Disclaimer: Do not own bleach in any form.
Paris; The city of the forgotten romance, and tormented artists. It was a rather a depressing city, where the rain bled through the streets and washed away the tears of broken hearted women. Hopeless ballerinas met sorrowful pianists, and poets never found their love. If you came to Paris, you never found freedom. No equality, living from hand to the mouth, and drinking your own tears. It was a sad time, a sorrowful time. Ulquiorra lost his inspiration. No matter how hard he tried, he will never get it back. Losing your inspiration was as losing your heart. There was a time, before, when Ulquiorra actually smiled, and laughed. But that was before. Now he lives in a small apartment, with an old piano and a demanding cat, Lucifer. Ulquiorra worked as a nameless compositor. No one knew who wrote the wicked music in ballet, or who made everyone cry or mad or feel his emptiness when he played his melancholic melodies, that soon died in dust and no one ever touched them again.
"Good morning Ulquiorra!" Nelliel greeted Ulquiorra.
"Hello…" His motionless face met her vivid hazel eyes, and then his gaze fell on her basket full of bread that covered her recently showing pregnant belly.
"I brought you bread! They had a bit of left over from yesterday!" She entered the small apartment that Ulquiorra shared with his cat.
Lucifer only looked up at Nelliel and meowed, his green eyes matched with Ulquiorra's dim, mossy green eyes. Both were equally cursed.
Nelliel set the basket of bread in the table and partitioned the food in thirds. Lucifer gracefully jumped on the table and took a small nibble of bread and run off to hide in the grand piano, which was way too big for the proportions of the apartment.
"That damned cat…" Nelliel cursed under her breath.
Ulquiorra smirked at her and looked up to Nelliel.
"How is Grimmjow doing?" Ulquiorra asked.
During the French revolution, Grimmjow formed part of the resistance. He went to the storming of the Bastille, and paraded the head of the owner of the Bastille in a stick, while cheering for freedom. He was the one who fought against the army, with his own bare hands. And he also cheered, when the reign of Louis the XVI was over. But after a while, there were still some problems. People were starving, and the reign of terror begun. People were tortured to reveal information for internal enemies, and those enemies where beheaded without trial. Extreme measures were taken to take out the word 'God' or 'Saint' out of the streets. And a new calendar was formed. During one of the revolts, Grimmjow was stabbed on his side, two days later, Nelliel found him unconscious laying on the side of a dirt road, near Nantes, 500 miles from Paris. Nelliel took care of him and took him under his wing, even though, her miserable pay as a pauper could barely keep her alive. But soon, when Grimmjow could walk and eat, they moved to Paris, where Nelliel learned to read and write, and met her lovely neighbor, Ulquiorra.
"He has to rest, as usual, but he is getting better." She smiled widely.
"Why are you so happy all the time?" Ulquiorra gazed intensely at Nelliel.
"Why can't I be happy?" She asked indignant, "Why can't you smile!"
"Because! It takes to much strength." He only looked up at her and stretched the corners of his mouth with struggle.
"Instead of being a damn compositor, that composes depressing pieces, you should do something else. Go outside! Did you know that the French revolution happened about a year ago?" Nelliel laughed at him.
"You should keep your legs together, Madame, tsk, pregnant at eighteen…" Ulquiorra joked, still keeping his straight face.
"Well, you should cheer up! Or I'll tell the neighbors!" Nelliel stuck out her tongue at Ulquiorra. (A/N: this story takes place at the reign of terror, which you turned in to the government someone suspicious, I know, French people…)
Later, Nelliel left, along with her 3 month old pregnant belly. Ulquiorra face palmed his face at the fact, that someone as obnoxious and loud mouthed as Grimmjow could be a dad, and he was barely able to cook bread.
Ulquiorra was curious; it's been two weeks since he's been outside. He was convinced that the only thing he would see in the streets is people lying on the side of the streets, looking for a mere franc. (A/N: for people who don't know their European history, a franc is a coin in French currency). But no, actually, the streets where full of life as narrow as they were. New buildings where being constructed, and the narrow, ghastly streets were being reformed as wide, eerie, clean streets. Ulquiorra dug his hands on his pockets and walked aimlessly around Paris. The smells of baguettes and urine filled his nostrils in disgust, but, this was Paris.
Near the ruins of the Bastille, there was a new theater. A new theater meant more money for compositors, money for compositors meant meat. Ulquiorra wanted meat. (A/N: hee hee, that's what he said xD) Ulquiorra entered the building. It was nice and quiet. But in the background there was music. Ulquiorra listened closely, and his eyes widened. That song, was the song he composited.
"Bounjour! Ques'que tu necesite?" A black haired woman, with an accent from the provinces asked Ulquiorra.
"Bonjour…" He answered back at the woman.
"Are you a compositor?" The thick accent she had, made it almost impossible to understand what she was saying.
"Yes… what is this song?" Ulquiorra asked to see what kind of fame he had in Paris.
"It's by a nameless compositor… no one knows his name…" She spoke softly.
Ulquiorra only nodded and looked over at the stage. The grand piano sat on left stage, while three ballerinas danced a rather depressing harmony. Each one of them wore a white and pink tutu and their hair was pinned up. The three ballerinas danced gracefully on their tiptoes, they were able to strip down the cursed melody on transform it into harmony, as if life was born out of it. Quickly, the middle ballerina twirled around and jumped into the air with a feline accuracy and precision.
"No, no, no! Ques'que tu fait!" The pianist shouted at the ballerinas, furious.
"Ah! Je ne fait pas res! C'est tu! Tu est un fou!" a purple haired ballerina gracefully walked her way over at the pianist, furious also.
"No one wants you here! You can't even play right!" The purple haired ballerina pushed the man, which he looked indignant.
The man quickly slapped the purple hair ballerina square in the face. She quickly looked up with a red cheek.
"Get the fuck out of here." She pointed out the door.
The tall thin man walked out the door, closing it way to hard. What a fucktard. The purple haired ballerina put her head between her hands, while a blonde blue eyed ballerina consoled her.
"Rukia, we don't have a pianist now…" An orange haired ballerina walked over at Rukia.
"What are we going to do? They are going to close the Moulin if we don't have a pianist!" The purple haired women cried.
"Wait… you are a pianist right? You can play piano! Can you be our pianist?" Rukia asked Ulquiorra with hopeful gleaming eyes.
"What's in it for me?" Ulquiorra sighted.
Okay! first chapter! so? did you like it! cuz if you did, press the button below and review!
Ulquiorra: No one will review.
Emma:... yes they will!
Ulquiorra:Nah! I killed them all! (troll face)
Emma: *face palm*
Please! don't forget to review, like, comment, what ever you like!
email me for more info and stuff! - Invidia_
