tiburones.

      alright, nelliel, act natural. scoot closer.       closer. we must not startle the other.       now lean. lean veeeeery slowly.

                                  … you’ve done it. you’re leaning on her.

         '  .  .  .  '

it’s been a long, tedious day, and now it’s time to lie on someone.

her eyes light up at the acceptance of her gesture— it’s actually pretty childish. she wants a hug, sort of, but she’s also content to nestle the crown of her head against her shoulder.

                       he doesn’t move, either; two can play at whatever                        she wants, and he is nothing if not flexible. rather                        than make any move towards her, he adjusts his                        slouch slightly, returning her look askance. 

        “is something the matter, querida?” even as he         speaks, his reiatsu comes down around her like         a diving bell and slides toward him, bringing her          his side like an insect trapped in a cup. starrk         makes no great move in her direction, only          extending his arm out so the tercera will fit under         it. 

                                                     ”¿estás enojada conmigo?”

                          '  .  .  .  '

                   a swift movement of her head towards his direction is given as answer from the sudden feeling of reiatsu moving her without her permition, throwing her to their side like a ragdoll with no choice but to let themselves be handled by someone else's power.

            lack of movement, often interpreted as frigidity - indifference, is in itself; acceptance of intimacy from the fellow arrancar.

    the damsel’s response is reflexive; honed      from months of constant training. a slight     arm inflates grotesquely with muscle and      s w i n g s back, reiryoku forming a glove     over the hand before it slams into the surge     of water; it drenches her, but the barrier is     enough to keep her standing.    when the current slows, her body is restored,    and she flicks back wet locks to gaze at the    fallen queen of this barren land.            ”please… do not attack.           i no longer wish to retrieve you;          you’re nothing like what i was told.”

     there was no change in stoic features upon            their ability to counter her attack -- and the            deformation of what previously was a slim            limb -- for it was to be expected that, that one            of the same race that snatched her throne             away from her to imprison the queen would,            certainly, be able to stay on their feet at the            beginning of the fight.

                  ' i see no reason for me to believe                     you will go against your orders. '

                         '  .  .  .  '

              there is no a slight change on posture,               on features, or on those fierce eyes               of a predator that pierce on them with              the same strength a jaw filled with many              rows of teeth would pressure upon it’s              prey’s neck.

              the bitter reminder of reckless actions              her fracción decided to partake in, just of              the same bitterness for the tercera, it does              not but bring dissatisfaction. 

              she knows.

       sudden closeness would’ve been totally              unwelcomed by the espada, had it been              merely anyone but her fracciones. the              whipping sound of water against flesh              would’ve taken place instead of the              peaceful quietness that surrounded them.

              her imposing figure does not move, not a              gaze comes to their way for to direct sharp              eyes would be a sign of disapproval.

i thought i smelled something foul. It was a raw fish Bl

   ” … “   though she was ordered to recapture the escaped espada,   meninas finds herself unable to do anything but stare in awe.       the dust settles to reveal a sight far more splendid than the scum       so vividly described in reports sent out to her.   ” what a remarkable woman… “

        escape was to be attained succesfully by                at least disappearing from their grasp as                quickly ------- but lately, plans wouldn't go                as they should.

               '  .  .  .  '

               the knight of a fallen god would have to                march back into battle, not under orders                she couldn't mind to follow, but for her                own survival.

               to, pridefully, pronunce her resurrección                 only to enhance her opponent's fear ---

                     but this time was quite different.

               her sword points at the enemy.