Serenade of the Soul(Yaksha/Sofia)

"This is the part where I dismiss good and evil as labels and try to convince you that you're looking at the world from too narrow a perspective, right? I'm pretty sure that's how the whole evil villain thing goes, isn't it? Bear with me, I'm still trying to get used to it."

Yaksha tilted his head to the side, staring at Sofia in quiet, almost curious contemplation. There was something remarkably unsettling in his gaze, and it wasn't just the hunger that glinted there. There was something...knowing in Yaksha's gaze, something that seemed to say this entire conversation was little more than a pleasant distraction. Even as he stared down a woman who had proven, several times now, that she could decapitate him, there was still that faint sense of...smugness there. As if he knew that this was all a long bluff, and he had no intention of being intimidated. He folded his hands over his chest, staring at her before he finally spoke, slowly.

"All hollows are evil. Myself included. We are, at our very core, inherently inimical creatures that cannot co-exist with each other, and can only be expected to kept in line with overwhelming force. Luckily for you, Sofia, you have force in spades."

He took a step forward, looming over the woman, his voice soft, calm, almost pleasantly soothing in its tones. There was something there, to be certain; he spoke with such authority, such certainty, and the aura he gave off was singularly incredible. It seemed to swirl and pinwheel off into tiny little spatters of light, before dying off; there was violence and malice there, but it was all restrained so thoroughly, padded by so much sangfroid and ego that it was hard to even consider this the aura of a hollow. There was nothing disingenuous as him, to Sofia's senses; if anything, he would've seemed remarkably mature compared to even most of the other quincies she had met.

"Evil does exist, Sofia. And no sane person can ever truly choose to do evil, when they have the options lain before them. Evil is a father who beats his child for the simple reason that it gets results. Evil is a child, pushed aside and led to fend for himself, simply because he couldn't conform. Evil is a society that stagnates and clings to outdated concepts. The quincies are in a sorry state, Sofia, and don't think I don't know it; I've been watching. I can see the signs. And you're going to need something really spectacular if you want to bring your people back to the glory they deserve. You have a choice, Sofia. I won't lie and say it's an easy one, or that it's one you have to make. Not choosing is a choice, as well."

Yaksha knelt to one knee, reaching up slowly, gingerly, probing around blindly for her hand, and the seele there. He gave off not even a tiny shred of malice, nothing but honest, earnest intent. He finally grasped a hand around the weapon, pressing it against his mask.

"At any point in this conversation, you could kill me. We both know that. Let's dispense with the pretense, and get to the important part. Your mind is telling you something is not right here. You're looking for the trick. You're trying your very hardest not to get suckered in by a pretty face, and a lot of meaningless words. I suppose it's time for action, then."

"Okay. I've had enough."

She had done her best, and truly, she had. She had listened to his words, at least the first few minutes after he started talking. After a certain point, the truth and the logic and the bullshit began to mix together in such a way that she simply couldn't bare truly understanding the meaning of his words, let alone caring enough to hear it. At the same time, she had no further intentions of killing the Hollow. It had demonstrated to be different enough to warrant halting her earlier opinion of him. It had proved himself to be annoying, irritating, and odd enough in different ways that she simply had not foreseen.

As such, rather than to continue on with the charade, extending the time she talked to a Hollow about topics she didn't care about, and with a goal of his that seemed as shrouded in mystery and convoluted nonsense that she didn't seem to want to pay mind to, she would respond rather differently.

"Honestly. I don't care. Prove whatever you will to the people to earn their trust or don't. Either way, it doesn't really matter to me. Whether you live long enough to find a way to earn my trust, or extend your life long enough to see you drop by my blade is to be seen. How you do it is none of my problems. But don't mistake me for a janitor, I'm not cleaning this mess."

With that she would take a step back, give a farewell bow, and take a few steps out and away. She had spoken to him for far too long. Frankly, perhaps it was better that way. If for some odd reason the two had found better grounds to communicate and connect through, Sofia would have truly been in a mess. To be seen speaking with his kind, whichever his intentions could be detrimental to her position within the Wandenreich. Even if the Hollow truly meant well, the notion of a concept like the one he presented was far too fresh. She could only hope and imagine their paths would cross again sooner than later. And perhaps the next time she would have developed the patience necessary to deal with him, or he would have found a way to evolve his language to avoid losing the meaning she warned could be missed in the overuse of the tongue.

