Chapter 8 – Shoot Me, Shoot You
Ichigo paced the length of his trailer for more rounds than one, mumbling noisily to himself, and literally driving himself up the wall. Official shooting was due that afternoon - it had already begun three weeks ago, but it was also the scene where Takamatsu and Murakami first met. He felt incredibly nervous, and the fact his green eyed co-star had been hideously demanding of him in the daily readings didn't make things any better.
The blonde director's invalidating efforts to have them reconcile their bizarrely fierce differences went quite the other way, and although Ulquiorra's interest in the orange haired star was inadvertently increasing, he hated to admit the sheer illogicality of it. He started dishing out biting comments because he wanted Ichigo to shut up and leave him alone, and now he was hooked, and didn't really want Ichigo to turn a blind eye to his responses. It was a sick kind of fun: watching Ichigo squirm under his deluge of heavy-handed insults, the carrot top stifling his burgeoning rage at being dissed, before finally let it all explode in some magnificent display of fireworks. It was predictable. The sequence was; the way he combusted wasn't. But Ulquiorra Schiffer was a brilliant actor - he was highly capable of disguising it in many ways.
And they hadn't even zoomed in on those scenes yet; it was a mere touch and go approach. It was confirmed earlier from a beaming Ichimaru Gin and a pleased Unohana Retsu that there would be all three of them, adapted tidily from the original novel. Ichigo couldn't imagine the actual day where they would have to act them out in excruciating detail; he was blushing as he read his dialogues, and blushed even harder when he heard Ulquiorra's emotionless voice take on a sensual turn. Of course the orange haired star made sure no one – which was hardly anyone, saw his embarrassed expression. He was supposed to be a worldly soon-to-be 23 year old with a starlet 'girlfriend', not some virginal, gawky teenager.
Shinji had insisted they start off on the right gear, which was to be civil towards each other, and Ulquiorra did tone down his maliciousness, but that was when the blonde director was present. When he had his back turned, Ulquiorra simply stared at Ichigo, his green eyes piercing and smug, to the point where the latter felt he had to retaliate. Skirmishes occurred there and then, but only the petty, verbal kind which was straight up Ulquiorra's alley. Ichigo, despite his keen following of the thesaurus, couldn't quite keep up. Which hence the green eyed man never fail to point out. Both did chose to be sensible for once, and kept their fists and legs to themselves; production was to commence and neither wanted to be spotted with discolored skin, not when the media was practically beating at the metal shutters and breathing down their necks for a sneaky snapshot.
"Move it!" Hiyori Sarugaki, an impudent blonde of 27, burst into his trailer and yelled the place down. She was the assistant director if one were to base her title on a name card, but in truth Shinji called her 'the director's assistant'. It was very much not to her liking, and the vociferous blonde was never afraid to show it: on him, or on anyone for the matter. Two bushy ponytails shook as she waved her arms about violently. "Kurosaki Ichigo! I said, move it!"
Ichigo jumped. "It's noon already?"
"Get onto the set now! We're going to roll any minute," Hiyori checked her watch, then blabbered at a breakneck speed. "Is your makeup and hair intact? Need some touch up? Your costume good?"
"Yeah all's good," Ichigo replied. "And..."
"What?" Hiyori snapped. "Move it!"
"Is it true that midgets have loud voices?"
Hiyori answered by giving him a hard shove out the door.
…
Ulquiorra was going through the entire scene in his head, closing his eyes as he did, and imagined every single word to be recited, every single action to be carried out, every single interaction between the characters involved. He was that professional and precise, and prior to having his makeup done and wig fixed and black nail varnish removed, he examined the set thoroughly, and pictured himself in the moment - in the late Edo period, tumultuous and a time where he was no longer himself - Ulquiorra Schiffer the much silent and unemotional film actor. He was not to have the cold dead eyes of an assassin. He was now Takamatsu Soujiro, the only son of a renowned family in the court, and an acclaimed member of the Shinsengumi elite. He was an introverted yet affable young man who barely skipped past adulthood, loyal to his friends and loved ones, witty, thoughtful and sincere, but in the depths of intellect and exemplary fighting skills attained lurked emptiness.
