[Log] Gin, Ulquiorra
Title: Going Fox-hunting
Characters: Gin (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight
Timeline: April 18, 1950
Rating: R for drug use
Summary: Ulquiorra seeks out a certain silver-furred fox.
The frazzled arctic fox was sleeping soundly in his cushy Vice Presidential office, resting his head on his arms on the big wooden desk. It was a typical day at the office - everyone was busy doing work except him. His desk looked suspiciously empty for a Vice President of a company.
That might have been because the scrap paper scattered around his desk - paper that had nothing to do with his job; paper that was there to make him look busy and important - were folded into paper aeroplanes and scattered all over the floor. It looked like an aeroplane crash site.
He had been busy talking to people and exchanging briefcases last night, along with doing a little bit of his own dope purchases, and had only gotten a few hours' sleep before Aizen woke him up and dragged him to 'work'.
That man... Really. And he had been running around New York City at ungodly hours in the morning for him. He felt so underappreciated sometimes.
An alarm blaring at the corner of the desk was left ringing for a minute before the sleepy fox stirred, opening weary blue eyes. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again, reaching out and groping around for the clock to turn it off. He had set the alarm to go off 15 minutes before the planned 'staff meeting'.
And it wasn't because he wanted to be awake for that.
Turning off the alarm, he sighed and got to his feet slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he wandered around his desk. He left his suit jacket draped over his chair and walked over to the door, crushing numerous paper planes under his feet along the way. He opened the door, peering around. Good - no sign of the Italian office policeman. Closing the door behind him, he made his way down the corridor, ignoring people talking at him from their cubicles.
Making his way downstairs, he stopped outside the office building. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he glanced around before heading off in one direction, tilting his head to one side until his bone cracked, and then the other. He had a good two or three hours to embark on a new adventure.
The stoic hunter walked through the hallway, his stiff stride quick enough to suggest that he was in a bit of a hurry. Although his face showed no signs of emotion, there was something in his appearance that sent a warning to the people that he passed along the way. They stepped out of his path and avoided eye contact, almost coming to a complete halt as they adjusted to let him through.
He was not pleased. In fact, he was beyond "not pleased". Irritated, annoyed, agitated, perturbed - yes to all of those things, but certainly not pleased. His mood worsened a touch with every passing moment, since each step that he took brought him closer and closer to the very source of his frustrations.
Gin Ichimaru had to be physically escorted to any and all meetings that could possibly be described as "boring". If someone did not take on the task of ushering the vice president to the conference room, chances were that he would never show up. This job did not usually fall to Ulquiorra, but he had somehow managed to be the only one not doing anything when the time came for Mr. Ichimaru to be fetched. It seemed ironic, that this tedious mission was his reward for being effective and getting all of his work done early.
Rounding the corner, he stepped out into the open space that housed the cubicles, keeping up his persistent pace and barely even blinking at the people who dared to speak to him. He made his way over to Gin's secretary and looked down at her as she continued to shuffle through a stack of papers.
He cleared his throat.
She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid Mr. Ichimaru is not in, sir. Would you like me to tell him that you stopped by?"
Of course he was not in. Ulquiorra had not been expecting the silvery fox to be in his den any more than he would have expected snow in July. However, he still walked over to the door and stepped inside the office, just to see if he could find any signs of where to look next. His gaze swept across the untidy room, lingering on the dozens of folded up papers. It was probably too much to hope that they were not important documents.
Walking over to the desk, he put his hand on its surface and let his fingertips slide across the smooth wood. It was still warm. The crafty fox had not been gone long. If he went quickly, and in the right directions, the consigliere could probably catch his prey and have him back in time for the meeting that was in - he glanced at his watch - thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds.
He exited the office and set off to continue his search.
He pulled out his little packet of tobacco from the depths of his pocket and opened it, fishing out a small sheet of cigarette paper. Sprinkling a couple of pinches of tobacco over the paper, he rolled the cigarette and licked a small trail over edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette.
Exchanging the packet with his lighter, he lit the end of his cigarette and slipped the lighter back into the pocket, taking a drag from his cigarette as he waited for the lights to turn green.
He hated staying in office, but he knew that before long Ulquiorra would be hot on his trail, hunting him down to drag him back to the office to sit through hours of boring men in suits yapping and yapping with their big words and aloof attitudes.
