It was dark when Thrawe woke up. His lips were cracked, his throat was dry and his eyes were blood shot. It was dark and someone was hammering at his door in the middle of the night. Or, at least he thought it was night time, you couldn't tell in a world cast into eternal darkness. Laying on his back with his arms spread out at either side of him he stares bluntly at the ceiling, which was high above him and painted white. His entire room was white, leaving only a black reclining chair and his own bed to stand out against the dull surroundings. To one corner there was a bar with gentle green tinted lights, which where humming through the shadows. Now he had a headache.

Received from both the slamming at his chamber door, and from the three shots of gin he had drank that evening. Slowly sitting up the sleek covers slip onto his thighs, allowing the crescent moon outside of the large window to bask his gently sloping masculine shoulders in its radiant silver glow.
"Thrawe!" a high pitched voice yelps from outside, the sheer yell sending shudders down the thick shot-glass on his nightstand. Sliding his legs off of the edge of the double bed his eyelids slowly shut, a large, strong hand reaching up to run through his messy hair. "Dangit, Thrawe! Aizen is summoning us to his court room!" the shrieking voice screams again. It was a good thing he locked his small single door at night. From his lips a groggy mutter is produced, while his clumsy feet groaned from being forced to take his weight.

Walking across the icy dark floor this tall man lingers in the shadows, his toes twitching against the panels. Hovering at the door he puts his arm onto it, his eyelids being squeezed against his hot skin.
"It's three in the morning, Sweet-cheeks." he finally spoke in a hushed manner, only to be deafened by the person on the other side.
"I don't care, get dressed!" they yell, obviously furious. Groaning Thrawe turns and lets out a deep and soul-escaping sigh, Aizen had better have wanted something important.
"What would it take for things to be quieter?" the man enquires to himself in a whisper, as he slowly traipses towards the darkest part of his room. Hung on the back of a chair was his official coat, with nothing amazing about it to be seen. No cuts, no fancy add-ons, not even a pretty sparkly button on it anywhere. It was probably about as dull as his room, actually. Sliding it on he does not bother to zip it up, but he does however carefully comb his hair back into its usual short, angular, wavy style that was messily spread out against his head. Looking around for his shoes Thrawe finds them, his entire body falling face first onto a thin rug.

Outside a thin young man was staring at the door expectantly, his heart pounding and his throat clenched shut tightly from the amount of yelling he had done. From within the silence he could hear thumping, banging and muttering past the door.
"Hurry up!" he plights, twitching his thin orange eyebrow. Hearing the door unlock loudly and then crack open his entire body shifts back, his muscles clenching with every creak the door made for every inch it moved. Coming out into the light Thrawe slumps to an angle, allowing the hallways light to cover him. Closing his eyes and hissing gently he opens his left eye slightly, just enough that he could see the annoying banshee standing slightly below him. "Come on!" the short haired ginger complains, stomping off down the corridor in a huff.

In full view of the light Thrawe's body could be seen. His most dominant features had to have been on his face, which was probably why people always stared at him. This strong muscularly toned but subtle man had a strong and well sculpted jaw line, which was hidden remotely by a line of stubble which followed the entire length of his lower jaw. Turning his head with a gentle, instinctual flick the mans fringe moves against his angular yet demure forehead, allowing the ringed strands to move back into place after they bounce. Reaching up to scratch the corner of his lips Thrawe sighs, allowing his well proportioned mouth to crack open subtly. The movement causing him to sneeze abruptly and wrinkle his slim lined and inconspicuous nose.

As he trudged down the corridor with a nonchalant expression the dark-chocolate brunet examines the area. He had seen it all a thousand times before, but even then he always found something to bemuse him. Whether that was the long winding staircases, the miles of land that stretched between each part of the castle, or the employees that worked for Aizen. Scratching his small low profile ears weakly he stops behind his loud mouthed friend, and then leans against the wall behind him. They had to wait for Aizen to accept their presence and let them in. If it was any other guy Thrawe would probably have barged in, and stood demanding an explanation for such a late summoning. Before then gutting the bastard and using his insides for garters.

