spira_rp | I have half a mind, it's cracked and breaking

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I have half a mind, it's cracked and breaking

The ragged stump of Ienzo's arm had been a mangled mess. Szayel had carefully trimmed away everything ruined beyond repair, playing conservatively with how much of Ienzo's arm he left behind. He didn't have enough to be useful; all trying to save more of the arm would get anyone would be a higher risk of later complications. In the end, he removed everything left below the shoulder joint, which also gave him enough undamaged skin to cover the amputation wound somewhat tidily. It was still going to be scarred, but at least it wouldn't be twisted and puckered scar tissue on the end of a stump.

The very first thing he'd done, once he'd cut away enough damage to see what he was doing, had been to seal off the blood vessels. Ienzo had lost a lot of blood, and Szayel hadn't needed to get a band around his good arm to know his blood pressure would be dangerously low. Nel had worked on that, feeding drips into his veins and casting curative spells to accelerate his body's own replenishment speed.

Szayel had put aside what he'd removed in a kidney dish, temporarily focused solely on the task at hand. With Lumi hovering over his shoulder, he hadn't expected to get a chance to keep so much sample tissue anyway, but he'd hoped that if he pretended to ignore it then Lumi would also pay it little heed.

Once the obvious wound had been covered Szayel turned to a more detailed examination of Ienzo, a task which required stripping him of most of his clothing. There were parts that seemed as if he'd be bruised and sore, but no other obvious, major injuries seemed apparent, and Szayel couldn't find evidence of any internal injuries that required attending.

Nel carefully applied bandages to Ienzo's arm and up over his shoulder while Szayel cleaned away his things, simply moving them to the back of the infirmary for the time being. He wanted to take the excised tissue and store it, safely, but that would only make things look obvious to his audience. Instead, after moving things out of the way, he returned to Ienzo's bedside, as if he'd only been intending to do that, and gave him a dose of the antidote for the sedatives they'd used.

They needed to see if he was capable of consciousness, after all.

"He's going to need close monitoring," he said, mostly to Nel. "Through the night as well." It might in the least be another chance for him to get his hands on some samples, too.

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Ienzo had woken up dazed and numb.

His head felt heavy and it ached as if he was either hideously dehydrated or terribly hungover. It was a dull sensation. An unpleasant one, but that was nothing compared to the tingling in the fingers of his left hand. They burned and stung as if he'd been leaning on his arm for long enough to send it dead and then tried to shake feeling back into it, but there was no doing that now.

He had been informed that he had lost the arm. He had been given enough time to wake up and get his bearings, but the news had been delivered swiftly and without preamble by Szayel. Nel had been unhappy about it. She had admonished him for his lack of sensitivity and made an attempt at being soothing.

He couldn't remember what had happened. One moment he'd been in a scrubby desert wasteland, the next... he'd woken up under the too-bright lights of the Palace infirmary.

Szayel had poked and prodded and written things down, but Ienzo hadn't bothered replying to his questions. Did they really matter? He looked up as he scented the distant, suppressed chakra that told him Ulquiorra was close, but he frowned, looking down at the blanket that covered him. He gripped it, feeling as though he had done so with both hands, but only felt the fabric under one.

Szayel turned at Ulquiorra's presence and smirked. He had, under duress, discarded the remains of Ienzo's arm. It was growing increasingly difficult to find reasons to just leave it, carefully, uncontaminated for later retrieval, especially with first Lumi's, and then Even's watchful eyes on him.

Another time, perhaps. Ienzo would be required to stay in the infirmary for a while under close observation. There would inevitably be something he could take.

Now Ulquiorra was an interesting specimen in his own right, what with that little display he'd put on. "Aizen hasn't scrapped you for parts just yet, then," he said, too airily.

Nel was lingering. She'd given Ienzo a couple of doses of cure when he'd first started coming round, but aside from that and pushing the plunger on syringes, there wasn't much more she could do for Ienzo right now. Not directly, at least. Punching Szayel was always an option on the table to make people feel better.

