Post by Marcelius on Oct 8, 2013 15:13:50 GMT -5
Though it was his hope, it would prove quite difficult to say the least. Working in conjunction with the likes of this deviant. Trapster was an Arrancar, an important gfact that Marc constantly repeated. He was of the same ilk, they were brethren. Even if he disapproved of his antics, it was imperative for the two of them to cooperate. The very attack which faces Las Noches this day, was evident of that need. It was the coordination of the Soul Reapers, that was turning their few numbers into a deadly march. This strike of theirs was planned, efficient...everything his people were not. Hollows, so impulsive and brash.
Such foolery was the present in the Trapster, as well. Though his preparedness was unparalleled, and his caution renowned...he had proven himself to be no less careless. Casting away a Hollow's life out of sport, finding merriment in it...this kind of act made Marc's stomach curl. Was it not unfortunate enough, that enemies had breeched their walls and begun attacking their kind? More bodies must be added to the count by the hands of their own? Unacceptable. Truly, the old Mask could not condone it. Worse still, he could relate to it. In ages past, a time where the souls of today had not yet seen life, he had been much the same. The victims of those former inclinations, now writhed to life within his heart.
For a moment, the world became noisy again. Like thunder trapped inside his head, not only was his mind deafened by it...the sound was enough to cause his thoughts to shake. Much like the walls of one's home during a storm. The Choir, as he had come to call them, was the collection of consumed souls that lay buried in his composition. Like any other Hollow, they were the source of his spiritual strength. Unlike any other Hollow, he could still hear them as though they were alive. The joys of their memories of life and accomplishment; the agony of their regrets in having failed to stay among that life. Most commonly, they would sing of their final moments...the seconds preceeding their final wishes.
Sometimes, however, they would find new reason for song. Seeing the evils he once committed, being performed by another...well, those were especially strong incentives. So now they performed, allowing him the chance to feel the tortures he once inflicted on them...and others. They would seek to subdue his conscience, and leave him crippled with grief. Fortunately, he was prepared. For having lived with a condition as such, for so long a time, he had grown quite used to it. Driven by the same desperation that allowed him to keep his identity through his loves as Menos... he repelled their advances. They are not destroyed; however, they lie in wait for the moment to claw and rend his soul. They are sinister bunch.
It should be no surprise that ol' Marc is fantastic with multitasking. Given that a portion of his kind is always occupied with the encroaching voices of Remorse, he had to become adapt at juggling multiple tasks. With such a talent, he was able to keep his secret hidden...well enough. It played well into his appearance. The moments when he fell into silence, contending with the spirits within, it seemed as though the old man let his thoughts wander. His demeanor was that of an wise, yet aloof elder...and the image served him well. Playing to that guise, and the expectations the world has of it...Marc delayed his answer to the Trapster's nursery riddle. The answer came to Marc long before his fellow Mask could finish speaking it. The answer flashed as clearly as sunshine in Hueco Mundo...straight from the one who devised the query. Still, it did not take a mind reader to solve a rtiddle...so Marcelius' trained mind could still decipher an answer from the clues.
So, giving a few seconds -a expected amount of time by Marc's guesd- he answered his assigned riddle. "You are a deck of cards..." Though obviously missing a suit. The was little hope that Trapster had a heart, but Marc did not hold that against him. No, his feelings were more disappointment and concern...rather than dislike. Marc held faith, that he could talk Trapster out of his destructive ways. Later, long after the threat is neutralized. "So, will you allow me to assist?" Like it or not, Trapster's consent was important. This needed to be a unified effort of Las Noches' citizens. Marc's own personal grievances would have to wait...for a later day. "Hopefully they do not slip away from your sight, I can not imagine they have remained still..."
Could not, because he knew better. The intruders' energies were making great distance, at a steady pace. Seemed strange how they moved, first vertically...then they ascent became angular. Few things could account for such a course of travel, but the answer soon came from the source. Trapster here, had helped them through several floors by way of an elevator. Seems the areana needed to change for the sake of his fun. Already, Marc could feel the fluctuating spirits of Reapers hard at work. Seems they were having a hard time moving. What sort of trap could they be involved with now? Surely by now, the Trapster would call to Marcelius again. He would get his answer, whether or not his answer to the riddle had proven to be correct...it was. Whether or not the Trapster would assist him, now that was a mystery. The hidden Arrancar was having issues; having to decide if he wanted the aid at all. Fear persisted, that Marc might just interrupt his fun...more than support it. There was a smirk across Marcelius' lips, one that praised the awareness of others. If Trapster would not include him, and make his passage both safe, and quick...then he would walk the hard road. Either way, Marc was going to make it to...
"Zu'um." Having been so preoccupied with the wails of the chorus, and the delays of the Trapster...he had missed this one's hidden presence. Now that he discovered him, it did not prove easy to track him. Arrancar, yes, he was not as simple as a Hollow. Well, this is how it would seem from a distance. The more Marc tried to read this broken soul, the more difficult it proved. He was more beastial. Primal, savage, with the lights dimmed within his mind. It worse, however, than others Marc had seen before. No, this tortured creature had lost far more than a fraction of his mask. Reason was gone, and with it, a majority of his emotions. The ones that were left, were pure...rarely to change or be felt.
