After his small fragment of an explosion, Nirvana went very, very silent, and very, very still. It was times like this where he didn't really want to do anything. Not out of sloth, but just because he felt the need to just... be. Paying attention to his surroundings beyond what was absolutely necessary was optional. Sometimes, spacing out was needed. He wasn't sure why, exactly, he zoned out; it just sort of happened on its own. But for Nirvana, sometimes rendering himself inattentive wasn't always the safest thing, as far as his consciousness was concerned. When one possessed an imagination and subconscious as rampant and warped as the demon champion's, losing focus was rarely an advisable course of action. It gave the dark underbelly of the mind autonomy, freedom to do almost whatever the hell it desired. As one could imagine, this has the possibility of creating... undesirable circumstances and seemingly inexplicably wild reactions from the mind affected. And Nirvana certainly was not the most mentally sound creature one might encounter.
As he did so, he unconsciously pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his skinny arms around them. This probably would have seemed like an odd position to see him in; it was more the posture of a standoffish young child, and sort of seemed a tad awkward, what with him being so tall and all. But he remained that way nonetheless, as most of the others present spoke about... something (including that angel-creature, who still hadn't been killed yet, much to Nirvana's dismay- he was still very angry that the elf had deigned to offer her sanctuary, damn her). He caught small snippets between alternating depths of zoning, such as the revelation of the angel-creature's name (which he really... hadn't caught... Of course, that wasn't something he really wanted to know; they were below the honor of recognition by name, to him). There was also, apparently, some sort of familial connection between this despicable creature and the supposed god that they were to eventually fight. At this, his eye twitched slightly, without his knowing. What a development, he idly supposed. Did it matter? If Nix knew who this female was, probably. Probably.
Nirvana surfaced from the mental depths for a mere moment to compare. How ridiculous. Where he came from, there was no way a child could be used as any sort of leverage against the parent, or any other relative, for that matter. The notion was preposterous. Everyone knew that blood ties often lead to nothing but suffering in the first place, so why anyone would bother to go so far as to become attached to one's offspring was beyond his comprehension. But, regardless, the news that they were in possession of Nix's filthy spawn was... noteworthy, to say the least. But, this also confused him a bit. Did that mean that Nix was part angel? Or part... whatever it was that the creature had said she was? It almost made his head hurt to think about it. It bothered him. As such, he quickly and quietly returned to the silent depths of mental absence. Or, he tried to, anyways. It was a tad difficult to space out (as he very much would have liked to do) once he'd caught a bit of what was being said, regardless of whether or not he wanted to actually hear these things.
Once he'd begun to pay more attention, he noticed that, apparently, there had been some sort of proposal posed by the Slayer trash. The ultimatum was (as far as he'd understood things) that the angel-creature would provide either information on their enemy, or be returned to his clutches against her own will. Or... something of that sort. What leverage. Silently, he hoped that, if the latter were the case, they would be rid of her forever. Sweet unholy hellfire, he never wanted to be this close to anything associated with the anti-infernal crucifix ever, ever again. And if he did? Well, he sure did hope he'd be physically tolerant by then, because he would really, really want to beat the living daylights out of it.
Naturally, she just HAD to go along with the Slayers DAMN plot, and agree to provide what had been asked for. Nirvana briefly considered killing himself right then and there. But, he decided against it. It was the coward's way out. If only it were an option...
But, the torture wasn't quite over. He looked up with narrowed eyes, a visible scowl, an barred teeth when, of all people, the human was the one to approach him. She didn't seem at all apprehensive, either. Nirvana wasn't quite sure which disturbed him more. The hell was her problem? He was just surrounded, surrounded with maniacs. No doubt about it. When she touched him, he nearly hit the fucking roof. Talk about destroying comfort zones. This took the cake.
And what she had to say to him, well, that didn't help at all.
“Well, if Nixon’s staying here, something will need to be done to curb your…” a pause, and Nirvana tensed out of sheer instinct. Pauses were never a good thing. “…discomfort." Oh, FUCK YOU. "You clearly haven’t undergone tolerance training… a little odd for a demon, but I can help you." YEAH FUCKING RIGHT. "You’d just need to trust I know what I’m talking about, no matter how crazy it sounds to you." NOPE. "No matter how unconventional. No matter how much it sounds like complete bullshit." NOT DOING YOURSELF MUCH GOOD HERE, FILTH. "I’ve had the pleasure of training quite a few of your kind over the years." Pleasure? YOU SOME KIND of MASOCHIST? "I do a better job than the demon teachers themselves." BULLSHIT. "I can have you feeling better before this thing lands.” Oh, sure. SURE. “What do you say?”
He was quiet for a moment. Sure, pauses weren't a good thing, but sometimes they were necessary. "What do I say? WHAT do I say?" He smiled a painful smile, more of a grimace actually, by definition, and chuckled for a bit before responding, as if it were all just some sort of elaborate joke. "I say... FUCK OFF, STUPID WENCH." Suddenly, his voice went very low, almost a whisper. "I'm fine. I'm fucking fine, alright? FUCKING ALRIGHT." He tugged his hand away from hers, adopting a disdainful, disgusted sneer as he rose slowly from his seat on the floor, sickle tight in hand, yet not quite in the ready position. "I don't need your help. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? In fact, that IS PROBABLY the LAST THING that I need, so keep your BULLSHIT TO yourself."
He'd never wanted to be elsewhere so much in his entire life.
RPG
