D E I C I D I U M

KIGAKURUTTA'S SHINSŌ QUESTIONS THE DEMIURGE OF ROT : (Something from Shinsō! Was inspired by Purcell's King Arthur aria and I simply love the beauty of your dapper horror thing.)

Among shadows and the incorporeal which wander unperceived, Shinsō’s figure moved with a peculiarly steady gait. For below the dark cloak trailing about her was a corruption of a serpent’s body, stretching and winding beneath the fabric. ❝Thou art of an intriguing aspect.❞ Long had Shinsō’s eyes been rendered sightless, yet all which bore even the merest essence would appear as vague figures to her senses, colourless and distinct from one another.

Accompanying a faint smile, Shinsō’s hands interlaced before her. ❝What manner of power art thou?❞ ( RANDOM OR UNPROMPTED ASKS. ALWAYS ACCEPTING ! )

She inquires not, What art thou?, which delightfully spares him of the Abyss the inevitable delving into all that is, all that has been, all that shall be & yet may be reshaped, made anew. She inquires, instead, What manner of power art thou?, as though there were a degree of knowing bordering, mayhaps, to kinship. A knowing of, I am more than plenty able to recognize one of similar making as to my own. Hence, I shall spare you the tiresome answer you have, without a trace of doubt, given many a time, all until the sound of your own voice has grown foreign even to your own ears.

Therefore, this invites a smile to pass on his own cadaveric features. Ah, at last, one pleasant interlocutor! Or, at the very least, pleasant enough not to bore him with the meaningless, utterly futile attempts at a lecture on aspects of morality, defiance of what is known as convention and law, desecration of the fragile, yet somehow "holy" equilibrium between life and death. All these matters have long ceased to bear any significance or meaning to him, in the end.

But, alas, to dread the dark is only natural to beings born in the light. The absence of it frightens, as the dark invites one to wander in the unknown. You know where all is placed when you are able to perceive it all, with the invaluable assistance of the light. What happens when the sight is deprived of this so-called wonder? Are you afraid? Are you afraid of not seeing, or not knowing what lies in the dark?

"What a direct inquiry!" Parma notes, more than elated to begin to provide an answer, "Accompanied by an equally intriguing remark. Of an intriguing aspect, you say?" His smile widens, and were he still a living man, perhaps there could be a glimmer of light into those hollow, crimson eyes of his. "I will assume this is merely to sate your curiosity, which I am more than elated to oblige. Never find yourself ashamed of wishing to understand and know that which, upon a first sight, appears unknowable or beyond understanding!"

Perhaps, she needs not his encouragement necessarily. Though, you see, when you wander this world for so long, some aspects of living do become dull and repetitive, tedious, tiresome, utterly devoid of any marvel to the mind that is perpetually starved for renewed seeking of profounder meaning and understanding! Hence, yes, she ought to bare her fangs, bury them properly into his throat, should she so wish! He wonders: would that be more appropriate for a demonstration as to the manner of power he has become?

"I cannot decide in your stead how it could be seen," he of Abyss continues, "To some, it is utterly terrifying, the knowing their conventional weapons cannot slay me. I have withstood the violence of humanity for so long it does not surprise or shock me anymore. Likewise, this vessel of mine is weak no more. I am not hindered by the need of rest or of food or anything else pertaining these matters." Oh, indeed, how that hypothetical light in his eyes would burn! "To some others, it becomes a thing of marvel, wonder, or surprise to even contemplate I am proof of truths that are not lightly sought, found, or embraced: death needs not be this dreadful end to one's life."

"For, you see," he says on, "Life is a fragile thing, and to perpetually live under the awareness of this is, oftentimes, horrifying, unbearable. Despite this, humans have somehow embraced this as absolute truth, all the while fostering the faith that the spirit lives on. Even before the harsh truth of the death of the physical body, there must be something in the person that continues on! And I am the absolute proof that is correct: one death needs not be the end." Alas, he cannot help but sigh. "Though, when I would speak of this, I would often be labeled maniac, madman and some other labels I have not considered necessary to store in my mind."

