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[lunarscaled]

@despairforme replied to your post “"... Nnoitra seems like he might get a kick out of...”:

da fuck

​"Right, so——"

-> He's definitely not gonna sit through a whole history lesson, especially not without bribes. They need to compress this into the most interesting parts.

"He was a mystic and faith healer in the Russian Empire——he was rumored to have magic powers to cure people, in short. He got in good with the Emperor and his wife for trying to treat their child, and became extremely popular."

"Supposedly, he was corrupt and tall and brutish; but women loved him anyways, so he was always surrounded by them and sleeping with them. There's a famous photo of him with 20 or 30 of the women who admired him.

He liked drinking and partying. He picked fights with other men and was extremely difficult to beat, and often suffered no consequence, and people just liked him more. He was so powerful it's said not even the Tsar——the emperor, I mean——could stop him. Rumor says even the Empress was having an affair with him, and that he had a huge dick and someone cut it off after his death ( that might be exaggerating though ).

When the empire fell out of favor, some of the ruling class tried to assassinate him: that's the most popular part. They invited him to visit and fed him poison cakes——he ate them with no changes. They offered him poisoned wine——he drank 3 glasses and said I feel fine. So they tried shooting him in the head, and in the chest, and he fell to the floor but then got back up .ᐟ They chased him to the water and threw his body in, but he didn't drown! Ultimately, it's rumored hypothermia killed him, but some people think he was actually unkillable. But we'll never really know what happened."

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"... Nnoitra seems like he might get a kick out of learning about Rasputin."

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-> ... their face hurts.

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#daggerspcll : a private & mutually exclusive da/dnd based original character roleplay blog. please read carrd before following/interacting!

Still very much a work in progress! So things are subject to change! I also do not plan on playing veilguard, so there wont be any spoilers here!

“YOU’D THINK WE WOULDN’T JUST BE STANDING HERE, BUT nooo…”

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"I didn't ask you were weak, or if he was weak."

-> They keep it light on the end of their tongue; it isn't an accusation of him, or Tesla. They aren't spitting venom as they sometimes do. But the question was if Tesla's life would improve without Nnoitra, and while Lyric is certain in some ways it might they think the detriments he would suffer were far greater. Tesla loved his master, after all—beyond measure, beyond words. Would flay himself open for him at the first sentence, Lyric is sure.

And Nnoitra, from the bare threads they understand, feels the same. He called Tesla his mate when they last argued. Lyric only avoids being crushed or mangled because Tesla would be sad to hear it happened to them, and Nnoitra cares for that.

"... but can you talk to them? Do you feel like there's more people in you? Do they keep your company?"

-> Maybe they are. Lyric never wants to return to the solitary cell in their tower. Never hearing another voice but their own and the guards' feels a newfound cruelty made to strangle them to death.

"... ... I like the sounds of crickets. Sometimes they wiggled into my cell and I'd watch them hop around. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"Of course I'm sure. He's not weak shit, and neither am I."

There a reluctance to his tone, though. Could Tesla survive without him? Of course? He'd likely abandon Hueco Mundo altogether and find some new way to live. Some way that would best benefit the survival of someone who was once of Fracción strength.

Would Tesla want to survive without him? That wasn't the question.

The reverse could be asked of Nnoitra, too. He'd become undeniably attached to the little freak, whether he admitted it or not.

"Then I guess I'd have to do everything myself, all over again, huh?"

His brow furrows, at their last question. He'd swear Lyric was asking for themselves, and not him.

"...Even Hollows are made of many souls. Take that as you will."

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" You are not safe from harm here . Death ? Perhaps , yes . Harm ? I never said anything about that , did I ? "

-> They aren't sniffling and weeping over a wound this small; they have more tolerance than that. If a single injury was all it took to bring them to their knees when it wasn't the only option—to roll over and show their belly to get out alive—they would have been dead long before now. They would have died when Szayelaporro stuck his svelte fingers into the space between the white of their eye and the bone and plucked one from it's socket. They wouldn't have shed out the scales he peeled off with scalpel and hand. They wouldn't have peeled themselves off the floor, tacky with blood coloring their skin, to claw at the glass.

