Threshold [Wayfarer]

She had, in fact, erred.

Thickly calloused soles tread heavily through the white expanse of sand extending for eternity on all sides. Pale and pointed claws dug deep furrows into the crunching grains as she forged her trail ever further from her graceless landing point. She and her brother had landed separately, the tear between worlds too much for their newly formed bodies to withstand and a clumsy hold had been broken as easily as the fragile peace their dream had cocooned them in. Stillness and silence interrupted by a scream or dying wail-- ahh, familiar songs-- and the shifting sands beneath her feet reached her ears.

It was cold in this dark place. Gooseflesh rippled across her pale skin and she shivered involuntarily despite her efforts. Nudity did not bother her. The idea of being caught by one of those strange life forms that populated this forsaken realm or one of her brethren did not bother her. And, of course, the temperature did not truly bother her; the body’s natural biological response to the cold merely an interesting sensation and thing to observe.

That concept of vulnerability, the word supplied after a long moment’s thought, was the true splinter embedded just beneath the quick.

She nearly slapped the tiny buzzing thing at her ear into the abyssal sky above. Startled out of her single minded focus by the unusual sound and bright light the little winged flames gave off, Wayfarer’s pupils shrank in response, bright color dimmed to adjust to the change. He hovered, flitted to and fro in a dizzying pattern around her form. Ensured the shell was not harmed and, satisfied, flicked back up to rest with puffed up feathers against the pallid scales peppering her shoulders.

Images of a beast approaching in a slow, ambling stalk toward them, clad in a thick pelt in a dingy white-grey that offended the Cor’s sense of taste, transferred from the bird-like creature to the woman. Her lips curled back, exposed canine teeth a little too long and pointed, in a silent snarl. Such an inferior being dared to treat one such as herself as if she were addle minded prey? The chill of the air temporarily vanished beneath the wave of indignant fury flooding through her veins. Well, they would certainly see who was prey-- whether or not she would have assistance, however, was another matter entirely.

--

Her tongue ran across her lips, caught a bit of thick something at the corner of her mouth and swiped it away. Swallowed. Hunger, a sensation new and foreign in the strictly physical sense, now sated with the flesh and bone of a slain foe, Wayfarer found herself in much better spirits. That pelt of the strangely shaped beast-- some cross between an ape and a shaggy furred bear-- was hers now, and what admittedly impressive strength and vitality its former owner once claimed now fueled her own.

Disgruntled buzzing and flashes of flame flickered in the comer of her vision. Turned her head to see the Cor finished with a task he had taken upon himself to do; find something more appropriate for her to wear. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at the length of white cloth trimmed along the bust in fur cleaner than the hide she’d stripped from her foe. A flash of multicolored fire and he returned to buzzing in her face. Amber eyes lifted to beady black and gold. Wills clashed. Silent, furious argument that resulted in Wayfarer sighing gustily, tucking a long wavy lock of hair behind her pointed ear, and plucking the damned thing off the ground.

Some battles, one might suggest, were meant to be lost even if sound arguments were held in place. She compromised by finding a way to attach the pelt she’d won-- and she was not leaving her trophy behind-- to the bottom of said fabric and the leftovers into something of coat that covered her shoulders, arms, and back to hide them from any unanticipated attack. Even her tail, now ceasing its agitated thrashing and puffed up appearance, happened to be hidden and served to make the pelt look as if it were some sort of train to her creatively constructed gown.

Her Cor gave her the opinion of some baser life form; his opinion of her fashion sense.

She retaliated by twirling about to mock him and stated clearly that she had given into his demands, he could certainly make due with her additions to it-- and accept that her idea had left him with plenty of places to rest without having to worry about being discovered as they traveled.

He flared brightly, insulted, and zipped angrily into the softer, denser fur lining the sleeve of her coat. Nested within and pretended he didn’t know she was right and wasn’t going to admit it no matter what.

