Author's Note : Whee thanks for reading and reviewing! To make up for the annoying wait in between chapters, I'll be making each and every one have a length of minimum 3000 words (okay that's not a lot), unless I really have nothing to write. Which is then quite an impossibility in itself. The entire story spans at 20 chapters, so that's quite an awful bit of writing, and I'm dead set on ending this before 2010 kicks in. I HOPE!
Chapter 4 – Words, They Come Fast And Furious.
If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a fish, he would be a sardine fish, Ichigo thought angrily, because then and only then, could he be eaten whole and its existence wholly forgotten.
If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a snack, he would be a rice mochi, Ichigo grumbled under his breath, because then and only then, could he be punched like a potato sack and then sink in, crumble and be chewed slowly into oblivion, while Ichigo himself would emerge unscathed.
If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a fruit, he would be a...a what? Ichigo growled inwardly as he threw a sushi roll into his bowl of miso soup, and it hit the bottom with a loud 'plonk' sound. Oh! A...durian! Because then and only then, could he be thrown into the dumpster legitimately. The spiky thorns are a more than apt description for his unwelcoming character, and the obscenely stinky fruit is green too.
If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a drink, he would be a full cream milkshake with rainbow candies at the side, Ichigo glowered at the tattooed red head across him, then at the tall glass on the table. Because, he hated those things. 'And all the calories will kill you one day.'
If Ulquiorra Schiffer is a vegetable, he would be a stick of bitter gourd, Ichigo grimaced as he chewed on the soggy sushi roll. Because, the man's words left such a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and he wondered if his bile would somersault and die an unwarranted death inside when they...
"How do you expect me to do THOSE SCENES with such a person!" the orange haired man stopped eating altogether and slammed his chopsticks down on the table. He was getting increasingly perturbed by the supposedly intimate scenes he had to share with the green eyed man, and that his behaviour had been so vile, was hardly helping the matter at all.
"Hey, don't take it out on the table. Poor thing," Renji slurped loudly from his glass. "And, newsworthy point of note here."
"Note what? I don't even want to get anywhere near him now. That weirdo claimed I stink! You hear me? I stink?" Ichigo complained loudly, feeling beyond insulted that he suffered a heavy dosage of personal attacks. "He even used my hair color against me! What the hell is he really? And who is he to do that? He's worse than a prima donna! He paints his nails black like some angsty thirteen year old girl! Acts like he's poisoned with that nutty black upper lip! Who the hell paints their upper lip only? Is he too poor or what? I bet he's a druggie, no wait, more like a broke ass drug lord. He even lives in the rat hole of a neighborhood for all you know! Runs a secret syndicate! And! Don't you dare even look away, Renji! I'm not quite done yet. He doesn't listen to anyone except his myriad of inner voices, and they must be bat-like creatures with little devilish horns and tail! They fly around his head too, like a halo of stupid stars."
"Eh Ichi, I'm not an imbecile, right?" Renji asked rhetorically, to which Ichigo shook his head. "So I do have brains, then that makes me wonder why. Why do you keep ranting on and on about him? And you've been doing so since ten in the morning! It's two in the afternoon now, for your information. More interestingly so, why do you keep thinking about those scenes with him? Are you secretly a..." Renji trailed off with an evil glint in his eye.
Eyes glassy, Ichigo sat up straight in his chair and planted a porcelain spoon into the salad bowl, making it connect with the base. A deafening 'CLANG!' rang throughout the restaurant, making babies cry and waiters drop their silver trays. "What are you insinuating, you brainless baboon? I'm not queer or gay or homo or a poof or anything!"
"You're getting way too defensive, Poppy Head! I was about to say something else, but wow, what a confession I got out of you!" Renji grinned none too kindly. "Better not let your fans know you swing that way, or else the agency's efforts in making you every teenage girl's heartthrob will go to waste!"
Ichigo snorted snidely at his friend. "As if. Inoue is not there for show, isn't she? I'm straight as a rod by the way."
"Closeted," Renji finished for him. "Don't you know rods curve when heat is applied on the inside? Sucks to know I actually remember more useless school rubbish than you."
"Whatever," Ichigo barked, and he stood up, pushed his chair back and the legs screeched like a siren against the marble floor. "You piss me off, so you're paying." Then he left, leaving one red head drowning in a sea of ire and wrath.
xxx
The hallway leading to the ballroom in Tokyo Gotei Hotel was adorned lavishly with high-resolution promotional graphics of 'Autumn Chrysalis – The Movie', and Aikawa Love had personally picked one particular shot he deemed to encapsulate what the movie promised to offer. Love thought it ironic that the complete opposite was what actually went on behind the scenes.
It was of Ulquiorra and Ichigo standing with their backs facing each other, each dressed in their own uniforms. Ulquiorra – the black Shinsengumi robes, Ichigo – the exquisite mix of patterns in his samurai clan's overalls. Both wrapped a hand around the hilts of their respective katanas, actions and poses mirroring that of the other's, the only difference being Ulquiorra's head turning at an angle, his green orbs darting backwards, seemingly peering at Ichigo, who in turn was looking ahead with a determined expression as does a loyal warrior.
