"Boy, I don't know what you have been doing with yourself, but after an entire year of practicing, your improvement is pathetically inadequate."
Szayel let his shoulders slump as he stared across the training grounds at his teacher, sweat making strands of his hair cling to his forehead and breath coming in shallow pants. The weapons instructor stared back at him, mouth curled in distaste. However, there wasn't the absolute disapproval he'd held a year ago in his eyes. As "pathetically inadequate" as his improvement had been, he had improved, and this time he hadn't been knocked unconscious to sprawl in the dirt.
"Your technique is good. Precise, even efficient when you begin. But your endurance is terrible and your physical strength next to nothing. You get tired quickly, and then you get sloppy, and then you become an easy kill. I cannot teach you the more advanced techniques until you are capable of keeping up with the simpler moves."
Szayel nodded, disappointment making him bitter. The kind of strength training his teacher demanded required him to devote a few hours every day to improve himself. But Szayel didn't have that time. Between his other lessons and his special evening sessions with his mother, he had no chance to incorporate yet another demand to his energy.
"I want you to build up your strength and endurance, is that clear? That's an order from your teacher."
An order. Szayel's lips quirked into a sardonic smile. What right had he to order him around? He drew himself up, giving him a disdainful look, but kept his tone fairly civil.
"Sir, if you want me to get stronger, then stop teaching me until I achieve that level of fitness. I'll use this time instead of learning the sword, since you say my technique is so excellent and you cannot teach me anything more until I improve."
The instructor became angry then, eyes narrowing dangerously as he sheathed his weapon and strode over to him.
"Respect my authority, brat! I am your teacher. While you are under my tutelage, you show me the proper esteem!"
Szayel did not back down. Did not flinch or lower his head as he might have in the past. He took a wider stance, standing tall as he stared up at the furious man who now stopped before him and challenged him with hard, amber eyes. His instructor seemed to falter a bit, taken aback by this unexpected display of defiance, and Szayel took the opportunity to speak.
"I am a scion of this house! I outrank you! And I will respect you when you respect me! I am not my brother. I am not Yylfordt. Do not compare us! If you cannot understand such a simple thing, then I will not remain as your student. Is that clear?"
The man looked him over, eyes still narrowed, but his mood seemed to have shifted. It seemed more calculating than angry, and when he spoke up again, his tone was tinged with amusement.
"So, you've finally learned to stand up for yourself. Ha! I have some hope for you yet. But do not think for a moment that I'll be so lenient with you the next time. If you want my respect, then you have to show me you're worth it. Until then, I'll treat you as I see fit. You are dismissed."
It was a hard call, whether to retreat with grace or shoot him an irritated look. This man was anything if frustrating, and even his faint approval was abrasive. Szayel finally managed a murmured assent, sheathing his sword and handing it to his instructor respectfully. Though he'd told him he would not acknowledge his authority until they stood on more equal footing, he wouldn't be immature about his displeasure. It was unseemly for a young noble to throw a temper tantrum over such a trivial matter. He bowed slightly in farewell, then turned on his heel to depart. Business called elsewhere.
His mother had requested his presence that morning, stating she had some news for him. Somewhat unusual, considering she could have waited until their evening lessons to tell him, and this made him hurry all the faster to his mother's private quarters. He found her kneeling in front of a table, writing as she typically did in her spare time. However, the content of her writing was much less typical. Leaning over her shoulder to look, he saw it was a list of names, both male and female. Lady Tsukiyo looked up at him, smiling, and slid the list over to him as he knelt beside her.
"Which names do you like Szayel?"
He glanced down at the list, then back over at his mother, confused.
"Why does it matter?"
She grinned, looking excited, and finally delivered the news she'd called him about.
"I'm going to have another baby."
The news hit him like a lead weight and Szayel felt his stomach bottom out. He heard himself unconsciously respond; his mind was drifting.
"What?"
"You're going to have another brother or sister."
