Old People Smell [Private/Yaksha]

"It's Lupus."

The hollow craned over a person's bed, peering down at them; his face was expressionless, though the mask he wore made that much easier. He had coiled over his own tail as he typically did, making the already weird appearance even weirder; all along the length of his tail, there were odd bulges, similar to eyeballs. Each one was about an inch across, and jet black; there was a sense that if one touched it, it would be as smooth as glass. His hands, all four of them, were folded over his chest, and his tone was shockingly gentle for such a terrifying beast. The doctor stood only a few feet away, speaking with great care.

"As I said already, until the tests get back we can't tell you anything-"

"He's bullshitting you. You have Lupus. Typical autoimmune disease. Your body is tearing itself apart, quite literally. It won't be fun, it will hurt quite a lot...but you can survive." He sighed, turning his body away; his entire body bunched together and he launched towards the nearest wall, barreling out the other end and slipping towards the next closest wall, and crawling up it towards the ceiling. In this room, a couple sat, both clenching their hands together. One of them wore the traditional hospital garb, but the other was dressed in an expensive suit. Yaksha peered at them both, letting the voices inside of him speak. He kept them throttled away tightly, hardly allowing more than a small inkling of their knowledge to leak forth.

"She's cheating on you. Get yourself tested as soon as possible."

It was at this point his tongue flickered out slowly, inhaling the rich, layered scents of this place without him even realizing it.  His mind filtered through so much of the noise, before he came to the simple conclusion.  Someone here was looking for something.  Something dangerous.  Doctors always lived their lives surrounded by death and danger, but this was...different.  It was the sense of someone geared for war.  Yaksha sighed ever so slightly, hopping out into the open air and allowing himself to scale the side of the building slowly.  Finally, he arrived.  Finally, he found his target.

He rose his hand in a slow, almost absurdly friendly wave, and then gestured.  After a second of thought, he even cupped his hands over his mouth.

"If we're going to fight, I don't suggest you let the patients see!  The psych ward's already packed enough here."

The hollow began to descend slowly, almost calmly.  There was an odd, almost graceful quality to his motions, his body undulating ever so slightly as he continued to lower himself, approaching Abel in silence for a few moments.  It almost could've been believed his previous line was a mere trick of the mind, with how taciturn he seemed right now.  But finally he touched down on the ground, inspecting Abel slowly, almost as if he were appraising the quincy.  A melee fighter, it seemed...which meant that he was an issue for Yaksha.  At least, if he could close the gap.  Yaksha Dokuja was notoriously good at not allowing himself to be forced into a fight on his enemy's terms, but even he realized it wouldn't do to fight like this.  He pointed up slowly, towards the sizable remnant of concrete shorn free from the building, and a few people staring that way.

"You know, this is why I hate people so much.  They tell me I'm not welcome, then call me arrogant when I try to carve out a niche for myself.  Who's the one that's caused more harm here?  The one who simply took it upon himself to absorb a little bit of human medical knowledge, or the one who decided to leave an entire hospital wing shut down out of some primal sense of xenophobia?"

His words flowed freely, but his motions were anything but free.  If the quincy followed the line of Yaksha's finger, he would've darted forward at a sizable pace, his jaws opening wide and his teeth quite prominently shown.  He didn't have very high hopes of actually getting a hit in, and if the quincy didn't fall for the bait he wouldn't even dream of falling into melee with a practiced swordsman.  But as is, he could certainly find it in himself to set the pace of their confrontation, and perhaps to keep dripping a bit of delightful venom along the way.  Perhaps none of it would infect him, but the fact was Yaksha wasn't one to give up just because the result wasn't certain.

Those who couldn't make their own future were suckers.

Yaksha Dokuja barreled forward at speeds that would've brought to mind killer cars and old, prehistoric flashes of the days when mankind hadn't yet tamed nature for their own purposes.  Like some dreadful fossil of a lost age, he charged straight for his opponent.  And as Abel rose his weapon, as he began to charge his attack, he would've noticed one of the most unsettling expressions in the world, something that may well have haunted him for a long time to come.  Yaksha Dokuja was smiling, and on the face of a snake this expression was something beyond unsettling.

