Chapter 7 – Chicken, Egg, Chicken

Ichigo was far from having the best day of his life, and if he be permitted to make a case for it, he'd most definitely proclaim it as the worst ever, though technically speaking his day had yet to begin. He traced a finger along each line of words in the script, and sighed heavily for the twentieth time.

"Oi," Renji called from the red couch he was stretching on. "What's that old man act for?"

Ichigo ignored him and continued to stare frying holes into the thick sheets he was holding.

"I'm sure I heard you sigh. It's practically a tornado," Renji snickered, then took a huge bite of his Mars Bar. "Depressed still?"

Ichigo looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Over what?"

"Mmm...it's been two weeks and you can't forget being absolutely thrashed by your lovely co-star? I know it's hard to accept a loss as one-sided as that and someone of your cal-"

"Shut up," Ichigo grumbled. "I'm concentrating on the lines."

"Sore loser."

"Whatever," the ex-teen actor turned to the other side, ignoring his manager completely, and resumed memorizing of his dialogue for the reading with Ulquiorra tomorrow; henceforth Ichigo had thought it to be an extremely dour day. It was a twenty-four hour countdown to imminent doom.

He hadn't seen his snooty co-star since that eventful day where his worsening impression of said green eyed man was aggravated to near esoteric proportions, and it made him glad, no, that was a horrendous understatement. Ichigo suspected he would sooner or later combust and subsequently incinerate the entire movie set.

"I hope I'd never see you again, idiotic druggie wannabe," he thought aloud and gave the cushion an unnecessary punch.

"Wait till the movie production ends, ha. And it hasn't even started for starters!" Renji grinned and waved his half-eaten Mars Bars around as though he was at a stadium supporting his favorite sports team. He seemed too overjoyed for Ichigo's liking. "I honestly wonder how you're gonna handle the sexy scenes, buddy. It'd be awkward, y'know, having known you for so long. Not even the sauciest of scenes in The Vampire could quite match them eh," the man's wolfish grin widened. "But the commission is spectacular!"

"Shut the hell up about those bloody scenes, you gold digger!" Ichigo growled. "Who gives a flying damn? I'll fit into the role so perfectly that I won't even bother about anything at all!"

"You said that! Quoted for truth, huh," Renji's grin was stretched beyond belief; Ichigo secretly wished for the talkative redhead's mouth to split apart. "We shall see in the next couple of days yeah, orange punk?"

"Bugger off."

…

Ulquiorra was alone in the room; he had waited for more than forty minutes, and still his talentless co-star was being everywhere else but there. He had patience, but he also wasn't someone to be trifled with. They were to have a reading for their scenes together – a necessary requisite before shooting officially commenced two weeks later. It was also during this window period that actors and producers and scriptwriters get together regularly and make needed modifications to the lines. The green eyed actor then paced the length of the room, followed by its perimeter, and watched idly as time – precious seconds, skidded past and still, Kurosaki Ichigo's absence was present.

Ulquiorra decided against dialing the carrot top's number, and he was adamant he hadn't asked him for it. 'It must be Grimmjow. Who else but him. He seems to be exceptionally proficient at such crooked activities,' thought the raven haired man. He whipped his cell phone from a pocket, and scrolled down to Ichigo's name. Then he hesitated again, reckoning there was no such need to torture himself with the boisterous man's pesky voice this early, and returned to the main screen.

Bored out of his mind, he retrieved a novel from his knapsack and began to read it for the seventh time. It was Autumn Chrysalis.

...

"Shit I'm late! Sorry!" Ichigo yelled as he burst into the room. "Bad traffic!" he lied – he had overslept again.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you," Ulquiorra stated coldly. "I assume your very presence caused cars to jam the roads and traffic lights to flash red immediately."

"How did you know?" Ichigo sneered and took up residence at the seat furthest from his co-star. "Where's the rest, moronic irritant? By the way the apology was meant for them."

"There's only me and you."

"What? I thought Shinji, Soi Fon and Byakuya are sitting in?"