After a good ten minutes the brunet had furrowed his defined brow-line, had his partner even knocked? Heaving out his chest to sigh once again his partner turns, his frothy green eyes prowling up from his pronounced pecks and abdomen to his tired and weary face. Turning away again to stand straight and patiently the ginger shuts his eyes, trying to set a proper example to anyone who was not sure of how to greet Aizen's door. Thrawe knew exactly how he would greet it, with a nice hearty kick. Hearing a yell for them to finally enter the brunet groans deeply, it was about time.
"Zip up your coat! There are high ranking officers in that throne room right now." his partner hisses under his breath, waiting patiently for him to cover himself. Muttering Thrawe does as he is told, allowing the coat to cover his loose white hakama and shirtless torso. Although, he was pretty sure the higher ups were not that shy of a bit of exposure.

Inside of the room there was a huge wall, and on top of a large structure Aizen had perched himself on his throne. Hidden up and away from all on going and off going subordinates. To either side of the wall there were several different Espada, ranking from fourteen to one. Thrawe himself was only number 1318, but his partner was 201. Which was what he got for ass-kissing that bastard on the seat at every possible second.
"Good to see you. 201... 1318." Aizen coos, in a dark and rich voice that seemed to make any woman swoon. Peering up at him hazily Thrawe merely flicks two fingers against his forehead and salutes calmly, where as 201 bows his head as low as possible.

For a short period of time the brunet stood there, staring at his higher ranking partners ass. Allowing a faint mocking grin to creep against his cheeks. There were many things going through his head at that point, many things. However, the most prominent idea was the satisfactory image of him booting the poor sod up the backside. Many of the Espada had noticed him staring at the gingers ass, and some had started to murmur to themselves since no one next to them was going to listen. Finally 201 had straightened up, his face calm, collected and serious; while Thrawe had put on a rather goofy sneer, his chest rising and his cheeks tingling with the forced pressure he had put on himself. He did not want to start randomly laughing in front of all these people.

Peering around the many faces, after he calms down, the brunet stills when he gets to a blue haired male. He had his tiny coat open, so why was he not allowed to? Bloody uptight partner.
"1318 will be assigned to go on guard duty with you for the next three months. I will allow you to choose the Espada to report to every morning, afternoon and evening." Aizen muses, watching the nervous thin ginger suddenly freak out and bow.
"Ahh! Lord Aizen, it would be impossible to choose. All of the Espada are brilliant. You should decide!" he squeals, while Thrawe peers about with a smug retort that gets him an elbow to the ribcage.
"1318... You choose." Aizen states, watching 201 turn graciously.
"What a good idea, S-" 201 begins, smiling. "Wait… whaaat?" the ginger exclaims, widening his mouth and eyes. Was Aizen insane?
"Is there something wrong with that decision, 201?" their leader sharply asks, shifting in his throne before smiling when the ginger takes a fit and shakes his hands and head.
"N-no!" he yelps, trying not to get beheaded.
"Go on then, 1318." the smiling coy man utters, watching Thrawe glance about the group.

Some were glaring, others looking else where in the hopes of not being picked. Some had secretly started pointing at each other, while one looked to be half dead.
"Eh…" he begins, his cool and gentle voice sinking around the room. "I guess they're all good candidates." he utters, weakly looking amongst them. Now all the girls, if there were any, had began staring at him. Not even the men were expecting such a voice from him. "I… suppose I should ask who would be best trusted with the duty. I mean… without causing any kind of trouble." 1318 concludes, hovering his eyes up to meet Aizens gaze. His eyes where now gleaming their mother of pearl sheen, and Aizen had gone quiet. Thrawe was perhaps spanking his leader at his own game.

Coughing Aizen points towards an edge of the room, in which the brunet follows directly to a young man. From what he could see he had an innocent but calm expression, his eyes were a deep green and his face was soft in shape until it reached his sharp chin. Like some kind of angel he had a delicate nose and subtle lips, which matched his crisply ironed jacket, complete with tail-coats. Even his upper lip suited his uniform because it was black. This mans skin itself was pristine, the white gleaming flesh glowing like untouched snow under the warmth of the moon.
From underneath his eyes his skin was pierced with green, tear stain markings. It was as if he was symbolically crying out in pain, hidden beneath his steely snare. His brow line itself was narrow and straight, leaving a smooth edge to his spotless skin. Thrawe had not even noticed he was staring, nor had he even realised Aizen was speaking to him about this man. He had caught his name though, Ulquiorra Cifer.
"Ulquiorra." Thrawe whispers underneath his breath, concealed by a gasp of air that he had long forgotten to take.

