close to his objective, Marcelius had come to realize his error. With her mind unshielded by various columns and barriers, Marcelius could see that her thoughts were of the most concerning nature. They were unsettled and abstract, nothing fitting or collating in rational manner. Was this insanity, or animalism...was her mind still trapped in the same cognitive functions as those of typical Hollows? What of her former sanity? He had spoken with her, if only briefly, and she had demonstrated a flawless capacity for speech and coherence. What then could have changed? It tore at his mind, all the fears he could strum up in his exaggerative imagination. Thoughts of his own torture raced through his lymbic, fueling his day dreams of all sorts of horrid affairs. He prayed she suffered nothing as terrible as he had in his own youth. Finally drawn to action, he clasped the door and worked it open. Stepping inside, his weary old eyes were both relieved and perplexed by the view before them.
Standing on her own, gowned in the robes of the infirmary, was the rather petite figure of his charge. Holding herself erect, muscles clearly capable of free motion. It was alarming to see, it must be understood, as weeks had now gone by with not one mention of her improvement. Arrancar were said to be natural healers, capable of curing their wounds with the upmost easy and efficiency, but this only added to Marc's concern. As long as her recovery had taken, he supposed she was in the most dire of situations. Yet here he finds her, standing of her own merit. She looked at him, much in the way he looked upon others. Her eyes had been cut from their sockets., the blunder to which Marcelius' guilt affixed. So without actual eyes or sight, the best she could do was turn her head towards things she sensed. Upon close examination, it was clear, the young girl was quite aware of his intrusion. She stood motionless, her thoughts more varied than they were before, scoping out her privacies burguler. In only a flash of a moment, a warmess came over her which bewildered Marc to his core. Soon there after, her arms were wrapped around his limbs...the life nearly wrung from his figure.
It was some time before her clasp ended, and his senses came around. She freed him almost as quickly as she had taken hold, and in her mind he noticed the first signs of familiar thought. There was an embarrassment that flushed over her, discoloring her cheeks to a redden hue. He was struck much the same, dumbfounded by his own actions. This was the first embrace the old Hollow had felt, inall his many years of recollection. He did not know how to properly respond, all his wisdom and poise falling away to nothing. Instead, he smiled and spoke his gratitude. Words were his only means of returning such kindness; the only ones he had experience with, anyways. "It is so good to see yo..." Stunned to silence by his own idiocy. How could he make such a careless and callus remark. No consideration was given to her condition. He simply choose the first colloquium that came to mind. How reckless, and senseless, and stupid. To his great surprise, the reply he received was not to disheartened...and not to debasing. "Oh wow...you really said that."
Hours went by in conversation. Answers pouring forth like spigot torn off it's coupling. He learned of her recovery, and how it had faired. She'd been spending time here, learning from the other Arrancar who worked among the medical group. As with Marcelius, they had not agreed to teach their tricks, but at least they had shown mercy enough to educate Mei of Las Noches and it's ways. Her sight had not returned to her while she'd been here, and at this point it did not appear as it ever would. Hearing it sing through the spaces in her words, Marcelius knew this caused her some amount of grief. Still, she had risen to the challenge and was slowly learning to navigate without the sense. She was learning fast, a trait which Marc noted as a sign of great potential and intelligence. What confused Marcelius, was his inability to read her thoughts. The way they always seemed blurred and uncoordinated. Nothing in her story could account for this, provoking Marc's curiosity into a painful fit. Eventually the topic turned off of her, and she forced the prying eye onto her older visitor. She seemed strangely at ease, speaking with the man who blinded her. Marcelius could not get over this fact. To his core, her attitude was unbelievable and surreal. It made it difficult for his old mind to focus, and recall his recent escapades.
His memory would turn around, and he would draw up a story to answer her demands. Describing his efforts to improve his quality as a warrior, that he might be of greater usefulness to this society of theirs. It was her attitude finally fell into a style more fathomable for Marc. She grew quiet, voicing her disdain with a barrage of silence. For whatever reasons she had, the idea of training to serve violent ends seemed to displease her. Marc could not know why, or if her feelings were akin to his own. She was so difficult to read, it was unbearable for him. Without any insight into how he should continue, he tried his best to appeal for understanding. He explained his desires to protect the members of this home. His last few days had been used completely to the study of their impressive techniques, the Cero and the Bala. He wanted to use them, in a way that was not so destructive and harmful. It was his goal to change the very aspects of what it meant to be an Arrancar, one small step and revelation at a time. From there, receiving no real indication of approval from his audience, he suffered the return of his own self doubt. The conversation continued, to where he spoke of his failures in his recent endeavors. It was as if he were compelled to belittle is attempts and set backs, feeling as though it may appease his witness. The reality could not be further from the truth. As he continued to describe his errors and misunderstandings with the Bala...his attempts to make it a weapon of harmless use...a warm glow filled the room. Lifting his head, he saw a beautifully formed Bala...resting in Mei's hand. It did not ffidget, and it did not waver. It was flawless and perfected, far superior to any specimen Marcelius had made in his prior attempts. With a smile as warm as the heat from her reiatsu, she urged him to use her example to achieve his goal. In the light of her offering, Marcelius saw the key he had been missing before. His own Bala was too erratic and untamed; therefore, it's sound could not be tuned. Extending his hand forward, to try again, he twisted the noise of her bullet until it sang a song of a most sincere joy. Modo Bala...was born.