Ulquiorra Schiffer was absolutely nothing like the character he was about to depict five minutes from now.
...
"Actors, get into position!" cried Hiyori, as she scampered about the movie set. Unlike Soi Fon she bore no need for a loudhailer. Her natural speaking voice was by all means, spectacular. "Last minute touch ups anyone?" There was no response. "Okay, great!" she clapped a singular clap, grabbed the movie board from a staff member, then moved it into position, before the exact locale where filming was to unfold. It was the first scene where the future lovers met, at a bookstore in Edo, 1867. The set was an identical replica of the architecture then, and as seen in historical photographs. It had many wooden structures, most of which were painted a stark white and black. The set designer thought it best represented the 'sinister undertones and disparaging political sentiment' of that period. Shinji and Byakuya agreed too.
"Everyone good?" Shinji shook an idle leg from where he sat - on his huge, comfortable, director's seat. Everyone nodded eagerly. The blonde director adjusted some knobs on his camera, then flashed a toothy grin and a thumbs up. "OK! Over to you, Shortie."
"Go to hell!" Hiyori snapped. She was the only one who dared answer him that way, and everyone knew they had a history together. Not necessarily that type of history that springs up in people's minds whenever 'people' and 'history' are linked together, and though there was a possibility it could be, there was the irrefutable fact that they once bathed together. When he was 8 and she was 5. Those were innocent days, Shinji had reminisced. They went a long way back, and had came a long way since then. "Okay now, Ulquiorra and Ichigo, it's time!" she frowned like she had never frowned before, making her eyebrows drown into each other.
Ulquiorra closed his eyes briefly, and silently counted to ten. Ichigo simply frowned in return and raised his voice above the usual pitch:
"Bring it on."
'Did his voice crack in there?' thought Ulquiorra, evilly.
"Bravo, vampy," Shinji grinned again. "We're set to roll!"
Hiyori held up the clapper. "Autumn Chrysalis, Scene Thirteen - Edo Main Street, Act One, Take One..." pairs of eyes were locked on the movie board, before the clapper clamped down like the eruption of earth. "Action!"
...
SCENE: A main market street in Edo, 1867 (Act One)
A bird's eye view of the sombre looking street, its main palette consists of earthy colors. The street ways are narrow, and made messy with numerous settlements. There is a rustic peace prevalent in the regular street bustle, and animal-driven wagons throng past stationary people at regular intervals. The sun is about to set, casting a hazy embrace over the townsfolk and their activities.
Takamatsu Soujiro (Ulquiorra) is wandering down the street lined with stalls of various industries. He is a young man of 21, illustrious in his own right and intelligent. His dressing – a proper, tidy ensemble of stiff, silk hakama with black and white stripes. He has a black montsuki kimono on, but unlike the usual, it bears no family crests. His clothes fit perfectly well and are so new that they almost glisten – a sign of one born with luxuries. He stops to look at some trinkets, holds one up with interest, smiles briefly at the owner. He hardly comes to this street, and it is only on days free from obligatory duties that he has the time to venture a visit. He puts it down, and looks with interest at another. He pays for it and continues to make his way about.
The street is vibrant with life, and elsewhere in the center of the market square is a performance troupe. A curious Takamatsu walks toward the crowd. Hordes of people surround the attraction in rippling circles, enraptured with the show, but hesitating to dip into their pockets when an empty tin is passed around. These are the ordinary townsfolk, clad in cheap cloths. Some are freshly scrubbed. Some have dirtied faces. They hurriedly disperse and return to where they come from. The tin reaches Takamatsu, and he retrieves a silk pouch from his navy blue montsuki haori, and donates generously. He then walks away, and notices the sun setting.
...
SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Two)
Murakami Yoshihito (Ichigo), now 21, is talking to a book merchant. He has on a brown yukata with black patches on the underarm and navel areas, and dons a pair of waraji. The straps are worn out, and his toes protrude slightly over the front edge. His voice is animated and tone overly casual, indicating he is of hardly any mentionable status in society. He is regular folk. His lightly tanned face is contorted in some snarl as he battles the heat outside.
