[Log] Grimmjow, Nnoitra, Szayel, Ulquiorra (Party Log)
Title: What's your age again?
Characters: Grimm (formative), Nnoi (day_eight), Zael (ryokosp21), Ulquiorra (sindacirwen)
Timeline: September 1, 2007
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The members of the Arrancar share a few drinks at the party.
Fucking over dressed pricks... Nnoitra scowled at a group of men wearing expensive suits and leaned back against the bar. He didn't understand why people felt the need to parade around in designer threads. It wasn't like the Soul Society birthday bash was that fucking important. His own outfit was nothing out of the ordinary-just skinny black jeans, a studded belt, and a black button-up shirt that was tattered on the bottom. He could already hear that pompous designer bitching him out. Yummy or whatever the fuck his name was. The man sure as hell didn't seem yummy to him. More like... disgustingly feminine.
He chuckled and returned his attention to his present company. Now the chicks... they were a different story. It was always entertaining to see how slutty women could dress while still being able to pass it off as 'formal'. His lips curved in a grin as he leaned over to smell the hair of the girl on his left. Fucking delicious...
"Hey, toots. D'ya want a drink or something?"
The broad giggled and batted her eyelashes. "I'm not twenty-one," she replied.
Well, fuck. He knew the bitch looked young, but he'd thought that she'd at least be old enough to drink. Then again, the girls that appealed him were usually just kids... Turning to his right, he eyed the other chick and licked his teeth.
"What about you? You a baby, too?"
She nodded. He laughed. "Well, shit. I guess I'll be the only one drinkin'." With that he turned and tried to catch the attention of the bartender. The babe serving drinks was pretty damn fine, too. A bit old for his taste, but she had knockers the size of his head. Fucking amazing... He wanted to rub his face in them until he died of asphyxiation. Now, that would be one hell of a way to go...
Grimmjow knew only one person on the planet who laughed like a bunch of hyenas on ecstasy and that person happened to be his band mate - whom he avoided like the plague whenever he could. Not tonight, though.
From the other side of the room he spotted that sleazy walking liana with two coozies in his arms, the squab chick kind that sick bastard liked so much. However, they couldn’t have been over twenty-one, they barely looked eighteen, and if that was the case, they had no right to be in this area of the club… A wicked grin settled on his lips as he pushed away from the wall and prowled towards the bar.
“Look what we got here,” he sneered, pushing one of the girls aside not too gently and leaned against the bar. Cool blue eyes gave the two groupies a disgusted once-over. “Hate to disappoint ya but ya ain't young enough fer him. Could be yer lucky day, though, cuz ya might just be old enough fer me.” The girls giggled and the one closest to him tried to snuggle up which he prevented by grabbing her arm and pushing her back to her previous position. “Not so fast, Daisy Duck. Why don’t’cha show us some ID first, hm? C’mon, I like lookin at ‘em. Humour me and ya might get a reward.”
Nnoitra rolled his eye and swore under his breath. Leave it to Grimmjow to ruin what could have been a pretty decent night. The smurfy fucker should have just gotten his own groupies - there were plenty of under-dressed sluts to go around. Turning his head, the skinny guitarist licked his lips and leaned in until his nose was inches away from Grimm's cheek.
"Well, ain't that sweet," he said, baring his teeth in a bit of a snarl. "Ya coulda just said that you were jealous. Don't worry, sweetheart - no matter how many bitches I get, I'll still have some lovin' left over for you."
Returning his attention to the chick who had attempted to cozy up to the bassist, Nnoitra leered and caught her arm, pulling her into his chest with a rough yank. "Don't listen to him," he whispered next to her ear. "He's just pissed cuz he ran out of smurfs to kill. Bet ya didn't know that the Grimmjow Jaegerjaques uses gen-yoo-wine smurf blood to die his hair that nasty color."
Both girls laughed nervously, making Nnoitra smirk. Fucking bitches... It was obvious that they were torn between not wanting to be kicked out of the bar area and complying with Grimmjow's request. He growled and returned his attention back to his band mate. "What the fuck's your problem, man? Can't ya see I'm a little busy here?" His lips pulled into a sneer as he gestured towards the girls. "Or did one of these catch your eye?"
“Thanks, mate, but I ain’t too fond of STDs.” Grimmjow snorted and snatched the girl’s purse from her shoulder. He rummaged through it, searching for her ID, which didn’t take that long since that bag was the size of his palm. Completely ignoring her protests, he pulled her ID from her wallet and held it up.
“Yeap, jus’ as I thought.” He smirked and dangled it in front of the other Arrancar’s nose. “Too old fer ya. Sorry, pal.” The girl, red-faced and slightly angry, tried to snatch it from his grasp but he simply held it up higher and chuckled at her vain attempts to reach it. “Wouldn’t keep jumpin’ around like that, puss,” he purred. “Ya don’t wanna end up with saggy tits, do ya?”
Nnoitra narrowed his eye at the ID and scoffed. Nineteen? Well, shit... That certainly made things a lot less fun. He shoved the chick into Grimmjow and turned towards the bar. Swiping a random, half-full bottle of beer from the counter, he looked over at his band mate and grinned. "Ain't ya heard? I'm movin' on to bigger and better things." He gulped down what was left in the bottle and hooked his arm around the other girl. "Bigger being the key word," he said, moving his hand down over the broad's chest.
Reaching up, Nnoitra grabbed the ID from Grimm's hand and flicked it, frisbee style, into the middle of a group of people. The thin sheet of plastic skidded along the floor before coming to rest under the shoe of some drunk idiot. "Go fetch," he said to the girl it belonged to, putting his foot on her ass and giving her a push.
The moment the girl hit Grimmjow’s chest, he grabbed her by the shoulder and kept her at arm’s-length, accidentally holding her at an angle that combined with Nnoitra’s kick made it look like a well-practised move. Which it wasn’t, of course. They never practised stuff like that. It came to them naturally.
However, on rare occasions, occasions like this, when they were having fun at the expense of others, the blue-haired man could admit to himself - and only to himself - that he maybe he disliked Nnoitra a little less than he made it appear. Rolling his eyes, he leaned back against the bar and ordered another beer for himself.
“Ain’t lookin’ that big to me, dude.”
A smirk found its way to Nnoitra's face at Grimm's comment. "Well, they might not be as big as that babe's behind the bar," he replied, motioning toward the heavy-chested bartender with his head. "But still, bigger than most underaged bitches." One of the only shitty thing about the young girls was that most of them were as flat as fucking boards. He chuckled and tightened his arm around the broad next to him, nuzzling his nose in her hair. "These legal chicks might not be all that bad," he grinned.
Just as he was about to say something about Grimmjow's own taste in women, Nnoitra caught sight of something bright and pink across the room. He narrowed his eye to get a better look. That color of hair could only mean one thing. "Lookie what we have here," he said, nudging Grimm with his elbow. Although he didn't feel particularly warm and fuzzy toward his spectacled band mate, he wouldn't let that stop him from trying to have a bit of fun.
"YO ZAEL!" he yelled, making sure that his voice was more than loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party. "GET YOUR PINK ASS OVER HERE."
