Bedside Manners (Joint Training, R, NDE)

[Marcelius]

(OoC: The events to follow are to include Myzaraphiston Synderfell and Marcelius Despres. This is to be a semi-social/joint training thread; however, changes may occur in goals to suit the situation. I.E. Shit MAY get real, and turn into PvP. But let's all hope not...seriously.)

Las Noches. The name conjures a great many notions when present in the mind. For most, images of terror and fear begin to swirl among the painful memories associated to this place and it's peoples. Rich imaginations might concoct the hellish events that occur within it's walls. Death, violation...torture and destruction; these are both a commodity and export for the dreaded white castle. However, this is not all the secrets she holds. Within her walls and corridors, there is a place that might as well be secret. So rarely seen or spoken of, it's existence is comparable to that of myth or fable.

A hospital. A place of healing exists within the confines Las Noches. Buried deep in her belly where neither light nor prying eye may glance. It is much like a womb, for the medicinal needs of Arrancar are not such a typical thing. Though it is true, recovery does occur here...often times it is for many other reasons, than simply the wellbeing of a patient. The medical group are a staff of doctors, only in title alone. The things that occur in the infirmary...can often be of a contradictory nature.

As a result, of Arrancars' peculiar utilities for medicine and treatments, the visitors who frequent this institution are of a different cut as well. There are no well wishers, come to greet and comfort those who safe ailing. No, the callers who come to this place, often do so with far different reasoning in mind. However, this was not a universal truth. There was one, at least one of note, whom came for the reasons a soul of any other kind might. An old Hollow, one who's age had actually begun to shop in the faint creases of his smile. A long lived soul, who has grown beyond his prime and lust for power.

For him, visitation was something blessed. He came, like a father, exuberant to see the face of it's child. The truth was, he had put someone into the facility. By way of injury, one inflicted by him, the poor young Mask was now a resident of this establishment. A burden had come upon him, driven home by his unique mentality, that he had become responsible for this being. To ensure recovery, and safety, was his prerogative and duty. Day in, and day out, he sacrificed time...and often dignity...to muster through the disdain the staff had for his involvement. Seeing her everyday he could, observing her condition and all the progress it made...or did not.

Having invaded the medical centre on a daily basis; Marcelius had become familiar with all the noises of the staff. Some of them he knew by name, other's by personality. Yet, there was a one whom went unknown to him. A young woman, much like the other's who patrol the hospital halls on a regular basis. She was different; though, and in every way. Clothed in a beautiful black dress of the finest elegance, complementing a beauty far surpassing the other feminine rivals about...she was unique.

The separation was not defined by such trivial matters as clothes or appearance. No...the divide between her and the staff, was a scale of power too fearsome to compare. With her great strength came a well earned aire of superiority; one that showed in the face of every observer unfortunate enough to cross her path. For Marc, witnessing her was much like the first time he met an Espada. There is a respect, so potent, it can only be distinguished in fear.

Indeed...he did have reason to fear her. The presence of any of the Ten did not always warrant pleasantries. Worse still, was what he sensed in her. Passion and conviction. The mind of a zealot, one of chosen purpose and indomitable will. Would his gleaming personality be enough to avoid displeasing such an opposite spirit? Without evidence or experimentation, it was impossible to know for sure.

Whether by luck or fate, the time would come to seek these answers. Upon one faithful day, during his planned visit to the Infirmary, he would discover the Espada waiting in his ward's room. Hurrying to the door, opening it with what calm he could summon up, using his gift to create a false sense of surprise as he glided through the doorway. On the bed lay the quiet Mei...here emotions twisting nervously under the influence of her guest. Beside her...Myzaraphiston Synderfell, Septima Espada.

(OoC: You have to imagine the chill in my spine when writing that name. Weeeew. Alright, let's see what becomes of this faithful encounter!)

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Ah, the medical facilities. Myza had become all too familiar with this particular domain in Los Noches. In fact, it had been the second place she had come to after her initial arrival. Which was only natural, considering that her arrival into Los Noches had resulted in a sword being stabbed through her chest by Most Fit Adalo. And then there was the fight against him as his Fraccion as well, shortly after she had finished getting the first stab wound healed. Now that had definitely required some serious medical attention. Then again, that was simply to be expected, fighting against the Primera and all.

Still, it wasn't these two personal visits that brought Myza to the medical Arrancar time and again. No, the recently promoted Septima came to this part of Los Noches so that she could tend to the frailest of her interrogation subjects in peace, without having to worry about going too far with her attentions. While she was good at prolonging how long her subjects could stay alive, she couldn't actually stop them from dying in the end. That's where the beauty of the medical facilities came in. Here, if she needed a subject stabilized, they could actually bring him back to a stable state of health. They could even heal their old wounds, lessen the old pains, and prepare them for a fresh new experience at her hands. It was perfection for the Septima's favorite past-time.

There was one other reason that she preferred lurking about in the medical bay. Eventually, regardless of skill or power, every Arrancar in Los Noches would come through here at one point or another. And when you were trying to understand what crafted an Arrancar into an Arrancar in the first place, being able to question them about their past while they didn't have the option to scurry away from you was fantastic.

And today, that was exactly what Myza was doing, with one of the more recent additions to Kouhai's standing army of Arrancar. It had so far been a rather polite, genial conversation, with merely simple inquiries into the girl's past. Granted, the Septima was disappointed that she was yet another creation of the Hogyoku rather than a completely natural Arrancar like herself, but data was data.

She was just about to finish with her little interview when she felt another energy signature moving towards, one that she had noticed a few times before. The Septima smiled slightly, looking over in the direction of the energy and settling back into her position next to the girl's bed, looking towards the door and waiting. She could feel his momentary pause outside of the door, prompting a larger smile from her. Marcelius would be confronted by this smile when he opened the door, followed by a brief, low chuckle. "Good evening, Mr. Despres. Please, come in. I insist."

[Marcelius]

To the fool who speaks of Arrancar as heartless...a great sympathy must be held for their stupidity. For whether there is a heart or not, beating within the chest of a Maskless, there were certainly lingering feelings of what once existed. For most it was excitement, the thrill of conflict or victory providing a jovial boost in the pulse. For Marcelius, his heart played a familiar...yet rare melody. It was of the sincerest relief, one he had not expected to experience this day. One that overwhelmed him when he examined the condition of the young Mei. Frightened, yes...but completely unharmed. For this, above all else, Marcelius could be thankful. With this critical concern aside, there was little else to be glad for. Smiling, with a level of amusement that rattled the nerves, he was greeted by their most auspicious of guests.

As an Espada, her attendance in any room of Las Noches, was never an intrusion. This was but one of the rights issued to those who reigned strongest. In truth, Marc represented more of an intrusion than anyone. Mei had every right to be here. Miss Myza had come, for her own purposes, which the older Hollow had now rudely interrupted. To compensate for his bold entrance, one that came without the usual, courteous knock that should have preceded him, Marc quickly dipped his head in a most respectful manner. Raising his eyes back unto her, only after proper pause had been observed, he masked his curiosity and anxieties with a most sincere smile. "Thank you Septima...my apologies for the intrusion." Wreathed in an aire of piety, he humbly accepted the Espada's invitation. Carefully closing the door behind him.