He rose a clawed hand in an almost lazy gesture, his hand flickering upwards in a notion that almost seemed to make one think of a person flicking a light switch.  A simple, almost unconscious gesture...and one that forced his body to boil to life, his shadow roiling and writhing to life, expanding until it was nearly as tall as Abel itself.  It was a pale, two-dimensional thing, and yet in its surface one could see the impression of...faces.  Silent, patiently peering faces, simply waiting.  Abel's attack struck the shadow, and as soon as the reaitsu was close enough, the faces began to move themselves, crowding away from the point of impact.  His blow struck into Yaksha's shadow, a devastating amount of energy...gone in a heartbeat, so rapidly consumed by the greedy folds of Yaksha's shadow.  He reached a hand out, tearing away the thin filmy presence, much the same way one would brush aside a curtain to see beyond it.

"Only because you're so very insistent, child.  Consider your attack taken.  And any future ones, if you felt so inclined to make more.  Or...you never know?  Perhaps now would be a good time to consider a parlay.  I know I am."

"Boredom certainly plays a part.  When you're immortal, you find it hard to spend years just sitting off in the middle of nowhere, waiting for things to happen.  I took a long time to really hit the world, but I like to think I've hit the ground running.  These things happen quickly.  As for an explanation that would satisfy you?  How's this, little child...?  Spiritual awareness comes in all shapes and sizes, and the notion that not a single word I say gets through to them is a bit more ludicrous to me than that a few might.  If it's something as simple as telling a battered wife that no he's not sorry and yes he'll do it again, don't you think a man has an...obligation, to do these things?"  There it was.  The faintest pause, the smallest odd glimmer in his eye as he spoke the word.  Obligation.  Something about it seemed to resonate with him, leaving the hollow stuck in his mind for what may have been a minute, may have been a lifetime.  Time moved strangely in one's own mind, and especially in one's own world.  He could've had a million conversations before he came back to Abel.

Now his smile was almost winning, his voice something soft and lilting.  It seemed he'd found...something, for now.  Some odd little islet in the swirling maelstrom of his mind.  Something to keep his mind going, to give him purpose despite the aching, gnawing, mind-obliterating hunger.

"Yes, that's good.  Obligation.  That's what it is.  I'm an old old man, child.  And I know things that shouldn't go forgotten.  I walk through the human world, and I see so many of you shirking your duties.  Mortals working mundane jobs, and cutting the corners.  Flock mentality taking over, with humans gaping and gawking rather than thinking for themselves.  You turn yourselves into mere tools, day after day, and then you start complaining when hollows see you as food!  I will not be part of some system that says it's...okay to give up.  That refusing to try something because of how hard it is works.  I came here because I wanted to do more.  I'm tired of being...a ghost.  Mostly, I'm tired of not being welcome here, as you so eloquently put it.  I want nothing more than to be, once more.  To have a place.  And to do that, if I must buy my happy ending, one day at a time?  Well, I suppose that's a fair enough price.  And that means I have certain...obligations.  Which I will not shirk, simply because some little whelp decides to try and shove me off into a corner."

"...You don't know very much about hollows, now do you."

He paused for a second, staring at Abel for a split second before waving a hand through the air slowly, like one was trying to wave away a foul smell.  In this case, what he intended to brush off was the inevitable rebuttal, the attempt for the quincy to justify his beliefs and statements on some level.

"I don't mean to say you weren't -told- all sorts of nasty little things about our kind.  You've probably heard about us non-stop.  But how much of it wasn't quincy-approved, so to speak?  When's the last time you asked someone that wasn't pro-genocide what the genocide victims are like, little one?"  He paused once more, letting his mouth drop open into that familiar grin.  He circled the quincy, inhaled deeply and seemed to take on a certain sort of strange, almost patronly tone.  He sounded like a teacher, chiding a student that had been brought into remedial classes.