"I don't think there's a single phrase I hate more than that one."

Yaksha rose slowly, ever so slightly, with the glacial slowness that brought to mind an iceberg, or a similarly obdurate, unstoppable object. There was no longer any sense of humor or glee in his eyes, no feeling of vitality or intellect. One almost could've convinced themselves that he was an automaton, and not a real creature, as he reached across his chest with one hand, grabbing his other arm at the shoulder, and squeezing forcefully. His eyes, cold and...desperate? Could that really be what Sofia was seeing in them? Was it possible for a hollow to really be anxious? Those eyes met hers, and there was a sense of deep, pervasive desire there. He opened his mouth as if he intended to speak, but all that came out was a melancholy, heavy sigh.

His expression seemed to glaze over, eyes taking on the texture of glass as he glanced off into nowhere, fingers digging into his shoulder even harder. It took him all of five seconds, but they were a pregnant, heavy silence, as he finally spoke. He drew out each syllable slowly, like he was speaking the name of some much-vaunted god.

"Yu-bit-sume."

The silence was broken, completely and immediately, by a series of cracking and tearing sounds that were almost gut-wrenching to hear. Yaksha's hand continued to worry and tug at his shoulder, which seemed to be elongating and stretching out, each time a little more malleable than the last. The noise wasn't especially loud, but it was hideously, intimately organic, and there was no pretending this was anything but a hideous act of self-mutilation. The hollow's teeth were clenched together so tightly that black ichor could be seen leaking out from within his mask; it was possible he was biting into his own tongue, or even his gums.

The hollow didn't speak, didn't make so much as a single sound, but his hand could be seen slipping and skidding across the flesh of his marred arm; the joint had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe, and his arm dangled limply, brushing against the ground up to the elbow now. His gaze met Sofia's, glassy and dull with pain now; he seemed truly beyond words, unable to formulate a sentence even if he wanted to. Mind-shattering pain, the kind of thing most people should've been reduced to babbling messes by, had left him able to do little more than move by routine. His claws grasped the very top of his shoulder, slowly and rhythmically slicing along the surface; the blood didn't dribble out so much as spurt this time, and it was clear he'd hit a couple of important vessels. He traced the shape slowly, a perfect line across his arm...and in a minute, all said, his arm had popped off completely, at the shoulder. Blood continued to trickle down to the ground, his expression slowly, in faint waves, returning to normal. He blinked, blinked again, blinked a little quicker...and each time there seemed to be more of him behind it.

"An apology, for putting your name amongst quincy at risk. Take it. Burn it, keep it on your mantle, turn it into a gauntlet, I don't care. It's yours now. I'll grow a new one when you've made up your mind about me."

The hollow turned away, on unsteady feet, his one remaining hand raising into the air, and slowly, with much trembling, and the sort of care and attention that one would expect from a newborn, drew a line down the air. It wavered and wobbled, the air around it slowly turning an ugly, bruised purplish black color, before it peeled away, to reveal a desert. An enormous, desolate desert. The sounds of countless melancholy shrieks from the other side could be heard.

"I'm not hard to find. When you find it in yourself to care about another sentient creature, I'll be waiting."

The reaction of the Hollow was at first, strange. Eventually it all started making some more sense to her. The rather rushed bipolar like state of his behavior, and the actions he had taken were both very Hollow like. The deception, the irony of his words, and the thought that she needed to make up her mind about him at all.

The ripping of his arm, the very much violent and gory look with which it happened. Every bit of it reminded her of the bestial and barbaric way of his kind. Even if he did possess some level of education and the manners and ability to hold a decent conversation, it seemed he was still tainted by the curse of his kind. She couldn't even be sure that what he said earlier about changing or being good was true at all. As far as she knew, it could also be a lie, and it likely was. What was for certain however was that it no longer mattered to her. She wouldn't kill him this time around, but the future was uncertain as was the thing before her.

"Do as you please, and pray you find your way, whatever it is, before someone decides your end for you."

It didn't matter at the end. If he turned out to be a true good guy and help the needy or whether he was simply an asshole in disguise waiting to die was to be seen. She knew she wouldn't be part of the change or a witness to the madness however. He was a Hollow and she was a Quincy. The thought was akin to mixing water and oil with pure perfection. It simply wouldn't happen; not any time soon anyways. And so, with a final turn and her foreboding words, the Quincy would leave the Hollow until the next time they met.