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INHUMAN COURTESY

I. PUSHING UP DAISIES

cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror

The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.

It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:

► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.

► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.

if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured

II. DO NOT PASS GO

cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity

Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.

If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.

When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.

► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!

Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.

III. TO THE RESCUE

As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.

The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.

The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”

Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”

It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.

so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ some open and some closed starters to come below! plotting post here if you want to request something! ]

[ Jugram's head pounds before he's even opened his eyes. The ground is hard and cool against his cheek, his curled fingers. He lets out a quiet groan in the split second before he remembers himself, who he is, who he's supposed to be, even here, a primitive response to the throbbing pain before any higher functioning has the time to take over. Ice blue eyes crack open and squint at the blurred image directly ahead of him as their lenses struggle to flex into focus: someone's hand, also limp on the floor a few feet away from his face.

Behind that, bars.

That's right. The prison. Someone must have hit him across the back of the head on the way here. There's a hard, cold weight on both of his ankles: even without looking he knows they must be in shackles, and furthermore, he can't sense any reiatsu, at all—something about either this place or the cuffs themselves must have put a damper on his innate abilities as a quincy. Lovely.

Jugram pushes himself up with both hands, pain hammering at his temples, hair thoroughly disheveled—and, once he's upright, the full figure of the prisoner face-down beside him comes into view: carrot red hair. That and the prisoner's general build are to enough to identify his cellmate, without a shred of doubt, as Ichigo Kurosaki. Of all of the prisoners.

He considers waking the kid up, but decides against it—there will be racket from the moment he does, undoubtedly, and he'd like a few minutes to examine his confines without distraction. He moves carefully, to avoid the drag of the chain between his ankles from bringing Kurosaki back into consciousness, and considers the bars, the way the lock seems to work—a basic, mechanical key and slot, it would seem—how many guards and where they're posted. People are screaming down the hall—there's a torture chamber somewhere close, it would seem.

The drag of chains against the floor alerts him to the movement of Kurosaki's legs as he wakes; Jugram looks down at him from where he stands before the door to their enclosure and frowns. ]

You're awake.

Edited 2022-11-08 00:58 (UTC)

（ he is no stranger to getting his ass well and truly kicked, nor to fighting like his life depends on it — it often has, in the past. but no amount of giving the guards hell changes his fate. held down, branded, thrown in jail.

he's awake for a while before he moves, mostly because one leg is sort of twisted weirdly beneath the other one and it's uncomfortable where his knee is pressed to the cold stone floor. the voice makes him grimace, dragging a hand up to his head where he presses against the throb of a swollen knot. ）

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

（ this child has no respect.

he pulls himself upright, sitting with his legs crossed so there's the least amount of strain on those shackles. the brand, pressed into his arm with a sizzle of flesh, gets a look but not much else in the way of reaction, and then he lifts a hand up and starts tearing a broken fingernail the rest of the way off with his teeth.

it's going to annoy the hell out of him otherwise. ）

How long've you been awake?

[ Does it matter? ]

A few minutes. [ Jugram answers impassively, as though he hasn't just been thrown into a jail cell less than twenty-four hours after dying before he was supposed to die. ]

Long enough to get my bearings here. There's a mechanism that completely inhibits any use of reishi here—you won't have any luck if you try to strike me, so don't waste your time.

[ Because, for all he knows, that's where Kurosaki's mind is headed - there was a very different balance of power involved in their last interaction. ]

（ world's worst hangnail taken care of and only faintly bleeding, ichigo sits with his hands resting lightly on his knees. jugram gets an annoyed look, and ichigo blows out a breath of pure exasperation. ）

Turns out I actually have zero interest in kicking your ass right now.

（ 'duh'. ah, the eloquence of teenage distaste.

their world, their war, is far away. what good would it do him to perpetuate that violence here? he'll defend himself, but he has no interest in starting a fight. ）

Our first priority is getting out of here, not trying to kill each other.

（ it hasn't exactly escaped his attention that jugram could've done just that while he was insensible on the floor. the fact that he didn't... that's telling in and of itself. ）

Have any of the guards come by yet?

No. There are three of them that I can see.

[ Paying attention, but not overly invested; they don't seem to care if people talk or make a racket. They're all shorter than himself—the majority of people are—and don't appear to be in comparable physical condition. He can probably overpower them, even with their cudgels at play; regardless of whether or not he can use blut, he's still innately more robust than the humans such weapons were intended for.

Speaking of. Jugram glances down at the weeping brand on his forearm and frowns, attempts to gather enough reishi from the air around himself to use blut vene—nothing. Even that seems to be inhibited by their environs. ]

The bars here aren't going to give.

