I look at Octava Espada and in his face is a distinct suffering from some irretraceable origin. And then there's Sexta Espada who's huffing with an unquantifiable savagery. With the way things are going, pity is rigorously finding its way to me. How unfortunate these creatures are to cross paths with me? I'll carry my predilections to as far as saying that all is in favor of my name—

"I'd like to summon Lieutenant Ichimaru Gin to the witness stand." Szayel declares, finally regaining his calm amidst the crisis.

Lieutenant Gin sidles up the designated seat, wearing his honest to god disreputable grin. Octava speaks again, perhaps in the hopes of unearthing something that can be of any assistance to him. Frankly, hope has long since abandoned him; from the moment—

"Lieutenant Gin, were you or were you not in charge with the corridor inspection on the night in question?" Szayel starts.

"Yes." No sooner than his word got said that he cracks another grin, effectively inviting quite a handful of anticipation from the crowd.

"On that note, it must mean you were responsible for securing the Espada's return to their private chambers before the curfew struck. Am I right?"

"So right, Apollo-chan."

"But to be able to fulfill this duty you must first ensure that we are all tucked into our chambers."

"Yeeeaaahhh. You're so sharp, Octava-chan."

"If that's the case, when you checked on Cuatro Espada's room, did you happen to find him there?"

"Naaaahhhhh. He slipped off somewhere else." His answer swirls across the crowd like a strong wind that turns over everything it sweeps on. Grabbing his chance, Octava recollects his breath before doubling up. And then he smiles a smile which isn't inconsequential, "Where was he?"

Lieutenant frowns, as if the answer is getting dimmer in his memory, "Waaaah Szayel-chan, I thought we've already established it here that he was in Grimmjow-chan's room? I saw it myself, ya know."

Well. I implore you to wait for it; there's something more to this, I assure you. But presently an ominous collection of whispers is passing on from tongue to tongue. It is here that I realize things aren't going fast enough for me. It's true I was in Sexta Espada's room but, as what my brilliant lawyer has declared, the whole affair was—

"So, since you beat me into saying it, what did you find in Grimmjow Jaggerjack's room when you surveyed it?"

Lieutenant Gin starts giggling so uncontrollably that it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep my eyes fastened on him. Jesus, I didn't subscribe to this whole hearing procedure just to tolerate such juvenile behavior—

"Cuatro-chan was there."

The crowd really needs to be pacified. I can hear murmurings here and there, and the sound is speckling the air with weight. So what if I was there? If only they knew that Grimmjow and I were—

"What was he doing there?" Szayel asks Gin. Grimmjow looks away.

"Scheiffer-chan was being a naughty little Espada."

Now here's a figure of authority who falls notably short in the logic department. Me? Naughty? Please. I surmise a strange culture has contaminated Las Noches; why, everyone seems to be wholly lacking in sound judgment these days! This is revolting! And finally, to make matters worse, something issues from the mouths all around me; I can tell from here that their lips are full of inaccurate speculations. Degenerates.

"How so?"

Lieutenant readjusts his legs before propelling a perfunctory glance towards me.

"He set Sexta-chan's closet on fire while the latter was hitting the showers."

Honestly, I can hardly guess what's setting this lot's ignorance loose. Because the sensation the information has summoned is plainly exaggerated they're now mumbling as though something grave has occurred! What my intelligence begets is, Lieutenant Gin's statement has no value unless it's truthful! And, of course, it was untruthful, of all things! What I simply did was—

"And for what purpose, Lieutenant Gin, do you think, did Cuatro Espada commit such despicable act?"

"Yaaaaah Apollo-chan, think of it this way: Sexta-chan was taking a shower so he was butt-naked, aye? So if someone wanted him to stay butt-naked all he had to do was to make all Grimmjow's clothes burst into flames! Yaaaay."

This has. without a question, far exceeded my worst nightmare. Nightmares aside, the crowd is amplifying my discomfort. Indeed I can now claim that this has established an imperfection in my life in all aspects, what with even Lieutenant Gin conspiring against me and endorsing a fraudulent story—

"Fucking liar."

"..."

I shouldn't have uttered that above a whisper. Everyone curses from time to time, so why is everyone throwing me this petrified gaze?

"Cuatro Espada, for the second time; do not interrupt and watch your mouth. Szayel, please resume." Tousen reprimands before nodding at Octava, his sternness not diminishing, though.

Octava turns to Lieutenant, "And can I take your word for it? That Ulquiorra Scheiffer did set Grimmjow's closet aflame to grant him access to my client's nakedness?"

Nakedness? If that was all I was after I could have just simply flicked my finger conveniently, instead of going over his goddamn wardrobe chest—

"Bingo, Octava-chan."

"No further questions, your honor."

Silence. Silence distorts even more quickly than words. I've always been in good terms with it, but now I can just trade it for anything—

"Defendant, please call on your next witness."

"Of course." Is Stark's natural reply. Looking at him, some confident reassurance wells up in me. "I'd like to call on Grimmjow Jaggerjack."

Oh, the villain, the assailant of everything that's peaceful. Life is bad enough without him sitting on the witness stand, and now he's off to perform a train of long-winding lies and delusions that'll stain my very reputation. I cannot allow this, I will not. To my indignation, he throws a fatal scowl at my attorney as he hunkers on to the stand, to finally sinkto a seat in a disagreeable posture.

Stark commences, "Do you concur with everything Lieutenant Gin said?"

"Yeah."

"If so, how did you manage to get a replacement for your wardrobe in such a scant amount of time if they REALLY did burn?"

Grimmjow's expression shifts from derision to utter blankness.

