House Warming (Eleanor)

Mother, she’s arrived. The compiler said, speaking to Chandre as Eleanor made her arrival at the Luvre. Quickly, Chandre hurried to the far side of the cathedral, where the large glass tubes stopped at the foot of a very wide, ornate stair of only a few steps that led to where the altar would have been. In its place was a sort of sitting room, red velvet chaise, and wing back chairs set around a small glass coffee table reminiscent of the home Chandre had first welcomed Eleanor into. Tea and pastries were set there, made from the ‘hollow fruit’ Chandre picked for her daily sustenance instead of going through the labourious task of hunting. She stood by the little table and gave herself a quick look over. She wore a powder blue evening gown that was low cut in the back and darkened as it got closer to the floor. A thin scarf of shear material rested over her shoulders and arms, the edges lit with small safire flames that licked at her otherwise white pale skin. Satisfied she didn’t look as nervous and unkempt as she felt, she ordered the Spatial Cracker to open the door for her guest. She could hear the loud crack of space being rent apart just outside the hall, the large double doors opening in concert with Eleanor’s arrival as the servitor followed her through.

Welcome mon ami, I hope you found the place alright. Chandre said as the arrancar made her way into the hall, her foot falls reverberating through the vaulted room. The silver cloak clad arrancar seemed to be taking in the decor with a look of wonder on her face, a sentiment confirmed when she spoke. If Chandre could blush, she would have, but the porcelain face mask did not allow for such contrivances. I am quite glad you approve, the design in here was un travail d'amour. She said, looking around the room herself for a moment, fondly remembering the hours she had poured over the nuances and details inherent in the wooden beams alone. She was also, truly, tickled to hear such a lovely compliment about her work. She did receive them so very rarely it seemed; actual appreciation for her creative eye was a very rich currency in her world.

I recently created it, we are in a dimension between worlds between worlds again, the only way in or out is with the use of the portal you just stepped through. A wonderfully secure place to call home, where I can work and live in peace. It is of nearly infinite size, and with the device at it’s heart under my direct command, it is of nearly infinite shape and purpose as well. She said, waving a hand to dismiss the scene of Caesar’s death, which seemed to fall from the ceiling in a cascade of colourful glitter that fell to the floor in a soft rain, evaporating without a trace upon contact. In its place, seemingly just under the previous painting, were alchemical symbology and iconography, whirring and moving smoothly in circles of ruby light. Chandre knew her friend seemed to have an eye for this predecessor of modern science, and while Chandre hoped to stay faithful to the formulae of the practice, she knew her guest would be leagues ahead in knowledge of the subject. Still, this is… banal… facile, wood and paint put to good use, but unapologetically skin deep. I have asked you here to enjoy something I would like to truly call art. Chandre said, her arms making sweeping gestures as she spoke, quite enjoying the showmanship.

Now, the Compiler is currently gift wrapping your commission and should be done shortly. If you don’t mind however, I would appreciate if you indulge me with being my guest a while. I do rarely have people over as you may well understand, and being hostess to such a lovely and powerful guest such as yourself is rarer still. If you would like, we could sit a while and chat, or perhaps you would enjoy a tour of my cathedral? I have many curiosities that may catch your attention. Chandre said, excitement leaking into her voice though she did her best to remain composed.

Chandre was happy to hear that Eleanor was amiable towards the idea of staying a spell, she hadn’t been too worried of course, the quite English arrancar seemed to enjoy the Cathedral so far, and most certainly had well refined manners. There was always the outside chance that Eleanor had some sort of time sensitive work to return to, such was the case with minds such as there’s where in the space between works seemed more drudgery than break of any kind. While Chandre didn’t know Eleanor terribly well, what little she did understand of the woman seemed to indicate a sturdy work ethic and a sharp mind that would brook no stagnation. Chandre herself generally had two or three projects on the go just to ensure that she was never caught without something to do. Idle hands were the devil's playground, so they say.

