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(OOC: This was an RP thread meant for interaction between Nyarle and Chrest. Here are the last two posts made by both characters, at least to the best of my knowledge. Er...I might be missing Nyarle's last post actually...sorry.)
...
Nyarle
It had been a quiet and uneventful period of time in Las Noches – perfect for a feline lifestyle. Eventually, even she had been bored enough to seek other amusements in an effort to pass the time – venturing further away from the Palace on solo exploring trips that saw her absent for weeks, or sometimes hunting in the world of mortals.
Nyarle returned to the white clean corridors of the Palace, blood-smeared skirts fluttering about her legs, dragging a badly injured but still alive Hollow behind her. Her grip about its throat stopped any sound, but that didn’t prevent the big boar-shaped Hollow’s clawed feet scratching desperately at the smooth floor, trying to find a foothold so it could try and wrench its neck from her iron grip. It hadn’t found a foothold through the desert sands, and it was unlikely that it could find one now.
The tigress had found her victim skulking about the outer borders… and it had initiated the attack, rushing her in an effort to protect its territory. She had just killed and eaten, and was in no mood to devour yet another Hollow however appetising it looked. So she had brought it home for her Fraccions to enjoy.
Instead of heading straight to her rooms and delivering the still-scrabbling meal, she made a bee-line to the cafeteria to collect some red wine… and show off her newest catch. While waiting for the wine to be brought to her, the feline glanced around the cafeteria to see who was doing what. One presence she’d sensed but not seen was Chrest – Fraccion to her superior.
When her gaze dropped to the ground to check on the boar-Hollow, only then did she notice the lonely huddled pile of blankets next to the wall. Nyarle leaned against the counter, watching the heap with a slightly puzzled frown.
Other than making sure her Fraccion didn’t overstep the bounds of behaviour and invite retaliation, Nyarle didn’t see the need to concern herself with the habits of the other Espada. As such, she hadn’t known that Nova had been missing for some time – well, she did notice that her colleague’s assigned room was quieter than usual but marked it down to him similarly exploring the surroundings.
It must have been quite a long absence, seeing it reduced one of his Fraccion to this state.
Nyarle wandered over for a closer look, still dragging her catch. The youngling had no physical wounds, that was good. In Las Noches, being a Fraccion elevated a Hollow or Arrancar to a somewhat protected status. This was probably the reason why no-one had actually attacked the wolf-arrancar… though considering his condition, it would be anyone’s guess if he even would fight back.
A dainty bare foot moved the dog bowl out of the way – if anyone had given a pet’s food bowl to any of her Fraccion, she’d have skinned them – before the tigress settled down comfortably against the wall to examine the wine bottle, one leg draped over the boar-Hollow to keep it from escaping.
“Greetings, Septima’s fraccion.” She said aloud. Nyarle knew the wolf-arrancar’s name but still chose to address him as such, mainly to remind him that he was still a fraccion.
“I smell the distress around you. What has happened to Septima that you seek shelter here?”
Chrest Saitania
Chrest was drifting back and forth between asleep and awake. Just as he thought he might be able to get a bit of rest, the voices of those currently inside the cafeteria caught his attention and pulled him back from the brink of sleep. He didn't necessarily need to strain his ears to hear what everyone was saying, he could hear them all as clearly as if they were sitting right beside him. There were excited whispers and excited greetings for an Espada who had come into the cafeteria. If it had been his Master, then there wouldn't have been any such reaction, so he simply kept his eyes closed.
However, the scent of blood, the intangible taste of fear, reached him and roused his curiosity. One crimson-red eye slowly opened, glancing around the cafeteria for the source of all the excitement. That same eye widened just slightly as he spotted the Octava Espada near the center of the cafeteria. The tigress was holding a freshly caught Hollow in her claws and admiring a bottle of red wine. He thought back to when he had first served her and her Fraccion red wine. Drinks were one thing, but it was quite clear that she preferred to catch and kill her own food, which made perfect sense.
