Too Loud to Hear [Closed]

The day showed no signs of being different from the one before it, nor did it suggest the next day would bear any further fruit than what she had now, stepping through the halls of her Las Noches.

It was almost peaceful; if the Arrancar had ever relished any sort of peace. But who could rest- who could allow their weary limbs to lie?- when they burned with so much desire? There was too much for her to do, too many goals to reach. Ah, she had to bite down on her nails, dyed blue, as she walked. Click, click, click went the sound of her heels against the floor, masking the breath of air she exuded from her nose.

She was tired. This was a fair observation to make, deep bags hanging under her eyes that she normally meticulously did her best to cover up. So much had happened lately, perhaps more than she wished, but it was not be enough. It would not be enough. Not for a long, long time would she be sated with where she was.

She could not rest until she reached that point.

She didn't so much as drag her feet as pronounce her every movement, the action forced and notably so, the tap of her boots echoing down the halls and alerting anyone within a wide radius that she was around. Anyone that had met her would be able to note that something was off as well, at least if they caught it before she realized they were around and corrected herself. She would not allow herself to be seen downtrodden, hence the fact that her back was still held straight with pride.

It was then that she caught a whiff; faint but enough for her tired, obsessive mind to latch on to. Her head swiveled and she stopped, pulling a 90 degree turn in place and staring out a lone window across the way.

Sniff, sniff.

The cat had found a mark. Now was the time to hunt.

Her pace increased as she went back to walking, almost running, her head held high as she followed the smell of something that should not be here. Someone that should not be here-- Gods!

The smell, she soon found, was coming from the Espada Castles. This stopped her dead in her tracks once more as she contemplated the ramifications of venturing into places she should not be. Yes, this was hers, all hers, but the world did not fully recognize that and...

Deep within the back of her mind she knew fear. She knew fear and she knew the people that could drag it out of her, and the various characters making up the top rungs of Las Noches fit on that list. If she misstepped, if she lost who she was now tracking or even worse found who she was now tracking...

She shook the various anxious thoughts clawing at her from her troubled, exhausted mind, taking a deep breath and straightening herself out once more. No. She was the queen and she knew what she was doing. She would be safe as she always was and everything would work out in her favor, as it always did. So she continued to move, more positivity in her steps as her weary body and psyche found something new and immediate to focus on. The smell was familiar but not, unable to exactly put her finger on its taste with how faint it was.

It was mere minutes before she was within the realm of the Espada themselves, stepping past a threshold she never had before and biting back the shiver that wanted to give her fear away. You are a predator. You do not fear, you hunt, and you survive. You are the apex of all that there is. The penultimate. The queen.

You do not fear, neither that which you know nor that which is unknown.

A few moments more and something else caught her attention, coming from the same direction of the scent she was tracing. Music...? Her ears twitched, a light flaring in her eyes. Music! This was most definitely music, the playing of an instrument of some kind. A piano? It was familiar, and it was... quite haunting, beautifully so.

Her curiosity only continued to spike, the unknown now more so. Her teeth clashed together, grin spreading and splitting her plastic face in two. Yes. She must know who this was and what they were doing. She must know why they were doing... this. She must... join into the music, it ached at her. A desire.

She allowed herself to hum as her steps slowed, more calculated, easily falling into a mindset she was comfortable with. She moved to the beat of the keys, sunlight reflecting down her hair and scant clothing. It shone along the black and white while caressing the tan of her form, embracing a moment of ethereality when she stepped through the door into a spacious room.

A man. That was the first thing she noticed, the false light Las Noches produced adding a slight shine to her. She caught it perfectly, standing in that doorway, a mostly gloved hand pressed against the frame. Her lips were upturned in their usual expression and she spoke, tongue drawling, purring out her words.

He was handsome.

His music was more so.

"Please, do not stop."

Another step and she fully entered the room, fingers trailing against the frame of the door and the proceeding wall as she did so. She raised her head, stepping into the spotlight she so desired if only for this moment, if only in this moment, his keystrokes playing her in as long as he did not stop.

And she sung, wordless, the sound flowing from her throat and parted lips like a river, drowning out her needless worries and only pausing her interest in who, exactly, this strange man was. He could have been a foe, but it wasn't like she left herself completely defenseless. She'd know if he moved to attack her- so she allowed herself this moment. She sung with grace, with beauty amidst delicate passion that spun a story with only their music to convey its tale.

Of course the man would likely soon find his attention drawn to her at the sound of her voice, the siren's song perhaps accidental in its resolution and its pull...

Though, perhaps not.

---

Word Count: 1071

GP Count: 21

/Total: 21
 

Déjà vu.

The feeling tickled him in the back of his focused mind. It tantalized his thoughts and made him wrinkle his nose as he felt the presence come to rest at the door to his music hall. He didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. Whoever it was, it could wait. The music wouldn’t stop flowing out of his fingertips for just any Arrancar. It hadn’t last time and it wouldn’t this time. The peace that his playing brought him was just settling around him. His attention quickly dripped back into the flow of the music.

He threw himself into it. His entire self was laid out naked and bare as his body danced across the black and white keys. The only way to really, truly compose was if you laid everything on the line. You have to lace the music with your emotion, your passion. The listener should feel the happiness, suffering, sadness...they should feel the emotions that waft off of the drifting notes as they land in their ears. Walkren felt the same comparison could be made to war. Throw yourself into it. Hold nothing back. Show your opponent what it is to be truly alive, because no one is ever truly alive until they’re forced to confront their own naked self.

Walkren’s eyes closed as he tilted his head back to the ceiling. The piece was edging on the precipice of its final lap. There was a measure of silence and a breath was held for it before he released it and dropped into the final twists and turns of the song. But then, as if his long breath had brought something into him, a curious thing happened: He felt himself wanting.

Not just a raw want. It was a want of this creature that had just entered into the room. He hadn’t realized it until now, but she had begun singing along with the music. Her voice twined itself around his notes that drifted into the air and they melded together to form a...more complete melody than before. It attached itself to his song and it was as if the final piece of the puzzle had been placed. He grinned wildly as his fingers erratically danced across the final measures of the piece.

Both of their souls were laid out naked as the final beautiful moments of the song frolicked itself into life and twirled and danced around them in a harmonious symphony. The speed at which Walkren’s fingers moved was almost hypnotic. He was slow and then fast and then slow again as the melody came to a slow and methodic rest. The final notes echoed their life away across the desolate room and Walkren let out a breath that he had been holding in for the last few measures. His wild grin grew exponentially on his focused face as he spoke, not once looking up at the woman behind him, “Stick with me for just another moment.”

“This next one is a delight.”

He hesitated but for a second and then dove into the next piece.

[515] [10] [20]

Her voice had not stopped its sonata as he had not stopped playing. The music she made was wistful, wanting; it was not unlike the inner recesses of her own soul. Frenzied, grasping, stepping and reaching towards something with a dark sort of grace. It felt as if she was baring herself to the strange Shinigami with his fingers dancing across the keyboard, naked and, perhaps for the first time in her existence, honest.

She circled the room as he played, trailing her nails against the wall with her voice lifted high. Her final crescendo echoed around the two as she heard the notes dying out. Her spotlight was almost at an end, here, but-

No, it couldn't be. Not yet. All that had done was made her desire more. More of this music, more of this music man. Her spell had been cast and it should be growing in him, tugging at him, dragging his attention to her whether he wanted it or not. That's what she wanted, right? Or did she want him to continue with his focus on his piano?

It didn't matter.

"Stick with me for just another moment."

He hadn't even looked at her. She jumped when he spoke, finally, accidentally scratching down the wall. She righted herself, blinking and clearing her throat; straightening the head on her shoulders and giving him the benefit of the doubt. He made no indication he was going to attack her, and she was still curious as to both his scent and what he was doing here so... she waited.

"This next one is a delight."

What she took from this was 'more music', and he definitely delivered. The nagging feeling that he had yet to look at her, or pay her any mind aside from his playing or those words, remained-- but she soon found herself quickly lost in the sound of those keys once more.

As he started she realized right away that this one was a bit more upbeat than the one before. Faster. Louder. A ditty that made her feet ache to step, despite the exhaustion she still held. Her smile grew as it wanted to, teeth gleaming in the false light filling her space. A deep breath through her nose and she relented, taking a step closer to the center of the room and raising her arms; giving a twirl, even, her voice dissolving into laughter.