"I never knew you were best friends with them."

"I call them any name I like, Ulquiorra Schiffer."

Ulquiorra set his novel aside and stood up. "In that case you should be better informed than I was. They are coming at four. You have six hours to give them a reason why they should replace you with a better actor."

"You mean I have six hours to give you a reason why I was selected by them," Ichigo smirked. He wasn't going to be thrown off by some unwarranted snide comments about his ability this time. He was definitely going to have the upper hand. He even went through the thesaurus every now and then to ensure his proficiency at intellectual insults.

"Is that a challenge?" asked Ulquiorra, the dangerous undertones in his voice surfacing. "Have you already forgotten what happened two weeks ago? Then again I wouldn't expect any less of you in that aspect."

"I-" Ichigo blushed despite his blasé attitude. There was no chance he would let the memory go to rot; it was too close for comfort. Each time he tried to sweep it away and flush it down the toilet bowl, the horrid happenings, like a humongous pile of crap, never went away, and no matter the buckets of water used it would remain there, stinking the whole room till nebula disintegrate. "I don't bother myself with petty losses. Unlike you I have much more important matters to attend to, rather than keep score of these trivialities."

"As often as not." Ulquiorra checked his watch, then reached for his knapsack. "You have exactly five hours and fifty-six minutes to stage a meaningful loss."

…

"I say we commence at the first scene," Ichigo flipped through his script, and said loudly from where he stood – directly opposite Ulquiorra. He was practically shouting; the room was no smaller than a proper conference room and he refused to budge from the other end. "The part where Murakami and Takamatsu first met at the bookstore." He was confident of performing brilliantly for that part, simply because it was the beginning. As for the rest, well, he ain't too certain; the mere thought of being intimate with Ulquiorra, albeit for professional purposes and solely that, made him come down with an imaginary case of the hives.

"Naturally you'd say that," Ulquiorra replied instantaneously; he felt as though he was partaking in some debate in a parallel universe. Normally he wouldn't answer back and he hadn't, given his notorious hermit existence on movie sets, but this orange haired man standing in another corner of the room made him almost compelled, or rather an instinctual urge to talk him down, and down, and further down until there was no ground. What had originated as an experiment to observe Ichigo's limits sprang to be an increasing portion of his personality and attitude toward said man. So much so Ulquiorra himself reckoned he was indeed more chatty these days, what with the numerous verbal trades and ferocious spars and the...he didn't foresee smooching the carrot top that early. Besides, it was accidental. "Begin, will you?"

"I was about to when you interrupted," Ichigo shot back crankily. "Someone should duct tape your mouth!"

"You look like you could use a push in the correct direction, impetuous fruit."

"I-" Ichigo stopped himself; it was pointless to carry on. He was out to prove his worth to the green eyed actor, not showcase his floundering linguistics in contrast to the other's lacerating wit, never mind the sickening pun on his name. "Edo Bookstore Scene One, Act Four," he yelled from his notes, "Takamatsu says..." and frowned at Ulquiorra, prompting him to recite his lines.

The green eyed man closed his script, took a deep breath, and soundlessly flicked a switch on. His usual monochromatic tone took on a life of its own, soaring and cheery. "Hello there," Ulquiorra said, his orbs shining in unfamiliar hues of diffidence. Ichigo thought the man quite a many step away was now a complete stranger, not that he wasn't bizarre to begin with, but the affable manner he projected was a total departure from who he really was. And the graceful transformation into his character was, to say the least, captivating. And he had only spoken two miserable words.

"Not to disturb you, I merely passed by here and was just wondering if you have the following book by Jippensha Ikku? The title is Tokaidochu Hizakurige. Um, hello Sir? Are you listening? Are you..." Ulquiorra glanced over at Ichigo, awaiting his reply. There was none – Ichigo was busy exercising his brains. "Are you..." he cleared his throat – again Ichigo's consciousness wasn't retrieved.

