The Coronation of Self: Chapter One
By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)
Although the spot lights obscured the audience from him, Szayel could tell he had their attention. But, then, it was only natural that they be focused on him. Ever since he was a child, Szayel had performed in nothing less than an exemplary manner. He successes were numerous, while his failures could be counted on one hand. This was no exception.
As his partner, a petite brunette, finished her aria, Szayel swept her into his embrace and uttered the final line in the play.
"With this, it is finished," he said, as he drew his gold-encrusted dagger out of his frock coat. His partner looked appropriately aghast as he plunged it into her back. A wondrous trick of mirrors and smoke in addition to a packet of well-placed fake blood made the illusion reality for the audience. Szayel heard their gasps, and knew they thought his character treacherous even as they longed to take his partner's place.
She allowed herself to collapse, and Szayel set her down in one graceful movement as the curtain closed. There was a moment of silence, her breath heavy in his ear, before the rumbling applause reached them. He let her go and they both rose as the rest of the cast joined them on stage. The curtain was drawn open again, and they took their bows in front of the adoring crowd. Roses flew threw the air to land at their feet, but everyone's dignity was preserved. The members of the audience did not call out without need, nor did the cast make any unnecessary maneuvers in front of them.
When the curtain closed for the final time, Szayel took her hand and swung her in a broad arc. She laughed and clutched his arm upon her return. He smiled.
Everyone made their way offstage and to their dressing rooms. Szayel ran a finger over the placard bearing his name-embossed gold, a rarity for the house-before stepping inside. His room was standard fare for the profession, although he had been able to redecorate. Pale pink walls and carpet, white furniture-a gilded edge to the mirror and under the glass table as well. All of these things were symbols of his status and class.
Szayel took off the coat, frilled shirt, and dated pantaloons. He hung them up in his expansive closet, running a hand over them one last time. Everything in its place. Szayel folded himself into the chair in front of his bureau and began to take off his makeup. Each swish of the removal pad revealed flawless skin, and when it was all done he smirked at his reflection, then puckered his lips and blew it a kiss. The brown wig went on its stand, and he shook out his beautiful, pink tresses.
He stepped into his own personal shower dirty-he was the only one who could boast such a thing in the venue-and then out clean. Szayel redressed in his casual clothes: blue jeans, a stylish pink sweater, and white beanie to cover his trademark hair.
It was time to go.
First, he paid his respects to his comrades-always polite, and careful to hide his mocking disdain. He was greeted with smiles, pats on the back, and one or two envious glares.
"Don't be late tomorrow!"
A comedian in the making.
"Of course not." A wink, and then he was turning to go. Out the back entry and down the block, through an alley way. His car was in sight, his keys in hand. He had something, or should he say someone, very important waiting for him in his trunk. All tied up and ready for experiment-
A man walked out from behind a nearby dumpster, dropped his cigarette, stepped on it. Szayel stopped and tensed. The man spoke, exhaling smoke into Szayel's face. He was tall, almost obscenely so. Lithe, yet muscular.
"Nice show ya put on," the man said, and Szayel could see he had teeth long enough to match his height. He smiled. An overzealous fan, was it? He could deal with that.
"Thank you." Szayel relaxed, but only in the most cursory of manners. He brightened, and gestured back the way he had come. "You were there tonight, I take it?"
The man nodded.
"Pricey, but worth it." As the man spoke, Szayel noticed that although he was wearing a refined tuxedo, it was ill fitting. He stepped past the man, never showing him his back, and always smiling.
"I'm glad. It's always nice to hear that people enjoy our work." He would find a different lot tomorrow. A brief wave and then he was on his way.
"That your car?" Szayel did not freeze, but merely nodded.
"Yes." And he was nearing it every second. Keys in hand. Finger on the alarm button.
"Shit, no wonder the tickets are so expensive." The man had moved closer, when? But Szayel was too near now. His door was unlocked, and he was opening it.
"I'm afraid I don't have any control over what they charge," he said, as he slid inside. A click and a push and the engine started. "But I try to make every penny worth it." The man chuckled, and Szayel realized he was now right outside of his car. He closed the door.
"Ya do, ya do." Those abnormal teeth flashed, and Szayel smiled again. The man waved and he offered the same gesture in return, albeit more controlled. He already had the car in drive. Sleek, white, and ready to go.
He went.