That was when she began to dance. The movements were pronounced, hurried in a way that looked both fluid and natural. Her heels clacked playfully yet powerfully against the hard floor, eyes closing for that moment and her skirt lifting and spinning with her. (She made sure to keep her Perception in check; if he made a movement or looked to attack, even with her eyes closed, she should notice the change in atmosphere.)

Her voice rose just as pleasantly as her laughter before it, movements and song keenly related in the pure grace they displayed. She did not allow herself this sort of indulgence often and rather relished the feeling, her step reminiscent of nothing less than a ballerina. Without all the toe work, of course. In these heels that could likely kill her.

No, she almost completely absorbed himself in her music- his music- their music, establishing a strange yet true connection with the other during that moment.

Her song did not stop its ulterior motives, of course, spinning the playful tug of her 'magic'. The sun shone off her hair and dress (as in clothing, not actually a 'dress', of course, though that attire would be fitting for the moment she was in and the carefree nature she showed) while the desire she fanned within the man would only continue to grow. Notice me, she thought. See me. Pay attention to me.

Eventually, when the song began to wind down, she stopped her movements and rested; standing (the slightest bit hunched due to her tiredness and the elation slowly dying out, but not enough that it would ruin her pristine image) straight in the center of where his field of vision would hopefully go, right in the middle of the room. Her mere presence demanded that it be noticed.

"Salut.

Who are you, and why are you here?" Her voice was just as musical as her song, practically bleeding with various saccharine annotations.

---

Word Count: 715

GP Count: 14

/Total: 35

(As I try to say, any exact effects her power has is entirely up to you, you're free to ignore it as much and as little as you want. Have fun <3)

It finally took her luscious laughter to realize he was being played with. His heart didn’t jump over the moon for just any woman. It hadn’t jumped for any woman, last he checked. The feeling was fucking fantastic. Strands of her reiatsu were weaving with her song and flowing into him. They were fueling his desire to make her laugh again. He wanted to hear her gorgeous giggle bounce across the room. Oh, because when it did, it elated him. He could have flown with how far his heart soar.

Over the moon of Hueco Mundo and back.

She must be absolutely gorgeous.

The desire to look up at her was growing exponentially by the minute. His fingers tap tap tapped away at the piano as the rhythmic vibrato of her dancing played itself across the floor. Looking up now and seeing her beautiful form (because with a voice like that, only the best of figures would match) would only falter his focus and cause him to mess up. That was unacceptable. She had laughed. She was dancing. Her happiness was all that-

Fuck. Get a hold of yourself.

He felt Kutsu squirming inside of him, despite the music, despite the peace he thought he had won. She had been revelling in Walkren’s reeking desire for the Arrancar. It twisted and almost soured his fleeting moment of happiness. His mouth tasted of it: white. White and Hollow. It drained the grin off Walkren’s face. He would have stopped playing out right if it wasn’t for the woman’s singing and dancing. She drove him onward, his music tainted ever so slightly. The measures bounced along quickly as he listened to her feet scuffling across the floor. Her voice, tinged with it’s desires, kept up expertly with his agile keystrokes.

Eventually, the music winded down and Walkren’s fingers slowed across the piano as the final notes revealed themselves to the warm air. With almost a regret, Walkren played the last notes and the music drifted off into nothingness. He stayed there for a moment, just looking down at the beautiful piano he had just melded with. The woman’s desire pulled at his threadbare soul. He wanted to look up. Every fiber of his being screamed for it.

And then she spoke, her words laced with more of her desire.

He took a breath.

He hadn’t realized he was holding it.

A soft chuckle escaped his gut. A wry grin was left in its place on his face as the laughter faded. It was just another game. It was always a game. The stakes were just getting higher and higher each time he played it. Through his grinning mouth, Walkren broke the silence with the crack of his voice, “I’m a musician just playing my piece, love.”

With a flick of his foot, he pushed the mute pedal into place and the notes he started tapping out were a cut quieter than their predecessors. He was just idly playing now. Maybe there was a melody, maybe there wasn’t. Either way, as he played he looked up and met the beautiful woman’s gaze. His hazel eyes pierced her own honeysuckle ones. They found each other quite easily. She was waiting for him to glance at her. He happily obliged. Not in the way she wanted, though. She wanted desire. She wanted attention. He gave her a glance. No more and no less.

Falling into that pit would spell disaster for Walkren in this place.

Instead he looked back down to his idle playing and presented a question: “And who are you then, little cat? What brings you to this glorious estate?”

[607] [12] [32]

She was glad he hadn't stopped earlier, if she was being honest. She had so totally lost herself in the music, in his playing and her singing, that she had desired it not to end. Now that it did she ached for more- for more of the man behind it, now. She wasn't going to sing further she decided, exhaling softly. The spell was cast. Her music would stick around, nagging, in the back of his head and his heart. There was no more she needed to do; it would hold as long as he did not break it or she did not waver.

She never wavered, she noted with a wry smile of her own. What could possibly make a creature of desire... undesire?

He had not looked up at her throughout her entire encore. He did not look at her, even now, where she stood. She didn't understand, the events (or rather lack thereof) taking her by surprise. As far as she knew he had been affected by her power. She urged it on. Why didn't he look at her? He couldn't spare her his attention? But they had made music together. Wonderful music, a moment she'd remember for a long time coming.

She'd give him that, the wordless admittance that she had enjoyed time with him, and he still refused? How dare he.

"I’m a musician just playing my piece, love."

She wasn't amused with his answer, not as much as she would be if knew what social politeness was. You look at someone when you're speaking to them, Shinigami, she seethed. This wasn't something that ever bothered her because it was something that never came up. Two songs, she gave him two songs and he still did not crack under the pressure. All she asked for was--

what was she asking for, exactly?

The song had ended and she did not push for more. She still didn't know who or what he was, and she did not appreciate his resistance to her charms. Look at me, she wanted to scream. Everyone must look at me.

He began to play again, a tune she would not join in to. It was nice, quiet, backroom noise for the main event. She swallowed, loudly, mouth strangely dry. She was still tired. Still tired. Goddamnit, just look at me.

She froze when he finally did so, no more than a half second. That did not put water on the flames; it just fed them more, made her step closer, just once. Their eyes had met, honey and hazel, a spring afternoon. She wanted more. That wasn't enough. What was he doing? Why was he fighting? Was he fighting, or was she just losing her touch-

No, no, no. That was out of the question. A queen did not 'lose her touch'. Her exhaustion played no role in this. No earlier events played any role in this. She knew what she was doing, she always did and this time was no different than the times before. Just another game. A game she always won. He was nothing but another toy, no matter how he smiled or how he played or how he smelled.

She smiled; graciously, widely, teeth gleaming with a luminescence only she and this room could bring forth in that passing second of visual contact.

"And who are you then, little cat? What brings you to this glorious estate?"

She spoke under the music, with it, even, her simple words intertwining with the notes of the tune. There was no influence to her words, just conversation, though the sound of her voice was no different. Always an aria. Always sugary and pleasing for those she spoke to.

Wait, what did he just call her?

"Ahaha~. Little cat, my friend? How bold... though not incorrect. I suppose I do purrsess similar qualities.

What brings me here, you ask? Ah, dar, draga. Vorbeste sincer. You have not yet given me an actual answer to my question.

However, if it pleases you to know, I could say that you are the reason I am here.

What is a Shinigami doing in the castles of our Espada?" And why do you smell like that, so familiar yet so different?

Curiouser and curiouser.

---

Word Count: 687

GP Count: 13

/Total: 48

Her silken words drifted lazily over to him, dancing around his notes and twirling around the melody. He couldn’t help but grin even wider as she spoke. The Hollow, falseness of the feelings were apparent to him...yet the draw was so undeniably strong. If he simply just forgot that they were fake for a second, he could easily fall into her arms and drift away. Such a tragedy that he couldn’t. In this place, in the heart of the enemy stronghold, he felt as if Kutsu would simply flick him aside if he gave in to the Arrancar’s desire.

Instead, he would fight it. As best he could, that is. He knew himself. He had many many hedonistic desires. The luscious body of the woman that stood in front of him would have tantalized him without her lustful magic sewing its way into his ears. With no other release, he threw his desire into his music. The risk was large, but he could help but take it. Naked and free his emotions flew from the tips of his fingers into the air with his song. The discordant melody formed into a proper piece of music and he flung himself into it.

He wasn’t so focused as to be unable to respond, though. He wanted her to speak again. At the very least, he could persuade her voice to tantalize him once more. It’s tickling melody would once again drift into him and complete him if he only drew her words out. His entire body sighed as he looked up at the woman again, this time holding the gaze, this time drinking her feline figure. He gave her a mischievous grin and spoke, “I answered you honestly, love. I am but one part of a grand orchestra. I have my piece to play...as will you, I suspect.”