Ienzo hadn't spoken yet. It was concerning her. He was always thoughtful, but he was rarely this silent.

Ulquiorra looked tired. Drained. Like the world weighed on his shoulders. He often looked that way, but he didn't normally look so... done with it all.

He'd come back with Ienzo bleeding to death in his arms. He'd taken on some monstrous form that left so little of himself to detect that it was frightening. What in the hell had happened to the two of them?

"Szayel, wind your neck in," she told him.

Then she turned her attention to Ulquiorra, and asked, softly, "Are you okay?"

Ulquiora glanced around the room. His eyes lingered on Szayel before dismissing him from significance without a word. His comment was designed to poke at a soft underbelly, but Ulquiorra had none, and Szayel's weapons were too crude to pierce.

He turned to Even next. Ienzo didn't speak much of him, or the other Ryoka generally, and Ulquiorra had never pushed for information about them. In part that was because he didn't care, and in part it was because he didn't wish Ienzo-san to wonder if Ulquiorra might be after information on them through him, on Aizen-sama's behalf.

He turned away from Even to look at Ienzo-san, broken and stoic on the infirmary bed. He looked lopsided, his body out of balance. Nel's question barely registered with Ulquiorra. He wasn't the one that had lost an arm. If he had he could have grown it back. Ienzo-san had no such ability.

He approached the bed, coming to a halt a few inches from Ienzo-san's curled fingers of his remaining hand. That he was sat up, that he was still breathing were miracles in their own right, proof of Szayel's value to Aizen-sama, despite everything.

What was there to say? He'd come, he'd seen, but now he was here, curiosity sated, what was there to say or do?

He looked over where Ienzo-san's arm was bandaged. He could still remember the feel of blood slowly trickling down his tail, the way it ran into his fur and dried, leaving him at once crusted and wet. The smell in his nose lingered still. The sight of Ienzo-san, unconscious as he held him close was still there on the backs of his eyelids.

"Where is the rest of his arm?" he asked, turning his eyes alone towards Szayel. He knew what Szayel was like, what charge he would try to extract from Ienzo-san for his services.

Even glared at Ulquiorra.

He had never liked him. Ever since he had sat with him in a train compartment, he had unsettled him. There was something off about him, wrong, something that reminded him of days gone by, of darkness, of Hollows. Even so, he hadn't argued against it. It wasn't his place, though he did consider it a risk for Ienzo to get that close to something so dark again. But Ienzo knew his own mind and Ulquiorra had, despite all appearances, been a decent a good bodyguard.

Until today.

"I might ask you that," he snapped.

Ienzo looked up at Even when he snapped, but surprise was absent from his face. Instead he looked at him dull-eyed. Ulquiorra would never let anything happen to him. He didn't remember what had happened, but he knew that Ulquiorra couldn't be too blame. He was too diligent in his duties, too competent.

Ulquiorra looked at Even. He didn't care for or about the opinions of others as a rule, and the opinions of Ryoka other than Ienzo-san in particular. He knew little about Even, except that he was a mage, a scientist, and supposedly prone to outbursts although this had seemed something of an informed trait.

Until now.

"The Eremite Plains," he answered, bluntly. Ienzo's arm was, by now, in the belly of some beast, or destroyed completely by the Weapon, or Ulquiorra's attacks on it, or some combination of all three.

He had brought Ienzo-san back. It had been all he could do. He couldn't save his arm, or defeat the Weapon.

Szayel gave an amused noise, sauntering a little closer, one hand on his hip. "So," he said, enjoying himself far too much for the comfort in listening range, "what happened? Did you lose it and attack him?" He smirked, looking Ulquiorra up and down. "We all saw how you came back."

He'd returned to normal now, but they'd seen it, and felt it. The black fur, the eyes, the horrific, crushing reiatsu that felt like the worst day of your life had become a physical weight.

"You practically were Murciélago. Did it try and take over and poor Ienzo-san got caught in the crossfire?"

