Walk through the Palace of Death [Theo, Inv]

"You're new."

The voice came from around the corner. Theocelese hadn't been seen yet, but he was never one to hide his presence. He never was, and in fact, would rather have someone know he's there. The days that Theocelese did his best to make himself one with the shadows, sure was a cold day in Hell. The new sensation also hidden in the adjoining hallway hadn't been keen on hiding its presence either. An orange glow lit up the dimly lit hallway, and following this, a cloud of blue-gray smoke could be seen rising up to the high ceiling. The silence led to a moment of a tension, but the voice was heard once again.

"I hope you're here just for a friendly stroll...or a cup of coffee." There was the implied threat of death. There always was with newcomers, even those that the Grecian loosely called 'kin'. Many of the loyalists had been slain, but pockets of their numbers existed. Maybe this one was one of them. Maybe it wasn't. The offer of coffee, just as the implication that the voice held no qualms about crushing the other Arrancar's skull, was just as sincere. Truthfully, the man was on his way downstairs to make a fresh pot and read the newspaper.


"Your name, friend?"

"Afraid Las Noches has seen better days. Not many hands to help aid in reconstruction and I've been occupied with my time to accomplish much." Finally, the hidden male voice which was the source of Barnaby's hair sticking up showed himself. He wasn't as tall as the clown, but he was short by no means. Broad shouldered, and behind the royal blue bronze-age tunic, the grooves of hard muscles and jagged edges of countless scars could be seen. Blades and burns were no acquaintance to this man, in fact, they were the best of friends. From the waist down, however, not much of the healthy, sun-kissed skin could be seen due to the clothing. On the man's right forearm, a stoic number eight stood out in a bold font, but beyond this, no other tattoos could be seen. Maybe there were others, but with flesh so marred and abused it was hard to tell. Around his neck he wore a sea-shell necklace, and his face, while bearing a few scars on it, was quite the noble thing. His mask started at the forehead, extending down over the man's nose and along both sides of his cheeks. It looked to be the visage of a helmet, further adding to the Arrancar's archaic look. His hair was the antithesis to his form--it looked utterly perfect. Long and lavish strands of dark brown hair, tied into a few braids and dreadlocks on either side of his face were adorned with trinkets and charms made of various metals and bone. The man before Barnaby only missed one thing from his appearance: A dais to be sitting upon. He looked the part of an arrogant warrior king.



One thing was for certain, and that was this man looked dangerous with the armaments on his person. On his left, a medium length sword which matched his attire all too well. On his back, two more items to spell destruction for others. The first looked to be a shield, held against his form by a leather strap held tight against his torso. The other, a savage looking axe nearly the man's own height. It did not bear a single, wedging blade, but instead, a single row of razor sharp teeth. An opponent would have found it difficult to decipher which was his Zanpakutou...but a clever mind would know better.



As soon as Theocelese saw the clown's actual height, his head craned back, cigarette still pressed between his lips...and of all the things he could say, he let out a simple: "Oh..." The clown was a lot taller than he'd been expecting. Behind the wonderment in the Grecian's golden eyes was a madness that burned dimly behind several reinforced cages. Only the gods knew what was going on in the man's eyes. Still, he approached the extremely tall Arrrancar--who reminded Theocelese of Nnoitra due to the sheer height, and held out a hand to shake in greeting. "Theocelese, Sir Barnaby. It warms the soul to know there is another who can appreciate a nice cup of coffee. I can make you American style, French pressed, Mediterranean...you desire it, I can make it. If you are hungry, I can make something for you to eat as well."

"Some parts have been spared from the past conflicts. Much hasn't." The returned shake was firm, but also not overpowering. The whole while, and until the clown stepped forward, eye contact was maintained and not lost. "There are none who sit upon Aizen's throne, nor will there ever. This place is no longer one that will require a king, or a queen, or any single, sole being of power." That statement was absolute. Even Tia Hallibel had made some comment in jest about her status in Las Noches, and all the former eighth-Espada did was smile and laugh. Could she contest him? Better yet, did she really care to? The amount of fire-power that walked the halls in that time was one dedicated to the elimination of such psycopaths. Still, Hallibel knew Theocelese called this place home, and she knew better than to make any proclamations about him bending the knee. That would have ended badly.