As quick as he had looked up, his eyes were back on the keys. The spell broken by sheer willpower. His heart raced as he fought the desire to looked back up. He chuckled at himself. Like a schoolboy trying to speak to his first crush. Or, at least, that what he felt like. His hope was that he seemed more graceful than he let on. She was obviously pressing her power onto him for a reason. It would be no fun if he revealed his hand too early. With another breath in and out, he calmed his heard and spoke again, words steady and precise, “In truth, little cat, I am here at the behest of your King. Though, I’m not sure how long my stay will be.”

He didn’t even question the secrets he might be revealing. That was a drop of water in the sea of other thoughts he was having. He wanted her to speak. He wanted her to ask questions that he would gladly answer over and over again. It didn’t help that his desire for all of this was exponentially magnified by the presence of Kustu. He would so easily have this curious feline in the palm of his hands if he didn’t worry that the devil inside him would try to break free.

Perhaps he was overexaggerating. Perhaps after his first victory over the dark spirit he should have more confidence that he could take her again. Even just suppress her. Even with the power of this place that filled him with dark energy. Even with this woman whom he had begun to desire so much. His other thoughts faded away as soon as the woman came back into his mind. They were so easily dashed away. He found himself imagining her in his mind as he played his music.

Perhaps he could let himself go...

...just this once.

[624] [12] [44]

She gave the smallest of sighs. She found her thoughts drifting through the music he played, each chorus just as beautiful as the one before it. He was talented; she couldn't deny this, nor could she deny that she was genuinely appreciative of it. While she did not care much for the man- other than the frustration and the cravings he was causing in her- she knew how to enjoy the finer things in life.

She was spoiled, yes, but this was something she not often had the chance to indulge herself in. No one could play music like this, certainly not herself. Aside from her irritation she found herself relaxing, moment by moment.

Perhaps she could let herself go...

just this once.

"I answered you honestly, love. I am but one part of a grand orchestra. I have my piece to play...as will you, I suspect."

He looked at her once more and held the moment, her eyes searching his now; for something, anything. There were many emotions displayed in her own, though mainly the jubilation sparked in reaction to his gaze. Her smile quirked some. Shinigami or not, enigmatic or not, resisting or not- he was still a man. A man, and a toy.

Ah, but weren't those one in the same?

His words amused her now that she had his attention as she wanted it, now that he was actively ogling her (even if for just a moment). Ogling? It fit, she mused, breathing out in mirth. He was wrong, though, on one count. He had his piece to play, but she did not. She was the conductor here. Part of a grand orchestra was correct; her orchestra. Or did he not know?

He was talking to the queen.

His eyes fell away from her and that same twinge flared in her chest, tensing herself for no more than a second before dissolving back into her usual amiable facade. The more he fought the more she wanted to fight back, a foreign feeling she was experiencing now for the first time. No one had ever tried this hard against her spell; she didn't even know it was possible, at that, to so strongly resist the urge to focus on her. It was... new. Not just that, it was frustrating! It was annoying! It was... bothersome!

It was... exciting?

Agh.

Ești o jucărie rău. That was a thought that ran through her head as she raised a hand when he first finished speaking; fingers, nails, lightly tracing shapes in the air, a true conductor's baton while the music continued to echo and flow around them.

You are a bad toy.

"In truth, little cat, I am here at the behest of your King. Though, I’m not sure how long my stay will be."

Her King? She had to bite back the spiteful laugh that threatened her pursing lips. She had no king. She served no one, no one but herself, the only true royalty that existed in this begotten plane. Her hand continued its imaginary orchestration; no dull to her eyes as they centered on the face of the man giving her an ungodly amount of trouble in such a short time, in such an odd manner. If he looked they might seem brighter still, mischief and lively naughtiness battling with a venomous sort of vexed merriment that she had to do her best to control.

No, no, she wouldn't be able to let herself go after all. She must play her game as she always had, always adapting, ready for anything he could throw at her.

Why did it jerk at her long-dead heart, then, that this man refused to give her what she wanted? Who did he think she was? Who did he think he was?

Who was he, at that?

"I am humbled, then, that you speak to me while in such a position. Honored guest of our Las Noches, may I have your name? Or..." It came as a purr, hand falling still the moment the press of his keys did.

"Do you have a title of any sorts I could call you?

A handsome, skilled man such as yourself... there must be some~thing you're known by?" Known for, even? Her smile was now coy, innocent in the least of ways, teeth dragging down her lip before a finger met them there.

---

Word Count: 681

GP Count: 13

/Total: 61

Walkren scoffed and openly laughed at the Arrancar. His playing was unimpeded by his fit of rumbling laughter that came from deep within him. She flattered him. She called him handsome, skilled. He could barely contain the joy that bubbled up inside of him. It disgusted a part of him. The part that knew this was all fake and artificial. Even the part that was infatuated with this Arrancar could see through the thinly veiled compliments, but that part didn’t mind them being so transparent. It sent shivers down Walkren’s spine. Shivers that made his heart fly. When he finally spoke, his words were shaking, he couldn’t resist her much longer, “You give me too much credit, love. I am but a humble servant.”

“You, of all people in this room, must be in quite the position yourself.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Either he gave in to her or he left as fast as he could. If he could even leave at this point. He looked up at the woman, her luscious figure distracting him for more than just a second, and then, without any rhyme or reason, Walkren stopped playing. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow. He would have to move quickly or lose himself. A mischievous grin danced across his face as he stood and spoke, “If you’ll forgive me, love. Just...one...moment...”

Standing in place, Walkren slowly drew his sword. Not in a menacing manner that might be conveyed as threatening, but it a smooth, graceful motion that made it seem like he was dancing with it. As if to alleviate even more of the threatening nature of the bare weapon, he placed the sword in his open palms, as if offering it to his lady love. Even his head was bowed, almost as if he were offering his service to his Queen. Teeth glinted in the artificial sunlight as his smile grew wide. He spoke in but a whisper, “Compose, Tamashioko.”

Walkren’s reiatsu immediately washed outwards, filling the room for a moment with a dark green energy. His blade became consumed with the same energy and it flowed over the blade, charring it black. After the first initial wave, the energies coming from Walkren died down and he looked up at the gorgeous woman. His smile grew devious. A simple tilt of his hands and his sword dropped into the ground and stuck there like a defiant obelisk of black. With a quick flourish, he was back to sitting and playing his music. A new piece this time, filled with all the bittersweet taste that he had for this Arrancar. The playing was discordant and magical. He seemed to being the playing and then put his fingers on autopilot. After a handful of measures, he spoke again, “Now then...Let us speak as equals.”

He wasn’t baulking this time around. His eyes were locked onto her’s and he watched her as his fingers danced across the piano. His reiatsu flowed over his fingers and into his sword as he used it’s power on himself. A simple vibration and a simple flick of a switch and his desire became much more muted than it had been. There was still desire. Walkren doubted anyone could resist this woman’s charming smile and beautiful body for long, yet he was no longer tripping over himself. He was free to breath and he was free to desire. His words were teasing and flirtatious when he spoke, “My name is Walkren Dekharr. That is quite the power you have there, little cat.”

“Or should I call you something else?”

And now the real dance could begin.

[608] [12] [56]

"You give me too much credit, love. I am but a humble servant. You, of all people in this room, must be in quite the position yourself.”
 

His laughter drew a spark in her eyes, only furthering the expedition of the grin across her soft features. Her teeth continued to shine, the slightest peak of her canines offered by the pull of her lips. All according to plan as it always was. Everything always went her way, sooner or later. It was practically shameful that she ever doubted the effect she had on him. Her, not strong enough to bring a Shinigami to his knees? Please. Perish such a thought.

Now if only he would look at her again.

He was right, at least, on all his above accounts. She reveled in the recognition, the vocal attention and admittance she was given by the male. He was just a servant, and this proved his humility. And her? Yes, she was in a position quite above him. Above them all. Way up here in the clouds on her throne, peering down at the pitiful people that tried to speak on her level. The Queen, of all there is and ever will be. Not just Hueco Mundo. Not just of mortals. No.

The Queen.

The effect of her spell was growing more and more apparent by the second. His struggle was evident in his eyes, over his face, the way his keys danced across his keyboard. It wouldn't be much longer now, she knew. Then her piece would set itself at the end where it belonged and she'd cash in her winnings.

Preferably in a more heated position than the one she was in now.