Through the garage and down the gate. Into the line of traffic, barely moving. It was a short trip to his apartment, but he couldn't get that man out of his mind. He had seemed familiar, but Szayel couldn't quite put his finger on how or why. As he pulled into his complex's garage, he dismissed the thought. He had probably caught a glimpse of the man while he was on stage. This was nothing more than his subconscious playing tricks on him, and Szayel could not have that. He had far more important things on which to focus.
Szayel stepped from his car and popped the trunk. He grabbed the large suitcase from inside, mindful of its contents, and made his way to the elevator. Although his floor was near the top, the wheels made this an easy burden. He disembarked to a peach hallway, his door at the end. Suites were large on this floor, and he had only one real neighbor, a businessman who was hardly ever home. It suited Szayel just fine.
He pulled his prize down the carpeted hush of the hallway and stopped in front of his room, number 808. Szayel unlocked the door and rolled the suitcase inside with him, flicking on lights as he went. First through the foyer and the kitchen, then into the living room, decorated in the same fashion as his dressing room albeit in leather-a beautiful view overlooking the city through floor-length windows, although the curtains were drawn-to the left and into his bedroom.
It was decorated in the customary white and pink. Szayel rolled his suitcase past the king size bed-perfect for when he had guests-and, again, to the left, presumably into a bathroom. And a bathroom it was, but Szayel didn't use it except for one purpose. It was one of two access points into his true pride and joy: a beautiful laboratory he had constructed himself over the years. He had brought in a contractor for the initial development, of course. Then Szayel had disposed of him, and completed the work himself. It hadn't been hard, with his skill.
Szayel pressed his palm to an innocuous looking tile on the wall, but what was, in fact, a sophisticated biometric reader attuned only to his presence. There was a low hum and then the floor-length mirror slid into the wall. Szayel stepped inside, his specimen in tow. Even should someone make it this far, they would, no doubt, be put off by the darkness beyond. It was a second foyer of sorts, the entirety painted a foreboding black. Szayel, again, pressed his palm to the wall, and a second, almost indistinguishable, door slid into the wall to reveal his true destination.
The laboratory was bright and familiarly sterile. Szayel rolled his prize into the middle of the room and stopped. He exhaled a deep breath, letting out all his mundane worries with it.
It was so good to be back in his element. Here, he was surrounded by his favorite things.
Specimen tanks lined one wall, with the tools of his trade arranged neatly on a work table against the adjoining wall. Rounded cabinets graced the wall above. Laboratory tables spanned the center of the room, adjustable lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Everything was ergonomic, and tailored specifically to him, as with his security measures. After his admiration was concluded, Szayel unzipped the suitcase and allowed the man within to fall onto his pristine floor. He was handsome, but not to Szayel's taste. He preferred lithe, younger men. This one was muscular, and dressed in a fine suit, but he was too short. His complexion left much to be desired, but then, Szayel had not chosen him for his looks. Beneath that crop of lackluster brown hair lay his intended goal.
Szayel was not the weak fop most assumed him to be. Far from it. This was an innate talent he downplayed most of the time. Szayel preferred to remain the harmless eccentric, only displaying his aptitude when he saw fit. It served him well now, as he hefted the man onto the nearest table and then went to wash up and redress in his surgical scrubs-he could not have his own biology tainting the experiment, however fortunate it would make his specimen.
Upon his return, he injected the man with a drug that would keep him asleep while he removed the top of his skull. The time for his full cognizance and cooperation was not yet at hand. Szayel prepared his shaving equipment and saw before beginning to work. He lopped off most of the man's ample hair with long, sure strokes of the razor. After his specimen's bald head was revealed, Szayel cleansed it with water and an antiseptic. Next, he made an incision near his eyebrows that extended around the circumference of his head. Szayel peeled the skin back far enough that it would not interfere with the saw. He then lowered his face shield and began his true work. The saw was efficient, but he would still have to clean the mask later. Small pieces of bone flew threw the air, and would have blinded him had he not been wearing glasses and his face shield. When all was done, Szayel set the saw aside and removed the top of his specimen's skull and revealed his beautiful, pink brain.
Szayel secured the man with metal restraints that clamped to the table. One for each joint, in addition to the preventative, metal bars on either side of his head. Szayel couldn't have his guest disrupting his esteemed work, after all. He administered a counteractive stimulant in addition to an analgesic to him and waited for him to wake. After a few moments, the man opened his eyes. They were brown, like his hair, and unfocused. He groaned, and Szayel smiled.
It was time for the experiment to begin.
.
Two hours later and Szayel had coaxed him through the begging and threats and into full, resigned cooperation. Everything was coming along well.
