Their Smiles [PG13, NDE, Semi-Social, Hard]

[Marcelius]

"This seems...odd. Though he tried to speak the words aloud, they did not bellow from his chest the way he expected. Every word he thought to speak, seemed internal; adding to the confusion that already went on in there. "Nijuu...why are you doing that? Once more the words echoed about, reverberating off the walls of his mind instead of the room. This strange sensation might explain why his fellow Fraccion seemed disinterested in replying to his inquiry. For in the corner, where he had last left Nijuu, the younger man was strangling a lamp. Yes, the light source which had done nothing but provided reliable luminance all evening. Marcelius wanted to reach out, to go to the angry soul and pull him off the harmless fixture...but that is when the peculiarities began to mount.

Every attempt he made to move, was greared with a sense of powerlessness. His muscles lacked any strength and his bones were as heavy as stone. It took what he could, everything he had, to simply manage a shift of his finger. If such puniness was not bad enough, he had ended up face down on the floor. The dirty, unforgiving surface was not kind to him. All across his front, he felt the pain as if he had been dropped suddenly from a high rooftop. And then done so again, and maybe even a third time. What was this? Where had his energy gone? Before he could truly fret over his disturbing lack of willpower; Marcelius noticed something else that was alarming. He could feel Desgarrion, not just that, he could see him! In opposing corner of the room, where he swore the door used to be, there sat a large, comfy chair. It was turned away from Marc, so there was no actual face to the rogue Arrancar. But...

Marcelius knew it was him, he could feel his soul and he could see the porn which had been flashing in his mind...this time, it played more clearly on the television screen. How had the boy gotten here? Why did he come here? If Marc had known the morality surrounding "Adult Entertainment", he might have asked why the young Hollow was allowed to watch such tripe in public. Alas, that was the least of his concerns. For there was another guest. A new "comrade" was here...in the bar with them. The old Hollow tried to speak up, to call out to their new friend, but his voice seemed muffled. It felt as though, no matter how loud he yelled, Desgarrion was too far for him to actually reach with his words. At first it was aggravating, like his attempts to crawl towards Nijuu failing...but then...it became dreadful.

Light flooded the room. It was orange, and it was warm. The aura wreaked of kindness and pleasantry. Everything it touched seemed to be swept into the glow. All the residents of the bar, the humans whom Marc wished greatly not to alarm, were taken immediately by the lights presence. The barkeep lost all his frustrations...and the waitresses all dropped their panties...no, wait, problems. Problem was the word. This affect which took them was familiar to Marcelius. Not simply familiar, but practiced as well. This was the Pressure, of a powerful soul, flaunting itself through charm and charisma. It was impossible to resist, like charging against a flood. It just poured and poured, and soon among the crests of gentleness, he saw the soul behind the wave.

A considerate young man, whom sounded more like a boy to the likes of Marc. Strong...yes, terribly so, but not arrogant. With a spirit so bright, that the Fraccion had to squint his eyes. In the darkness of his sealed lids, he could hear more precisely...what he heard, was the signature of a Hollow. Who...who was this? Ah, how that question tormented him. It was that torment, which made the situation dreadful. The uncertainty which surrounded it all. As quickly as the light had come, it had gripped hold of the elder Arrancar. Feeling light as a feather for a moment, Marcelius could almost dare to stand again. Something about this helpful being, gave him the certainty he needed to hoist himself by his own will. Instead though, he found himself plopped in a comfortable chair. Oh...this was way better. No stress on his feet, no discomfort on his face...just cushiony bliss. All the aches in his back were gone, and all the worry in his thoughts had vanished. Looking up, weary eyes feeling heavier than before, he stared at the smiling Arrancar before him. For a moment, it seemed as though the featureless apparition had spoken. Marc knew he heard words, and he felt their sincerity. Whoever this was, it was a Hollow Marcelius wish he had met sooner...

Soon, the light was leaving. It had glared brightly in Marc's eyes for some time now...and was moving on. The more he listened to it's music, unable to discern any clarity from the aura, the more his mind began to focus. Where before his troubles had deluded his understanding, now he was beginning to see the picture. What produced such a lapse in the fog? Why, Miho of course. The spiteful little angel had appeared, coming from where Marcelius could not tell. She was just there, and now, the compassionate light was moving her way. As it drew closer to her, she became increasingly visible.

This was her mind being roused by the appearance of the soul, but as far as his sight could interpret, it was her being uncovered from the darkness. Watching now, from his soft rest, the venerable curiosity took care in examining their interactions. From both sources, to his speechless surprise, came melodies most sweet. This...this was the interaction between lovers. There was no hiding it from the ancient spectator. Having witnessed such passions so many times before, having felt it so many times before...he was certain of the sound. Too his dismay, he was also quite versed in the tone of breaking love, as well. It began to hurt, the Hole in his chest, as he watched the measures play ever onward towards that tragic crescendo. But what came next, was worse than any heartbreak.

Miho, confessed her affection. She made it clear, more so than the moon of Hueco Mundo. She did not want this soul to leave, she never wanted to be parted. There was a desperation in her soul, one with roots that ran deep to her core. No matter what, she did not want to be left alone. Her grief became Marc's, and he wished for nothing more than to see her get her wish. But it was not her sadness which created the tragedy. It was the name she whispered in her "heart", when she clung to the body of her beloved. "Kouen"...and like the plummeting of the sky, it all came crashing down. Even in his relaxed chair, Marcelius could feel the domination of the pressure. Through the field of courtesy and decency, the faceless figure suddenly became clear. It was the same image that came from the memories of Kuroi. It was the very same individual that they were seeking. The traitor, whom #TeamNachos sought! It was their target, their prey, and their victim...standing here, now! They were in danger. Miho most of all! Whether her feelings for him were returned, she was still talking with the one they hunted. As much as Marc wished to see their mutual happiness last...it was just a fantasy. Kouen was to die. Something had to be done, he had to get Miho away from here. He had to run, with all of them, and get as far away as he could! So, in vain, the Fraccion tried to leap from his chair.

This is when the room began to fade...and all the outlandish details began to crumble. The very floor of the bar opened up, the wooden boards splitting and bursting at every seam and junction. Beneath the cracking foundation, laid darkness...full and eternal. First to go was Nijuu. Though curses still left his lips, he seemed to clench the lamp like a loved one as he fell towards the void. Next there was Desgarrion. Sitting still in his mighty lazy boy, he and his porn, and the walls from his room which now occupied the bar...all fell towards the darkness. Turning back and forth, Marc began to panic as his cohorts were each claimed by the bottomless pit. All that was left..as the bar itself began to crush and rip away in every direction of the void...was a broken path towards Miho. Still, she was locked in the arms of the enemy. Crushing the armrests of his chair in his stern grasp, the old man gathered strength. Bursting forward in a mighty charge, he hoped to snag his last remaining ally. At that time...Kouen seemed to face him.

Instead of the handsome young face...there waited a horrid mesh of thousands. The edges of Marcelius' eyes opened so widely...that for a moment his wrinkles might not have shown. Before horror and shock could grip him, the Choir had erupted from the former body of the traitor. Each crawling out of Kouen's form...as if they were escaping a prison. Thousands and thousands of singing individuals were now spreading to every corner of the bleak pit. Miho...she was lost completely in the spreading horde. Soon, there was nothing left but the audience. Crippling his every fiber, they drug him back to where he had left. Put back into his seat by the weight of their performance...his cries for the other's were swallowed by the concert. Tonight's presentation would be over the sheer insignificance of his contribution; whether it be to the fight or to the lives of all those around him. All those...he wished to help.