It would be a distinct pleasure to show you every facet of my home and works. What is the purpose of art if not to be viewed, hmm? The distinct tone of cheer and enjoyment clear in her tone as she daintily hopped down the stairs to meet up with Eleanor amongst the large glass tubes that dotted the floor. Well, this is the foyer of course; I come in this way, kick the mud off my shoes and drop my keys etc. I mostly use it as a storage room as you can see, a place to drop off works that need time to stew, or that I’m waiting for some inspiration on. She motioned off to one of the glass tubes, the golden filigree winding up the sides still let large clear spaces to view the insides where the translucent, luminescent turquoise fluid held its subject suspended. The particular tube she had indicated seemed to have a revolver without a barrel floating in it, the silver engraved handle attached to a four chambered cylinder that seemed to have four different coloured eyes nestled inside, each one blinking to its own rhythm. That one, for instance, is to be an offensive option for me. I’m most certainly a lover, not a fighter, but every now and again I have to punch above my weight class. The device acts as a rietsu channel, converting my energies into a variety of effects. At the moment, the more… destructive of the options has proven difficult to contain. Every barrel I’ve tried to affix to it has melted, cracked or burst into flame upon testing. It would seem quite difficult to find a rietsu conductive material that is durable enough to withstand a concentrated energy field plowing through it. I’m sure something will come to me though. She said with a sigh, though quickly turned on her heel to head back up to the altar and motioned for Eleanor to follow.

Now, the Compiler is in my lab, which is at the deepest part of the Cathedral. We’ll pass by the Bifurcated Dimensional Schism on our way there, which is the actual physical means by which I manipulate this space. We have to pass through the kitchen as well, but first we have to go through my mechanical room. It’s where my water heater, junction box and other such things are, I’m quite proud of it. She said as she walked past the little sitting room area and delicately seating herself at a large pipe organ. The polished white keys glittered, but seemed to have a texture not unlike teeth, and instead of varying length of straight pipes climbing the wall, the brass pipes grew organically, crawling over each other and split randomly like vines. The sound that rung out was just as haunting as one might expect however as Chandre danced her petite fingers along the teeth of her organ, the melody bouncing from the rafters and filling the hall. The concert was short lived, the echoing sounds persisting almost… too long to be natural after Chandre stood from the instrument. When the last note truly died off, large stained glass mural near the centre of the back wall opened and a stairwell of what appeared to be crystal descend from the opening doorway. I don’t actually have to do that to get the stairs to come down of course. She said as the first step of the glass stairs touched ground just in front of the pipe organ. I can just ask the Compiler to let the stairs down, but this way, c’est plus amusant. She began to walk up the stair, flashes of light casting odd shadows at the threshold, the crack of lightning sounding with an oddly high, tinging pitch.

Chandre walked briskly over the threshold and onto a gangway of obsidian glass, bolts of electricity dancing just under her feet where she stepped, crackling from her foot falls before scattering off, up the ornate, curved rails of the gangway and down the hall. The hall was circular and the gangway ran down the full length, connected only at either end. The walls were perfectly clear, and just beyond them seemed to be an ocean of water. The far walls of what could only be described as a monumental fish bowl could only be seen because of the light of tubes filled with the same luminescent turquoise liquid that filled the tanks in the front hall. There were twenty of such tubes flying down the full length of the hall, and while the ones that were close were the same width of the tanks they had just left, the farthest ones looked no thicker than a straw.

The walkway is a part of my electrical system, it draws power from the reishi in this world and converts it to electricity to power my more mundane services and equipment I borrow from the human realm. I love how it lights up where I walk, it can’t pull enough reishi from me to do any harm, but just enough to sting a lower level hollow or shinigami. She said, dancing forward with a twirl, the ground beneath her crackling and lighting as she went. The tank around us is my ‘water heater’ though I use it mostly as a heat sink. Those down there are filters, they distill the water when I need it sterile for my work. She said, pointing out into the tank as a large whale like thing passed by one of the tubes. It also serves as a wonderful swimming pool if I ever want to get my flippers wet. She said, most commonly enjoying a swim in an aquatic form of some kind, fins, flippers, tentacles etc. It was a wonderful experience not really having to worry about gravity all the time, and being in a shape meant for water was much more freeing than the horrendously inefficient humanoid body that worked much better when on land. Most people don’t really consider their mechanical room to be a hotspot for a tour, but I wanted everything in my home to be beautiful. She said, reaching out and touching the hallway wall, it quivered at her touch showing it to be a clear membrane of some kind, ripples from the disturbance echoing along the walkway. She hoped Eleanor appreciated the sentiment, it was one thing to have function, but without a form you could just… enjoy, really, what was the point?