Zael stopped mid-sentence, turning towards the sound of his name being shouted. How rude. It did not take long to figure out who the culprit might be. Even without Grimmjow’s bright blue hair to guide him, he still would have recognized Nnoitra. The disgusting man’s leer was visible even half a room away. Zael was more than a little irritated that his wayward band-mate thought it was a good idea to so rudely interrupt not only him, but the whole party. And all this just to heckle him. He did not doubt for a minute that despite the people with him, this was what Nnoitra was up to.
For a second, he considered simply ignoring the guitarist, but decided against it. Ignoring Nnoitra only made him behave more obnoxiously. It was actually quite pathetic, in Zael’s opinion. Looking at the guitarist, Zael wondered for the umpteenth time why no one got him the serious, psychological help he so clearly needed. Sighing, he excused himself from the gentleman he had been conversing with and made his way through the crowd to his fellow band members. He had just been starting to have a good time, too.
He smiled at Grimmjow, before turning his attention to Nnoitra, keeping his face pleasantly neutral. "You rang," he deadpanned, completely ignoring the insult the greasy man had hurled his way. He refused to lower himself to Nnoitra’s level. The most likely under age groupie clinging to the guitarist’s side was irrelevant. He paid her no mind, and refrained from saying anything further. He wanted to get away as soon as was politely possible and return to his previous, enjoyable engagement.
Turning his head, Grimmjow let his gaze wander across the room to determine what had caught the skinny pervert’s attention. Another perv apparently. Fucking great! Grunting he nursed his beer, seemingly determined to empty it in one draught.
He managed to suck down half of it and repaid Zael’s smile with an elongated burp and a smirk. “Cyclops here’s tryin’ to acquire a taste fer…” He paused, frowned and thumped a fist against his chest lightly, producing another burp - not as loud as the last one but still pretty impressive.
“…bimbos that ain’t jus’ planks with nipples.”
"Nice," Nnoitra complimented, smirking at the unruly burp from Grimm. His gaze alternated between his two band mates, his lips pulled back in his trademark sneer. Blue hair... pink hair... throw in some glow sticks and they'd be ready for a fucking rave. He chuckled as Grimmjow burped again. "Dude, I could almost smell that one."
The comment about 'planks with nipples' made him burst out into a fit of laughter. He clapped Grimm on the back and grinned. "Don' knock the planks until you've tried 'em, man. Boobs ain't all important when it comes to broads. The little ones know when to shut the fuck up. Ain't nothin' worse than a yappy bitch."
Turning around, he grabbed another half-empty bottle of beer from the bar and took a chug. This one was bordering on lukewarm, and he grimaced as he swallowed the stale liquid. "Can't a man get a cold beer?" he growled, feeling a few more bottles until he found one that was cool to the touch. After taking a drink, he eyed Zael deviously and reached out to give the man's shirt a tug. "Nice digs ya got there, bro. What gay celebrity did you kill to get 'em?"
Zael quirked an eyebrow up at his greeting from Grimmjow. Honestly, he knew this was his version of being polite, but he still did not appreciate it in the least. At Nnoitra’s comment, he smirked. It seemed as if his band mates got along better than he had suspected. And why shouldn’t they? They were practically made for each other. Both possessed sub-par intelligence, were obnoxious, rude, and always spoiling for a fight. Quite the opposite of Zael himself.
He flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his long-sleeved, white blouse before turning to Nnoitra. "Finally got pressured into at least dating your age, did you?" Zael’s mouth curled up a little more, his smirk growing wider as he tactfully ignored the rest of Nnoitra’s inane commentary on women. He generally preferred men, but knew what he liked in a woman and needed none of the sleazy guitarist’s input on the matter.
Zael watched as Nnoitra drank from a couple of the many beer bottles adorning the nearby counter and grimaced. The man had money, and could certainly buy his own drinks, but was choosing to consume others’ stale beer instead. Disgusting.
He was distracted for a second by an attractive stranger passing nearby and didn’t see Nnoitra’s grimy hand coming until it was too late. The guitarist actually touched him. Zael was none too pleased, and decided to tactfully return some of the insults he had been dealt. "I really can’t say," he retorted, smirking at the other man. "Perhaps if you tell me the name of the junkie you stole yours from, it will jog my memory."
The guitarist laughed at Zael's attempt at a comeback. It was a pretty snappy reply, but it would take a lot more than that to get under Nnoitra's skin. Actually... there wasn't a whole lot that could get under his skin. His skin was definitely tougher than Zael's, Grimmjow's, or any of the other dick-heads in the Arrancar. He had motherfucking titanium skin.
He returned Zael's smirk and brought his bottle of beer up to his lips. "His name was Pete. Dude was an ugly fucker... even worse after I stole his clothes." He tipped the bottle up and swallowed the last of the frothy liquid. "Have ya ever seen a homeless guy's balls? Fucking nasty."
Turning around, he put the empty bottle on the counter and tried to flag down one of the bartenders. The person who ended up stopping to take his order wasn't the busty babe, but some wanky looking fucker with no bust. He growled his disappointment and cracked his neck. "I want three shots of ta-kill-ya for me and my buddies," he said, turning his head to leer at his two band mates. Might as well make the most of things...
Grabbing the shot glasses that were placed in front of him, he handed one to Grimm and one to Zael, chuckling darkly and nearly spilling the tequila in the process. "Drink up," he said, bringing his own to his mouth and licking the rim of the tiny glass. "To bitches, booze, and the motherfucking Arrancar. May we all get fucked by the end of the night."
The comment about little ones knowing when to shut up went into one ear, swiftly bypassed Grimmjow's brain and escaped through the other ear without leaving an impact. It was a mechanism that switched on every time Nnoitra came into sight and prevented the blue-haired man from going mental on him as long as possible.
He watched the crowd while Candycotton and Cyclops exchanged insults and was just about to space off when the words 'ta-kill-ya' pulled him back to the here and now.
"Finally. Though ya two prissy bitches'd never stop yappin'. Ain't it time fer ya to scramble, pig puppet?" he said to the girl and sneered. "Or didn'tcha hear what stick boy jus' said 'bout them young'uns?"
Zael closed his eyes and smirked. As he had anticipated, insults had no effect whatsoever on Nnoitra.
It was not his usual style to openly slight someone, and he resented the fact that the sleazy man had gotten under his skin enough for him to actually break his mold. It made him toy with the idea of testing the other man’s limits, of eventually breaking him. Although he had succeeded admirably with Grimmjow, the result was not something he liked to think about too often. However, Nnoitra was an entirely different animal. Zael did not doubt that the guitarist would be much harder to crack if he chose to go that route. The thought was an interesting one. He did love a good challenge, after all. And it gave him great pleasure to find out what made people tick, to gradually erode their definition of self until they cracked under his masterful manipulation.
Yes, Nnoitra would make an excellent subject for some social research. But how to go about it? The things that worked on most people, subtle barbs directed at their weak points and invasion of their personal space, had little to no effect on the sleazy guitarist.
