IN PROGRESS.

Jun 23, 2008 23:45

Who: Grimmjow (forgrind), Gin (gintsune).
What: Our resident kitten is quietly chilling around the fountain, and Gin goes to retrieve him.
Where: The fountain.
When: Tonight-ish?



To say that Grimmjow was disgruntled would have probably been a bit of an understatement.

Everything considered, he should have been at least a little cheerful over the fact that, one, that bastard Aizen wasn't anywhere in sight, and two... well, that bastard Aizen wasn't anywhere in sight. Really, on any other day, it would have been enough to lace the edges of his typically razor-sharp smile with a little bit of extra insanity, and it would have definitely been enough for him to not give a fuck about where he was or that that stupid fucking Shinigami happened to be there along with him.

But then it figured, didn't it. Figured that the second he opened his eyes and trailed his fingers over the hilt of his weapon, recognizing and realizing in that single moment that he was alone, something else would claw its way back up from the pits of Las Noches and haunt him at every fucking corner. Typically, it was Ulquiorra. This time, it was fucking Ichimaru, and Grimmjow wasn't entirely sure if that was worse than facing the cool-tempered wrath of the 4th Espada, or if it was significantly better.

Didn't care. Didn't matter. Shouldn't have been waiting there, anyway, and his uniform was sticky with Luppi's dried blood, and he'd washed the gore from between his fingers in the fountain he stood next to now, not giving a good goddamn about anyone who happened to pass his way and quirk an eyebrow in his general direction.

He'd offered them a quick smile, teeth flashing white and sharp in the failing light, and they'd hurried on their way, disappearing quickly into the shadows that stuck to the buildings all around him like a second skin.

"Ain't got fuckin' time for this," he muttered, and long fingers curled anxiously about the curved rim of the fountain.

Grimmjow figured that he would have been better off on his own, and he definitely didn't need to be around Ichimaru, definitely didn't need to hear that stupid laugh and hear those stupid fucking riddles that weren't really riddles at all. Didn't need any of it, because he never needed anything, did he, and he hated the fact that maybe it was instinct that was forcing him to seek the assistance of someone he would have typically gone out of his way to avoid. But instinct told him a lot of things. Instinct told him to tear his fingers through that silver hair whenever he saw that wacky bastard's face, to fist his hand in wispy locks, to tear his head right from his body and shove it on a pike for Aizen to look at whenever he even fucking thought of demoting him again.

Instinct told him to kill, and he ignored it. He wasn't that stupid, after all. Knew better than to pick a fight with someone like Ichimaru, when the bastard was so goddamn good at manipulating everything around him, and maybe Grimmjow could exploit most things. But.

He never really could exploit Gin.

"Damnit--"

Gravel and dirt crackled beneath his feet as he pushed himself forward, blue eyes scanning his surroundings.

"Where the fuck are you?"

bleach: grimmjow jeagerjaques, bleach: ichimaru gin, dead logs

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