Oh, how his head ached. Lifting up from it's drooped position, he surveyed the damages around him. It would appear, the bar had decided to return. Things looked in order, and life seemed norm-...more normal, again. Still the Choir's music played, but muted. In the shadowed and dusty edges of the room, he could still see the faint glow of Their presence. Slowly, but surely, the room was clearing out. The ghostly images were retreating into obscurity, and the other residents were becoming more apparent. How long had he been gone? Was this reality, truly? Proving the most valuable aid in his search for confirmation, was the Segunda's unforgettable energy. As his eyes fell onto the dark haired young man, he started to speak up. Eager to warn his boss of the traitors former presence...wait, had Kouen really been here? Or, was that part of his dream.

Suddenly he turned his head, his attentioned perked like the ears of a dog hearing it's named called. Miho, she had growled his title with all the maliciousness her voice could manage. What did she sa-ah! His body jerked a bit in his seat, his eyes opening wide. She was tugging on his feet...which were killing him. Looking down, having being rustled awake, he stared at the tiny boots which had been wedged onto his large, old feet. They were Miss Shouga's...but how did, wait...why was he wearing her clothing. The question did not really warrant an answer, after all, he did not really want to know. What was important now, was correcting this rather outrageous swap up that they had found themselves in. Unfortunately, it seemed that would have to wait...for Miho was making the whole process quite difficult.

Taking back her clothes with a vengeance, was not enough to distract the little demon from the truth. Yes, the truth-truth. Kouen was not only alive, but very much so. She did not just hear about his continued existence, she had seen it. Where he had wondered before, Marc know knew what he had felt earlier to be real. Kouen was here. Kuroi had just missed him, and Miho still did. Oh, the words she spoke dripped with the most disagreeable of acid. Every new line she uttered, another splash aimed at Kuroi's unchanged expression. Where before she had divulged her capacity for sweetness, she now returned to her usual, hateful self. There was such anger in her, that churned and swirled into a maelstrom of violence. There was betrayal, there was confusion...even sadness had joined the mix. Even when she had every reason to succumb to absolute wrath, she was still a volatile concoction of emotions. What was the cause of this...wore away in the back of his contemplation. Ah, but while he was busy trying to understand all of Miho's feelings...Marcelius did not supply enough focus to the real VIP in the room.

Right as he tried to stand, reaching towards the apparel which strangled his figure at every possible point, he was struck just like his fellow Fraccion. Once more, the sky was falling...only this time was not a dream, and could be far more clearly felt. Having found issue with what she dared to speak, Kuroi had unleashed the full effect of his own pressure. Such a crushing force, Marc had only ever felt in the presence of Kings. Yes, the ancient kings...back when Hollows were still ruled by the strongest of their ilk. This monumental gravity could only belong to one such as them...true lords of the wastes. Feeling such a thing again, was like being in his youth again...back when he still stalked the existence of other Masks. Being stronger than the average soul...even the average Arrancar, he could do little more than lift his neck under such a force. Breathing was labored and worthless. Staying focused was even more a challenge. In such a state, the phantoms from his mind began to creep back into reality.

Marcelius had lost every reason to speak up now. Having hoped to interject before Miho could say any more detrimental words. That was not going to happen, for the bossman had no intention of letting her aggression have it's day. Instead, he was going to crush it under the blackness of his reiatsu. More meaningful than the reiryoku, were the words he spoke. With a tone that hissed like a snake, the Segunda issued sinister chills throughout all of those present. It was an effect achieved with more than power...it was a talent that the Espada had cultivated over a very successful career of #Despaaaaair. Not only did he diminish Miho for her compromise of character, but also attempts to call him on his deceit. To Marcelius, the emotions which Miho showcased, were something valuable. But...he was not a fool. He knew the importance of their mission, and the dangers of a traitor. Though his heart went out to her, there was no real way to defend her stance in the face of a superior. All of this was merely conjecture: Miho had every reason to be upset; Kuroi had every right to enforce his command. Marcelius was left with every reservation to side with either. Then came the history lesson...the vital knowledge that he had yet been privy too. With both hands now placed upon the ground, the strength of his arm alone brought him up better to hear. He had to do this, to fight against the weight for the sake of acoustics. For what he was hearing, was more alarming the Miho's kindness.

It was the black, unbroken steel of the Segunda's emotions...cracking to reveal...a glimmer of genuine concern. Yes, actual concern. When he spoke of the Hellion's abandonment, Kuroi spoke of a time when all of his subordinates were taken one by one. Even the Noveno and her Fraccion, they were all gone from his side. It was in the midst of such uncertainty, the Chisoku lost his life...Nijuu lost his power...and Kouen lost his faith. Only after so much tragedy and havoc, with nothing but himself to turn to...Kuroi felt the same as he once had. Once when he was human, and Despair was a feeling...rather than his identity. Where a lesser being would have crumbled into nothingness...the Espada thrived. But such growth was the result of the Hollow...and not a man. This is the history he was missing from his first meeting with Naito...Miho and the rest, it was all about them. If only he could share what he was hearing, what he was realizing. He would be a dead man. No, seriously. Even if he got anyone to believe him, Kuroi would end him. Like tying up a loose end...with it's own intestines. So instead, he waited for the Segunda to release the pressure which kept them pinned.

Over the deep groan of his first gasp of breath, Marc could hear his name being called. With the burden of reiatsu gone, Marcelius could feel the hangover's triumphant return. First came the headache, with pain so sharp, he felt all the way to his fingertips. Everything from light to sound seemed to jar his nerves, and spark another trail of agony throughout. Worst of all was when Kuroi spoke up for him to hear. While busy trying to stand, he had to wave his hand a bit in the Espada's direction. This was instinct, as opposed to intentional over familiarity. While his shakey body rose from the floor, "K-Kuroi...not so loud..." Gripping the back of another nearby chair, the old man rose back to his feet. Now bipedal again, he heard the final statement from the seemingly disinterested Segunda.

"S...salsa?" Looking fast after his commander, a sudden urge came over him. Like a writhing in his gullet, it forced him to wretch. Pretty soon...a loud and terrible belch tore through the bar. Behind the escape of gas was the stocky Arrancar's full strength...a trick he had unknowingly learned from Nijuu during the escapades of the evening prior. And what might taste did the burp leave on his tongue? Why, the saturated piquancy of hot sauce and cheese, of course. For hours he had stuffed the Gigai full of nachos and alcohol, now it returned...like Adalo's Revenge. Quick, brutual, and detrimental to ALL the senses. Before he could even feel the fluster in his cheeks, his visible embarrassment, he already turned towards the Espada...to try and play it off. "N-No...I think I have had enough of that spicy succubus." Ah, but as those words flowed from his mouth, he quickly had to grip his lips. The more terrible effects of alcoholic, blackout, hangover...nausea and vomiting.