After completing the initial examination and going through a few memory, stimulus, and reflex tests, he administered his newest prototype drug and began anew. His equipment, thin metal rods he inserted into the man's brain at several strategic locations, recorded everything.
"Your wife. Who is she?" Szayel asked. He looked to the side at the giant monitor on the wall. The man didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. The imagine of a plain woman, blonde with brown eyes-an odd combination-was splayed across the screen. "I see. And your children?" The screen flickered and went blank. So, he didn't have any. "Show me more. How did you meet your wife?"
A beach in the winter. Icy waves crashing along cold sands. Szayel could see the man's breath puffing out in front of his vision. There was the woman again, younger and less plain. She was bundled up in a winter coat, brown like her eyes, watching the waves. The image flickered and she was closer.
"Are you okay?" the man said.
She looked up, her eyes widening just a little.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. You're Peter, aren't you?"
"That's right," the man said, after a pause. The woman smiled. It seemed impossible that there would be a seagull around, but Szayel could hear its distinct cry. There could be no mistaking it. The woman noticed it too. She looked to the side, and Peter turned too.
"Did you hear that?"
The feed swiveled up and down as Peter nodded. The bird called out again, but Peter was already turning back to look at the woman.
"I can't believe it. At this time of year..." The woman started, and then smiled. "Forgive me. I don't think I told you my name. I'm Susan."
A loud buzzing sound caught his attention. Someone was ringing his doorbell. Szayel tapped the man on the shoulder and the screen flickered.
"That will be enough. For now." The memory faded, to be replaced with another one. Szayel saw himself looming over Peter.
"I don't think you quite understand your position, do you?" the memory of him said. Szayel tapped the man again and this faded too.
"It seems you're finally learning."
"You're really depraved, you know that?"
Szayel's smile stretched wide.
"My, but I do so value your opinion," he replied, as he covered his specimen's exposed brain with a special cloth he had invented that would repel bacteria. "I will return."
Szayel snapped off his gloves, and moved a separate monitor to examine his security feed. His eyes widened as he saw exactly who was at his front door. Again, the doorbell rang. Szayel gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed. He took off his mask and apron before washing his hands. This would have to be addressed.
Szayel emerged from his laboratory and sealed both doors behind him. He walked into his living room, steps slow and heavy. The doorbell rang again, and he hesitated before moving on through the kitchen and into the foyer. Now he could hear the man's voice.
"-know yer in there. Open up!"
Szayel paused just inside his door.
"How did you find this address?" He frowned. This wasn't right. He had left too quickly for something like this to occur. For that man to have followed him, what had happened? There was a silence, and then the man spoke again.
"Got my ways. Open the door." The man's voice had a rasp to it, probably from the smoking.
"I'm afraid I don't have the motivation to comply." Really, he should call the police. This man was clearly a stalker. He heard him scoff. Szayel could almost feel his eyes boring into him through the door.
"That so? Then let me give you some." Szayel quirked an eyebrow. "I know."
"And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"
"Who ya got in there, I know."
"Nice try, but I'm alone," Szayel replied, although perhaps he should not have mentioned that part. Not that it really mattered. He was at home now, and he had the means to defend himself and acquire a new specimen.
"Such a liar. I know you've got Peter Worthington in there. Probably all cut up by now, ain't he?" Szayel's eyes widened and he froze, dread settling heavy on his chest. How...?
"You have quite the imagination. Why don't you leave before I call the police? I have some sway over them, you know. High priority." Szayel's talent as a thespian was useful. His voice betrayed none of his surprise and uncertainty.
"Call 'em." It was Szayel's turn to scoff. Such unfounded pride. Disgusting, really.
Szayel fished his pink cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He punched in the number and was about to press the call button when the man spoke again.
"Did ya clean out your car this time?" Szayel's finger froze where it was, and his eyes narrowed. This man was becoming very annoying. He pressed another button on his phone for the noise, and held it up to his ear.
"Yes, I have a situation. A stalker has found his way to my apartment-yes, Szayel Aporro. Yes, same address. Thank you," he said, speaking only for his stalker's benefit. There was no one at the other end of the line.
"Ya got some balls, faking shit like that." Too observant, this one. Szayel might really have to call the police. But the man was right. Although they probably wouldn't believe him, it might throw suspicion in his direction. That would not be good, especially given that he really did have a Peter Worthington laid out on his laboratory table. If the man mentioned his name... His specimen wasn't considered missing yet, of course, but when his wife or coworkers noticed his absence and called it in, an officer just might remember this conversation. Any evidence would be long gone, but the suspicion would remain. And if they discovered his laboratory… Unlikely, but it would be a disaster. All his data would be lost, confiscated.