There was so much to take in, and all of it had to be done so quickly...subtly. The older Arrancar moved with a calm, and a caution, that complimented his age. There was a warmth coming from him, one he upheld at all times by means of great conviction. Neither by word, nor by expression of the body, would he convey any sense of distress towards the Septima. In truth, he had much to thank her for. The condition of the young patient could have been something much more dire. In his gratitude, a genuine feeling of joy and relaxation issued forth. But his emotions were not his only focus. No, for behind his deep blue eyes, a powerful mind was at full pace.

Peering at her, an examination of her physical personage had already concluded. Garbed in finery, unfitting one of low station or casual responsibilities. Hair perfected and skin flawless; this one took care of herself in ways that rendered cosmetics insufficient. Natural beauty dominated her outward figure, and it confirmed volumes of suspicions Marc had long since considered. Her looks conveyed her naturalist philosophies...but only in minute ways. Given she was an Arrancar...might is right was the first generalization to pop into his head. It made so much sense, when coupled with her current interview of this new, Las Noches recruit. If that evidence were not enough...there was also the contents of her mind.

Standing, hands clasped behind his back. Shoulders were drawn, back as straight and as firm as his figure could maintain. The way he stood, reflected his opinion of his host. It would be too crass of him to assume a seated position...there was a superior in the room. Until asked to sit, he world remain on his feet. Standing served another fiction, one less social than respect. A more personal preference, remaining on his feet allowed him to think more clearly. Thinking clearly, was priority. Disappointment was the first, too virile a feeling to not see outright from the start.

When deciphering the source of such a mood, he quickly considered Mei's injury. In her condition, she did not represent what strength she had. Not well, at least. To make matters worse was the injury itself, which by all diagnoses, had rendered her blind. Would she be considered useless, or a waste? Thankfully, this appeared to not be the case...as a few scrounged thoughts later provided no evidence to support this conclusion. That is where his prying stopped, reigned in by a strong will and heavy conscience. It seemed unfitting to explore the Espada's mind...it was shameful enough he exposed what he had already. So, he spoke aloud instead.

"If I may? To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit today, ma'am?" Short and to the point, not wishing to waste time or appear a jabbering fool. What he wanted was assurance. To hear the Espada say she had come by for nothing more than...curiosity perhaps? To learn, that after speaking with Mei, she had found the young girl to be a delight...and that the interest ended there. Anything, anything at all...as long as no reflection of that previous disapproval remained. An answer to set his mind at ease; laying to rest his fears for Mei's safety. If not...possibly he could act as a voice of persuasion?

At the very least, he might offer some sort of distraction that might prolong any form of approaching judgment. Lingering images of more prominent memories began to trickle in. Carried by the sounds of his internal chorus, the strings of his thoughts began to pull tight by discourse's tension. What he saw were the previous patients of the cheerful Espada. They appeared as flashes of suffering, viewed and recorded through her own lens of enjoyment. Lives lasting well beyond their wills, broken and healed...just to be broken again more thoroughly. This was not yet Mei's fate...but his duties were to prevent such happenings. My, how he hoped he would not have to do so...not today.

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza raised an eyebrow at the Fraccion's first statement, the same smile on her face as when Marc had entered the room. She looked the older arrancar up and down for a moment. "Intrusion? What on earth are you talking about? You're the reason I'm still waiting in here right now, Marcelius"

The Espada made a hand motion, ushering him to sit down somewhere. As he moved, she would speak. "It's always a pleasure to have other members of the Chosen People around, especially when they're members I have yet to question." She reached for the prayer beads on her wrist, idly spinning them around and around. "Unless, of course, you don't have the time right now? If you do not, then I understand whole-heartedly. We could easily get to our little conversation at a later time, after you're done visiting with your little... Acquisition here."

[Marcelius]

As much as he tried to fight it, he could not help but turn his head towards Mei. The way the Septima hesitated, the way she described Mei's relation to him...it drew up fresh concern. What did the Espada truly think about him, did she possible consider it strange that he felt obliged to monitor the life he saved? It could be just as possible that she saw it in a better light, after all, she did just make mention to enjoying the opportunity to speak with other Arrancar. Especially new ones, as it was made clear. For Marc, if this were a trap it would have already sprung. Refusing to leave Mei alone without certainty of her security, and the chance to gap with a fellow Hollow whom actually desires the conversation...snap. Smiling to the young lady, an ease returned to his mind and thoughts. It would become apparent in his body language, as he moved with a motion suggesting comfort.

Taking up one of the spare chairs, he laughed internally at the discovery of it. Only on the first day of his visits, was there a chair in this room. It had been quickly removed, so as to deny him welcome. With this other chair, the thought of the Espada bossing some rude nurse around gave him amusement. Once rested, back straight to display his good posture and manners, he lifted his head back towards his superior. "I would feel amiss, if I hid how honored I am to hear that." Pausing to consider her subtle gesture with her beads, was she in some form of hurry herself? "I am not expected anywhere today. My superior has already informed me of upcoming...well, the important thing is, I'm free for today." Catching himself, nearly breaking into a ramble, he wanted to spare her ear his obsession with gab. If only for a moment longer.

Chosen People. It honestly had a lovely ring to it. As a advocate of the Arrancar race, Marc always greeted any form of compliment issued to them with delight. It was impossible to ever hear such words from the lips of non-Hollows, and his own kind was certainly not the supportive type. Not yet. In Myza, Marc had a kindled hope. He felt there could be something, that he might have over looked before, that could connect their individual ideals. They were as similar to each other, as they were different from other races...so maybe that could be a start?

"If you have questions for me...much like the ones you may have asked Mei here, I'll gladly answer them. The warmth of his smile was something not to be overlooked. When he expressed his feelings, they were sincere...down to the core. And with that kind of sincerity, a soul can light up a room. This was Marc, an old man who had the power and the will, to draw the emotion and comfort from those around him. Even the most disagreeable of audiences. In truth, this was as much for the Septima...as it was for Mei. It was clear they were to talk around her, so if that be the case, he wanted her to be assured things were fine and well. Even if no reason had been given to the contrary, it was in his nature to cautiously cover all angles. "For warned, I have this terrible habit of jabbering. Seems I've become long winded over my long years."

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza smiled a bit wider as Marc responded, actually showing some teeth now, along with the slightest hint of a black residue along what little was visible of her gums. She was still ultimately relaxed in her seat, her legs crossed and hand still occupied with spinning her prayer beads. "Ah, so Lord Kuroi isn't expecting you anywhere. Most excellent to hear then! This means I can make this as long as I wish then."

She steepled her fingers in front of her, the smile on her face toning down slightly as Marcelius spoke once again. "Very well then. Now, keep in mind you can take as long as you wish to answer my questions. After all, right now I have nothing but time. Lord Kouhai oh-so-kindly leaves us Espada with plenty of free time, and with the capability to do as we please with that time." The Septima continued to smile, her hands going back to their familiar work of spinning her prayer beads. "So by all means, jabber on all you wish to, dearie. I won't mind in the least."

The Septima would clear her throat after that, leaning back ever-so-slightly more in her chair. "First, I would like to know if you reached the status of the Chosen People by self-imposed, natural means, or if you are a byproduct of the Hogyoku. Next, if you could simply describe what you remember of your life before the Hunger, that would be greatly appreciated."