The wolf-Arrancar closed his eyes once more, content to rest rather than attempt to make conversation with a familiar face. But his ears picked up the sounds of solid footfalls, the sound of a body being dragged across the floor, and it was headed toward him. This time, he opened both eyes and looked up just as Nyarle took a seat on the floor beside him, pinning her catch with her legs. Had he been himself, he might have sat up in shock and bowed to the Espada, or he might have tried to shy away from her, but all that he could really manage in his weakened state was a curious expression.
Nyarle spoke to him while still admiring her bottle of wine. Chrest twitched when she addressed him as the Septima's Fraccion; he couldn't help it. But then again, since he didn't know what had happened for certain, it was still possible that he was the Septima's Fraccion, though there was also an equal chance that he wasn't. He didn't know, and it became apparent that Nyarle didn't know what had happened to her fellow Espada either as she asked him what had happened to cause him such distress. The Fraccion swallowed softly, unsure if he even had a voice left to use anymore.
“Gr...greetings...Nyarle-sama...” he rasped out, both surprised and grateful that he still remembered how to speak. “I wish that I...had an answer to give you...Nyarle-sama. But I'm afraid that I don't know...what has happened to my Master. He has been missing for several days now...and there hasn't been any news of him at all.”
If she hasn't heard anything, then...maybe he really is gone. Chrest felt himself losing any hope he might have had left, and he struggled to maintain what little composure he had left in front of Nyarle.
“The Cook who runs this kitchen was kind enough...to look after me. I do not think I am a Fraccion at this time, seeing as my Master...is still missing. Had it not been for the Cook, I think that I might have been in a much worse shape than I am right now. Really, Nyarle-sama, I don't know what I should do. Do you have any advice for a lowly beast like me...?”
In a highly uncharacteristic fashion, Chrest dragged himself up and pulled himself over, laying his head on Nyarle's thigh, resting his cheek atop her bloody white skirt. The cloth, though wet and fragrant with blood, felt rather soft against his skin, and he let his eyes fall closed. Perhaps he had needed to see a familiar, even friendly, face more than he would have thought. He nuzzled the tigress's leg, smiling a small smile for the first time in several long agonizing days.
Nyarle
Chrest responded to her question, soft and hesitant, his very voice declaring that he was unwell. It wasn’t in her nature to be overly concerned with anyone else’s health and he was not physically wounded, so Nyarle didn’t react to that. Instead, she watched him silently as the wolf-arrancar explained that Nova had been missing for days without leaving instructions, and so he feared the worst.
This explained why the distressed youngling sought shelter here, instead of remaining in the Septima’s set of rooms. And why he suddenly sought physical contact for comfort.
Even felines needed some reassurance once in a while, she imagined that canines as pack-predators required much more physical contact. At least this wolf-arrancar did. Quietly pondering on Chrest’s information and request for advice, she let him lie on her lap.
While he was right to be upset at his missing Master, the fact that he didn’t know what to do next was worrisome. The cat-arrancar mentally shook her head – that was the wrong way of going about things.
An elegant thumb broke off the top bit of the glass bottle – she found this method more efficient than trying to deal with the cork - and began sipping the wine appreciatively.
“Firstly, puppy, that is a lowly beast. Prey.” Nyarle murmured, pointing the wine bottle at the still-pinned boar hollow – which in turn mustered enough strength to glare back. “You are not prey, so stop acting like one. The next time you are given a pet food bowl, rip their throat out for the insult.”
She paused for a moment to consider where Nova could be, and tried to sense his presence in the area surrounding the Palace. Nothing. How curious.
“I leave on hunting trips too. Perhaps Septima is away on a private mission and is unable to leave instructions. There has been no announcement otherwise and so he remains Septima and you his Fraccion.”
A golden gaze flickered down to the dark-haired canine on her lap. “You can remain his Fraccion and wait. Or you can leave and be your own master, or seek a new leader.”
