Welcome To The Jungle[Alvah, Amaranta]

"You exist so exuberantly," He answered, raising his head to gaze into her eyes. "I am but a pen, a blank open page. You are the story, the words I create a picture with, the imagery that brings that picture to life."

His tone had shifted somewhat as his passion became clearer. Her curiosity was met by his, and that exchange of passion is the stepping stone he believes leads to greatness, or ruin. Then, he dropped the skull on the ground and swept his lone arm around to showcase the bravado of her arena.

"This alone is enough to make a man mad with inspiration. You alone are enough to create a masterpiece with. You see, I am no empty canvas, dear. My blank pages tell their own story."

"Praise is expressed through various mediums," Alvah began. "I could sing a song, write a poem, or even test your mettle against my own."

He understood her desire for a challenge. Why else would she have constructed an arena. However...

"I doubt I'd prove a worthwhile opponent though, but if I must elaborate. I have dabbled in the art of creating. Imagine a scene, a young Arrancar with friends and family, and then imagine the dread one would feel when that family is ripped away, the emotions that come: realization, fear, acceptance, anger..."

He looked upon her with different eyes, ones glazed over by the scene he painted. Slowly, his grip around the skull in his hand tightened.

"Picture them fighting to grow stronger with only revenge in their mind, and the moment they go to realize it. Can't you see how wonderous a film it is, a battle full of raw unfettered spirit? You question whether they have their victory, their release from their trauma."

But then he raised the skull and crushed it in his grasp, the bony splinters firing away as he then opened his palm and revealed the white powder he now holds.

"A shame the ending left me empty."

Captivated by his performance? Why, then he has succeeded at his goal. It is the performer's job to entertain his audience after all. It is no different for combatants. If one does not have the macho to match their opponent, then there exists no reason for battle. Thus is the crucial ingredient missing from his story.

"Like sand in the wind, our protagonist could not defeat their villain. Don't you think a losing hero leaves a story dull and incomplete?"

The powder in his hand slipped through his fingers, mixing with the sand beneath his feet.

"Exactly. One would expect the hero to gain the power to triumph over their antagonist, but I suppose a story grounded by reality is often disappointing."

Yes. Now the meat of the conversation is here. He now sees what she desires. With context, he has now concluded her role in life. Be it as basic as a worthy opponent, he can understand her every action that has led them to their exciting discussion. Even through her basic nature, he can tell that her tale will be one of grandness, and oh he would be a fool to not turn the pages of her story and lock in.

"Do you walk this world with many enemies, Amaranta?" His eyes focused on hers, her energetic blaze meeting his slowly burning kindle.

"Conflict... I wonder how fulfilling a life built with strife as its foundation is, or maybe do the friendships gained along the way lessen its eventual burden?"

Yes. What is it? Is conflict all that Amaranta requires? Maybe at first, but would she have gained friends if not for a longing for more than endless battle? Would enemies be considered friends? Rivals? There are questions one could ask, inquiries one could make. Yet, none of them would ever satisfy the curiosity. What would is but an inkling of allusion. If he were to simply walk her path for a mere week or month, he would no doubt understand her greatly.

"A back and forth maybe? A cycle of love and hate? Without friends, enemies would become cumbersome, but without enemies, you would never appreciate a friend... Ah, philosophy at its finest."

Though, his being still left pondering, he found his eyes wandering around.