Zael opened his eyes, raising his eyebrow slightly as Nnoitra handed him a shot glass filled with tequila. At the other man’s unofficial toast, he moved his hand slightly toward his bandmates, a smile flitting quickly across his features. He had it. The key to unsettling Nnoitra would be to do something totally opposite of what he would be expecting. In other words, compliment him. The greasy man was the butt of jokes, and the target of most people’s disgust and in some cases, hatred. He was used to these kinds of things, so his particular immunity to them made sense. Zael still was not completely sure he wanted to crack the sleazy man, but it was worth a little experimentation.
"My, how generous of you," he said, inclining his head at the guitarist and giving him a full fledged smile before knocking his head back and quickly downing the burning liquid. He set the empty shot glass on the bar counter next to the bottles Nnoitra had been from drinking earlier.
Grimmjow’s comment caused him to direct his gaze at the girl at Nnoitra‘s side, and she flinched, shying away from his disapproving stare. Although he bore her no ill will, she was in the way of things, and he wished she would leave.
Generous? What the fuck? Nnoitra didn't know what Zael was up to, but he did know that it was pretty fucking weird. Everyone in the band hated him, and he liked it that way. He basically lived to piss everybody off. The day that changed would be the day he'd tell everyone that he liked rainbows and butterflies and all things fluffy. Passing the seemingly nice comment off as sarcasm, he tilted his head back and drank his shot.
The tequila just barely burned as it trickled down Nnoitra's throat. It must have been the expensive shit. No matter how much money he made, he would never lose his love of dirt cheap booze. There was just nothing better than that initial bite and the sickly aftertaste that would often last for days. He flicked his tongue forward and licked his lips. This pricey shit was downright disappointing.
Turning his head, he narrowed his eye at the girl that he'd all but forgotten about. He laughed at her hurt look and patted her cheek. "Why don't ya go find your little friend? Maybe she found some guy's dick to suck while she was crawling around on the floor."
The little princess made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked back sob and took off. Nnoitra watched her leave and broke out into more laughter. Fucking bitches... they were all so god-damned predictable. He glanced at the two other men and smirked. "Time for another," he declared, grabbing their shot glasses and setting them back up on the bar.
Grimmjow eyed the pink-haired keyboard player suspiciously, nose wrinkled up, and shifted away from him. Fuckin' creep. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ended up with this bunch of horror show characters and each time ended up blaming the prissy little wannabe rock princess Thunderbitch! Yes, it was all her fault that he spent more time in a make-up chair and in front of camera lenses than on the stage where he truly belonged.
Stupid whore.
The Arrancar snatched the shot glass off the counter and knocked it back. Here he was, drinking with asshats at a fancy anniversary party and not liking it at all. Why had he agreed to come here? Right. Fox-faced smiling bastard had asked him nicely...
He hated it. He was miserable and when Grimmjow was miserable, he wanted to share it with the world. His eyes lit up when a skinny figure clad in black crossed his vision. Slamming his glass on the bar, he pulled himself up from his slouching position, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "MR SCHIFFER! MR ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER! PLEASE BE REPORTIN' TO THE BAR IMMEDIATELY!"
Had his roomie heard him? He wasn't sure...
Although the other man did not respond, Zael could sense his unease. He kept his expression carefully serene, pleased that his assumption was correct, but not wanting to show it. Compliments were definitely the way to go with this one. Nevertheless, he would take things slow, as he had with Grimmjow. Judging by the bassist’s body language, Zael could tell he still affected the other man. Lovely.
Zael closed his eyes, unable to repress the slow smile that crept across his face. He barely registered Nnoitra’s interaction with the groupie, but did notice when she left. Though he could possibly have used her as a pawn to get under the guitarist’s skin, Zael was glad she was gone.
He heard Nnoitra order more drinks for them, but didn’t open his eyes until Grimmjow shouted for Ulquiorra. His ears rang with the deafening bellow the bassist had let loose and he sighed, feeling annoyed at the interruption, and a bit sorry for Ulquiorra. It was not exactly surprising the bassist had done this, being so similar to Nnoitra, but it was still annoying.
“Do you mind?” he hissed, covering the ear that was closest to the blue-haired man and glaring at him.
Ulquiorra leaned against the wall and studied the people mingling and being sociable, twirling an empty champagne-flute between long fingers. He had almost completely managed to avoid all the people at this place, and he figured it wasn't long until he could excuse himself and leave.
"MR SCHIFFER! MR ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER! PLEASE BE REPORTIN' TO THE BAR IMMEDIATELY!"
Ulquiorra flinched just the slightest at the loud yell that must have been heard across the entire place. He had already observed that some of the other band-members were situated at the bar, and his eyes were drawn to the blue-haired bassist whose voice he would have recognized anywhere.
For a second or two he considered ignoring it, but judging by that his roomate seemed quite inebriated he had a feeling of that the other might go as far as to walk over to where he was and drag him over to the bar.
Quietly walking over, disposing the empty champagne flute on his way, he gave a brief nod to Zael and Nnoitra before finally looking at the blue-haired man.
"You yelled?" he said in a calm tone, taking in all those present and trying to judge just how much of a chaotic situation this would turn into.
Nnoitra turned around just as Ulquiorra arrived. He bared his teeth in a snarl before tilting his head back and draining the second shot. After slamming the empty glass on the counter, he signaled the bartender for another round. If he was going to have to deal with Blueberry, Cherry, and the Canary, he needed more alcohol - and pronto.
Wiping a drop of tequila from the corner of his mouth, he narrowed his eye and fixed Ulquiorra with a steely stare. "Well if it ain't Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer. Would ya be so kind as to sign my cover of Teen for me? I'm a huge fan."
He wasn't very fond of the vocalist. Yeah, it was pretty normal for front men to get more attention than the rest of the band, but Nnoitra couldn't tolerate some new, young punk stealing any of his glory. As far as he was concerned, the Arrancar had been fine before Ulquiorra, and they would be fine without him. Not that he wanted Cirucci back... he just liked having an excuse to hate the new singer.
Turning back to the bar, he grabbed the freshly filled shots and chuckled darkly. It was time to see if the kid could hold his liquor. He passed out the tequila-filled glasses and held up his own in a bit of a salute. "Here's to getting Ulquiorra trashed."
“Ya heard me!” Grinning, Grimmjow threw an arm around his flatmate’s neck and pulled him closer towards the bar, positioning the smaller man between him and the pink-haired freak. There now. That was much better.
“Dude’s jus’ pissed the widdle ones like ya better’n him.” The bass player didn’t mind that Ulquiorra had become the object of teenager worship because it meant that whenever they appeared somewhere, he’d be left alone by those nitwits. However, it did piss him off that they’d become a teenie band. That was not something a musician should be proud of.
A small frown creased the blueberry’s forehead. Maybe it was time to make that call.
“Ya heard me!”
Ulquiorra stiffened as the blue-haired man threw an arm around his shoulders and maneuvered Ulquiorra closer towards the group. This kind of physical closeness wasn't something that Ulquiorra thought that he'd ever get used to; he preferred deciding who got to be within his closest proximity.
Then again, Ulquiorra thought with something akin to wry humor, this was Grimmjow's own way of saying that he had accepted Ulquiorra into the band, and for this the dark-haired singer allowed this breech of his personal space a minute or two longer before he discreetly shrugged the arm off.