[Marcelius]

The Arrancar lifted his hand, stretching his fingers through the coarse fibers of his beard. For as neat, and short as he kept his hair, it was a striking contrast how his beard was simply left to be. Not very long, or thick, but untrimmed either. Still, it served purpose for him during his deep thoughts. Nothing like a fixation to distract the forward brain, while one desperately pleads for information from the lymbic. Her questions were both of origins, though each beginning was widely separated over untold years. First was his birth, or rebirth rather, as a Hollow without a mask. Above both eyes, small portions resembling ovals were set. The lower portions appeared elongated, descending into two fine points. Remnants of the Mask he once was. Fractured and broken, barely clung to his weary brow. "Yes, the day my mask shattered. That has been such a long time now. Or, rather, it feels like it has. What is that saying, 'time takes longer when you're enjoying it.'?"

He had to ask, as he was truly unfamiliar with colloquialism and other turn-of-phrase. In his speech pattern, he always left gaps for response. A participant in his chatter might have something to add, which he always wished to hear, and would always be able to revitalize the conversation with. "I remember, awaking. I had dreamt for what felt like, an eternity. In which...I watched life after life go by. Sometimes it felt like my own; I could actually feel the sensations that occurred. Then there were other's, they were disconnected and surreal. It was more like watching, than participating in life. When it all had ended, I arose feeling quite warm. It was the bliss, I've come to understand, of conquering true Hunger." Looking to Mei now, remembering her own warmth when he first came to see her. Unfortunately, this form of exhilaration was a fleeting one. His own, those many years ago, was just as brief.

"Something you must know, is that I had been stricken blind and deaf for the greater portion of my life. The world was silent and dismal, more so than the already bleak existence of most Hollows. But at that moment, I came under assault from new sensations. My mask became as a prison cell, claustrophobic and terrible. So I began to claw and tear at it, desperate to escape the empty blackness that it covered my eyes with. I broke my nails across the face I once had, but in doing so I managed to sheer my way out from beneath it. My first glimpse of the world was nauseating. So much light and noise, like nothing I could remember experiencing before. I had to become tolerant of this new existence I had uncovered, outside of my old self." With that, he smiled at the Septima. There was more he could say, but it seemed polite to answer without further lingering. "Though it would bring me no shame, to have been the product of the Hogyoku, I am not." Mei should find no reason to disapprove of her creation, that is, if Marc had anything to say about it. "As for your other question..."

Life. Marc had so many, many memories of that. Numerous, countless...all stretched across both his mind and his history. Had the Septima only spoken to him when he first arrived at Las Noches, he could have given her an answer. It would have been wrong, a lie that he came to accept some great time ago, but he would have believed every word he told her. Though this has changed now. The once certain life was nothing more than a song he had recalled. All the same, this was his chance to enjoy a conversation, and a good story never hurt anyone. "Before I became Hollow. Well, I have many memories of life as a human. So very many, almost too many to count. The one I recall, with the most clarity, occurred in a place known among the humans...as Spain. The times were as peaceful as they could have been. I enjoyed a simple life, plying the trade I learned from a father. Moving and carving upon great stones, and even sometimes, drawing upon yellowed canvas." His eyes had closed now, desperate to recall the details as best he could. A good story is always defined by it's details, those familiar aspects that can make the experience real for others.

"The last few summers I recall, had each been hotter than the last. Every rain was a blessing, the cool kiss of a kind god. I remember the wine being, quite tart. I was not rich, and could not afford the flavors that were properly aged. But, I was happy, and I did not go hungry." His smile turned to a amused smirk, as her other question had pertained to a time before 'The Hunger'. "The highlight of my life, was not the warmth of the sun or the taste of fresh bread. I found pride in my work, as a tradition, but it still was not my joy. Happiness came to me, in the form of a lovely woman. One, a few years my elder and far more versed in the song of love. She had been a young widow, to some poor soul whom I was never acquainted. From her first husband, she had claimed a vast orchard with trees that were always brimming with lush, yellow apples. I...heh, I can still smell all those apples, even today. I was a foreigner, and I was educated. I wooed her with stories of the cold north. I had tales of snow, and of the vast Greenwood. They came from my childhood...and I could recount their mysticism and fantasy with the same candor as I had in my youth. It, must be amusing to imagine me young, mmm? I know I always get quite the laugh from it."

The gleam in his eye seemed to burn, if only for a moment. The his serene expression began to dim. The light retreating as the truths of the story pressed on. This story was not a comedy. "She, was beautiful." His eyes rose now, open again so the darkened blue hue could be seen once more. Examining the lovely Myza; from her long and flowing hair to her flawless skin. "Another man wanted her, one with power and influence. Not long after that, I found myself a criminal. Charged of an act, for which I still have no memory...without trial or argument. The days after, were spent in a cage not fit for the rats that invaded it. Torture was to follow, as the crimes were too heinous to warrant simple incarceration. For the task, local priests with extensive knowledge of both the body and the spirit, were sent in to effectively break both. I was never given an explanation, and built what truths I have out of speculation and examination. Days passed, there was no hope or mercy that could be felt." A pause was brought to him, one that made him shift his old bones in his seat. His eyes averted from Myza's, unable to remain for the final portion of his tale. What was worse, his voice was becoming coarse. Moments of memory were approaching, ones that instilled in him...the truest of Regrets.

"A chance came, one that promised freedom. An agreement, once signed, would bring about said freedom. So many bones and muscles lay torn and broke, that signing was not possible. Vocal admission, followed by the priest's smile and quick calligraphy, and it was done. To secure pardon, one life had to be traded for another...and it was. That beautiful soul, whom came to embody love, was drug down to into that same wretched pit. The two did not see each other; however, as the young man's throat was greeted by the sharp handshake of a knife. Death was his freedom, one he was eager to accept. If you are wondering, punishment did come. It was only after his passing, that he discovered a world beyond human knowledge. A world, where he would watch the same agonies he suffered, plied slowly on the form of his one great love. Humans possess flimsy wills, that once broken, can trade everything for life or comfort. It seems this time was no exception. Time slowed till seconds were as lifetimes...and all of it was spent observing the slow, lingering suffering of the one he traded for his freedom." There was a stiffening in his muscles. To recall such events, caused him not shortness of distress. Even describing it, rekindled the emotions to which these thoughts were bound. At this point, his words kept coming, with far less regard for those listening.

"When her flesh was wrung, till the nerves went dead and numb. Eyes and cheeks raw and red, though the tears had dried long before. Even compared to the wailing of despair, breaking of bones and gnashing of teeth...was the breaking of a heart." Stopping, to calm his nerves and ease the story into a slower tempo. His voice grew deeper still, as if he were speaking upwards from a depression. "I can only imagine why she was sent to suffer. What I am sure of, is it turned the observe to that of a Hollow. From there, well...you must know the gist of it." Suddenly his form felt more relaxed, the tension in his spine seemed to release as his concentration. Hands coming back down to lay upon the armrests of the chair. In his face, an astounding recovery had taken over. One that restored the color to his flesh and the kindness of his smile. "Ah, but my memory is beginning to gray, much like my hair. What I once thought to be my former life...seems more and more like one of the many dreams I've dreamt before. So there is no way of telling...not for me at least, if this memory was my own or an addition. That's the best answer I can give...I'm afraid."

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza continued to smile as Marcelius spoke, listening intently to what the other Arrancar had to say. She would remain quiet until he finished answering her first question. As he finished, the Septima would raise up a finger, signaling him to stop for a moment. "I must say that I find your likening of the mask to a prison is an apt one. I myself found it more like the original chain that was holding me back from my purpose, but that's neither here nor there." She slipped into a more neutral face as she spoke, merely recounting facts at this point.