Surely Miho would be coming along any minute, to continue ripping her clothes off his body. There did not seem much reason to do that...given that he had undoubtedly stretched her petite apparel to...well, worthlessness. Either way, he hoped she would be coming with malice to reclaim her goods. That was the best possible outcome, following the lashing her ego just took from the bossman. If she were as resilient as she claimed to be...then it would mean he'd be wrassling the young demoness for her clothes. If this were not the case, then it could only mean oner thing. Miho had been totally broken by his speech. Marcelius himself could not attest to feeling very joyful after the crushing gravity. So amid the chaos of him removing Miho's pants, Kuroi fetching himself a mid-murder snack, and Nijuu...hopefully resolving whatever sexual tensions he still had with the floor lamp...the aged Fraccion would keep a watchful eye on the Hellion's attitude. Listening to how she reacted to the cruelty of facts offered to her from the "Shit-Sandwich Buffet"...hoping he, or someone, could be of some use in keeping her stable for the rest of their mission. OH SHIT!! "Desgarrion!" Once more, reflex eon out. Spouting the name before he could stop himself, the Sensor suddenly picked his snooping back up from where he left it. Scouring for an answer concerning the present whereabouts of the Fraccion Hopeful.


Current Mood: Hangover

[Zou ۞]

OOC: Worth noting, my previous post was out of order because the reply timing was too perfect. In this case, it is now Miho's post to compensate.

[Deleted]

She felt like a cat. Like she'd finally laid her eyes on her prey and she was more than willing to play and toy with it for hours and hours until they ever regretted being within her line of sight. Oh how wrong she was. So, so wrong. To think that of Kuroi of all people. To think Kuroi Naito was a mouse. He was a silent predator if anything. He was like a lion. Vicious and unforgiving... which honestly, was quite fine with her. Still, he was nothing like she was. Not a mere house cat. He was leagues ahead of the female fraccion. She still had much to learn when it came to cooperating with others. Miho joined a small group of people; a single leader and it's subordinates. She'd always figured she was the odd one out so, she acted like it.

Suddenly, she was on the floor, chest pressed up to the hardwood floor with nails digging through it all. It was painful and having a hangover made it worse but having the sort of tolerance for pain she had made it somewhat tolerable.Through his pressure and the dancing black sparks, she managed to look at him. She looked at him and matched his own glare. This was Miho Shoga we were talking about after all. She would take anything with a fight... even under pressure. His steely, violent pair didn't intimidate her but she knew when to keep her mouth shut. He was the boss. He didn't have to earn her trust. He was a leader and in no way obligated to. All she knew was they had to look for Desgarrion and that Nijuu, Chisoku and Kouen were all dead... and that blondie over there was her "new" comrade. Feh.

But then, he kept going on about how everything was her fault. It was obviously a lie and Kuroi obviously didn't want to be accused of failing to accomplishing his own task. A good leader holds it together. A good leader has followers that won't leave the way Kouen did. A good leader wouldn't miscalculate throwing his comrades into a mission when he clearly didn't have the numbers to back it up. Everything he was saying riled her up. It made her angry. It wasn't like she left in the middle of a mission or anything. He failed to find Kouen and now he was about as angry as a four year old. Typical. Why didn't he just keep a tighter leash? His attitude said it all. He was pissed and deep down, Miho knew he hated the loss of the others and hated that it started with her. Could she blame him? And could she help her emotions? Hell no. They were her powers and her fuel and...who the hell was she kidding... The victim role never suited her anyway. That's what she'd been doing this whole time, right? Playing the victim. Hn.

Wait. Wait. Wait.....

Hold the fuck UP..

"Kouen is part of the Escudo!?" There was pure, unadulterated shock in her eyes. Ha. When was the last time she felt like this? Miho briefly recalled her last moments as a human. Her last moments when Kaito himself had proven to be a traitor. Her last moments when Kaito ran cold steel through her heart in more ways than one. This little revelation was on part with that painful memory. For that moment, everything stopped in her mind. Kouen was a fucking idiot. She left so that means he had to leave too!? Who does that!? Why didn't this register sooner? She was so caught up in Kuroi's speech that the detail about Kouen leaving flew over her head completely. It was like the storm in her settled for a while. All of this was wrong. So very wrong. Okay, having Kouen leave because she left sounds very much like him.

Perhaps it was her fault entirely..

Message received. It hit her like a train. The storm was back once more. So much was the pain that she didn't even realize Kuroi's pressure simmer down. She laid there on the floor for a minute before slowly picking herself up. She picked herself up and positioned herself in a sitting up position, staring at the floor. Hair draped over either side of her face.. she appeared distraught. Why did she feel so weak? Why was she being a victim? Only the best were predators. Wasn't' that her philosophy? The strong live, the weak will die. What the fuck was she doing? Shouldn't she be hunting? Why was she waiting to be picked up and talked to? Why? Why? WHY?! Miho Shoga was a hunter for fucks sake. She clenched her fist. Who the FUCK did Kouen Akarui think he was? Who the fuck did he think he was to leave Kuroi... to leave her?

"Traitor... Traitor... You trusted him... He's a traitor...Just like... Kaito... Kaito killed you... Get him...before... He gets YOU.. he promised..."

Neither of them probably checked to see if she was alive anyway. Why was her departure cause this shit storm in the first place?! Oh she was going to fucking teach him. Nobody fucks with Miho Shoga. No one does that and join the bloody fucking Escudo. The ESCUDO of all places! WHO THE FUCK.....WHY THE FUCK....No... Nonono. The Escudo were trash. They were as bad as those disgusting shinigami. Misguided maggots; they couldn't survive in Las Noches if they tried. You don't walk away from gold and pick up silver the same way you don't walk away from Las Noches to join a pile of maggots like the Escudo. Miho seethed. She burned with rage and she gritted her teeth. Miho wasn't angry with Kuroi. No. That was a misunderstanding on her part. She accepted that. However, she was angry with Kouen. That prick picked her up and laid her on that fucking chair and kissed on the forehead and walked away from her...

Again...

No. Fucker. You don't do that. Not to her. With new found confidence and fire in her soul, Miho pushed those long ravenous locks back and she stood tall and she stood proud. She looked like she was out for blood much more than she'd been before. "...He was here. Sitting at that table drinking scotch or whiskey. I don't remember." She motioned her head to where he'd been earlier. Had to start somewhere right? Miho was the one who had to prove herself to Kuroi. Not vice versa. She had to start somewhere. "He didn't stay very long. Maybe he knew he couldn't because you're here." Deductive reasoning says that Kouen was probably on to Kuroi. She wouldn't dare use his name. It was no wonder why he said that traitor was dead. He was walking dead meat waiting to plucked and discarded. It made sense. Then a thought came to her.. what if Miho was bait. Kouen was long gone but what if he could be smoked out? Hell hath fury like a woman scorned. Miho was out for Kouen's blood now...

"Liar. Traitor. He be....betrayed you... Burn him. Let him sink in despair. Let him cry in agony. Let him taste destruction. Make him pay. Make him pay."

[Marcelius]

(OoC: Noooooot sure if it is my turn or not, but...whatevs yo. Post go!)

Looking for the missing Arrancar was...difficult. Yes, despite all that had occurred, Marcelius was still trying to track Desgarrion. Those were his orders, given to him by Kuroi. Those were his only orders. The only ones that still remained. After several hours of drinking and exchange, Marc felt he had completed the other task. “Get to know your fellow Fraccion.” Not to say it was possible to learn everything about who someone is or was, over the course of a few hours; however, if anyone could do so it was he. Before the alcohol had set in. Back before the nachos had hampered his better judgment. Marcelius had been scouring every aspect of his fellow Arrancar. Learning what tendencies they had, both of body and mind. Though he was still no expert on either, there were few surprises they could hold for him anymore. So, in regards to Kuroi’s command, there was little more Marcelius could do. Not right now, at least. The rest of the process would take time. Days and weeks, possibly even months or years.