“A successful hunt is knowing what and where to seek. What do you want, puppy?”
Chrest Saitania
The sharp snap of glass breaking above him caused Chrest's wolf-ears to twitch. He didn't need to look up at Nyarle to know that the Espada had simply snapped the top off of the wine bottle and was now sampling her drink. She had done the same thing once before, when he had served her and her Fraccion wine at a small gathering of sorts. Crimson-red eyes glanced at the boar Hollow as Nyarle informed him that it was a lowly beast and he was not. Somewhere in his mind, that made sense; he knew that he was certainly better than this particular boar.
“Forgive me, my Lady,” he spoke softly, seeing no need to speak loudly given his close proximity to the Espada, “but it is not in my nature to harm someone who has shown me kindness. True, it might be an insult when someone expects you to eat from a dog bowl, but such a trivial thing doesn't merit death. I think, just this once, I will let it slide.'
“After all, the Cook does cater to all of Las Noches. Instead, I will simply stop eating from the bowl and start eating the right way...” Chrest finished softly, vaguely wondering if he would even have the necessary appetite to eat at all after this encounter with the tigress.
Nyarle's voice sounded so sure, so utterly true, when she announced that he was still his Master's Fraccion, even if that Master was not around at present. She gave him a list of options that he could do until Nova returned, or that he could do regardless if Nova returned or not. When she asked what he wanted to do, it was as if his mind went blank. As hard as he thought about it, he simply could not remember anyone ever asking him that question. No one had ever really cared about what he wanted, and he wasn't entirely sure that Nyarle cared, but she had still tried to motivate him.
The thought of leaving Nova's service made him sad. But the tigress was correct; there were other options open to him. Perhaps it was not a bad thing to strive for his own personal benefit, instead of giving everything of himself to others. Nevertheless, having to make a decision weighed heavy on his heart. He closed his eyes, and mulled over the options in his mind during the silence. Several minutes later, the wolf-Arrancar nuzzled his new Master's leg in an affectionate gesture.
“Nyarle-sama, everything you have said is true, and I am grateful to have been given your words,” he lifted his head, a smear of blood from Nyarle's skirt staining his cheek, and smiled up at her, “If you would have me, I would like to be in your service from now on as a new Fraccion. I can start by washing the blood out of your skirt.”
Nyarle
The puppy had decided to spare the ‘nice’ Cook this one time. Golden eyes flickered towards the Hollow in question speculatively, wondering if she should interfere instead. But no, it was not her fight.
For a predator living in a world where the strong kill the weak, Chrest was overly nice, and that could perhaps cause problems in the future. At least his distress was calming down, which was good. There was something disconcerting about a seeing a predator in this state.
He suddenly nuzzled her leg again and offered his services as a Fraccion. The cat-arrancar looked down at the puppy smiling hopefully at her, watching him for several long minutes while considering matters.
It was always nice to have another set of strong fangs in her pack, and he had experience adapting to the teamwork required from a Fraccion. But the most obvious concerns were that the youngling was not a feline and his confidence needed improvement.
Predators definitely did not worry about inconsequential things like laundry. Plus… she liked the blood on her skirt – it added a sweet fragrance and looked stylish!
Maybe… was it even possible to teach the puppy how to think like a cat?
“Strong fangs are always welcome in the pack.” Nyarle finally replied, a slight smile curving her lips as she continued to fix her gaze onto the youngling. “Along with an assertive mind and independent spirit.”
“I indulge my Fraccion, who are free to act or kill or punish as they please. The only demands I place are loyalty to me and the pack, and respect towards the other Fraccions or Espada.”
The cat-arrancar transferred the wine bottle to her other hand, and reached down to ruffle one wolf-ear.
“If you would have me, then become stronger and fiercer. I would have a predator, not a trained pet. Do you agree, puppy?”
...