"Yes, Grimmjow, I heard you," he confirmed, just the faintest trace of irony in his words. He doubted that anyone in the vicinity hadn't heard him, but as Grimmjow seemed content at the moment he'd settle with not commenting further on it at the moment. A drunk and violent Grimmjow was nothing that he particularly fancied.
"Well if it ain't Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer. Would ya be so kind as to sign my cover of Teen for me? I'm a huge fan."
'Ah, trust Nnoitra to come up with such a lame comment.' Ulquiorra mentally rolled his eyes, judging the reason for the other's dislike of him for just that he received more appreciation from the younger audience. Personally he would have liked nothing more than for the guitarist to take the lot of the fangirls, but Nnoitra's disturbing like for these children kept him from voicing any such thoughts out loud.
"Hello to you too, Nnoitra." He paused, debating for a moment of whether to say something else, settling on that it was about time to make sure that he would take no heat from the other, even though he realized that this was just as bad as lowering himself to the other's level. He judged that if the other really wanted to pick a fight this could turn ugly, but on the other hand he reasoned that the other just wanted to make some snide comments at his expense.
"I didn't know you were such a fan. If you wanted an autograph you could have just said so," he deadpanned, looking up at the other man without as much moving a muscle.
"Dude’s jus’ pissed the widdle ones like ya better’n him.”
Grimmjow's rumble from next to him elected a soft snort from the dark-haired singer.
'Widdle ones?' Oh really, Grimmjow certainly knew how to phrase himself.
"Indeed," he said, throwing a look towards where one of the younger girls that earlier had accompanied Nnoitra had left, then back to Nnoitra with an eyebrow raised, watching a shot of tequila being handed to him.
Here's to getting Ulquiorra trashed."
The instant he saw the glass he knew that there was no way of getting out of this without either humiliating himself or appearing weak. He debated back and forth for a few instants, seeing what choices he had. While he probably could handle the liquor and wasn't afraid of what he might do if losing this little game, he wasn't keen on taking up this challenge merely satisfy Nnoitra. It held no appeal and he saw no reason to do anything utterly foolish.
"I'm not going to drink just because you wish to see me drunk, Nnoitra. This," he said and gestured to the shot-glasses that had been passed around, the gesture speaking more of the challenge than the actual drinking, "is completely pointless."
Zael was about to say something else to Grimmjow, but was distracted by the arrival of Ulquiorra. He nodded back at the quiet man, and decided to let it go.
He smoothed a few wrinkles out of the front of his shirt as Grimmjow positioned Ulquiorra between them, suppressing a chuckle at how uncomfortable he was making the other man. Despite the fact that he had not made any move toward the bassist whatsoever, Zael could tell how tightly wound the other man was. All it would take would be a little push in the right direction and Grimmjow would crack.
Although it would not take much effort on his part, Zael found himself bored with the idea. He had already broken Grimmjow once and felt no real desire to do so again. He understood the other man, and what was the use of playing a game to which he already knew all the rules? No. Zael was a fan of solving puzzles, and he had figured this one out long ago. Better to focus on something newer, more interesting. Namely, Nnoitra. For now though, he would simply observe and plan accordingly.
Zael belatedly lifted his glass to Nnoitra’s toast and eyed the other man before knocking his head back and downing the burning stuff. He returned the empty glass to the counter, taking note of the conversation going on between Nnoitra and Ulquiorra. It seemed Nnoitra got under his skin as well. Zael ran a hand through his hair, somewhat relieved by this. The alcohol made him feel warm, sedentary, and completely at ease, though he could understand Ulquiorra’s refusal to drink.
“My my, trying to get Grimmjow’s designated driver drunk too? How nefarious of you,” he said, words not coming quite as quick to his tongue as they would have normally.
Rolling his eye at the sarcastic comments being directed his way, Nnoitra chose to ignore them for the time being and downed his shot. Witty banter with his bandmates was fun and all, but alcohol was far more important. He would probably need a few more drinks if he was going to make it through the next few hours without totally losing his mind. Fucking high class parties... There were too many eyes watching him; all those people keeping tabs on him meant that he had to behave, at least to some extent. The last time that he had ended up in the tabloids for something a bit "uncouth" had nearly cost him his job.
One of his dark eyebrows arched upwards at Ulquiorra's refusal of the drink. Really... the vocalist should have known that he wasn't going to get off that easily. Designated driver or not, having a drink with the rest of the band was something that couldn't be denied.
"You know, it's awfully rude to refuse a drink when it's been offered to ya," he drawled, narrowing his eye and giving Ulquiorra a leer. "Where's your Arrancar spirit?" He chuckled and leaned back against the bar. "Keep actin' like that and ya might earn yourself a spot with the Vaizard. Damn pussies..."
He glanced around, wondering if any of the rival band's fans would be within earshot of his cutting comment. The one thing he hated more than the stuck up pricks at this party were the idiotic imbeciles, aka the Vaizard.
“Nice.” Grimmjow snorted and laughed. He clinked his glass against the one-eyed guitarist’s and knocked his shot back. The Vaizard. Where the fuck were they anyway? So far, he hadn’t spotted a single one of them. Not that he cared but it was kind of strange. One would think that they’d jump at any opportunity to expose themselves to the public - seeing how their fan base was not as solid as it had been a year ago.
No, he didn’t give a shit about the Vaizard. Still, if really neither of them had come, one certain shitty guitarist would have some explaining to do. The blue-haired man poured himself another shot and downed it, slamming his glass on the counter afterwards. Suddenly, a different face in the crowd caught his attention and brought a small grin to his lips. What were the odds of meeting her here?
“Gotta take a piss,” he announced to his band mates as he pushed away from the bar and swaggered off. “Don’t wait for me.”
At Nnoitra’s comment about the Vizard, Zael smirked. It was clear he felt the rivalry between the two bands quite keenly. While Zael himself did not participate in such behavior, it did make for an interesting study of jealousy. Not that he thought the Vizard were better than his band. Quite the opposite, but rivalry did stem from that base feeling. Via Il Forte, Zael was quite familiar with the emotion.
He was about to take advantage of the wide-open remark Nnoitra had made when Grimmjow announced his leave. Glancing over at his two remaining bandmates, Zael could tell they would be at it for some time. Not wanting to be stuck watching this display for too long, he wandered toward the bathroom, using the bassist’s same excuse.
“Don’t drink too much, Nnoitra,” he said, chuckling and giving a little half-wave as he left.
Did they just... leave him? Nnoitra's eye widened as he tore his gaze away from the retreating backs of Grimmjow and Zael to glance at Ulquiorra.
No fucking way.
He groaned, turning around to slam his empty shot glass on the counter. There was no way in hell he could handle being left alone with Emo Kid. Well, not without killing him, anyways. Killing a band-mate would probably get him fired. Maybe even arrested. Did New York have the death penalty?
Lethal injection was not on his to-do list.
"I'm fuckin' outta here," he snarled, knocking into Ulquiorra as he started to make his way to the exit. He really needed a cigarette, especially if he was going to make it through the rest of the party. Maybe there'd be some cute girls to harass outside. He had to find some new ones, since those dickheads had chased the first ones away. Why did they always have to pick on him? He was nothing but nice to them...