"And for the record, I have found the results of the Hogyoku less than satisfactory myself. On the natural side, we have individuals such as myself, and Most Fit Adalo. On the side of those created by the Hogyoku...." Myza frowned some, a small twinge of disgust echoing through her emotions "There's Cierro. Why, even individuals such as Amoguerra have fundamental flaws within them. In Amoguerra's case, it's his subtle psychosis, something that should be absent in any proper member of the Chosen People. I can see the need for the Hogyoku currently, as we strive to establish our proper foothold upon all the worlds. But it would be far better for us to simply accelerate the process of evolution that Hollows go through, rather than rely on the crutch that's been provided by an outsider."

She fell back into silence after she voiced her own views, signaling for the older Arrancar to continue his dialogue. This was always a tricky subject to broach with even mundane Hollows, the past. As a race, they didn't much like dwelling on what had lead to them becoming the way they were. Add in the fact that many of the ones powerful enough to be of interest to Myza had to drag their memories through the process of being a Gillian, and you had a perfect recipe for either liars or people who couldn't accurately remember the events. However, Marc was more than willing to talk about it, something that initially had her quite pleased.

As he went on through his memories though, it wouldn't take a emotion-reader to tell that the Septima was less than pleased. It was slow at first, a simple mounting displeasure that just kept steadily growing and growing. As her mood worsened, Myza would begin to frown, her hand spinning the prayer beads she wore faster and faster. If Marc tried to feel further into it, he'd feel a writhing mass of emotions within the Septima, a mixture of wrath, faint echos of passion and lust, and sorrow. The Septima would not say anything for quite some time after Marc finished talking, simply sitting there, and apparently sulking. If he wanted the conversation to continue, he would have to be the one to re-initiate it... If he was brave enough to test the Septima's mood, something that could be potentially dangerous.

[Marcelius]

It has been said, that the greatest of all storytellers, measure their worth in the reactions of their audience. To summon up great feelings or passions, with nothing more than words, was the goal of every master. For Marcelius, his goals were similar...and always quite easy to see. Unlike other great storytellers, Marc did not have to gauge or guess at the expressions with which his audience listened. No, this Arrancar could feel their connection to his words, as if he were them. It was a great gift. Never once did he consider it a curse. There were times where he could share the great joy of some fortunate soul. Brimming with happiness as they did. Then there were times where he would be absorbed in their sadness, or discontent.

Though he never considered it a burden. Sharing their grief, although painful, allowed him to help them through their troubles with intimate appreciation. Their problems would become his own, and together they would strive for a solution. This was how he was, a product of his long and wizened life. He was Remorse, suffering caused by failure or guilt. Unlike most Arrancar, who sought to spread their Aspect to others, Marcelius had evolved beyond this aspect of the notion. Saving others before their failure, and redeeming those who toil in guilt...this was his new calling. This was such an exigent philosophy to his brothers and sisters. Often he confused others with his actions and sincerity. Thus is the nature of evolution; that it often bewilders those who have yet to ascend. Despite what misinterpretations occur, he stands by his creed.

"Septima? May I ask you a question now?" He spoke very softly, but there was no tremble to his tone. His voice was calm, rather confident, and still held that rasp that only age could create. When he spoke, he did not tiptoe or second guess his words. Though he may pause, speaking slowly as one who never hurries would...he did not have the conduct of a liar. Just as the Septima made her emotions -and her thoughts- very clear, so too did the Fraccion. There was nothing hidden, nothing concealed. If it could not be discerned from his speech, then it could be seen in his tired eyes. A glow, warm and constant, that seeped from the deepest reaches of his soul. This was a weakness of his, truly, for he could not control or hide his genuine nature. There was now suave or mystery, only earnest character.

"Do not feel inclined to answer...", a silly statement, as an Espada would never owe anything to a lowly Fraccion. It was his nature to use such polite pleasantries, regardless of his converse position. Once again, there no hint of disrespect. "I would like to know, when did you remove your mask?" Waiting, patiently, he would continue to observe her emotions. At this point, his options were not very varied. It felt wrong to inspect her mind as he did, given the context of their discussion. The only reason he did so, was Mei. For if something had indeed become cross with the Espada, he had to know before it turned physical. The life was worth too much too him, for him to ever presume any sort of safety at any time. Even if he did wish to extend the Septima, the benefit of the doubt.

In retrospect, several possibilities became clear. Most listerns can place themselves within a story rather well...but given her appearance, she was born to play the role. This, unsettled Marc. Having been so lost in his memories before, he had not begin to consider what hearing such a story might have done. He was not the only person in the room to ever suffer pain. Without any clue as to her own story of creation, about whatever birth she remembered from before her sentence as a Gillian...there was no telling how many terrible memories he may have just conjured. Soon there would be no choice, with no level of defense capable of blocking his view. If she could remember anything, then he would soon have to endure it. If not for his bleeding heart, he could just leave this room. Leave and abandon Mei's safety. Ignore the Espada and what suffering she was about to, even unknowingly, share. To bad that was not who he was. Getting cozy in his seat, as best as the atmosphere in the room would currently allow, he prepared himself for whatever was to come. What he hoped for most, was that he might be some small form of assistance. To help this young woman, possibly to cope with her own memories...if it was at all possible for him to do so.

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Marc would feel the warning sign first. The Septima's emotions were warring with each other, and one was quickly beginning to pull into the lead. It was anger, plain and simple. But where others anger was burning with passion, Myza's was cold, steady hatred. She would snap out of her sulking then, her eyes directly meeting his, their own cold fury clashing against his calm gaze. Myza would close her eyes after a moment, and Marc would feel the Septima leashing her emotions back in, getting the faint feeling of... Regret? Compassion? Duty? It was hard to pinpoint the exact emotion she was feeling as her anger subsided, but it didn't entirely matter since she was calming down, simply settling into a mild annoyance.

She would sigh after that, opening her eyes back up after the long exhale. "My apologies. As I'm sure you can understand, I am not an individual who is comfortable with the past. With my past. Your story was a bit too similar to my own." The Septima pursed her lips after this, pausing for a moment. "... I'm happy she loved you enough to give up her life for you. I hope that one day you'll find her again." Even without his unique capabilities, Marc would be able to tell that the Septima was a bit emotionally hurt now, the annoyance having fully passed by now.

She coughed after that, shifting in her seat some as a slight blush crept across her face. Her eyes skirted off to the side, not looking at the older Arrancar directly. "Also, you will tell no one of that statement. My reputation has already suffered enough of a blow from the Hibiki incident, and I don't need every fool with an ego thinking they can commandeer my fate and position simply because I don't always hold myself to the proper standards of the Chosen People." There would be a moment of awkward silence on her part, followed by another small clearing of her throat.

"Anyways, yes. You asked me a question about removing my mask." The Septima would raise a hand, tapping lightly on the imprisoned side of her face. "But as you can clearly see, I have yet to actually do so. However, I can relate to you one of the two stories about how I lessened its restraint upon me, if you so wish."