Speaking of travel…

She lifted her head, amber eyes taking on an eerie glow as her vision sharpened in the darkness of the neverending desert. “Late.” Curt, clipped words spoken roughly, as if she had not ever spoken before that moment. She frowned. One hand reached up to touch her scaled throat in surprise. Deeper than she was accustomed to hearing; the songs she’d woven and performed were much lighter, higher, and infinitely more elegant than what had just come from between her lips in that moment. Dismissed it as a matter to be concerned about in due time. Studied this form of her brother’s with interest that didn’t show on her face, but more than apparent in the angle of her body and the slightly curled tip of her tail behind her.

“Where?” Annoyance flashed readily across her face. Features twisted into a dark scowl. What was that word? Were. That was it. And then the one that she needed to use after.

“Where were you?”

--
WC: 977

A irritating sound, what was that? The Traveller scratched his chin and rotated on one leg in the direction. He pondered with that sound for a while, chewing it up and down mentally before spitting it out as a thought. A voice.

Her voice.

His gaze snapped to his companion who had appeared in plain sight not that far away from him, the shadowy robes he wore billowing around him with each sweeping movement he made. Adjusting his position slightly and righting his balance upon his single leg the Traveller looked his companion up and down whilst making a tapping sound by flicking his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“What was I?” he muttered impatiently. As if attempting to recall what he’d forgotten .In truth, he had. He could only really remember the running part. The Traveller figured that was what the process of birth was like, a lot of nothing, some somethings and a little anything.

She’d fashioned some sort of fur coat from a resident of this realm it seemed like. Well at least his companion was capable, he’d have hated if she was useless. The Traveller had no time for fools and definitely no time for horses so obviously the gentleman needed to adjust slightly.

“Hueco Mundo” he replied. That’s where they were and he treated it like the answer to the question. It was. But it wasn’t. But that was definitely where they were. Curiouser and curiouser, he could’ve sworn there was more of them once upon a time? Had they all gone separate ways. Were his other brothers and sisters somewhere else in this place? His heart nestled somewhere near his lapel slid around his neck.

“That’s where we are I think. This little fellow here gave me the idea” the ghostly orb slid out of its hiding place and hovered beside him. Apparently despite being shy originally it had no problem with revealing itself to another one like him.

“I feel like he needs a name y’know? Simon. I like Simon. Yes Simon until I don’t like it anymore” the Traveller mused rotating his elegant and light body on one leg until smoke began to curl up from his feet and put a putrid taste in his mouth.

“Oh. I should stop that. Didn’t know I could spin that fast, that’s fun. That’s neat. Any who, I don’t think we’ve ever properly had an introduction so allow me to introduce myself my dear sister, I am the Traveller” She’d met Simon so there was no point in introducing him to her. He knew she had one too but what was the point in acknowledging something that hadn’t been introduced? How rude!

“Uh sudden question, I know it might be a bit too much for a first date with my sister but, where are the Shinigami at? I have a revenge plan to start developing and all of these horrid monsters are really removing the spring in my step” Yes, he quite liked strutting his stuff and he enjoyed moving. Perhaps he was one of those, what do you call it? Nope, the word utterly escaped him.

Lame.

525

Contrasts between them were many, she noted with a distinctly critical glint to her amber eyes. She resembled the sands their feet crunched upon; lightest blonde shot through the platinum of her hair, pale her skin, and her attire the bleached grey-white of one who'd been left in the sun too long. She kept both feet firmly on the ground and moved with a methodical grace quite opposite to the sulking flame in her sleeve and his rapid, jerky motions.

He was as much the child of the starless sky above. Dark was his hair, attire, skin, and bright color of his gaze. Shadow coalesced about his lanky frame as naturally as the embers had swarmed around her own. He seemed to be all places and none at once; hasty and graceful while never quite standing still. A shadow, perhaps, thrown by unsteady flames had been the inspiration behind his creation.

Hueco Mundo.

