Second chapter ^w^
Grimmjow and Ulquiorra have... a total personality clash. To put it lightly. xD
Ulquiorra saw no point in panicking. Panicking, he reasoned, was futile and a waste of time, and more likely to cause a second casualty than not. Therefore he had never bothered to panic and instead had developed the talent of keeping a cool head in a sticky situation, dealing with the incident calmly and with rationale.
He did this now, first methodically checking doors, windows and street corners to make sure there were no lurking paparazzi waiting to catch him in any incriminating act that might merit a feature in a tabloid. Satisfied that the street was clear, the green-eyed man cautiously began to approach the dormant sports car. The unshattered headlight glinted balefully at him; it gave him a creeping feeling of unease. He stopped dead in his tracks, his shoe crunching on a shard of broken glass. That was a mistake.
The next moment a blue hell-fiend was flying at him, yelling something incomprehensible with a lot of swear words involved. Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes and remained deliberately motionless. He refused to move for any idiotic road hog, no matter how loud they were.
Concentrating, he could decipher the man's furious ranting.
"…my car, you fuckin' idiot! The hell have you done!? My car! D'you know how much this cost! I'm gonna-"
Ulquiorra cut him off abruptly, as the man's identity presented itself. It had been difficult to tell when he had been storming towards him with a string of profanities pouring from his lips.
"Grimmjow." He said coolly.
"Well done, genius," The singer sneered, "You want a gold star?"
"You do not recognise me?" It was only to be expected. The man was too self-absorbed to see anything two inches beyond his own nose. The answer was a predictable negative.
"If you think I remember every fan that gives me freakin' love notes or shit like that, buddy, you've got another thing coming."
It would appear that a slight jog of the memory was required.
"My name is Ulquiorra Schiffer."
An indifferent pause. "So?"
Ulquiorra took a deep breath, counting to five in his head before he replied. "I am an actor. I work for the same agency as you, Grimmjow."
Grimmjow looked at him, bright blue eyes glinting dangerously. "Am I s'posed to give a shit? You're still gonna pay up for my car."
"No."
"…The hell did you say!?"
"You heard me, Grimmjow. The fault was yours alone."
Enraged, Grimmjow made to grab Ulquiorra's shoulder. The latter reacted quickly; one deft flip and the other man was sprawled on the ground, cursing loudly.
"What'd you just do, man? That's freakin' assault!"
"I have studied judo." Ulquiorra said calmly. "It was self-defence."
The singer sneered. "Judo's for pussies."
"Which is why you are lying on the road at this moment in time."
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed as he lithely got to his feet. "You gettin' smart with me?"
"No." Ulquiorra said truthfully.
In one hard jerk of a movement, his adversary turned on his heel and strode off down the middle of the street.
"Where are you going, Grimmjow?"
"To find some jackass who'll move my goddamn car, Ulquiorra!"
--
Grimmjow was pissed. He'd narrowly avoided slamming head-first into the dashboard when his Pantera crunched into the tall street light – good thing he'd actually listened to Shawlong for once in a blue moon and worn his seatbelt – and now he had two tonnes of scrap metal on his hands instead of what had been a freaking expensive car.
Impatiently yanking the car door open (with difficulty, since it was severely dented) Grimmjow leaned out and inspected the damage to his beloved car. Shit! It was worse than he'd thought, the bonnet crumpled and crushed and deep gouges scraped all down one side of the body. And as for the paintwork – man, he was not paying for this.
Anger rose red in front of his eyes; blindly he stormed towards the damn cyclist. He was going to make him sorry he'd ever learnt how to ride a bike.
"What the hell d'you think you were playin' at?" He yelled, his ire rising by the minute. "That was my car, you fuckin' idiot! The hell have you done!? My car! D'you know how much this cost! I'm gonna-"
And then it all went downhill from there, as the guy cut him off to introduce himself. Oh, yeah, like he gave a shit about who he was. Even if he did happen to work for the same agency (he did look somewhat familiar, though Grimmjow was loath to admit it). And then Schiffer (was that his name?) refused to pay for the damage he'd caused, and got all fucking aggressive on his ass to boot. Eventually growing bored with the emo fag's horribly moral outlook – or not trusting himself to not punch the guy's lights out – he turned abruptly and started to walk away.
"Where are you going, Grimmjow?"
He didn't break his pace, swaggering away into the darkness of the urban night. His voice took on a sardonic air.
"To find some jackass who'll move my goddamn car, Ulquiorra!"
In reality, he couldn't be bothered to do any such thing. He'd just buy an identical one. Sure, he absolutely fucking loved the car that was currently wrapped around a lamppost thirty feet away. He was also pretty certain that he'd get a hell of a lot of insurance money for it, which could go towards a duplicate. You just had to know how to play the system. And he did; oh, he did.
Having said that, it wasn't so bloody fun when he was sat on a bus home (the taxi having thrown him out unceremoniously on discovery he was a few bucks short of the fare), freezing his ass off and glaring at some underage girls that kept sending him hopeful looks. Dream on, darlings, it ain't gonna happen. Grimmjow leapt out with relief when the bus came to a halt.
"Home, sweet home." He muttered sarcastically under his breath, looking up at the front of the hotel that he and his band were stationed in.
At least it had a bar.
*
"Yo, Roy." Grimmjow greeted his bandmate in the hotel suite.
"'sup."
"You ever heard of some guy called Schindler… no, Schiffer? Ulquiorra Schiffer?"
The blond's jaw dropped, revealing a mouthful of nightmare teeth.
"You ain't heard of him? Jeez, Grimm, where've ya been for the past year an' a half, under a rock?" At the resultant glare, he hurriedly continued. "Schiffer's an actor. Real big round here. An he's in the Agency, same as us."
So emo boy hadn't been lying. More to the point, how the hell had he not seen him around before? He must've been more caught up in King Zero than he'd realised. Actor, huh… there was no way he couldn't afford to pay for the car. It was that damn standoffish, didn't-give-a-shit attitude of Schiffer's that really got the singer riled up. Grimmjow set his jaw, his eyes hardening to cold ice chips. He'd make that face come to life. Within a year he'd have Ulquiorra Schiffer laughing for joy, crying his little black heart out, yelling in pure untainted rage or writhing under him in ecstasy. Or maybe all four.
Next chapter - We get an insight into Ulquiorra's boring little life. xD
R&R, it's good for the soul!
~Featherz