The description of the strange golden material that Eleanor had produced seemed nearly ideal for the application Chandre had bemoaned. If it was as sturdy as the lady arrancar had claimed, perhaps she could be persuaded to give it a ‘shot’ in her simulator. Still, Chandre had to admit it was odd using an inanimate material for her works. Unlike most craftsmen who tended towards using non-living materials, Chandre used almost exclusively living materials in her projects. Everything she made breathed, grew, ate, even most had a rudimentary brain of some kind to check and balance the biological works. Even the ‘revolver’ that she was making was alive, the silvery material a hard and sturdy flesh that sweated a polished lacquer which gave it the metallic sheen. It was also non-stick and smudge resistant which made cleaning it a breeze, a trait Chandre had learned was very important to her. She considered life to be the ultimate expression of artistic fervour, changing, purposeful, organically beautiful, and while guided by either her own hand or the more natural ‘strong survive’ mechanism that the wild applied, she could often be surprised by the end result. A metal, by contrast, had to be moved with full purpose, completely designed and moved to the end result in a planned and completely deliberate manner. That had advantages of course, one could plan the end result very precisely, make the exact key for the slot they need in a sense; it just lacked the wonder that Chandre felt made art… shine.

Hmmmm, how very generous an offer mon ami, it would be simply rude of me to decline such a gesture. She said, pushing her concerns of working with something so inherently unchangeable to the back of her mind. There may be merits to working outside of her comfort zone, and perhaps she could find something new, an art she had previously ignored nestled in the gleaming golden plate. It was clearly something that Eleanor herself had put quite a bit of stock in, had passion for, something that very easily resonated with Chandre. It would be more than insulting to refuse such a rarified gift simply on the basis of discomfort among the inanimate. But yes, I believe it would be best to wait until after the tour, I do tend to get sidetracked easily by new inspirations and I wish you to have my full attention while a guest in my home. Chandre said as they walked along the corridor, lightning cracking beneath their footfalls as the mammoth water filters swam lazily around them.

Chandre was pleased that Eleanor could appreciate the work she had put into making her home something to behold even in its ‘mundane’ utilities. At the end of the corridor was a… strange stained glass door, it was the size of a fairly standard door, a touch wider and taller, but nothing as grandiose as the massive double doors of the front entrance. What made it odd was that the approaching visages of Chandre and Eleanor could be clearly seen, mosaicked in the door, the coloured glass shifting to mirror what faced it. Chandre walked briskly over to the door, grasping the brass and oak handle and opened it in time to usher Eleanor through.

Please, enter my pantry, it isn’t quite as striking as the rest of my home, but I must say it’s comfortable. She said as she waited for Eleanor to step in. The door let out into what seemed like Heuco Mundo, an endless white sand desert that stretched out in all directions, an empty night sky save the lazily hanging moon. The door they had stepped through seemed to hang in midair, the lightning lit obsidian catwalk a strange path into nothingness. While I have to admit I didn’t spend much time in the conventional home of our species, I do find it strangely relaxing to be under its perpetual moonlight. She said, feeling the shifting sands beneath her feet, a form just as mercurial as herself. This is all an optical illusion however, the room ends at the door, and is only roughly twenty meters in any direction. The compiler adjusts the scenery based on where your eyes are with respect to your position to give the illusion of perspective. It has a harder time keeping everything cohesive when there is more than one set of eyes looking around, so try not to mind any distortions on the far walls. She explained, remembering how she had to order the compiler to ignore her servitors and Vetruvian Homme creations the first time she had tried to calibrate the rooms’ perspective. The ‘pantry’ is just over there. Her arm swinging out to point towards the centre of the room where a strange tree seemed to be growing. The tree seemed to be made from petrified hollows, skull like masks frozen in cries and roars, arms, limbs and hole riddled chests twisted and contorted into the trunk. The limbs reached high into the air, a little less than twenty meters, and from the branches grew no leaves, just strange purple fruits about the size of a fist, a shadowy skull like pattern faintly visible on the vibrant flesh. There were only eight fruit on the tree at the moment, and one of her Vetruvian Homme’s was climbing about in the limbs, carefully measuring the fruit with a caliper. The monkey-like creature delicately removed a fruit and carried it down the tree, hurrying off to the side and placing it among five other fruits in a basket.