Her head canted to one side, clawed hand reaching up to impatiently push away the wavy mane of hair from her face and tucked behind one delicately pointed ear. Hueco Mundo. She replayed the word over and over again in her mind, reached deep into herself-- and her Cor-- for what information that might relay. Little, sadly, but for blood and pain and power and fear and yearning for a place to call their own within the never-ending white sands. Territorial disputes and desperation; not home the way she had initially hoped for. The name of this place would have to suffice, and she inclined her head in a brief nod to show she'd been listening.

Scowled at the smoke rising from the melting sands. Nose crinkled at the scent and neatly stepped upwind of it. "This is--" she paused as the ghostly orb appeared. Her gaze sharpened on the ghostly form that emerged; shadowy, fanged, and with two large eyes. She lifted one slim wrist upward, tilted her arm to reveal the tiny point of a golden beak. He launched out with an angry squeak. Sweeping a small, erratic orbit about the singer's head before darting to the shadowy orb of his fellow, the Cor buzzed, rapidfire in his anger and discontent, a litany of complaints to the other.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Hueco Mundo. Simon until not-Simon. Traveller. Shinigami. Revenge. Monsters and spinning and movement and-- she growled; the sound harsh and deep in her throat. Overstimulated with too much information, she resorted to what she knew best; Action. She swiped at Traveller's fluttering form, the man as obnoxiously swift as her Cor, and tried to snatch his arm, shoulder, something to make him just.... calm down.

"Stop."

Half-plea, half-command.

This had been so much easier when they all had been distinct yet together there in the Grey Dream. Communication hadn't required so much thought and effort-- it had simply just... existed. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she tried to put together the words necessary to convey everything.

The Cor paused in his eternal complaining to his shyer counterpart to zip over and buzz about her in a manner that was supposed to be fairly encouraging. Introductions first, she had a piece of identity, so she should go with that first. And then she could tell him what she knew-- which wasn't much.

"Wayfarer." She gestured to herself by way of introduction. Recalled his speech patterns. Too... long for her tastes, but the words themselves were more important to her. To hear them meant she would be able to repeat them, and thus expand her presently limited verbal vocabulary. She would learn as time moved forward; her initial response had been to shape a body capable of not only blending in, but intimidating those around her; repulsing them if need be so that they would think twice about attacking. Her vocal capacity and keen mind had come as more of an afterthought, after all, they'd never truly had a 'proper' language of their own within the dream.

"Shinigami not around here. Hollow," for that was the name of the race that lived here. "only and others like Hollow." No word for them quite yet, but that would get her point across rather sufficently, she thought. She peered behind him, as if he were hiding another sibling in his own shadow, and then glanced to her shorter brother.

"Where are the others?"

He would know, in all his movement, had to know if at least one of them had crash landed here like they had.

--
WC: 752 | 1729

Her Cor was some sort of annoying avian thing, he didn’t quite like it. Compared to his own it seemed obnoxious ever fluttering and abusing poor Simon all over the place. The Traveller didn’t really appeal to the idea of having the Cor too close to his heart. Seriously, what sort of Cor had a beak? What was she, an aspiring bird? Was that why her heart manifested in such a way. It seemed utterly foolish to him but who was he to judge cors of others?

This woman though? She seemed endlessly insightful. The Wayfarer was a good name for her, she seemed like she watched and waited and conserved every action. Her Cor was the embodiment of all the energy drained away from her body. That actually made a lot of sense to the Traveller, perhaps which was why his Cor was the way it was? Surprisingly though, he wasn’t all that annoyed with his sister. She was as much a part of him as the others he’d lost after the grey dream. Quite clearly he needed to find them as well.

“Hollow? That’s what they’re called. Grumpy lot. I quite fancy Grumps as a much more satisfying name for ones who are so angry. Hollows or Hollow.” he nodded to himself. The Traveller breathed in and tapped into his natural ability to sense the world around him. It had slowly been awakening before now, but now he could sense the world and the various “Hollow” that inhabited it.

Worst of all though? No family, he was alone with his sister. Maybe he could fine tune, he stretched out his hands and danced his fingers along the air like he was orchestrating something. Tugging on the thin fibres of spiritual power that held the world together he tugged and prodded, looking to unlock some sort of perverse secret hidden far away. But to no avail. There was no family to be felt.