Book Merchant: Oi Yoshi-chan, where's Endou-san? - beckons his helper to offload the stockpiles of books onto the shop floor -
Murakami: Call me Yoshi-chan, and you old fart won't see what I can't do. - a roguish grin - Old Man's outside doing some grocery shopping.
Book Merchant: Old fart already, I am. Give it up on the tough samurai facade, will you, Yoshi-chan? It's a hassle to look at, and deal with all the time. - leans in for a whisper - Does Endou-san know you're calling him an Old Man behind his back? He's rather sensitive to this, I hear.
Murakami: - laughs - Of course not. What, I'm not believable as a samurai? Tch! - jumps onto the wooden cart and helps to offload the books -
Book Merchant: I imagine them to be much more ferocious. And you are just a pussy in the court of tigers. A baby pussy. Either that or a fox pretending to own the kingdom of animals cowering in fright. And the reason why they're frightened of him is not him, but the tiger trailing silently behind.
Murakami: Sometimes I hate it when you're right, you old fart. - hops down from the cart and dusts his hands - How much, this lot of books?
Book Merchant: Endou-san's entrusted you with the funds now? Not too bad, you uncouth lad from the North. - he grins to show missing front teeth – 6000 yen in all.
Murakami hands him the money, and mockingly shoos him out the shop with meaningless kicks.
...
SCENE: Main market street in Edo (Act Four)
Depicts Takamatsu heading out of a bookstore. He looks resigned, and scans the vicinity for more bookstores. Waits for a horse-driven wooden cart to pass, before crossing over to the adjacent street. The street is starting to empty.
- cuts away to the bookstore where Murakami works in -
Murakami is unpacking bundles of books. It is summer, and the sweltering weather has him huffing and puffing.
Murakami: What on earth is wrong with this knot? - tugs hard at a thick, white rope used to tie the heavy stack together -
He decides to give up after some struggle, and rests against the wall.
Murakami: While Old Man is outside shopping for some chicken to be skinned, I guess I should catch a quick nap after recording these titles down. Ain't it sure hot! 'Tis insane weather! - continues to fan self with a grubby towel, then rolls up his sleeves and resumes work on tackling the knot -
Takamatsu enters the bookstore quietly, looks about, and walks between some bookshelves. He doesn't see Murakami, who is squatting down. The shelves are old and scraped in some corners. They house a huge volume of books.
Takamatsu: - murmurs to himself - Tokaidochu Hizakurige... - thumbs through the spines of the books - Tokaidochu...
He is seen searching for a while, before giving in to blurry sight. He approaches the counter, where he sees Murakami for the first time. The latter's back is shown facing him. He is slightly taken aback by the man's bright mop of hair. He places both hands on the aged, brown counter. The edges are crumbling with sawdust.
Takamatsu: Hello there.
Murakami doesn't hear him, and continues to work hard at undoing the knot.
Takamatsu: 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. - he receives no response - Um, hello Sir? Are you listening? - still there is no response - Are you-
Murakami sharply wheels around. His face is drenched with perspiration.
Murakami: Right right right, yes, I'm listening. - impatient - You said you wanted Hizakurige?
Takamatsu nods, and smiles lightly.
Murakami: You need it urgently? - narrows his eyes - 'Cause if you do, it's right at the bottom of this offending stack. - jabs a forefinger at the pile -
Takamatsu: - glimpses the pile and the difficult knot - I'd appreciate it if I could have the book today.
Murakami: Well, I'd appreciate it if I could give the book to you today too. But – manipulative look enters his eyes – well...the knot is proving to be a massive hindrance toward my intention – looks Takamatsu up and down, astounded at how nicely dressed he is, and how refined he seems – of not inconveniencing your academic needs.
Takamatsu: The knot? If I untie it for you, could I have the book today?
Murakami: Of course. - slides to the side – Why don't you come in and do it right away?
Takamatsu brushes past him, and Murakami couldn't help but stare a little at the layers of clothing he has on.