Judith stood framed in the doorway, blurry eyes adjusting to the sight. He did not startle her, surrendering instead as she always had. ❛❛ . . . So this is how you choose to arrive. ❜❜ Half-dying at her doorstep with an apology shaped for someone else, the latter disappoints her, a subtle fracture creasing into her composure. Judith, once again, had forgotten that his world did not begin and end with her. ( Though how nice that would have been, it wouldn't be so bad, would it? ) ❛❛ About to die, Gin? Are you sure you've won? ❜❜

There is no space for her beside him, but it matters little to her. He laughs and she smiles, walks languid towards him and sit on the floor where he lies. He withers here, but his heart is elsewhere : ❛❛ Can you hear me? ❜❜ She asked, attempting to ground her presence. I'm here, see? Take a look. Her movement that follows is staggering and ungainly.

There is an attempt to pick him up, in that way she is kneeling, embracing him inelegantly, and lifting — he'll bleed some, hurt some, but what does she know about helping? None of course. of course! of course! Blood smears, she laughs, misplaced and blundering. He's too heavy and she's too weak, but she is holding him close all the same. ❛❛ Don't die yet. ❜❜ And that somehow is sincere.

Futile and fruitless they remain in the same spot, and maybe there is still no space for her beside him, but she is selfish enough to manhandle her way into that awful gap. She gives up on trying to take him elsewhere ; she settles into grasping at him instead - he could lay in her lap, die there, either way, he is too heavy, he had always been too much for her anyway.

The surge of pain which resulted from Judith’s fruitless attempts to pull him forth brought Gin to the present. Tearing him from something he longed for but would never grasp.

Gin had made no sound, for the agony was corporeal. There was nothing in this he could not endure. Only the thought of that woman caused him anguish, she who he had long kept away, she who called forth an emotion which could brutalise his reason.

❝…Despite the price I have paid,❞ eyes which had begun to dull yet bore an enduring clarity as he stared across the way. The hand which clasped the Hōgyoku slowly rose and he opened his fingers that Judith may see the iridescent power. ❝I have killed him and taken the culmination of his endeavours.❞ With a degree of dissatisfaction Gin referred to the man he had long aided and challenged. He had hunted Aizen for a lifetime; a life crafted from adolescence into a man which was both unique and bore an undeniable resemblance to the instructor. Gin had been a prodigy under this tutelage, a bloodless son, a distortion of a confidant and an adversary.

❝I have long known… Vengeance is not suited to me,❞ his voice grew quiet as his thoughts wandered.

Gradually his lips stretched with a bitter amusement, his fingers closing and his arm returning to the floor. In such a state he was not opposed to laying bare a portion of thoughts he obscured. ❝She had again come before me... Thusly I found recklessness had me in its embrace.❞ Even in this mere implication of Rangiku, he could not presently distort or disguise a delicacy of tone. This was a devotion to an ideal reflected upon the water; a languorous affection which had tormented him to exhaustion.

The smile faded once more and there could be found an irony in his expression, for at times he mirrored the man he had long challenged and at last cut down for the prize in his hand. ❝I shall not die...❞

With a slow effort Gin leaned forward and departed from Judith, his clenched hand lethargically shifting to support his weight. ❝However,❞ he took a steady inhale as he rose to his feet despite all, blood not yet dried dripping to the floor or further staining the white of his garments. ❝I shall request the aid of your shoulder, Judith.❞ It was without humour or satire he spoke the name and his eyes openly regarded her own, for with her he could be at ease.

　STORY . APPEARANCE . THE INNER WORLD . RP TAG . AESTHETIC TAG

Under ordinary circumstances, the spirit of a Zanpakutō may only be seen by its wielder; dwelling within the minds of the Shinigami to whom they are bound. The majority of these weapons serve as manifestations of the bearer’s soul, but Shinsō is an exception. This weapon had been born a living mortal and died without ever exacting vengeance, none among the living ever knowing why she had perished.

the first stars have already begun to pave the way for a sweetly shining moon to cross the heavens as her little carriage made its way through the encroaching dusk. she has been enjoying her time here in japan — the vast, seemingly endless territories of russia were beautiful, yes, but have never fully satisfied her DEEPLY ROOTED need to always stay on the move & these new, untouched islands of the east were perfect for her to explore. quite funny how even now, beyond her grave, she still could not escape her wanderlust.