（ a fresh glut of screaming cuts the air, echoing through the stone corridors, and his fingers flex a little against his knees. he can't help but think of that woman on the soulidarity app, who'd given such vivid and detailed descriptions of the sort of torture that breaks a man.

fear is omnipresent. it just lives in him, and he deals with it. but this fear is less for himself, and more... ）

If they can suppress our powers, us not being able to damage the bars is the least of all our problems.

（ he thumbs at the brand, where it's red and raised and blistered, weeping where the skin was torn. ）

They'll have to open the door at some point. Whether it's to drag us to an execution or off to a torture chamber, it doesn't matter. I think we can agree that if they get us out of this cell in their custody, it's gonna be a bad time. So, we either need to wait and get ready to fight, or we need to get their attention and make them come to us on our terms. But whatever we do has to be as a team. Can you work with a shinigami or not?

[ Jugram huffs softly, a short, audible sound from the nose. It's interesting, the way he chooses to align himself with the shinigami despite their own shared lineage, a symptom, in Jugram's opinion, of how deep into his head his so-called friends in the Soul Society have gotten.

He doesn't directly acknowledge the question. Instead he simply proceeds to the matter at hand, still watching the nearest guard. ]

If we draw their attention, it's more likely that more than one will come. That will draw more attention, and there's no way to tell just how many are out of sight. [ Beat. ] You cannot be rash in handling this.

[ It feels like it definitely needs to be said. ]

（ did he fucking stutter. ichigo gives the quincy a dark look, equally tired and incredulous. ）

Do I seem like someone who's planning on acting rashly?

（ he's trying to plan, period, and this asshole would rather dance around his misconceptions than cooperate. ）

I asked if you can work with a shinigami. Yes or no.

[ 'Do I seem like someone who's planning on acting rashly.' It's almost worthy of laughter. ]

Obviously the answer is yes. And you have a history of exactly that, Kurosaki. I am telling you once and only once that you need to keep any sudden urge you may have to protect anyone else at bay for the duration. You have no soul reaper abilities here. Your responsibility is to yourself and only yourself.

[ He meets the eyes a little ways away from his own in the dim half-light of the sconce outside of the cell and stares into the warm brown irises with severity. ]

Do you understand me?

I don't give a shit what you think my responsibilities are.

（ he's already proven that he has no idea what motivates humans, what drives them, what they care for. as far as saving others... that's not an irrational act as far as he's concerned. ）

Protecting people is part of who I am. If you don't want to deal with that, you can go your separate way once we're out of here. I don't need to rely on my powers to fight.

Once we're out of here. You won't escape if you double back to help others in a situation like this.

[ Would he do the same, were it another quincy? Without question. But these people aren't, and he owes them no loyalty, is bound to them by no duty. They're strangers and humans. ]

If you stop before we get out, the guards will catch up to you, and there very well may be too many for you to overpower.

[ His responses aren't encouraging—it very much seems like the kid's already resolved to do exactly the opposite of what he should be doing before he even knows if there's even anyone there to help. This does not bode particularly well, though Jugram is, at least, confident that he can proceed on his own once the initial barrier of the locked cell door has been taken care of. If Kurosaki wants to die or get beaten, that's his prerogative. ]

I meant the cell, genius.

（ that's his metric for 'out of here'. his intention is to go the other direction just as soon as they can open the door. ）

So? If they overpower me, the worst they can do is torture and kill me. As threats go, that's pretty anemic these days.

（ his stance on that has been tested, again and again and again. how many times since becoming a shinigami would it have simply been easier to look the other way? to let things happen, to leave? he'll never be that person who doesn't care. ）

[ That's enough to spark the tiniest flame of rage, something just beyond the baseline of annoyance that's quickly established itself as the norm for interactions with this kid. It's a privilege, being so flippant about torture, the kind of idiotic bravado that can only come from ignorance. He thinks, of course—as any quincy would—of Kurotsuchi, watching with no ability to intervene: the screaming and sobbing and vomiting of the victims, the vivisections, the children burned alive. The mothers wailing. The ones who stood before the burnt bodies of their children and begged him to kill them too. ]

[ Jugram, of course, says none of this. Only a simple: ] Pray you're never tortured, Kurosaki.

[ All he says on the matter. He turns, flaxen hair swaying with the movement, and regards the dim corridor ahead of them. ]

A medical emergency would force them to open the cell door.

You're missing my point. It's still better than leaving everyone else to their fate here.

（ it's not like he wants to be tortured, and he isn't ignorant of what it entails, but if it's down to someone else or him, he'd pick himself every time. maybe he'd regret it when he's under the knife, but he likes to think his resolve would hold at least that long. ）

If they're keeping us here for an execution, they won't give a shit about a medical emergency. They might care about a fight, though.

（ a fight might undercut their supposed authority. a medical emergency would just be one less person to execute. ）

Very well. When they come, we'll need to lure the guard deeper into the cell. The fight needs to take place against the back wall. [ Jugram pauses for a moment, in thought, then adds: ] ...The guard probably carries a key to our manacles. We won't get far without it.

