I never write what I set out to write, goddamnit.
I promised Kiwi Grimmjow/Ichigo. And I meant to write them, I really did. :| Instead, I end up with this. Because I was reading ch. 236, and somehow got the impression that these two'd met before. So, um. Yeah. CRACK ENSUED. :DDD It's pretty much gen. Maybe there'll be GrimmIchi in the next one. >>; *sigh*
On the Importance of Keeping Your Enemy Well-Watered
Grimmjow, Shinji
Vaizard + Arrancar + the magic of tea-time
It hadn't been planned, there'd been no preparation... he wasn't even supposed to be on this side of town at this hour, much less with his sword at his hip and a lovely specimen of the living dead standing before him.
Shiiiit, Sarugaki-san'll go on a rampage again... Luckily, Shinji wasn't particularly needed tonight at the warehouse (not his turn to make dinner, ha, and the further away he was from the dishes the less likely he was to be conscripted into washing them, naa?), and since his habits were about as haphazard as his ties anyway, the rest of them had taken to treating him like some sort of stray cat that wandered in once in a while for Sarugaki to beat on.
He scratched his neck meditatively; there was something insulting about that.
"Task at hand, task at hand!" was the next outburst, and the Vaizard relished the look of startlement and mild disgust on the highly mobile face currently glaring into his own. The Arrancar was an irresistibly amusing piece of work, and life-or-death situation or no (those fingers in his collar felt like they were questing for his jugular rather than maintaining an idling threat), Shinji was never able to resist playing with his food. It was one of the habits that often got him into trouble, or so he'd been told. He grinned and tapped at the wrist (singular, now wasn't that interesting) that was simultaneously trying to immobilize and strangle him. "Sorry, my mind wandered on. I've no interest in fightin' a handicapped man."
"... Bastard...!" Oh-oh. That glow and the little burn just below his chin? That felt awfully like a cero taking shape. Not surprising; he was, after all, fighting an Espada. It was time to stop playing games, however; a slim hand shot out and rooted itself firmly in blue hair--he regretted not taking the time to laugh at the expression on the face of the one who'd loudly declared himself as Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Sexta Espada--before Shinji ripped the grip away from his throat with the sword he'd drawn in the other, and vaulted right over his opponent's head.
He kept his grip, the teeth in his smile gleaming like the blade against the other's throat. "....... Ch'!" At least this one was smart enough to understand when a reversal had occurred. Fighting lower-level Hollows got so tiresome when all they seemed to do was charge at you and try to gut you in the most predictable ways possible. "You're pissing me off. I'm gonna blow your fucking head off, and before that I'll rip out all your insides'n hang 'em on that wall there for to admire, eh?"
"Let's not joke around anymore, hmm?" He kept his voice soft, underscoring the delicate increments of pressure he applied to his zanpakutou with each syllable. "What are ya doing here, Arrancar? Espada," he corrected on a whim, "state your purpose." The imperative was to sound cool. Well, that, and keep the bastard from moving 'til he'd had his questions answered.
"Don't gotta answer," came the sullen mutter, before the Arrancar threw his head back--Shinji barely got his nose out of the way in time--and let out an earsplitting cackle even as he choked a little on his own blood; his captor was startled enough to loosen his grip on his sword for the split second it took Grimmjow to knock it spinning across the street. Now he had a looming homicidal maniac to contend with. Perfect. Why didn't his days off ever get better?! "But I guess I can show ya. Time to kill shit." That gleam in his eyes couldn't be too good, either. And he was licking the blood from his neck off his fingers. Fuck.
Shinji scooted backward until he hit a streetlamp; or, more accurately, dodged the lethal swings of the Arrancar's bare hands until he was backed up with the metal pole digging into his spine. Oh, now, this wasn't, quite, just exactly how he'd planned this to go. Not that he'd planned to run into an Arrancar in the dead of the night, by himself, either. Your friendly neighborhood Vaizard might've been a bit of a masochist, but he wasn't suicidal. "A~aah... Can't we talk about this... Have a nice cuppa tea..."
Grimmjow blinked. Backed off. Shinji blinked back. "Fuck. It's tea time."
"... Eh?"
"I'll remember your face, fucker," Grimmjow had made an abrupt about-face that brought him somewhere to the level of the edge of the roof canopy across the way. "Till the next time when I rip it off your bare skull." Then he was gone in a fading flash of reiatsu.
In his wake, the Vaizard slumped against the streetlamp for a long moment. Took a deep breath. Pouted. "Well, he was no fun." He hadn't even gotten to do anything; and it wasn't every day he forewent laziness to look into odd reiatsu like that (better things to do with his time! Like watch rerun marathons on TV); even rarer that he'd take the initiative to be there first. But, what a reiatsu it was...! It wasn't time to start pondering the implications yet--that could wait until after he got home and got a snack (he hoped there'd be coffee left over from yesterday; honestly, those Soul Society folks, who drank tea at this hour?).