His Cero had been a complete success. Whilst alone in the desert, separated from the distractions of the numerous souls of Las Noches, Marcelius had produced a living, feeling Cero. To achive this masterpiece, he had to succumb to the form of his previous life. With endless stamina, he produced wave after wave of energy. Observing each with a tender, and interested eye. As he poured more and more of his life force into each attack, he began to notice their patterns. Previously, his Cero always produced a similar noise to all the other Cero used by Hollows everyday. It was too loud, and shrieking for him to make sense of the song. While alone, and separated from the senses which burdened him most, he could observe each one to the core. That is where he found the tune, a tune which existed within all living things. One that had been given to his attacks, as they had been made from his own spirit. Once found, it was the simple matter, of plucking the chord just right.
Walking, exhausted, the old Hollow carried himself victoriously towards the palace. His feet were still heavy, weighed down by the sheer fatigue that inhabited his constitution. Nevertheless, he was proud and gleaming with triumph. He had accessed a part of his former self, one that possessed great potential for conflict resolution. He remember now, a disagreement he played spectator to, some time before. Two young Arrancar, whom Marcelius exploited for knowledge and a chance to study, that could have been talked down from their enraged positions. If the Modo Cero had been available to him then, he could have made a grand show of it. They would have survived too, with their impressive resilience. That, and the fact that Modo Cero seemed to share Marcelius’ penchant for avoiding unnecessary death. Either way, he could have forced them into a less temperamental state...before forcing down their arrogance with stern words and a threat. Repeating the scenario in his head, did not help convince him he would have been any more successful. Hollows...were so stubborn. Even more so in youth.
Having not taken another step since his daydream of, heroically resolving the fight with a mighty blast from his special Cero, that a new problem occurred. Not so much as a problem, really, as more of a curiosity. Bala was a modified Cero, one far more agile and far less taxing on the nerves. What if Bala could be given the same property as Modo Cero? Then even the more pesky rugrats, whose speed and agility offer them ignorance to his suggestions, could be struck by his sympathetic reiatsu. Yes, it would prove much more efficient and practical if he could slip his suggestions through Bala. Without hesitation, and still bubbling with the confidence given by his recent success, he raised an arm and loaded a bullet. the energy hummed to life, highly compressed and agitated. When he examined the mass of energy, he noticed that it was much more difficult to pierce through the layers of it’s formation. Indeed, trying to find the string within this instrument, was quite the vexing search. Several times he thought he had heard it, but each time it moved away before he could reach to grasp. Yet more difficulties to restrain him.
Deciding that too much energy had been expended for this day, he resolved to conserve his strength and move on to bed for the night. One quick stop had to be made beforehand, one he had hoped not to forget in his dizzying world of distractions. He made his way to the Infirmary once again, the thought of Bala bringing back old and mildly unpleasant memories. Still, he had not gone by yet today...and his weary bones did not have reason to rush to bed so hastily. So he made his way to the medical quarters, and took up his post outside of the door. Having grown so used to feeling that hateful, cold aura of the head healer, he found today’s warmth to be quite surprising. Pleasant, but a shock all the same. Where he had planned to mull over his complications with Modo Bala, now a better opportunity awaited. Peeking around the corner of the massive open archway, he scanned the room for signs of authoritative life. The coast appeared clear, maybe it would stay that way long enough, for him to slip through unnoticed. The reward was worth the risk, he had not seen Mei since the day she first woke up. Well, he had seen her and heard her...but she had not been aware of it. Maybe now he could have his chance to show her that someone, in all of Las Noches, was concerned for her.
No opposition was presented to him today. Despite the staff filling the rooms and passages, no one came to halt or prohibit Marc's access. In fact, the only obstacle that truly presented any resistance, was Marcelius' own reservation. He cautiously moved about, concerned what each an every Arrancar within the Medical area thought of his presence. None of them gave him a second thought, few honestly gave him the first, and yet each and every time he felt exposed and observed. Navigating through the uninterested eyes, which felt like cold ivce pressed on bare skin, he found himself at Mei's door. Here his hesitation grew into paralysis, hand reached out for egress and yet unable to push it to. Where he stood, represented the closest he had been to his young friend...since she first arrived here. He had come by, most every day, and did what he could to observer her through several layers of wall and obstruction. Each time, his own restiveness had proved quite the mental block. It always obscured what he could read from her own emotions. For the most part, she had appeared to be in a lull. Often resting, her thoughts never reflected much more then hazy boredum. She was difficult to understand, and interpret...what thoughts came through. Up until Marcelius had conceded to believe she was simply dreaming.