"Are you..." Ulquiorra tried once more, then resumed his emotionless self. "It's your turn, in case you're stranded in a dimension of your own."

"Oh," Ichigo woke up from his self-induced stupor. "Yeah I know. Just don't bother me and do your own lines. It's none of your business, pasty faced pig."

"It's your turn," Ulquiorra glared sharply. "We've only just begun and already you've shown marked improvements in your regression into an amoeba. Need a round of applause to complete your act? It's a shame you and Grimmjow aren't friends. But it's just a matter of time. Single-celled amoeba always join together. It's a circus."

"Hey," Ichigo angrily moved forward, then caught himself and hurriedly shuffled back to his spot. "Don't lump us together. I, unlike your cousin, have acting credentials to my name. And I didn't fare that poorly in school either. I was in the top twenty of my cohort for your information, scummy bug eyed prat! So what if you went to Waseda? You dropped out or quit or whatever anyway, so who are you to speak?"

"Top twenty," Ulquiorra mused. "Is that the best you can boast of yourself?"

"That's beside the point. Whoever said grades equates intelligence? Only judgmental ones like you came up with that crap. Rankings are overrated and utterly subjective to the ones who designed it! Now, will you, O Judge?" Ichigo bit his bottom lip when he was done ranting – he was unhappy he had fired off like a motormouth again. He had fallen into the devil's trap! He had succumbed to the evil ways of Ulquiorra, who deliberately wanted him to fail, so he could be replaced. No way was Ichigo going to allow that to happen. He had signed the contract, and would see to the end of the mutually agreed terms.

"It takes an egg to make the chicken," said the devil. "And it takes a chicken to make the egg."

"Enough!" Ichigo growled, and balled his aching fingers into fists, the skin stretched taut over knuckles, turning white in their suppressed fury. "Can we get this damn thing started?"

"Are you..." Ulquiorra went into acting mode without warning, and left his co-star in a colorful scape of buffoonery.

"Right right right, yes, I'm listening. You said you wanted Hizakurige?" Ichigo shut his eyes and jogged his memory. "I've heard of that titl-"

"You got it wrong. The emphasis of intonation on your lines is placed incorrectly," Ulquiorra criticized. "The sound ought to be more absentminded and gruff, instead you seem overly alert and helpful. Do it again."

"Why should I listen to you?" Ichigo was as obstinate as any mule worthed its melodic bray on the most splendid of days.

"I would if I were you, vampy boy!" A sleek silhouette appeared at the doorway, twirling a newsboy cap in one hand. "Ulquiorra didn't win Best Actor for his looks alone, am I right?"

"Hirako-san," Ulquiorra nodded a barely noticeable nod. "You came...early."

Shinji uncrossed his long legs, threw his cap on and approached Ichigo – he was nearer. "Yeah I did. Hiyori's running my errands, so I wound up with nothing but time on my hands, and here I am. You don't seem that pleased to see me, vampy boy!"

"Nah, I'm not. We were practising," Ichigo sulked. "And don't call me 'vampy boy'."

"Sounds to me you two were in the middle of a productive discussion. Improving your dialogues in such an unique fashion. This and your equally stylish introduction of each other months ago. Very impressive. I kind of expected it in your blood, no pun intended, vampy boy, but to think Ulquiorra actually started it and then reacted to the whole situation? How unprecedented! And it's very catchy – nobody could stop banging on and on about it, and needless to say, heated," Shinji hooked a slender arm around the young man's shoulders. "Really, really heated. It makes me thrilled. Supercalifragilisticespialidociously thrilled."

'The director sounds like he has been acid-tripping,' Ulquiorra thought, amused. 'Either that or an excessive viewing of Mary Poppins.'

"Been watching too much Julie Andrews lately? Or you been tripping on acid?" Ichigo remarked, causing Ulquiorra to swerve his head around in surprise.

Shinji grinned joyously and straightened his checkered vest. "None of those, please. I get high on jazz and malt whiskey. And my actors heating up the film rolls with their passion! Scathing, scorching, unbridled, wholesome, real, burning, smoldering passion."