[Marcelius]

This moment was one he had been expecting. With equal parts dread and anticipation, his mind watched with the upmost care. It is the hope of those who engage in conversation, that their words will be heard. For Myza, so much more was being observed and accounted for. Why did he do this? Out of concern, mostly. Worry that something may occur, any number of things were possible. The Espada might find herself unable to dominate her emotions...it happens to the best and brightest all the time. She could lose her self, say or do things that would not normally fit her persona. She could threaten, or worse, fulfill her threats on either Marcelius or young Mei. These were all considerable issues, but none of them more important than thew rest.

However, his compassion for the Septima...and her suffering, now that took a high billing. It was soon clear, as evidence from before a had suggested, that Myza was quite disciplined with her words and actions. Should she need to show restraint, or simply maintain poise, there would be no trouble in it for her. To this end, Marc held an even higher respect for her...higher than she could have attained by means of her title alone. For how she spoke of the Chosen People, she truly did represent that standard of excellence well. So he did not need to fret for his life, nor the safety of Mei. His own breath need not be held, as tensions soothed and laid rest. It was such a spectacle, her emotions...one he tried to monitor with proper courtesy. She deserved no less. Given her change in posture, and the way she turned her gaze, he took heed to what words then followed.

Of course, what was spoken between them here would remain between them. There was no profit or sport to be had, in blackmailing a person who has been as understanding as her. To cross and Espada, is to invite death into one's life. And into them life of anyone such a fool had ever known or cared for. So to her request, he nodded his head. Never once did he drop his eye contanct. He was not the type to shy away, soft spoken or no. Besides, something she had said caught his attention. Not that it ever wandered, but was now drug in nevertheless. It was not what she said, rather how she phrased it. Her Mask had not be removed. To him, the breaking of a Mask was it's removal. Each time a Hollow performed such an act, their entire life and existstence seemed to be reshaped.

It was such a monumental happening, it felt only right to refer to the mask as gone. When she continued to explain, that she had plans to continue it's removal, Marc gave in to a smile. "I see...well, I wish you luck towards that endeavor. I know wishing good fortune is not much in the ways of helping, but, it is still sincere." The idea was intriguing...to say the least. It was inspiring, to speak more honestly. Having come to Las Noches, having scoured so many bright young minds...he had not witnessed such a commitment to improvement as the one he saw in her. The success she desired, was not so primitive or nearsighted as more power. She wanted to reach into the unknown, to unlock more potential. To learn things that no one else knew, or seem to know. Yes, despite her opinions of him...Marc found Myza to be an invaluable soul among Las Noches.


The though stuck with him, growing and exploring all the parts of his mind. Was there more for Hollows, than simply the reclamation of their individuality? Marcelius had often considered a society, built upon their superior shoulders...but never once did he dare to dream of higher evolution. His age had made him this way, always thinking and measuring with quantities known and practiced. Having learned so much about the box and it's inner workings...well, it became clear to him now that he had missed something. There was more, unbelievably more, awaiting outside the constraints of their current world. His desires for a strong, untied community...were very much connected to Myza's proposal. For if becoming Arrancar's could grant his people the reasoning and ingenuity thatt once was lost, what more could they acquire if they continued upward?

Perhaps the reason their society, this Kingdom of Las Noches, was failing...was connected to an flaw in their current existence. If the Septima were to continue her research, and find a way to correct such a flaw...then maybe it would be the answer to Marc's goals as well. It was...exciting to consider. Truly, all along his nerves he could feel that rare rush of exuberance. On his face a smile still lay...the aura which surrounded him, now pervading through the room. "I would appreciate the chance to hear your story Septima. I'm sure we both would." Motioning his head to the resting girl, who had maintained a steady silence till now. Both of them would have no trouble sensing the youngest's shy, caution. Careful not to move or to speak, she was bound by the presence of an Espada. It was natural, and to be expected. By not letting her be forgotten, he hoped that for a moment she could feel at peace...a feeling he found quite hard to reign in.

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza nodded as Marcelius wished her luck with her continued efforts to remove her mask, leaning back into her chair and actually looking at him now. He wouldn't see it on her face, but he would feel the slight sense of relief within the Septima as he acknowledged her desire to not have this revealed. She would resume fiddling with her prayer beads after that, then spoke with Marcelius once again.

"Yes, I did mention my desire to speak of the times I've lessened my mask's hold on me." She would smile slightly, glancing over at Mei as she did so. "I believe that the second time will be of more interest, seeing as I had already become a part of the Chosen people when I performed the breaking."

She would clear her throat slightly, closing her eyes as she sorted through the memories. "I went to the Seireitei that day, further in than I ever had before. I was within the walls of the Thirteen Court Guard's domain itself, near that hill where they murder their own kind for defying their laws." Marcelius would feel the sadness begin to creep into her thoughts, along with the slightest drooping of her shoulders. ".... I wished to pay my respects for a man that had passed on, from the Medical division of the Shinigami. We had met during our invasion of the Seireitei, while I had been assigned to destroy the Medical Division's barracks."

Myza would stop there, chuckling some. Marcelius would be able to feel that the sadness was still there in her mind, but it was also tinged with joy, and one other emotion that was all but absent in Los Noches. He would be able to tell that whoever this individual had been, Myza had loved them. "He was the only Shinigami who didn't attack me immediately simply because I was an Arrancar. The only one who fought me not because he saw me as an abomination, but to protect others. And he was the only Shinigami I have faced so far who has actually beaten me since my ascension into the ranks of the Chosen People." She stopped there for a moment again, sorrow clearly upon her face. She closed her eyes, and slowly let out a long, ragged breath. "I... I felt it was only right, that I visit his grave. That I pay my respects to him."

At this point, Marc would feel her mood begin to shift once again, that familiar feeling of anger creeping in once again. Unlike her prior anger though, this one was hot, full of passion and utter wrath. "But then that little INSECT interfered with my mourning, attacked me simply because I was an Arrancar, and refused to allow me to pay my respects!" Myza would suddenly pound down on the arm of her chair, splintering it under her strength. "He held me up, called others to help him! So if I wasn't going to be allowed to pay my respects to Hibki, to the man that I had loved, I decided that nobody would. I destroyed his grave, the ground under it, everything in that area so that nobody else would be able to go their to cherish their memories of him." Even if he didn't have his ability to read the emotions of others, Marc would feel the Septima's vindictive satisfaction, though the emotion was quickly overwhelmed by more anger.

"And yet that other Shinigami still mocked me! He called me unfit, said I was only worth his pity! He would be here still, experiencing all the sensations that I, the Mistress of Pain, have to offer him if it hadn't been for those damn others! They forced me to retreat, to run away before I could show him just what it meant to cross the Chosen People." The Septima would glower for a moment, her gravitational pressure starting to build as her rage grew. There would be a knock on the door, and the Septima's head would suddenly whirl towards it, her fingers coming up and a slight green glow forming upon the very tip. However, before the Bala fired, Marc would feel that former odd feeling of self-control tinge her anger again, and the glow upon her fingers faded, as did her gravitational pressure.

There would be a momentary pause as the Septima took in a few deep breaths, her eyes closed as her emotions leveled out again. After a while, her anger would go down to a dull simmer, and the female Espada would open her eyes again. "I made an important discovery when I returned to Hueco Mundo that day. God sees fit for us to change into Hollows, and then into members of the Chosen People to test us, to force upon us trial after trial, to prove our worth in his plan, to carve out our own fates. Just because we are a member of the Chosen People does not mean that our changes and trials are over. God rewarded my understanding with an opportunity, a choice to remove more of my limitations." She smiled again, and Marc would feel a malicious glee in her emotions. "I chose to lessen my mask, to increase my power, to accept my new potential. That was the day that I ceased being a mere Fraccion, and the day that I ascended into the Espada."