He broke out into laughter as he pulled the door open.
Characters: Grimm (formative), Nnoi (day_eight), Zael (ryokosp21), Ulquiorra (sindacirwen)
Timeline: September 1, 2007
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The members of the Arrancar share a few drinks at the party.
Fucking over dressed pricks... Nnoitra scowled at a group of men wearing expensive suits and leaned back against the bar. He didn't understand why people felt the need to parade around in designer threads. It wasn't like the Soul Society birthday bash was that fucking important. His own outfit was nothing out of the ordinary-just skinny black jeans, a studded belt, and a black button-up shirt that was tattered on the bottom. He could already hear that pompous designer bitching him out. Yummy or whatever the fuck his name was. The man sure as hell didn't seem yummy to him. More like... disgustingly feminine.
He chuckled and returned his attention to his present company. Now the chicks... they were a different story. It was always entertaining to see how slutty women could dress while still being able to pass it off as 'formal'. His lips curved in a grin as he leaned over to smell the hair of the girl on his left. Fucking delicious...
"Hey, toots. D'ya want a drink or something?"
The broad giggled and batted her eyelashes. "I'm not twenty-one," she replied.
Well, fuck. He knew the bitch looked young, but he'd thought that she'd at least be old enough to drink. Then again, the girls that appealed him were usually just kids... Turning to his right, he eyed the other chick and licked his teeth.
"What about you? You a baby, too?"
She nodded. He laughed. "Well, shit. I guess I'll be the only one drinkin'." With that he turned and tried to catch the attention of the bartender. The babe serving drinks was pretty damn fine, too. A bit old for his taste, but she had knockers the size of his head. Fucking amazing... He wanted to rub his face in them until he died of asphyxiation. Now, that would be one hell of a way to go...
Grimmjow knew only one person on the planet who laughed like a bunch of hyenas on ecstasy and that person happened to be his band mate - whom he avoided like the plague whenever he could. Not tonight, though.
From the other side of the room he spotted that sleazy walking liana with two coozies in his arms, the squab chick kind that sick bastard liked so much. However, they couldn’t have been over twenty-one, they barely looked eighteen, and if that was the case, they had no right to be in this area of the club… A wicked grin settled on his lips as he pushed away from the wall and prowled towards the bar.
“Look what we got here,” he sneered, pushing one of the girls aside not too gently and leaned against the bar. Cool blue eyes gave the two groupies a disgusted once-over. “Hate to disappoint ya but ya ain't young enough fer him. Could be yer lucky day, though, cuz ya might just be old enough fer me.” The girls giggled and the one closest to him tried to snuggle up which he prevented by grabbing her arm and pushing her back to her previous position. “Not so fast, Daisy Duck. Why don’t’cha show us some ID first, hm? C’mon, I like lookin at ‘em. Humour me and ya might get a reward.”
Nnoitra rolled his eye and swore under his breath. Leave it to Grimmjow to ruin what could have been a pretty decent night. The smurfy fucker should have just gotten his own groupies - there were plenty of under-dressed sluts to go around. Turning his head, the skinny guitarist licked his lips and leaned in until his nose was inches away from Grimm's cheek.
"Well, ain't that sweet," he said, baring his teeth in a bit of a snarl. "Ya coulda just said that you were jealous. Don't worry, sweetheart - no matter how many bitches I get, I'll still have some lovin' left over for you."
Returning his attention to the chick who had attempted to cozy up to the bassist, Nnoitra leered and caught her arm, pulling her into his chest with a rough yank. "Don't listen to him," he whispered next to her ear. "He's just pissed cuz he ran out of smurfs to kill. Bet ya didn't know that the Grimmjow Jaegerjaques uses gen-yoo-wine smurf blood to die his hair that nasty color."
Both girls laughed nervously, making Nnoitra smirk. Fucking bitches... It was obvious that they were torn between not wanting to be kicked out of the bar area and complying with Grimmjow's request. He growled and returned his attention back to his band mate. "What the fuck's your problem, man? Can't ya see I'm a little busy here?" His lips pulled into a sneer as he gestured towards the girls. "Or did one of these catch your eye?"
“Thanks, mate, but I ain’t too fond of STDs.” Grimmjow snorted and snatched the girl’s purse from her shoulder. He rummaged through it, searching for her ID, which didn’t take that long since that bag was the size of his palm. Completely ignoring her protests, he pulled her ID from her wallet and held it up.
“Yeap, jus’ as I thought.” He smirked and dangled it in front of the other Arrancar’s nose. “Too old fer ya. Sorry, pal.” The girl, red-faced and slightly angry, tried to snatch it from his grasp but he simply held it up higher and chuckled at her vain attempts to reach it. “Wouldn’t keep jumpin’ around like that, puss,” he purred. “Ya don’t wanna end up with saggy tits, do ya?”
Nnoitra narrowed his eye at the ID and scoffed. Nineteen? Well, shit... That certainly made things a lot less fun. He shoved the chick into Grimmjow and turned towards the bar. Swiping a random, half-full bottle of beer from the counter, he looked over at his band mate and grinned. "Ain't ya heard? I'm movin' on to bigger and better things." He gulped down what was left in the bottle and hooked his arm around the other girl. "Bigger being the key word," he said, moving his hand down over the broad's chest.
Reaching up, Nnoitra grabbed the ID from Grimm's hand and flicked it, frisbee style, into the middle of a group of people. The thin sheet of plastic skidded along the floor before coming to rest under the shoe of some drunk idiot. "Go fetch," he said to the girl it belonged to, putting his foot on her ass and giving her a push.
The moment the girl hit Grimmjow’s chest, he grabbed her by the shoulder and kept her at arm’s-length, accidentally holding her at an angle that combined with Nnoitra’s kick made it look like a well-practised move. Which it wasn’t, of course. They never practised stuff like that. It came to them naturally.
However, on rare occasions, occasions like this, when they were having fun at the expense of others, the blue-haired man could admit to himself - and only to himself - that he maybe he disliked Nnoitra a little less than he made it appear. Rolling his eyes, he leaned back against the bar and ordered another beer for himself.
“Ain’t lookin’ that big to me, dude.”
A smirk found its way to Nnoitra's face at Grimm's comment. "Well, they might not be as big as that babe's behind the bar," he replied, motioning toward the heavy-chested bartender with his head. "But still, bigger than most underaged bitches." One of the only shitty thing about the young girls was that most of them were as flat as fucking boards. He chuckled and tightened his arm around the broad next to him, nuzzling his nose in her hair. "These legal chicks might not be all that bad," he grinned.
Just as he was about to say something about Grimmjow's own taste in women, Nnoitra caught sight of something bright and pink across the room. He narrowed his eye to get a better look. That color of hair could only mean one thing. "Lookie what we have here," he said, nudging Grimm with his elbow. Although he didn't feel particularly warm and fuzzy toward his spectacled band mate, he wouldn't let that stop him from trying to have a bit of fun.
"YO ZAEL!" he yelled, making sure that his voice was more than loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party. "GET YOUR PINK ASS OVER HERE."