Ichigo coughed to hide his embarrassment, and Ulquiorra watched in interest as his co-star's expression grew more scandalized with every additional adjective thrown in for good measure.

"Gee, what are you thinking?" Shinji asked innocently. "I was talking about the amount of intensity actors need to inject into their character portrayals. Only this way can they bring them to life, transgressing from paper to celluloid! 2-D to 3-D! They need to find the link, one that the most talented of actors could do, which is to bridge the gap between audience and movie. Through that very one thing! Excellent acting. Sometimes having capable actors could salvage a mediocre production."

"Something was stuck in my throat," Ichigo lied.

"Of course something was stuck in your throat, vampy boy! Something had to be, otherwise how can we possibly explain the mystical origins of your coughing fit?" Shinji chuckled, then held Ulquiorra's gaze. "I'm sure he" - the blonde director proffered a finger at Ichigo - "was actually contemplating various methods to improve on the sexy scenes. He's just too shy to be honest with us-"

"Go ahead and act as if I'm not here," Ichigo interrupted, peeved.

Shinji disregarded the uninvited comment and continued. "Say, the co-ordination of your movements in a horizontal position. Even I have to admit doing them are never easy, much less with someone of the same sex. It takes a brand new level of acceptance and professionalism and imagination! But you are both males, there's nothing to hide. Not to besmirch you or anything, I still think it an admirable trait of yours, vampy boy. Ulquiorra, that's something new you learn about the hottest star in town, isn't it? So don't be too hard on poor vamp here, alright? This is the first time he's playing a human, with real feelings and real needs. No more bloodsucking each time lust walks on by!"

"I don't understand a single word of what you're saying," denied Ichigo, his sloping cheeks stinging with splotches of red and pink, and absolutely refused all means of eye contact with the green eyed actor, who resisted an irresistible urge to walk out of the room and grab a cup of green tea.

"Relax!" Shinji patted the man's back soothingly. "I was only kidding. Heh. No need to get too serious with me, not until I shout 'Action!' anyways. Okay? This is the first time we'll be working together, and," he noted the overwhelming distance between both leading men, and with an effortless shove, sent Ichigo flying toward Ulquiorra like a mistimed bullet.

"I'd rather crash into the ground than you!" Ichigo cried as he skittered forward with arms flailing, and appeared destined to land directly in the stoic man's embrace, but Ulquiorra was and never will or even attempt to be anyone's - especially a particular Kurosaki Ichigo's - hero, hence he quickly stepped aside. He however, miscalculated Shinji's outstanding grip of trajectory motion, and moved in perfect accordance with Ichigo's blistering speed.

Sod's Law declared what can go wrong will go wrong, and wrong did everything go.

"That's more like it," Shinji laughed, and adjusted his cap. "You two should show more affection for each other, yes, just like this! Hugs work wonders, don't they?"

"Piss off!" Ichigo barked in Ulquiorra's face, making the man flinch as droplets of saliva sprayed all over. "I'd rather hug a train wreck and kiss the floor!"

"Be my guest," Ulquiorra pushed him away, but the orange haired actor still had his arms tightly wrapped around the former. "Let go of me, worthless prick."

Ichigo made a disgusted face and scootered back to his homely corner. "Yuck!" he exclaimed in mock horror, and acted like he was dosed in pig's snot all over.

"I subscribe to your high moral standards," Ulquiorra mirrored his co-star's actions, only less dramatic.

Elsewhere in the room, Shinji Hirako removed his cap, raked a hand through his pin straight locks, then massaged his temples. "I need some jazz."

…

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing, folks! Because I'm that fidgety I ended up starting another new fic – Raising Schiffer. Do check it out if you haven't. In it is a kid (the title speaks for itself) and a carrot top substitute Shinigami. Yay.

P.S. Forgive me if you think this chapter ****ed. My eloquence seemed to have deserted me. I blame it on over-eating, durian mooncakes and Cobra Starship. The next chapter will be better.