To think, other Arrancar are so lucky to be restored to a true life; while others can be sentenced to such a dreadful fate. This was another of Trapster's pawns...one far stronger, but a victim all the same. Already Marcelius was preparing himself for the upcoming death. Zu'um had not the clarity to flee from two opponents. If given the opportunity, either side would gladly destroy the other. It seems that even a dead-end room...can be an opportunity in it's own way. Times like these, the squeamish would turn away. Unfortunately for Marc, he lost that weakness in his soul quite some time ago. Then again, given his talents, there was no "away" for him to set his gaze upon.
Such foolery was the present in the Trapster, as well. Though his preparedness was unparalleled, and his caution renowned...he had proven himself to be no less careless. Casting away a Hollow's life out of sport, finding merriment in it...this kind of act made Marc's stomach curl. Was it not unfortunate enough, that enemies had breeched their walls and begun attacking their kind? More bodies must be added to the count by the hands of their own? Unacceptable. Truly, the old Mask could not condone it. Worse still, he could relate to it. In ages past, a time where the souls of today had not yet seen life, he had been much the same. The victims of those former inclinations, now writhed to life within his heart.
For a moment, the world became noisy again. Like thunder trapped inside his head, not only was his mind deafened by it...the sound was enough to cause his thoughts to shake. Much like the walls of one's home during a storm. The Choir, as he had come to call them, was the collection of consumed souls that lay buried in his composition. Like any other Hollow, they were the source of his spiritual strength. Unlike any other Hollow, he could still hear them as though they were alive. The joys of their memories of life and accomplishment; the agony of their regrets in having failed to stay among that life. Most commonly, they would sing of their final moments...the seconds preceeding their final wishes.
Sometimes, however, they would find new reason for song. Seeing the evils he once committed, being performed by another...well, those were especially strong incentives. So now they performed, allowing him the chance to feel the tortures he once inflicted on them...and others. They would seek to subdue his conscience, and leave him crippled with grief. Fortunately, he was prepared. For having lived with a condition as such, for so long a time, he had grown quite used to it. Driven by the same desperation that allowed him to keep his identity through his loves as Menos... he repelled their advances. They are not destroyed; however, they lie in wait for the moment to claw and rend his soul. They are sinister bunch.
It should be no surprise that ol' Marc is fantastic with multitasking. Given that a portion of his kind is always occupied with the encroaching voices of Remorse, he had to become adapt at juggling multiple tasks. With such a talent, he was able to keep his secret hidden...well enough. It played well into his appearance. The moments when he fell into silence, contending with the spirits within, it seemed as though the old man let his thoughts wander. His demeanor was that of an wise, yet aloof elder...and the image served him well. Playing to that guise, and the expectations the world has of it...Marc delayed his answer to the Trapster's nursery riddle. The answer came to Marc long before his fellow Mask could finish speaking it. The answer flashed as clearly as sunshine in Hueco Mundo...straight from the one who devised the query. Still, it did not take a mind reader to solve a rtiddle...so Marcelius' trained mind could still decipher an answer from the clues.
So, giving a few seconds -a expected amount of time by Marc's guesd- he answered his assigned riddle. "You are a deck of cards..." Though obviously missing a suit. The was little hope that Trapster had a heart, but Marc did not hold that against him. No, his feelings were more disappointment and concern...rather than dislike. Marc held faith, that he could talk Trapster out of his destructive ways. Later, long after the threat is neutralized. "So, will you allow me to assist?" Like it or not, Trapster's consent was important. This needed to be a unified effort of Las Noches' citizens. Marc's own personal grievances would have to wait...for a later day. "Hopefully they do not slip away from your sight, I can not imagine they have remained still..."
Could not, because he knew better. The intruders' energies were making great distance, at a steady pace. Seemed strange how they moved, first vertically...then they ascent became angular. Few things could account for such a course of travel, but the answer soon came from the source. Trapster here, had helped them through several floors by way of an elevator. Seems the areana needed to change for the sake of his fun. Already, Marc could feel the fluctuating spirits of Reapers hard at work. Seems they were having a hard time moving. What sort of trap could they be involved with now? Surely by now, the Trapster would call to Marcelius again. He would get his answer, whether or not his answer to the riddle had proven to be correct...it was. Whether or not the Trapster would assist him, now that was a mystery. The hidden Arrancar was having issues; having to decide if he wanted the aid at all. Fear persisted, that Marc might just interrupt his fun...more than support it. There was a smirk across Marcelius' lips, one that praised the awareness of others. If Trapster would not include him, and make his passage both safe, and quick...then he would walk the hard road. Either way, Marc was going to make it to...
"Zu'um." Having been so preoccupied with the wails of the chorus, and the delays of the Trapster...he had missed this one's hidden presence. Now that he discovered him, it did not prove easy to track him. Arrancar, yes, he was not as simple as a Hollow. Well, this is how it would seem from a distance. The more Marc tried to read this broken soul, the more difficult it proved. He was more beastial. Primal, savage, with the lights dimmed within his mind. It worse, however, than others Marc had seen before. No, this tortured creature had lost far more than a fraction of his mask. Reason was gone, and with it, a majority of his emotions. The ones that were left, were pure...rarely to change or be felt.
To think, other Arrancar are so lucky to be restored to a true life; while others can be sentenced to such a dreadful fate. This was another of Trapster's pawns...one far stronger, but a victim all the same. Already Marcelius was preparing himself for the upcoming death. Zu'um had not the clarity to flee from two opponents. If given the opportunity, either side would gladly destroy the other. It seems that even a dead-end room...can be an opportunity in it's own way. Times like these, the squeamish would turn away. Unfortunately for Marc, he lost that weakness in his soul quite some time ago. Then again, given his talents, there was no "away" for him to set his gaze upon.