He also knew that he and the Concavos weren't the most popular people in town. People were always watching him, and the things he got up to during the day outside the office. There was always the misconception that Sousuke Aizen played his legitimate role in the office while Gin Ichimaru was sent out to do deals and 'work'.
Of course, they were always disappointed when they tried to follow him as discreetly as possible, and he ended up doing nothing of importance.
He became one with the crowd as the lights turned green, crossing the road. First stop - tobacco store.
Gin was no where to be found. Ulquiorra had even made a point of checking the bathrooms, the closets, and the empty offices. He had hoped to catch the sneaky fox before it could leave the building, but it seemed as if he had failed. A muscle near his temple twitched as he made his way down the stairs and through the large double doors that lead to the busy street outside.
He came to a halt and looked around, trying to figure out which way Gin might have gone. The sidewalk was bustling with people, but none of them had silvery hair or fox-like features. Ulquiorra closed his eyes and thought for a moment. There were only a few places in the immediate area that would have interested Ichimaru. The closest was a little cigarette shop that was only a few blocks away. Setting his jaw, he put his hands in his pockets and started to make his way down the street.
The air outside was just cool enough to clear away any lingering irritation that he might have been feeling. All that was left was a subdued sense of annoyance, as if he was dealing with an unruly child. In fact, he was beginning think that he would not need to use the tanto that he had taken the time to slip up the sleeve of his suit jacket.
His pace quickened fractionally as he caught sight of the tobacco store. There was probably only a thirty percent chance that the vice president would be inside, but thirty percent was a pretty decent odd when dealing with someone like Gin. Ulquiorra pushed the door open and stepped inside, glancing around quickly and scouring the place for any signs of his target.
He waltzed in to the shop, greeting the owner with a wide smile. He was one of the regulars, and without having to say anything, the man grinned back and pulled out a white packet, placing it on the desk.
"How's it goin' bo?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.
"It's jake, Gin. Escapin' the fox hunters again?"
He grinned, placing the exact bills and coins on the table.
"Y'know it."
He picked up his tobacco and slid it into his pocket. He turned to go, but his hand rested on the door handle, lingering as he thought for a moment.
"Hey bo. If this skinny little white boy with green eyes n' a real serious mush comes lookin' fer me, ya tell 'im dust; savvy?"
With the confirmation of the shopkeeper's nod, he smirked and vanished out of the shop. He headed down a few blocks, knowing the streets and layout of NYC at the back of his mind.
He took another long drag of his cigarette before spitting it onto the floor to the side, blowing smoke into the air. With his hands in his pockets, he turned into an alleyway, disappearing into the darkness of the passages he used to call home.
There were no signs of Gin in the store. Ulquiorra clenched his fists in his pockets and turned to man behind the counter. If the chances of finding Ichimaru in the shop had been around thirty percent, the odds of getting information from this man were next to zero. He stepped forward and squared his shoulders.
"Has a silver haired man come through here in the last few minutes?" he asked, his voice clearly stating that he was not in a mood to be trifled with.
"Nah. I ain't seen no one like that," was the reply.
The statement was obviously untrue. Ulquiorra could smell a lie from a mile away, and this one practically reaked. He clicked his teeth and left the shop, before the urge to take one of the man's fingers as payment for his deception could fully surface.
He stopped on the sidewalk outside of the store and looked around. There were still a few places that Gin might have wandered off to, and the meeting was going to start at any minute. The consigliere sighed and lowered his head, looking at the toes of his shoes and trying to decide which direction he should head in next. Something rolled across the sidewalk and he watched it, his eyes widening when he realized what it was. It was a cigarette - hand rolled and still smoking. He instantly recognized it as the handiwork of the fox he was after.
His gaze drifted down the dark alleyway to his side. Gin would have chosen that route, instead of the brighter, more welcoming path beside the busy road. Ulquiorra ground the burning cigarette out with his foot and proceeded towards the dirty, dank atmosphere of the alley.
He never really liked the bright light, the hustle-bustle of the city. He felt at home in the dark alleyways - they were like tunnels, or bendy shortcuts connecting one main street to the other, and he knew these dimly-lit passages even better than he knew Aizen's house.
He yawned as he rubbed the back of his neck, stretching. He disturbed the silence of the alleyway with echoing footsteps, making his way down. He stepped over the trash, vermin and occasional leg sticking out onto the walkway.
