Characters/Pairings: Aaroniero
Rating: T
Genre: Humor
Summary: Aaroniero's relationship with himself is a tricky one.
Chapter 4-Two For the Price of One
No one would know it to look at Aaroniero and suspect he had once had an acute case of Agoraphobia.
If one had bothered to peer closer, it would have been manifestly obvious. But no one, and that is, everyone, had far better things to ensconce themselves in than the private life of Aaroniero Arruruerie.
They all busied themselves for the sake of never having to glance in his direction. It just wasn't a pretty sight, nor was it a sight one wanted to be graced with everyday.
However, before he had absorbed himself into their social network and everyday activities-tea parties, duels, congregations, battle stragedies, and the like-Aaroniero had hidden in his palace promptly proceeding the events in which he was bathed in the all-encompassing power of the Hogyoku.
Suffice to say, Aaroniero didn't like Aaroniero.
"This is all your fault!" the childish voice said, its soprano pitch echoing around the confines of their fortress and bouncing off the barren walls. It rolled around in the glass capsule and bumped into its companion.
"It was supposed to be me! My body! Mine!" The shrill, whiny vocalization went on and on in a seemingly never-ending rant of sanctimonious blathering.
"Quiet," said the low monotone. The presiding head, having reign of their containment, hovered above the other in a sort of diabolical cunning slash tedium. It would have seemed almost smug, as it only had to cock its body to the side and its partner was shut up, if it weren't for the subsequent stillness that blanketed the entire atmosphere. Alas, there was only a moment of hush tranquility before-
"It still should have been me!" And the lower head got its word in.
Aaroniero twined his fingers together, trying to get used to the constricting fabric of the glove they wore.
His infantile half played no part in it. It seemed he was still pissed off about this predicament they'd gotten themselves into.
No one approached the palace to greet them into the fold. It was just as well, but the high-pitched counterpart seemed to have its qualms thereafter about introductions...or anything slightly relating to the outside. That, and Aizen persisted in brightening the artificial sunlight just to piss him off when he specifically asked to have it removed. Such was the life of this Agoraphobic.
When Aaroniero finally got the nerve to peek out his door, he creeped stealthily over to the door of his domain, in spite of the fact covertness was anything but necessary.
"What are we doing?" the soprano voice whined. The latter of the two ignored his near-identical twin and cracked the door open, permitting a blinding ray of light to flood into the room.
"AAH! YOU STUPID MORON! CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR! I CAN'T SEE, I CAN'T SEE, I CAN'T SEE, I CAN'T SEEEEEEE!" the lower head shrieked, launching into a string of expletives. "OH, LORD AIZEN! IT HURTS!"
"Quiet," spat the other. He pulled on the flat surface of the entrance, widening the gap for exit, and took one clean step into the world...then tripped on his robes just as Szayel came trotting up the walk.
Glass shattered everywhere followed by a miniature wave of fluid that splashed out onto the concrete, carrying its former occupants with it.
"GAAAAAAH!" Szayel flinched and halted as the soprano voice screeched. He watched as the head rolled this and way and that and then proceeded to blow up in a fit of rage followed by a lengthy string of oathes and obscenities. Which was a hell of a lot more than could be said for the other head, who just blinked sedately and stared at his writhing companion, now wheezing for breath.
"Help," came the simple request. Szayel bent down and scooped them up in his hands...and deposited them into the pitcher of tea he'd made specially for Aizen. He then rushed them to his labratory.
Aaroniero never got around to changing his wardrobe. The deep-voiced head insisted they change their preference in attire; his immature half liked their robes, preferred the frills, and didn't want anything else. He also thought it was very comfortable. They never did come to an agreement.
A month later, Aaroniero tripped again on his way to an assembly.
"I hate you," the babyish voice said, quavering.
The other sighed, rotating to its side on the floor and waiting for someone to come by and assist them before they asphyxiated.
Fail...