Another sibling. Like Yylfordt, except younger. Younger. Someone he wouldn't have to live up to. But what if they turned out to be talented like his older brother? What if they too made him seem incompetent; that he was the only failure of his family? Or maybe they'd be female, and then it wouldn't matter. They wouldn't look at her and think that she needed to learn how to fight with a sword. But if it was a he… Szayel stared ahead woodenly. He didn't know how he felt about this. Because regardless of the gender, Tsukiyo would be spending a lot less time with him after the child was born. His mother caught his sudden shift in mood and frowned.
"I don't see what the problem is, Szayel. Why does this bother you?" she inquired of him, and he finally turned his head to meet her eyes.
"You won't spend time with me anymore if you have a baby," he replied a little sourly.
His mother paused as she took in this bit of information, taking a good minute to formulate a reply. When she answered, it was softly. Reassuringly.
"It's true I'll spend more time with the baby because unlike you, a baby is helpless. It can't do anything by itself, so it needs more of my attention. But that doesn't mean I won't stop spending time with you."
"You stopped spending time with Yylfordt."
Lady Tsukiyo sighed, looking a little saddened.
"He stopped spending time with me first. I suppose he felt he was too old to be seen with his mother and moved on to things generally considered more appropriate for his age. But if he were to visit me, I would not turn him away."
That made sense. Yylfordt was almost obsessed with being the perfect child, something Szayel didn't quite understand since everything seemed to come to him anyways. He spent a great deal of time working with his instructors and speaking to their father, who enjoyed his company unlike Szayel's. Yylfordt was someone he could be proud of, someone he could entrust their noble house to when he was too old to properly uphold it. Hanging around his mother? He didn't need that to mar his reputation. But what was Yylfordt's loss was his gain, until now.
"Szayel… I don't want you to resent this child. You were never close with your older brother; I want you to love this one. Be a mentor, a figure for them to look up to."
"Why would they want to look up to me when they've got a better role model?" he retorted, brows knitting together, and Lady Tsukiyo's patience faltered for a moment. She looked at him with something close to irritation, and Szayel immediately snapped out of his little pet to pay attention. It wasn't often she lost her patience with him.
"Your self esteem has grown, Szayel. You are more confident in yourself than you were a year ago. So how is it that suddenly all of that is gone in an instant? Don't be ridiculous. Yylfordt is not the perfect person you see him as. He has faults. We all do. The difference is how we deal with our shortcomings, and you are dealing with them appallingly right now. You are right. This Szayel would not be a good role model to look up to."
"Mama… I-"
"No. Just stop. I don't want to hear your excuses."
"But-"
"You're whining."
Szayel paused. He was whining. She was right. He was acting ridiculous. He didn't want to be that weak, pathetic child that clung to others and complained about his own misfortune. Hadn't he been working on that? On building up his self image? Hadn't he told his older brother he'd not only match him but surpass him on his own strengths?
Yes. His own strengths. He had them. Yylfordt was good at fighting. Yylfordt was charismatic. Yylfordt devoted himself to his studies of state, of how to rule a feudal manor with all its servants and retainers. But he had his failings as well. Yylfordt was poor with strategy outside of melee combat. Yylfordt was excellent with getting the people he worked with frequently to do as he wanted, but faltered in his diplomacy with visiting dignitaries. And Yylfordt had never been interested in learning for the sake of learning. He learned what he had to, committed that to heart… but anything outside his immediate field of expertise was disregarded. He would be a lord in the truest sense of the word; a ruler of men. What use had he for understanding the ways they worked?
These failings of Yylfordt… these were Szayel's strengths. He nodded.
"I was. My apologies, okaa-san."
Lady Tsukiyo smiled and kissed the top of his head.
"That's my butterfly. That's the Szayel I love to see. I know you're still upset that I won't be spending as much time with you after the baby arrives, but I also want you to know this; if I seem a little distant, its because I know you can do this on your own."
"Do what?" he asked, a little melancholy and a little confused.
"Learn on your own. Teach yourself. Grow stronger without my help. Because you will. You'll keep on growing stronger and a day will come when you'll metamorphose again, into something even more wonderful. And that, Szayel, is when you'll understand who you truly are."