Zael stopped mid-sentence, turning towards the sound of his name being shouted. How rude. It did not take long to figure out who the culprit might be. Even without Grimmjow’s bright blue hair to guide him, he still would have recognized Nnoitra. The disgusting man’s leer was visible even half a room away. Zael was more than a little irritated that his wayward band-mate thought it was a good idea to so rudely interrupt not only him, but the whole party. And all this just to heckle him. He did not doubt for a minute that despite the people with him, this was what Nnoitra was up to.
For a second, he considered simply ignoring the guitarist, but decided against it. Ignoring Nnoitra only made him behave more obnoxiously. It was actually quite pathetic, in Zael’s opinion. Looking at the guitarist, Zael wondered for the umpteenth time why no one got him the serious, psychological help he so clearly needed. Sighing, he excused himself from the gentleman he had been conversing with and made his way through the crowd to his fellow band members. He had just been starting to have a good time, too.
He smiled at Grimmjow, before turning his attention to Nnoitra, keeping his face pleasantly neutral. "You rang," he deadpanned, completely ignoring the insult the greasy man had hurled his way. He refused to lower himself to Nnoitra’s level. The most likely under age groupie clinging to the guitarist’s side was irrelevant. He paid her no mind, and refrained from saying anything further. He wanted to get away as soon as was politely possible and return to his previous, enjoyable engagement.
Turning his head, Grimmjow let his gaze wander across the room to determine what had caught the skinny pervert’s attention. Another perv apparently. Fucking great! Grunting he nursed his beer, seemingly determined to empty it in one draught.
He managed to suck down half of it and repaid Zael’s smile with an elongated burp and a smirk. “Cyclops here’s tryin’ to acquire a taste fer…” He paused, frowned and thumped a fist against his chest lightly, producing another burp - not as loud as the last one but still pretty impressive.
“…bimbos that ain’t jus’ planks with nipples.”
"Nice," Nnoitra complimented, smirking at the unruly burp from Grimm. His gaze alternated between his two band mates, his lips pulled back in his trademark sneer. Blue hair... pink hair... throw in some glow sticks and they'd be ready for a fucking rave. He chuckled as Grimmjow burped again. "Dude, I could almost smell that one."
The comment about 'planks with nipples' made him burst out into a fit of laughter. He clapped Grimm on the back and grinned. "Don' knock the planks until you've tried 'em, man. Boobs ain't all important when it comes to broads. The little ones know when to shut the fuck up. Ain't nothin' worse than a yappy bitch."
Turning around, he grabbed another half-empty bottle of beer from the bar and took a chug. This one was bordering on lukewarm, and he grimaced as he swallowed the stale liquid. "Can't a man get a cold beer?" he growled, feeling a few more bottles until he found one that was cool to the touch. After taking a drink, he eyed Zael deviously and reached out to give the man's shirt a tug. "Nice digs ya got there, bro. What gay celebrity did you kill to get 'em?"
Zael quirked an eyebrow up at his greeting from Grimmjow. Honestly, he knew this was his version of being polite, but he still did not appreciate it in the least. At Nnoitra’s comment, he smirked. It seemed as if his band mates got along better than he had suspected. And why shouldn’t they? They were practically made for each other. Both possessed sub-par intelligence, were obnoxious, rude, and always spoiling for a fight. Quite the opposite of Zael himself.
He flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his long-sleeved, white blouse before turning to Nnoitra. "Finally got pressured into at least dating your age, did you?" Zael’s mouth curled up a little more, his smirk growing wider as he tactfully ignored the rest of Nnoitra’s inane commentary on women. He generally preferred men, but knew what he liked in a woman and needed none of the sleazy guitarist’s input on the matter.
Zael watched as Nnoitra drank from a couple of the many beer bottles adorning the nearby counter and grimaced. The man had money, and could certainly buy his own drinks, but was choosing to consume others’ stale beer instead. Disgusting.
He was distracted for a second by an attractive stranger passing nearby and didn’t see Nnoitra’s grimy hand coming until it was too late. The guitarist actually touched him. Zael was none too pleased, and decided to tactfully return some of the insults he had been dealt. "I really can’t say," he retorted, smirking at the other man. "Perhaps if you tell me the name of the junkie you stole yours from, it will jog my memory."
The guitarist laughed at Zael's attempt at a comeback. It was a pretty snappy reply, but it would take a lot more than that to get under Nnoitra's skin. Actually... there wasn't a whole lot that could get under his skin. His skin was definitely tougher than Zael's, Grimmjow's, or any of the other dick-heads in the Arrancar. He had motherfucking titanium skin.
He returned Zael's smirk and brought his bottle of beer up to his lips. "His name was Pete. Dude was an ugly fucker... even worse after I stole his clothes." He tipped the bottle up and swallowed the last of the frothy liquid. "Have ya ever seen a homeless guy's balls? Fucking nasty."
Turning around, he put the empty bottle on the counter and tried to flag down one of the bartenders. The person who ended up stopping to take his order wasn't the busty babe, but some wanky looking fucker with no bust. He growled his disappointment and cracked his neck. "I want three shots of ta-kill-ya for me and my buddies," he said, turning his head to leer at his two band mates. Might as well make the most of things...
Grabbing the shot glasses that were placed in front of him, he handed one to Grimm and one to Zael, chuckling darkly and nearly spilling the tequila in the process. "Drink up," he said, bringing his own to his mouth and licking the rim of the tiny glass. "To bitches, booze, and the motherfucking Arrancar. May we all get fucked by the end of the night."
The comment about little ones knowing when to shut up went into one ear, swiftly bypassed Grimmjow's brain and escaped through the other ear without leaving an impact. It was a mechanism that switched on every time Nnoitra came into sight and prevented the blue-haired man from going mental on him as long as possible.
He watched the crowd while Candycotton and Cyclops exchanged insults and was just about to space off when the words 'ta-kill-ya' pulled him back to the here and now.
"Finally. Though ya two prissy bitches'd never stop yappin'. Ain't it time fer ya to scramble, pig puppet?" he said to the girl and sneered. "Or didn'tcha hear what stick boy jus' said 'bout them young'uns?"
Zael closed his eyes and smirked. As he had anticipated, insults had no effect whatsoever on Nnoitra.
It was not his usual style to openly slight someone, and he resented the fact that the sleazy man had gotten under his skin enough for him to actually break his mold. It made him toy with the idea of testing the other man’s limits, of eventually breaking him. Although he had succeeded admirably with Grimmjow, the result was not something he liked to think about too often. However, Nnoitra was an entirely different animal. Zael did not doubt that the guitarist would be much harder to crack if he chose to go that route. The thought was an interesting one. He did love a good challenge, after all. And it gave him great pleasure to find out what made people tick, to gradually erode their definition of self until they cracked under his masterful manipulation.
Yes, Nnoitra would make an excellent subject for some social research. But how to go about it? The things that worked on most people, subtle barbs directed at their weak points and invasion of their personal space, had little to no effect on the sleazy guitarist.
Zael opened his eyes, raising his eyebrow slightly as Nnoitra handed him a shot glass filled with tequila. At the other man’s unofficial toast, he moved his hand slightly toward his bandmates, a smile flitting quickly across his features. He had it. The key to unsettling Nnoitra would be to do something totally opposite of what he would be expecting. In other words, compliment him. The greasy man was the butt of jokes, and the target of most people’s disgust and in some cases, hatred. He was used to these kinds of things, so his particular immunity to them made sense. Zael still was not completely sure he wanted to crack the sleazy man, but it was worth a little experimentation.
