Valentine's Day; an incredibly retarded day for morons who felt the need to declare their undying love through paper and food since every other normal day wasn't "special." A day meant for people who clearly needed to get bitch-slapped back into reality.
Such as this charming bastard he was about to beat the shit out of.
"P-please wait! I promise I'll have the money by tomorrow, just let me live! Veronica, she's waiting for me and today is special and I-"
"You make it sound like I give a flying fuck whether your lover's waiting to give you fucking chocolates or if she's dyin' from cancer. Let's get something straight, I don't. The only thing I care about is whether you have the fucking money or if I'm gonna have to start makin' things bloody."
The man whimpered and weakly begged for more time, causing his attacker to sigh in irritation before saying, "Guess this means I'm gonna have to make an example outta ya." The man began spilling out more pathetic pleas but they went ignored as a fist grabbed the collar of his suit and jerked him up until he was staring directly into dangerous cyan blue eyes.
"I'll paint ya nice and red for your girlfriend so that she'll never forget this year's Valentine's gift from you."
Many sickening crunches and muffled agonizing screams later, the man stepped out of the shadows and lit a cigarette, ignoring the fact that his hands still glistened with freshly spilled blood. It didn't really matter anyway. Considering this was in the impoverished side of town, the police wouldn't give a rat's ass even if he shot someone in broad daylight.
Inhaling deeply before letting out a stream of smoke, the man tilted his head up at the sky, the deep blue matching the color of his hair.
"Almost two years since that time huh?'
The one instance in which having a reliable police force would have been good had passed, thus the reason why he was such a miserable existence currently despite his poor but thrilling childhood.
Having been born and raised in the slums, Grimmjow Jaggerjacques was not one for feelings of regret since sentimental feelings like that generally got you killed but that one incident was an exception. It had actually been after that time when his life really went to hell.
As a child, he had scorned the many men and women in the impoverished neighborhoods for their weakness towards addictions and random flings since it was a waste of hard-to-get money and it had seemed stupid. Now, he was one of them although he at least had a reason.
Smoking, drinking, one-night stands, anything that made him forget was welcome although he knew enough not to cross into the world of drugs. He couldn't afford to get weak or addicted or else he would get killed. Granted, he probably deserved it considering the number of lives he had ruined but still, he wasn't quite ready to kick the bucket yet.
Living with the guilt of having killed his best friend was the last thing he could do in his memory. Actually, that wasn't quite right; he had another thing he needed to do which couldn't be accomplished unless he was alive. Pulling a small object out of his pocket, he glanced at it contemplatively and wondered how he was going to find the companion piece to the precious treasure his friend had given him in his final moments, quietly asking him to give it to someone who he now didn't remember since he had tried to block that moment out of his memory like the coward he was.
Looking at the small object started to bring back unpleasant memories of that horrible night so he quickly took several long drags from the cigarette, hoping to quell the overwhelming flood of images racing through his mind.
Running a hand through blue locks, Grimmjow took another deep inhale before deciding smoking wasn't enough. Snubbing the cancer stick out, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and headed to the one person he could trust to have a bar of hard liquor open this early in the day.
By the time he arrived at his destination, the sun was still quite high in the sky and only just setting, casting a delicate faint pink shade in the wispy clouds.
'How fucking fitting, a pink sky for a shitty day like the one dedicated to a moronic baby who shoots people with arrows.'
Grimmjow scoffed as he pushed open the door to a dirty but large bar called Los Lobos, owned by the oddest pair of siblings he had ever met.
Stark Coyote was an extremely lazy narcoleptic with the fastest shooting skills known to mankind. He also happened to be his superior in their gang, the Arrancars since he was the personal assassin for their arrogant but undeniably powerful and cruel leader. His younger sister was a fiery, girl with mismatched eyes called Lilinette Gingerback but she was more infamous for her ability to hide vast amounts of ammunition in seemingly nowhere so her brother never ran out of bullets.
Personally, Grimmjow thought she should be famous for her kicks since people more often than not found themselves on the receiving end of them. How someone with so much spunk and energy could possibly be related to a man who barely had enough energy to wake up for more than five minutes would remain a mystery to him.
Speaking of kicks…
A foot collided painfully with his shin and he hissed out a string of curses before giving the petite girl a glare and snarling, "What the hell was that for?" She returned his look with her own nasty one as she jabbed a finger towards a barely functioning clock and shouted back, "We don't open until 6 in the evening you idiot! What the hell are you doing here at 3:30 in the afternoon?"
His eyes briefly flickered away from hers as the uncomfortable memories threatened to return. He was about to give a lame excuse when a tired but firm voice said, "Leave him alone Lili, if he wants a drink, let him have one." She huffed before snapping, "Fine." Giving Grimmjow a hard look, she impatiently asked, "Well? What do you want this time?"
Sending a silent message of thanks to the already sleeping man, Grimmjow ordered, "Five shots of solid vodka." A thin eyebrow was raised as she asked incredulously, "You plannin' on getting yourself mugged or something?" He gave her a weary look and said tiredly, "Just get me the damn alcohol."
She looked like she was going to argue but then thought better of it as she went behind the counter and grabbed a bottle from one of the shelves of bottles while muttering, "You're gonna have one mother of hangovers tomorrow."