“Died to Shinigami in the Grey Dream perhaps?” his voice mused the idea, they’d ran after all and it was only understandable they’d have been culled after the Shinigami knew of their heritage. Perhaps he was jumping to too savage a conclusion. Perhaps they were still alive but captured? But how to get to the Shinigami from here when there were only Hollow? That was the big question.

“That or they’re captured and awaiting execution” the Traveller whispered, every thought he’d ever had of the countless Javaids that had died was flickering in his brain. Was this what Shinigami always did? Did they have this effect on so many people? No. He would not be like them.

“My ties to the Dangai are weak, even if I could feel the others I can’t. The grey dream is too far away now, I’m already much too accustomed to this body to even think about expanding beyond that” he stretched his arms and tried to tug on the locks in reality that sealed the dimensions closed. But to no avail. The world would not respond to his call and he was stuck just sensing the surroundings and it’s ambling inhabitants.

522

Wayfarer gave a low grunt of agreement. Hollow were temperamental-- more so than her presently agitated state of mind could press her to. Amber eyes scanned the horizon line in hopes of any other life forms coming up over the innumerable dunes. Pupils expanded, black nearly overtaking the glow of gold irises-- and shrank down moments later. Disappointment wrote itself in the way her stiff shoulders dropped a hair's breadth down and her chin tipped toward her collarbone. No sign of them-- and she considered her eyesight superior within these dark realms of endless night and white sand.

Where could they be...?

Further in this vast land? She could only sense very little of the empty realm they'd found themselves dumped in. There had to be places far beyond what eye and budding senses could fathom at present. Had to be; they just hadn't thought to look for them-- to explore the various possibilities their still awakening minds were only just beginning to entertain.

She stiffened again. Every bone. Every muscle in her body locked into place at the careless words thrown to the winds of possibility. The whispers caught by her acute sense of hearing chilled her. She'd formed that body in the image of fear and beauty and survival-- claws and fangs and enhanced senses were the basic outlines of what she had deemed necessary.

Dead?

Their siblings, those who had clustered together one by one and woke slowly to the world around them, dead?

Dead at once more at the hands of the Shinigami?

Dead at the hands of those black robed, wicked hearted fools?

Never!

They would not be caught and slaughtered so easily, not when they had been together in the dream for centuries. They knew the dangers. They wouldn't have died so quickly. They'd even paired off, she'd seen them over a glance, diving together, hands and claws full of some part of one another to ensure a connection remained. They were stronger than that. They were not born simply to be slaughtered fresh out of the dream; not when they had only just formed into flesh and blood rather than amorphous thought!

Pointed fangs bared his direction as one foot stomped hard at the ground beneath their feet. Heated the cold, cold sand around her with a flare of brilliantly pale gold and orange fire. A creaking pop[ of joints and her claws unsheathed.

"No!" Half cry, half snarl. "Not dead!"

Spun and slashed at the space between herself and the Traveller.

Vehement denial and rejection of their hazy 'past' repeating itself so very soon after their 'return'. How dare he have so little faith in their ability to think swiftly? How dare he doubt them when he had yet to shake the haze of the dream from his thoughts like a chick barely hatched!

Deliverance gave a buzzing peep of agreement; zipping about in a sort of demented fiery halo above Wayfarer's head. Really, 'Simon' should know better than to let the Traveller open his mouth so carelessly and doubt the strength of any but their own! If the two of them, prime examples of survivors, had managed to escape, it was beyond the shadow of a doubt that their other four siblings had fared quite well and would be arguably just as perplexed and yearning for reunion as they were that very moment!

"Not dead." She repeated, insistent. Pupil blown to frighteningly large pools of black rimmed by a thin golden ring. Tone and crackling aura around her demanding that Traveller retract those damning words.

"Take it back."

Or else; came the unspoken words.

--
WC: 604 | 2333