Whispers on the Wind.

Another day of nothing of particular note. Yaksha had been raking in money, making no shortage of good relations, and it was starting to even look like the war with Shadow Fall was starting to die down. The news on the battlefronts seemed to show that the vast majority of their retaliatory efforts had ended in failure. Routed, smashed flat, and left with few of their most competent power players, Yaksha was finally confident he could start considering expansion operations. Perhaps this was the right time to start sending out a few letters to the few demons left in the world. Diversifying one's portfolio was never a bad idea, particularly when America was now up for grabs.

Yaksha was just putting down his phone when someone knocked on his door, opening it slightly to peek inside. Yaksha's faceless mask turned towards the sound, a pair of whitish-green eyes examining them impassively. He didn't speak, or give a single indication he'd noticed them as an actual person. They could've been staring at a mannequin for all the reaction he gave, until the guard standing in the doorway swallowed slightly, nodding to himself. He gestured behind him, and then spoke as if nothing had changed.

"Sir, there's an arrancar here who wants to speak to you. She's...very...ostentatious."

"You know, that didn't come out nearly as clever as you thought. Did she give a name?"

"Yes sir. Safira."

"Yes! Yes yes yes yes, certainly. Let Miss Safira in. I always have time for a high roller."

The door opened completely, revealing a room that was remarkably spartan for the domicile of a hollow that ran the lion's share of casinos across Las Vegas. There was a comfortable chair, and another one set at an angle across from it that was, while almost certainly more comfortable, just as obviously a secondhand buy. Something that had been sat in and gently used over a long period of time, and was all the more inviting for it.

Aside from the two chairs, there was a large closet nearby, half-open, with the faint sounds of radio static coming from within. Yaksha rose, approaching the doorway with a primal, atavistic prowl that brought to mind a lion examining another lion, to decide if it was worth the time it would take to bat it aside, or if it were better all around to just ignore its existence. He finally settled for giving a small, polite roll of his shoulder and hips, hand sliding across his waist as he curled forward a few inches.

"I can only assume from the fact that you've remained here for so long that you have no complaints about my operations, and the city I've been striving to create here. So let me guess...you're about to claim that it's wasted in my hands, and that it's about time for a hostile takeover, aren't you? It's been about a year, so...yes, I'd say it's right about time for things to start going horribly wrong."

Yaksha sighed ever so slightly, and though his face gave way no expression, his soul was all the more expressive to make up for it. The air in the room turned thick, almost as if it had been replaced with syrup. He took a few steps towards his chair, draping himself across it in a way that showed a sort of negligent arrogance. He looked at his claws, eyes closing for a few languid seconds, before he finally spoke, in a tone of drawn-out politeness that was almost certainly meant to show just how hard he was trying not to be rude. It worked far better than actually being rude, in his experience.

"Resources and connections for something that will benefit me. The last person who came to me regarding resources and connections tried to convince me to join a terrorist group. He even -called- himself a terrorist. We've only just met, Safira, and I already consider you a friend. As a friend, I'll do you this little bit of charity. Don't go assuming you know what I like before you even feel comfortable calling me a friend. Geurilla operations implies you're planning to make an enemy of someone far stronger than either of us. Likely stronger than the both of us combined. I've met some of the highest rollers this world has to offer, and let me tell you. I'd go to bat against Ravan Vespara, or Shunsui Kyoraku for my friends. I have no illusions whatsoever that I'd win, or even survive, but...I'd certainly give them whatever it was they needed."

He opened one eye, flexing his fingers one by one, waggling them like a person who was trying to work out a stiffness, or to determine the exact cause of an ache they felt. He didn't move from the chair, but the air seemed to lose some of its oppressive weight, and faint red markings could be seen standing out against the alabaster white chitin coating his body for a few moments. It looked like they simply winked into existence from underneath, very much like someone were painting them on. He let the silence reign for about five more seconds, before giving a lazy, almost amused sigh.

