Re: Slim Odds[Yaksha/Mirja]

Wed Aug 16, 2017 10:18 am

Yaksha, The Anthropophagus

Yaksha

"There are no free meals, Mirja. If I accept your assistance, then I am beholden. Any payment besides cold hard cash is just a lure, attached to a fishing wire. This isn't the first fast I've performed, and it won't be the last. If I let you simply cram food in my mouth for your own amusement, I'd hardly be Yaksha, now would I?"

He continued to examine her, watching her body language, her stance, her expressions, and drinking it all in. She was clearly getting agitated, and Yaksha could tell that she was on the verge of either pulling another of her disappearing act, leaving herself with the last word, or something spectacularly violent. And so he reached into a pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper, and beginning to write on it, before folding it and placing it in one fist.

"I very much doubt you know what a good fight is anymore, Mirja. You're long past the point of real conflict. You can slaughter who you like, take what you like, and I could probably count on one hand those who could do anything about it. So your lessons would fall somewhat flat, given the fact that it would probably start with something along the lines of showing off your incredible speed, and then demanding I keep up. On the other hand, I can see that you long ago passed the point where you could hope to learn anything about yourself from defeat. So take the time to learn about others."

He folded his hands in his lap, blinking with the hideous slowness that only a reptile could manage, and then clearing his throat.

"A bet. Will Mirja Eola shut me up with her fists, her feet, or her head? I know you're the violent sort, so there's no possible way you'd use your words. If I win, -then- I will accept a meal, from you. If I'm wrong, then I will admit defeat and go along with...whatever ridiculous thing passes for entertainment in the life of a god."

"But so help me god if you turn into a swan and seduce someone, I'm leaving."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]

Wed Aug 16, 2017 7:47 pm

Yaksha, The Anthropophagus

Yaksha

Yaksha stared at Mirja, silently, watching her entire display. There was a degree of incredulity there, as if he were staring at something in the throes of a fever dream. Or a bad drug trip. His face went through too many expressions to count, in a span of time that seemed both too slow, and too fast. His hands clenched, loosed, and then clenched again; already, the severely-burned one was beginning to regain its color, and luster. His face, on the other hand, still seemed punch drunk, as he watched Mirja turn into a swan. Throughout, one word swam through his head.

Friend. Mirja actually considered him a friend. That was supposed to comfort him on some level, wasn't it? That there existed someone out there who liked him the way he was? But there was a hidden barb in that statement, a hook that could catch him and bind him tight if he wasn't careful. It was a thought that could defang him in an instant if he let it. He could let her milk him of his venom, and leave him docile, drugged, to live a life of...whatever sought her fancy.

Or he could fight back. Mirja seemed so very certain he wouldn't dare, and it was clear she wouldn't leave. He inhaled, pushing his way back up the wall, facing her head-on. Those eyes were...unsettling, to say the least, but Yaksha had seen better and worse eyes. He saw them, in fact, every time he closed his eyes. Every time he tried to rest.

"I killed my last friend and ate him. Don't tell me you know what friendship is, Mirja. Allow me to run through the timeline for you. Feel free to tell me if I left something out. You meet me out of the blue, when I get dragged into the collateral damage of a fight between you and a crazed mortal. I volunteer my help, and you drag me further into it, going so far as to force me to go toe-to-toe with a monster to prove a point. Something about being unable to play evasive and defensive forever. Telling me I'll have to fight, one day. You offer to train me, and I turn you down, out of wounded pride, and a desperate desire to avoid going insane and losing out to my hunger in the throes of a fight."

"A few months pass, and moods cool. I call upon you, prepared to learn from you. To protect things I hold dear, and to be able to say I made a difference. You call me an idiot, insisting that you have no interest in helping me learn to fight for myself. A few more months pass, months during which I try my very damndest to stand on my own two feet and do something that matters. Jamaica. Djibouti. I risk my life and limb time and time again, burning up my already depleted reserves, and I achieve nothing. I pit my will against another, and I come out sorely wanting. And then, when I'm at my wit's end, when I'm trying my very best to focus on what's important, and find a way to live in this fucked-up world, who do I find again? But -you-! Insisting that you can't stand to watch me wither away, or die. You call that friendship!? Telling me I have to fight, but you won't give me the tools I need, and I don't have the option to roll over and die on my own terms? That's your friendship, is it Mirja? You want to tame me, to put a leash around me, so you can show me off to everyone else, and say 'look what neat tricks I taught him!'"

He stood straight now, and tall, eyes seeming to dilate and contract randomly, his hands still clenching, his teeth bared ever so slightly. There was something hideously organic moving, near the surface of his skin, giving the impression that muscle and nerve tissue was rewiring itself even as Mirja watched. His eyes were filled with a mad, eerie canniness, and there was a disdain there that hadn't existed even a moment earlier. A deep, scouring disdain.