Then the music stopped and she saw him cracking. Her eyes tracked the sweat as it slithered down his face and ended with a plop on the piano where his hands still idled. Victory, victory, victory. The only words playing through her head, the only look shining in her eyes. A winner is--

"If you’ll forgive me, love. Just...one...moment..."

What?

He did not look as if he was coming to her in the frenzy she expected. Passionate, driven, absorbed in his new found obsession with her. The scenario had already played through her head. What was this turn of events? Was he still resisting, even as his body lifted from the bench?

She froze.

Just for a split second, after he stood. She could almost feel her eyes slit, narrowing imperceptibly, her position otherwise held as normal. What was he doing? The moment his sword started to slide from its scabbard she kicked off the ground, a snap echoing through the room before she appeared once more at the opposite end of the space; meters away from the center she had just been standing in. Tentadora, her own Zanpakuto, was drawn.

His own blade looked as well as it could but it did not match Cheshire's in aesthetic quality. None other did. A ten inch mirrored blade, reflecting both the images of its owner and the Shinigami, found itself sprouting from a guard in the form of a gilded rose. Red petals reached to caress the base of the dagger; gold accentuating their edges and veins while shielding her hand, clasped tight around the simple hilt with a tassle dangling in the air beneath.

His disposition was not and had not been threatening but she was set to react in the split second intervals where it mattered, her speed and perception her strongest weapons. Even now he did not look as if he meaned to attack, sword placed upon open palms and head bowed. Was this the turn his desires had took? Swearing fealty? It did not matter. She'd soon know, and once his intentions were discerned she would move closer.

Or she would kill him.

"Compose, Tamashioko."

Her ears barely intercepted his voice, just enough to cause her to react. Energy flowed into a hand, green, bright, vaguely oceanic in tint. Her lips parted as it formed a sphere, the newly created Bala ready to bolt into his chest if he made so much as the slightest muscle movement.

The process of his release, something she had only seen once before, was pleasing to her eyes. She could both feel and see the waves of his Reiatsu, reflexively pushing her own out to combat it, lavender joining with the dark, gruff green. The spiritual mist, no more than a fog of perfume in texture, formed a muted barrier around herself. He might even smell it if he was so predisposed. She would not allow herself to be taken by surprise by a non-physical attack. No, she was prepared for either. She had to be.

He moved and her Bala slid to the edge of her fingertips.

Before it could fire, however, the black of his blade touched the ground and embedded itself there. It sunk through the floor like putty, a revelation that made her nauseous. Was she must now be wary of the floor, as well? What was its powers? What was it doing? And--

"Now then...Let us speak as equals."
 

Why did he speak so calmly?

Her shock evaporated her Reiryoku, the built up energy dispersed to the air. Neither her Reiatsu nor the hand holding Tentadora wavered. Equals? Her? Him? Equals? She couldn't possibly comprehend this, blinking multiple times and furiously reviewing all the events that had transpired since she entered this room. It was fun. It had been fun, yes, the singing, the dancing, the start to her game. A duet up until this point.

Or, no, was the duet continued? Was he just playing with her, now, as well? What did his sword do, there in the ground? Analyze. Study. Rationalize. Figure out the problem and adapt to it. You are the Queen and the Queen does not fear.

No aggression shown in his face nor his movements. He was even back to playing again, a song that lulled her fleeting panic as long as it had lasted. He was no stronger than she, not by much, not that she could taste. The release of his Reiatsu before it subsided had set her a little on edge, though. It might, possibly, theoretically have beaten her own in both quantity and quality. Maybe. She didn't dwell on that thought, keeping her shroud and blade raised.

Equals?

Unlikely, pet. You know naught of who you're speaking to.

"My name is Walkren Dekharr. That is quite the power you have there, little cat. Or should I call you something else?"

Walkren Dekharr. She ran the name over her tongue, even speaking it once. "Walkren Dekharr." Her tone did not continue the ditty it played so easily. She was guarded, now, in a way that could be seen and not just considered. She didn't keep up pretenses with those in combat with her and she still couldn't deduce whether he might be a threat or not. Did she go for his throat or his heart? Maybe she'd take his eyes, such a pretty hazel, and keep them beside her bed to remember him by. After all, he had shown to be an amusement if nothing else. No, if nothing else, he had shown to get a reaction from her.

Why had she come here in the first place?

His scent?

No.

His music.

The sound drifted through the room, any disruption only evidenced by her positioning and his blade standing tall. Nothing had changed, really. Nothing but his tone. The lack of inner turmoil he had been experiencing only moments before. He was more relaxed, his words flowing easier, and he didn't look as if he was about to explode from the desire she grew in him. What did that weapon of his do, really? She glanced between him and it, back and forth, back and forth.

Walkren Dekharr. What are you? Her facade didn't seem to matter much now. Regardless of anything, as a Shinigami he remained an objective threat to her and he seemed to now know what her power could do. Do to him, at least. He didn't know specifics, but it definitely seemed as if the effect had been... nullified? Perhaps just dulled. He wasn't faking the sudden change in disposition, she told herself, straightening her body. No one could play her this well. She had to move forward under the assumption he had canceled it out in some way, shape or form. There was no use in trying it again; it didn't have 'power levels', only a base amount of strength, so she couldn't have doubled up on its effect whether she wanted to or not. That had always been enough.

It had almost been enough here, too.

Walkren Dekharr. Her equal?

Hah. She scoffed, breathing in deeply through her nose and lowering the hand that held her dagger. Her barrier of Reiatsu remained, though she pulled it closer to herself, laying it over her skin like a fine coat of paint. "Cheshire. My name is Cheshire.

Walkren Dekharr." His name fell from her lips like sugarcoated acid. Peeved or not she couldn't help how candy sweet and melodious her voice naturally sounded, even if it now was laced with a poison she hadn't allowed herself to express in a long, long time.

"What does that sword of yours do, and how are you now ignoring my pull?" She burned with the desire to ask him what he was, who he was, really. The name did not make the man. It was the other way around; the man made the name. She had to hold off, though. Outlining the current threat was far more important.

She didn't want to give him needless information about herself nor her power by asking more; so she waited, listening to the piano's notes.

Where were they on this board of hers, now?

Press start.

Go directly to hell, do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars.

---

Word Count: 1600

GP Count: 32

/Total: 93

He felt in control now.
 
The strain and stress that Kutsu had pushed on him was manageable by itself, but with a power like Cheshire’s pushing on him? He wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Manageable is a loose term in this situation. He hadn’t slept in days. Nothing he couldn’t...manage. Again, a loose term. Walkren was a threadbare soul just waiting for the right flick to rip him apart. He was unaware of this, though. His confidence was reflected in his playing. Unlike before where he was hunched over and sweating, all focus on playing, he was straight up and almost idly moving his fingers across the piano keys, as if playing the piano was an afterthought.
 
His real focus was on the little Arrancar that stood almost squirming in front of him. His smile sharpened the edge of his mouth as he listened to her thirsty words. They pleased him. The control he had of the situation made him feel powerful. And he hadn’t felt powerful in a long, long time. Honeyed words dripped out of his mouth, drastically discordant with the piano’s rhythm, “No need to be on edge, love.”
 
His smile flashed into an empathetic wide grin and he looked at Cheshire with warm eyes. It felt good to breath free of Kutsu. The peace he had sought from her finally started descending on him. It helped oh so much that he had an opponent for his little game. It just added to his peace. Not that he was harboring devious or threatening thoughts towards Cheshire. It was just Walkren’s way to dance with someone and ring them dry of anything and everything they have. Knowledge is and always will be power. The first step was to lull.
 
“I won’t bite,” Walkren’s voice dripped with soft concern as he spoke to the beautiful Arrancar, “Come take a seat. There’s plenty of room on this bench for two.”
 
A slight shift on the bench mid-playing to emphasize his point. His eyes never left her’s as he moved. His fingers deftly kept dancing across the piano, not a beat lost. There was no inkling of a thought where this game might lead him. You would think he would have learned. He couldn’t help it.
 
It was his Obsession.
 
“Or, you can dance for me again. I did so enjoy that, Cheshire.” He moved slowly across her name, tasting each syllable with his tongue, subtly mixing his own power into them. Now that Tamashioko was free, he couldn’t help but use his magnificent power. Tamashioko was grateful for the moment to stretch himself and finally be used for his real purpose. Walkren had been able to discern her powers quite quickly thanks to his knowledge of his own power. It stood to reason that she could do the same. So, with the subtlety of watching paint dry, Walkren gently whispered his power into his words.
 
Caution? But you are bold!
 