Fortunately, Marc had every intention of being around that long. But if he were to stay, he would have to be of continued use. Thus his efforts to seek out Desgarrion. Alas, this task was far easier remembered than accomplished. Whenever he closed his eyes, attempting to pierce the veil of distance, all he could find were distractions. It was much the same as reaching into murky water, and feeling around for something that could in no other way be perceived. Normally the water is teeming with movement and life, things that each make their own distinguishable mark. But now...now there was nothing but clutter. Not unlike sand, in many ways. It filled the water, skewing his touch; making everything grainy and indistinguishable. so he stood there for a moment, eyes opening and closing. to onlookers, he would appear to be adjusting to the light. Suffering from a hangover, perhaps? The truth was quite different, as he was actually adjusting to the sound. The sounds of the world outside, and all the souls in it; of which, he could not identify his target. Reaching to rub his eyes now, the old man considered what could be the cause of this new uncertainty.

The answer came quickly enough; though not necessarily accurate. It was his suspicion, that Miho played a role in his plight. The spitfire was too free and open with her emotions, tossing them around in a world normally filled with the numb. Not only was it her personality, but it was also an unchecked evolution. In her natural environment, surrounded by individuals like Nijuu and Kuroi, there was never anyone to suffer or notice her excessive feelings. Though he did not yet learn how, he was sure it had something to do with her abilities as a Hollow. Just the same as his ability to feel those shifts in mood, was a development of his own. Now; however, there was a natural competitor in the mix. Another animal who used the same methods as she, in order to survive. Though his first instinct was to speak out, and tell her to better control her fluxes of emotion...her current state made him much more delicate in approach. Considering he was not the one to receive such a harsh scolding here recently, he thought it best to make his suggestions another time. Still, he could not blame her in the least for what she was feeling. She had been away, and regardless of what troubles it may have caused, real or perceived, she was back now. Returned to her broken home to find it was worse than she could have imagined. From what had thus far been shared, Miho was expecting a far more happy reunion. “Happy”, in whatever sense this group considered such a thing. Being new to the mix, there were no expectations of his to be dashed. That said, Marc still had hopes. Dreams of a family, of unity. He could relate, completely, with the pain that now took hold of her.

She reacted in a way that he could easily picture for himself. After all, despite it’s quirks, this family was something he wished to hold on to with both hands. Miho did the same, and yet, it still got away. In her tragic revelation, both of loss and betray; Marcelius wished to offer her some kind of support. Figuring he could start by helping her to back onto her feet, the large Hollow quickly stepped over to her side. No sooner had he reached do to lend a hand, did her thoughts suddenly twist with that seething maliciousness from before. The heat of her anger and independent will, nearly charred his Hierro right off. so...helping her up was not going to happen. Instead! Marc quickly drew back his hand and began unbuttoning...what remained of her blouse. At some point in the evening the part had gotten rather wild, and as a result, there were undoubtedly tears all across the many seams of her shirt. Still, nearly breaking a joint trying to wiggle it off his broad shoulders, he offered it back to her without much of a response. ”Sorry.” Like I said, not much of a response. There was no room for explanations, even if he had a great one. Miho was not the type to care or coddle to apologies either. To top it off, there was still the issue of her pants to deal with as well...though, she probably wouldn’t want torn britches back anyways. So, “sorry” was all there was to it. Still, that is more than most other Hollow would ever give.

With the wardrobe malfunction quickly being rectified, there still remained the issue of Desgarrion and Kouen. Finding their new brother still remained Marcelius’ priority, given that it was Kuroi’s last order. To add to that fact, Marc was already aware of the banality of the Kouen situation. Having felt the presence of that young man while he was here, the Fraccion knew he was not brought along to deal with such a soul. Where before he thought he might be able to lend some sort of hand, it was now clear that only the Segunda could handle such a threat. How fortunate they were, that Kouen had not decided to end their lives before. Mostly, it was Marcelius who should feel lucky. Nijuu was a former friend. He appeared to still care for Miho has he did before. The only one who was a nobody to him, was the new fellow. Had he seen fit to send a message to Kuroi, one of a more brutal variety, it would have been written with his blood first. Fortunately, he was still hungover...and the thought of his death was not as alarming as it normally could be.

With his head aching as it did, he might even welcome the relief. Still, he would repay his gratitude to the universe by not wasting anymore of the life he was allowed to keep. Once again, he tried to reach out and seek Desgarrion. Once more, he found that the waters were muddled and untrustworthy. All he had to offer, were the Espada to ask, was a general direction and an excuse. Sadly, the direction was not pinpoint...nor was the excuse much better. Such were the effects of a hangover. With a mind so distracted by localized pain, there was no looking beyond. All that remained for him was a headache. Splitting and nagging, it tugged at every nerve. Though it clouded his second sight, it did no favors for his typical view either. Throbbing in the back is of his eyes, blurring what images they could absorb. It quickly forced him to close his lids once more, and dream of the numbness of sleep. Too bad there was no time for comfort.

Stripped mostly naked, the old man was left with little choice but to hold his head high and march over to Nijuu. Examining the young man, trying to determine if he was conscious yet or not…”Nijuu, what did you do with your clothes?” Marcelius had come to get his clothes back; which could mean a struggle with the still drunk human. the reason he asked about Nijuu’s clothes, while still missing his own, might surprise the rest of them. The reason was simple enough, marc was a proactive thinker. If he desired his clothes back, then he would have to take them from Nijuu. After which, there would still be a mostly naked man in the room. Seeing as Marc’s new suit was well within sight, it was the loudmouth’s attire which was still missing. ”We will need to leave soon…”, softly spoken, to spare them both the screech of a migraine. What he could not save himself from, was the rancid taste of “morning breath” that now afflicted him. Each time he spoke, the smell from his dry mouth tortured his poor nostrils. Uhg...if he never ate nachos again, it would be too soon. Double goes for alcohol. Tripple goes for whatever that was Nijuu put into his drink...heh, though he still did not know about that particular detail.

”...you should find your clothes, and give me back mine.” Holding out his hand, the elder Fraccion was actually trying to help the younger soul up. Might it appear as a request for his clothes to be handed to him, perhaps, that was up to Nijuu. While he waited, a new topic came up. He could not, in his semi-drunken state, tell where the idea sprouted from...but it was such a good one that he could not help but speak aloud. ”Bait…” Now it was Miho who developed this thought. Her own musings were over ways to catch the traitor who found a way to stab her void of a heart. For Marc, the concept spurred another thought. A new and curious notion; which he had not considered before. ”Kouen was able to find us here. He knew to find us here.” Turning now towards the Segunda and Miho, his wrinkled eyes seemed trapped in deep thought. ”Not only does we know we are after him, but he knows specific details about our pursuit. And yet…” Stopping to look about, as if trying to examine the room like a crime scene. ”He did not attack. He did not take anything. He just wanted to see them, Miho and Nijuu.” The puzzle was coming together, as far as Marc’s understanding of their enemy could take him.