"... then what..."

-> Their heel pushes harder on their cheek. It burns, crackles and stings. Red stains the cloth and rolls over their white scales and drops off the bottom of their chin to the floor. Lyric grits their teeth and keeps their head bowed and their shoulders up by their ears. ( yes. Ulquiorra was correct. you are not safe with them. )

"——was I supposed to tell him to make him leave...?"

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"... ... would you? Would he? Can you say for sure?"

-> Their head remains tilted, the end of their tail dragging gently through the sand as it moves from one side of them to the other. Their arms are wrapped up loose around their middle, not quite protective, but they're clearly trying not to fidget in place or move too much.

"But you'd be lonely again, right? With no one around. And—Tesla does all the chores, and cleaning, and sewing up your clothes and stuff. Mr. Nnoitra———"

-> Their mouth opens, and closes, and opens again. There is a tightness in their chest that has rooted in their bones over many years.

"——are you sure it's okay to be alone?"

Too, they say. Nnoitra sits back a bit, unsure of how to take that. Maybe they're just asskissing. He never took well to compliments, they were never genuine. They were either backhanded or meant to save oneself from his wrath.

They don't sound disingenuous, though, so he can't find it in himself to laugh it off. He's more confused than anything.

"...Maybe he wouldn't have such shit taste if he didn't. Better social life or whatever the fuck it is he frets over. I'd survive. I was alone before he came around, and I'll be alone after he leaves."

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-> Hidden away in a nook their palm presses hard a cotton cloth to bubbling, open wound. Scale plucked right out of their skin; the sight would clot dark and scab over and be visible for everyone to see. How dreadful.

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-> Lyric tries to not jerk like a fish on a hook at the sudden force of it, the chill jackknifed right through their gut when the flat of his heeled boot blooms hot heat along the skin of their ankle, delicate as flower petals. They yip at the feeling, trying to pull away their leg but finding it firmly held in place; their breathing trembles as they try again and he only bares harder down. They can feel the bone and muscle bow beneath the force and their breathing comes in hard, shallow pants. Do not make sound. Absolutely so not make sound. Cats like to play with their food just to hear and see it struggle.

"Don't——"

-> Was that the beginning of his command or a plea in their behalf? Breathless, voice fragile and choked as a fist around their neck. Pitches up high and vanished into the roof of their mouth as their eyes stare averted, looking at the bottom hem of his coat and past it, worried eye contact would worsen his mood. Did he even have a mood? Lyric couldn't tell, not being able to see the lower half of his face.

"——hurt me..."

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-> THEIR HORNS???

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𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐄, 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝐗𝐗

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-> Lyric tries to not jerk like a fish on a hook at the sudden force of it, the chill jackknifed right through their gut when the flat of his heeled boot blooms hot heat along the skin of their ankle, delicate as flower petals. They yip at the feeling, trying to pull away their leg but finding it firmly held in place; their breathing trembles as they try again and he only bares harder down. They can feel the bone and muscle bow beneath the force and their breathing comes in hard, shallow pants. Do not make sound. Absolutely so not make sound. Cats like to play with their food just to hear and see it struggle.

"Don't——"

-> Was that the beginning of his command or a plea in their behalf? Breathless, voice fragile and choked as a fist around their neck. Pitches up high and vanished into the roof of their mouth as their eyes stare averted, looking at the bottom hem of his coat and past it, worried eye contact would worsen his mood. Did he even have a mood? Lyric couldn't tell, not being able to see the lower half of his face.

"——hurt me..."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ Did he, now ... ❞

What a conversation, that must've been ; Quilge, once more, dragging strange creatures, into their castle. FIRST, the Arrancar, spindly and subdued ... then the Harpy, silenced and sullen ... NOW THIS. This mockery of what should be, a mimic of LEGEND. A child, playing pretend. Metal heel plants firmly at their ankle, grinding against it, A THREAT TO SHATTER BONE, in a simple motion. At a whim. For, a shattered bone was not KILLING, after all.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ What other THINGS, did he tell you ..? ❞

How beautiful, they'd look, WRITHING in agony as horns were broken at the root, and torn away. MOUNTED, to pallid, crowded wall of the Fear's quarters. How wonderfully succulent that tail would be ; something like ALLIGATOR, he'd assume, though that was quite an American - found delicacy. So much of them, to be parceled and kept, piece by piece, on a shelf, or in a cranny.