Seeing 201 bow the brunet nods ever so slowly, his body turning at a gentle creep to edge its way to the door.
"I can't believe we will be working for thee Ulquiorra Cifer!" the ginger exclaims, astonished that Aizen would trust them with one of his most important members of the Espada. "You better not make a fool of me in front of him, Thrawe!" the ginger snaps, glaring bitterly for a moment. His fierce expression had slowly faded however, his eyes shifting to see that 1318 was not listening, instead he was leaning against a table with his eyes solely directed at a wall. His expression revealed him to be somewhere else, lost in the depths of his mind.
"I'm going to get a glass of gin and a cigarette before we begin." he finally speaks, coming back to life.
"Don't get drunk." his partner snaps, slitting his eyes once more.
"I'd say 'I'll try.'… but you'd know I was lying." Thrawe replied, gingerly grinning over at the other man.

Striding down the hall later that early morning to the meeting point the brunet pauses, his arms by his sides and his hands slung in his pockets. He never usually spent more than the rare summoning here, since this was Espada territory. Why did this group of high-ranking officials need patrol officers anyway, what was going to kill them… the lazy ass approach they had while being off duty? The sitting around for hours on end, bitching and fighting one another? For a while his eyes had grown firm, the corner of his lip tense as he tries to find the room he was supposed to be meeting 201 in.

Spotting the open door the man slowly walks in, his eyes elsewhere as he speaks.
"Skirvin, are you in here?" he asks dryly, shifting his head to see the ginger stumbling about. "What's with the bags?" he asks, allowing his expression to grow lax.
"We'll be spending over twelve hours a day here, I brought supplies to the commons room for myself!" Skirvin chirrups, he was always way too happy. Glancing around the once empty and dull room it was now alive with his partners spirited energy. There was food and drink on the counter, magazines on the small coffee table and a pull out sofa-bed if he was tired. "This will be my home from home!" the man cheers, putting a scented candle on one of the worktops. "What did you bring?" he finally asks, looking him over a couple of times.
"I'm here to work, if I want something I'll go to my room and get it." Thrawe dismissed, wafting one of his hands.
"Don't come crying to me when you're bored then!" Skirvin snidely comments, sitting down to read a magazine quietly.

Rubbing the stubble on his lower jaw, which caused it to make a gentle rasping sound, the brunet ponders to himself. Maybe he should have brought some gin with him.
"So we just sit here for twelve hours, and wait for an alarm?" he finally asks, after a long drawn out silence.
"…You forgot your job?" 201 snaps, as Thrawe puts his pinkie into his ear and twists his hand with a sigh. It was back to the yelling. "If someone loses something, gets lost, or needs something, then they come to us for help." he explains with great authority and pride, trying to seem as knowledgeable as possible.
"So.. I'm spending three months in a small room with you, doing nothing. While reporting this expanse of nothingness to some kid with an extreme case of Pallor?" Thrawe asks, raising his eyebrow questioningly. One hand fidgeting with his coat which was wide open all over again.
"Don't be so disrespectful of Ulquiorra! He's the fourth Espada!" the fiery haired man yelps, letting his short bowl-cut hair shake.
"He looks like a kid." Thrawe mumbles, hearing something behind him. Turning his head slowly he glances down to a pair of eyes only inches from his own. Great, the brat did not even know what personal space was. "Yo." the brunet greets him, allowing his entire body to relax after a second of tension.

Ulquiorra probably wanted him to be the one to back up, which was not going to happen since Thrawe was as stubborn as a mule.
"Ulquiorra." 201 states, trying to avoid conflict on the first day.
"So you've settled in." he speaks, calmly staring into Thrawe's hypnotising eyes. Showing no clear sign of thought which would indicate he was about to move himself from the brunets close proximity. It seemed as though this little man was just as stubborn as he was.
"Yep." he laughs, nervously glancing between the two of them. There was no outer conflict to be seen, Ulquiorra was emotionally sound and the brunet was standing above him with lazy eyes.
This left nothing more than a dark atmosphere looming around them, one that 201 didn't like. "Well, we should have a patrol around to see the area!" he stammers, trying to coax his partner to the door.
"After you." the man speaks, smiling gently onto Ulquiorra from the few inches that separated them. Turning away the raven blankly steps out into the hallway, it was better that Thrawe made him think he had a choice at that point in time.

There was no natural light coming through the windows of the castle, Hueco Mundo never saw the light of day and was nothing more than miles of barren white and silver sandy landscapes and eternal darkness. The corridors of Las Noches were relatively large, and silent at all times. Had someone not known better they would probably have mistaken the castle to have been completely empty. Slowly Thrawe had began to follow behind Skirvin, his head shifting to look at yet another winding corridor close by. After a few more minutes, but for what felt like an eternity, they entered a much larger room. There were doors lined together on each side of the room, and pillars just in front of them, lined up in-between their separations.