"Pleasure is mine, Barnaby." Theocelese began, turning to begin walking down the hall. "You're not wrong, some days I prefer just the regular cup. Other days its more cream than actual coffee, but there is only one way to drink it that will always be my favorite. Come, we can discuss this further downstairs." The 'hair on the chest' comment almost made Theocelese laugh, and it would have save for the grinding pain in his skull. It did earn a smile though.



The clown was led down the hall, about a hundred yards or so to a stairwell which granted one the ability to ascend or descend. From earlier words, obviously Theocelese would choose the latter, and did so. After several flights, another doorway, this one actually having a large red door that only need be pushed open. What Barnaby was brought to, was something the man may have seen before, depending on his age. Fluorescent lighting came from the ceiling tiles, bouncing off of pristine wax on a tiled floor. The place looked to be a diner, and by decoration alone, if the attire and weapons hadn't given it away, were Greek in theme. Marble pillars at each corner of the room, the ancient paintings and decor was nothing but caked in that country's mythology. Unlike a good portion of the fortress, the diner looked to be kept in phenomenal conditions. Even the most thorough of people couldn't find a ledge with dust. "Please have a seat." Theocelese gestured at the spinning stools in front of a long, L shaped counter. "Help yourself to any pastries you wish. A good friend of mine makes them fresh every day." The clear, glass case was impossible to miss, as were the delicious goods inside. There was nothing in there that didn't go well with a fresh mug of coffee, or couldn't be enjoyed on its own.



"I'll be out shortly. If you wish for something else at the moment, just the same, help yourself. I'm out of lemonade mix, though." Now he nodded to the soda dispenser, and then, disappeared behind another red, swinging door to presumable go to the kitchen.

Theocelese had been gone for no great length of time, as the water boiled quickly and all he needed to do was add the coffee grounds and sugar to it. Once the mixture was in two incredibly large mugs, he came out and set both in the middle of the counter. Barnaby could have his cup of regular bean juice, but he hadn't had a strong brew like what was placed down in front of him. The Arrancar pulled up a loose stool from nearby, so as to sit across from the clown. The earlier subjects brought up, would now be addressed. Or as soon as Greek got himself a strawberry danish. With his own fork, a section was cut off and enjoyed.



"You are right, Sir Jester. I am aware of this place's history, though my life as an Arrancar has spanned around ten or so years. When Aizen first used his trinket on me, it left me bereft of clothing, naturally, and with nothing but rags I strode around. The first room with clothing I happened to find...was Lord Barragan's. He was rather upset to find a...commoner, raiding his quarters." That memory caused the brown-haired man to chuckle a little bit. He was sure if their kind could die from aneurisms, Barragan came close on that day. It was also a curious thing the way he addressed the now-deceased Espada. Never had he given anyone that title when referring to them, but if the time came for Barnaby to understand the man sitting in front of him, the reasons would become clear. "I think had Aizen not enslaved our people, I would have been on the battlefield with Tia, Stark, and Barragan as well. The old man, I did not like him either, but I hated him less to the extent I tried to convince him to rebel against Aizen with me.



It didn't work...but he did not out me." He sipped at the earthly coloured cup, letting out a relaxed sigh as the comforting drink from home did wonders to soothe his aching soul. "But I do not recall Las Noches without leadership. I do not tote the suffix of King, Lord, or any synonym, but as one of two of the remaining Espada from Aizen's reign, I do assume responsibility and leadership. Our kind need such a thing, not to whip them into submission but to prove we are above being chaff for others. Such an ideal existed strongly here once, my friend. Not just Hollow and Arrancar once called this place home, but rogue Shinigami, Vizard, and even mortals.



We were all leaders in our own rights, and anyone who took up arms to defend Las Noches sat at our grand table. I suspect you would be familiar with the Knights of the Round? Similar concept. No one was the single head. All decisions were put to a vote. People I could otherwise remove from existence with but a mere thought held the same voting power I did, at least at the table." Theocelese shrugged, enjoying a bit more of the danish and another few sips from his coffee. For the time being, he was finished with the pastry. The pack of cigarettes were set out and openly, as was his lighter, an unspoken invitation to the other Arrancar that he could indulge in this vice if he so chose. Theocelese did, but when the stick was lit, he moved a bit away, as to not be rude with the smoke.



