(Untitled)

[grimmjow]

Who: Squalo and Grimmjow.
What: Revenge is a dish best served cold. >/
When: Uh, after the wreaths stopped working.
Where: Room 1113, and then room 1610.
Rating: R for language and violence.

Comments

[voiingyurshitup]

While Grimmjow had been holing up in his room for the past few days, Squalo, on the other hand, had been gleeing. Gleeing, and avoiding others himself. The fucking wreathes had been everywhere.

He'd been expecting the prick to come by afterward, hell, it's what he would have done if it'd happened to him, so he wasn't exactly surprised when his door was kicked off its hinges (for a second time) and the Arrancar stormed in.

Continuing to towel off his dripping hair, (one of Bel's twisted pranks had resulted in him needing a shower) he grinned, "How's it going?"

[grimmjow]

"You son of a bitch."

Apparently, idle chit-chat wasn't on the list of things for Grimmjow to do at the moment. Beating Squalo's face to a bloody pulp, on the other hand? That sounded a lot more conducive to his recovering from the trauma that followed being the center of a make-out orgy.

Which is why the Sexta Espada wasted no time in stalking straight toward the silver haired asshole currently drying his hair, and catching him by the collar of his shirt to yank him closer and stare him down. No more wreath induced kisses here, sorry.

"Kicking the shit out of you is gonna be a lot more theraputic than I thought."

[voiingyurshitup]

"I thought that was my phrase for you." Came the flippant reply, eyebrow quirking slightly.

A pity, really, Squalo was very curious as to what had gone on with the Arrancar since he'd left him with his little 'revenge' and he really wanted to know. Of course there were other ways to find such things out, but to hear it from the horse's mouth...that would be priceless.

Yanked forward again, he gave the other male a disbelieving look, idly wondering if he was still wearing the wreath and the wreaths were still working but when after a moment nothing happened (have a mental, 'thank you whoever's in charge') he met the other's gaze steadily, unintimidated. Grimmjow was hardly different from his boss in both personality and physically harming tendencies, so he was used to this sort of treatment.

Maybe that was why he kept provoking him.

"Try it, see what happens."

[grimmjow]

The fact that Squalo wasn't backing down infuriated the cyan haired Arrancar. Usually, humans weren't bold enough to do anything but run away screaming like the pathetic vermin that they were before their souls were consumed. For whatever reason, Squalo seemed to react like that damn Kurosaki kid--never backing down despite the circumstance he'd find himself in.

"Tch!"

Lifting the other man from the floor by the grip on his shirt, Grimmjow launched the silver haired human to his right, hoping to hear some sort of satisying crack once the frail body connected the wall. That is, unless Squalo was quick or limber enough to escape the potentially lethal collision.