"My, how generous of you," he said, inclining his head at the guitarist and giving him a full fledged smile before knocking his head back and quickly downing the burning liquid. He set the empty shot glass on the bar counter next to the bottles Nnoitra had been from drinking earlier.
Grimmjow’s comment caused him to direct his gaze at the girl at Nnoitra‘s side, and she flinched, shying away from his disapproving stare. Although he bore her no ill will, she was in the way of things, and he wished she would leave.
Generous? What the fuck? Nnoitra didn't know what Zael was up to, but he did know that it was pretty fucking weird. Everyone in the band hated him, and he liked it that way. He basically lived to piss everybody off. The day that changed would be the day he'd tell everyone that he liked rainbows and butterflies and all things fluffy. Passing the seemingly nice comment off as sarcasm, he tilted his head back and drank his shot.
The tequila just barely burned as it trickled down Nnoitra's throat. It must have been the expensive shit. No matter how much money he made, he would never lose his love of dirt cheap booze. There was just nothing better than that initial bite and the sickly aftertaste that would often last for days. He flicked his tongue forward and licked his lips. This pricey shit was downright disappointing.
Turning his head, he narrowed his eye at the girl that he'd all but forgotten about. He laughed at her hurt look and patted her cheek. "Why don't ya go find your little friend? Maybe she found some guy's dick to suck while she was crawling around on the floor."
The little princess made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked back sob and took off. Nnoitra watched her leave and broke out into more laughter. Fucking bitches... they were all so god-damned predictable. He glanced at the two other men and smirked. "Time for another," he declared, grabbing their shot glasses and setting them back up on the bar.
Grimmjow eyed the pink-haired keyboard player suspiciously, nose wrinkled up, and shifted away from him. Fuckin' creep. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ended up with this bunch of horror show characters and each time ended up blaming the prissy little wannabe rock princess Thunderbitch! Yes, it was all her fault that he spent more time in a make-up chair and in front of camera lenses than on the stage where he truly belonged.
Stupid whore.
The Arrancar snatched the shot glass off the counter and knocked it back. Here he was, drinking with asshats at a fancy anniversary party and not liking it at all. Why had he agreed to come here? Right. Fox-faced smiling bastard had asked him nicely...
He hated it. He was miserable and when Grimmjow was miserable, he wanted to share it with the world. His eyes lit up when a skinny figure clad in black crossed his vision. Slamming his glass on the bar, he pulled himself up from his slouching position, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "MR SCHIFFER! MR ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER! PLEASE BE REPORTIN' TO THE BAR IMMEDIATELY!"
Had his roomie heard him? He wasn't sure...
Although the other man did not respond, Zael could sense his unease. He kept his expression carefully serene, pleased that his assumption was correct, but not wanting to show it. Compliments were definitely the way to go with this one. Nevertheless, he would take things slow, as he had with Grimmjow. Judging by the bassist’s body language, Zael could tell he still affected the other man. Lovely.
Zael closed his eyes, unable to repress the slow smile that crept across his face. He barely registered Nnoitra’s interaction with the groupie, but did notice when she left. Though he could possibly have used her as a pawn to get under the guitarist’s skin, Zael was glad she was gone.
He heard Nnoitra order more drinks for them, but didn’t open his eyes until Grimmjow shouted for Ulquiorra. His ears rang with the deafening bellow the bassist had let loose and he sighed, feeling annoyed at the interruption, and a bit sorry for Ulquiorra. It was not exactly surprising the bassist had done this, being so similar to Nnoitra, but it was still annoying.
“Do you mind?” he hissed, covering the ear that was closest to the blue-haired man and glaring at him.
Ulquiorra leaned against the wall and studied the people mingling and being sociable, twirling an empty champagne-flute between long fingers. He had almost completely managed to avoid all the people at this place, and he figured it wasn't long until he could excuse himself and leave.
"MR SCHIFFER! MR ULQUIORRA SCHIFFER! PLEASE BE REPORTIN' TO THE BAR IMMEDIATELY!"
Ulquiorra flinched just the slightest at the loud yell that must have been heard across the entire place. He had already observed that some of the other band-members were situated at the bar, and his eyes were drawn to the blue-haired bassist whose voice he would have recognized anywhere.
For a second or two he considered ignoring it, but judging by that his roomate seemed quite inebriated he had a feeling of that the other might go as far as to walk over to where he was and drag him over to the bar.
Quietly walking over, disposing the empty champagne flute on his way, he gave a brief nod to Zael and Nnoitra before finally looking at the blue-haired man.
"You yelled?" he said in a calm tone, taking in all those present and trying to judge just how much of a chaotic situation this would turn into.
Nnoitra turned around just as Ulquiorra arrived. He bared his teeth in a snarl before tilting his head back and draining the second shot. After slamming the empty glass on the counter, he signaled the bartender for another round. If he was going to have to deal with Blueberry, Cherry, and the Canary, he needed more alcohol - and pronto.
Wiping a drop of tequila from the corner of his mouth, he narrowed his eye and fixed Ulquiorra with a steely stare. "Well if it ain't Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer. Would ya be so kind as to sign my cover of Teen for me? I'm a huge fan."
He wasn't very fond of the vocalist. Yeah, it was pretty normal for front men to get more attention than the rest of the band, but Nnoitra couldn't tolerate some new, young punk stealing any of his glory. As far as he was concerned, the Arrancar had been fine before Ulquiorra, and they would be fine without him. Not that he wanted Cirucci back... he just liked having an excuse to hate the new singer.
Turning back to the bar, he grabbed the freshly filled shots and chuckled darkly. It was time to see if the kid could hold his liquor. He passed out the tequila-filled glasses and held up his own in a bit of a salute. "Here's to getting Ulquiorra trashed."
“Ya heard me!” Grinning, Grimmjow threw an arm around his flatmate’s neck and pulled him closer towards the bar, positioning the smaller man between him and the pink-haired freak. There now. That was much better.
“Dude’s jus’ pissed the widdle ones like ya better’n him.” The bass player didn’t mind that Ulquiorra had become the object of teenager worship because it meant that whenever they appeared somewhere, he’d be left alone by those nitwits. However, it did piss him off that they’d become a teenie band. That was not something a musician should be proud of.
A small frown creased the blueberry’s forehead. Maybe it was time to make that call.
“Ya heard me!”
Ulquiorra stiffened as the blue-haired man threw an arm around his shoulders and maneuvered Ulquiorra closer towards the group. This kind of physical closeness wasn't something that Ulquiorra thought that he'd ever get used to; he preferred deciding who got to be within his closest proximity.
Then again, Ulquiorra thought with something akin to wry humor, this was Grimmjow's own way of saying that he had accepted Ulquiorra into the band, and for this the dark-haired singer allowed this breech of his personal space a minute or two longer before he discreetly shrugged the arm off.