“Are you afraid?” He spoke with the gentle touch of a virgin lover. His words caressed her like the music playing from his fingertips, “All you need to know is that we can speak on the same level now.”
 
Fear? You are predator, not prey.
 
“It won’t hurt you.”
 
“We are allies after all.”
 
Worry? A thing that a Queen need not ever do.
 

"No need to be on edge, love."

She found herself uncomfortable; though not out of neither fear, which she didn't accept as an emotion she could feel, nor from anxiety caused by his sudden seemingly complete resistance. No, it was a simple discomfort due to his tone. She could read his face. The look in his eyes. The muscles in his face. The very air about him exuded confidence. He knew he was in control. He knew he had the upper hand and that reality was not something Cheshire would either accept or admit.

She could get by without her power. She had a particular dependency on it, true, but her words could be just as saccharine with only her lying. She'd play her games, just as well.

He just... made her nervous, an emotion she wasn't used to. He had gone from a frustrating boy, just another toy to bat around until she got bored and left- (couldn't kill a guest of the King's, after all) to a legitimate threat in more way than one. Was it her slip up? No. If she acted with the assumption that every person she met had a way to cancel or react to her power she wouldn't be able to use it at all, and her plans would be pushed back even further. Patient she was, yes, but not that much so.

Not just her plans, need she not forget that it wasn't just her goal that was her desire, always squirming around in the back of her had. She also wanted everyone to love her, whether she was Queen or not. She needed everyone to love her, as long as they lived, as long as they remained interesting to her. As long as they had at least their love to offer it was a necessity.

What was she if not loved?

It did not matter. He would come to love her. Everyone did.

First she wanted to claw that smugness off his lips, digging her nails in and raking flesh and blood from his pretty face. A few more scars would do him good, anything to remind him who he was messing with here. Anything to remind him his place. She wouldn't be treated this way. She wouldn't be talked to this way. She would not be made to feel small.

The twitch of her fingers was the only physical reaction she gave to this thought process, swallowing down. Her expression remained blank, composed, pristine. She did not fear. She did worry, yes, though she didn't need to. She had the upper hand. She always had the upper hand. His tricks and little circus act with his sword did not change that.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

"Come take a seat. There’s plenty of room on this bench for two."

He thought himself smarter than her. He thought himself stronger. Better? Did he make the assumption he was better than her, the Queen? She didn't have it in her for anger right now. Anger wouldn't help her, here. Anger wouldn't rationalize this situation and put it back into neat little boxes she could control and shift around. She struggled with her composition, in a situation so foreign to her that she fell like nothing less than a traveler within her own walls. A tourist.

She was so much more than that!

He was playing with her, toying, doing the same thing she did to other people. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. It was... was... illegal, even!

He was an evil, evil man. Her breaths were slow, even, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was careful not to give him any indications that she was stressing herself out over nothing, over everything. There were so many thoughts racing through her mind. She could handle situations like this. She had to be able to, right? This couldn't possibly be the legitimately first time she's ever been rendered powerless and on edge--

But it was. Not the first time she's had to make due without her power, no, but as far as rationality went this was her first scenario with these specifications. She had never talked amiably with a Shinigami within her own home. She had never been left without her power against a Shinigami. She had never dealt with a Shinigami's release on terms where she could not retaliate with combative force. She had never been resisted, not by any man or any spirit, to the lengths where they were no longer bothered by her pull.

She had never found an excitement bubbling in her chest, a particular thrill, at being pushed this far in such a short and disjointed time. Not once in her existence, however many years that had been, had she been at practically even terms in a game. Just for a moment she conceded that was the truth- perhaps, mainly, he held some power now. She did not dwell, as she knew it would not. It was not power over her. Just power in general. Strength. His confidence was not forced, nor was it ingenuine regardless of what he might think. He was shaping up to be an adversary.

Was he not just a toy, then? Was he an opponent?

It was no longer just a one-sided game.

No, they had been both been placed back at start. Their pieces lingered, staring at the board in front of them. Roll the dice. Spin the dial. Draw your card. Even terms? With him? Please. She was so much more than he was, more than he'd ever be. He was just a man, a Shinigami. Putting up a fight did not put them on 'even terms'.

She ached to understand more. Her eyes brimmed with gold, lips parting. She was falling victim to her own desires, teeth digging down inside her mouth to keep a shiver from racing up her spine. Lust. Excitement. Entertainment. Her worries fell on her own deaf ears. She had an opponent. He was still a toy, yes, they all were, always were; if they were not her, they were practically nothing. It wasn't a cruelness that drove her to those thoughts, just how she saw the world. How she was born and shaped to see the world.

A toy, but now more. Not her level, no, she'd always find herself a step ahead as the universe willed it to be so. As she willed it to be so. He was a plaything with purpose. An instrument to her amusement. He was, already, the most fun she had in years, bar her little knight. He might be able to keep up with her until the finish line. That thrilled her. It overjoyed her.

She'd try not to leave him too far behind, she mused, straightening up and taking a step closer. He wasn't going to harm her. He was right to be defensive, to have drawn his Zanpakuto; she didn't exactly excuse it but she could rationalize it. No one should draw their sword against her, but it's what she would have done under similar circumstances.

Was she comparing him to her?

Ah, he wasn't at that point. He'd never be at that point. But she wanted to see him try. It thrilled her to see him try.

It made her... nnnf!

"Or, you can dance for me again. I did so enjoy that, Cheshire."

His music played the backdrop to his words. She recognized the way he said them. It was the same way she spoke her own. He was playing her game. He wouldn't play it as well as her, though, and that fact was all that mattered to her. She no longer needed to reiterate that she would win- it was a definitive. This would be the first time someone would play with her, rather than just against her. It was still in her favor, always in her favor, just not as glaringly so.

Obsession.

She could see it in his eyes as it reflected in her own.

Her legs moved themselves closer despite herself. Let's see what you can do, soul boy. Let's see how well you play, music man.

She was halfway across the room, a sway to her hips, a hand tousling her hair. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to purr.

She wanted to play.

"Are you afraid?"

Wait. Something was off.

All you need to know is that we can speak on the same level now."

No. He wouldn't dare.

He couldn't dare.

It won’t hurt you."

No.

We are allies after all."

She knew this feeling. It fell from her lips, with her words, all the time; the same casual reverberation, a tinge of energy, the touch of sweetness that melted in your ears like acid. Instead of pulling she was being tugged. Instead of singing she was being serenaded. It was a sort of bliss, a feeling that made you want to agree, to give in. It was calming. Relaxing. A familiar bed in a familiar home to lay in. Make yourself comfortable, Cheshire.

No. She knew this feeling all to well. She lived her life causing this same reaction in every person she came across.

She didn't find herself focusing on him. Her thoughts were free to scrutinize the feelings bubbling, boiling, overflowing inside of her.

She was bold.

She was fearless.

She had nerves of steel.

There were all true, no?

But they were not her thoughts at this time. She knew she had nothing to fear; she never even once considered there was anything to fear. She had moved past her worry. She was being bold, even now, stuttering to a stop a few feet from the piano and himself. She felt these things, she agreed with these things, but she heard the gnawing in her head. She knew what he was doing. This was how he 'turned off' her power, wasn't it? He was playing with her emotions, it made sense he might be able to toy with his own. Even at that, it might just give him total control over emotions in a general sense. Was it the hum from his blade that did this?

The point was his power was not that different from her own, no matter who was or was not being effected by it right now, and that was almost good news to her.

She knew the ways around her own power, so she knew ways around his. She knew how to resist that pull because she knew how to cast it. This, this same line of thinking, must have been how he had stopped from cracking in the first place.

It was safe to assume he had no other powers up his sleeve, at least not from his sword. It stood there as a reminder of what he could and was doing. A marker of peace. Of even terms.

No. If he wanted even terms he wouldn't have counteracted with his own power. He would have left it with cancelling her own out.

She laughed, once, twice. She closed the rest of the distance just so she could lean herself over the piano. Bold. Fingers from one hand traced along the soft wood, elbow leaning on the edge as the rest of her torso inclined across the way to stare Walkren in his eyes. Fearless. Her face split open in a grin, her back arched, back-end raised. A coy, playful light glared in her gaze. She could feel the vibrations under her from the beat of his keys, stashing Tentadora in a slow, drawn out motion. Nerves of steel.

Then her Reiatsu exploded outwards.

It did not harm Walkren, nor the piano, of course not the piano, but its pressure could and would be felt. It was no longer a carefree mist, lazily but dutifully shrugged around her in a barrier. It was spikes. Sharp. Ruthless. Threatening. Claws and fangs, digging into every surface they could reach. It caused chaos, stone shifting and buckling under the weight of her exhumed force.