”This was intimate, and personal. A great risk he took, with no tactical purpose.” Which was not true. Marcelius knew Kouen was an exploiter...like minds and such. He came for Miho. With his charms and their history, he could have been using her as a way to tear up the group dynamic. Saying that was out of the question, given her attitude right now. So, unable to suggest that possibility, he had to go with an alternative. ”He believes he can kill you, Kuroi. Even with us at your side.” Lifting his brow and letting out a tired sigh, Marc went right back to collecting his clothes. ”Since he was formerly your Fraccion, he is obviously not a fool...which means he has a plan in motion. One that will, at the very least, make the inevitable conflict between you two an equal match. Though he would be wise to aim for better than a “fair fight” with an Espada, it would require accurate and recent information to be effective. Information he would unlikely have, given the time spent apart from Las Noches."

"Unless…” Looking to the Segunda, a considerable amount of worry in his eyes. ”He found a way to spy on the likes of you…” The notion was sensible, even if unlikely. Naito was renowned for both efficiency and secrecy. The idea that anyone could gather useful intel on someone like him was almost laughable...except. He did acquire a new Fraccion recently. One who has already shown a talent for uncovering mysteries. Other Arrancar could piece one and two together, and might consider the new subordinate a perpetrator. Marcelius knew it was not he who was responsible, but also knew there was not much evidence to defend him. It would be on faith alone that he would not be suspect...and faith is as rare as mercy, in the life of a Hollow.

[Zou ۞]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Play this}

Kuroi. Kuroi Naito, the Black Knight of Las Noches. Segunda Espada, responsible for the defeat of over a dozen Captains of the Gotei Thirteen, and the deaths of hundreds of Shinigami, among them some of those very defeated Captains. Over the years, enemies of Las Noches had come to know Kuroi as a force of destruction to tear through them. It was because of Kuroi that many found it difficult to go out at night. Many of those who were enemies of Las Noches, or otherwise traitors as well, or perhaps simply were not on good terms with this organized force, could not go out in the dark, for fear of the Segunda Espada. There were none who were as powerful as Kuroi was. No Shinigami had ever beaten him, or forced him to go all out. No Shinigami had ever put him in a position where he was under pressure, or struggling. Kuroi, as a whole, had never been pressured or overwhelmed by an opponent. No, none could phase him. Even the Primera, Adalo De-Mona, was overwhelmed by Kuroi's power, and had no choice but to battle in a crafty manner, rather than face the Segunda directly. There were no Arrancar, Shinigami, or any others who could ever truly refer to themselves as Kuroi Naito's equal.

This was why, with the words of Marcelius, there was a scoff from Kuroi. It was haughty. It was well within his character. Along with pragmatism and a taste for blood, Kuroi came with an untarnished pride. His countless successes gave to him a defense greater than any Hierro. It was his confidence in himself, and his self assurance in his own ability. He relied on none but himself. It was because of his power that he knew, no matter who they were, they would not be able to defeat him. Not even the formerly most powerful of Kuroi's subordinates, Kouen Akarui, once a contender for the position of Primera, would ever be able to rival Kuroi. Segunda was a misleading number, and one which Kuroi took on dutifully, as the Espada most likely to keep his fellow Arrancar in line. It was under his power that everything remained organized as it was, for none could defy him. In Las Noches, and in Hueco Mundo, the law was of the strong. The chain of command was designed so that only the strong were the masters, and the weak were to be trash, and to be cast out. One without a use would never succeed. This was a driving force that Kuroi especially made certain to hold his Fraccion to.

That being said, he had no worries. "Nijuu..." Kuroi ordered coldly, his demeanor having changed and become like ice, his eyes like cold steel. "Stand." Nijuu stood, despite the drunkenness and hangover. Something had changed in Kuroi's aura, and he had become ice cold. If Marcelius were to try to sense something within Kuroi, he could find nothing, only a black hole. There was nothing but an empty pit, or void, within the Segunda. It was as if he had blocked everything out, and erected within himself a barrier of isolationism and hatred. It was here, looking around, that Kuroi decided to himself that it was time to make some new decisions, and some choices which his Fraccion were to follow for the good of their unit, forever. He realized then that he had made a mistake. Kuroi had miscalculated. He had assumed that he could maintain the same unit that he once had, but he realized now that he was using whole new members. Say what she will, Miho was a changed person because of Kouen, and Marcelius really was a newcomer to the group. There was nothing which made the unit the same as before, and so it was time to set a new tone for it, hence shutting out his emotions, for the most pragmatic choice of words.

Kuroi began to pace the room, once everyone was standing and stiffly still. "We are a unit." Kuroi informed them. "This is why I instructed you to bond here. When I was a human, I was a soldier, and a warrior, and this was the driving force of being a warrior. We were united in cause, purpose, and unit. We were disciplined. We obeyed and respected our commanders unflinchingly, for it was this discipline which maintained the unit. We died for one another, and for our nation, our cause, and our hatred. We killed for the man next to us, and for our culture, our ideals, and our mission. We are a unit. We are more than comrades in arms, or leader and subordinates. All of you are those that I have taken under my wing, not just for your uses in the mission, or your individual strengths, but for your ability to cooperate with myself and one another, and because of your underlying visions, which overlap with mine. I selected each of you for the purpose of working together. We stand together. We grow together. We kill together. I selected all of you because of your individual qualities, but also your potential for teamwork, and your qualities as a unit."

Kuroi paused, observing his subordinates as he continued to pace across the room. Each and every step fell heavy, and his words were intended to touch them all, in light of what had just happened. "I chose you because through our missions, of which there will be many, and all of our experiences, and the brutalities which we will inflict upon our enemies, there will be moments wherein we grow more fond of one another. You all have the potential to craft memories of one another to create not just comradery, and not just trust, but a bond. A bond between those who are alone. Through remorse, through destruction, or through Despair. That is why I chose you. Because together, we are surrogate bonds to hold one another together. We are not merely a unit. We are a family." Kuroi's eyes focused unflinchingly on Miho's, with the full intent and purpose of a powerful leader, an alpha who desired nothing more in that single moment than submission. Kuroi's eyes, in that moment, held his full killing intent, an aura which none other in Las Noches could replicate, and the most malevolent of all forces ever to touch Hueco Mundo.

"We do not have selfishness." Kuroi said. "We are responsible for one another. There is no reason to leave one another wordlessly. There is no reason to blame or accuse one another, or foster hatred, distrust, or apathy." Kuroi glanced at Nijuu. "There will be no stupidity which risks the entirety of the unit." Kuroi looked directly at Marcelius. "And there are no traitors. There can be only one thing for the likes of those who even consider the idea, and we all know it, having all experienced it a great deal." Kuroi was long winded here. It had been a while since he had given a speech of this magnitude, however a leader had to do such a thing once in a while. It was not abnormal for him. After all, the Segunda Espada was not unused to seeing leaders give speeches either. Many a time, he had been the subordinate in his human life, listening to the speech of his leader. That said, Kuroi's eyes fell back upon Miho coldly. "And, Miho, if you have the audacity to show me such undisciplined and repulsive disobedience again either by actions or words, I will kill you and feed your bleeding heart to the maggots." To demonstrate his point, Kuroi aimed his palm directly at his Fraccion.

In an instant, a red orb generated there, and began swirling and revolving. It was reiatsu, gathering to craft Kuroi's Cero. Kuroi's Cero was something which Miho was familiar with. It was huge, an enormous blast of power which she likely had no defense for, and which at that range would be nearly impossible to dodge if he fired it, given proximity to her, and the size and firing speed of it. Of course, if Kuroi fired his Cero, Nijuu and Marcelius would also be caught in the blast. Whether or not he was bluffing by charging the Cero was not immediately clear. He was certainly threatening to kill Miho then and there, in that very moment. "Do I make myself clear?" Kuroi asked her, indicating that were she to say something which displeased him, he would erase her from existence entirely in that very moment, and would have no problem at all with doing so. That was the prerogative of the Segunda Espada. Kuroi was a force of nature, and his sole purpose as leader as to keep everything in line. Any disobedience which he received would be met with the full ferocity and killing intent of the most monstrous Arrancar in Las Noches.