"Yes, Grimmjow, I heard you," he confirmed, just the faintest trace of irony in his words. He doubted that anyone in the vicinity hadn't heard him, but as Grimmjow seemed content at the moment he'd settle with not commenting further on it at the moment. A drunk and violent Grimmjow was nothing that he particularly fancied.
"Well if it ain't Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer. Would ya be so kind as to sign my cover of Teen for me? I'm a huge fan."
'Ah, trust Nnoitra to come up with such a lame comment.' Ulquiorra mentally rolled his eyes, judging the reason for the other's dislike of him for just that he received more appreciation from the younger audience. Personally he would have liked nothing more than for the guitarist to take the lot of the fangirls, but Nnoitra's disturbing like for these children kept him from voicing any such thoughts out loud.
"Hello to you too, Nnoitra." He paused, debating for a moment of whether to say something else, settling on that it was about time to make sure that he would take no heat from the other, even though he realized that this was just as bad as lowering himself to the other's level. He judged that if the other really wanted to pick a fight this could turn ugly, but on the other hand he reasoned that the other just wanted to make some snide comments at his expense.
"I didn't know you were such a fan. If you wanted an autograph you could have just said so," he deadpanned, looking up at the other man without as much moving a muscle.
"Dude’s jus’ pissed the widdle ones like ya better’n him.”
Grimmjow's rumble from next to him elected a soft snort from the dark-haired singer.
'Widdle ones?' Oh really, Grimmjow certainly knew how to phrase himself.
"Indeed," he said, throwing a look towards where one of the younger girls that earlier had accompanied Nnoitra had left, then back to Nnoitra with an eyebrow raised, watching a shot of tequila being handed to him.
Here's to getting Ulquiorra trashed."
The instant he saw the glass he knew that there was no way of getting out of this without either humiliating himself or appearing weak. He debated back and forth for a few instants, seeing what choices he had. While he probably could handle the liquor and wasn't afraid of what he might do if losing this little game, he wasn't keen on taking up this challenge merely satisfy Nnoitra. It held no appeal and he saw no reason to do anything utterly foolish.
"I'm not going to drink just because you wish to see me drunk, Nnoitra. This," he said and gestured to the shot-glasses that had been passed around, the gesture speaking more of the challenge than the actual drinking, "is completely pointless."
Zael was about to say something else to Grimmjow, but was distracted by the arrival of Ulquiorra. He nodded back at the quiet man, and decided to let it go.
He smoothed a few wrinkles out of the front of his shirt as Grimmjow positioned Ulquiorra between them, suppressing a chuckle at how uncomfortable he was making the other man. Despite the fact that he had not made any move toward the bassist whatsoever, Zael could tell how tightly wound the other man was. All it would take would be a little push in the right direction and Grimmjow would crack.
Although it would not take much effort on his part, Zael found himself bored with the idea. He had already broken Grimmjow once and felt no real desire to do so again. He understood the other man, and what was the use of playing a game to which he already knew all the rules? No. Zael was a fan of solving puzzles, and he had figured this one out long ago. Better to focus on something newer, more interesting. Namely, Nnoitra. For now though, he would simply observe and plan accordingly.
Zael belatedly lifted his glass to Nnoitra’s toast and eyed the other man before knocking his head back and downing the burning stuff. He returned the empty glass to the counter, taking note of the conversation going on between Nnoitra and Ulquiorra. It seemed Nnoitra got under his skin as well. Zael ran a hand through his hair, somewhat relieved by this. The alcohol made him feel warm, sedentary, and completely at ease, though he could understand Ulquiorra’s refusal to drink.
“My my, trying to get Grimmjow’s designated driver drunk too? How nefarious of you,” he said, words not coming quite as quick to his tongue as they would have normally.
Rolling his eye at the sarcastic comments being directed his way, Nnoitra chose to ignore them for the time being and downed his shot. Witty banter with his bandmates was fun and all, but alcohol was far more important. He would probably need a few more drinks if he was going to make it through the next few hours without totally losing his mind. Fucking high class parties... There were too many eyes watching him; all those people keeping tabs on him meant that he had to behave, at least to some extent. The last time that he had ended up in the tabloids for something a bit "uncouth" had nearly cost him his job.
One of his dark eyebrows arched upwards at Ulquiorra's refusal of the drink. Really... the vocalist should have known that he wasn't going to get off that easily. Designated driver or not, having a drink with the rest of the band was something that couldn't be denied.
"You know, it's awfully rude to refuse a drink when it's been offered to ya," he drawled, narrowing his eye and giving Ulquiorra a leer. "Where's your Arrancar spirit?" He chuckled and leaned back against the bar. "Keep actin' like that and ya might earn yourself a spot with the Vaizard. Damn pussies..."
He glanced around, wondering if any of the rival band's fans would be within earshot of his cutting comment. The one thing he hated more than the stuck up pricks at this party were the idiotic imbeciles, aka the Vaizard.
“Nice.” Grimmjow snorted and laughed. He clinked his glass against the one-eyed guitarist’s and knocked his shot back. The Vaizard. Where the fuck were they anyway? So far, he hadn’t spotted a single one of them. Not that he cared but it was kind of strange. One would think that they’d jump at any opportunity to expose themselves to the public - seeing how their fan base was not as solid as it had been a year ago.
No, he didn’t give a shit about the Vaizard. Still, if really neither of them had come, one certain shitty guitarist would have some explaining to do. The blue-haired man poured himself another shot and downed it, slamming his glass on the counter afterwards. Suddenly, a different face in the crowd caught his attention and brought a small grin to his lips. What were the odds of meeting her here?
“Gotta take a piss,” he announced to his band mates as he pushed away from the bar and swaggered off. “Don’t wait for me.”
At Nnoitra’s comment about the Vizard, Zael smirked. It was clear he felt the rivalry between the two bands quite keenly. While Zael himself did not participate in such behavior, it did make for an interesting study of jealousy. Not that he thought the Vizard were better than his band. Quite the opposite, but rivalry did stem from that base feeling. Via Il Forte, Zael was quite familiar with the emotion.
He was about to take advantage of the wide-open remark Nnoitra had made when Grimmjow announced his leave. Glancing over at his two remaining bandmates, Zael could tell they would be at it for some time. Not wanting to be stuck watching this display for too long, he wandered toward the bathroom, using the bassist’s same excuse.
“Don’t drink too much, Nnoitra,” he said, chuckling and giving a little half-wave as he left.
Did they just... leave him? Nnoitra's eye widened as he tore his gaze away from the retreating backs of Grimmjow and Zael to glance at Ulquiorra.
No fucking way.
He groaned, turning around to slam his empty shot glass on the counter. There was no way in hell he could handle being left alone with Emo Kid. Well, not without killing him, anyways. Killing a band-mate would probably get him fired. Maybe even arrested. Did New York have the death penalty?
Lethal injection was not on his to-do list.
"I'm fuckin' outta here," he snarled, knocking into Ulquiorra as he started to make his way to the exit. He really needed a cigarette, especially if he was going to make it through the rest of the party. Maybe there'd be some cute girls to harass outside. He had to find some new ones, since those dickheads had chased the first ones away. Why did they always have to pick on him? He was nothing but nice to them...
He broke out into laughter as he pulled the door open.