"The humans always like to say 'Business before pleasure'. I disagree. If we're going to discuss things like resources and connections, then I hardly even consider it business. You already have my attention, and my curiosity. Trying to frame your plans as some sort of sales pitch is just going to irritate me. We're both here because we know the rest of the world is a disgrace. So instead...just tell me about yourself, Safira. As I recall, you served in Aizen's army, when he was attempting to enter the Soul King's palace? I never had the pleasure of visiting Las Noches when it was at its prime. Do you regret the time you spent there? The things you did?"

All of a sudden, the pressure was back, but this time it wasn't invasive, or oppressive at all. His focus seemed to roll across her, like a masseuse trying to probe their client for points of tension or stress. It was the equivalent of a gentle brush of hand against hand, or a gentle pat on someone's head. And now, Yaksha was finally sliding into the chair to sit in it, as a human would've. He seemed to express no discomfort for the last couple of minutes he spent in a position that likely would've obliterated the spine of any creature that walked on two legs.

"Aizen taking over the Espada was rather like...a man who made it through the Nuremburg trials coming to America and taking over the local Black Panthers group, then encouraging them to play to every black stereotype he can think of. It was a joke from the very beginning Safira, and I don't see any reason to hide it. Numbering people by -power levels-? Come -on- now! The reason I moved away from Hueco Mundo is because I despise all the talk of alphas and betas, lords and courtiers. Why can't we just talk like peers, for once?"

He steepled his clawed fingers beneath his mask, his soul once more beginning to swirl and tickle around the two of them, like a faint breeze blowing. There was a soft, ruminative from the back of his throat as he drummed his fingers against his chin. He said nothing for a few moments, clearly stuck in his own head. There was something exhilarating about these kinds of conversations, something unbelievable about discussing openly thumbing their noses at someone as strong as Nagato?

"I understand. You're trying to make sure the past doesn't repeat itself. But please, don't spoil the first real talk I've had with someone in months. We'll discuss everything about this operation once we've had a chance to get to know one another. Until you heard tell of the Espada, you were perfectly content to stay here, living the good life in my city. You had no lofty goals, no significant plans. And now you want to start making up for lost time, because there's no time to waste? Pardon me for not being that sympathetic. This problem arose so very recently, so why is it that the solution must arise equally soon? Just...sit and talk, please? I promise you that I'll grant you your audience. Just as soon as I feel satisfied that I've learned more about you."

He spread his arms wider out, wings exploding outwards with the rapidness and power of a snake striking. It made no more sound than a curtain being drawn back, as he leaned forward, hands flattening on the table. He spoke in a smoother, dulcet voice as he tilted his head to the side, each of his horns seeming to break out in those strange red glyphs once more.

"Where have you been all my life, Sa-fi-ra~?"

He all but sang her name, enunciating every single syllable with the sort of gusto that one normally reserved for a beloved pet, or a family member.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Yaksha's eyes flared for just a moment, before returning back to normal. There was a conspiratory air in his action, as if he were raising his brows while looking at her, or pantomiming something in a public place. But he didn't waste any time giving her a chance to reply, raising a hand before she could, and then placing it back on the table. There was an air of eagerness to his voice, something that made it seem like he was coming to life bit by bit, a little more with every passing moment. Gone was the detached professionalism he'd shown when she first entered the room, making him seem more like a giddy young boy talking about his hobby.

He didn't move from the spot for a few moments, simply running through the conversation in his mind. It was becoming clearer that she had no love lost for other hollows, but it was equally clear that he didn't exactly qualify for the title of 'hollow' in her eyes. It was a tricky topic to navigate, trying to figure out how best to gauge her capabilities and her intentions without provoking her ire. He settled for rubbing his fingers across the chair in front of him; the roughness of it made his mind suddenly spring into frantic life, synapses firing off at hectic speeds, while his body moved no faster than a normal man. He finally settled for a deep sigh, and then tilted his head at her, ever so slightly.