She tapped him on the nose, still smiling, and Szayel felt rather silly. That there was a whole cosmological joke, a reason for her smile that he didn't understand outside of a mother's pride in her own son. But she didn't give him a chance to mull on this for long as she promptly continued.
"I'll be leaving the poison garden to you for awhile. I trust that you know how to treat the plants correctly and always stay respectful of them and the dangers they pose."
"The poison garden? To me?"
His mother laughed, picking up her list of names again.
"I'm going to get clumsy later, and I don't want any accidents happening. Especially not when harm to me will also cause harm to this child. You're the only one who can care for it properly in my absence. I wouldn't entrust it to anyone else. And then it will be several years after the child is born before I can really go back to it."
"I… thank you," he said, not quite sure what to say. It was a responsibility he hadn't counted on, and one that made his heart swell with pride.
"I know how you like it anyways," she said with a mild grimace, "You know, sometimes I wonder about you, my love. Despite your reservations, you seem to lean towards the darker aspects of medicine."
"But it's interesting, why people don't like to acknowledge them simply because they're a little more… unorthodox."
"Unorthodox indeed."
She smiled fondly at him again, reaching out to smooth a hand over his hair, which was a little wild from his training bout with his teacher.
"So help me pick out names already."
-.-.-.-.-.-
Umeko was in bed for two days. The official excuse she gave was of feeling very ill to her stomach, but it was well known what the real cause was. During this time, Szayel visited her in the evenings to assess her recovery and administer more of the salve, which he explained was not something she should apply herself. Though his blood was a good safety against accidental poisoning, he didn't want to leave anything open to risk. Umeko had looked surprised when he'd explained what was in the salve- excluding of course mention of his blood –and doubly so when he'd shown her the aconite flowers.
"They look so pretty though."
He'd nodded, agreeing. They were pretty. But they were dangerous.
Her recovery really was quite miraculous though. Two days for a beating like the one she'd taken? He'd spent two days abed recovering himself. Granted, his had been practically a full one and she still limped and was very tender, but the worst of it had passed and she was no longer bedridden. Her bruising had also receded somewhat, though not to the degree his would have. And Umeko herself seemed much happier. Kaito was incensed, she informed him, upon seeing the marks on her body and had demanded to know who was responsible. She proceeded to giggle over the sweetness of his concern and he only got snatches of what had happened after that, but managed to glean that Nnoitra had gone unnamed.
Szayel smiled at her good cheer, glad for her, but behind his mild expression he felt a little sick. It seemed that those two had a deeper relationship than he'd figured, a rarity, but reality nonetheless. If Umeko was hopelessly in love, it wasn't at least completely onesided. If that would last, he did not know, but for the moment she had someone to turn to after her nightmare was over.
He didn't have that luxury. And he still had to face his nightmare that evening, one he owed a debt to that Nnoitra intended on collecting. Szayel didn't know what to expect. He never knew what to expect when it came to his client whose moods were so capricious. Yet even though he was unpredictable, liable to explode in anger or violence at the slightest provocation, there was still the other side to that coin. The times he showed genuine interest in some aspect of his personality or skills; those moments when he was almost jarringly tender, when he felt most uncomfortable with the taller man; when they talked, even if they'd only really done so once… Szayel dreaded Nnoitra's visits, but also looked forward to them. Because in the whole of his current world, they were all he had to look forward to. The only change and constant in his life. If it was a game that Nnoitra had started, that he played, then he gradually found himself becoming a participant more and more willingly.
The rest of his day passed in a blur. Nothing seemed as real or distinct as what waited for him in a few hours. The nauseating knot of nerves in his stomach, the fluttering feeling of anticipation. Nnoitra probably wouldn't be in the mood to talk. He'd already hinted at what he wanted from him the next time they met. The kiss in the hallway was a vivid reminder. Szayel closed his eyes, remembering. Very vivid. When Nnoitra finally arrived, Szayel greeted him with relief. Regardless of his mood, the wait was always worse than the confrontation. Doubt was an emotion Szayel couldn't stand.