"With power comes responsibility. The responsibility to not abuse that power, and to use it for those who would benefit the most." He gestured now, to the room surrounding them, but it was far more than that. If that brain of the clown's wasn't as tiny as he believed, he'd know the man was speaking about not just Las Noches as a whole, but its inhabitants as well. "Others may not like it, and may refuse it, but it is my duty to keep them safe from harm. I have always been open to teach them, and many have taken to being my student to not consider themselves a burden in that regard. I can respect that. In any event there is conflict...such as the current situation we are in with the Quincy, this is the only time I will assert any authority and claim generalship. Being one of the strongest, I must be out in the field to lead. When no war is being waged, I openly welcome the challenge for someone to claim that title. If one cannot defeat me in an exhibition match, I would not have him or her responsible for the lives of others." All of this was laid out here in the open for Barnaby to take of it what he would, but what Theocelese was more interested in were the reactions to all that was said. He wanted to see if the other man would speak in turn, but more so, Theocelese wanted to know what would be said.

"And I bet you're quite handsome yourself, sans makeup." A compliment received, and now a compliment given. Though he wasn't fond of redheads personally, exceptions could be made. This, of all times, wasn't one of them. And with the future to look forward to, this little moment would only exist as one of those great "What-Ifs". Of course, this was playing at his archaic...tastes. Theocelese left this where it was, and moved onto the subject currently at hand. The Quincy. At the mere mention of what Barnaby saw, Theocelese seemed to grow a little more than agitated. The threat of violence became palpable, and it would have appeared that at any moment, the Greek Arrancar would have began breaking everything in sight. With murderous intent thick in his golden eyes, he simply stared at Barnaby.



"You are correct in your assessment of these creatures." Even the man's tone changed to something, or someone not yet seen before. Theocelese spoke with the voice of a man who, if asked was there ever a time he'd ever used unnecessary, deadly force, the response would be the simple reply of, 'I used everything I had'. "They have taken much from me, and a majority of the damage to my home is because of them. If you'd been here before their invasion, you may have liked it much better." The next drag from his cigarette was long and comptemplative, his eyes boring into Barnaby's entire entity. The billow of smoke expunged from both nostrils gave him a draconian appearance just then.



"I've already made my stand. When the time is right, the battle will be taken to them, wherever those filthy cockroaches dwell. I will murder them, and I will break their lines and their souls. This is no longer a matter of retaliation, but vengeance. It's all I can think of, skinning them alive and torturing them for erasing the souls of those I called brother and sister, son and daughter." He took another pull from the cigarette, allowing these new words to be taken as they would by the clown. For being so friendly and openly inviting Barnaby, the clown would realize there was a far darker side to the man than most ever were priveliged to see. Maybe the taller Arrancar resonated with him in a way that the Grecian did not know or understand, but what Theocelese knew to be for certain was that he would always be a monster. Caesar pointed this out once more, but he'd always known this truth. That savage other-half who only looked for the glory and splendor of warfare was behind every mental door and nipping at his heels after each step taken.



"I will accept your offer in this endeavor...but there are two things you must understand. If you cross me, or endanger the people here, I will shatter your being myself. I barely know you, and like many before you, trust and true respect must be earned...and you may begin that process by allowing me to be privvy to what you are capable of. With, and without your Zanpakutou..." There was a tense moment of silence that followed, but after a drink of coffee, he added: "...I'd also like to know what dark path you tread with glee." If it wasn't obvious already, warefare, combat, and the honorable takedowns in the battlefield were Theocelese's guilty pleasures. He hated them, but not much filled him with the thrill of anticipation other than knowing there was someone else on equal footing who could finally punch his ticket.

"I was speaking in jest, friend." Was all he would speak on the subject of makeup again. As Barnaby spoke further, Theocelese did like what he heard. He may have picked the words apart a bit too much, trying to find a deeper, more sinister meaning behind all that was said. Some implications were there, however, he would come back to that at a later date. The display in which the clown carried himself was, perhaps intentionally, amusing. As a man who appreciated a deck of cards himself, but couldn't win any money in a poker game to save his life, it only seemed to make sense. Barragan carried his kingly axe, Nnoitra had his polearm, Stark had Lillinette, and Theocelese, his shield. Whoever said the Arrancar's powers were sealed in a 'sword' had some extremely loose definitions of that word, but that was neither here nor there. The comment which carried with it the title he hated did earn Barnaby a slight scowl. "I am no one's king. How many times must I denounce that title?" Again, it was all he would remark on that.