He made it out onto the main street again, slipping back into the flow of people bustling around.
He walked down two blocks, crossed the road, walked down another block until he reached a small drum on the corner. He walked around the rails and descended down the stairs until he reached the wooden doors with a peek-hole that was no longer used before stepping in.
The walls were gray brick, and the place had a nice, cozy feel to it. He liked the place - honestly, Cinq was too... Well, he felt uncomfortable there. The people were high-class and flowery and all-boasting - they talked about nothing, laughed about serious issues, and it made him feel so out-of-place; smiling and walking around in a coat that he couldn't afford in a million years had Aizen not picked him up.
It was one of the places he retreated to when he didn't want to be bothered. The people knew the regular silver-haired man, and the cushions in the corner were always vacant; perfect for him to sit back, have a drink, enjoy a smoke, take a shot and relax.
He didn't even have to ask. Before he could make himself completely comfortable, they brought him a shotglass of alcohol and a syringe, placing it on the small table.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a pale forearm. Taking his little bottle out from his pocket, he administered the shot to himself without thinking. Aizen had a thing about him taking drugs during office hours, and he knew when Ulquiorra eventually found him, he would be one very unhappy Italian office policeman.
But right now, as the effects of the drug started setting in, he didn't quite care.
He downed the shotglass and placed the empty glass back onto its coaster next to the used syringe, sighing contentedly as he leaned back, relaxing.
The narrow corridor was damp, dark, and disgusting. Ulquiorra walked slowly, avoiding the piles of rotting garbage that littered the ground. He all but quit breathing, trying to keep the horrid smell from creeping up his nostrils. His lips pulled back into a hint of a grimace as he scanned his surroundings for any signs of Gin.
It seemed as if all of Manhattan's trash ended up in its alleyways, like dirt swept under a rug so that it was kept out of sight. Ulquiorra dealt with scum on a daily basis, but seeing so much of it in one place always filled him with a sense of loathing. The sight, sound, and smell of it made him want to bring a few Soldati through - just to rid the area of its inhabitants.
He focused on an old man that was slumped over by the wall, sitting in a pile of crumbling debris. Coming to a halt, he gave the man's leg a nudge with his toe and cleared his throat. "Did a silver haired man pass through here?"
The man on the ground tilted his head and sneered. "He might have. What's in it fer me?"
Ulquiorra scowled, his hand moving to the tanto hidden in his sleeve. He did not understand how someone so low could be so demanding. Men like that did not deserve to live. He swallowed the urge to exterminate the vermin and returned his hand to his pocket. There was no point in killing such a man, since there would always be another to take his place. Ignoring the gurgling cackle that came from below him, the consigliere turned and continued on his way.
By the time that he had finished searching all of the dark crevices, Ulquiorra was certain that the meeting had already started. He glanced at his watch and gritted his teeth. At the rate things were going, it would be a week before he would catch up to the sneaky fox.
It was a dilemma. His competitive nature wanted to continue looking, but his rational side knew that he should go back for the rest of the meeting. Squaring his shoulders, he turned on his heel and started to walk back to the office building. Whenever he had to chose between impulse and common sense, he always chose common sense. His hunt for Gin would simply have to wait.
He rolled down his sleeve, running his hand over it to try and undo the creases. He adjusted in his seat, shifting from left to right a little before settling back down.
The euphoric kick from the drug set in moments later, and he could feel himself melting into the seat. The stressors from the day reeled in his mind, making his brows furrow a little, but one by one, they faded into nothingness; one by one they trailed away, dissipating into thin air.
And then, there was nothing to be angry, or sad, or stressed about. There was just a light smile on his face. He was completely relaxed, slumped in his chair, relishing in the intense pleasure.
Who cared about Ulquiorra.
Hell, who was Ulquiorra anyway?
He sighed contentedly, sniffling. Who cared about work, either. At this rate, he did not expect to make it back to work today - and no one would complain.
At least - Aizen wouldn't complain. So long as he made it home in time for dinner without having to crawl his way there.
The saddest part of taking dope was, of course, afterwards, when the kick had all but gone, and the drowsiness set in.
He was floating in and out of consciousness. The last thing he remembered thinking about was the confidence he had that he had lost the fox hunter.