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-> They do not clarify who they followed—and for good reason. Not a Quincy or a Shinigami but an Arrancar close to them, and the rumors of a bird that had been locked away. How could they tell them that? Lyric was not so naive they were unaware of the conflict between the groups. If it kept one more of their friends out of harm's way, they would tell half-truths and lie through their teeth. He casts them aside—refuse. Lyric lands heavy blue tail and shoulder blades first, air thumped out of them as they hiss at the sting. His pale face and dark shadow cut over them like the haunt of ghosts at night and their shoulders hunch up around their ears, teeth set and grit together. The pads of their fingers and their claws try to grip the smooth, flat floor.

"H... he said..."

-> Pick carefully. To not incriminate self or Jailer, reduce the chance the card is flipped death-side up in their direction. Suck in air and try to appear less like a cat puffing out its fur.

"—he said: I'm not to be killed."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤOH, DELICIOUS.

So desperate to escape, desperate to ger AWAY ! And Schrift, used naught. In vain, do they twist and try, grip that has them ensnared viselike. I FOLLOWED SOMEONE ! And that was their mistake. To follow a Quincy into the maw of their HOME ; ah ... but forth, comes a name, and dark eyes do slightly roll.

Wrist does move forward, tossing Draconid to the ground. Step, by step, by STEP do they approach, shadow reaching long. Metallic clicking comes to a stop, just at thick tail. QUILGE ; dragging home always, the wayward little CREATURES that did not belong here.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ No better than an ARRANCAR ... What, do tell, did he say ... ❞

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-> In the talons of the hawk, the little lizard squirms, their horned head leaning back in his grip at their scruff as much as possible to put more space between them and his spined mask—keep the cold protruding spikes from scraping gently over skin and scales. Yes, they knew they did not appear as much. When one heard the word dragon, they do not expect to see a weathered and worn human-thing. The image conjured a proud and mighty beast that was a challenge to fell or come near; Lyric could only be themselves.

"—I followed someone."

-> They feel their nerves drip cold sweat down their back. Both hands try to reach behind them for his fingers to see if they can pry off his grip; their face is desperate to appear unaffected, or even irritated, but they only seem distraught. Fear was one thing they could not escape.

"Mr. Quilge said—"

UNRELENTING, are those spindly digits, curling only tighter into fabric. THIS, this little thing, must've been the dragon that was spoken of in hush whispers, within the walls. BUT THEY DID NOT LOOK, LIKE MUCH. They're brought closer, impalement seeming imminent upon mask.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ You've come here. To this castle. ❞

FROM WHERE THEY HAIL, is where they should have stayed. Be that some misty, mountain top, or the ice - caps of the tundra, THEY SHOULD NOT. BE. HERE. Dropped, with abject disgust, cape is thrust apart so they may not touch it.

❝ Who brought you here ... To this place ? Was it one of the GIRLS ? I know Giselle likes ... CUTE THINGS ; No ... no. She has no tendency for bringing STRAYS HOME ... ❞

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-> Their head tilts a little to one side, meeting his stare and scrutinizing it without wrinkling their nose.

"... yeah. The bugs too."

"... well, maybe that's a good thing. How terrible would it be if your Fracción didn't look out for your interests and like you?"

"...Might be. I'll have t' look."

He stares back at them, his expression unreadable. Silent for a moment.

"...Pleasant soundin', huh? The bugs, right?

Tch, he's biased as all hell, of course he'd disagree."

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"... well, there's no crickets here, so I suppose you wouldn't be able to see one. They might be in the book I gave you... ?"

"Yeah. Pleasant sounding.

——I think Tesla would disagree."

"...Hm. Never heard of it."

"...Melodic? ...I'll ignore the pet part. Unfortunately there ain't shit that's good luck about me."