there was, however, more than enough time for her to satiate this hunger. she was still young, after all, she had yet to truly conquer the night within herself. so now, with the world opening up more & more for her reach, the path ahead into the delicious endlessness was a blank slate, ready to be painted in every colour she desired.

after all, she was unbound, a majesty unto herself with nothing to set demands.

her gaze wanders slowly over the sleeping land; she crosses glances with a drowsy policeman ( he seemed surprised to notice someone out this late into the night ), then she notices something else. a lonesome horse grazing near something just barely moving, just barely seeming alive.

a soft gesture brings the carriage to a halt & she hops off onto the ground to inspect the slumped over body by the road. she catches the meaning of his words rather easily, with just a little focus; perhaps it was some sort of new ability that she had yet to fully understand & master, but so far it happened over & over during the course of her journey eastwards, so she just assumed it's something she can do.

❝ yes, yes, i do. ❞

she nods slightly, a faint smile on her lips. there is something in this child's eyes that she recognises all too well, something she carried within herself as well — a fire of defiance & willpower beyond this world's simple restraints. poor thing, she thinks, so young, so strong & already at this miserable state. it reminds her of how she was at the lowest not too long ago, how she chose a path drenched in blood & cursed into darkness. if she was ruthless enough ( much more than she perhaps is ), she might have ‘saved’ him, but who was she to put her will above someone else's?

no, no, she knows too well what price her crown demands.

she gently places her warm cashmere shawl around the boy’s body, a hand slipping right underneath to help up just a bit.

❝ here, let's warm you up. please talk to me, share your thoughts. ❞

Until her shawl had been wrapped about him, Gin had not entirely recognized a biting cold which had chilled his fingers into numbness, seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his bare feet. The wool offered a pleasant relief to limbs which could no longer bend to their full capability; an intruding affliction which could be likened to rigor mortis: the stiffness of death.

❝At another time I may have requested somethin’ to ease hunger,❞ he breathed an acrid laugh which sent a pain through his chest.

One of his arms shifted feebly, unable to make the effort of raising it to his heart for long, the fingers rigid as the hand lingered for a time. The majority of his body was failing him, for it had too long fed upon itself in desperation.

Gin had at times imagined the manner of life he would have led if circumstance had permitted. In the beginning the pair which had been charged with his formative years had kept him alive, as a generous payment had been made. Once all was squandered, Gin had been left to die in a place bereft of salvation. The years up to the present had ebbed ruthlessly, but he would not wallow in the destitution of this fact. It was not with fear he regarded death—all are equal in this end, rather Gin made use of what he possessed. He had not been able to see the world or play a part of any significance, but among discarded literature and documentation he had taken it upon himself to make use of his mind. Thus, a foundational literacy which had given arbitrarily in time became an expansive realm of information within him. Even if in the end he could never make real use of it.     

❝By what name should I address ya…?❞ Gin paused a moment and shifted his head when he recalled a particular notion. ❝I have read it is discourteous to not give one’s own beforehand, yet I was not given one by those to whom I owe my conception… I have been called Gin, however... Fittin’ is it not?❞ For his hair resembled a pale silver, untarnished and sublime.

❝I know only this place... Thus, I should like to hear of the land ya hail from. Beyond those vast waters…❞

Makishima’s Intro Monologue

@kigakurutta asked: ❝If tomorrow ya were to perish, what would ya make of today? Or have ya already made certain to live as though each day were your last?❞

His   words   caused   her   to   take   pause,   contemplation   flickering   within   foresty   gaze.   "The   idea   of   my   own   death   is   fairly   difficult   to   imagine"   Frieren   finally   spoke,   brows   creasing.   

"So,   to   be   honest   with   you,   I   don't   have   an   answer."   What   a   strange   thing   to   approach   her   with.   Why   was   this   stranger   asking   such   an   intense   question   upon   their   first   meeting?

".....   If   I   were   to   question   you   similarly   ....   what   would   your   answer   be?   I'm   intrigued   to   hear   it"