The movie executives nodded when Love dropped his 'ghetto' speech mannerisms and resumed a normal, audible tone in his explanation, and said they shared his thoughts too. Even those who did not had to, for it is an unquestionable fact that the majority wins.
xxx
The press conference opened with an address by Soi Fon regarding the nitty gritty of casting appropriate people into the respective roles, then took the honors of introducing the two leading actors, the executive producer, the director, and the author upon herself. Some female reporters squealed when Ichigo said his hello and spoke briefly of his role in the movie. The adolescent heartthrob made sure to end off his segment with a cocky wink in their direction. They then dropped to the ground like flies.
When it was Ulquiorra's turn, a rival group of female reporters, together with some adoring photographers, began to frenetically snap away, the shutters clicking and flashlights blinding. Ulquiorra saw a milky way of white spots and a few white sheep hovering around his head.
"So, Ulquiorra-san, we haven't heard of you since your last movie, and belated congratulations on your win for Best Actor. What have you been up to lately? I'm sure your fans and detractors alike would love to know," a reporter asked enthusiastically, and shoved the voice recorder towards Ulquiorra's mouth.
"I fed my cat," he deadpanned, then pushed the offending machine away. "And it grew fat."
It did not take a deaf man to observe an extended space of face-faulting silence reigned throughout the ballroom.
"What about your co-star? The very adored Kurosaki Ichigo? What do you think of him? A new challenge, since he has yet to test the waters of serious acting?" the same reporter asked again, after clearing her throat.
"Yeah, how about this, we all know that Ulquiorra-san is a man of few words, so, may I daringly suggest a description of Ichigo-san in a word?" another joined in, his bulbous nose wrinkling in twitchy thrill.
'That lousy idiot had better say something decent,' Ichigo thought, clasping his hands together and left them on his lap.
Both question and Ichigo's little action earned a discreet smirk from Ulquiorra, who then made sure to hold his orange haired co-star's gaze for longer than required. And kudos to him, he said only one word.
"Who?"
'What the ffff-!' Ichigo stifled an angry shout, and forced himself to swallow it. He was not going to be baited that easily. He was not going to lose his cool in front of the media. He was not going to risk being lectured on the many ways to conduct himself properly in public. He was not going to fall prey to his agency director, an infamous windbag who never failed to get all weepy-eyed and mournful on the evergreen topic of 'Peace'. He was going to be a learned man, albeit of the high school level, but that did not undermine his intellect in any way. He was going to treat this foolish, pallid, so-called grown up with pathetic make-up skills as the very ignorant kid he was at heart, one who spouted bullshit everywhere he went. He was going to respond in kind, but of the genial variety, indicating his open-mindedness and tolerance of negative beings such as the green eyed man, who to his dismay, sat on his left. Luckily, Ichigo had the smarts to shift his chair further away from his co-star, lest the latter decided to hit him up with a poisoned syringe from nowhere.
"How about you, Ichigo-san? Any thoughts on your new co-star? The critically acclaimed actor, Ulquiorra Schiffer?" another reporter piped in hungrily, her hawk-like eyes zeroing in on Ichigo.
"Describe him in two words!" a voice added from where the doors were.
"Devious sociopath," Ichigo answered bitingly despite himself, wanting the stoic man to have a taste of his own bitter medicine. What he had not known was people did fight poison with poison, but bitterness is no poison, hence he was quite doomed to fail.
"It's your turn now, Ulquiorra-san. Three words!" the reporters at the front chimed eagerly. They knew it; they could smell an entire segment of solid entertainment gossip coming up, right in front of their searching faces.
"Blaze of failure."
"Ichigo-san, four words!"
'That self-righteous bastard, thinks he's all smart saying that! If he wants to play with me, then that's what he's going to get. He'd better not blink! For here I come!' thought Ichigo, his brown orbs glinting maliciously. "Pompously crazily sadistic nincompoop!"
That earned a huge roar of wows and applause from the media personnel, who were really getting into this surprise of a verbal fight. Nobody had expected Ichigo to be able to use historical words as a form of expression, let alone use it accurately. They thought they would hear easy-to-use words such as 'idiot', 'bastard', or even 'son of a bitch', but that would stretch the tally to seven. They then realized that Ichigo could actually count correctly; that most definitely set him a wee bit apart from all the other teen idols lining the streets with their endearingly foppish smiles.
"Five words!" they chanted in unison, heads snapping towards the green eyed man in anticipation.
"A garbage can of trash," Ulquiorra answered without batting an eyelid.
"Six!"
"Says the one who is trash!" Ichigo yelled, visibly upset at being called trash, and not only that, but a garbage can of it? It proved too much for his suppression of violent urges, and he had to cease them before he wound up doing something that would tarnish his perfect image in the eyes of the public. Somehow, mental pictures of a black skinned demon with Ulquiorra's blank expression plastered on it ran amok, what with said creature knocking over a trash bin overspilling with litter, then picking it up one by one and set the bin upright, only to kick it down again later, and the frustrating cycle repeats itself.