[ Not only will the chain hobble them, but it also carries the risk of drawing more attention by generating noise from dragging on the ground. It'd be a delicate balancing act to maintain enough tension on the line to keep it above the floor while still moving forward, and certainly not the kind of thing one can do while focusing on a situation like escaping. ]

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[ Jugram moves briskly through the dark and musty corridor, following the sound of the footsteps distantly ahead of him even though they've long since disappeared from sight thanks to the nigh-impermeable mist. Those are the only two senses that give him any real idea of who else is here: the ability to hear footsteps and the ability to see a few meters ahead of himself, sometimes more when the tunnel is graced by the presence of something bioluminescent.

It's the same blinded feeling from before, but much worse: he knows by now that his ability to sense reiatsu comes and goes in its usual strength, but here, even further away from the prison's holding cells, he can detect absolutely nothing. There's no way to tell where the guards are, no way to tell where Kurosaki is (though he's hardly a threat, even with his abilities, he can't shake the sense he needs to keep an eye on his whereabouts and activities.) It's a strange glimpse into what it would be like existing as a human for someone who has no interest in knowing.

Jugram listens carefully as he moves: to the hushed voices, the dripping of condensation or groundwater from the ceiling, the faint scuff of footsteps on the damp cement floor. His head still throbs from the initial blow, or what he suspects to be one or two more after that: it'd take a lot more force to knock out most beings with a spiritual body, himself included. Maybe he has a concussion—probably. He probably has a concussion.

He doesn't get any further with the thought before a hard strike hits the small of his back from directly behind, entirely eclipsed within the new blind spot. Jugram falls forward and turns as he does, landing the brunt of the fall on the bony prominence of an elbow to at least give him the chance to see and kick out at the attacker before he can shove himself upright despite the pain of the impact—

And it's not a guard but that Arrancar that killed Askin. ]

Get out of the way. The guards will find us if we fight here.

Edited 2022-11-09 18:52 (UTC)

( he was going to behave and focus solely on escaping the gallows. really.

but how could he resist the universe practically handing him such a prime opportunity to cross the one responsible for the apparent takedown of both hueco mundo and harribel off of his list? he would be nothing short of a fool if he passed the chance up.

sure, he had decided that he would observe the quincy first before he made any moves against him. ichigo wasn't clear on his capabilities and, as reckless as grimmjow could be, his survival instincts predominate. but that was kinda back when none of them were held captive in a place that restricted access to their powers.

he might not be able to beat him in a fight where reiatsu took centerstage, but when it comes to raw physical fighting prowess, he was confident that he could easily finish him off. call it self-confidence or ego — grimmjow was willing to make the bet.

he ignores the warning directed at him, staring down at the blond with an unfettered grin. )

Don't worry, quincy. ( he lifts his leg, aiming to stamp down hard against his gut. ) I'll make this quick.

[ Grimmjow prepares to strike; Jugram shoves himself upright in the small window of time as he lifts his leg, the stones of the wall scraping his back through the thin fabric of his prison shirt—he escapes the blow to his vitals and takes it in the upper thigh, hard enough for long nostrils to flare with the jolt of pain. He's probably bruised from the initial beating; there hadn't been much occasion to recognize it until the second kick from this fool. ]

Like His Majesty's army conquered Hueco Mundo?

[ His eyes narrow as he speaks, his voice rough for lack of water but edged with cruelty. He's at least upright; if Grimmjow wants to strike at him, he has a better chance of blocking—Jugram doesn't particularly intend to get into it here, without any weapon. He's taller by a few inches and LtCdr. Hubert had taught him to throw punches a few centuries ago, right when he'd first arrived, but this isn't how he's used to fighting and he knows Grimmjow knows that. ]

Only a coward or an animal attacks from behind. [ A cough. ] I suppose that's fitting.

Edited 2022-11-11 23:31 (UTC)

( his majesty? must be talking about yhwach. how pathetic.

grimmjow lets out a derisive snort, ignoring the prickle of annoyance he feels at hearing hueco mundo come outta his mouth. blue eyes narrow down at him, dissatisfaction reflected behind his gaze as he waits for retaliation that never comes. he might be intent on killing him, but it brings him no pleasure in eliminating an enemy that won't defend himself. it makes him wonder if that's his game — to stall and negotiate rather than to fight.

it's smart, if the one jugram was facing isn't him. )

I would only offer a prey that amount of courtesy. ( he isn't a coward but he is an animal. a savage one at that. ) But you're nothing more than a pest. Now, ( he curls his index finger, beckoning him. ) stand up, quincy, and let me squash you like a bug.