[Deleted]

”...you should find your clothes, and give me back mine.”

Miho never heard a more useless plea. Nijuu was not only wasted but he was stuck in a state of perpetual anger. She half wondered if Marcelius really would get his clothes back or if there would be protest or something. If he did then, kudos to him if he didn't...well, she knew~ Miho almost smirked as the poor, old man asked for his clothes in return. Almost but didn't. She was in hot water. She was out of the frying pan and landed straight in Kuroi's inferno. His words were hitting home to her and more importantly, she'd gotten herself riled up at catching herself being the victim. Victims were weak. The strong will live. The weak will die. That was Miho's philosophy. The she-devil's scarlet eyes fell to the small pile of what was once her clothes. No, no... they USED to be her clothes. She sure as hell wasn't touching them. Not after blondie wore them and certainly not with all the rips and tears in them.

How fucking stupid. Goddamn, Nijuu. Goddamnit and his party loving ways. Her gaze moved over to the hung over human for just a moment. Though, she will admit... he knew how to party and deep down... as much as she hated to admit it, she was happy she got to see him again. After all this bullshit, she kind of was. In some ways, she thought of him as her loud, obnoxious, raging ass brother. Some ways. She could get used to this crowd. Really. Nijuu, she was always fine with and this blondie? Tch. He was smart. He knew apologies were futile to her. He knew he should leave her alone and let her be a menace and sort out what she could of her emotions. Temporarily of course. Now, was most certainly not the time. Not if he wanted his fingernails ripped off one by one.

Kuroi had already gotten Miho's attention when he started off saying that they were a unit. Not only that, but that killing intent was way too much, even for her. Miho was just a fraccion. That was the sad truth. Honestly she had no desire for become Espada. She just wanted to stick with the best. Hide in the dark and be a predator. The worst part about it, was that she had a boss and she had people she had to get along with and coordinate with. Miho wasn't alone anymore so she had to accommodate now. She couldn't act like a lone wolf. She was part of a "unit" now. "I chose you because through our missions, of which there will be many, and all of our experiences, and the brutalities which we will inflict upon our enemies, there will be moments wherein we grow more fond of one another. You all have the potential to craft memories of one another to create not just comradery, and not just trust, but a bond. A bond between those who are alone. Through remorse, through destruction, or through Despair. That is why I chose you. Because together, we are surrogate bonds to hold one another together. We are not merely a unit. We are a family." When his killer's gazed matched hers, she couldn't help but feel a little shock. She'd look away, but oddly enough, she couldn't. She was actually a bit fearful. Normally, Miho wasn't one to feel this way... but he got it out of her. This was the submission Kuroi had been seeking from her for so long. It was here and he forced it out of her.

His words didn't go unregistered though. In fact, she grew slightly more and more fearful as he continued on. Leaders shouldn't be feared but Miho was okay with this particular situation. ESPECIALLY this particular situation. It was hard for her to accept that she was wrong though. She was stubborn and always felt the need to be on top. It was hard to accept but, she did anyway. She'd chosen to follow Kuroi in the beginning didn't she? She did it because he was powerful and now, in a way, that was all reaffirmed. Though, that didn't stop the hurt of everything else from lingering about. There were always lingering sentiments and remnants of nasty emotions. That was just how her entire being operated. Obviously, the death and would be death of her old comrades were going to take some time.

"And, Miho, if you have the audacity to show me such undisciplined and repulsive disobedience again either by actions or words, I will kill you and feed your bleeding heart to the maggots." There was her stare again. Like a wolf. Though not cold, but angry and submissive. If such a combination existed. She felt the surge of power that came with his words and cero; both having the ability to decimate not only her, but her comrades as well. Miho's eyes never left his once and she felt her right foot move slightly to the back. Her stare down with him felt like it lasted for eternity but she didn't quite know how to look away. It wasn't quite on the magnitude of Grimoire, but it was absolutely clear; Kuroi has Miho under his thumb. The thought of being wrapped around anyone's pinky was what grated at her soul but this was reality; her reality. She was a fraccion with comrades and a boss. Heh..her bleeding heart. If only she had such a thing. Still, she couldn't help but feel an odd pain at her hollow hole.

Yeah, getting hit by that cero and the thought of him doing anything to her was enough to make her gulp. Inaudible, but it still happened. She bit the inside of her cheek. "Do I make myself clear?" Miho's eyelashes fluttered. "Crystal" she answered immediately not wanting to feel the wrath of anything of his. Noooo thank you. Seriously. She eyed the cero and looked at her comrades who would also be hit. Kuroi really fuckin' would shoot that shit in this place. She didn't dwell on whether or not it was a bluff; it was almost automatic to the girl. She looked at Kuroi once more; deciding that maybe her words should at least attempt to sound like they held more water than just now. "..Crystal clear. Won't happen again."

[Marcelius]

A scoff? Truly? It was startling to the old man, that his concern was thought of as ill placed. No, not even that. His suggestion was considered downright foolish. To the likes of the Segunda, as his soul suggested, there were no equals. It was not merely conjecture or opinion, but in the thoughts of Kuroi, an unshakable fact of nature. Yes it was arrogance because it was he who believed it about himself...but that did nothing to ruin the credibility of the claim. Kuroi Naito, the “Black Knight”, could not be touched by the likes of his current prey. This was not a game. Fair play was not being maintained.

Even for all the similarities this hunt shared with the wild, the odds were quite more certain than they could ever be in nature. The Segunda was going to destroy this foe of his. No matter the scheming. No matter the preparation. Regardless of what Kouen learned or believed to understand, he was doomed. Why; because there was no one who could best this Espada. It was clearly written upon both his memories and his feelings, cold and lifeless as they were. Better that his emotions be like steel, in fact, for it reaffirmed the surety they professed. This same confidence had been seen and experienced a thousand, thousand times before...but never like this. For this was the first time that Marcelius himself felt inclined to agree with the sentiments. Never before had the elder been so close to a power such as his younger counterpart. If there was anyone who had reason to live without fear or doubt in themselves, it must be Kuroi.

Whether the Espada was truly invincible was not a factor for the Fraccion. Being stronger than the Primera, having the same clout as the Kings of Old, none of that accounted for him. For Marc, all possibilities must be scaled and considered. There was no room for assumption or even confidence. The premise that one could be upon a scale unreachable, was unfathomable to the likes of him. What could be expected from a mind comprised of many...all of whom could recall nothing but their truest failures. So he thought, and he puzzled, and dwelled upon all the perspectives. There was something at work, whether apparent or not.

The traitor was up to something. If the man was fearful for his life, or uncertain of his chances; he would not have given any indication of his continued existence. He would have ran, he would have hid. To the senior, this meant he was determined to face off against the Espada at some point or another. Kouen was smart, more so than he was powerful; which in itself was an accomplishment. A soul like him, would have many plans in the works. He would know the odds against him. Much like Marc himself, he would be taking every precaution to insure his survivability above all else. Maybe they were in luck? Maybe their quarry was just as arrogant as the huntmaster? If so, then the fight between them would be over too quickly to merit a mention. This thinking is what lead Marcelius to believe that Kouen thought more like himself.