The room was not empty though, he could sense a couple spiritual pressures hovering close by.
"This place is too big." the brunet grumbles, peering about to try find the hiding figures.
"It's quite amazing really." his partner chirps, smiling cheerily. "Oh, what's down there!" he asks, running away while his partner watches.
"If you get lured off and killed don't come crying to me." he grunts, watching the ginger disappear down the hall. Sensing the pressure move the man turns, his eyes being met with Baraggan Louisenbairn's. Was the Espada way the way of the personal space bubble bursting? Now he had an old man stuffed in his face. This was to be expected from the old-timer though, and soon enough he relaxes.
"Baraggan." he speaks, smiling at him.
"What are you doing here?" the old man asks, glancing up and down over him.
"Checking out the colourful scenery." the brunet sarcastically responds, smirking and leaning back onto his heel.
"Hmph. It would appear you have nothing left to entertain yourself with, no matter how much I let you run about." he grunts, while Thrawe merely sighs.

They both had a history together, in fact he used to work for the moody old bastard. He would probably have been in his fraccion as well had he not declined the offer to become nothing more than a call to arms. He would probably have hated that more than anything else, his fraccion were more irritating than 201 on two bad hair days put together, and that was saying a lot.
"What have you been doing lately?" he asks, peering at the old man curiously.
"That's none of your business, you damn ant." the man grumbles, while 1318 only nods slowly. The king never could have a proper conversation with anyone. Hearing a cry from the corridor Thrawe sighs, his eyes like mother of pearl dimming.
"I must leave you in peace, your majesty." he speaks casually, walking calmly towards the noise.

Down the corridor 201 had been running back the way he had come, his arms out in front of him in a panic. He had accidentally wandered into the wrong room at the wrong time. Leaping out into the larger space he screeches across the floor, behind him was a pair of very angry women. Managing to catch up to him one grabs his collar, about ready to beat him to a pulp. Both however still when something creeps towards them through the darkness. Grimmjow and a few others had over heard the commotion as well, and had come to see what all the fuss and fun was about.
"Do you mind?" a rich voice enquires, causing one of the girls to slowly turn her head. "You seem angry, what's wrong?" Thrawe calmly asks, revealing himself to the light.
"I… He.." the girl stutters, dropping the poor man to the ground.
"He came into our room, and started touching our stuff!" the other girl bitterly growls, finally turning to see what had come to piss them off now.
"Oh?" he asks sweetly, walking calmly around them to pick up the frightened partner. "I'm sure he wasn't trying to get in your way." he speaks, the air around them light but the atmosphere's pressure deep and repressing. "He was probably over excited about your bath products, don't mind him. He's a glutton for women's tricks to stunning beauty…" Thrawe whispers, leaning ever so closer towards their faces. "My… and I can see why. You both have such stunning features." the brunet smirks, straightening back up to tower over them. "Can you forgive him this time? I'll punish him personally if he ever bothers you again." the man comments, letting a sickeningly gentle smile creep up his face.
"Y…Yes." both girls speak, slowly walking away from him as if they had seen the Soul King itself.

By now the reprimanded Skirvin was pale, his muscles tense as he etches his attention up to the figure above him.
"Don't do that again." he speaks, his eyes darkening while the several colours in his iris shine in their fractured state. Gulping as he lifts his head the ginger watches as Thrawe mumbles, the entire sickened atmosphere flinging itself to a corner like a thrown heap of laundry. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to my sweet-cheeks!" the man yelps, grabbing onto the ginger's waist abruptly to lift him up.
"W-what? Let me go!" the man shrieks, trying to escape his partners tight grip.
"Ahh, you're so stubborn sweet-cheeks!" the brunet pines, while 201 struggles and yells even more.
"What's wrong with you?" an aggressive voice enquires, making both of them stop tussling about to look.
"Are you two a thing, or something?" the other asks with a cocky smirk, it was Nnoitra and Grimmjow.
"Tsk… if only. Isn't that right, sweet-cheeks?" Thrawe smirks, eyeing the ginger up who only screams and calls for help.