Nnoitra's mood he couldn't quite place tonight. All he could discern was that he wasn't in a bad mood. His characteristic grin was absent as he entered, though as he drew close his lips quirked upwards suggestively.
"Let me see."
His laid a hand on his stomach, and Szayel's eyes flickered down to it for a moment before he looked back up into Nnoitra's face. Brushing off the hand, he undid his obi and opened his kimono, letting it slide down to his waist. His skin was smooth, free of tenderness and even the faintest tracery of bruising. Nnoitra's lips twitched into a slight frown as he shook his head.
"So not even that lasted. I didn't expect it to, but it's different actually seeing for myself."
Szayel shrugged and began to pull his kimono back over his shoulders, but Nnoitra stopped him with a pointed look.
"I told you you owe me for last week and we still have to pay off tonight. Leave it off."
He nodded and with a smirk, Nnoitra leaned in for a kiss.
Szayel didn't know what he had been expecting. Nnoitra was as good with his mouth as always. That tongue of his always managed to steal his breath away in seconds, and as he settled himself on the bed and closed the distance between them, Szayel arched up into it, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders as Nnoitra pulled his body to him. No… he didn't know what he had been expecting from this man, but feeling something squirm between their chests certainly wasn't it. Szayel promptly pulled back, surprised, and Nnoitra finally grinned, reaching into his clothes. Out of them he pulled a rather bedraggled looking puppy.
"Almost forgot. I brought something unexpected with me today. I found it on the side of the road on my way over."
A puppy. Why had Nnoitra brought a puppy? Szayel gave him an odd look as he reached for it, taking the small bundle of fluff in his hands. It blinked at him with sleepy eyes, waving its curled tail faintly, and he smiled back at the creature tentatively. Settling it in his lap, he stroked it absentmindedly while he reached for Nnoitra's hand. Nnoitra didn't offer his up voluntarily, so he retreated after a moment. It seemed Nnoitra really didn't want to talk. He felt a twinge of disappointment.
"Do you like dogs, Shizuka?"
He nodded. He hadn't particularly cared about dogs as a child since he hadn't had much time for them and his mother for whatever reason felt uncomfortable around them so he'd rarely interacted with them. It was one of her peculiarities. However, he didn't dislike them as she did, and holding the puppy, he felt at ease. Even a little happy. It was so tiny and helpless, placing its trust through necessity to the two people who now hovered around it. It was at the mercy of strangers, a feeling he knew well. Something in him reached out to the dog in his lap.
"I figured you'd be a dog person."
Szayel glanced up at Nnoitra, questioning. Though the statement could have stood on its own, he seemed to have something else he hadn't yet commented on. At his searching look, Nnoitra continued.
"Do you smile at or around other clients that way?"
The question caught him off guard, and his eyes widened a fraction before he collected himself enough to shake his head hesitantly. Nnoitra grinned, triumphant.
"You smile for me. I think you don't realize you do it half the time, but you do. And I know you look forward to our visits. You like the attention. You like it when I talk to you. You resist when I try to force information out of you, but that's natural. You need someone to be there for you, something constant to open up. And even if you're cynical, you value loyalty and would do things for others for the relationship you have established, even if they are detrimental to yourself. You honor agreements; you have pride. And though you are loathe to admit this, you have a weakness for compassion. Perhaps because you are shown so little.
Dogs provide all that unconditionally. The sense of security, the loyalty and attention and love. Companionship. You are very much like a dog, Shizuka, and they are pack animals after all."
So that was it then. He'd picked the thing up as another tool to belittle him. To remind him of their differing social statuses. Comparing him to a dog. His hands shook as he continued to run his fingers through the puppy's fur, but he refrained from taking out his frustration on the animal.
"You're pissed at me now," he observed of Szayel's darkened expression, and the prostitute stared down at the bundle of fluff in his lap.
"There's that pride again. Must be hard, being someone once and now… no one. Nothing."
Nnoitra suddenly plucked up the puppy, and Szayel looked up, immediately alert for what he was up to. There was a point he was trying to make, and the sudden chill of foreboding down his spine warned him that it involved the dog and it wasn't going to be good. Nnoitra held it around the middle in one hand, his long fingers easily circling its belly. It whined at this uncomfortable position, moving its back legs uselessly. Its curled tail was tucked between them, slightly uncurled now in this defensive posture, and Szayel could see it was male.
