Laughter. In a celebration post-ceremonies, the Arcana were allowed to feast with their Talums , likewise bask in the afterglow of their earlier immersion, dining on ambrosia and other delicate dishes, washed down by the best wine and spirits brewed and fermented in the expansive cellars of the kingdom.
The Gods would always have disappeared, to where no one knew but guessed easily, and so do the playing Archivists who could not stand the light of the upper world, retreating by the rows into their underground cavern estates where they somehow felt safer.
Grimmjow was noticeably absent; according to his Talums, was hastily pulled aside and slammed against the nearest alcove or was that a wall? Perhaps to be pleasured brutally by his General's amazing mouth. No matter. The 'oohs' and 'ahhs' coming from that corner was a clear giveaway, and served to warn everyone that there be no intrusions; simply turn the other way or else...
Things continued in their normal progression, and it was to one of the many open courts that the banquet found itself held. Within the roofless circumference of the garden, artfully decorated with bare columns and columbines, the music flared, witty to near boorish conversations rose all about, and the food was served to an overflowing.
Everything was alive with the sound of merriment, even the tendrils of climbing roses, ivy and clematis scaling large arbors alongside their reflective pools beneath, rippled with this convivial late afternoon mood. Here, the Arcana all shared a toast to the Alpha, their God Spear's power, making itself known to them again. The euphoria of it really was worth being immortal gods of destruction.
"I can still hear the music," Starrk drummed his fingers on the table before swooping a goblet and emptying its contents in one deep heave, to the very last drop, a ready servant immediately coming forward to once more fill his cup.
The ladies were a little less drunk, however, immensely lightheaded as they lounged, almost lying down, on the scattered couches, lovely dresses in graceful disarray. Orihime had already found the strength of her husband's chest, her head laid against it from where they had both tumbled onto the large, embroidered cushions, loving the fact that even her usually imperturbable better half engaged in small heated debates after the ceremonies.
Ulquiorra was actually having a discussion with the viceroy of Palace defenses, Arcana Apat, Yammy Llargo, about a supposed invasion up north...a conversation the lovely Hime didn't pay much attention to, instead, shared a bit of chatter with Lady Nel seated just right next to them.
"Wonder when we'd get the next chance?" Lady Halibel fingered a grape that she did not eat, rather, blankly toyed with on the table top, rolling it across and letting it fall with a bounce on the floor..
"Maybe we...should ask Aizen-sama...to send us on more errands of destruction?" Starrk grinned, sleepiness evident but fierce with his suggestion. "There's always a Ceremony after we sever the Strings right?"
They all laughed. The Talums had began to make an aimless little circle now, kicking off their shoes and boots as they swirled blissfully to the tune of the many stringed instruments and flutes. Yet amidst the celebrations however, there were some exempted grudge brewing, a storm in the horizon of this happy world from a distance. This Arcana merely watched, his hood still up as he contemplated.
"Why are you here? Won't you be enjoying the festivities with our other brothers and sisters?" a voice spoke making him grimace.
He had not noticed his friend. In terms of stealth, higher single digits were always of a different league, which makes it no wonder the latter had completely crept up on him, even with a bottle of the best vintage and two gold-rimmed goblets clinking in his hand.
The Hooded One was silent for a second, but then retorted simply, "I've enjoyed it well enough during the Ceremonies…" He lied. "I'm still drunk from Gin-sama's Alpha."
His friend smiled, offering him a chalice anyway, gesturing towards the empty table behind them overlooking another garden. It was quieter by comparison to that which the others had occupied, and would not be a terrible place to discuss some matters that didn't need to be heard by ears.
"Maybe you can keep me company instead? It's not good to be by your lonesome when everyone else is celebrating."
Aizen-sama was a brutal taskmaster, but a genius no less when it came to running his kingdom-that much his army knew. He could sense which dimensions need to be trimmed or utterly destroyed, and when the latter was decided, he wasted no time to make it happen, sending his vanquishing cavalry to deal with the worlds in question, never mind if they left them in shambles or completely obliterated in the wake of their harrying.