I created this tree to provide me with sustenance, instead of actually going out and collecting souls the old fashioned way. This siphons energy from the Heuco Mundo sands and produces these fruit, each one roughly the same spiritual density of a low level menos grande. She said, walking over to the simple slate stone table with the basket of fruit on it. I’m still only an Adjuchas, so maintaining a daily diet is important, but it was a very annoying distraction from my work. I have to refill the room with fresh sand every week or so, but it only takes a few minutes and is a less cumbersome process than hunting prey. You are, of course, welcome to try one. I find them sweet and rich, none of that irony taste you get with eating hollows or mortal souls. Chandre said, making room for Eleanor to sample a fruit should she desire. Chandre understood if the arrancar refused, trust was hard won among her species; the possibility that this was out and out poison was distinct. The prospect of debilitating a powerful arrancar for consumption may have been too tempting for others in her position. Chandre of course had no such desires however, she valued a friendship more than a quicker route to her evolution, which she was sure would take place in its own due course.

I am curious Eleanor, from what I know of you; the value of your work is grand, how did you deal with such nuisances when you were in my position? Chandre asked, wishing to know more about her guest. Thus far she had been the more talkative of the two (which happened a lot in her conversations) and wanted Eleanor to feel more like this was a friendly chat, not a guided tour. She also did want to know if Eleanor had other methods of dealing with her issues while a lowly Adjuchas such as herself, Chandre was always open to new ideas.

Ahh, so the consumption of spirits lent itself well to your work in the first place. Chandre pondered aloud, a gross oversimplification of what she had just heard from the lady arrancar. It was very convenient for Eleanor that her work have her own continued evolution at its crux, it had the simple elegance of managing to turn your hobby into your livelihood. While not particularly useful to Chandre, it was nice to learn something about her guest. I myself haven’t spent much time working on such esoteric things. I find beauty in the ‘physical’ such as it is, the living, the changing. The ‘why’ of many things have not piqued my interests unless they must be unravelled in the pursuits of my works. She said, herself not being much of a philosopher by any description. Why human souls became hollows was a mystery to her, why they were driven to such unending and limitless hunger equally so. What Eleanor said on hunger struck her though, it was true that ‘hunger’ was nothing so much as your instincts telling you to pursue something in a physical, tangible manner. It was written deeply into the core of every hollow, go forth, eat, become stronger, eat more. In her mind it was something of an annoyance, simplistic, baser, distracting from her desires, her other ‘hungers’ that pushed her to pursue her work. Eleanor had managed to find purpose in that hunger though, give it a reason beyond the slovenly pursuit of simple ‘power’ for powers sake.

So, in a sense, you want to subsume everything into a singular ‘perfect’ being? She asked, again, a simplification, but she wanted to have a clear idea of what Eleanor was after. In all honesty it was a very interesting idea and a noble goal. Raising the huddled, writhing masses from their bed of squalor and dissonance into something unified, focused and pure. It was at this point that Eleanor pushed a thought into Chandre’s head, something the lady hollow was a little jarred by. She could do similarly using her Vocal Agitation Amplifier, but that was largely limited to vocal communication. The vivid imagry though, as if she had been standing there, like it was a well-remembered event she had summoned. She had to admit it was a very interesting ability. The image itself was also very curious, an ‘inner world’ not unlike the shinigami, populated by souls of every shape and type. Chandre herself had only recently become familiar with the concept of the shinigami ‘inner world’ in the pursuit of another project of hers. She didn’t know if she herself could fashion an inner world of her own, Eleanor had mentioned her own ‘inner world’ had only come into being since becoming an arrancar. I am curious, while the increase in power is evident, the image you just showed me seems to indicate something. In eating another spirit, we do not absorb them entirely, we basically tap into them as a sort of battery to increase our own power. These spirits become calories for us to burn. However, the personalities, knowledge, the things that make individuals different, they seem to defy absorption. You showed me distinct spirits roaming your mind; the ‘many’ you have collected, but they are not truly one being. She said, still hearing the echoes of her own subsumed spirits, the wales and shouts of the tumultuous sea of her many decades of ‘victims’ just as the edge of her senses. Eleanor had managed to sort them, untangle them from the writhing mass that Chandre currently had buried in her soul, but they still remained… unattached to her. Wouldn’t it be a truer sense of amalgamation to absorb these other things as well? In a sense, becoming a new person every time you absorb a soul. Drawing in each personality to add to your own, every skill, the knowledge of thousands of years of souls. It is an enticing prospect… and terrifying. Chandre said, her tone subdued as she pondered the ramifications of such a thing. All of the knowledge and wisdom of everyone she had ever absorbed, but she would effectively stop being herself, she would just be one of the many, part of a strange singular democracy, her personality colouring, even if only partially, the actions of the whole. Could she make such a sacrifice? Was it truly a sacrifice at all if her desires were there with everyone elses? She didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she was in a hurry to find out. Perhaps such a mental fusing was a later stage of Eleanors’ plans, something to be done when a critical mass of sorts was achieved.