"Seven!" the chorus of voices resonated in accordance with every increase in numerical values.
"Of the criticism received he deserved them," Ulquiorra sniped in reply.
He hated to admit this, but it was rather fun to have someone who would finally stand up to his verbal attack, and Kurosaki Ichigo was more than a suitable candidate for him to launch those missiles at. The talentless orange haired man could not be that lacking in wit (although still pretty dim), if he was able to use a term speculated to originate in 1676. Ulquiorra had a sudden urge to see what more he could do to push Ichigo right till the edge's precipice, which in fact meant the steepest, most crumbly bit of a perilous, mountainous, sandy cliff. Maybe he really was a sadist, as previously alleged.
"Eight!" the increase in volume was palpable, and it seemed like everyone in the ballroom, be it reporters or security guards, were in on the whole deal. If one looked closely, humongous pearls could be spotted rolling about in the reporters' eyes, for they really had scored a massive coup. It did not matter if the scathing exchange of words was staged or otherwise. It simply gave them a truckload of ideas to expand upon, and a stack of blank pages to fill up, and with some proper luck, monetary gains.
"A rotten apple waiting to be skinned alive!" Ichigo took time to calm himself down, and chided himself mentally for rising to the bait. When dealing with an unscrupulous asshole such as Ulquiorra Schiffer, one must always remain unfazed. That was rule number one. Rule number two being brave enough to put the man in his place, which Ichigo deemed himself to be doing with zero success, though one should never place his courage in suspect.
"Nine!" everyone shouted. Even Shinji was partaking in this amusingly innovative way of describing one's co-star. But this time, they failed to obtain whatever gems of wisdom Ulquiorra was about to share with them. A blue haired man had pushed open the doors dramatically, stormed down the aisle in his grungy red Doc Marten's boots, and shoved aside those who hampered his path toward the stage.
What was already the racket of a crowd had grew to become thunderous, with people demanding who the heck was this barbarian raining in on their party.
"Oye boring bastard! Gotta go! Dun waste ya time on these los'rs! Got a mayjah shoot at Shinjuku in twenty!" he announced in a rough voice, looking straight at Ulquiorra as he did.
The green eyed man glared back in acknowledgment, then said, "Shut up, Grimmjow."
"Ya can't shut me up for all da money ya hav'! Get movin', wont cha?" Grimmjow placed both hands on his hips impatiently, and drummed some fingers against the fabric of his tattered designer jeans. "Or do ya want me to come up there and drag ya down to the car? Slower than a fuckin' snail."
Ichigo finally understood what Ulquiorra had previously meant by his inference on one's character from their hair color. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques – Ulquiorra's agent/manager/cousin was one in perfect synchronization with the bright mane he possessed in breadth. Like the electric blueness itself, just after meeting the well-built man of over eighty kilos of brawn, he shone in the sea of dull black heads, and as Ichigo thought that, he turned to look at Ulquiorra, and decided his was the dullest of the lot.
The orange haired man also concluded on the spot that the underlying reason behind Ulquiorra's intense prejudice against people born with colorful hair was fueled by jealousy. Say, Grimmjow, with his maniacal good looks and mean hulk of a figure, nabbed more girls than Ulquiorra ever could dream of, therefore the raven haired man had been holding a grudge ever since.
'That must be it,' Ichigo agreed, nodding along with his choir of inner Ichigos.
"Are you a lunatic?" Ulquiorra's cold voice disrupted his train of productive contemplation.
"Huh? What lunatic? You...pasty faced pig!" Ichigo shot back on impulse, temporarily forgetting the existence of the hungry droves of reporters.
"I asked, if you're a lunatic, and you continued to nod. That says it all," Ulquiorra replied, ignoring the lame jibe on the shade of his complexion and unrelated relation to a farm animal. He then rose from his chair, nodded at Byakuya slightly, and walked off the stage in his signature posture: a slow, casual walk, with the coattails of his black blazer flapping in the wake, and hands tucked in the pockets, out of sight.
"Hurry, slowpoke! MY FEET ARE HURTIN'! Ya betta pay me more for 'tis fuckin' life!" Grimmjow snarled, and whipped out a comb to tame a blue strand that fell out of place. Ichigo observed the comb was one popular with yakuza-influenced teenagers in the mid nineties. It was made of plastic, and had a long, sharp end. It looked unrefined, uncouth, and unsafe. Needless to say, it was made in China.
"I hope the plastic corrodes your scalp," Ulquiorra offered kindly as he brushed past his taller relative. He did not forget to throw in a relevant remark for his orange haired co-star as he closed in on the distance to the exit. "You should use it too, Kurosaki Ichigo. Complements you."
X
P.S. Did anyone notice that Ulqui's parting lines to Ichi consisted of an exact 9 words? LOL. He's still keen on playing the verbal game with a poor strawberry.