Not a single hair on the man's head moved in response, just as she wanted. She let him see the walls of the room tremble, sifting. She let him see the sheen of debris build up as all of her worry, all her irritation, all of her bare bones excitement at him was let out in a single rush. It was all laid out in front of him.

Her lips trembled with a purr, no more than a foot or two from his own. She embraced the emotions he teased inside of her while keeping them as her own.

The game was on.

"Now, now, that won't do. I won't play dirty if you don't, dear "ally".

How does that sound, minunat?

Are you up for a duet?"

She had the lead.

---

Word Count: 2086

GP Count: 41

/Total: 134

Ah well.

He had tried.

The weaving he had done to his words had most definitely worked. She was leaning dangerously close to him. But she, like him, knew the craft much too well and felt his power’s oh so subtle caress. She was better at the game than he had given her credit for. He very much liked subtly and her words were laced with it as she presented her offer. They were also laced with truth. If he dropped his power then she would drop hers. A truce of sorts. Of course, Walkren was completely fine with this. He had been playing the game for decades without his silly power. It was just an added bonus when he used it.

He wasn’t going to give up his advantage without one final, decisive move, though. His grin turned cheshire as he leaned forward, the music fading away as he drew himself closer and closer to her supple body. He kept his eyes locked onto hers. Hands and back moved with a grace that surprised even Walkren. The foot that separated them was crossed in the span of a few seconds. Much longer than was needed. Walkren could feel her body near his now. Their warmth was mingling, as was their reiatsu. A dance of their own. They were nearly touching when he finally stopped.

Their lips brushed, like a feather across skin.

Desire. You want him.

Complete silence.

A stark and chilling contrast to the music filled air that had danced itself silly through the room only moments before. It seemed endless. The two of them, locking eyes, stood there for what seemed like hours. Their bodies were statues as they held. Walkren wasn’t going to move an inch further. Even with the desire to fall into her burning inside of him. He stood, only touching her by the tips of his lips. A short chuckle threw the silence out the window and brought time moving forward again, “As you wish, love.”

And he dropped his power away.

Tamashioko fled from the room and back into the recesses of Walkren’s mind. Black dripped away from his blade as it formed back into it’s normal self. He felt the Arrancar’s power start to seep back into him. His want for her was rapidly becoming a need. Their lips were still touching. It would be so easy to-...but he didn’t. He simply smiled and sat back down. This time he didn’t play, he just sat and waited and watched.

One of the most powerful moves a player in the game has is the one Walkren just did. To show your desire for something, anything, and then not take it when it was handed to you. Showing your opponent that the fruit they hold that is so desirable can be easily rendered completely useless. Showing them that they don’t control you, you control you, no matter how much you want what they have.

No one controlled Walkren, but himself.

Everyone else was just a piece in the game.

[507] [10] [77]

He didn't react at all to her show of intimidation, the Reiatsu that poured out viciously around her and dug into the walls of the room. She noted this duly, the slightest of pouts reflecting in both her eyes and on her lips. Troublesome. He was a troublesome creature, cast down from the Gods themselves to test her.

She pulled it back, all the flair and smokes and mirrors, wrapping it around her once more before dissolving it away to nothing more than an ounce of what it really was- hiding her pressure. That burst of energy would draw attention to where they were and she didn't want to be interrupted. Better to make sure no one would be able to track it back here. Why was he causing her so much frustration? She could feel her heightened emotions dulling down as they were wont to do, relaxing back into her usual games. Nothing but her desires were free from her ephemeral nature.

The music stopped, a fact that wasn't lost on her, the final staggered notes of his playing drifting to her ears before fading out completely. He was moving closer. Closer. She didn't react, didn't flex or tense up in preparation for attack; she did nothing more than watch curiously, the same grin still pulled across her face.

She could feel the heat off his skin, dark green mixing with the soft lavender of her lingering Reiatsu. It was mystical. It was almost magical, even, a fairy tale experience that drew breath from both of their lungs. It might have been even stronger than the mingling of their bare souls earlier; what felt like days, years ago, as she first sang to the notes of his piano. She studied his face as her Reiatsu reacted reflexively to his own being in her space; it mingled, but it analyzed. In that moment she felt everything he was feeling as he could the same. Her spirit and her soul and everything that made her, her, dug its claws in and took the first and only taste she got of who Walkren really was.

She drank in his desires, his amusement, even the deep fears and apprehensions that buried themselves deep within his soul.

She also felt something else in that span.

Something with a nature that rivaled her own.

Something evil.

Something that was not Walkren, not the man she felt herself pressing closer against, an inquisitive light burning in her eyes. He was not alone in that body of his, the one that leaned in, mirroring her own searching movements. He shared it with something that both tasted of and was a stark contrast to him. What was it, and why was it so familiar?

They weren't so different, it seemed.

She didn't get much more time to linger on this.

Desire.

She felt it. She always felt it. It was what kept her alive for the past who knows how many years, and it was also the center of every flaw and fault she had. Desire. It was her. She was desire more than she was anything else. Not enough emphasis could be put on it in relation to her, as it drove every movement she ever made. This made it the easiest emotion of hers to play on. It would be the end of her, after all.

That one touch, her lips parting easily in response to the barest touch of Walkren's, and she flooded with the feeling in a way she often did. She knew it was his influence, and she didn't care. Her findings were all but forgotten in that one moment as the brightest light possible shone in her eyes. She hungered. She wanted him, she wanted him so badly right now it shook her legs and put a tremor in her usually composed hands. She leaned closer, stretching her back and toes of her boots, a growl building in the back of her throat. Come. Come to me. Fall into my arms and feel my embrace. Give yourself to me, Walkren Dekharr.

She didn't get to experience it long. He pulled away and his power faded, quickly- she could feel the lack of his influence in her mind as her breathing evened itself once more and both the spiritual and physical connection they held broke.

Damn you, Walkren Dekharr.

I'll eat your eyes.

She only took a moment to seethe, frustration burning hotter in her head. His expression remained smug and confident, even as she knew her spell took its hold once more. He resisted it. He struggled, but he sat himself back down without a word. He watched her.

He was in the position she had always found herself in, before.

1 point for the music man.

0 for the noble cat, though not for long. She knew he had to have felt the same connection she did. And now she knew, also, something he did not know she knew. Those feelings inside of him, growing, trying to consume his soul. She wanted to comment on its fragility but he was putting up such a fight she had no choice but to respect that, if nothing.

A sigh left her lips as she craned her back, shifting around with a few audible pops of her spine. She slowly began to pull herself up on top of the piano, mischief once more the only train of thought shown on her face. She spared him a glance before looking away, keeping tabs on any movements he had with her ears and spiritual perception. She didn't think he'd sneak a dirty blow now, though, regardless.

He was enjoying this game as much as she was.

Her spell ended with no more than a thought from her, releasing her hold on him while she stretched out on top of the piano. Her frame was slim, her weight mirroring that; not even a dent was made, no indication from the piano that she was now lying across it. She propped herself up on an elbow, laughing softly.

"I thought we decided to play fair," she purred, relaxed. This was her element, she felt, and now it was laced with an honesty she rarely got to show. Her skirt pulled up her thigh, just a small amount, grin dying down to a bemused quirk of her facial muscles. Quiet. Composed. Regal.

She was still the Queen, and he a servant. Delusions of strength did not change that.

"Oh well.

Totul este corect în dragoste și război, nu?" Her words did not lose their playful edge, the sweetness that fell from them like candy from a pinata. She couldn't stop the way her voice sounded even if she wanted to. He was lucky to be hearing it so intimately, anyways, so close their bodies were in reality.

"What are you, really, Walkren Dekharr?" Demanding but simple, a question she expressed she deserved an answer to but did not drip with any sort of poison. True thoughts, true questions. A game in nature.

"Why do you find yourself here?"

---

Word Count: 1179

GP Count: 23

/Total: 157

It took the effort of lifting a feather for his fingers to flourish and begin to dance across the ivory keys again. The playful tones of the tunes bounced their way through his fingers and jiggled their way out of the strings inside of the piano. The jovial beat just helped to push the dance onward and into each new measure. Walkren’s wicked smile flashed as the woman climbed on top of the piano and laid herself out like a piece of art on display. The sweet honey of her voice drizzled over him as he swayed back and forth to the beat. The piece of his hazel eyes watched her body, her lips, her eyes. He soaked her in as the tantalizing twirl of his fingers coaxed out the melody. Before her words had a chance to settle on the room he was speaking, “Aye, all is fair, but you asking all the questions is not, love.”