"What do you want?" The man chuckled. It was a low, maniacal sound that grated on Szayel's nerves.
"Already told ya. Let me in."
"And if I do?"
"You'll see. Now hurry up. I'm tired of standing in this shitty hall. Fucking ugly out here."
Szayel sighed. It couldn't be helped, could it? This man knew something about him and, more importantly, the name of his current specimen. It was alarming, and he would get to the bottom of it before acquiring this man. It wouldn't matter what he knew, then. He was as good as dead. He just didn't know it yet. No, and he wouldn't either. Not until Szayel made his move. Szayel's smile was malicious, but fleeting. It was gone by the time he undid the locks and swung the door open, replaced by something more disinterested. All carefully schooled, of course.
The man sniffed and stepped inside once Szayel allowed him to pass.
"About fucking time," he said, as Szayel closed and locked the door behind him. He rolled his eyes. To impose oneself on a stranger like this, and then make such demands... Truly, he was irritated. This feeling only increased as the man slouched his way over to his living room. He noticed the view and whistled.
"Knew ya were a rich bitch, but shit. That's a damn nice view," he said, as he plopped down on one of Szayel's sofas. He was still wearing the same suit, although it looked a little dirty now. Szayel made a mental note to have his maid pay special attention to his furniture as he joined the man by sitting down on the sofa opposite.
"What do you want?" It was normal for Szayel to have no patience for idle chit-chat. Given his present company, the feeling was magnified. He almost didn't care who the other man was or what he had to say, was almost ready to kill him where he sat, but he did need to find out what was going on. It was a good thing for his guest that Szayel valued intellect over instinct. Not that he realized it. No, he was rolling his eyes as if Szayel had offered him a great insult.
"Here I came all this way, but whatever." He paused, sighed. "I saw yer picture in some magazine and thought ya seemed familiar."
Szayel quirked an eyebrow. While it was true he had also found the man familiar, there had been an easy explanation for that. This was the same.
"Of course you did. I'm quite famous, you know." He had probably seen an advertisement Szayel had participated in, or some other nonsense like that. None too bright after all, this one. The man scowled at him, and Szayel shrugged, an elegant rising and falling of his shoulders. "That still doesn't explain why you felt the need to stalk me."
"It ain't like I don't know that now, jackass! But you're forgetting something, aren't ya? Not everyone gives a shit about your artsy fartsy crap. I hadn't even heard of your ass before I saw that picture."
"Even so, you likely saw me somewhere else. I'm represented across a vast array of mediums." Was this man insane? Such mundane, easily explained concerns had nothing to do with him. And he had yet to answer the question.
"You don't believe me? Fine. Doesn't matter. Point is I know what you are and what yer up to in this-" He looked around, eyes resting on the Venetian glass vases Szayel had displayed as part of his decor. When next he spoke, his voice was at a higher pitch. "-girly pad ya got here." It was Szayel's turn to roll his eyes. In addition to being an inelegant moron, this man had very poor taste. Was there anything redeemable about him? It seemed doubtful. Perhaps his looks, after he'd had a long shower to cleanse him of the obvious filth, but Szayel could find little else and even this wasn't enough.
"So you say."
"You wouldn't have let me in if you didn't have to."
"I only let you in to hear the rest of your fairy tale. Please, do continue," Szayel said. He smirked at the man. A true fool. Szayel was not about to give in so easily. The man leered at him, then shook his head.
"Whatever ya say. Doesn't matter either! All I gotta do is mention that guy's name to the cops and you'll be in deep shit. Won't make a difference even if they don't find anything. They'll be watching you. Fry your ass next time." Szayel's sigh was deep and long suffering. The man was right. He was backed into a corner here. Not that he would admit it.
"As I said, do continue."
"Tch. Anyway, I looked your ass up after that. I know ya work with brainy shit too and I know what you're researching. Memory, ain't it? You don't think it's just a little weird I know you and you know me but we haven't fucking met until now?" The man's eyes widened a little bit, in contrast to Szayel's quickly narrowing ones. Yes, he had recognized him. But that didn't mean anything was abnormal.
"The thought hadn't occurred to me." At least he knew a little more about his stalker's motives now.
"Go on. Tell me you didn't know me. You'll be fucking lying. I saw it in your eyes."
