IT’S BEEN HOURS— perhaps a full twenty-four— and she’s heard nary a footstep down the pristine halls of the monstrosity she’s come to know as Las Noches. Contemptuously unaware of the time that waxes and wanes, she’s no idea just how long she’s been confined— she presumes at least two weeks ( perhaps more )— though she’s not ignorant in regards the barbaric pressures lurking through the halls ( Sōsuke had mentioned AT LEAST eight Vasto Lorde upon her arrival ). In the least he’d told her he’d attend to her personally and when he was unable, he’d send Kaname, and thus far it had seemed to be so: not one other soul has approached what she’s assumed to be under lock and key.
Settling back down into the plush of her duvet, she waits. It’s all she can do: WAIT. Sōsuke’s ‘visits’ were often short, strained by emotions neither of them outright displayed in such tense conditions and MOROSE as though he wanted to stay longer but could not— it was an ugly thing, this arrangement, caught between her heart and her resolve. Still, she waited; she was not foolish enough to hoist herself from these barred windows and come face to face with an EMPIRE she’d no idea the strengths or numbers ( alongside the affirmation she’d given him to stay put, regardless of how infuriating a request that may have been ). But the click-clack of the marble floor doesn’t sound familiar— in fact, it sounds devious, if such a thing were audible via footstep alone— and she can tell by the weight distribution it is neither Sōsuke nor is it Kaname.
HELLOOOO~ … The voice rings out from beyond the door, reaching the inner the entrance, and she can make out the silhouette of a man— lanky and smooth. He’s one of them, one of the chosen she feels ‘round Sōsuke’s morning briefing and end of the day roll-call, a highly ranked hell-beast— she’d heard them called ESPADA ( she knew no other information than this, that they were hand selected as the COURT GUARD, war machines oiled at the hands of their conductor ). Whatever this one’s rank and file, whatever this one’s specialty, whatever his intentions, one thing was GLARINGLY simple: he was not welcome here— nor was he permitted.
“Did you expect a welcome wagon?” already his voice has singed a nerve, breaking the silence in an almost sickening saccharine— he’s presented himself with an unbearable diction in all but a few short syllables, “Surely you must be aware that you risk punishment for being here— or are you so uncivilized that you cannot comprehend such things?”
‘ that’s quite the welcome as is ! ’
he immediately can tell: he likes her sharp and piercing eyes the most, as if he were the very scum of the land. how delightful. his hands meet each other in a muted clap for her grand observational skills- indeed, it was rather foolish of him but, that pesky curiosity still proved to be quite the adversary. ah well, szayelaporro then links his hands ‘pon the small of his back, taking the remaining steps forth that places him inside at the doorway’s entirety.
( a small thing, wasn’t she ? it was almost amusing, that such a large secretive identity was wrapped in a package like what exists before him. ) in fact, he was so delighted with it the disobedience immediately becomes justified to the researcher’s mind. ( how unfortunate it would have been if he had not found anything marked up to this caliber. ) immediately, the octava begins to analyze, watching carefully for anything and everything about her as lips move freely, his speech purposeful in its arrangement.
‘ yes but, you understand the interest of who could be behind this door was simply killing me. ’ so he had used his skills as a scientist to figure out the way to permitted entry is all.
‘ naturally, i’m not a fool-- i’ll accept any punishment that comes my way from aizen-sama without so much as a complaint. but my, what a fascinating discovery, to think that his ‘esteemed guest’ is such a minuscule woman of a captain. ’
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