"You won't let me talk my way through problems. You won't teach me how to fight. You won't let me roll over and die. Stop toying with me, Mirja. Stop acting like your 'friendship' gives you the right to dictate the terms of my life. If you supposedly care about me so much, then take some goddamn time to step off of your pedestal and look at me like I'm a person."

He paused, panting, his eyes swiveling in their sockets, looking at nothing at all that could be seen. He cocked his head to the side, listening to...something. Some conversation entirely in his head. All of the anger, all of the hatred, seemed to boil off of him almost immediately, and the insouciant, ever so faintly smug Yaksha was back again.

"Or, Mirja. You could help me with an experiment. I've been trying to swear off meat, in a manner of speaking. Every time I eat a hollow lately, I have to struggle to keep my head straight, and figure out what's me, and what's bleeding over from elsewhere. And an idea just came to me. Your Gikon might be exactly what I need, to settle my stomach without leaving me feeling ill afterwards. I'm certain you can requisition another one from the Gotei. So...be a pal, hmm? I think we both know that I don't have a single thing to offer you that you would accept, so let's just go ahead and make this a relationship of all-give and no take."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]

Wed Aug 16, 2017 8:59 pm

Yaksha, The Anthropophagus

Yaksha

"This isn't about how I -feel-, Mirja. This is about cold hard -facts-. You offer me only things I don't need. And all of your deals are off the table. Do you want to know, Mirja, why I hate you so much? Do you want to know my problem? Then fine. I will say it. I find your priorities noxious, your methods unpardonable, and your ends either too unfathomable to be worth working towards, or too selfish to take seriously. You're an evil, plain and simple. You write off yourself as a monster, and that makes it okay? You don't try to -change-. You don't want to -fix- anything."

Once more, he balled his fists, though this time he had wrapped it around her pill, and popped it into his mouth slowly, chewing with the slow, ruminative motions of someone deep in thought about something. His jaw moved slowly, mashing the pill to paste, and then downing it. He looked up and towards the side, drumming a fingertip against his chin. Finally, with a small grin, he nodded, as if giving his compliments to the chef. He then looked down at Mirja, and inhaled slowly.

"With all due respect Mirja, it's your own goddamn fault I started running. You demanded I get involved in this universe. You dragged me, kicking and screaming into a world that had no place for me, and now when I want nothing more than to get out, you say you 'can't stand to see me this way'? To stretch your analogy, I joined the Olympics because I thought I was going to have a fucking coach! And you expect me to just smile and say 'Shucks, that's -just like you-!' Mirja? What is your endgame here? That we both walk out of here, go kill a few hollows, and I walk back into my room, with a new lease on life? Get back in the race, for...what? My own self-esteem? To get you to finally acknowledge me? If I'm a man trying to ram a square peg through a round hole, you're someone trying to file down the peg until it turns round! Stop trying to change me Mirja!"

There almost appeared to be tears in his eyes now, as he walked towards the portal, staring through it.

"Just say it, Mirja. Just admit that you like the novelty of having a hollow for a pet, and that you don't actually have any interest in what I'm actually...doing. Who I'm hurting. About where this is all going to end up. I'm just a means to an end for you."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]

Thu Aug 17, 2017 7:52 am

Yaksha, The Anthropophagus

Yaksha

"So that's it, then. My choices. Your pet, or nothing. My fate was sealed the moment we met. You seem to think, Mirja, that by sparing my life, you -saved- it. As if not killing me is the same as protecting me. You keep throwing out idle death threats, as if to remind me my life isn't my own."

Yaksha turned to her, his hands folded over his chest, his eyes locking onto hers. They weren't nearly as piercing, but they met hers with an intensity and desire that was undeniable, a force of personality and presence of mind that brooked no conversation. Here stood an immovable object, faced with an irresistable force. A perfect shield, and a perfect lance. It was impossible to tell which was which until they clashed, but...one who would pierce any barrier, and one who would allow nothing to pierce their surface.

"I just want to hear you say it, Mirja. You don't want a relationship with a peer, or one built around mutual respect. You don't want to find someone who you can share something genuine with. You don't want to see a person as a beautiful thing in their own right. You want me to pose for you, like an action figure, or a marionette. You don't want a friend, you want a plaything. I feel your strings plucking at me, even when you're not in the room. I can't stand it. The...cold dispassionate gaze you always seem to lobby upon me. As if I haven't even earned your hatred yet."

His tone was calm, level, oddly reasonable for a man who looked ready to face death down, or to fight tooth and nail for his own life. He remained where he stood, hands folded over one another, over his waist. He looked like a man making one more appeal, one he had no actual reason to believe would work, but saw no alternative to performing. There was a haunted look to his eyes now, yes...but a resolved one, as well.

"I just can't win with you, Mirja. You don't care about feelings, you don't care about facts, you just...don't care. You want me to follow along in your wake, as if you were a force of nature, and I a windswept leaf. There has never been a meeting of minds between us, and more and more I fear there never will be."