"Hollows feed.  And it is true they feed on souls.  But as any hollow...and most shinigami, in fact, will tell you.  Once a hollow becomes suitably old, suitably powerful, they feed exclusively on each other.  You're about as appetizing to me as a rat is to you.  Why should I stoop to eating some foul little inferior meal when my own kind is so...rich?  So incredibly layered with centuries of experience, with a perfect melange of souls already stewed in a lovely broth?"  His eyelids drooped ever so slightly, and for just a moment he was lost again, before he returned.  His voice nearly slurred now, and he reached a hand up, touching it against his own mask.

"Population control, is the name of the game.  You all talk about how you have to protect your kind, but all you'd need to keep yourselves safe is an...understanding.  The shinigami are few and far between, but us hollows are incredibly fruitful.  And we police our own, in a very real manner of speaking!  So you tell me, child...why should I hold back my...urges, when I have a perfectly good plethora of acceptable targets at my fingertips any time I like?"  He paused for a second, tilting his head forward.

"And more important, why my urges should have any influence on my ability to fulfill my duties to mankind as a whole."

"Blame?  For...allowing me to have a second chance?  To step outside of the rat race, and preserve some semblance of my dignity?  Why should anyone be blamed?"

Again, that queer glint to his eyes, again the odd sense of malicious glee, of absolute sadomasochistic enjoyment.  He ran a hand across his body, then pointed it at Abel, his finger almost...quivering.  As if he were some manifestation of righteous justice, not some horrendous being that made its living by slaughtering others.  He inhaled deeply, and almost spat.

"It'll happen to you too.  You'll die, and you'll lose every single thing that made you what you were.  None of your memories, not your name, not your legacy...you will be none of that.  And some essential spark of...of you-ness will be shoved into the body of a...of a serial killer!  Or a pederast!  Or worse yet, some wretched little youtube personality!  Don't you understand what that does, to a man?  Can't you see the injustice of it?  They want to strip away everything that made you great, and let you die with your mortal shell!  What moves on is not your soul, not even you!  It's some...cookie cutter projection, some series of checklists that they ran down to boil out every single instance of both nature and nurture that you have!  You are not your soul, any more than a chicken is a chicken dinner!"

He truly did seem to swell and expand with each word, being urged along by some inner spark, by some sort of neurosis.  It seemed very much like something had snapped inside of him, like something had finally broken loose and a dam of welled-up emotion was finally making its way free, following the path of least resistance, and loosening his tongue still further.

He lurched forward, fingers digging into the dirt, pulling up tiny gouges of dirt and topsoil, leaving the ground quite clearly deformed.

"I want no part of that world.  Not again.  Not ever again will I let myself be...boiled bland, and shoved into some new shell to have it happen all over again.  Blame is what one spreads when an unfortunate event happens.  I am not a monster.  I'm...I'm not a monster.  I'm not!  A monster.  I am free!  I am unfettered!  I have stepped out of a system that cares not the slightest about the subjects that are shoved into it, time and time again.  But I am not a monster."

"For fun?  No, dear boy.  I won't deny I enjoy it, on some level...being amongst mortals once more, being able to exert my influence and make them remember me.  It does make my heart flutter and my spirits soar.  What sort of man could truly be unhappy while he was part of such a sizable, notable pack?  I'm here, doing my part, showing myself to the world..."  He paused for a second, seeming almost to get lost in his own thoughts again, for a second.  He didn't know what he was thinking about anymore, what he was trying to say.  He only knew something about this quincy had sparked his mind once more, had left him wanting to justify himself.

But what was the point in justifying his existence to a being that was defined almost solely by its xenophobia?  What did he expect to change as a result of all this?

"When I was...when I was like you.  Things were very very different.  The world was so very...small.  And when the world is small, when you know only a handful of people, and everyone is expected to fend for themselves.  It's a very different life.  Oh certainly some people preferred metalworking over leatherworking, and some liked to build homes, but those were all...little things.  At the end of the day, it was all the same story, with different backdrops.  There wasn't any room to be...innovative.  Not truly.  You were a part of something because you were just like everyone else.  And if you tried to stand alone, then you were...crushed."

He leaned forward slowly, inhaling deeply and letting his eyes roll back ever so slightly.  He looked up at the sky, then at the hospital behind them.

