She was the Tercera Espada and he was only the Sexta.
The very first time he had laid gaze on her was during the inaugural Espada assembly, long before she was exiled and replaced by Tier Halibel. He remembered inklings of her, those small bits of memories were indelible and she was etched deeply in his mind. She had been staring in reverence at Aizen's daunting form then, her movements gracious as she listened intently with a sip of tea every now and then.
The Neliel he knew was high and mighty.
Grimmjow was never an avid listener nor was he interested in Aizen's strategies and expedients; he was merely there for the chance to destroy, to kill. It was the appearance of Neliel that had diverted Grimmjow's attention; there weren't many Vasto Lordes that were as verbose as her. Neliel had given her opinions countless times, proving herself to not only be a female warrior but a sagacious strategist capable of planning far ahead.
Grimmjow was beginning to understand why Nnoitra, the Octava at that time, was extremely irked by her.
The interactions amongst the Espadas were sparse, communication was limited other than the necessity. Perhaps it was the inherent nature of hollows to be withdrawn to themselves or the superiority complex many of them held.
Stark was simply lazy, the very embodiment of sloth, and he had spent his free time slumbering in his quarters. Barragan had unceremoniously labelled everyone as insignificant insects, unworthy of his words. Ulquiorra, the impassive man, had callously called the lesser ranks trash numerous times. The Espadas were simply this cordial to begin with, except Neliel. She had treated everyone with kindness that was foreign to their race.
Neliel was a rational and just person; a woman who regarded bloodlust with disdain, refusing to unsheathe her sword without a reason. The Tercera was the Sun that Hueco Mundo never had, and she did not belong with these monstrosities.
Sometimes, Grimmjow wondered how did a peace-loving Menos ever evolved into Vasto Lorde.