"Like this dog. Abandoned on the side of the road. Gods know what happened to his mother; probably dead, since she never would have left him otherwise. And until I happened by and picked him up, he had no future. He was just waiting for death, too young to fend for himself."
Unbeknownst to the man who casually imagined the wretched life of the animal he held, his words struck a deeper chord in Szayel. Because the comparison was so apt, more apt than he could ever know. The imagined life settling over his shoulders heavily, making him hunch them miserably with the weight of a past he'd rather not recall. He closed his eyes, hands clenched together.
"It might as well die."
Szayel's eyes flew open, looking up into Nnoitra's face. Nnoitra looked away from him, at the animal he held with critical dispassion.
"It'll die in ten years or so anyways, assuming someone cares for it. You can't keep it here, and I'm not going to bother myself over playing with it and feeding it. So I might as well end its sorry life before it suffers more. Besides, its mine to do what I want with."
Szayel watched, shocked, as Nnoitra drew his washizaki, appearing to consider how best to kill the thing. At his scandalized look, his eyes swiveled over to Szayel and he grinned, setting the knife aside.
"No, you're right. That would make a mess. I'll just break its neck."
Nnoitra's fingers crept up to the puppy's throat teasingly, but Szayel no longer saw. His mind was lost on the last five words Nnoitra had spoken so nonchalantly, and when he snapped, he was a whirlwind of instinct. He launched himself at Nnoitra, one hand grabbing the washizaki, the other pushing him backwards off the bed. They landed in a heap on the floor, and Nnoitra grunted as his head cracked against the ground. His hold on the dog loosened, and the animal scampered away fearfully as he let go of it.
"Shit," Nnoitra muttered thickly, trying to throw off the wild man straddling his waist, but Szayel dug an elbow into his stomach, and the hands shoving at him weakened. Szayel twisted these cruelly over his head with one hand, pressing down at an awkward angle until he heard Nnoitra cry out and felt him arch in pain. He stopped just short of breaking them, taking satisfaction in the way he breathed raggedly and looked up at him fearfully when he levered the knife over his throat.
"Fuck!"
Szayel gazed down into his eyes, his own hard. Nnoitra would get what he deserved. He would finally get what he deserved. But as he watched Nnoitra's expression shift from fear to panic to rage to helplessness to desperation, denial… a spectrum of emotions, he hesitated. Nnoitra noticed, but proud individual that he was, he didn't seize it as an opportunity to beg. He challenged him, defiant.
"You can't kill me! You don't have the spine!"
Szayel's teeth curled back into a silent, feral snarl at this provocation, and he pressed the blade against his throat. It sliced into the flesh, drawing blood, and he watched it trickle down his throat, a vibrant red. Beautiful red. Such a beautiful color. His blood was red too, no different seeming from any other. Except it was. And it didn't matter how his blood healed him, didn't do him any good because Nnoitra knew about his blood and he knew to kill him other ways. And Nnoitra would kill him. He would kill him because Szayel had finally threatened. He'd made himself a threat, so Nnoitra had to die. He had to die for Szayel to continue living.
But what kind of life? His hands shook, the blade retreating slightly from its bloody post. In the aftermath of this, killing his client, people would come after him. He'd have to kill more people. Nnoitra had demanded to know once before why he didn't tell about his abuse; because it didn't matter. In the end it all didn't matter. He was that puppy. That poor, pathetic, wretched little puppy. No home to call his own, his family dead, his past buried and his future nonexistent. He was at the mercy of the House and his clients, who came and went like ships in the harbor, all except for Nnoitra. His only constant in this hell of a life, his only lifeline to reality. And it was a reality he'd rather forget, because it was too cruel to live.
"Drop the knife, Shizuka. We both know you aren't going to do it."