Laughing deeply Thrawe puts him down, the deep grin spreading across his face. "You're so easy to wind up." the brunet chortles, looking at his partners pathetic glare. "Besides… I have standards when it comes to the men I sleep with." 1318 comments, rubbing his chin and looking over at the blue haired guy's revealed chest.
"What the hell?" the raven of the pair asks, clearly his joke was not a joke and he had apparently asked a valid question.
"Thrawe… shouldn't we be heading back to the room?" 201 tries to comment, but the brunet merely grunts.
"If I have to." he sighs, he really felt like saying 'Like anyone wants to be in that room filled with candles, and god damn magazines.', but he kept himself quiet.
Losing any form of 'etiquette' the ginger charges towards the corridor, clearly he had not learnt from his first mistake. Watching him dully with his hands in his pockets Thrawe murmurs, his head turning to glance at the two Espada.
"Have a good afternoon, Grimmjow, Nnoitra." he speaks, stepping in the direction his partner had gone in casually. His footsteps clipping off the hard white floor as he goes.

In the room the man had resorted to lazing about, his body slumped into the soft cushions on the seat. His legs were stretched out against the coffee table while his heels scraped along the cheap carpeted flooring. From the inside of his coat the man takes out a white box, which was hidden in a secret compartment. Grumbling he draws out one of the cigarettes and nips the end between his lips firmly. From his trouser pocket he also takes out a silver lighter. It was his favourite one as well, a Zippo 1941. They just did not make anything like them anymore in the human world.

Grinning to himself about his best friend he examines the reflection on the small metallic container. Drawn into a comfortable and long silence Thrawe lights the cigarette and leans back into the chair, smoke lifting into the air from his mouth along with a sigh of relief. The brunet's pet problem coming to life when he broke the silence by opening the lighter lid only to snap it shut again repeatedly.
Hearing the door creek open the brunet turn his head curiously, it was Ulquiorra. Whatever it was he wanted was beyond him however. Shutting the door behind him he comes over and sits down on the sofa next to the stiffened Arrancar, both of them looking at Thrawe but for different reasons. Skirvin had been looking at him for help, while the raven haired boy was just staring at him in general.

Pulling himself from his reclining position he groans softly, his peaceful relaxation broken by these two nuisances. Peering up the man looks over at the fourth Espada, his green eyes staring straight back at him calmly.
"What are you doing?" Ulquiorra finally speaks across from him, narrowing his gaze almost invisibly. "What is that?" Ulquiorra then asked, having decided to change his previous question while looking at the small metallic object.
"It's a lighter, the best of its kind." he murmurs keenly, grinning greatly at it.

Dragging his eyes back up to look at him the pale boy had turned his head away to look at something else, but soon enough he had been drawn back to Thrawe when whatever it was became boring. Hearing a squeal from one of the backrooms, which for once was not 201's kettle, the raven puts his attention elsewhere, but the brunet calmly keeps his attention firmly on the space between them.
"You're quiet… 'Orra." the man comments, plainly examining the cheap magazines on the coffee table.
"It's Ulquiorra." the raven bluntly replies, keeping his interests solely in whatever 201 was crying about now. Or more to his attempt to figure out why he was cringing and whimpering in the first place.
"Do you always look a bit melancholic?" he then asks, letting his eyes meet with Ulquiorra's. The man said nothing in return this time, his plain expression attempting to bore through Thrawe's impenetrable fortress. After a long silence the brunet grunts, his hand shifting the cigarette away from his lips to put it into an ash tray close by.

Twisting his hand the smoke rises while the cigarette's smouldering ashes start to burn out. Standing up the floorboards beneath his feet creak, causing the raven haired boy to look over at him weakly. Mumbling to himself the man hauls himself from the chair to stretch, his strong but tired eyes examining the ceiling for a moment or two. Heading towards the door and out the man stows away his lighter. The hallway the brunet was walking through lamenting his ever lingering footstep behind him, but it felt as if he was being followed; and sure enough, when he turns his head, there was someone right behind him. He had a funny feeling he had been in this situation before.
Biting back his irritation he speaks, slowly and calmly.
"Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" he asks. Ulquiorra had said nothing in return though, he only gave him his unbelievably, naturally plain, yet slightly dopy, expression.

Thrawe had only turned to look at him once more when he got to his room, he would have thought the blasted man would have flown the coop before that. He had a funny feeling he would follow him into his room as well, so he probably should keep his breath and just walk on in, and hope the little bastard would get bored and leave. He did not though, he actually sat down on the black recliner near the window, without permission, and got himself comfortable. In fact he did not leave until, thankfully, Aizen called for a meeting and summoned for Ulquiorra to come to him.