Her words were a complete understatement since by the time he stumbled out of the bar and down the street, he had downed six shots of vodka and an entire bottle of beer. Maneuvering his way clumsily into an alley, he leaned over and vomited out a disgusting mixture of his lunch and a lot of liquid from the alcohol. Once he felt like he wasn't ready to puke anything else out, he moved away and pressed his forehead against one of the cool brick walls surrounding him.
"Fucking hell that was a bad idea" he muttered as the world seemed to insist on spinning madly no matter how many times he blinked. The sound of an empty can getting crushed grabbed his attention though, and he turned his head a bit only to mentally groan.
'This is why I hate days like fucking Valentine's Day. They're the only times my luck seems to decide to take a vacation to some LalaLand and leave me with karma's bitch.'
Just from the end of the alley he was looking at, he could see about fifteen people, all of whom were holding bats, pipes, and oh joy, some were even wearing brass knuckles. How fucking thoughtful.
One of the guys, who clearly thought he was a big-shot or something, swaggered forward with a condescending sneer and said, "Well lookit what we got here boys, th' big bad Sexta of the Arrancar gang. Not lookin' too good there are ya?"
Managing his own mocking smirk, Grimmjow asked, "Your ugly mug doesn't look familiar. Ya either have a death wish or I kicked your ass a while ago and it was so pathetic that I don't remember doing it. So, which is it?"
The man's face turned an interesting purple in fury as he spat, "Bark while ya can Sexta. Once we're done with you, ya won't even be able ta 'member who the bitch was that gave birth to ya."
Grimmjow found that a bit pointless since he already forgot the face of the prostitute who had forced him into this dump of a world but he barely had time to think about it before he dodged a particularly nasty looking swing to his head with a lead pipe.
"Heh, I've been in a pretty cruddy mood today so I guess I'll play with you weaklings." Adrenaline rushing through him and temporarily fighting off the dizzying effects of the alcohol, he stood up to his full intimidating 6'3 height and stated with a cocky smirk, "If you pussies want even a chance of winning, you better attack me all at once."
With a chilling cackle of laughter, he shot towards one of the groups and smashed his fist into the face of one person, relishing in the sound of bones cracking and blood spurting out of a now broken nose and jaw. Whirling around, he caught a bat that had been about to hit him and jerked, sending the assailant stumbling forward and into the kick aimed towards his abdomen.
Swiftly crouching down, Grimmjow swung a long leg in a smooth sweeping arc, tripping multiple idiots who had tried to charge at him and using them as shields from a barrage of hits from a couple of men with the brass knuckles.
Jumping up abruptly, he swung his leg again and did a complete roundhouse, effectively sending one of the knuckle fighters spinning into the other before he decked both of them in the back of neck.
He had now taken care of one group but as he turned to take care of the rest, the nauseous feelings from the alcohol swarmed his head again and made him falter, a hesitation his attackers didn't waste.
His head snapped to the side when a fist contacted his cheek in a painful blow and as he tried to regain his senses, a pipe found its way to his stomach, sending him flying back and colliding with the wall he had leaned on only half an hour ago.
He was barely conscious but pushing through the waves of dizziness, the survival instincts he had obtained through years of stealing and fighting on streets kicked in and he was only vaguely aware of fighting back despite the numerous wounds he was receiving all over his body.
It was only when every single person had been defeated or knocked out that his body finally gave in and he collapsed onto the ground, breathing harshly. Hundreds of bruises and cuts littered his body but it was a small comfort to know that he had avoided any broken bones.
Through the cloud of pain that threatened to knock him out, he managed to get his hand to pull out the small object from his pocket for what felt like the last time.
Slowly dragging it up, he let it dangle in his hand, a thin chain with a small black crescent moon glinting as a small bit of light reflected off its smooth surface.
'Che, looks like I won't be able to keep my promise. I can't give this back to the one that idiot was so smitten with."
His hand barely managed to slide the necklace back into his pocket before it gave out as well and one final thought flashed in his mind before he slipped into black nothingness.
'Looks like I won't be able to find and apologize to the kid I stole that idiot from.'
A jolt of pain when his injured foot connected with one of the steps of a flight of stairs started to bring him back to reality although he couldn't quite muster the energy to open his eyes yet. The feeling of someone holding him up and the sounds of tired breathing told him that he was pretty much at the mercy of someone else, probably another group of thugs looking for revenge, but he honestly didn't care at this point.
He heard the sound of a door being opened but instead of being dropped onto a cold cement floor like he expected, he was laid carefully on something that felt suspiciously like a comfortable soft bed.
When he heard the person who had treated him so cautiously leave, he let his tired eyes open a bit and briefly look around. The room was nice, small but definitely not something that would be found in the neighborhood he lived in. Before he could examine the room further, the person returned so he quickly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.
Soft footsteps padded over before a figure knelt down next to him and to his bewilderment, began tending his wounds. Soft but steady hands deftly cleaned his injuries in the least painful manner he had ever felt before professionally wrapping them in clean white bandages. Opening his eyes just a bit out of curiosity when the person began gently prodding around for broke bones, he nearly stiffened.
It was the face of both a stranger and of the best friend he had killed two years ago.
A/N: 10 points to whoever can guess who Grimm's best friend is XD Anyway, I'll work on this at random intervals at least until I figure out which story to focus on. So if you liked this then please vote on the pole in my profile~ Don't forget, reviews are loved and there's no such thing as too many!