[Marcelius]

It would never be his place to instruct or even suggest to an Espada. They had achieved something all the more common Hollows desperately wanted. Having grown so mighty that they have claimed those hallowed titles, they were above reproach or condemnation. What stirred Marcelius to think this way, was his desire to tell the Septima something. To show his gratitude for her attitude thus far...to tell her how enjoyable a conversation with her could be. Enjoyable, if she could remain as calm as she is now. The Espada was the sort of soul, whose quiet moments where profound.

When she relaxed and dared to smile, she produced the same charms that he had worked so long to learn. The source of that aura, came from the passion and focus of her soul. Yes, within her was booming life and emotion. However, it played a tune so quietly hypnotic that Marc found his own body relaxing in tandem with her own. It was her influence. Something about her pressure was more sincere; though, not necessarily kind or sweet. No, those were not the words to compliment her justly. Still, regardless of any wickedness, Myza was a genuine soul. Those can be quite difficult to come by...for either the light or the dark.

Thus, without knowing it, the Espada had crafted a story for her upcoming tale. It was not the typical scene, one might expect from the imaginations of playwrights. It was the stage of her own soul, a theater very few in existence would ever gain entry to. Marc's own entry had been a clever intrusion, one he could not prevent. Through her actions and her words, he had been ushered through the atrium of her heart...quickly placed into his seat. There had been a man, one of significance. A Death Reaper. Already...Myza's story had brought her audience to a mystified quiet. To risk her life for such a thing, as respect for an enemy. Once more, her convictions were inspiring. Marc was on the edge of his seat, dying to hear hoe she met and engaged this man.

While he was still living, what had happened to build such a commitment in her? This was the subject to which Marcelius held most dear. Not only was an Arrancar feeling something for another person besides themselves...she did so for an enemy. To think that something like this could have occured. Baffling. Perplexing, but in the best of ways. It was confusing, like seeing fire for the first time. Witnessing power, the movement and light, but unsure how or why it was happening. To be so old, this sudden twist in plot had turned his enthusiasm to that of a child at bedtime. He did not act childish or display any foolishness; however, he did listen as a child would...swept away by fantasy and wonder. Curiosity had overtaken him.

It seems an attack had once been waged, an invasion planned and executed. The target? The Gotei Thirteen. This Espada herself, tasked with the destruction of the hospital. Genuine, but not necessarily kind. For Marc, such an act would prove quite the challenge. However, this was not something that made him cross with her. No...if anything, he admired her strength. For wars are always cough by soldiers, and often those soldiers are the same. They are men and women, with lives and loves of their own. Family members and friends. Yet, in war, some of them are unable to do what is necessary to end the conflict. Myza on the other hand, had gone after her assignment with what sounded like total surety. What was asked of her was of the most significant, tactical advantage. From her memories, she faced that challenge without hesitation. This, to Marc, was the definition of an Espada. Determination to do what is needed. Determination...the very lifeblood of their kind. There was a small bit of envy in Marcelius.

He would never see the joy in the destruction of lives, especially those already to weak to resist...but he could not help his desires for such an efficiency. But, life is filled with a kaleidoscopic arrangement of lives. It was not Marc's place to be so capable. Just as it was not Myza's place to be inhibited by the same kinds of concerns that Marcelius suffered with. Or maybe it was? For her second journey into the Seireite was to pay respects...to give her condolences and display her concerns for a dearly departed. A Shinigami, no less. As before, Myza was genuine. What she had felt then, she still felt now. No matter what atrocities she might be capable of, she would not let such ability diminish her feelings for others...if they existed. She could shut off the world, to remain superior in her disconnection...or she could open up and invite it in. Once more, she was far beyond the skills of Marcelius himself. But like any other hero, trial and corruption loomed overhead.

Even from the start of her story, through the delight and joious memories of Hibiki, a darkness was creeping in. There was something connected to Hibiki, or possibly this story of him, which could not be cut off. A cancerous limb that would not die off. How stubborn the mind can be, to cling to things that cause us to suffer so. There was a man now, more of a shade really. The Septima did not speak his real name, or perhaps, she spoke the only name that could exist for him now. This soul was Insect to her, tiny and pathetic...disgusting to look upon or even know about. The presence of this soul in the conversation, was the same as a pest within a room. It drew her attention to it, and as little threat or concern as it was, she could not look away. Or forget.

Through the rage and the anger that this man inspired, her heart screamed out curses onto him. Each as painful and torturous as the last...all of them true masterpieces of the "Mistress of Pain". Here Marc could see that darkness that loomed, and to his shock, it was not so easy to identify. The name that came first, was...Zeich. Yes, a Soul Reaper. Not one like Hibiki...no, Hibiki had been kind and sincere. Though they were rivals, the man from Squad 4 was a respectable being. By Myza's account alone, Marc could grow fond of that man. Zeich however. He was cruel, and he was disrespectful. The Espada thought him arrogant. He had twisted the strings of her soul, but was someone still unworthy of care. It was he, his face and his memory, that embodied this darkness. So it seemed...

To Marcelius surprise, something unexpected occurred. While on a mission to pay her respects, the Septima chose instead to desecrate the grave. To unearth the soil, exume the body, and destroy everything worth visitation or memory. The idea came to her as a callus response. Response to what? The mistreatment she suffered at this most private of times. It fueled an anger in her, which was so pure, that the very memory of it could raise such a rage again. Now Marcelius knew what that darkness was. Most ironically, it was light. Growing quickly in the passing of thought and seconds. This particular trip into the Espada's mind was quite wrought with peril. She harbored such fury for this man...and what happened that day. Marcelius could feel his nerves burn from the heat her wrath could express. Her brunted the flames without motion or whince. Why? For the fires had to be inspected, their source and kindle examined. He had to know a truth, whether it was one Myza could tell him or not.

Were her emotions placed solely on the shoulders of this man...this Zeich? Was he to be crushed under the weight of her hate alone? Or was there more, something else that still lingered like a thorn within her skin? The old Hollow had hoped that Myza was genuine, and no matter how evil or cruel, she would not lose her genuine character. Could it be, was it possible? Did the she blame herself for the destruction of the grave? Had her hast action become a regret in the great time that has passed since then? Was it something she wanted to take back? It was a sign that she was everything those lesser beings had claimed she was. She confirmed their horrible judgements, by way of her own choices. Could this be the reason for her bitterness? If it were...could she ever realize it? Ever accept it? There were so many questions...all of which he found difficult to answer. Maybe if he had more time. Maybe if he had more to examine...

Time was up, however. For she had taken herself up from her seat. She stood with grace, while consumed by a furious haze. Arm outstretched, light began to spring from her outstretched hand. She had gathered energy for Bala...one of tremendous caliber. From the motion of her body, to the direction of her eyes...Marcelius could identify her target. It was the door, and whatever poor soul his beyond the sealed barrier. Marcelius was competent enough to know he was not in danger. She would strike the wall, and the energy would consume the wall and the soul outside. Unfortunately, his reaction was far to prepared. His response was quick, and happened even before he could put much contemplation or restraint upon it.