Murakami: You can withstand this crazy heat like nobody. I sure can't. Not even if I sell my body for ice and water.
Takamatsu: We all have our different strengths. Winter gets to me, however.
Murakami: Winter's nothing but child's play! - snorts, then peers closely into Takamatsu's eyes - I sure ain't know many around here, who have eyes as green as yours.
Takamatsu: I sure don't know many around here, or from where I hail, and I don't frequent this place either, who have hair as cheery as yours. - holds up the knot and scrutinizes it -
Murakami: - grins - Say, you from a nice family? You dress properly and nicely. Quite unlike the oafs who come by here for these cheap – makes a disgusted face – watercolor drawings of naked people. And the knot ranks among the most difficult things I've ever encountered in my life.
Takamatsu: The knot? - turns around to laugh - Clothes don't make a man.
Murakami: - laughs too - Sorry. I'm not quite well-versed in the ways of man yet. And...uhmm...and...uhmm...uh...
"Cut!" Shinji shouted. "You forgot your lines, vampy boy!"
Ichigo pointed an accusing finger at his co-star. "Gee, the sight of Ulquiorra Schiffer laughing threw me off!"
Ulquiorra almost rolled his eyes. "It wasn't me there."
"Then who was it? Your spirit?" Ichigo shot back. "Anyway your laugh sounded too happy for my liking!"
"I was about to change my reigning perception of you, and that was if, and only if, we could get through this entire scene without a single disruption. But it was not to be," said Ulquiorra, stonily. "You're a waste of time, and an insult to this profession, if you can't differentiate between real and reel."
"Says who? You sure didn't do any of those during the readings! Smiling, then laughing! What the hell! So I was caught unawares! And what's wrong with a second take? Not everyone's Mister Perfect like you."
"I was about to mention how your intonation and pitch have improved barely, but your attitude should see you off the set anytime."
"You...!!!!"
"Please, guys, quit it." Shinji placed his palms together. "Take your quarrels outside, not here. And Ulquiorra, it's alright to do second takes, although I know it's hardly to your liking, but sometimes we have to accommodate others."
Ichigo looked smug. "Hear, hear!"
Shinji threw the orange haired star a funny look. "It was surprisingly a decent take, save for the final fumble. The chemistry was however, quite," he scratched the back of his head, "in need of some improvements. But it's OK. We have time-"
"We do NOT!" Hiyori grumbled. "Time is money, and money is time! The faster we finish, the more time we can take to refine the filming process!"
"Shortie, that sounds scarily wrong. You sure you're in the right industry?" Shinji jibed, and gobbled down a half bottle of water, then hastily capped the bottle when he noticed Hiyori removing her slipper. "Break time's over, guys! We're all set to roll again!"
…
SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Four, Take Four)
Takamatsu: - turns around to laugh - Clothes don't make a man.
Murakami: - laughs too - Sorry. I'm not quite well-versed in the ways of man yet. And the rope is no match for your hands, obviously. - dryly -
Takamatsu: It wasn't too difficult. - sets the rope aside - You mentioned the book is in this pile?
Murakami: If it's not, then it's the next pile. - motions to another thick pile beside the untied stack of books – or maybe it's the next. Or the next, or the next. I have a list here though. But it's not arranged properly. - shrugs - And the knots are getting a little out of hand lately...
Takamatsu: - smiles discreetly - I understand.
Murakami: You do?
Takamatsu: And I hope you understand that I carry no more than 100 yen with me at the moment.
Murakami: Are you serious? - horrified look - Tokaidochu Hizakurige doesn't come cheap! You must be joking!
Takamatsu: Yes, but so were you.
Murakami: - falls silent; aware he has been dealt a brief prank - Okay, okay. You win with your nice wit.
Takamatsu: Thank you. - smile grows wider; Murakami finds himself grinning in return - Why don't I teach you, and you can handle the rest? It's not getting any early either.
Murakami: Right. - copies Takamatsu's nifty movements - Heading back to your family? Where do you live anyway? Sounds like some distance away from here.
