A Place of Too Many Fish [Catherine, Alvah]

Oh did he now? "Water? That's pretty ironic given you lot are from a desert," A raised brow would greet him as she carefully kept the flow going in circles as his fingers poked the small flowing current bending in on itself between two hands, "But I guess hollows take up any quality, huh? Always wondered what determined that - is it pure chance? Who you were? How you died? Never certain, especially with learning there's hollows who are just born like that rather than being one-hundred percent derived from weepy human souls."

Though, the fish seemed to be getting pretty squirrelly with those big fingers butting into their swimspace, and the last thing she felt like doing was tossing tiny little shites off the sand and back into the sea, "Alright, say goodbye to Atherinella brasiliensis, they gotta go home," With little further consideration, she immediately sectioned off the fish to go flowing off back into the water, calmly playing about with one smaller sphere of water,

"Yeah, it's not really like controlling the water itself, eh... I haven't gotten all the details ironed out coz i'm not super great at doing it, but I guess it's like enforcing your will on a bunch of blank slates and telling them what to do... And I guess, for the object, it's something that means something to you, and your experiences... So it can do a little more than just get moved around or change in state or shape."

She stared at the glob of water longingly for a moment, "..What a stupid way for things to work."

"Is that not but a mimicry of life? We are all blank slates."

He slashed his hand to the side, water hitting the sand as he cleansed his digits. Though, his gaze moved to Catherine, his dark orbs only broken by the yellow slits in them. There's something different about the way he gazed at her, a curiosity not like any before. His thoughts moved back to the day they met and the events after.

"Why, are you not a colored slate? The you now is what someone made you to be, just as someone made me what I am. Ah~ But I suppose you hate yourself, don't you?"

A calm glance off to the distant shore disregarded his rather philosophical comment on something she was trying to rationalize, lip in a slight pout as she bent and twisted at the cold seawater that nipped her palms with it's icy flow, rubbing at it as if it were an elastic clay keeping her hands busy. There was a sense of tension in her gut, an anxiety she couldn't quite grasp as she acknowledged his staring at her. She felt a question she wouldn't like very much coming, the shock was purely in that it actually was asked.

The idle toying with the fluid in her hands ceased with a tight grasp, and water trickling out of the cracks in her fingers, escaping as the force manipulating it away from gravity's hold ceased. Her shoulders felt rigid, stormy eyes briefly darting for a tasteful answer to such a question, to such an idea.

"I made me myself," Her voice spoke in a hushed tone, "I didn't need anyone to do that for me."

It felt like her gaze grew as heavy as stone, looking away from Alvah and to the sand at her feet, "Yeah? What gives you that impression? Think you're a mindreader or something, pal?"

"Mindreader? No. But, I am capable of reading the room, and I dare say that this room's become a bit small." Her chided with a devious grin before stepping into her personal space, his fingers under her chin, a sudden intrusive of what she thought her own, before the simple force he delivered would pull her attention his way.

"No one makes them their selves. We are all but a stitched together dolls of experiences and emotions. We believe we are the masters of what's to come, but it's simply too easy for something or another to sway us to and fro. All the musings you've dared share with me. Why would I not think that an experience or another hasn't shaped your opinions and comprehension of this world?"

That heavy gaze was pried from the earth and toward the Arrancar as the hideous sensation of being touched without warning jolted her nerves, the initial shock freezing her for a moment as she felt her blood turn frigid and her lungs squeeze. Ordinarily it would have been met with a strike to detach herself from the foreign contact, but she held her fists firmly to her sides as she had no interest in giving harm, but this meant she had energy with no direction, clenched fists shaking with anticipation as a breath escaped to answer him,

"I made my self, I direct my self, I am what's in control of my self. So cut the philosophical bullshit..."

She directed that energy into pushing his grisly hand away from her chin, "I'm what's kept me going this entire time - not that bastard, not any of my clients, nobody but me. My shape? It's what i've decided works for me. Whatever works to kill who I need to kill to get what I want, to make whatever I want to make, to do whatever the hell I want to do... I'm in control of what happens, and how it all turns out..."

Something ticked, a small piece of herself that she had yet to share now given the smallest inkling of attention. A true monster, Alvah preyed on it, savored the reveal, and latched onto Catherine's insecurities like a Southern mosquito. She may have pushed his hand away, but she must know that she's now opened her soul for him to simply walk right in.

"That bastard? And who may that bastard be?"

Again, his gaze would sharpen as it does when his interest is stroked, a heightened perception allowed only when he's finally made a break through. His glowing orbs surrounded by darkness peered at the tiny woman next to him as he loomed over her until the moon emphasized his shadow. The hand she smacked away came again, almost threatening to touch her again, yet missing by a hair and ending its journey against his chin.

"I'm awfully curious, Catherine."

She blinked twice when he latched onto that small little inkling of a detail, his shape growing as intrusive as that question. Guess that slipped out, huh? Wasn't like it was some close-guarded secret, it was hardly something she felt too terrible about talking about, her expression sour from his little fake out of touching her again.

"My boss, moron," She'd calmly talk back, "Fine, you get a little teeny inch - i'm planning on killing him so I can take all his stuff, that was our deal. If I can kill even the most powerful hollow with no problem, I can put his wicked ass in the dirt too."

Her arms crossed as she looked up at him, "What, gonna spout some shit about killing people now? That happens all the damn time, at least this is contractual."

"Your boss?" He seemed to deflate as he repeated her words, seemingly disinterested in something like that. It's almost like he was fishing for something more personal and was dissatisfied with what bit his reel.

The act of killing someone could hardly pull his fancy. He has murdered before. He has seen things murdered before. The act itself isn't anything to hype oneself up about. The only thing to wonder is who her boss is and why she wants them dead.

"I cannot fathom why someone would wager their life over measly trinkets unless there is true gold involved, but pop off king."

Ah, the use of lingo he learned from the local. He found it useful in this situation for showing his lack of care for what's been given to him. His arms folded across his chest, his eyes dulled as he stared out at the ocean, a moment of uncharacteristic silence from him.

"What, do you think i'm killing my own grandfather over some stocks? If that was all at stake, I wouldn't have agreed to it."

Her face was turned into a brief sneer, clicking her teeth at the insinuation that she was doing all of this for something so worthless, so worldly. That deflation was met with a degree of irritation, offense even, a kneejerk response to spit on his sudden disinterest. Feeling quite hot under the skin, she'd go on shortly after,

"I want his old damned books, bastard was around for the Quincy genocides. Dunno about you but i'm not super eager to allow hundreds of years of history and craftsman knowledge to mold over because the old shit won't cough them up until 'all viable heirs are gone'. Fuckin' asshole, he's already two feet in the damn grave..."

Kicking sand, her expression withered, a pained laugh leaving her, "Already got me to be a kin-killer twice over now, I guess it's only natural I finish up with him."

Grandfather? Ooh! He thought she meant some boss who held no significance in her life, but if her target is her own family member, that adds a little spice to the meal she had brought to him. Then she brought up the ancient knowledge that her father supposedly possessed. His mind turned wicked, the mere thought of being allowed to scavenge to leagues of information drugging his current mood. The icing on the cake is the fact she's killed family before. It seems Catherine's story's become a little bit more interesting to the Arrancar.

"Is that all?" He asked, his voice a hushed whisper, a certain degree of desperation in his voice at the fact that Catherine's body still contains such secrets for him to unpackage. He'd peel her skin off if it'd give him better insight, but he seemed barely content on simply staring her down.

"Let us hurry and murder this fool then."