Nyarle
Nyarle listened to her newest Fraccion’s various responses to her statements, and it was clear that he was much more moderate in thought and actions. She supposed one had to be when their rank and strength did not truly protect them from the surrounding predators.
Being an Espada had spoiled her somewhat; she had very quickly gotten used to the level of comfort and obedience the rank offered in leisurely times.
Her eyes brightened as Chrest talked of his abilities, truly interesting ones which she would like to see for herself sometime. Anything using death to bring death was something which her bloodthirsty nature appreciated as a true work of art.
Then the Fraccion did something unexpected…he asked her about the decorations. The cat-arrancar blinked, then a slow smile curved her lips. It was a daring move to ask this personal question, and such a far cry from the desolate timid creature she had found on the food hall floor.
The wolfling was showing confidence, and it was a very good thing. And as she had promised to answer any questions, he deserved a true answer.
“Indeed, my rooms reflect a Palace when Egypt was a power to be feared. My influence helped shape Royal decisions, but I was not a Princess or Queen. I saw it as my due, rightfully mine for services rendered.” Nyarle murmured almost casually, reaching behind the pillows she rested upon to retrieve a bottle of red wine which was then tossed across to Chrest.
“I was given to the Temple of Isis as a child. The priests always needed servants and temple dancers. Even then, servants needed to see. When the priests were about to send me back, the Goddess blessed me with Sight and I began to read dreams and hearts. I was allowed to remain in the Temple.” The cat-arrancar continued, as if telling a bedtime story.
“Soon, kings and nobles sought me to read their dreams, and with it the Goddess’ blessing for their plans. It was foretold that one young and rash Pharoah’s plan for war would not succeed, but he would not listen. He demanded that I declare its success on threat of execution.”
Nyarle smiled to herself, almost absently. “I offered my services when the fires began, and was accepted. When the false war started, there were many deaths and I helped my Goddess protect the newly dead.”
She stretched, luxuriously, then turned to look at Chrest with half-lidded eyes. “The old gods were slowly replaced by new beliefs, yet the Pharoah’s treasures remain as well as my gifts.”
“Does that satisfy your question, youngling?”
Chrest Saitania
From the very beginning of her tale, he was silently fascinated. Somehow, speaking with a person who had lived in a time long before he was ever born was an enlightening and interesting experience. She had seen a world which he had only read about as a child. She had lived in an age that he couldn't possibly hope to comprehend, but he was still curious nevertheless. To his pleasant surprise, she shared more with him, the intimate details of her human life, than he had been expecting.
As Nyarle casually tossed the wine bottle over to him, he deftly caught it in his left hand. He knew she intended for him to open it and so he did, crushing the top of the bottle off so that it had a jagged opening from which they could drink the wine inside. Smiling his gratitude, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long, hearty drink, lowering the bottle once again with a content sigh. He then passed the now-opened bottle back to his new master.
In his mind, he recounted everything she had told him. She had been born in Egypt, in the time of the Gods, given to the Palace of Isis as a child. She had been blessed with what she called Sight, and she foretold the futures of Kings and Nobles alike. But that age had faded, and now Nyarle held its relics inside her room, which in itself was like the Palaces that had existed in her human life. The wolf turned his head, gazing around at the various artifacts with silent appreciation and respect. When he felt the Tigress's eyes on him again, he looked back at her, meeting her half-lidded eyes with his own.
“Yes, Nyarle-sama, thank you,” he replied, smiling as he bowed his head forward in gratitude, though he did suddenly feel remorseful that she had told him so much about her human life and she knew nothing about him other than his abilities.
“Your past...is something that I cannot claim to understand, but it sounds truly amazing. To have been gifted with Sight, and read the future for those who held authority during that age...fascinating,” Chrest raised his head, his smile still in place. “My human life wasn't nearly so glamorous, but I wouldn't feel right knowing your past if you knew nothing of my own, so if you will allow me...I would like to tell you about it.'