Takamatsu: The capital city. - undoes the knot easily - But the stores there don't really stock up on classical comics such as this. Hence I decide to try my luck here today. What about you?
Murakami: - loosens a knot successfully; seems delighted – Me? I, uh, I...
("Should we stop? I think Ichigo forgot his lines again," Hiyori whispered. Shinji shook his head. "I think the awkward pause is appropriately dramatic. The pause highlights his remembrance of his hometown.")
Murakami: I... - looks downcast briefly (Ichigo struggled to remember the rest of the sentence) – live upstairs.
Takamatsu nods in response, and begins to search for his book amid the untied piles. Murakami helps too. After some moments of rustling and some brash throwing of the books onto the floor, they find it.
Murakami: Next time I'll warn that old geezer not to place it at the bottom of the final stack. It's a hazard!
Takamatsu: It's just a lack of fortune on my part. - retrieves his silk pouch - How much do you charge for the book?
Murakami: It's... - checks the pricing board - 250 yen. But hey, I think you and me got some sort of weird affinity. You're the first one to get back at me, well, not really, but that comeback was damn right proper! - beams -
Takamatsu: That's weird indeed. I was just thinking along the same tangent. - takes out a 500 yen note -
Murakami: Hey, that's too much! 200 is enough. - pauses - Nice money holder by the way.
Takamatsu: - smiles - I was counting on you for the change.
Murakami: - aware he has been pulled a fast one again - Nice wit of yours. Are you some court official's son or something? Either that or a court jester.
Takamatsu: I don't really see the link.
Murakami: I'm not trying to intrude on your privacy or something, you know. It's fine if you don't say a word. - hands him the change – We hardly know each other. And I'm not trying to be over friendly with you because I think you're rich or something and own nice things or anything.
Takamatsu: You jump easily to conclusions, don't you?
Murakami: - red faced - I-
"Cut!" Shinji shouted. "Someone apply some blush on Ichi-kun's cheeks! He looks like a friggin' ghost under all that light!"
…
SCENE: Bookstore, Edo (Act Four, Take Eight)
Takamatsu: You jump easily to conclusions, don't you?
Murakami: - red faced - I don't!
Takamatsu: If it comforts you, you're the first stranger whom I've chatted with and exceeds ten syllables. However I would prefer to be a closed book at times. - takes the book and smiles at Murakami - I have to get going.
Murakami: - waves a flimsy hand - Bye, and the name's Murakami!
Takamatsu: Bye. - slaps a 50 yen note on the counter before Murakami could say a word, and steps out of the store -
Murakami: Drop by again!
He is left staring at the store's entrance, then shakes his head, as if erasing some thoughts.
"Cut!" Shinji called. "Cut, cut cut!"
"Are we done for the day?" Ichigo asked, swiping away the angry blush dabbed on his cheeks. Some of the powder fell onto Ulquiorra's costume, and he wasn't too pleased about that. He cleared his throat and glared hard at his co-star.
"Now what, Ulquiorra Schiffer?" Ichigo resumed his mannerisms reserved specially for the man. "Are you going to pretend to be on the verge of complimenting me, then end it with some staggeringly high level insult and have me thrown off the set? It's getting stale!"
"No need to be too high strung when acting," said Ulquiorra, innocent as a bunny. He opted for a change of strategy this time, and peered closely at Ichigo, acting as if he was ill. "I understand it's been the eighth take for one scene, but don't let it get you down."
Ichigo flushed an unnatural pink at seeing those previously glinting emerald orbs this close up. He recalled how Ulquiorra, no wait, that was Takamatsu, smiling at him, and thought how sweet it actually looked on the normally inexpressive countenance of his. 'Pasty faced pig ought to do that more,' thought Ichigo, then speedily deleted what his mind had just announced when he realized the sheer ridiculousness of it.
Shinji bopped over, toothy grin in place. "Yeah, Ulquiorra's right! It's been a week since this has started, and I gotta say you ain't faring too poorly!"
"Thanks, Smiley."
"Smiley? When did I beco-"
"Just," said Ichigo. He was surly as a nightclub bouncer.