Szayel screamed then, a sound of unadulterated rage. All his frustration, all his resentment and anguish and bitterness and despair all built up into that sound, but it was only half a scream for his voice cut out as the pitch rose. But he kept on screaming as he forced the knife back against Nnoitra's neck, eyes closed and straining against the block that rendered him mute. Fighting, with all his energy, what he knew to be a useless battle. And if he'd looked down at that time, he might have seen Nnoitra's jaded look of scorn change to surprise at his intensity, as if he too could hear the sound in his mind. The momentary flash of worry that crossed his face. But he needn't have worried. It was his last resistance.
He stopped fighting what, as Nnoitra had pointed out, they both knew he wasn't going to do. Even pushed to the brink, even knowing he would probably die for his actions, even firmly believing Nnoitra deserved to die, he couldn't do it. There just wasn't any point anymore. He'd seen prostitutes kill themselves after the hope wore off, those of more fragile temperaments. This work killed. If not early on, then gradually. It devoured the spirit and the body followed later, rotting as well. Because how many more years could he take of this? Five? Ten? Fifteen? He'd stopped living a long time ago.
He was crying. Nnoitra always seemed to make him cry. He didn't cry any other time, not even when he was alone and memories overwhelmed him. He didn't cry in front of anyone else, not even when he was stricken with a sudden feeling of hopelessness. That this was all temporary, that this life was fleeting and tomorrow would be another day, but nothing would change. Not really. His mother would forgive him for breaking his promise. She'd forgive him for not being brave anymore, for wanting to finally rest… Szayel's hands shook. He loosened his grip on Nnoitra's wrists and moved the washizaki away from Nnoitra's neck, letting the tip droop against the floor, letting his shoulders and head slump forward, his tears continuing to fall all the while.
Then heat, circling his neck. Pressing. The washizaki dropped from his hands as he reached up, scrabbling at the fingers surrounding his throat. A breathless rattle escaped him as he tried to breathe, but Nnoitra was merciless. He thrashed at first, his body struggling to live in spite of his sudden nihilistic leanings. Instinct. But his struggling quickly diminished as his limbs grew leaden and he gasped like a dying fish, world spinning. Everything was spinning, a sickening kaleidoscope of images that didn't make sense. Blurred colors and shapes, transforming into figures that seemed familiar one moment but strange the next. His hands fell away from Nnoitra's as his body grew slack, vision finally giving way to darkness as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Nnoitra held on a few moments longer, watching the prostitute's lips take on a blue tinge before the significance of that color really registered with him. Then reluctantly, as if expecting Szayel to spring back to wakefulness and finish what he'd started, he released his throttling grip on his throat. Szayel collapsed against him, limp and out cold, but he was breathing again, the air rasping in and out of his slightly parted mouth. Nnoitra felt his chest rise and fall painfully against his and simply lay there, trying to absorb all that had just happened before he finally pulled himself upright. Szayel's deadweight still rested on him heavily, and he contemplated pushing him off, but the sight of the puppy still cowering across the room gave him pause. He stared at it silently for a minute, feeling its wide, brown eyes upon him, wary, and at last his face cracked into a bitter grin.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you know. I wasn't really going to kill you, just see what he would have done. But hell… how was I supposed to know he'd try to kill me for it? I just wanted him to beg."
The puppy was silent. He'd expected it to have been barking its head off by now, but it was silent. Like the man in his arms. Nnoitra shifted him so he could see his face. His lips were losing the blue tint, cheeks returning to a normal color, but he looked listless. Drawn and tired, and while he was still beautiful he seemed faded somehow. Aged. He couldn't have been older than him, yet he suddenly wondered how long he'd been here. He'd seen the despair in his face, right when he'd finally given up.
"You… I don't understand you. Why you'd give your life for a dog. For some mutt picked up off the street. Why when you're proud, you'd still value your own life so little. Huh? Makes no fucking sense."
Talking to an unconscious, mute whore. Of all the ways he could be spending his evening, this was what he'd chosen to do. He was the one who didn't make any sense. Nnoitra glanced back over at the dog, stretching a hand out to beckon it over.
"Come on then. Join the festivities."
The animal refused, and his bitter grin widened as a wry sort of amusement afflicted him.