And how satisfying a thought that was...
Characters: Gin (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight
Timeline: April 18, 1950
Rating: R for drug use
Summary: Ulquiorra seeks out a certain silver-furred fox.
The frazzled arctic fox was sleeping soundly in his cushy Vice Presidential office, resting his head on his arms on the big wooden desk. It was a typical day at the office - everyone was busy doing work except him. His desk looked suspiciously empty for a Vice President of a company.
That might have been because the scrap paper scattered around his desk - paper that had nothing to do with his job; paper that was there to make him look busy and important - were folded into paper aeroplanes and scattered all over the floor. It looked like an aeroplane crash site.
He had been busy talking to people and exchanging briefcases last night, along with doing a little bit of his own dope purchases, and had only gotten a few hours' sleep before Aizen woke him up and dragged him to 'work'.
That man... Really. And he had been running around New York City at ungodly hours in the morning for him. He felt so underappreciated sometimes.
An alarm blaring at the corner of the desk was left ringing for a minute before the sleepy fox stirred, opening weary blue eyes. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again, reaching out and groping around for the clock to turn it off. He had set the alarm to go off 15 minutes before the planned 'staff meeting'.
And it wasn't because he wanted to be awake for that.
Turning off the alarm, he sighed and got to his feet slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he wandered around his desk. He left his suit jacket draped over his chair and walked over to the door, crushing numerous paper planes under his feet along the way. He opened the door, peering around. Good - no sign of the Italian office policeman. Closing the door behind him, he made his way down the corridor, ignoring people talking at him from their cubicles.
Making his way downstairs, he stopped outside the office building. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he glanced around before heading off in one direction, tilting his head to one side until his bone cracked, and then the other. He had a good two or three hours to embark on a new adventure.
The stoic hunter walked through the hallway, his stiff stride quick enough to suggest that he was in a bit of a hurry. Although his face showed no signs of emotion, there was something in his appearance that sent a warning to the people that he passed along the way. They stepped out of his path and avoided eye contact, almost coming to a complete halt as they adjusted to let him through.
He was not pleased. In fact, he was beyond "not pleased". Irritated, annoyed, agitated, perturbed - yes to all of those things, but certainly not pleased. His mood worsened a touch with every passing moment, since each step that he took brought him closer and closer to the very source of his frustrations.
Gin Ichimaru had to be physically escorted to any and all meetings that could possibly be described as "boring". If someone did not take on the task of ushering the vice president to the conference room, chances were that he would never show up. This job did not usually fall to Ulquiorra, but he had somehow managed to be the only one not doing anything when the time came for Mr. Ichimaru to be fetched. It seemed ironic, that this tedious mission was his reward for being effective and getting all of his work done early.
Rounding the corner, he stepped out into the open space that housed the cubicles, keeping up his persistent pace and barely even blinking at the people who dared to speak to him. He made his way over to Gin's secretary and looked down at her as she continued to shuffle through a stack of papers.
He cleared his throat.
She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid Mr. Ichimaru is not in, sir. Would you like me to tell him that you stopped by?"
Of course he was not in. Ulquiorra had not been expecting the silvery fox to be in his den any more than he would have expected snow in July. However, he still walked over to the door and stepped inside the office, just to see if he could find any signs of where to look next. His gaze swept across the untidy room, lingering on the dozens of folded up papers. It was probably too much to hope that they were not important documents.
Walking over to the desk, he put his hand on its surface and let his fingertips slide across the smooth wood. It was still warm. The crafty fox had not been gone long. If he went quickly, and in the right directions, the consigliere could probably catch his prey and have him back in time for the meeting that was in - he glanced at his watch - thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds.
He exited the office and set off to continue his search.
He pulled out his little packet of tobacco from the depths of his pocket and opened it, fishing out a small sheet of cigarette paper. Sprinkling a couple of pinches of tobacco over the paper, he rolled the cigarette and licked a small trail over edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette.
Exchanging the packet with his lighter, he lit the end of his cigarette and slipped the lighter back into the pocket, taking a drag from his cigarette as he waited for the lights to turn green.
He hated staying in office, but he knew that before long Ulquiorra would be hot on his trail, hunting him down to drag him back to the office to sit through hours of boring men in suits yapping and yapping with their big words and aloof attitudes.