…
A month had since passed, and Autumn Chrysalis was filmed in bits and pieces, alongside the necessary cutbacks to the increasing turmoil lurking within the Imperial government and its samurai clans. Then it was back to the core material: Takamatsu's and Murakami's interactions with each other, and their progressive relationship. It was moving along slowly, but steadily, a stream of water flowing along flat plains, never knowing where it would end up, but just round the corner, lay a steep cliff, where water gushed down with immeasurable velocity.
"You know what I was thinking?" asked Shinji, leaning against the steel railing. He shifted his gaze onto Ulquiorra, who relaxed against a statue. They were having a lunch break together, and both men were fast eaters.
"The lack of chemistry between him and me?" asked Ulquiorra, to Shinji's question. "It's hard to build that up with him."
"You really are allergic to his name," Shinji laughed. "Man, what happened between Ichi-kun and you? You two hate the hell outta each other's guts! Even though you best tried not to show it, it comes out in your performance, y'know? I look at the filmed scenes everyday, every second, so trust me, I know well enough to comment. You being you, of course the standard is there. But I can't help but feel it could be much better. Given it's you especially. The current takes we have are alright, efficiently depicted and as of now, they don't require much strenuous emotions in the way. In fact the level of awkwardness, and consciousness is just about right. You guys," the blonde pounded a fist against the steel, then winced. "However, know how the story turns out. You gotta find the link with him! And I'm telling you this, and only you, because I trust you have the ability to exert the correct influence over vampy boy. Top actors always bring out the best in their co-stars, and having worked with you before, I believe you can do that."
"I don't hate him," Ulquiorra quipped. "He's not worth the time."
"Then you're doing a terrific job of not hating him, but behaving as if you are out to carve his insides out, then covering that up because after all you aren't hating on him," countered Shinji. Back in his college years he was a relatively famous poker player. He was renowned for playing with the minds of many. "Personality clash then, I presume?"
Ulquiorra looked straight at the blonde director. "Why him in the first place?"
"It's your fault, Ulquiorra-san!" chastised the director. "I sent an email to you, seeking your attendance for the final round of audition, but you didn't reply!"
"You did?" Ulquiorra couldn't remember if that was true or false. "I was-"
"You were in Barcelona then, doing some promotional work for your previous movie. Oh, I called your agent, and he said he'd get back to me too. But he never, and I was left waiting like a hopeless fool stranded in the rain, with an umbrella that has spoiled hinges and refuses to open."
"You can never trust Grimmjow too much, Hirako-san," Ulquiorra offered a tiny smile as a belated apology. "If he was unanimously chosen by the four of you, then why is he still putting in lackadaisical displays?"
Shinji tapped his unending fingers against the railing dramatically, as if they were keys on a grand piano. "Don't be too strict with Ichi-kun! He is working hard on them. Look. He doesn't forget his lines twice as much as he initially did. Although I agree with you on one point. That his facial expressions need some working on. But I think the way he handles his lines, those unexpected pauses-"
"He was trying to recall them."
"-but it was authentic! You can feel the earnestness pouring out from him. The strong urge to do good, to improve, the truest side of a young man finding his place in the world, and coming to terms with staking it! That was probably what won us all over during the auditions. Because that's the essence of his character! Don't give me that dirty look. Even Unohana-sensei agreed. Give him a proper chance, would you? He's a fast learner, although he seldom listens to you. Don't get me wrong, your advice is excellent, but he just doesn't want to listen. To you. When I repeat the same things you said, he pays heed. Sheesh. I ought to send you both down for some proper counseling," Shinji halted when Ulquiorra punctured his complexion with a prickly death glare. "OK. In any case, helping out your co-star could only benefit yourself, y'know? More communication with him would go a long way, I'm sure. Vampy Ichi-kun's like a little child bursting with talent but doesn't know how to get around it. You can be the perfect mentor! Imagine him thanking you when he wins some award! Imagine the both of you turning it on! It makes the movie much more viewable, and engrossing. And when the movie's good, everyone gets a slice of the glory pie! If it's excellent then the pie is enlarged and so does one's slice! Think of it as more awards coming your way, or a greater paycheck."