“It doesn’t help that your questions aren’t interesting,” The hungering eyes feigned disinterest, his playful tone blatant in his voice. Even without her power clawing at his insides, he still felt himself lusting after the voluptuous body that she was trying to sell him, but he was no pubescent teenager. The natural desires he had could easily be suppressed. A quick wink was thrown in her direction before he spoke again, “They are so vague and filled with nuance. I doubt I could give you a worthwhile answer without us becoming close friends.”

“I rather like the soiree we’ve put together, let’s not go and ruin it with friendship,” He chuckled at his own words. The laugh was filled with the raw emotion of happiness that he was feeling. It was almost a challenge for him to keep everything in check as he played the piano. He wouldn’t let up on his ideology of creating music. He was putting himself and his emotions into the song. Even with the kind of facade that Walkren put on, things were bound to leak with such an energy going into the piano. His smile was still dancing across his lips as his fingers danced across the ivory, and he spoke,  “But I’ll give my dance partner the benefit of the doubt. If you think them worth questions, then answer them for me...”

“What are you, really, Cheshire?”

Check.

“Why do you find yourself here, truly?”

You are putting too much trust in her. You should never have sent me away.

Even if you don’t trust her, Tamashioko. Trust me. I can feel her thirst. She’s right where I want her.

I do trust you, but only you. It’s the other’s that I don’t trust. I’m here if you need me.

Her response danced on her lips. He could see her taking in a breath, preparing to give her own retort or reply. It might even have not been an answer to either of the questions, but before she could let loose the words into the world he spoke up, “...or, if you’re looking for an interesting question to answer, how about...”

Hands still in step to the music, he looked at her slowly up and down. His pupils traced the curve of her leg up across the hills and valleys of her hips and chest until they finally landed on her gorgeous face and her sharp honey eyes. Barely a whisper broke from his throat, to make her lean in and strain to hear his words, he wanted to make sure she took in every word.

“Why are you throwing yourself so desperately at me?”

Mate.

[601] [12] [89]

Her eyes quietly rolled, not too worried about niceties by this point. He wouldn't care, either, she knew. Walkren Dekharr would not be easily disrespected, not while they were in this game. He was too similar to her; all was fair, now, nothing was off limits. They had cast their die--it was now time to see where the rolls took them on the board. He had begun playing again and she once more found herself agreeing that if nothing else he was quite good at that, the way his fingers slid across the keys and brought her lips to a purr. She let herself relax into the melody, feeling his eyes trace down her frame--a tactic which she had intentionally indulged both of them in--and tilting her head back, eyeing him without turning towards him.

Yes, I'd like to buy bullshit for 200 dollars. She had asked, maybe, all of two questions: "who are you" and "why are you here". He had given her nothing but his name and cryptic, silly answers, as if he was in on the game since they first started playing. He had yet to give her an actual explanation on either account, which is why she had asked once more, curiosity having peaked further after she had dragged the information from his reiatsu.

"It doesn’t help that your questions aren’t interesting, they are so vague and filled with nuance. I doubt I could give you a worthwhile answer without us becoming close friends."

In the end, though, she had to agree with his mirth. He really was like her, the highest compliment she could pay someone else even as it pointed only towards a personality comparison. She was obviously still much, much more than he would ever be, simply by virtue of being herself.

Ah, he did not have friends, either, did he? Not real ones. Not people he cared about as much as they might care about him. Not because he could not, but because it was unnecessary to him; what fun would the games be, nu, if the players were all on equal terms? How could you play, knowing the things that might be at risk, if you actually had anything but yourself to risk?

He was a clever boy, all things considered, and she once again found herself enjoying their time together--though her frustration was not forgotten, and she still considered the thought that she would be better just leaving.

But then he would have won, and that was simply not something that would sit right with her.

"What are you, really, Cheshire? Why do you find yourself here, truly?"

He was turning the questions back against her, something noted that made her snort. The sound left her nose, none too gentle, fingers trailing up her to tangle with the strands of her hair and neatly pull them back; letting them fall a moment later, somehow messier than it was before. Still beautiful, though, yes. Still with a certain grace to the chaos. She was no animal.

Her reply formed in her mind, ready to spill out into the air, though she never quite got that chance.

'You call my questions boring and cryptic, Walkren Dekharr, yet you use them yourself to... what? Prove me a point? If you are so dissuaded by what I ask you, why should my reply be any different? You have my name and I have yours, yet that is all we know of each other.' She was going to say, as if that was a tragedy, her lips tilting in the most insincere pout her expression could have possibly come up with; honey meeting hazel once more, a spark of entertained electricity between them within this mental scene of hers. 'I am who I am, and I do what I do. I suppose, yes, that is not an easy question to answer--but you are in my home, Shinigami, not I yours. You are less pardoned for not explaining yourself, a guest or otherwise.'

Maybe--'

"Why are you throwing yourself so desperately at me?"

Even the conversation in her head was not allowed to finish, the man rudely interrupting both that and the words she was now not able to say. It was his question, then, that stalled her. It was his question, the only original one he had, that flushed her thoughts of the other explanations she might have for herself.

It was this question that narrowed her eyes, mischievous delight turned back to impolite irritation. It did not burn, no, she was much more cultured than that--but it shown, at least in flickers within her gaze. It wasn't the way he phrased it that annoyed her; it was the implication that she was both desperate and throwing herself at him, despite the coy way she's played until now and how he had barely been able to resist tearing her clothes off just moments ago. He seemed to have a big, cocky ego about himself. Yes, he resisted, and yes that fact still twisted in her thoughts, but it had been a struggle for him while there wasn't an equal amount of effort on her part. Other than the way he was rubbing her (wrongly, at that, definitely not in a way that she would have liked) she had kept her cool as well as she always did.

Desperate was not a word that described her, burdened and collared by her own desires as she was or not. A Queen did not feel desperation; she might hope, and she might manipulate her appraisal out of someone else, but she did not beg for it. That was so much more below her.

Instead, though, of flicking out her wrist and blowing off his face for the insult--she laughed. The sound was soft, a contrast to the smoldering flames in her eyes--though those quickly faded, replaced once again by her mirth. She was so silly, all this time, even once considering him someone on her level. He had played along, yes, but that was just it; she had wanted to believe he would be able to give her any fun, to play with her, not just against her, but in the end he really was just... another joke. It had been beyond gracious of her to entertain him to even this point.

"How rude, Walkren Dekharr." She giggled, lips now quirked in the shit-eating smile she wore so well and so innocently. "You reprove me, even now, for 'desperately throwing myself at you'," the finger quotes joined in, amusement so wired there was no way he couldn't feel it coming off of her skin, so close to his own. "Yet you've been doing exactly that, yourself. You have been, as you so kindly put it, desperately running away from me, and yourself, this entire time. You, what, liken yourself to better than me because you have a 'solid grasp' on your emotions? The desire that I had grown in you? Because you can hide it, so well, this fear of yours while my own desires show in the simple way I move my body?

You want to speak of desperate, Walkren Dekharr, while you've been nothing but that our entire conversation. I have heard your music, baiat prostut. I have danced to it. Your desperation was what lead me here in the first place.

You were desperate in the way you threw yourself into your playing, both before I came, after and even now. What was it you were looking for, an escape?

You were desperate in the way you played along with me from the start, falling so easily into your own little game, toying with your words and tugging at my curiosity. What was it you were looking for, a companion?

You were desperate in the way you proverbially clawed at your own skin while you were under my spell--desperate enough to release your own power to counter it, than draw me closer, pull me under and 'turn the tides'. What was it you were looking for, an excuse?

And now you are desperate, even here, reflecting your emotions back on me because you refuse to answer my simple, albeit intrusive, questions.

Is it because you do not know, Walkren Dekharr, who you are?

Is it because you do not know, Walkren Dekharr, why you are here?

Just tell me then, dragoste meu, micul meu prieten. Answer one question of mine, and I will answer any of yours."

She leaned in, closer, enough so that she could whisper her question to him just as he had his; there was the slightest blush to her face, taken by the heat of the movement, the rush of palpable excitement. What are you so afraid of?, she thought. What are those feelings inside of you, aching to come out?

What is making you so desperate?"

---

Word Count: 1425

GP Count: 28

/Total: 185

Walkren had to stop playing he was laughing so hard.

“Brilliant!” His words were clear and full of joy, “You’ve done it. You’ve unraveled my very being with your eloquent speech.”