"Do you already have a group of compatriots? If so, there's really no point in having this conversation between just the two of us. It'd become all pleasure and no business, because there's just no possible way you can speak for others in that capacity. So we'll start with the simple question. And while you're musing on my question, I've another one for you. One I think you'll find much more engaging. For now...tell me what it is you need from me, Safira. Are you asking for an extraction plan? Easy. Do you need manpower? A little harder, but doable. Are you asking for me to be the one taking credit for your little debacle? That would be a -very- hard sell. But, considering I was granted this territory gratis from Ravan Vespara himself after a talk, very much like this one, I wouldn't ever go so far as to say something is impossible."

He didn't bother to move from his spot, simply tilting his head to the side ever so slightly; an atavistic avian action, something that made him seem more dinosaur than dragon, as if he were trying to figure out even now if she was edible. Obviously, if she'd served under Aizen and hadn't at least qualified for the role of fraccion, that meant she was no Vasto Lorde. Was there any way to determine when exactly she had removed her mask? Did it even matter in the grand scheme of things? The heirarchies were something that the Gotei had created, as best he could tell. Certainly, they could be observed in the wild. But to attribute meaning to one's evolutionary state was eugenics at best. Was Yaksha to start demanding all hollows who had become adjuchas immediately remove one of their limbs so they could never evolve? What sort of ridiculousness would that lead to next? Why would he even want to start down that road? He hadn't once seen a circumstance to date that led him to believe the hollows he'd met, given the opportunity to do what was best for the city as a whole, wouldn't take it.

It seemed just about time for him to remind Safira of something that had been long forgotten, but it wasn't really a topic he could just broach out of the blue. So for now, he just kept his hands resting on the chair, doing his best to undress her with his eyes, so to speak.

Or perhaps not even so metaphorically. It -was- Vegas, after all.

"The...rewards. You mean sand, and more hungry mouths to feed? Because that's all that'll come of standing against Las Noches, even in the case of a victory. The room for profit here is extremely low, and I think you know that as well as I do."

He glanced towards her nails as she began to rub them, and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he noticed their odd deformations, that made it look like each one was a tiny hollow mask. Was that a deliberate thing, or something she had come about as an unexpected outcome after becoming an arrancar? It would hardly be the strangest thing that he had to work with. He inhaled slowly, fingers drumming on the table in front of him.

"The problem with things like helping to liberate victims of a tyrannical regime is that there's always too high a possibility of retaliation. There would be deaths and consequences on my end. And then the survivors would demand I retaliate against him, further raising the death toll. And then he would feel a need to come over here and kick yet more sand in my face, for daring to avenge his vengeance, and it would end with the two of us standing atop two large mountains of corpses, trying to think of anything at all the other still had to lose. If something like this were to happen, there could be no taking of credit. Either the king would need to be killed or defanged such that he could never lash out in anger, or he would need to be incapable of finding even a single party involved in...whatever it is you're planning."

He glanced down at his own nails, curved in like the powerful talons of an eagle or some other bird of prey. He didn't speak for a few more long moments, just ruminating over the pace of the conversation. Why was it so hard to find people who could just enjoy the company of another person without trying to turn it political, or start spewing out their sales pitches at the first opportunity? There were so many questions to ask, so many conversations that he wanted to have, and all she wanted was to hear him say that he'd sell her weapons or manpower to do...some sort of ridiculous display.

He finally sighed after a few moments of painful, leaden silence, and then began to hum to himself, as he rose and turned towards the window overseeing the street view of the city below. He folded his hands behind his back, chest swelling with a perverse sense of pride and delight. Even now, the humans were adapting to a new lifestyle remarkably well. It seemed like he could finally have something to hold onto, for the first time he could remember since he was born. He stood there for a few moments, tapping his foot to some invisible beat, and then spoke in a lazy, absentminded tone.

"Tell me about your nails, Safira. Do they bother you? Or is it that you wish to draw attention to them?"