He had no time to prepare a counter for her Bala...she was a master, and had gotten the jump on him whilst he was absorbed by her rich emotion. As much as he would have loved to, there would be no saving the young Arrancar who had come to check on Mei. Her life was already in Death's path. There was one who did still maintain a chance, though slim. In her condition, the resulting force and possible debris from such a close explosion, would likely result in shock or injury. Either of which could prove fatal. To this end, Marcelius made haste towards prevention. Had he not been so swift to move, so unsure of the Espada's commitment to her attack, he might have made less of a scene. By the time her energy had faded, and the color of the room turned to normal; Marcelius was already draped over the side of Mei's bed.

His large build a shield for her into form, his hand holding her head down and hidden from the path of any fallout. What had transpired, was a complete showcase of instinct. In this regard, instinct of a father. Where he would have normally been unphased by her adssault, aware of it's true intent and his safety...this was something not meant for the battlefield. Without turning his head to the Espada, he took deep breaths to calm himself. Hiding his face, he did not wish her to see the expression it bore. For after the excitement had passed, and the fear for Mei had gone...all that was left was his embarrassment. To think, he would put on such a display...in front of an Espada no less. Regardless of how he felt about it, the fact remained that he had been weak. Not only weak, but open about his weakness. As it was said before; it was an first instinct. An instinct of a father.

So, turning his head to the right, his blue eyes cut towards Myza over one shoulder. With only a portion of his face exposed in such pose, it was hard to read his emotion. There was just the deep, infinite blue of his iris. She finished what she had intended to say, and he waited for what criticism might come. It would stuing to hear, but it was the price to pay for the youngest Arrancar's safety. Poor, poor Mei. With his hand cradling her head, he could see the thoughts and emotions that embodied her. How dread it was, to be without Marcelius' gifts...and blinded. She was left to lay in darkness, while a spirit as strong as Myza's roared within the small room's walls. What made it worse, was Marc's contact. For his touch did more than just open up her thoughts, it also shared his own. It may have been a comfort to know he was so concerned for her. Sadly, whatever relief that brought was undoubtedly buried in terror.

For it was the terror of her death that prompted him to act. How would she fair, experience the same dread he had. Marcelius would have to keep a closer eye on her in the future; for it felt like this would have much longer lasting consequences. It was now, that Marc noticed what was happening. Back still turned to the Espada, he was not paying the proper respect. It was his amazing ability to manage multiple thoughts and things at once, which allowed him to keep an eye on Myza. Still, he was not expressing that immense focus, physically. To her, it is very possible that he may appear to be ignoring her...no with intent, but out of ignorance. He simply did not realize it. Or, he had not realized it...not until it was possibly too late. And in that overdue thought, he slowly turned to face her eye to eye again.

"My apologies." Given that she had started to take her seat, before noticing his movement...he waited for her to sit once more. If she do not, then neither would he. "Given how much that story must mean to you, I am overly gracious that you shared it with us." Taking a moment to read her, to know what effect his words were having. "I would love to speak more, truly. I fear, however, that knock was for me." Had the Hollow who made that knock remained, then he would be able to read their reasoning first hand. More likely than not...the sudden swelling of energy and light from within the chamber, would have sent them running for their life. Either way, "I am not welcomed here, often. What visits I am allowed, are required to be short." He tried to smile, something to possibly lift the heavy air. "I would suspect, it is your chaperon which has allowed such a lengthy stay."

[Myzaraphiston Synderfell]

Myza raised an eyebrow at Marc's behavior, humor echoing through her emotions as she did so. She slowly began to walk towards the door of the room, still ever so slightly amused at his chosen action. If he continued to look at her, he'd see that the Septima apparently quite enjoyed backless dresses, and had an awful lot of skin showing for someone with her sexual ideals. She would stop at the door, turning the masked portion of her face towards him, hiding the smile that laid upon the other portion of her face.

"Very well then. That concludes that particular portion of my process then. I think I've learned quite a bit about you, Marcelius. However, there's still some other things I need to discover about you, and I would believe that Miss Stradore is eager to see you leave now." She opened the door, revealing the hard-faced head of the medical Arrancar standing there. "You will meet me under the altered area of the dome in two hours, Marcelius, so that I may finish my investigations. Be sure to bring your Zanpakuto, dearie. This next part will require... Some hands on work."

It would be obvious to the older Arrancar that the Septima wasn't making a request. No, what she had just said had been an order, plain and simple. Technically, he could refuse it anyways, thanks to the rank of the Espada he was serving under himself. However, despite being an order, the Septima had been rather cordial about this entire affair, and had shared things the Fraccion that nobody else in Los Noches was truly privy to. Even Kouhai himself had not been granted as many details as Marc had. So would he really refuse her offer/order?

----------Two Hours Later----------

Regardless of Marc's eventual decision, Myza walked into the altered area of Los Noches. Unlike Hueco Mundo outside, this portion in the center of Los Noches had been modified to seem like the light of the Seireitei or World of the living was present here, complete with the appearance of a blue sky up in the dome far above. Massive Red pillars were scattered here and there, each one containing even more rooms and halls for Arrancar to live in.

If Marc was there, he would see that Myzaraphiston was no longer dressed in her black dress, instead dressed in the more traditional white associated with Los Noches. However, where others uniforms were loose and baggy, Myza's outfit was skin-tight, clinging to her form and revealing every curve she possessed. However, what was probably more likely to draw Marc's eye was wrapped around her waist. Every inch of it was barbed, with no apparent handholds to take hold of safely to his eyes. Dangling from either end were large hooks, each easily a foot long and viciously serrated along the inside. It was nothing but an instrument of pain and suffering, a weapon not meant to immediately kill, but to draw things out and ensure that it hurt as much as possible while she did so.

She would stand in the sands for a moment, her eyes closed as she let the artificial sunlight soak into her, enjoying the sensation ever so slightly. If Marc was there, she would simply wait for him to speak first, a ffaint smile on her face as she enjoyed the feeling of warmth on her skin.

[Marcelius]

The Septima's invitation, left a cold chill in his lungs. Ever breath that followed her coy invitation, felt like ice rolling up from his chest. It tormented him, providing physical discomfort to his mental woes. This same form of inner chill had only happened twice before. The first, was wen he first met the Segunda...when he feared he had crossed mighty Espada. The second was the dark glare of Miss Saradore. This time, it was a mixture of both those things. There was an all-powerful Espada, who was also a woman...possibly scorned. The situation was so bleak, that it actually numbed his senses. Yes, there was a sudden fear which cluthced his heart. It caused him pause...forcing his breathes to hasten and pulse flutter.

What was this? Why was his nerves racked so painfully? Even when the Segunda seemed to be challenging him, he had not know such fear. There was no explaining it...even for a threat like the Mistress of Pain...why was he crippled like this? That....that is when his eyes came to the light. Finding truth while sinking ever more quickly into that dismal abiss of fear. These feelings, they were unnatural. No, they were very natural, but their source was foreign. Like a virus, which shared his body perfectly...yet still an outsider. Where then, were these emotions coming from? The answer was shaking in his hands. Freezing as her whole body coiled and shriveled under the oppressive chill of anxiety. It was Mei, it was her fear which came through him like filtered. Through the contact, he became overwhelmed by it...just as she was. Taken away by the sheer magnitude of the terror.