"Smart dog. You know better than to come over here."
Nnoitra scooped one hand under his knees and supported his back with the other as he rose stiffly, walking over to the bed. His throat stung where the smaller man had cut him and the back of his head ached where it had hit the floor, but both were minor injuries. Szayel could have slit his throat or cracked his skull or broken his arms, but he'd done nothing, and why he hadn't, Nnoitra didn't really understand. His barbs had been a bluff; Szayel struck him as someone capable of killing if he truly desired to, yet he hadn't even maimed him.
With more consideration than he might have shown him while conscious, Nnoitra laid him out across the bed, letting his fingers linger over his bruising throat and soft, pink locks. Such a ridiculous color, yet it suited him. His hand brushed over his collar, down his pale, smooth chest, and he couldn't resist the urge to lean in and kiss that exposed skin. That body he'd pictured moving under him, hot and dirtied by his touch. Flushed and damp with perspiration, almost clinging to his skin as he arched into his thrusts. His, for an evening, those golden eyes half lidded and hazed with lust, that pink hair splayed out across the pillows as his mind was filled only with him. Soft, painted lips kissing his, and a devilish tongue dancing in his mouth, challenging his authority and skill.
He groaned against him, hands fisting, frustration washing over him as he forced himself to pull away and leave him lying.
"…Should break you…" he mumbled to the man he paid for, "I should fucking break you for what you almost did. The dog and you."
But he wouldn't, much as it appealed to him he wouldn't. He sighed.
"You still owe me. I can't collect on that debt if you're dead."
And then, there was one more thing… one other reason he was reluctant to voice. Even knowing there was no one to hear him. No one but one unconscious prostitute and a dumb animal. Nnoitra retrieved his washizaki, stowing it back in its sheath, and walked over to the dog. It bared its teeth at him as he crouched down a few feet away from it, and Nnoitra gave it a stern look as he proffered his hand.
"Act stupid and I will discipline you," he said, and the puppy bared its teeth and growled warningly but did not snap when he finally reached out to stroke its head. After a minute, it allowed him to pick it up again, calmer now but still more anxious than it had been at the start of the evening. Nnoitra continued to stroke it, relieving some of the tension that had built up in his body through the soothing, repetitive action, and looked over to Szayel again.
He could take him anyways. Wake him up and fuck him hard. But he'd been looking forward to a different sort of evening, and that had been ruined now.
"Crazy bitch," he muttered, shaking his head as he walked over to the door. He paused at the exit however, finally giving up the words he'd been reluctant to speak, and it was almost cathartic to hear them out loud.
"But things wouldn't be as interesting without you."
And then he was gone, closing the door behind him as he walked away from the room and its listless sleeper. There'd be another week, another day to continue his games. Shizuka was going nowhere; that was something he could count on.
A/N: Autoridad means authority. Another easy title to guess. And as I'm feeling unaccountably lazy today, I don't think I shall include a long author's note. Rejoice, I guess. Less spam at the end of this chapter.
Sorry for the late update. I lost my writing mojo and am now horrendously behind on Nanowrimo. Here's another 6k to add to my word count I guess. I need upwards of 20k to catch up. Lovely. But who knows, maybe I'll suddenly hit a manic spree and churn out 10k+ in a day. (Don't count on it. The end of my college quarter is coming up. x_x)
Just a few comments on the chapter itself; we're approaching the end of the first part of Mariposa. Little Szayel has just reached a peak in self confidence while our current Szayel has just reached an all-time low, but things aren't going to stay this way. This chapter marks a turning point, as major changes lie but a few chapters ahead, which I am excited for. We get a little Nnoitra POV meanwhile at the end of the chapter, introducing some alternate perspective. I might throw that in there again in the future at some point since I rather like doing his perspective.
… I feel I laid everything on too heavy in this chapter. T_T I don't particularly like my writing style with this one, and here I'd been looking forward to writing it. My attempt at stream of consciousness still needs work too. Ah well. Read and review if you liked I suppose, and I'll see you in the next update. This A/N still ended up long. v.v;;