He also knew that he and the Concavos weren't the most popular people in town. People were always watching him, and the things he got up to during the day outside the office. There was always the misconception that Sousuke Aizen played his legitimate role in the office while Gin Ichimaru was sent out to do deals and 'work'.
Of course, they were always disappointed when they tried to follow him as discreetly as possible, and he ended up doing nothing of importance.
He became one with the crowd as the lights turned green, crossing the road. First stop - tobacco store.
Gin was no where to be found. Ulquiorra had even made a point of checking the bathrooms, the closets, and the empty offices. He had hoped to catch the sneaky fox before it could leave the building, but it seemed as if he had failed. A muscle near his temple twitched as he made his way down the stairs and through the large double doors that lead to the busy street outside.
He came to a halt and looked around, trying to figure out which way Gin might have gone. The sidewalk was bustling with people, but none of them had silvery hair or fox-like features. Ulquiorra closed his eyes and thought for a moment. There were only a few places in the immediate area that would have interested Ichimaru. The closest was a little cigarette shop that was only a few blocks away. Setting his jaw, he put his hands in his pockets and started to make his way down the street.
The air outside was just cool enough to clear away any lingering irritation that he might have been feeling. All that was left was a subdued sense of annoyance, as if he was dealing with an unruly child. In fact, he was beginning think that he would not need to use the tanto that he had taken the time to slip up the sleeve of his suit jacket.
His pace quickened fractionally as he caught sight of the tobacco store. There was probably only a thirty percent chance that the vice president would be inside, but thirty percent was a pretty decent odd when dealing with someone like Gin. Ulquiorra pushed the door open and stepped inside, glancing around quickly and scouring the place for any signs of his target.
He waltzed in to the shop, greeting the owner with a wide smile. He was one of the regulars, and without having to say anything, the man grinned back and pulled out a white packet, placing it on the desk.
"How's it goin' bo?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.
"It's jake, Gin. Escapin' the fox hunters again?"
He grinned, placing the exact bills and coins on the table.
"Y'know it."
He picked up his tobacco and slid it into his pocket. He turned to go, but his hand rested on the door handle, lingering as he thought for a moment.
"Hey bo. If this skinny little white boy with green eyes n' a real serious mush comes lookin' fer me, ya tell 'im dust; savvy?"
With the confirmation of the shopkeeper's nod, he smirked and vanished out of the shop. He headed down a few blocks, knowing the streets and layout of NYC at the back of his mind.
He took another long drag of his cigarette before spitting it onto the floor to the side, blowing smoke into the air. With his hands in his pockets, he turned into an alleyway, disappearing into the darkness of the passages he used to call home.
There were no signs of Gin in the store. Ulquiorra clenched his fists in his pockets and turned to man behind the counter. If the chances of finding Ichimaru in the shop had been around thirty percent, the odds of getting information from this man were next to zero. He stepped forward and squared his shoulders.
"Has a silver haired man come through here in the last few minutes?" he asked, his voice clearly stating that he was not in a mood to be trifled with.
"Nah. I ain't seen no one like that," was the reply.
The statement was obviously untrue. Ulquiorra could smell a lie from a mile away, and this one practically reaked. He clicked his teeth and left the shop, before the urge to take one of the man's fingers as payment for his deception could fully surface.
He stopped on the sidewalk outside of the store and looked around. There were still a few places that Gin might have wandered off to, and the meeting was going to start at any minute. The consigliere sighed and lowered his head, looking at the toes of his shoes and trying to decide which direction he should head in next. Something rolled across the sidewalk and he watched it, his eyes widening when he realized what it was. It was a cigarette - hand rolled and still smoking. He instantly recognized it as the handiwork of the fox he was after.
His gaze drifted down the dark alleyway to his side. Gin would have chosen that route, instead of the brighter, more welcoming path beside the busy road. Ulquiorra ground the burning cigarette out with his foot and proceeded towards the dirty, dank atmosphere of the alley.
He never really liked the bright light, the hustle-bustle of the city. He felt at home in the dark alleyways - they were like tunnels, or bendy shortcuts connecting one main street to the other, and he knew these dimly-lit passages even better than he knew Aizen's house.
He yawned as he rubbed the back of his neck, stretching. He disturbed the silence of the alleyway with echoing footsteps, making his way down. He stepped over the trash, vermin and occasional leg sticking out onto the walkway.