But...this lead the old man to wonder something new. Was there another point to their confrontation besides the inevitability of one of their deaths? The only reason he would ever dare oppose the likes of Naito, was only if he intended to die for a cause. No other benefit could come from it. There was no other conclusion for anyone who willingly made the Segunda their rival. So then...was that the reason all along? Did Kouen have some reason for inviting certain demise into his life? Could that...maybe explain, why he came to see Miho and Nijuu? Why he risked exposing himself like he did? One final time, to see them...before the end was to come? had Marc’s sympathies not gone out to the boy before...they most certainly did now.

Ah, but there was no more time to ponder the unknown. For a darkness had reached across the threshold and struck a most cold and haunting chord within the elder Fraccion. The monotone call of his Espada, an order which requested that Nijuu straighten himself out. Before Marcelius could reclaim his clothing, the brute of a soul was upright and alert. Turning himself, it was not another moment before the three of them were joined in silence. From both the minds of Miho and Nijuu, he could hear the snap of focus and composure. It would appear, the voice of the Segunda was the only hangover cure any of them needed. Even Marc could feel the clarity slipping in. Without power or spiritual weight; the Espada made his dominion clear.

There was something about moments like this, which struck a nerve deep down...within the most animalian of brains. Listening to what the boss man said was even more important than hearing the Choir. It would have been a blessing, one worthy of gratitude; were he not being lectured. More story than lecture really. A recounting of the once human's experiences from so long ago. Hearing him speak about his conduct when alive, the things he had done...it was unnerving for Marcelius to not hear any emotions with these words. There were no visions from memory, no sentiments which were held. It was just a darkness, full of facts from the past. That was the status of Kuroi's history. Maybe it was such a hearltess beginning; which helped propel the Espada to where he was today. If so...then the rest of them could certainly take notes.

As the Segunda continued, his tone never letting up or giving the smallest ounce of feeling; Marc began to worry. What the others would only come to realize too late, he could feel the energy preparing. A Cero, certainly one as powerful as Kuroi's Cero...could not be as easily concealed as emotions. Before the palm even rose, the old man felt his bones ache as though a storm were approaching. Fitting; for what else in either the human or spirit worlds could rival such a Cero...besides a storm? Predicting such a thing did little to comfort the Fraccion. Being traped as they were, within the bar, there would be no avoiding or enduring a blast from such a thing. Worse still, was the first instinct which filled thoughts as the Espada took aim.

Everything in him said to jump. To leap before the attack and be swallowed by it. It was better for him to die and provide a chance for the other's survival...than to simply wait for the worst to come about. As trained as the Espada was, a master of knowing his foes and their movements, the elder's intentions would be clear. Though he hardly budged from his stoic pose, the slight flinches in his muscles made it apparent he wished to move between Miho and the attack. What stopped him from doing so, would be up to Kuroi to decide...or ignore; whichever his fancy chose. Either way, at that moment, all that the oldster could only think of the other two. Nijuu was just as important at that time, he was simply fortunate enough to not have the Cero in his face.

With all the Segunda's talk of family and loyalty...it was tremendously difficult deciding which aspect of the family to be loyal to. Either the commander who lead them, or the members whose lives were being threatened by that commander. Despite the danger, the senior's emotionless expression stayed put, "Segu...." Before he could speak, the hellion spoke out. Trying not to turn his head, his dark eyes simply shifted to her. Was that answer all it would take to appease the Espada's demands...or was there more that needed to be accounted for? "If Kouen came here... Desperate to change the subject. "Could he have gotten very far? Should we pursue?" Yielding completely, to the whims of the one and only boss.

[Zou ۞]

Kuroi lowered his hand, allowing the Cero to dissipate. It was not from satisfaction, however, that the Segunda Espada's hand lowered, and the Cero which would have erased his Fraccion evaporated into nothing more than red smoke flowing through the air. It was pragmatism alone. Kuroi was a leader. His ego was not so boisterous that he would weigh the lives of his subordinates only against his pride, though pride was indeed important. Kuroi was able to visually recognize Miho's understanding of his words, and gauged as much as well from what she said, giving a second answer to her first in what appeared to be a desperate, last second attempt to appease Kuroi and save her own skin, and perhaps that of her two allies. That was all that Kuroi had ever really needed. It was pragmatism. Miho needed to comprehend that obedience was all that Kuroi would accept. He did not care about her submitting to him so much as he cared about her understanding of the chain of command. Given that Miho understood that, there was no need to erase her. Locating suitable Fraccion, after all, was difficult.

One would not say that there were no emotional ties, but Kuroi was a master of hiding them. It was hardly likely that any could get him to either show or admit any feelings he may possess, though Kuroi suspected that Marcelius would know, given time, simply by virtue of his acute sense of emotional reading. It did not change that Kuroi was indeed serious, and really would fire a Cero on one of his own, should they show him disobedience and not learn from it. What kind of leader was one who could not instantly order his subordinates into position? No, there was no such leader. Under Kuroi, Nijuu, Miho, and Marcelius had all become instantly alert and stiff as soon as his voice was heard, and his orders were given. Not unlike the others, of course. "Of course, Boss!" from Chisoku, when Kuroi had given such orders. "You got it, Boss!" from Kouen when Kuroi had given such orders. And, for an instant too short to even call a lapse of feelings, there was a flicker of regret so dim that if anyone could catch it in Kuroi's soul or eyes, they would question whether or not they had truly detected it, of if it had been imagined.

Then, of course, there was the question from Marcelius. Kuroi had understood the ploy well enough. Desperate, and a lover of peace, no matter how weak a quality Kuroi found the love of peace to be, Marcelius had wanted to end the conflict that he had been witnessing. Kuroi had lowered his hand after Marcelius's words, albeit having done so not as a result of what his Fraccion said, but of his recognition in what Miho had learned. A few seconds later, meaning at this very moment, Kuroi answered Marcelius's questions, granting to his newest subordinate what had been desired, that being a change of subject. "We will collect Desgarron now." Kuroi said. "Kouen Akarui will find us when he finds us. For the moment, it would be most pragmatic for us to seek out the newest addition to our group." Kuroi had not given up on Kouen, but he did realize that if he devoted and thereby wasted too much time in the hunt, then his chances of snagging an additional subordinate would also cheapen, and grew more difficult. No, Kuroi's plan was to get Desgarron on his side, and give his Fraccion time to get acquainted with Desgarron. From there, Kuroi would seek out Kouen Akarui.

"Marcelius, lead us to Desgarron." Kuroi ordered. After a few minutes, when Marcelius had let them at their top speeds to the strip club, and they had all entered the filthy establishment, Kuroi began looking around. The place was filled with neon strobing lights, dancers with very little clothing, and much more. He was of course not impressed, though he was quick to locate a source of reiatsu, that being Desgarron, sitting on one of the sofas in the center of the room, receiving a lap dance from a stripper. How disgusting. Kuroi was tempted to kill Desgarron, but he had heard good things about this man. He would at least examine the prospective Fraccion first, before writing him off as another Cierro Muerte. However, of course, if Desgarron turned out to be disappointing, then naturally Kuroi would kill him. There was no need to keep someone as disappointing as a Cierro Muerte alive, after all. Pragmatism. In this way, there were no witnesses to Kuroi, and none could be used as informants for any others. Kouen Akarui, Kuroi knew after all, could potentially also still be watching, and waiting for his opportunity to strike.