"Szayel," Nel snapped. She wanted to snap at Even too, to tell him to calm down and trust Ulquiorra. He should at least trust Ulquiorra's fondness for Ienzo.

She reached out and put her hand on Ienzo's shoulder. She wanted nothing more than to hug him, but he'd be tender right now, and if anyone should be giving him a hug, it should really be Ulquiorra.

Ienzo looked at Ulquiorra, finally.

He'd ... done that? He was sure Ulquiorra wasn't responsible for his injury, but ... he'd become like his Hollow? How was that possible? Something had happened on the Eremite Plains... that made sense. The desert was the last thing he remembered.

Even glared at Szayel.

"You shut up," he snapped, again, and turned to address Ulquiorra. "What happened?"

He had gotten an account from Aizen, but he wanted to hear Ulquiorra's story. Ienzo wasn't in a mind to recount his experience and, if Even was any judge, he wouldn't be speaking for a while. He had prior experience of Ienzo following traumatic experiences. His worrying silence could be more than just an effect of the drugs.

Ulquiorra glowered at Szayel, his mouth set in a line, his eyelids heavy. Szayel may have been a good surgeon, and useful to Aizen-sama, and now Ienzo-san in that regard, but he was still a gossip mongering piece of trash.

He turned his attention to Even at his question. "Aizen-sama says it was called Weapon," he answered. "Gin has despatched it. It was beyond my capabilities."

He could show them. Szayel would certainly enjoy the data he might glean from the evidence, but touting his view of Ienzo-san being ripped apart as if it was some mere curiosity for the perusal of any who might question Ulquiorra's ability was somehow sordid.

He listened, watching him. That matched up with what Aizen said, but it would, wouldn't it? Ulquiorra had left the palace shortly after his discussion with Aizen, and before Even's own, so if he had gone to investigate it with a Captain, it did make some sort of sense, but it did little to alleviate Even's anger at Ulquiorra's lack of competence as a bodyguard.

"And it's not a Hollow," he said, to confirm what Aizen had said.

A weapon..?

Ienzo scowled slightly, trying to remember. He didn't recall any weapons being used, but he didn't recall much of anything. A desert, a vantage point... and then...

... a sensation of falling.

Ulquiorra continued to hold Even's gaze without flinching, or wavering. "No," he confirmed, "it was not a Hollow."

What it was, or had been, was more difficult to answer. Some ancient thing, crafted by creatures of myth, set upon the world to protect it from danger.

It had been determined to eliminate Ienzo-san. Whether that was because of his alchemy, alchemy that could only be done by having witnessed Etro's Gate, or whether it was the fact that Ienzo-san was not native to Spira, Ulquiorra didn't know.

"I would not have lost to a Hollow," he added, a shade more quietly than he'd intended.

Szayel looked highly sceptical, one eyebrow raised as he looked Ulquiorra over.

'Weapon' meant nothing to him, but apparently that explanation had come from Aizen anyway. Ulquiorra was merely parroting.

He gestured to Ulquiorra, waving his hand to take all of him in, a little impatiently. "You still haven't explained how you came back a hair's breadth from Oversoul." Not that Szayel believed it was an Oversoul. They'd witnessed that with Nnoitra, where the Hollow had tried to take over, and the host had lost their mind. What Ulquiorra had come back as sat uncomfortably between a normal release and that state, but it seemed he had control over it.

That was new. That was interesting.

Oversoul..?

He'd heard when a battle with the Arrancar had gone awry. Something had happened to one of them due to Hidan, according to what he'd been told, and he'd absorbed Mist, or Pyreflies, or whatever, and they had coated him, forming a shell around him, making him become like his Hollow. In the moments before his potential death, he had almost lost his body to the Hollow ... symbiote. For lack of a better term.

After joining the Khamja side, Ienzo had worked out that the one this phenomenon had affected was Nnoitra. He'd survived, but he'd also almost killed everybody there, friend and foe.

Ulquiorra wouldn't let that happen, no matter what he looked like. He had more control than that. Didn't he?