A slow smirk began on his lips as he meandered his way down the street, sword on his shoulder, whistling off-key until somebody banged a window. This one would be back. And wouldn't that be interesting?
--
I phail at writing, blahdiblah. ;;
On the Importance of Keeping Your Enemy Well-Watered
Grimmjow, Shinji
Vaizard + Arrancar + the magic of tea-time
It hadn't been planned, there'd been no preparation... he wasn't even supposed to be on this side of town at this hour, much less with his sword at his hip and a lovely specimen of the living dead standing before him.
Shiiiit, Sarugaki-san'll go on a rampage again... Luckily, Shinji wasn't particularly needed tonight at the warehouse (not his turn to make dinner, ha, and the further away he was from the dishes the less likely he was to be conscripted into washing them, naa?), and since his habits were about as haphazard as his ties anyway, the rest of them had taken to treating him like some sort of stray cat that wandered in once in a while for Sarugaki to beat on.
He scratched his neck meditatively; there was something insulting about that.
"Task at hand, task at hand!" was the next outburst, and the Vaizard relished the look of startlement and mild disgust on the highly mobile face currently glaring into his own. The Arrancar was an irresistibly amusing piece of work, and life-or-death situation or no (those fingers in his collar felt like they were questing for his jugular rather than maintaining an idling threat), Shinji was never able to resist playing with his food. It was one of the habits that often got him into trouble, or so he'd been told. He grinned and tapped at the wrist (singular, now wasn't that interesting) that was simultaneously trying to immobilize and strangle him. "Sorry, my mind wandered on. I've no interest in fightin' a handicapped man."
"... Bastard...!" Oh-oh. That glow and the little burn just below his chin? That felt awfully like a cero taking shape. Not surprising; he was, after all, fighting an Espada. It was time to stop playing games, however; a slim hand shot out and rooted itself firmly in blue hair--he regretted not taking the time to laugh at the expression on the face of the one who'd loudly declared himself as Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Sexta Espada--before Shinji ripped the grip away from his throat with the sword he'd drawn in the other, and vaulted right over his opponent's head.
He kept his grip, the teeth in his smile gleaming like the blade against the other's throat. "....... Ch'!" At least this one was smart enough to understand when a reversal had occurred. Fighting lower-level Hollows got so tiresome when all they seemed to do was charge at you and try to gut you in the most predictable ways possible. "You're pissing me off. I'm gonna blow your fucking head off, and before that I'll rip out all your insides'n hang 'em on that wall there for to admire, eh?"
"Let's not joke around anymore, hmm?" He kept his voice soft, underscoring the delicate increments of pressure he applied to his zanpakutou with each syllable. "What are ya doing here, Arrancar? Espada," he corrected on a whim, "state your purpose." The imperative was to sound cool. Well, that, and keep the bastard from moving 'til he'd had his questions answered.
"Don't gotta answer," came the sullen mutter, before the Arrancar threw his head back--Shinji barely got his nose out of the way in time--and let out an earsplitting cackle even as he choked a little on his own blood; his captor was startled enough to loosen his grip on his sword for the split second it took Grimmjow to knock it spinning across the street. Now he had a looming homicidal maniac to contend with. Perfect. Why didn't his days off ever get better?! "But I guess I can show ya. Time to kill shit." That gleam in his eyes couldn't be too good, either. And he was licking the blood from his neck off his fingers. Fuck.
Shinji scooted backward until he hit a streetlamp; or, more accurately, dodged the lethal swings of the Arrancar's bare hands until he was backed up with the metal pole digging into his spine. Oh, now, this wasn't, quite, just exactly how he'd planned this to go. Not that he'd planned to run into an Arrancar in the dead of the night, by himself, either. Your friendly neighborhood Vaizard might've been a bit of a masochist, but he wasn't suicidal. "A~aah... Can't we talk about this... Have a nice cuppa tea..."
Grimmjow blinked. Backed off. Shinji blinked back. "Fuck. It's tea time."
"... Eh?"
"I'll remember your face, fucker," Grimmjow had made an abrupt about-face that brought him somewhere to the level of the edge of the roof canopy across the way. "Till the next time when I rip it off your bare skull." Then he was gone in a fading flash of reiatsu.
In his wake, the Vaizard slumped against the streetlamp for a long moment. Took a deep breath. Pouted. "Well, he was no fun." He hadn't even gotten to do anything; and it wasn't every day he forewent laziness to look into odd reiatsu like that (better things to do with his time! Like watch rerun marathons on TV); even rarer that he'd take the initiative to be there first. But, what a reiatsu it was...! It wasn't time to start pondering the implications yet--that could wait until after he got home and got a snack (he hoped there'd be coffee left over from yesterday; honestly, those Soul Society folks, who drank tea at this hour?).
A slow smirk began on his lips as he meandered his way down the street, sword on his shoulder, whistling off-key until somebody banged a window. This one would be back. And wouldn't that be interesting?
--
I phail at writing, blahdiblah. ;;