“Woe is me! What am I to do with this new realization of my soul?!”

The rumbling laughter emanating from his gut slowly died off as he threw out more and more dramatic gestures. The smile on his face was open and his teeth were glinting in the artificial sunlight. A fist fell onto the keys of the piano a few times as the laughter died down. He wiped a tear from his eye before looking back up at Cheshire. She was so close, he could feel her heat again. He smiled at her. It was...surprisingly genuine.

“Love, that was beautiful,” Sincerity dripped from his voice, it was calm now that he had stopped laughing. He was elated at the response that Cheshire had given him. The exact response he had been hoping to drag out of her. “You seem to think you know more about me than even I do. You seem to think that you can get under my skin with just a few empty words and questions.”

With a harsher tone, he spoke again, “Foolish child. As if I don’t know what I am. You cannot expect yourself to dance or play without knowing exactly what you have at your disposal. I know what I am. You cannot use my own desperation against me.”

His eyes looked tired in that moment. As he spoke that last line, they felt sunken into his skull and he felt tired and weighted. For just a moment, his game grew tiresome. Now that he had won, it didn’t seem as much fun. He felt dirty. Like somewhere far away someone had just shifted the balance away from him. As if in his victory, he had lost something. The smile on his face cracked and crumbled away as he continued to look at the beautiful girl.

He sighed suddenly, “I am part Hollow, love.”

“That is what makes me desperate.”

“...you?”

[351] [7] [96]

Her eye twitched.

Her composure remained, but the beat of her heart picked up. She was great at controlling her outward emotions; she excelled, supremely, at that. She had fine precision when it came to what people saw of her, what they thought she felt, what they saw she was feeling. Her actual emotions, however, were not on so tight a leash. Her anger at this moment clearly demonstrated that, burning inside her chest until flames were licking up her throat and her teeth were threatening to bare around the man's neck.

She looked no different, not to him, not for even a second. Her reiatsu wouldn't give away any traces of her anger, either; not with how tightly it was wound inside of her, carefully nestled around the chaotic dichotomy of frustration.

He thought he had won.

He was taunting her. Laughing at her, with her he might think, slamming his fists in joviality a few times before that too ceased and the only sounds left in the room was his rapturous tirade and her breathing. He felt high, he felt mighty, he felt on-top of the world as far as she saw it.

He thought he had won.

Empty words? Empty questions? They were loaded, and he knew that, yet he avoided it. She had gotten under his skin, whether he was inclined to admit it or not. He wouldn't have had such a loud reaction if she hadn't. Whether he was ready for her answer or not, it had struck a chord, somewhere inside of his careful exterior that rivaled her own in the mischievous quality.

He thought he had won.

His tone fell and he spoke words that brought a new light to her eyes. A darker light. That's exactly what she was doing, though, wasn't it? He felt comfortable, leaning back into the pomp of his presumed victory. He felt like the game was over, even as the brightness of his own eyes faded and his smile corroded into something a bit more genuine--though his grin had been true enough in benevolent amusement.

He thought he had won.

He was no different than her with his desperate games, even though she did not see herself, realistically, as desperate. You cannot be desperate for for something you know you will achieve, when life was nothing but waiting and planning and playing around with the free time you had until the curtains were called and the actors took their places and the scene played out

exactly.

how.

you.

knew.

it.

would.

She was not desperate, no. She was bored. She was playful. She was curious. Desperation? Maybe sometimes, maybe fleeting moments, but it was her desire that drove her--not her desperation. Walkren was different. It ate at him. Inside and out, it shown in the way he now cracked and smoldered.

She was angry, yes, and she was not as good at forcing those feelings back as Walkren might be--but that did not matter any longer, not as he spoke and sighed and looked at her with his tired, tired eyes.

He thought he had won, yet who was the real winner here? The man terrified of himself, of what he was becoming or of what he was? The man playing games because he had no other choice, because it was the only thing keeping him from breaking, the only escape he had?  Or the girl wishing to be queen, the girl wishing to be loved, the girl who played games to pass her time and remind herself just how wonderful and special she truly was.

She shook her head, slowly, her own eyes boring into his; hers vibrant, livid, not with anger but energy that so strongly clashed with his own. She couldn't deny she was interested, and she couldn't deny that curiosity was eating away at her annoyance until it and her excitement were all that remained. The excitement at knowing that she was the one to win, in the end. Because unlike him...

She had nothing to lose. There was no way for her to have lost this game from the start.

A short laugh, a small smile; no more than quirk of her lips, an expression she had worn often and without shame. "Part Hollow, you say? I must wonder how you got to this point. One is not born both a Shinigami and a Hollow. You are not an Arrancar, so you are... something... ah! That's what I tasted. That's why I came! I was right. It was your desperation that led me here." She was musing, almost talking to herself, no matter how absent minded that might seem. Pieces were coming together. The dread inside of him that so wickedly clashed--or did it fit together, just right, making a whole--with what else she had gleamed in her meandering with his soul? Wonders, wonders.

Curiosities, curiosities.

She slowly slid off his piano, still laughing to herself.

"How much of you, do you think, is Hollow?" She thought out loud, though the question was definitely directed, as arms raised slightly for her to examine while she moved back to the center of the room. She stepped with a flourish. For a moment she had wanted to kill him, back when he first started talking, and the easiest way to control that urge was to move away before she did something she might regret; he was a guest of Erasmus', after all.

But no, now the desire had passed and it was filled only with droll interest. She looked at him as she truly looked at all things--a toy. He was no longer fit to be an opponent of hers.

He was too broken.

"The majority, or is that just a growing possibility? Does it scare you, how it consumes the Shinigami in you? Or do you live peacefully--aah, who would we be kidding, dragoste? You struggle so much!"

She shook her head, nostrils flaring in a breathy snort. She stood mainly with her back to him, one arm in the air and the other on her hip; but her head was turned so she could see him, study him, and he could see the shine of her amber eyes reflecting all her interest in the empty man. 

No, empty wasn't the right word. He was full of a lot; a lot of emotion, and a lot of shit.

"Does it hurt?" She purred, her tongue tasting the air as she spoke. He was of no use to her. He had lost all of his appeal except for this one topic. She had grown bored of Walkren Dekharr, but not of what was inside of him.

"You were wrong on one account, Walkren Dekharr, since our little conversation began. I am not desperate, and I have not been desperate. I desire. I desire much, yes, but... the problem here is I no longer desire you. Not to be rude, and forgive me if it comes off as such..." Her words trailed, wrist giving a little flick, a little spin as she tried to find more.

"There is no desperation to certainties. There is only boredom as I bide.

I think it might be time for us to say our goodbyes, nu? Unless you wished to explain more of yourself to me. As fi deschis la care."

---

Word Count: 1222

GP Count: 24

/Total: 209

“Are you sure about that, little miss Cheshire?”

Her words hurt. They pierced his thick veil and struck right at the heart of what he feared. They hit him in the worst place. A fire had been lit inside of him the day he fought Souta, he wouldn’t run anymore. The only thing he was running from was this. He gave her the information as if it meant nothing, but it meant everything. His veil on his heart was as much for him as it was for everyone else. In truth, he was completely and utterly terrified of what he was becoming, even if a part of him wanted it to happen.

Yet, her words were baseless. She was throwing rocks into a dark room and trying to hit her target. Without more, she was just striking at shadows. He could fight against that. It was how he did things, after all. His smile never wavered as he spoke, neither did his voice, “Earlier you were so very desperate for me to even look at you.”

“I felt you squirming in your skin.”

He made a point of looking down at his hands, as he began to play again. The soft melody that reflected off his hands unintentionally reflecting his mood. He couldn’t help that he felt through his music. The tones of the song floated lazily into the air and danced themselves around Cheshire. His entire focus seemed like it was on his playing. He didn’t speak for a good few moments. He let the music drift back into the background before breaking the silence between them, “Of course, I don’t want this to dissolve into petty stabs and immature backhands...and I don’t want to bore you.”

He put his concentration into the music. What was before a simple melody of music that lightly reflected his current emotional state quickly turned into a complex composition of clashing emotions and dancing rhythms. It reflected Walkren’s fear of what was inside him. It reflected the frustration at the calm he had hoped to achieve, but missed. It reflected his resolve to keep on fighting. It reflected his darkness.

His words split through the music. They played themselves against the cadence of the melody and raked against the rhythm. He spoke them loud enough that he could be sure the Arrancar would hear them, “So, by all means, leave.”

“I certainly wasn’t desperate for company.”

[404] [8] [104]