Kuroi glanced between his three subordinates. Given Nijuu's loud demeanor, Marcelius's calm demeanor, and Miho's generally cynical demeanor, it was obvious who would be best at what Kuroi had in mind for each of them. "Nijuu, scan the premises for enemies." Kuroi ordered. Nijuu disappeared into the crowd to begin searching. Kuroi then looked at Miho. "Miho, find a way to subtly and non-suspiciously get this whole crowd out of the establishment, so that we may have a more private talk with Desgarron Cyndaquil." Kuroi turned to Marcelius, whom the Segunda suspected might be the most sociable of those in Kuroi's new group. "Marcelius, approach Desgarron and engage him with our proposal. Do whatever you need to earn his trust and his reply of acceptance. I will join you shortly, after ensuring myself that there are no enemies nearby." It was common knowledge that one should scan for enemies whenever in the human world. Arrancar were not very welcome here. In fact, in this town, Arrancar were especially unwelcome, and there were a great deal of powerful opponents who could prove that. There were people Kuroi did not want to run into, for fear of inconvenience.

[Marcelius]

Now this...was a scene he never thought he would find himself in, ever again. (Any sarcasm sensed in that line, is out of character. Despite the fact that Marc has been in 3 strip clubs since his creation...this is technically the first, chronologically.) A theater for this with an eye for seductive performances, and a buffet for those with carnal appetites. Stepping into the poorly lit room felt like walking into a fog bank. The air was filled with the humid licentiousness that plagued living men. Though he wished not to have a clear look into this house of harlots, the dim lighting actually worked against him. With his eyes unable to focus in the shifting colors of neon and dark lights; the Arrancar's stronger sense took charge. Suddenly the Fraccion was being washed by the sentiments and worse...wishes of those within the residence. Firstly was the lust of the customers, who greatly outnumbered and overwhelmed the performers with their wants. Then there were the employees themselves. Various types of greed and pride motivate most to dance; while others were haunted by unspoken grievances.

Like tumors building in their guts, they filled themselves with hate and disgust...animosity aimed inwards. It was a troubling world to join. One he had little physical experience in, but vast emotional understanding. After all...these were just Hollows; brethren that have yet to die and claim their masks. So while the exposure and desire for flesh was quite unusual for the elder Mundo dweller, the pain and dissatisfaction were the norm. So doing his best to ignore the poor quality of this exotic bar; Marcelius redirected his thoughts to their leader. It would seem Master Kuroi had his mind set on brevity. Get in, get the target, and get out. It seems the delays and dangers which had faced them thus far, had pushed on a nerve. The Espada was by no means rattled, but he was ready to see this plot draw shut.

The traitor would not be allowed time for enjoying his minor successes. So the orders came down; each Fraccion now assigned their particular jobs. Unsure of his own personal objective, the old man quickly stepped after his two fellows. The human and the heartbreak. Leaning towards the silent Miho, hoping to offer a tip. "Try lying. Tell them law officials plan to raid. No one would want to be caught here." Assuming the little lady was still reserved from being whipped before, she might be willing to heed another's advice. "That, or make it uncomfortable to stay here." Though he would never call out any insecurity such as that. It might just aid him right now. If not, then things would remain the same as they were. In such a case...his mission was the same. Approach the target. Make contact. Persuade him to join. Simple enough words, for a hard enough challenge...but the oldster had a thought or two to work with.

Desgarrion seemed, even under such unflattering lights, almost exactly as Marc had expected. A slim looking fellow, exceedingly unconcerned with his health or well being. Both pale and underfed...though capable enough to do something about it. After all, he was sufficient enough to acquire a Gigai. Even if it was but a means to sate unsophisticated ambitions. The motivation in this one was simplistic, but powerful. That, perhaps, was all that was needed to encourage him further. Ah, but the baited hook still needed to be set. Luckily, this place offered quite the setup. Like fishing in a stocked, garden pond. Being a man, dressed for business, and appearing unattractive enough to require a bought women...Marcelius fit right in to this place. There would be no surprise when the seemingly human soul dropped into the seat closest to Desgarrion. Being so close to the stage, that tips could be handed off in the teeth...meant that the partying Arrancar should expect others to want such advantageous position.

Either way, the bulky fellow made his rest near the younger Hollow. Quiet at first, not addressing or looking at the boy; Marcelius waited for the music and dancer to slow their tempos. Seemed silly trying to fight some 20-something year old for Desgarrion's attention. Instead; the old man would call up a waitress and whispered a request for two beers. Unable to cure his hangover, he figured he would dilute it. The music would soon slow down, and the woman would be collecting up her cash and covering. Needing to consolidate his role in this audience, the senior leaned into drop what bills he had left from the dinner and drinks before. Amid the waves of Nachos and imported beers, he had snatched up human money they had yet to give out. Unfamiliar with the customs and charges of the typical exhibition, Marc just dropped all he had. The girl would know if it were too much or too little...but he could use the display no matter the case. He needed a reason to complain about the girl. Anything at all.

Her looks, her attitude. While she fetched his offering, he'd have a chance at both. "I do not know whether to pity or to praise these girls for getting up there. Looking as they do..." The Fraccion spoke, using both a tone and script that was not quite his own. "I wonder where the quality ones are..." Speaking as he did made his tongue nearly curl in satisfaction at his outspoken distaste. It felt good to voice malcontent for a change. Ah, but lounging back in his seat, tilting his head towards the only other person about. "This may be it, actually. They are only human." His voice growing considerably deeper...regality somehow revealing itself. "Nothing like the women from where I come from." With his drinks arriving...with a warning he would have to give them some plastic before continuing his orders...he nodded half-assuredly. What the hell was plastic? Either way, he grabbed one glass and groaned.

"They listen too. I only wanted one." Holding it out to his fellow Hollow, still going with the idea they were both human and desired such things. "Here, I am too old to drink this much. Not unless I want to run to the loo. You can have it. Drink it too, if you like." The way he spoke shaped not only his words, but the atmosphere around them, into a bond. It was like talking to one's dad, and being offered that prized symbol of equality. The shared alcohol. "You are young, you can handle another. Age or not, being Hollow helps." Holding the drink as long as needed. With his other hand, he would coolly, calmly drink from his other glass. Pausing not long into the sip, showing very little excitement or anxiety over Desgarrion's true identity. "Being an Arrancar is even better. In fact...it could be quite profitable."

Hopefully the elder's arm would not grow tired, and the tribute quickly accepted. "There are very wealthy individuals, looking to pay for Arrancar's services. Employers willing to reward." Cutting through the darkness of the dingy room, the Fraccion's voice ended all suspicion. Desgarrion would know of his intentions and origins, facades all dropped away. The senior's blue eyes glued to the young man...reading each thought that worked through his mind. Hoping to catch a glimpse of curiosity or greed; which might guide his words and offers. "One could get money...or even things that no amount of finance could buy." Finishing off his beer, putting back the pallet grating swill with all the practice this evening had given him. "If your wanting more: money, power...women...", gesturing to the next young entertain to waltz onto the stage, "Hmm, better women...then I know someone you should meet. Brother."

[Zeich Yajuu]

Alright, Marc asked for a bunch of (two year old...) threads to be graded, so I guess I'll step in and handle it.

First off, this was listed as a social adventure until the boss at the end, so no TP is awarded. That being said, going as far as it has, I am willing to allow it to be claimed for SKP progression. That's all.