heaven has no taste. [ active. ]

[ineffabilities]

Character(s): Aziraphale, Ulquiorra, and anyone who wants to join them.
Content: Ulquiorra is looking for Aizen. Aziraphale is trying to forget this incident, with help from his good friend Mr. Strongest Liquor You've Got. Action!
Setting: Porfavore's.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: None.

Comments

[kyklojos]

The city was relatively organized, compared both to Hueco Mundo with its myriad dead scapes and phantasms as well as to Las Noches and the fortress labyrinth layered beneath its deceptively vast, featureless walls

[ineffabilities]

Aziraphale glanced over the rim of his glass at the small, metallic box occupying the spot opposite him on the table: his journal. He didn't say anything to it; such a thing would have been foolish, and even if it wasn't, he hadn't anything to say. He simply frowned in its general direction and finished his brandy. It hadn't occurred to him that he may be downing his liquor a bit too fast.

So lost in thought brooding was he that, when Ulquiorra appeared beside him, he hardly took any notice. At first, anyway; the angel merely stared down at his empty glass, watched the ice cubes slowly melt and clink against each other, and wondered what on Earth he could have possibly done to deserve this. He couldn't simply chalk it up to ineffability.

... ineffabilityWith a rather dejected "Oh, bother," Aziraphale set the glass down beside him. Perhaps he should wait a bit before getting his next glass. And perhaps not

[kyklojos]

He stepped back easily to avoid the angel's clumsy movements; amusement honing to a further edge at the obvious, albeit mild, tipsiness of the strange man. The power and consequent viability as a tool of alcohol had been demonstrated to him. On the rare occasions where Aizen substituted something stronger for their little tea parties, few, if any of them managed to get drunk--and if Grimmjow or Yami somehow and unsurprisingly had accomplished such, it did not differ enough from their usual behavior to be relevant.

"In that case, apologies." His soft, monotone voice was as indecipherable as the words were insincere, or more accurately perhaps, completely devoid of any of the customarily complementary body language. The gaze Aziraphale was receiving was even and flat, quietly scrutinizing. "I merely noticed your reiatsu, and felt a greeting was only appropriate."

[OOC: I'M SORRY. ;~; School kicked my ass. I'll try to be faster from now on!! And no, we never managed to log at TST. .-.]

[ineffabilities]

And Aziraphale, who often found it hard to differentiate between the sincere and the sarcastic even with (what he considered to be) normal people, replied only with a smile and a brief nod. "Oh, quite alright, my boy," he replied. "It wasn't your fault at all..."

His voice trailed off then, and it hit him that the young man mentioned something about a reiatsu. In his mind, he recalled a few, terse comments left on his journal by someone who had mentioned the same "spiritual energy." And then, of course, he remembered that this poster mentioned something about his reiatsu being quite similar to gods of death, which were closer to angels than they were to demons. While he was having a bit of trouble absorbing that last bit of information, the whole incident had put him slightly on edge; it was enough that there were other angels and demons who had accurately pegged him as one of their kind simply by reading a journal entry, but now he was faced with something unfamiliar - not quite angel, not quite demon - who was also starting to

[kyklojos]

The subtle stiffening along the man's straight shoulders was readily apparent, as was the increasing discomfort as recognition slotted itself in place in the eyes that roved uncertainly over him. Ulquiorra relished in the rising tension, just as prior to a fight despite the lack of hostile intention in this fellow.

He had secrets, and part of Ulquiorra's avowed purpose in existing was to uncover secrets. For the sake of Aizen, and for his own entertainment; more often than not they were one and the same.

The man's pining for his drained glass didn't pass unnoticed either. "Ulquiorra." He gazed at the extended hand for a blank moment before gripping it briefly in loose fingers. "A drink?"

[OOC: Aaaack. Got this one done, finally. XD Sorry 'bout the delay~]

[ineffabilities]

With the formalities and introductions out of the way, Aziraphale had to admit to feeling a little more at ease. Granted, he didn't know this person, but they seemed... well, agreeable. Moreso than the others he had just recently met, at any rate.

The angel turned and looked back at the empty glass, then at Ulquiorra. "Er... yes?" he replied, without thinking. What about a drink? Did he want one? A quick once-over turned up nothing; he couldn't tell what the man's age was or, more importantly, if he was old enough to drink. Oh, but he didn't seem that young, and if anything he was in the company of a supervising adult. (Not that he could be anything but, after six millennia.) Aziraphale looked back at the glass and added, a bit hastily, "Oh, would you care for one

[ablindalley]

The plan was nothing short of brilliant. Since Desire left its realm, there had been little worth waiting out for. There has been little worth plotting for. Desire is here in this place too, but perhaps it is still involved in an unfinished little game. That is acceptable, Despair can wait. And while she waits, she can perhaps make herself useful in the little game of Mad Hatter's.

Despair's lips stretches into a smirk as Belial knocks on the door before fluttering away in the form of butterflies. That reminds her of the youngest one, perhaps she is here as well. A thought crosses Despair's mind about how there must be someone behind this city, but she waves it away just as soon as it comes. She does not want Desire to be comparing her to Dream; he would be working hard at uncovering the secret behind the city if he were here.

Responsibility. She has no need for that. All Despair needs is a soul capable of despairing. The White Rabbit seems to be the perfect candidate.

[satanofpride]

Mad Hatter had felt in a cruel mood since sie found out an angel (those pure, unstained children of Heaven) was breathing the same air sie did, walking under the very dome projected a beautiful sky and overall was in the island without a stake to fear