"If you haven't been noticing that this shit I'm wearing now is ten sizes too large for me, not to mention that it's infallibly identical to the one Yammy is wearing, perhaps you can just poke on your goddamn eye sockets and check if they're not fucking empty."

That explains why something seems different. Anyway,

"Oh. Well, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, to start this all up, why don't you narrate your side of the story?"

A frightening feeling solidifies around me. It's because lies are pummeling their way to a place where they shouldn't be at all events; this is the Hall of Justice—

"As I have over and over again made a fucking docile story-teller of myself already, it happened two nights ago when I was taking a goddamn shower. And then, all of a fucking sudden, some wardrobe arsonist reduced all my goddamn clothes to fucking ashes. So when I smelled the goddamn smoke I went outta the bath with a towel around my waist. There I found Cuatro Fucker here standing over what remained of my precious clothes, looking like a total fucker who was off to snatch the goddamn tiny towel off my waist. And snatch the goddamn tiny towel he did."

That's some wonderful rendition of the story; so colorful and modified in fact that Noveno Espada and Lilineth are all jittery with laughter. I say fuck this—

"Really, Grimmjow? And in defense, what did you do?" The corners of Stark's lips are travelling farther up his cheeks. However, I see no potential fascination for me in the direction he's steering the interrogation to.

"How the hell do you pull on a defensive stance when you have one arm securing a towel, to keep your balls and cock sheltered, and the other groping around for your Zanpakotou which picked the most gorgeous time to be missing?"

"So in short, you didn't resist?"

"I couldn't fucking push him away, okay? Is that too hard to understand? Someone stole my fucking Pantera."

"But what exactly was he doing to you?"

I wish Stark wouldn't ask that but then he just did. I'm facing abject humiliation right now—

"He was trying to get a go on me, okay? I thought I've made myself clear enough here?"

"So when he finally got rid of the towel and you had determined that your Zanpakotou was missing, you had by then realized that you had two free arms to defend yourself, therefore granting you the opportunity to employ your generally acknowledged brilliance in martial arts, hadn't you? I mean, you could've resorted to your Cero too."

"Yeah but due to events beyond my control, I could NOT. Events like he had me on a fucking Cero-point that one wrong move and my face would be beyond saving. Jesus, just give it up already. Just fucking cross-examine your bastard of a client already."

Grimmjow is exhibiting in relentless profusion his religious passion for barbarity for the entire world to see. Pitiable.

"Okay. One last question. How long has Ulquiorra been pulling this sort of mischief on you? Rather how many times?"

"Countless. Twenty? Frankly, I've lost count. Perhaps it has reached a number beyond reckoning. Now are you done? I wanna get off this shit already."

Stark does not answer. Instead, he casts a pensive glance at me as if reflecting on some bizarre matter. If you ask me, he should've known better than prolonging this fiasco. For one thing, he can just dismiss Sexta now—

"Right. And all those times you never once thought of, say, locking your door? Or had you been always awaiting a friendly visit from Cuatro? Or perhaps a more-than-friendly welcomed one?"

The commotion in the hall is growing too much for me as it has already been too much for all of us. Stark, I must admit, really knows how to make a scene in ways that matter, and oh if he only knew how much his predatory aura adds to the collective reaction there would be no need to pause for effect. Buthere is Grimmjow Jaggerjack again, wanting to do such a million mess with his curses and undying banters—

"Well, fuck that. We have friggin' padlocks for friggin' locks whose complexity of mechanism takes us about two hours to fucking secure, and whose cheap quality gives as no more than two friggin' seconds to destroy, goddamit! And who the hell are ya to talk anyway? Are your friggin' door locks keeping Grantz from fucking sneaking in your room at night?"

"Calm down, Jaggerjack. Stark, are you going to continue this thread of interrogation?" Tousen intercepts.

Stark looks around at me. Grimmjow's unprecedented reply doesn't quite lead us to a clearing of any sort—

"Yeah, just one more, your honor." He turns to Sexta Espada, this time with eyes filled with underlying aggression of all intents and purposes, "Grimmjow Jaggerjack, what the fuck were you thinking when you just about left your friggin' Zanpakotou lying idly somewhere while you took a bath? Granted that you had in fact experienced such episodes with Ulquiorra before, shouldn't you have been more inclined to safe-guarding your goddamn crotch? If so, why the unthinking disregard to lurking dangers? It was as easy as keeping your weapon beside you all the fucking time—"

"—wait a damn second, Stark. How the fuck do you expect me to bathe myself with my Zanpakotou belt still buckled around my goddamn—"

"—if you had been earnestly concerned about your body, or should I say purity, you'd have somehow realized that parting with your weapon opens up a new set of threats and dangers—"

"—that's just friggin' paranoia, particularly the type that can be concocted by a friggin' shithead like you—"

"—paranoia it is, call it whatever you like, but this goddamn strategy has more than once saved my goddamn tits from being ravaged by your friggin' attorney—"

"—well fuck that. Only a moron Espada would take a friggin' bath in his fucking released form. I ain't psycho enough to pull something as stupid as that—"

"—well, what has clearly been established here is that Grimmjow hasn't experienced enough distress to equate with him being thoroughly careful and alert about his own safety. It fucking follows that my client, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, did not, in any way, occasion him difficulty or travesty of any form seeing that Sexta Espada had CONSCIOUSLY failed to prop up anything for his protection which was, by the way, a very minor task. Shouldn't Ulquiorra's alleged trespasses have served as warnings to him? Apparently, they haven't. Seriously, how hard is it to prevent someone from trying to rape you when you're practically the sixth strongest soldier in here? For all we know, no one has tried to molest you, at least not Ulquiorra Scheiffer."

Stark is being NOT Stark. I don't know what got him so worked up like this but I'm thankful anyway.

TBC