Ulquiorra flicked his eyes to Szayel. Some things were probably not for the ears of Even. Ienzo-san had likely not witnessed anything, although Ulquiorra was unconcerned about him learning the truth.

"Segunda Etapa," he answered. "Aizen-sama is aware," he added.

He was aware now at any rate. Ulquiorra had never had control over it before, he'd never been able to command the Hollow to give him that power, and so he'd kept it from Aizen-sama.

Ulquiorra turned his attention back to Ienzo-san. "That is all you need to know," he said, the statement directed at Szayel, and, to an extent, at Even.

Szayel felt a thrill run up his spine at the words segunda etapa.

Second stage. Ulquiorra's release had a second stage.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he answered. "I'm going to need a lot more information about that."

Nel stared at Ulquiorra. Szayel was lost in the joy of science, but Nel heard something much more ominous in the term second stage. Murciélago was a nasty piece of work, one of the nastiest among the Arrancar, and to say they were all Hollows, and Hollows by definition were nasty pieces of work.

Murciélago would not just hand over new power to Ulquiorra, not so easily, not under duress. Would it?

She nearly asked Ulquiorra what it had cost him, but she swallowed the question and bit her lip. That wasn't a question for right now. That was something to ask him in private.

Ienzo listened to what was going on around him, sighing a little. It was important, he supposed, but he wanted to sleep. He still felt heavy, tired, and ... and something else.

He pushed himself up on the bed, or tried to, at least. He felt like he was still moving two arms, but only one worked. Was it always going to ... ...

How would ... what about... ?

Even looked over to Ienzo has he moved.

That didn't look right at all. He was already off balance. Granted, part of his struggling could be due to the residual weakness, or the anaesthetic having not worn off completely, but he had lost an arm. That ... wasn't going to be easy to recover from.

The balance issues were a given, as Szayel had pointed out, but every day tasks that required two hands would be more difficult. Buttons. Laces. Reading.

Ienzo-san moved in the bed, pushed himself on his one arm, throwing himself to the side. He would need to learn to function minus a limb. It was not going to be easy.

How many times had Ulquiorra sat with him while Ienzo-san held a book in one hand, and turned pages with the other? Even things as simple as that were going to be more difficult now.

"Use your feet," Ulquiorra said, the words in Rozarrian. Ienzo-san had learned the language as a springboard for teaching himself Nabradian, a similar but different language. When Ulquiorra had been young, Old Rozarrian had been a secret language spoken between himself and his friends. Ulquiorra and Lawliet had spent evenings talking together, using only the dying language of their country, spoken aloud by almost no one any more. It had been something that had been just for them, something Ulquiorra shared only with the small handful of people he could claim as friends.

Using the language with Ienzo felt natural, as natural as it had once been with Lawliet, and Bonita, and Neron. They were gone now, but Ienzo-san was not, although it had been a close run thing today.

"Push with your arm and opposite leg," he explained. As if you don't wish to put down your book, he thought, but didn't say.

Nel turned to Ienzo as he moved, and put her hand against his ribs to steady him. "Whoa, easy," she said, her voice soft. She wasn't going to express how creepy it felt, in some indefinable way, to put a hand directly against someone's chest and through where their arm should be.

Ulquiorra spoke, his voice a deep rumble of words she didn't understand. She looked at him, and then at Ienzo. Whatever he was saying seemed to be intended just for him, though whether that would do much good right now was another matter.

"He's not talking to us yet," she said, looking back at Ulquiorra. "He's still got a lot of sedative in his system." She hoped that was it, anyway.

Szayel eyed Ulquiorra, and then rolled his eyes. Ulquiorra had an unfortunate tendency to slip into his home country's ridiculous moon-speak whenever he was insulting people. It wasn't as if it was a reasonable language, like Al Bhed, that could be spoken by anyone with two brain cells to rub together. Using Rozarrian in public was just rude.

"E ryja rymv y seht du pyh myhkiykac E tuh'd cbayg vnus so ehvensyno," he muttered.

I have half a mind, it's cracked and breaking

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