Wherever you are, whenever it's right, I'll come out of nowhere and you'll meet my knife.

[painhumbles]

Who: The Teacher (painhumbles ) and the Student (grimmjerk )
When: Sometime this weekend.
Where: Sector 9, near Casa del Gabriel.
Summary: Grimmjow's no longer a poodle. Unfortunately, there was no "don't beat the shit out of the guy teaching you a lesson" clause in this particular lesson.
Warnings: VIOLENCE. LANGUAGE. HIDE YO KIDS.

Comments

[grimmjerk]

[ It'd all been about finding the empty spot. The asshole, whatever he was, was an absence. A pocket in the air shaped like a person. Tracking him down involved scanning the city for anything and everything that wasn't there at all. Possibly the weirdest and most awkward method he'd ever tried, but whatever. So long as it worked, he didn't care, and he'd look every day and every night until he found him, no matter how long it took.

It only took four days.

There isn't any kind of warning, of course. Why would there be? Why give the bastard time to react? Even Grimmjow isn't stupid enough to stand there and let him pull off the same trick twice.

That's why there is only a flash of white cloth and a boot heel aimed for the back of Gabriel's head, the angel completely alone one second and then suddenly joined by an assailant in the next. ]

[painhumbles]

[Most angels take pain in stride. Their vessels are just meatshields to hide their Grace and allow them to walk and interact with humanity without the risk of anything blowing up or eyeballs getting melted. It's a psych-out technique. Those aren't my nerve-endings. This isn't my body. You can't touch what part of this is actually mine.

Gabriel, it should be said, is not that kind of angel. His body is as much a part of him as his Grace and when he gets kicked in the back of the head, it fucking hurts. He goes down with a yelp, skids across icy pavement and then staggers to his knees, rubbing his head. He glowers upwards, trying to figure out who he's going to have to beat into next Tuesday and finds... Oh.]

...Oh, don't tell me you're still pissed about that. Sheesh. [He gets to his feet.] Lighten up a little, wouldja? You're making a scene.

[grimmjerk]

Not here to chit-chat.

[ Lighten up.

He doesn't, of course. Not fucking stupid, as he always tries to prove. And seeing that face again brings it aaaaall back, his rage, his wounded pride, the niggling, worm-like thread of shame that he hasn't been able to get rid of no matter how hard he's tried. It all mixes together under his skin, hot and alive and infinitely infuriating as it is exhilarating. ]

You think I'd let you just get away with that shit? [ In the blink of an eye, Grimmjow has his arm hauled back; in the next, both himself and his arm have closed the distance between them and it's coming down, his fist aimed at Gabriel's jaw. ] Fat fucking chance!

[painhumbles]

[If Kali could see him now, she'd rescind that comment about all archangels understanding is violence, because all Gabriel understands about violence is that it HURTS. He stands there like an idiot and allows himself to hit, fist making contact with jaw and something breaking. He hits the ground again and spits blood out onto the pavement, clicking his jaw back into place. He glowers up at Grimmjow and with just the ground beneath him gives way in an attempt to sweep the man off his feet. That done, Gabriel stands again.]

Oh, like you got away with picking on little girls and killing lawyers. Okay, okay. So the lawyer probably asked for it- big deal. You'd think a big strong man like you could control his impulses. I suggest anger management.