"I couldn't care less about that."
"Come on! We've worked together once, and you wouldn't want to see my namesake disappearing down the 9 levels of hell! Besides, our Ichi-kun," Shinji paused mysteriously, then resumed with a cheeky sparkle in his grin, "he's easy on the eyes. Real easy."
"Not the hair."
"I bet you'd be thanking me and offering me vinyl jazz tapes when you engage in lovemaking with him."
"Why should I? And I hope you don't mean it for real," Ulquiorra shuddered imperceptibly. He knew the explicitness of those cursed scenes from the novel, and was rubbed in his face more than once about the potential R rating Autumn Chrysalis was set to earn.
"Of course I mean on screen," Shinji Hirako said, teasingly. "Don't think naughty thoughts, Ulquiorra-san."
"You're alone on that."
"Ah, well...let's see. He's not ranked first in 'Top 20 Most Desirable Male Celebrities in Japan' for nothing," said Shinji Hirako. "And you came in fourth. The most recent online survey on Oricon said so."
…
Ulquiorra's ears were wrung out dry from Shinji's smooth persuasion, not just the day before, but yesterday too, and today. Not just during lunch breaks, but dinners as well. Shinji's herculean pleads for Ulquiorra to better treat Ichigo were bordering on the excessive and the obsessive alike. The raven haired actor was no fraudulent man, neither was he the most scrupulous. Both Ichigo's lack of talent (according to Ulquiorra) and Shinji's preachings were driving him insane, day by day, night by night. And sometimes he woke up in the dead seconds where nocturne thrived, covered in cold shivers. He dreamed Shinji nailed him to a tree and each time he refused to think of Ichigo as his equal, he received an extra hammering and a rusty nail. It gave him tetanus.
…
"Woh," Grimmjow rang the bell several times, and nearly choked when he saw Ulquiorra's paler than usual face popping up at the door. "Wassup? Your pet kitty died or something? You look like shit. Don't let the endorsing companies see you like this, you boring bastard. They're going to cancel your contracts and I'll be left with nothing but shit. Then I'm going to sell your luxurious apartment for compensation, and I'd take kitty along. I can't leave her with a good-for-nothing like you. Where's she?"
"She's upstairs, and can you just go away," said Ulquiorra, tetchily. The nightmares had him up and awake, and it wasn't till 5am that he managed to grab some relieving rest. And he had to wake up 2 hours later, because his pet kitten pawed at the soles of his feet. He was extremely ticklish.
"I'm here to chauffeur you to the set, in case you decide to run away from home. You forgot your emo lines, bastard!" Grimmjow grabbed his cousin's arm roughly, and dragged him to the bathroom. "You look shittily normal, and that bothers me. Greatly. It's worse than when some fucking ass tells me my favorite comb is no longer available on the market."
Ulquiorra bit his lower lip in an attempt to refrain from laughing. "You can always travel outside of Japan. And the last time I was at your place, I saw boxes of them-"
Grimmjow looked shell shocked. "Why the fuck were you there?!"
"-hidden under your bed. Congratulations, Grimmjow. You've singlehandedly kept alive a sunset industry."
"Oh cousin dearest," the strapping blue haired man spoke in tones dripping with sarcasm, "go take a flying fuck at the wash basin," he slammed the bathroom door shut and waited outside. "Go take a flying fuck at the toilet bowl."
…
A/N: Not every scene and act and take in the fake movie will be written, otherwise that would be hideously long and draggy. Just the more important and useful parts. I'll try to do them in sequence too, although in reality that's not the case. Haha. That said I'm just going with my gut instinct as to how a movie script should look like. I sure as hell hope this fares better than the previous chapter. If you find this horrible still, then well, sorry. Next chapter to be up before 31Oct. And I'm finally reaching the parts I've started this fic for. Hoorayyy!
Glossary:
montsuki haori: a traditional mid-length coat worn over kimonos
waraji: sandals made from straw rope