Post by Souta Suzuki on Feb 5, 2012 7:40:00 GMT -5
Foot steps echoed throughout the halls, the sound softened partially by the black tabi Souta was now wearing. That girl had managed to convince him to wear clothes, but since yesterday he'd added some of his own style and flair to them. A hood attached to the jacket, pants seamed to sit lower on the hips. Why did he know how to sew so well though? It was almost an instinctual action. There were alot of questions he needed answered about himself. The curse of a lost memory is a great one. A walk alone was chosen, to try and find a path to memory. Souta was not oft one for such introverted ways, such introspection into his own past, but somehow the inability to do something makes you want to do it at all the more. He cannot remember, so he must.
His wanderings though, took him through a part of Las Noches that arrancar were generally forbidden from. Tres Cifras, the lair of those who were cast from the Espada in shame: The Privarion. Those Arrancar of three numbers, instead of just one. Souta though, knew nothing of this. Hell he barely knew about the Espada in general. He'd gotten a quick overview from a rather attractive fraccion with a rather sweet mouth, but nothing substantial. Course, she had plenty substanial, too bad he'd only gotten a taste for now. Later though, he would certainly enjoy himself a buffet.
The thoughts consuming him for now, in one his rare bouts of introspection, was his own memory. Who in the fuck was he? He remembered alot, to be honest. Though the past several centuries were a blur of instinct a murder, only becoming clearer towards the ends, as he became more powerful as a hollow, grew more into his intelligence. Of course, he still chose instinct over reason oh so often, but somehow reason can enhance instinct, one of the many paradoxical things of life.
Before he was a hollow, he was a soul in the Rukongai. That didn't end too well. Cut down by a captain, and eaten by a hollow, that led him here. But what the fuck was before the Rukongai? He could barely remember then. He remembered his first death, and the blade of that orange haired shinigami who dealt it and who had the favor returned, a la fist to head. He remembered some of his time in the military, but that was the end of his life. The end of that which produced echos which still shape him today. What was before that? What was before the military!?
His fist would slam out in frustration, the wall cracking slightly before he'd hold it out infront of him, looking at it. It's bone white structure served as a reminder of what exactly he was now, and what he had been. His entire arms were like that as a hollow... No, not just his arms. Most of his body. Now it was just his hands though.. but it was still a stark reminder of the beast he used to be... and still is, of course. What fun he had as a hollow. Certainly more fun than he'd had now. Becoming more human had returned to him too much thought for him to be completely comfortable with. Reminiscing was so annoying. A hollow doesn't care about the past, why the fuck does an Arrancar? They're the same damn race, just different stages of life... So why does he feel so different now?
He'd keep walking through the halls, leaving the cracks far behind him. His body was weaker than it was when he was a hollow. Or did he just not know how to use a human body again? Either way, as a Vasto Lorde he would have moved through that wall like it was butter. Now? Some tiddly wink cracks. Fucking pathetic. He'd have to fix that soon, and fast. A grin formed at the thought of that, but it was quickly dashed by something invading his mind again.
Goddamn this fucking reminiscince. Why the fuck do I need to remember!?
The grin turned, corners of his mouth spoiling downwards, a wide frown forming over the arrancars face. Why the fuck did memories matter now. What the hell was it he needed to remember? Oh, but he knew he had to remember something. There was something, something important, just beyond his conscious's reach, inferanlly infuriating just out of his knowledge's breadth. His anger was evident in the way he walked. Souta was not a man to contain his emotions, and it showed, his walk forceful and quick, his shoulders hunched forward as his hands were dug into obi around his waist, thumbs sticking out. Topping off all of this body language was the expression on his face, so uncharacteristic of Souta, a wide frown. Yes, it was obvious that he was angry. Angry that he had to want to remember. Why in the bloody fuck can't he just keep killing and fighting!? So much simpler, so much more fun.
And so he'd keep walking, unaware of the area around himself for now, though it would be mostly unaware of him too. His reiatsu was for now bound within his body. While his body's flesh may not wish to respond at it's potential, his reiatsu was still there, and so was his ability to bind it. His footsteps were the only thing left to give him away.
_____________________________________________________
WC: 913
GP:18
His wanderings though, took him through a part of Las Noches that arrancar were generally forbidden from. Tres Cifras, the lair of those who were cast from the Espada in shame: The Privarion. Those Arrancar of three numbers, instead of just one. Souta though, knew nothing of this. Hell he barely knew about the Espada in general. He'd gotten a quick overview from a rather attractive fraccion with a rather sweet mouth, but nothing substantial. Course, she had plenty substanial, too bad he'd only gotten a taste for now. Later though, he would certainly enjoy himself a buffet.
The thoughts consuming him for now, in one his rare bouts of introspection, was his own memory. Who in the fuck was he? He remembered alot, to be honest. Though the past several centuries were a blur of instinct a murder, only becoming clearer towards the ends, as he became more powerful as a hollow, grew more into his intelligence. Of course, he still chose instinct over reason oh so often, but somehow reason can enhance instinct, one of the many paradoxical things of life.
Before he was a hollow, he was a soul in the Rukongai. That didn't end too well. Cut down by a captain, and eaten by a hollow, that led him here. But what the fuck was before the Rukongai? He could barely remember then. He remembered his first death, and the blade of that orange haired shinigami who dealt it and who had the favor returned, a la fist to head. He remembered some of his time in the military, but that was the end of his life. The end of that which produced echos which still shape him today. What was before that? What was before the military!?
His fist would slam out in frustration, the wall cracking slightly before he'd hold it out infront of him, looking at it. It's bone white structure served as a reminder of what exactly he was now, and what he had been. His entire arms were like that as a hollow... No, not just his arms. Most of his body. Now it was just his hands though.. but it was still a stark reminder of the beast he used to be... and still is, of course. What fun he had as a hollow. Certainly more fun than he'd had now. Becoming more human had returned to him too much thought for him to be completely comfortable with. Reminiscing was so annoying. A hollow doesn't care about the past, why the fuck does an Arrancar? They're the same damn race, just different stages of life... So why does he feel so different now?
He'd keep walking through the halls, leaving the cracks far behind him. His body was weaker than it was when he was a hollow. Or did he just not know how to use a human body again? Either way, as a Vasto Lorde he would have moved through that wall like it was butter. Now? Some tiddly wink cracks. Fucking pathetic. He'd have to fix that soon, and fast. A grin formed at the thought of that, but it was quickly dashed by something invading his mind again.
Goddamn this fucking reminiscince. Why the fuck do I need to remember!?
The grin turned, corners of his mouth spoiling downwards, a wide frown forming over the arrancars face. Why the fuck did memories matter now. What the hell was it he needed to remember? Oh, but he knew he had to remember something. There was something, something important, just beyond his conscious's reach, inferanlly infuriating just out of his knowledge's breadth. His anger was evident in the way he walked. Souta was not a man to contain his emotions, and it showed, his walk forceful and quick, his shoulders hunched forward as his hands were dug into obi around his waist, thumbs sticking out. Topping off all of this body language was the expression on his face, so uncharacteristic of Souta, a wide frown. Yes, it was obvious that he was angry. Angry that he had to want to remember. Why in the bloody fuck can't he just keep killing and fighting!? So much simpler, so much more fun.
And so he'd keep walking, unaware of the area around himself for now, though it would be mostly unaware of him too. His reiatsu was for now bound within his body. While his body's flesh may not wish to respond at it's potential, his reiatsu was still there, and so was his ability to bind it. His footsteps were the only thing left to give him away.
_____________________________________________________
WC: 913
GP:18
