A/N: I wrote this about half a week ago, but I was just too lazy to put it up... -__- Luppi really doesn't get enough love; he's quite an interesting character in my mind. This one really is drabbley- only 260 words! (Yes, that is a new record. x)
In Luppi's mind, the complex hierarchy of Hueco Mundo was nothing more than a trellis to be climbed. Up and up he went, creeping surreptitiously around, under, over, and in between the staunchly white wooden latticework, spreading his tendrils as he rose. Few noticed the androgynous Arrancar until it was far too late; he had already moved on, drawing on their lives as fuel to draw himself upwards, until they were naught but empty husks. This ascent was what he had been created to do, his only purpose in the half-existence alloted to his kind. When the brand pressed down on his left hip, searing that foreboding '6' to peep from the hoops of his shirt, he didn't feel quite as exhilarated as he'd dreamed. He cast aside the disappointment, writing it off as nothing but a need for more of this sweet nectar so near the sky.
Fighting as an Espada seemed no different than it had been when he was a mere Numeros, and the thrill of introducing himself as Sexta was replaced unwillingly with that nagging little voice in the back of his head. The weak one, the human one, the one that pouted at him and pierced him through with lilac eyes, asking him: 'What's this all about? Where has it all gotten you? And for what?' Luppi drew his Trepadora and unleashed himself, tentacles scattering that shred of conscience to the winds.
But it was only when Grimmjow's hand thrust through his chest that he realized there was nothing at the top of the trellis.