Grimmjow groaned. Damn Aizen and his stupid orders- and this was definitely the worst. What sort of phsyco orderedhis subordinates to pick a potion, any potion? Szayel, of course, looked ecstatic as he pulled out five beakers and set them on the wooden table. They bubbled, sickly, and Grimmjow gulped. Oh, that looked so bad.
"Well," the crazy genius said, "feel free to pick one at your leisure. Oh, but don't take too long. You aren't the only one that has to choose." Grimmjow glared at him. God, that little prick! "I would suggest that you stop looking t me and look to my potions"- the way he said it he might as well have been saying 'babies'- " for Aizen-sama has said that you must choose. Grimmjow 'tch'ed, tearing his eyes from the Octava to survey the flasks. One was bright red, one acid green, a yellow, a blue and a pick. And Grimmjow had to choose from that? A little growl formed in the back of his throat as he stared them down. He wasn't any good at observations! But if he chose wrong, who knew what would happen to him? Agh, why did he have to do this?
He buckled down and tried his hardest to figure out which ones wouldn't kill him. The red one looked like lava, so that was out. It would probably melt him from the inside out, or something like that. The yellow we the color of mustard, which was pretty gross in itself, but if it weren't for the constant high-rate fizzing Grimmjow might have gone for it. The green was out of the running too, because anything that looked like something that could burn through metal probably wasn't good for you. That left him between the pink and blue. Both looked completely harmless. They didn't glow or anything anyway. Grimmjow peered intently at them, but no matter how hard he looked he just occlude't find any clues.
Which one, which one? Well, the pink wasn't as neon as the blue, so maybe... But the blue didn't bubble as much, so... But, still, there was less of the pink- but that could mean it was more potent than the blue... But maybe Szayel did that on purpose to make Grimmjow think like that and the blue was really the more potent... Still, pink was such a wimpy color, so could anything pink really hurt him? ... But blue was his lucky color, right? "Do you need me to choose for you?" Szayel asked. Grimmjow growled.
"Shut up!" he yelled, grabbing the blue up. "I'll take this one!" He wasn't a person who paid too much attention to stuff, so he missed the way Szayel's queer little golden eyes lit up behind his glasses, but even he could tell that Szayel stood up a little straighter. He suddenly second-guessed himself. "I, uh, on the other hand..." he said awkwardly, trying t go back and change his decision.
"Ah-ah-ah," Szayel said, shaking a finger, "you made your choice. Now, bottoms up!" Grimmjow blanched. Aw, shit. He looked down at the vial in his hand nervously. Bottoms up. It could't be that bad, right?
It felt like he swallowed liquid mint, the weird, wintergreen chill slithering down hi throat. Ti didn't taste like mint, though. Actually, Grimmjow could't tell what it tasted like. He figured maybe tat was a good thing. He gulped it down quickly, feeling it like a rock in his stomach, and slammed the beaker down. "There," he gasped "Done." was it just him, or did Szayel look like somebody had just told him he'd won the lottery?
"Excellent," the pink-haired geek sad. "Thank you, Grimmjow. Send the next one in." Grimmjow looked at him oddly.
"Really? That's it?" he asked. "I don't feel any- I mean, uh, sure. Fine, see ay," he covered as he quickly booked it out the door. Who knew what other sort of concoction Szayel would force down his throat if he found out that the potion had no effect? Grimmjow wasn't about to bring that hell on himself. "Oi, Yammy, you're up," he said, hurrying away. Thank God. He practically bolted his bedroom door shut once he was away from that freak. He had gotten out alive!
He deflated, slumping over to his bed in relief. The whole ordeal was over, and he felt fine. Except, his stomach kind of churned a little. But that wasn't a problem, and anybody would feel a little like puking after going in that lab. Grimmjow stared up at the ceiling. Damn, he'd never been lucky before, not that he was complaining or anything. It was kind of nice to have fate on your side. Where had predestination been when he was alive?
Grimmjow shifted a little on his bed. Huh. It felt like... A little hot. Grimmjow shrugged it off, along with his shirt. There, that was better. But not for long. He got real uncomfortable, real fast, the heat becoming like a pit in his stomach. It felt like he was scorching on the inside. All his skin began to tingle. Oh, fuck! He started up, his muscles barely working to get him off his bed, as f they were in the process of reforming and could't support any weight at all.
He stumbled toward the window, his legs as insubstantial as jelly. He tripped over the edge of his rug and had to run to keep up with his new momentum, colliding with the wall. He fumbled with the window, the weakness in his legs spreading to his arms as he tried desperately to openthedamnwindow. He needed air. Where was the air? It finally slid open, but he still could't breathe.
He backed away from the fake sunlight, the whole room spinning wildly around him. The rock in him swelled and burned, and oh, hell, it hurt! It felt like his innards were twisting around a red-hot iron rod.
In the lab down the hall, Szayel Apollo Granz smirked. "Five, four, three, two-" a high scream split launches, startling everyone but him.
He should have started his countdown one second earlier.