To her, he whispered. "Now, now. This will not do..." Getting her settled in the bed, he tried his best to not lift his eyes towards the waiting Saradore. Through his warm hands, his aura would radiate the calming thoughts he now held. Still, he could hear the thoughts which fought against his suggestions. They were two fold. Worries spread separately between concern for him and for her own well being. The Espada's challenge, was a dangerous one. Even if it was in good faith, with no hidden agenda or discourse, there was still risk. If Marcelius were to become hurt, or worse, then who would safe guard Mei? She knew it as well as he. None of the treatments were taking effect to restore her sight. Living in Las Noches, with such a disability, could prove an impossible feat. So with his safety, her own was tied. Out of all the Hollows in the expansive palace, he was the only one to truly watch over her. More than her physical wellness, there was her mental security.

In a world of darkness and threats, Marcelius was the only one able to reassure her of anything. The promises he made and the words he said, she could believe them all. Yet when he told her to be calm, and that everything was going to be alright...she could not believe him. Leaning away from her, her fingers clasping his jacket. "Don't..." Though she had lost her vision, she still retained the instinct to turn her head. It made looking back at her difficult...he could not bear to see her milky eyes. Yet, her words nor her eyes would overcome him..."There is no choice for me." If he did not go, he would just give the Espada a legitimate reason to dislike him. No, the safest course was to go and do what he could to survive. He knew this, and he knew there would be no convincing the younger Arrancar. Rubbing her hand, he gave one last effort to sway the her mood. "Mei..."

(OoC: Because there was NO WAY to resist this opportunity!)


How much more could Marc have been out of his element? Walking directly into a conflict, a terrible showdown which he felt he could not escape. The location of the duel? Beneath the false sunlight of Las Noches' dome. The rays which fell from the fabricated sky burned his fair skin. Having spent so long in the dark of Hueco Mundo, his skin had had time to change and evolve separately from him. It had become accustomed to certain levels of light. All of them low. So in this way' his discomfort was further agitated. On this day, however, this minor oiratation was soon lost in the roiling waves of his thoughts. What was he doing here? Why was he choosing to face down the challenge presented him? The Septima said she was investigating him, and even a child could grasp why she would want him to bring his sword. They were to fight, and she had intentions to learn something from it.

What was her desire? What was she curious about? Surely he could have verbally explained any of the details about his abilities? Why must it come to conflict? "Please..." So rhetorical, his mind struck back critically at him for dwelling on such a ponder. They were Arrancar. Even if they forged a bond of trust, no trust would be more reliable than battle...not for any Hollow. What he could tell her would be limited and constrained by comparison. To fight each other, even the deepest of secrets would be uncovered. Something about the heat of struggle could force open the locked doors within all minds. Thoughts would flee into the open as if trying to escape great flames. As aware of this as he was, an Espada must be well versed in such truths. Like it was her native tongue. And, that shudder that tingled through all of his skin...that was becoming his language. One to which he wished he was mute. Eventually. Just, not today.

Out from the shadows of Noches' interior, stepped the tall figure of Marcelius. No longer clothed in the stylish suit awared to him by his Lord Espada, he now garbed himself in the uniform of their home. His outfit, unmodofoed from that of the standard. His individuality was poorly expressed, and he liked it that way. Preferring to blend with the rest of the Arrancar, to be apart of the community. His mask fragments fell low. With his head dipped forward, they seemed to cover up his eyes. When his face rose towards the light, the shade produced by the fragments all but vanished; so he did not keep his eyes lifted for long. It might be mistaken as evasive, an unwillingness to look at the Espada. He wished he did not have too, but not out of intimidation. Such a long life had made him numb to such small things. This was not to say he was brave, oh no. If anything he was unaffected. There were, however, exemptions to that immunity. Though he had no concern for his own life, the story was much different for Mei. To insure her safety. This desert, soaking in the sun, he really did not want this to be the last vista he ever saw. To think that he would not return to reassure the soul waiting for him.

He did not crave a longer life. He simply wanted the world to be better than it was before him. To him, Mei was a good symbol of that. An opportunity to be preserved. Though it may not seem like it, his desires were of the most greedy nature. Wanting to affect the lives of others instead of one's self, quite egotistical. His thoughts were built on dreams and ambitions; all of them more grand and selfish than the last. They could be cast aside, any thoughts that he was honorable. Through the guise of charity and concern, at the core of it all, there was a selfish wish. Myza made him realize this. By being in her presence, preparing himself for battle. Before they had begun, he felt the joy she was feeling under the sun. She was quiet, and content. Just like Mei...she was embodying what he wanted. Something greater than himself. A world where his kind were happy again, for more than brief moments spent in solitude. Sadly, that was not all she reminded him of...

Seeing her sun-soaked skin, her dark hair contrasting the abundance of whites and blues, it drew forth memories of that life he described before. Almost like divination, apple trees seemed to be springing from the barren sands. Once more, the smell of harvest filled his nose, his lungs, and his soul. It left him a daze, one that the growing pressure from the Espada soon dispersed. With a flutter of his eyes, he was back in the moment. The time was here, they were to begin their "work". The consideration he made, of having to strike her, gave reason for the Choir to start. They began to sing and call put, volume seeming to seep from the blade strapped at his side. If he were to just take the blade and throw it away, it seemed as though they would stop. Tossing his weapon, to signal his disinterest in the coming fight. All of it seemed to perfect; two problems with the same answer. However, the Hollow knew better. Discarding his weapon would not prevent her investigation...especially after she had waited here for him. The songs would not stop, as they came from within. It was false hope to think the sword was truly their prioson.

So he stood. Trying not to remember that woman whom he had loved so long ago. Trying not to think of what would become of Mei if he failed. Discrediting his merit as a good and selfless soul. Dissuading himself from attempting to talk himself away from this moment. Hoping to soon be removed from the harshness of the sun. Wanting all of Las Noches to quit being like...this. An endless and regretful struggle; that comes to tear the peaceful -the content- from their warm and joyful bask. "Septima..." Head bowed in respect, voice speaking out so that she may hear. "Any terms you wish to establish" They must have been several meters apart; though, no more than ten. As her weapon remained coiled, in it's odd shape, around her waist, he did not yet draw his blade. She could see it, hoisted up upon his right hip. A broad, though shortened blade. The handle would tell a wise opponent, it was to be grasped with both hands. In it's sheath, there were no other visible features.

Where he stood, his guard appeared down. Seemed he was to maintain his gentlemen disposition. Never to move. Never to assume. Waiting for her to make the first move. Whether it was her superiority or her gender, he did not say. It could be for all manners of things, his reasons for waiting. Given the slow pace of his walk and the calm way he usually spoke, age seemed to be the culprit. Too old to hurry. Too old to act. None of this should be peculiar, except for the fact there were so few Arrancar of his age. Fewer still who acted it. It would be her words, her response, that would govern his actions.

Hmm, the pleasant rethought occurred while waiting. What if this had been a test of some sort? Just to see if he would be willing to come out to meet her, an Espada. Perhaps he proved himself already. No matter how unlikely, it was a delight to think of such possibilities. Whether or not the case, and whether or not he appeared as such; Marcelius was ready. For her to act, for her to speak, for her to attack. It was his fortune to know this, and hers to discover. He would be with her along the way, watching over as she puzzled with her mind. Trying to make sense of his actions and who he was, while he did the same in trying to learn about her. Hopefully they would both walk away wiser...