Welcome To The Jungle[Alvah, Amaranta]

"Heh. Three have approached me without a desire for conflict, so maybe the times are changing. Or maybe I've grown blind to it all. This current meeting would make you the fourth, after all."

Amaranta snorted softly as those inquiring sapphires observed Alvah in silence. Since he was such a observant individual, creating an impression of the man was fundamentally difficult. He exuded a sagelike aura, akin to a spiritual monk who had experienced all of life's trials. What was his deal beyond curiosity? Fixing the skull around her head, the leonine woman inched ever closer, her supernatural gaze aglow with amusement. Fill his world with color? A plain story? What did that make him? An empty canvas? What a vague statement. It sated her ego, but presented so many other questions in the process.

"What does that make you, then, an empty canvas? A book with pages, but no ink? How do people like me fill it with color, Alv?"

"You exist so exuberantly," He answered, raising his head to gaze into her eyes. "I am but a pen, a blank open page. You are the story, the words I create a picture with, the imagery that brings that picture to life."

His tone had shifted somewhat as his passion became clearer. Her curiosity was met by his, and that exchange of passion is the stepping stone he believes leads to greatness, or ruin. Then, he dropped the skull on the ground and swept his lone arm around to showcase the bravado of her arena.

"This alone is enough to make a man mad with inspiration. You alone are enough to create a masterpiece with. You see, I am no empty canvas, dear. My blank pages tell their own story."

"Go on. I do love when someone sings my praises."

His earnest admission elicited a wide grin in the bronze lion's features, fangs beared in amusement as she held his gaze for a moment, observing his impassioned display. An egotistical woman by nature, she found herself somewhat enthralled with his form of expression. Ah, so there was some color to the ashen arrancar, after all. What woman didn't enjoy when someone was practically singing their praises? Rising slightly from her bed of skulls, Amaranta maintained her bestial grin as she regarded him with a look of intrigue in her eyes.

"They tell their own story, hm? I must admit, I find myself flattered by your words. They have a term for this on earth... I do believe they call it muse. I hear it's a pretty dated term, though. Either way, I'm glad I cut such an impressive source of inspiration. I find you amusing, Alvah."

After all, he earned her full attention and curiosity. Few alone could lay claim to such a feat.

"What do you intend to do with that inspiration? I wonder."

"Praise is expressed through various mediums," Alvah began. "I could sing a song, write a poem, or even test your mettle against my own."

He understood her desire for a challenge. Why else would she have constructed an arena. However...

"I doubt I'd prove a worthwhile opponent though, but if I must elaborate. I have dabbled in the art of creating. Imagine a scene, a young Arrancar with friends and family, and then imagine the dread one would feel when that family is ripped away, the emotions that come: realization, fear, acceptance, anger..."

He looked upon her with different eyes, ones glazed over by the scene he painted. Slowly, his grip around the skull in his hand tightened.

"Picture them fighting to grow stronger with only revenge in their mind, and the moment they go to realize it. Can't you see how wonderous a film it is, a battle full of raw unfettered spirit? You question whether they have their victory, their release from their trauma."

But then he raised the skull and crushed it in his grasp, the bony splinters firing away as he then opened his palm and revealed the white powder he now holds.

"A shame the ending left me empty."

"Hm..."

The leonine woman pondered his grandiose explosion of words, reflecting on each line that exited his lips. None of them felt cohesive enough to form an impression of what he ultimately meant, but it provided a glimpse into what he might have embodied. His reference to mediums, his allusion to the cruel scene he painted akin to an entertaining film.

His words were compellingly spectacular, his tone grandiose as he momentarily held her wild imagination. Even for a distinct moment, her undivided attention was squarely on him. Much like a cliffhanger, she was left to wonder about the ending, his words hanging in the air, observing the ashen arrancar in silence. Groaning softly, a bestial grin torn across her lips, Amaranta inched her head closer to inspect the man.

"Come on. Don't leave me hanging now. Here you were, captivating my attention with the scene you created, yet you say it leaves you empty? What a tease."

Captivated by his performance? Why, then he has succeeded at his goal. It is the performer's job to entertain his audience after all. It is no different for combatants. If one does not have the macho to match their opponent, then there exists no reason for battle. Thus is the crucial ingredient missing from his story.

"Like sand in the wind, our protagonist could not defeat their villain. Don't you think a losing hero leaves a story dull and incomplete?"

The powder in his hand slipped through his fingers, mixing with the sand beneath his feet.

It was indeed a riveting performance. The vengeful hero cultivates his talents until he can defeat the antagonist who wronged him. Simplistic, yet for a woman with her temperament, it was a classic tale that would never lose its luster. His inquiry only provoked her excitement. Moving her hands toward a skull of her own, she leaned against her makeshift throne.

"I do. An ending like that leaves me wanting for more. Who else is left to fight the one who wronged the hero? No one. All the strength he cultivated ought to match his antagonist. Only then would I call that a worthwhile tale. Then, the ending. Perhaps... Two warriors follow one another in mutual death, or perhaps the valiant hero overcomes his enemy in the end ... Heh, guess you're not the only one with an excitable imagination," she revealed, observing the ashen man with blazing sapphires.

"Exactly. One would expect the hero to gain the power to triumph over their antagonist, but I suppose a story grounded by reality is often disappointing."

Yes. Now the meat of the conversation is here. He now sees what she desires. With context, he has now concluded her role in life. Be it as basic as a worthy opponent, he can understand her every action that has led them to their exciting discussion. Even through her basic nature, he can tell that her tale will be one of grandness, and oh he would be a fool to not turn the pages of her story and lock in.

"Do you walk this world with many enemies, Amaranta?" His eyes focused on hers, her energetic blaze meeting his slowly burning kindle.

Sapphire met black and gold as the two shared contrasting gazes. Of course, hers burned with the ferocity of a lioness befitting her station, while he appeared more tempered in comparison, as though he was observing her with growing amusement.

"To be honest, I've had my fair share of people I'd call "enemies". More than I can count on one hand. Nowadays, most of the people I've crossed paths with seem quite fond of me. Even so..."

Responding to his inquiry with a grin, Amaranta quietly stroked the skull with measured interest. The bronze woman welcomed all challengers. Those who crossed her path with equal aggression, who deemed themselves her enemy, would be met in kind with equal-minded ferocity. There was nothing more to it than that.

"I welcome all challengers. Anyone who considers themself an enemy of mine is more than free to oppose me however they please. At this point, though, I guess that goes without saying. Conflict is what makes me feel alive, and you can't have conflict without making enemies along the way, right?"

"Conflict... I wonder how fulfilling a life built with strife as its foundation is, or maybe do the friendships gained along the way lessen its eventual burden?"

Yes. What is it? Is conflict all that Amaranta requires? Maybe at first, but would she have gained friends if not for a longing for more than endless battle? Would enemies be considered friends? Rivals? There are questions one could ask, inquiries one could make. Yet, none of them would ever satisfy the curiosity. What would is but an inkling of allusion. If he were to simply walk her path for a mere week or month, he would no doubt understand her greatly.

"A back and forth maybe? A cycle of love and hate? Without friends, enemies would become cumbersome, but without enemies, you would never appreciate a friend... Ah, philosophy at its finest."

Though, his being still left pondering, he found his eyes wandering around.