| Cirucci Thunderwitch | |
|---|---|
 you lopped off my hair, and left me looking like you did when you died. | |
| Gender | Female |
| Age | 20 |
| Race | Arrancar |
| Ship | The Silvana |
| Position | Passenger |
| Birthplace | Abantiare, Ivona |
| Nationality | various |
| Faction | |
Cirucci Thunderwitch, an arrancar aboard the Silvana. Her boots were made for trampling you over.
Personality[]
Cirucci is sharper than most would first assume, both in mind and retort. While seemingly very physical, there is a very heavy cerebral element in how she handles her body; she’s aware of how to use it to get others to notice or perceive her in certain ways. Similarly, she can act sweet and innocent when it’s to her advantage, but more often than not is rude in how she approaches others. She also alternates between being blunt and speaking around the point, as it were, but the latter is never a sign of insecurity; rather, it’s her way of messing with others, to get into their heads and make them uncomfortable.
She’s naturally an indignant kind of girl, big on her pride, and does not take well to being humiliated; being heavily self absorbed, Cirucci is constantly re-evaluating her own status and sense of autonomy. She tends to act independently of others, being strong-willed, but has no inherent problem in following when the situation requires it. She does, however, thoroughly enjoy weaving others around her little finger, and relishes in that kind of power. She loves to use her sharp tongue to see other people squirm; she’ll lash out especially when feeling threatened. There’s a sense of self-importance to her, and she does not like others ‘intruding’ on her turf, nor dismissing her. She can get very catty, in that respect, mocking those who annoy or otherwise offend her.
She’s the kind to follow her indulgences, and to give in to them with little regret; she has no use for the baggage of strict morality, although she can be a bit escapist in her motivation. She does something about her troubles, instead of mulling around being inactive. She has no qualms about taking risks when it’ll help her advance in some way, especially if her pride is on the line.
History[]
Cirucci was born to a newly married couple in Abantiare, Ivona; an only child, she was born to a tailor (her father) and a factory worker (her mother). The family was lower-middle class economically, though still not terribly poor; her father in particular experienced mild success, and Cirucci learned a bit about clothes-making from him. Cirucci’s mother occasionally took the young girl out to Melior, when possible, despite the expense of the trip; while her father protested, claiming it to be ‘unnecessary,’ Cirucci’s mother was all too quick to shush him, citing the educational value of the trips.
When Cirucci was around 15, her father’s company suffered financial trouble, partly from an increasing number of bigger corporations opening factories around the area. Her father, already a nervous, easily agitated man, began to snap at his wife and daughter increasingly by the day, until he suffered a breakdown in which he declared life would be easier had he never had a child. Rather than cry, or wallow in angst, Cirucci chose to be tight-lipped around the man, distancing herself from his company whenever possible and using a very few, choice words when talking to him. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel any guilt over her family’s situation, instead choosing to view her father as a pathetic, lowly failure. What unnerved the girl more, possibly, was seeing her previously strong, assertive mother grow silent in response to her husband’s jibes; when Cirucci demanded a reason for the shift in behavior, her mother simply shrugged, claiming that, ”your father isn’t worth spending energy on.” Unsatisfied, Cirucci dropped out of school at the term’s end, and left her home behind.
Briefly contemplating staying in Ivona, Cirucci rejected her home country in the end, knowing that the larger cities would look down upon her for the stink of smoke she couldn’t scrub from her hair; she looked to Vohemar instead, free of the pretension and bullshit she so despised in Ivona. By the time she crossed the border, however, she was in desperate need of money. Settling in Berum, she quickly found a patron: a military man who commissioned (and demanded) the best clothes she could make for him*. The relationship between the two started out smoothly; however, Cirucci, finding the man’s taste to be bland and uninspiring, began to ignore his advice, instead tailoring attire closer to her image of perfection. Her patron was petty, angered by her unruliness, and just condescending enough to want to teach her a lesson. Finding her quips and defiance unbearable at last, he put on a front of friendliness and concern, recommending her to a project that a fellow military man of his was conducting.
Singing the man’s—a certain ‘Aizen Sousuke’—praises, Cirucci’s patron spoke highly of the experiments, encouraging her to take part—all while glossing over the more unpleasant details. The promise of becoming a bastard child of nature and man—and hence transcending her mediocre form--indeed appealed to her. With lungs stained with city smoke, and sure her life expectancy was already cut in half because of her childhood, Cirucci signed up. Her patron, of course, neglected to confide to her just how unhappy the first batch had been: the miserable and devastating consequences that had followed. And so she became a subject, and here her inner darkness was given shape, made palpable, in the form of a swallow, more wretched and monstrous than one would expect from such a bird. She received her Zanpakuto, which worked to seal this newfound form, alongside a ‘mask’ that consisted merely of the hairpin she now always wears in her hair.
She served under Aizen in debt following the experiment; however, after the man fine-tuned the process, and fashioned newly made arrancar—more artificial from his previous experiments--he began to neglect the older arrancar, Cirucci included. The very sight of her new ‘siblings’ erupted a wave of jealousy in her; rather than simply walk around with a chip on her shoulder, however, the girl ensured that the click of her boots on the floor was louder than ever, her hips swinging with an exaggerated sway, to overcompensate for the isolation pervading the lab. For all the girlish pouts and feminine charms she enacted—the heavy fall of the eyelids, the parted lips—the sharp cluck of her tongue still gave her away; Cirucci had a bite, had that crack in each step she took, that she fully directed towards her new, ‘superior’ siblings. She may have been twisted to suit Aizen’s purposes like origami, but Cirucci would not stand to be molded and ground to mere pulp. She still had dignity, dammit, and if she had to drag others down with her to preserve it, then so be it.
And so this cycle continued until a fire broke out in the lab; harnessing her powers, Cirucci managed to escape with little to no damage done. Humiliated, and licking her wounds, Cirucci set forth to Vohemar, eventually settling in the pleasure-seeking city of Licere. Almost 18, Cirucci took on a job as a burlesque dancer in one of the city’s upcoming music halls, gaining moderate success in her new job; she excels particularly in striptease, which is ironic given her dislike of those who try to peek under her clothes (she hides a dagger in an inside pocket for defense purposes). The difference, however, is the locus of control; the stage shifts it onto her, lends her a power over the men who come to watch, a manipulation that is not always available to her when she walks the streets back to her apartment at night (she would rather not waste spiritual energy by commanding her released form on such a ‘trivial’ matter). All in all, despite occasionally sticking her nose up at the crudeness and coarseness of her new home, she’s not living terribly off on her own.
Until she learns of the Silvana, that is, and a certain man who serves as a boatswain on board. At the name of ‘Aizen Sousuke,’ Cirucci uproots herself once more, aiming to be a passenger of the ship at his beck and call. Hearing of the next pit stop—Kropmork—she heads toward the island, with the excuse of checking out the Seamstresses’ Guild there. It’s an odd mix of vindication and indignation; she may be needed, but someone as independent as her hates having her strings pulled.