"I am adept at close quarters, but I'm afraid my own codes and personal honours dictate ranged warfare not remain my primary area of expertise. Nor is acting in an undermining manner, not unless my opponent will only combat me in such a manner." Theocelese laid it out plain and openly, though a bit vague. With all the weapons, it'd be a no brainer that the former Espada liked his things that cut and maim. "Against these Quincy, however....they are beings without honor, and I would not be opposed to assassinations and other varied tactics." He finished the mug of coffee, then instantly refilled it. Just the same with his cigarette, the stick came down to the filter, was discarded in a nearby ashtray, then another one was lit.



He stared into Barnaby's eyes for some moments, debating on speaking the words that were flooded in his brain. Two subjects, which he mulled over, swirling the cup of coffee. A drag from his smoke was taken, and before the smoke could be released, another long drink from the hot liquid. The blended flavors went together so well. "There is a way to see our ranks bolstered, and there is another operation which will soon be underway, Barnaby." Theocelese said this, sitting up straight despite no back support being present on the stool. The shift in demeanor was more business appropriate, as if the Jester was in a job interview. His cigarette, already burnt half-way down, would come to rest in the ashtray.



"There is a place deep under Hueco Mundo. An underdark, if you will, told to me by a former subordinate who spent a great deal of time there. Four tribes, constantly at war with one another, and one being of immense strength which holds a tyrannical rule over them. I'm in need of a party to go and...liberate these forces." The use of the word subordinate seemed strained, almost forced. Perhaps the relationship with this unnamed being went further than that. His facial expressions would reinforce that assumption, but maybe the subject was just another thing he did not wish to broach. "Secondly...Tia Hallibel, has been caught by the Quincy. She was taken during their initial assault upon Las Noches. Her rescue is paramount and her presence a necessity if we are to see the future." The supposed king, by Barnaby's assertion, sat before him. Now he talked about rescuing the Queen. Both topics were mentioned to give the Jester a preview of what was to come, and what missions the man would seem to undertake personally, posse or none. He'd hoped Barnaby's response would be to join him in these endeavors. The man fancied himself a lone wolf, but even wolves needed their pack to survive.



"I must add that I....have personal business to attend to soon. I will be gone for a short period of time...Suffice it to say, you undoubtedly have troubling echoes from your past, as do I. The only difference between us in such regard is mine are beckoning to me."

The clown earned a long and silent glare from Theocelese. "There is no title to even retire, not of that standing. I could be called Commander and have no ill-will against it, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would not call me such a thing. It will not be through my strength alone we win this, but the power of us all." While the words were nice and sugar coated, the tone in which they were spoken were anything but pleasant. When the cigarette was once again pressed between his lips, he hadn't bothered to blow the smoke off to the side. The nerve had already been struck, it seemed, and now it was just a matter of how long the Grecian's patience would last. Clearing his throat before taking another puff and having himself another drink of coffee, he changed the subject. "These are both great endeavors, to be sure, but they are ones necessary for the continued prosperity of Las Noches." It was with this obvious statement that Theocelese reached into his pocket, taking out a wallet that would be better off just being replaced. The old, black leather was worn, and if one were to guess how long he'd have it, somewhere in the ballpark of two decades would be accurate.



"What do you fight for? What do you want out of this, hm? Is it...power? And do not go and tell me you are here to serve. A "lowly" jester you may claim be, but appearances are not all what they appear." A picture came from the plump wallet, one he slid half-way towards Barnaby. "That is who I fight for." The wallet-sized photograph was of a woman clad in a dark red dress, adorned with jewlery on her ears and neck. With platinum blond hair, crystal blue eyes and sporting a similar complexion to the man in ownership of said picture, there was no doubt for the reason why this woman was so cherished. "What I fight for is my family, to see it returned to me so that once this mess is finished, I may live a normal life again. I do not crave power, not that of the soul, nor any that of any political standpoint. I am just a soldier who wants to go home.



Again I ask...what are you motivations? You claim that you need a warrior's guidance, but to what end? Find any man or woman here to spar with you until you achieve the growth you desire, even more so, seek true combat with me to do just the same. A fight for your life where you stand victorious is the one in which you become most powerful from." Theocelese made it very clear he would not lift a finger to mold Barnaby into an effective killing machine until the questions were answered. His gut instinct would be the deciding factor, should he get the notion the Jester was lying to him in any capacity, then there was no more to speak of in this matter. He did play at the scenarios to come if they were to meet one another for training sessions. Already having been given the notion that Barnaby was not some defenseless kitten, it wouldn't take more than a few brutal scraps to see the lowly jester rise.