"What you saw was my surprise and disdain at having been accosted in an alleyway by..." Szayel's gaze traversed the entirety of the other man's body. "Well, I'm certain you can understand I don't associate with people of your caliber." It would be ridiculous to assume anything otherwise. They were from different, non-intersecting, planes of existence. In an ideal world, that was. The man scowled again, which inspired Szayel to smirk. This game was his. There was no possible way he could lose.
"Like hell I'd want to be seen with a pansy like you either."
"A most original and clever comeback. Truly."
"Shut the fuck up." Szayel would be nothing but a smear on the floor if the man's glare had any power over the physical realm. "I got you by the balls and ya know it."
"I'm afraid I don't agree."
"Then why don't I just call the cops and let them sort this shit out." There it was again. Perhaps he wasn't as big of an idiot as he seemed. Szayel pursed his lips.
"You still haven't said what you want."
"Shit. Better question is what don't I want." The man fished around in his coat pocket and drew out a cigarette and lighter. He lit up and took a long drag.
"Do you mind?" Szayel waved his hand in front of his face to displace the sudden smell. His furniture would definitely need to be cleaned. It might have only been one cigarette, but the toxic effect was still present. The only thing stopping him from reaching across his glass topped coffee table and putting it out on the man's cheek was the fact that his laboratory had an independent ventilation system. He could deal with damage to his apartment, but that? Would be an unforgivable offense.
"A million dollars," he said, puffing away without comment on or acknowledgement of Szayel's discomfort. "Should be chump change for a rich bitch like you."
"How original." It was a relief to find this man had motivation beyond his inane musings on memory, and something so simple, too.
"So whaddaya say?" He tilted his head back and exhaled a stream of smoke directly up and into the air vent. Szayel ran a hand through his hair-he would need to shower soon to rid himself of the horrible scent-and attempted to distract himself from this. While it was true his pockets were deep, this would still be a significant financial drain. In addition, there was no guarantee that the man wouldn't come back for more later. He seemed the type to do so.
It was an altogether good thing that Szayel had no intention of letting him live.
"First, tell me how exactly you came by all this." Szayel skirted the edge of his guilt, not admitting a thing, but still managing to ask about it.
"I told ya. I got my ways. Now, do we have a deal?" Definitely more intelligent than he seemed. Szayel would not make the mistake of underestimating him. Appearances were deceiving, as well he knew.
"How do I know you won't simply come back for more once you've squandered it?" The man grinned, showcasing those abnormal teeth once again.
"Afraid you're just going to have to trust me. It's a bitch, ain't it?" Szayel frowned. Trust was a word that seldom found its way into his vocabulary. It was certainly not associated with stalkers and blackmailers.
"If that is how it is..." Szayel sighed, feigning resigned acceptance. In reality, he was calculating the distance between them and his odds of success if he were to attempt anything. He was fast and strong, but then the other man looked to be too. Szayel could not definitively say he would win, and this was what halted the action before it even commenced. He would find another way.
"Glad ya understand." The man was leering again. "I'll be back tomorrow. Make it cash and we're green." He stood and, after a last drag on his cigarette, had the audacity to drop it on the white carpet and then grind it in with his heel. Szayel rose with him, and followed him as he made his way to the front door.
"Be seein' ya," he said, once he had made his way into the hall.
"The pleasure is all yours, I'm certain." The man chuckled, low and dark. Szayel slammed the door behind him. His hands curled into fists. Truly unbelievable, to think he had been bested by that. He didn't even know his name. This was all a bad joke, but tomorrow was a new day, and he would be prepared-not with money as the man expected. Oh, no. Szayel had no intention of giving into his demands. Instead, he would turn the tables on him.
Szayel headed for his bedroom with a smile on his face.
.
Notes: This was my NaNo for 2010. Although I didn't win, I still got a sizeable amount written. Unfortunately, it's still ongoing so I haven't been back to really edit it yet. That will come in time. I want to finish it first. What does that mean? Good things for updates! Which is unusual for me…
Anyway, this is a rather ambitious plotline that I came up with in October, and I want to extend my thanks to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6 for it. To Emochromatic because I was greatly inspired to write my own multi-chaptered Nnoitra/Szayel Aporro fic after reading 'Fuchsia Phoenix' and 'Mariposa' (both are excellent stories which you should read if you have not already). To Sakurazukamori6 for her unflagging support and betaing.
As for the story itself, I'll just say that there is a reason for everything. As for the similarities and dissimilarities, they are deliberate. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!