Who: Ichimaru Gin
volpe_grigia, Ulquiorra Schiffer
sfigato_quarto, and Robert Chase
cacciareWhen: Sunday afternoon
Where: Ulquiorra's Apartment
What: Chase comes to pay a visit to Ulquiorra at his request, and brings someone else along...
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CREATIVE CUT GOES HEREEEE~! )
Instead, he decided to leave Dr. Chase to his work, and in removing himself from the room, voiced his ultimatum with casual air of nonchalance. "Tch. This mood of yours will not do, naa? When the doctor has finished, we'll talk, but only if you've pulled yourself out of this stupor of yours. Ara, you are better than this, Ulquiorra-kun, or at least, that was what I've believed all this time. Do not prove me wrong." He paused in the doorway of the bedroom and glancing over his shoulder added with a grin, "Otherwise, I no longer have use for you."
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Ulquiorra shook a little again, an almost fearful look leaking into his large green eyes as he stared at the wall. "Yes...yes...Caporegime, sir..." He murmured, his voice weak. He was glad that Gin did not watch him reveal of all of his injuries. It was unsettling enough to show Chase his weakness again, even though it was the doctor's job to witness weakness, not Gin's.
Did Gin really have use for him anymore? That was the question.
When Chase pulled back the sheets, it revealed the torn shirt he had not removed since Thursday night. One side of it was completely torn, perfect scratch marks to match marring Ulquiorra's otherwise perfect white skin. Grimmjow's claws were sharp, but thanks to Ulquiorra's re-enforced skin, they were only shallow cuts. If he were anyone else, his organs would have been on the floor in the kitchen, and he would have been quite dead. Ulquiorra's leg, on the other hand, looked a bit more serious. The thigh was discolored, by both bruises and scar tissue, and new, dark angry marks had appeared. He knew he shouldn't have pushed his luck, but he had needed his speed to stay alive.
Ulquiorra watched Chase wrap his wound, his expression like stone. He was silent all the time until the doctor had finished. "Will it...be alright?" he asked, softly, almost hesitantly, as if he was afraid of the answer. The truth was he was afraid. Afraid of it all. Afraid of just not cutting it anymore.
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