"Look at that building.  Look at all the many diverse, interesting, amazing souls that are all cooped up in such a small place.  Such stories!  Such uniqueness!  It was unfathomable in my day!  Why would I want to go back to a place where the only way to find solidarity is to give up what makes you special?  Do you honestly think the shinigami have any interest in a...full and fair exchange of opinions?  That one or two individuals who stand out will actually be allowed to continue existing?  Of course not!  They're an -army- for fuck's sake!  You don't find much room for diversity in an army!  Everyone does their job, and it's the -same- job, with a fancy new name!  And the notion that someone like me...an outsider...could ever find his place in that world?  It's laughable."

Yaksha stared at Abel for a few long, silent seconds.  The quincy boy was...interesting, to be sure.  There was no doubt in his mind that the xenophobia was hardly -gone-, but sometimes all it took was one or two good examples.  He inhaled slowly, reaching out a hand towards the human.  He didn't honestly expect the boy to shake it, not with the...rather peculiar effect hollow reaitsu had on mortals, and on quincies even moreso.  Still, there were certain niceties to be observed, and Yaksha would be lying if he said that he didn't feel a certain sort of thrill in standing this close to death, in walking the tightrope between audacity and confidence.

"You're correct.  In the end, everyone gives in to their urges.  But you'd be quite disappointed if you assumed every hollow cared for the same thing.  To some of us, life is about far more than simply...eating enough to sustain one's existence.  That's little more than survival.  I'm not a monster, child!"  Yaksha paused for just a second, seeming quite aware of what he had just said, and the inherent absurdity of it.  His tongue flickered outwards, lolling ever so slightly as he seemed to drink in the quincy's reaction.  Finally, after a second or two, he withdrew his hand, sighing ever so slightly.

"...Yes, I suppose even that much is a lot to ask, for now.  I won't thank you for giving me my life, since it was never yours to take or give.  But all the same, thank you for your...consideration.  For your open-mindedness.  I know how much it must hurt...to go against everything you stand for like this.  But in time, you'll understand.  I'll make sure of it!"

He sounded oddly jaunty now, as he looked back towards the hospital, then down at Abel once more.  He seemed to be appraising the quincy, almost...staring at his every feature, trying to get a clearer sense of the man he was dealing with.  Finally, with the smallest, most imperceptible hint of a nod, he took a step backwards, and spread his arms wider.

"You may call me Yaksha Dokuja.  Should you ever find yourself in need of a...certain kind of villainry, you need only call.  I guarantee word will reach me, one way or another.  And I promise you that the price will never be more than you're willing to pay."

Finally, Abel seemed to be taking an interest in their conversation as something more than a simple attempt to hold off an opponent.  An actual question, rather than a combination of snide remarks and passive-aggressive attempts to drive him away!  How he ached to find moments like these, to coax out the inherent inquisitive spirit in those who thought they were beyond conversation.  He bowed gracefully, deeply, and let himself remain there for a second or two longer than necessary, then rose and tilted his head to the side, letting his tongue loll once more in an almost goofy expression.

"I am what is known amongst my kind as an adjuchas.  I am, more accurately, a collective of perhaps ten or twenty million hollows, all cramped together all nice and tight.  My power is...significant, but certainly not beyond the realms of logic just yet.  I'm actually a touch on the underdeveloped side, for one of my kind.  Us hollows have a widely disparate spread of power, and while I've never exactly been a combatant as such...I am still more than old enough and more than capable enough to hold my own.  As you've seen, as a matter of fact!  I'm not a Vasto Lorde, if that's your concern; not even close.  If I had been I wouldn't even have needed to block that silly little attack of yours."  He began to slouch forward once more, making it even harder to get a full view of his height, as he gnashed his teeth together forcefully.

God, how he loved to share information with others.  Such a free, such an enticing system!  So very very tempting, to swap and trade ignorances, to split knowledge as easily and freely as one would split a meal.  If there was nothing else in this world that could draw people together...then let a communal thirst to know more be sufficient to draw enemies together, to turn the impossible commonplace.  He nodded once more, and then whirled on the ball of his foot, seeming almost...excited now.

"Next question!"