“I was born into minor nobility, the family of Saitania. I was the youngest of four children, all boys, so I had three older brothers. Our family was cursed. Every time our father married and the wife bore a child, the mother would die shortly after. My brothers and I all had different mothers, and our father wasn't the most...affectionate parent. Perhaps he resented us, thinking that we had been responsible for our mothers dying...”
Chrest looked at nothing in particular, his gaze focused on something far away, on the past. “My family wasn't really close. My brothers picked on me, our father never had time for us, even on birthdays and things like that. When I was still little, I realized I could see monsters. It wasn't until I died that I realized they were Hollows. I was scared, but father promised that they couldn't hurt me. He lied, of course.'
“My father was keeping Hollows locked up in our basement so that he could research them. Needless to say, the Hollows weren't happy about that. Then...one night...” he trailed off, closing his eyes as he rested his chin on his hand. “My father had gone mad. He murdered our maid and her younger sister. I couldn't take it... The Hollows escaped, killed my father, went after my brothers, and finally me... But I was already dead by the time they came for their revenge.'
“I will never forgive myself for their deaths, but...I suppose it was inevitable. There was never anything I could do to stop it. Perhaps it was only right that I became the very thing that my father was trying to understand, the very thing that killed us all,” he paused, staring at the Hollow hole in his wrist, his crimson-red eyes deepening to scarlet as he narrowed them. “Fate is a cruel mistress, but I cannot deny that I am glad she stole my pathetic human heart away.”
'Yes, that's right. I must shed this abhorrent weakness and become strong. Then I will not be forced to find a new home, a new pack, every time I fail to bare my fangs.'
“I do apologize for such an unpleasant story, Nyarle-sama,” he murmured gently, looking back at the Espada, “But I'm afraid such is the truth of my human existence. I was weak then, nothing more than a helpless child. I found the instinct to survive in this life, but I need so much more work to become someone worthy of your presence...of anyone's presence here in this hallowed palace. You have my word that I shall try as hard as I can, even if I go beyond my limits and break.”
Chrest listened with rapt attention as Nyarle spoke to him again. Her wisdom astounded him. Whether or not her words were the truth, he accepted them as the truth, and found that she could not have been more correct where Fate was concerned. Occasionally, he did need to remind himself that everyone starts out weak. But it is their choice to become stronger or remain weak throughout their lives, assuming they lived long at all.
The Espada tossed the bottle to him again, and he caught it in one hand, around the broken neck. A few hours ago, he would not have believed it were possible for him to find himself sitting here with the Octava, sharing a drink, and discussing each others' personal lives. But that was exactly what he was doing now. He supposed he still had trouble wrapping his head around that. The golden necklace around his throat caught his eye, and he smiled, taking a considerable drink from the bottle.
“Yes, Nyarle-sama,” he answered, after lowering the bottle again. “I was successful in murdering the Hollows who killed my family. It is complicated. My dad imprisoned them. When they broke free, they sought revenge for his experimentation. Yet when they killed my father and brothers, I killed them for taking away everything from me. Revenge is such a vicious cycle, and I don't care for it. But I guess I just didn't see why my brothers and I had to die when we never did anything wrong, that's all.”
Nyarle assured him then that he would grow stronger, that he had already begun down that path. She accepted his promise to become stronger for her, and he found himself pleased with that. However, the wolf took her warning to heart, and reminded himself that she was entirely correct; there is no use for a broken pawn who cannot serve its intended purpose. It would doubtlessly be replaced. This led him to wonder if perhaps his former master had already replaced him, not a comforting thought. But at least he had found someone new to serve.
“I understand,” he said, smiling across at the Espada. He then stood up, bottle in hand, and crossed to where Nyarle lay on the furs. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down beside her and offered the bottle back to her, before resting his head on her shoulder. Her skin was warm, reeking of blood from the boar Hollow. “You have a fondness for teasing others, don't you, Nyarle-sama?” he inquired. “I still remember you teasing me when we first met and I still belonged to the Septima.”
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