He approached, one step at a time. Slowly, without any sense of hurry, or concern. He moved with the motions of a man absolutely driven by his actions, who has realized there was no alternative, no other way this could end. His hands spread wide, and a weak, tired smile spread across his face.

"If you were to throw anyone in the gutter, even an absolute monster like Gevaudan, you wouldn't be Mirja. And you would be guilty of the one sin that can never be taken back. It's becoming clear to me that there is an incredible amount for us to discuss, and so very little time to do so. There is only one thing in this world that I want, Mirja. To be wanted. Needed, even. I want to offer something no one else does. A viewpoint, a mindset, a product...something. Anything. I want, Mirja, to know that this relationship is something more than...idle boredom. This is important to me, and I want to know it's important to you too."

"We've met too many times now, for me to believe it's...simple coincidence. This is supposed to -mean something-. I can tell. You won't yield, and neither will I. You...want something, Mirja, I can't provide you. Or perhaps you want me to figure out for myself what you want. But...whatever this relationship we have is, right now? It can't go on. You won't listen, you won't speak, you just...plow forward. And I don't know if you want me to keep up, or be an audience, or be there at the finish line to help you celebrate. But I can't be what you want me to be. You would preserve Gevaudan, after all he's done for you...and yet you would throw me in the gutter. Because I haven't anything of value to you?"

"I can't be what you want. I can't obliterate my own pride. I can't be...entertaining to you. I can only promise you that I will never judge you for what you were. For what you had to do. Even now, I find myself...fascinated, by what must have led you to where you are. I want to hear your story. Because I am certain that the choices you made were ultimately the best you could've hoped for. And I want to share my story with you. That, Mirja...is the friendship -I- offer. To each and every person I meet."

He looked down at his own hands, staring at them for ten, twelve, fifteen long seconds...and then sighed.

"Did I ever tell you, Mirja, that I chose to become a hollow? It seemed...right. At the time. I've been trying my best to make this monster into something productive. To allow myself to be slain by a shinigami would be...no less loathsome to me than for you to throw away Gevaudan. At the end of the day, all we can do is stand by our choices. And respect one another's."

He spread his arms wide, the smile on his face warm, understanding for the first time, touched ever so faintly with sadness as he nodded towards her.

"Make your choice, Mirja. I'll understand. And perhaps, afterwards, you can tell me about how you got here."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]

Thu Aug 17, 2017 11:51 am

Yaksha, The Anthropophagus

Yaksha

"Oh...Mirja. Mirja, you poor thing. Even now, all you know is fighting. Very well, then. I'll humor you."

The attack landed on Yaksha's sternum...only for the entirety of his torso to crumple inwards, like a coke can being stomped on. He was flung backwards perhaps ten feet, but his feet never left the ground, hands now folded behind his back, as he scuttled along into the garganta. He landed, his chest cavity already filling out, and his eyes wide open, tilting his head to one side, and then to the other. He inhaled, looking around them, towards what appeared to be a sealed-off, very large stadium. Heavy metallic mesh existed between the area he stood and the seats, and in the seats, a few shrouded figures could be seen.

Yaksha didn't even bother to look behind himself, confident that Mirja would come barreling through the portal as soon as she had the opportunity, and likely ignoring anything that wasn't Yaksha in the process of slaughtering him. But for now, showmanship was key. He reached a hand upwards, elongating it to a point that was nauseating, almost heart-wrenching to see, and grabbed a dangling microphone, pulling himself up to it and allowing himself to dangle as he cleared his throat, speaking into it. As he did, his voice, crisp and clear, filled the entire building.

There was a soothing, almost pleasant chime, and then Yaksha's words flooded the entire casino, causing people across each and every table to look up.

"Helllllooooo everyone! I am your humble proprietor, coming to you live from the Thunderdome! I know that's a bit of a dated reference, but those of you who know me know I'm a sucker for the classics. Which is why I am delighted to announce Fight Night to all you beautiful people! Ask your nearest employee how to reach our stadium, and let's see those bets, people. Tonight, you're in for a treat."

He dropped down, landing in somewhat of a pile on the ground, then springing back to his feet with the odd, boneless fluidity one expected to see from a punching bag, not a person. He cracked both necks, and then pantomimed a few punches into the air.

"I did plan to fight you, Mirja. Just...not quite this soon. I've still been trying to master a few new tricks. And I had hoped we could do it once we'd come to understand one another a bit more. I never really...subscribed to the notion that you could understand one another by using your fists."

His hands touched towards his brow, gently pinching it, and...with a motion very much like unzipping a wetsuit, his gigai simply...fell off, into a pile of snow. Quickly kicking it into a pile, and then tapping his tail against the ground just once, the thing seemed to fall into a garganta, no bigger than his head, and then get swallowed up entirely.

"If this is the closest you'll come to sponsoring my growth, so be it. Go ahead and beat the shit out of me until you're satisfied."

Coding Altered From: [The Frost]