Now, things were different. Having come this close to his objective, Marcelius had come to realize his error. With her mind unshielded by various columns and barriers, Marcelius could see that her thoughts were of the most concerning nature. They were unsettled and abstract, nothing fitting or collating in rational manner. Was this insanity, or animalism...was her mind still trapped in the same cognitive functions as those of typical Hollows? What of her former sanity? He had spoken with her, if only briefly, and she had demonstrated a flawless capacity for speech and coherence. What then could have changed? It tore at his mind, all the fears he could strum up in his exaggerative imagination. Thoughts of his own torture raced through his lymbic, fueling his day dreams of all sorts of horrid affairs. He prayed she suffered nothing as terrible as he had in his own youth. Finally drawn to action, he clasped the door and worked it open. Stepping inside, his weary old eyes were both relieved and perplexed by the view before them.
Standing on her own, gowned in the robes of the infirmary, was the rather petite figure of his charge. Holding herself erect, muscles clearly capable of free motion. It was alarming to see, it must be understood, as weeks had now gone by with not one mention of her improvement. Arrancar were said to be natural healers, capable of curing their wounds with the upmost easy and efficiency, but this only added to Marc's concern. As long as her recovery had taken, he supposed she was in the most dire of situations. Yet here he finds her, standing of her own merit. She looked at him, much in the way he looked upon others. Her eyes had been cut from their sockets., the blunder to which Marcelius' guilt affixed. So without actual eyes or sight, the best she could do was turn her head towards things she sensed. Upon close examination, it was clear, the young girl was quite aware of his intrusion. She stood motionless, her thoughts more varied than they were before, scoping out her privacies burguler. In only a flash of a moment, a warmess came over her which bewildered Marc to his core. Soon there after, her arms were wrapped around his limbs...the life nearly wrung from his figure.
It was some time before her clasp ended, and his senses came around. She freed him almost as quickly as she had taken hold, and in her mind he noticed the first signs of familiar thought. There was an embarrassment that flushed over her, discoloring her cheeks to a redden hue. He was struck much the same, dumbfounded by his own actions. This was the first embrace the old Hollow had felt, inall his many years of recollection. He did not know how to properly respond, all his wisdom and poise falling away to nothing. Instead, he smiled and spoke his gratitude. Words were his only means of returning such kindness; the only ones he had experience with, anyways. "It is so good to see yo..." Stunned to silence by his own idiocy. How could he make such a careless and callus remark. No consideration was given to her condition. He simply choose the first colloquium that came to mind. How reckless, and senseless, and stupid. To his great surprise, the reply he received was not to disheartened...and not to debasing. "Oh wow...you really said that."
Hours went by in conversation. Answers pouring forth like spigot torn off it's coupling. He learned of her recovery, and how it had faired. She'd been spending time here, learning from the other Arrancar who worked among the medical group. As with Marcelius, they had not agreed to teach their tricks, but at least they had shown mercy enough to educate Mei of Las Noches and it's ways. Her sight had not returned to her while she'd been here, and at this point it did not appear as it ever would. Hearing it sing through the spaces in her words, Marcelius knew this caused her some amount of grief. Still, she had risen to the challenge and was slowly learning to navigate without the sense. She was learning fast, a trait which Marc noted as a sign of great potential and intelligence. What confused Marcelius, was his inability to read her thoughts. The way they always seemed blurred and uncoordinated. Nothing in her story could account for this, provoking Marc's curiosity into a painful fit. Eventually the topic turned off of her, and she forced the prying eye onto her older visitor. She seemed strangely at ease, speaking with the man who blinded her. Marcelius could not get over this fact. To his core, her attitude was unbelievable and surreal. It made it difficult for his old mind to focus, and recall his recent escapades.
His memory would turn around, and he would draw up a story to answer her demands. Describing his efforts to improve his quality as a warrior, that he might be of greater usefulness to this society of theirs. It was her attitude finally fell into a style more fathomable for Marc. She grew quiet, voicing her disdain with a barrage of silence. For whatever reasons she had, the idea of training to serve violent ends seemed to displease her. Marc could not know why, or if her feelings were akin to his own. She was so difficult to read, it was unbearable for him. Without any insight into how he should continue, he tried his best to appeal for understanding. He explained his desires to protect the members of this home. His last few days had been used completely to the study of their impressive techniques, the Cero and the Bala. He wanted to use them, in a way that was not so destructive and harmful. It was his goal to change the very aspects of what it meant to be an Arrancar, one small step and revelation at a time. From there, receiving no real indication of approval from his audience, he suffered the return of his own self doubt. The conversation continued, to where he spoke of his failures in his recent endeavors. It was as if he were compelled to belittle is attempts and set backs, feeling as though it may appease his witness. The reality could not be further from the truth. As he continued to describe his errors and misunderstandings with the Bala...his attempts to make it a weapon of harmless use...a warm glow filled the room. Lifting his head, he saw a beautifully formed Bala...resting in Mei's hand. It did not ffidget, and it did not waver. It was flawless and perfected, far superior to any specimen Marcelius had made in his prior attempts. With a smile as warm as the heat from her reiatsu, she urged him to use her example to achieve his goal. In the light of her offering, Marcelius saw the key he had been missing before. His own Bala was too erratic and untamed; therefore, it's sound could not be tuned. Extending his hand forward, to try again, he twisted the noise of her bullet until it sang a song of a most sincere joy. Modo Bala...was born.