Now, the implication that Eleanor fully intended to eat Chandre wasn’t lost on the lady hollow, but if something of that nature was going to happen it wasn’t going to happen now by shear virtue of the fact that it hadn’t happened yet. Eleanor didn’t seem in a grand hurry to eat her, or she’d have done it when they first met over a year ago. As it stood, Chandre felt as certain that this meeting was going to end amicably for both parties, and if in a century or two Eleanor decided it was time to consume the wax-work hollow, Chandre would deal with it then. Whether that would be Chandre happily marching in Eleanors open maw, or fighting tooth and nail to cling to her hard won individuality would have to be seen.

Still, it is a noble endeavour to be certain, and I wish you all the best in its pursuits. Also, I never consider rambling to be rude, it’s a sign of passion, something sadly rare for our kind. She said as she moved toward the far end of the desert room. If you like, I can have a few of the fruits gift wrapped and included with your commission, the next room is, in an almost literal sense, the beating heart of my home. She said as she moved over to the wall, the image of an un-ending desert before her as she seemed to tap the air. The wall opened in what seemed like a physical mimicry of a garganta, the mouth like portal peeling wide to allow entrance. Chandre stepped into the thrumming nerve center of her home, and by comparison it was a very simplistic room in contrast to her grand hall and wide kitchen. The room was small, perhaps only five meters in diameter, the round room having a gentle curve to the walls that led up to a twelve foot domed ceiling. There was marble flooring similar to the front hall, though at the centre it seemed to pull up, as if growing into, or perhaps more accurately, from the structure at the centre of the room. There was a marble white statue of an eight foot tall man, arms splayed wide, strong but well-proportioned musculature painstakingly detailed. The serenely peaceful face lolled to one side, and the legs merged seamlessly with the marble plinth it seemed to have been carved from. The only splash of colour on the installation was a ruby red, brightly glowing heart that beat rhythmically, the stead ‘ba-dump’ echoing dully off the gently curing walls of the room. The heart was anatomically placed, the chest muscle and ribs seemed to be pulled off to the side and splayed open, as if tome strange skeletal hand gently holding the beating heart.

This is, in a sense, the hub of my home; from here I can go to any of my ancillary rooms or chambers. Things that need or make on a whim, such as my ‘firing range’ that I’ve been using to test that revolver form before, or my pen, where interesting critters are kept for future study. She said, motioning to a half dozen relatively simple doors set into the walls around the room, polished mahogany with comparatively basic carvings and designs etched into the ironwork. I keep this room simple, unassuming, it is the base upon which my home is built, and just as any painting is begun on a blank canvas, so too is my cathedral built on this. She said, walking over to the statue at the centre of the room. This is the Bifurcated Dimensional Schism. Through this devise I can summon rieshi into any form I wish and maintain it permanently. It only works in spiritual worlds, of course, and it was far too valuable to install in Hueco Mundo where random hollow attacks are… annoyingly random. She said with an air of past grievances and frustrations. There is an internalized device in the base called the spatial cracker, it’s the only way in or out of this dimension. I spent about a year in this in-between the in-between worlds testing just that. There is no way to open a garganta to or from here. The heart here, is the heart of a Quincy, I use it as a sort of transformer, or adapter. Where my will meets the raw energy pervasively abundant in this realm, and becomes thought solidified. As she spoke she grew, her body elongating so that she could be eye level with the statue, pointing out the heart as she detailed its purpose. It is, without question, the second most versatile creation I have ever made. She said as she came back down to normal standing height. She didn’t really intend to spend too much time here, it was a purposefully dull room, but dull none the less.