But Aizen-sama was also a cruel trickster and fiend, a deity who relished playing with ironies, plucking something out of a dying world to seemingly make amends with the dimension, as if to shelter a hand-picked few from those realms could mask the fact that he had ordered to have them destroyed.
None could understand this better than them, two beings in the Citadel who bore the weight of being orphans from a destroyed world, both snatched from their homes to be schooled here, in this always alien realm that promised none more but a hidden heartache.
"It was more fun running around after Ichigo-chan, then trapping him and dragging him back," the hooded Arcana declared, draining his fifth goblet-full, already having done with seven bottles, all of which now littered the marble floor, more still coming.
His friend agreed, "It was always more exciting, but then things have changed now. His body's hotter though...and his eyes are still a damned tease."
They smiled knowingly at each other. Ichigo-sama was a fine example of the High God's cruelty, a human converted to a sex slave then a deity by force, his mental state forever affected by the harrowing tortures he's gone through in the hands of the two whose company he now craved.
No one could forget how his screams, in the past, echoed through the night. Lady Nel and Lady Orihime always fell to tears at the sounds of his pleading, at the sight of his pains; despite having had their fill of massacre, being its dead ringers or loving mistresses, they could still be so moved and affected by Ichigo's pillaged state.
"Damn gods," the Hooded One spoke, downing another cup. The music coming from beyond had already become a blur, indistinguishable. He could hear a guitar...or was that Ulquiorra's violin?
"You're being too curt. Why must you make things difficult? Are you still thinking of that?"
"Something needs to happen," the other said, mind tipsy, thoughts honest though disconnected because of the wine.
"They say you can't bite the hand that fed you. That would be idiotic. In the case of the gods, it's downright suicidal."
The Hooded Arcana dashed his goblet against the marble rail suddenly, a shower of a thousand sparkling pieces that got caught even in his lengthy tresses. It was an abrupt seething. A small outburst of long-held anger which was quickly subdued lest it drew attention. He reluctantly sat back down, rubbing his forehead as it seemed to have ached suddenly.
"Don't you miss it? Our home world?" he asked his friend, a deep disappointed sigh escaping his lips. A small cut on his face bled rubicund, but healed on its own just as fast. He hadn't even noticed it. "Don't you miss them?"
Who wouldn't miss family? Who wouldn't miss their friends? Even Gin-sama who'd been a usual presence in this world secretly longed for his old dimension, no matter how ruined it had turned out. It was always the same question. It was always the same paradox, really. The other Arcana however knew his answers, not needing to look really deep within.
"I honestly don't."
He looked up at him, surprised at the response, "You're not serious."
His friend merely drained his goblet, before adding, "I rather love it here...the Citadel...it's a home that our old world could never be."
So he was on his own? Everyone in the Arcana, Greater or Lesser, be they Talums or otherwise, had drained themselves like grapes in the wine press of the Citadel, seduced by its allure, its sheer power. Not him. He could see bones and suffering, the age-old war with death and degradation despite its marvelously painted and unchanging face. Then there's Aizen-sama...the being who trampled the worlds under his feet.
"You're blind," uttered the Hooded One finally, standing to leave. But his friend was prompt, stopping him halfway.
He spoke, "I really don't know what you're getting at, and I will turn a blind eye to it for the sake of our old ties...but let it not be said that when time comes that I have to chose, I will not choose the Citadel over you."
The other wrung his arm free from that clutching hand, "In the end, even brothers kill each other, is that it?" his rose-colored eyes finally lifted from the shadows of his garb. "You sound just like Aizen."
The Hooded One chose to walk off, ego defeated despite having the last word, the unnamed conviction stinging his heart only rendering his realities to pieces. Wanting revenge…Wanting to forget it but can't. He was trapped with his own monsters, the ghost of a past weighing heavy in his mind.
His friend could only watch, firm in his belief that no one should aim for an end such as this. The Hooded One's path was a perilous journey to take. It often ended terribly.
Why can't you just move on…my brother? he wish he could ask.
Yuri: Introducing my conflicts.