He made it out onto the main street again, slipping back into the flow of people bustling around.
He walked down two blocks, crossed the road, walked down another block until he reached a small drum on the corner. He walked around the rails and descended down the stairs until he reached the wooden doors with a peek-hole that was no longer used before stepping in.
The walls were gray brick, and the place had a nice, cozy feel to it. He liked the place - honestly, Cinq was too... Well, he felt uncomfortable there. The people were high-class and flowery and all-boasting - they talked about nothing, laughed about serious issues, and it made him feel so out-of-place; smiling and walking around in a coat that he couldn't afford in a million years had Aizen not picked him up.
It was one of the places he retreated to when he didn't want to be bothered. The people knew the regular silver-haired man, and the cushions in the corner were always vacant; perfect for him to sit back, have a drink, enjoy a smoke, take a shot and relax.
He didn't even have to ask. Before he could make himself completely comfortable, they brought him a shotglass of alcohol and a syringe, placing it on the small table.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a pale forearm. Taking his little bottle out from his pocket, he administered the shot to himself without thinking. Aizen had a thing about him taking drugs during office hours, and he knew when Ulquiorra eventually found him, he would be one very unhappy Italian office policeman.
But right now, as the effects of the drug started setting in, he didn't quite care.
He downed the shotglass and placed the empty glass back onto its coaster next to the used syringe, sighing contentedly as he leaned back, relaxing.
The narrow corridor was damp, dark, and disgusting. Ulquiorra walked slowly, avoiding the piles of rotting garbage that littered the ground. He all but quit breathing, trying to keep the horrid smell from creeping up his nostrils. His lips pulled back into a hint of a grimace as he scanned his surroundings for any signs of Gin.
It seemed as if all of Manhattan's trash ended up in its alleyways, like dirt swept under a rug so that it was kept out of sight. Ulquiorra dealt with scum on a daily basis, but seeing so much of it in one place always filled him with a sense of loathing. The sight, sound, and smell of it made him want to bring a few Soldati through - just to rid the area of its inhabitants.
He focused on an old man that was slumped over by the wall, sitting in a pile of crumbling debris. Coming to a halt, he gave the man's leg a nudge with his toe and cleared his throat. "Did a silver haired man pass through here?"
The man on the ground tilted his head and sneered. "He might have. What's in it fer me?"
Ulquiorra scowled, his hand moving to the tanto hidden in his sleeve. He did not understand how someone so low could be so demanding. Men like that did not deserve to live. He swallowed the urge to exterminate the vermin and returned his hand to his pocket. There was no point in killing such a man, since there would always be another to take his place. Ignoring the gurgling cackle that came from below him, the consigliere turned and continued on his way.
By the time that he had finished searching all of the dark crevices, Ulquiorra was certain that the meeting had already started. He glanced at his watch and gritted his teeth. At the rate things were going, it would be a week before he would catch up to the sneaky fox.
It was a dilemma. His competitive nature wanted to continue looking, but his rational side knew that he should go back for the rest of the meeting. Squaring his shoulders, he turned on his heel and started to walk back to the office building. Whenever he had to chose between impulse and common sense, he always chose common sense. His hunt for Gin would simply have to wait.
He rolled down his sleeve, running his hand over it to try and undo the creases. He adjusted in his seat, shifting from left to right a little before settling back down.
The euphoric kick from the drug set in moments later, and he could feel himself melting into the seat. The stressors from the day reeled in his mind, making his brows furrow a little, but one by one, they faded into nothingness; one by one they trailed away, dissipating into thin air.
And then, there was nothing to be angry, or sad, or stressed about. There was just a light smile on his face. He was completely relaxed, slumped in his chair, relishing in the intense pleasure.
Who cared about Ulquiorra.
Hell, who was Ulquiorra anyway?
He sighed contentedly, sniffling. Who cared about work, either. At this rate, he did not expect to make it back to work today - and no one would complain.
At least - Aizen wouldn't complain. So long as he made it home in time for dinner without having to crawl his way there.
The saddest part of taking dope was, of course, afterwards, when the kick had all but gone, and the drowsiness set in.
He was floating in and out of consciousness. The last thing he remembered thinking about was the confidence he had that he had lost the fox hunter.
And how satisfying a thought that was...