[ He doesn't need to be told, of course—the moment he sees the opening, Jugram's raising himself to his full height, an inch or two taller than the Arrancar standing before him. His body stays faintly tensed, ready; there's confidence, even knowing that hand-to-hand combat isn't where his skills lie. What Grimmjow has in experience he can, at least, match in the speed of his reflexes. The fighting should draw in a guard before too long, and that will give him a good window to keep moving forward. ]

I see. You must think something will change if you defeat me. So much so that you're willing to risk your own escape—or could it be that you know I'll kill you once we leave the constraints of this place?

[ He doesn't strike first, despite the goading—it'll be more advantageous to let him attempt a blow and deflect it. ]

Defeat you? ( he erupts into laughter, his voice laced with amusement. ) That's a nice way to put it.

( he doesn't plan to let him leave here alive because he's right. even if jugram plans to leave ichigo alone, grimmjow can't guarantee that he won't come after him. the history between quincies and arrancars are one painted with strokes of blood. he has no intention of losing his life to one.

kurosaki might have said that the blood war didn't need to follow him here and grimmjow even agreed to leave jugram alone until they found out more about his abilities, but he never saw him as any less than a threat that must be eliminated sooner or later. why not just take care of him now? )

Enough talk.

( and so, he does strike first. unfortunately, the ensuing battle doesn't last long because, as jugram predicted, the guards do arrive. lucky bastard. )

[ Grimmjow gets a few hits in—fast though his reflexes may be, he only has two arms with which to block, and he can't use blut vene here. When the guards turn the corner and Jaegerjaquez lets go of him, Jugram steps back and watches for a split second, just barely catching his breath, head pounding worse than it was when he first woke up on the cement floor of this place.

He strongly considers running and letting both of them drag the arrancar back, hopefully to euthanize him like the wild animal he is, but between here and the cell he woke up in Jugram lost the truncheon he got off of the guard himself and Kurosaki shackled, and it would benefit him to replace it.

His jaw aches on the side it was hit, and the coppery taste of blood intermittently seeps into his mouth, but he's still upright and largely unharmed—even without blut, a quincy's body can withstand a lot more than a human's. He pulls one of the two from the arrancar who was a moment prior striking him out of self interest alone—it isn't difficult to beat him into submission enough to wrest the club from his hand and deliver a single hard strike against the back of the head, more forceful than the one that left him unconscious. If it cracks the man's skull, if he dies, so be it. His life doesn't matter, in the grander scheme of things. ]

( it wouldn't have fallen outside of his expectation if jugrum had used this opportunity to escape on his own.

after all, grimmjow would have done the same. it's a foolish endeavor to assist someone who's intent on murdering you mere moments ago, but he surmises the only reason why the quincy has made this choice is because he doesn't believe that he can make it out without added strength — his strength.

since it has come to this, his best option is to prioritize escaping first before he deals with the quincy issue.

it most likely won't bode well for him once jugrum has access to his powers once more, but that's a problem for future grimmjow to workaround.

although he had promised ichigo that he won't take a restless' life, he might've made a couple of exceptions ever since he got his ass forcibly dragged to the gallows. his survival came first, no matter what. whether the boy understands or not is an argument for later.

he doesn't hesitate in killing the other guard. there isn't a fucking chance that he's gonna get thrown back into a cell, not even if he has to leave a strewn of bodies in his wake. sprinting down the dark corridor, he doesn't check on the blond until he sees a stream of light up ahead. )

Consider yourself lucky today, quincy. You would've been dead otherwise.

[ Jugram doesn't answer, just scoffs—and strikes out to the side with the truncheon, hard, with the intention of connecting with the man's abdomen, which hopefully isn't tensed at the same time as he's running.

It's the closest thing to a petty strike Jugram is perhaps capable of; it does serve some purpose, as the arrancar falling behind and doubling over will slow down any additional guards that might turn the corner by giving them a new target. It's satisfying, though, a rare sentiment in the cool calculations of battle. Is that this shadow he's heard mentioned? He's not sure. He'll think about it later.

Right now what matters is reaching that light.

He doesn't look behind him until he's made it out of the tunnel and onto the dim, damp slate street of the outside world—still underground, a quick glance upwards confirms. Maybe this is Hale, which he's heard mentioned but hasn't had any occasion to visit. People limp toward cots, some leaning on others, while the able-bodied splint and bandage wounds and broken bones. He wonders, behind the ongoing headache, whether it's the same Hierarchy responsible for this apparent aid station, which seems highly organized.

No matter. He finds a place to stand and watches the opening to the tunnel, periodically dabbing the bleeding cut on his lower lip with the back of his wrist, waiting for the chance to use his schrift—in all likelihood, the recipient of his misfortune will need to be outside of whatever barrier their captors erected to prevent the use of such abilities. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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jugram haschwalth ➣ BLEACH

CLOSED ➣ for ichigo

cw: branding, injury mention (fingernail grossness)

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cw discussion of canon torture/immolation/child death

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CLOSED ➣ for grimmjow

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