Boy, Oh, Boy

Starrk had collected himself about half an hour before this moment, but ten minutes prior to that, he had been a melting mess on the floor of the living room. Now, Grimmjow was readying something for himself and the Primera to eat while he and the Quinta talked in hushed tones about the man sitting on the bed next to his corpse-like gigai. Surely, Nnoitra had ordered Tesla and Lilinette to return to Las Noches, otherwise the tiny girl would have been sitting outside the bedroom door saying sweet nothings just loud enough for him to hear.

The Primera frowned and put his head in his hands with a huff. He was frustrated with himself for getting so worked up about something that had been a charade the entirety of its existence. There was a certain part of him that wouldn't allow for this to be let go. Mentally, he searched for it and found no trace. He didn't understand what it was that his heart was holding onto. This fantasy of a relationship was the first experience he had in countless years but it was merely two instances of getting his dick sucked and several lunches on the grass watching a spoon take the one thing he felt entitled to. He wondered if Byakuya was as upset as he was about the mix up of what was reality and what was fantasy and which seemed to be more important.

He was a dead, grown-ass man and he was getting as emotional as a 14 year old girl with the unrealistic expectations of a 6 year old who watched too many Disney movies excluding any containing independent, female leads. His frown deepened and he thought of burying his thoughts in a bottle of tequila, quickly turning to his gigai and deciding that the youthful body could handle (and would respond) to the liquor better. Looking out of the bedroom window, he noted that the sunset would begin in the next couple of hours and he could then find somewhere to drown himself.

Dishes were clanging in the sink as he decided not to invite Grimmjow on his escapade. Moving his hands over his stubbly face, he pondered how easy it would be to wander into a bar unnoticed in the gigai. Easy, he decided.

On the bed, his worldly body lay with one hand folded up near his head and the other resting on his stomach. His eyes were open in natural way and he looked a nymph from a Botticelli painting. Starrk huffed again and prepared for a mind-clearing shower. Under the water, he thought of how he would ever explain his actions to Lilinette even though she always seemed to know long before he opened his mouth when something was wrong. He ran his hands over his stomach and pictured her in the shower with him, bathing innocently as she recounted the tale of how he should have acted with the Squad Six Captain. She would say something rude about his stupidity and then ask him to wash her back in the same breath. He chuckled and the water travelled perfectly down his sharp features and through the shallow valley in his chest created by the muscles under what would normally be more chest hair. Towards his belly, the black hair thinned and then thickened as they inched downwards towards the busy collection at his groin. He made a face and thought about Szayel knew exactly what his manhood looked like, making a mental note not to nap just anywhere in Las Noches anymore. He ran his fingers through his hair and flexed his toes as the water rushed past and around them into the drain, imagining that he could see the dirt of his worries washed from his body.

He grabbed a towel and found clothes that didn't make it look like he was trying too hard to look 20 or so. In the mirror, he saw a tall man with black boots, a leather jacket and black jeans with a t-shirt. He did nothing special to the sleeves or cuffs because that was for the youth. In his back pocket he placed his wallet and in the other, a pack of cigarettes that in the back of his mind, he knew belonged to one of Grimmjow's dates but didn't pay the thought any mind.

Through the door, he walked and both sets of curious eyes were attached to him and his still wet hair.

"Where are you going?" Nnoitra asked, leaning casually against the couch.

His arms were confused as to what to do without their accompanying weapon nearby and so they effeminately hugged his slender waist. Grimmjow was standing in the kitchen, hands dripping with water as he had just finished washing the last dish. His mouth was closed but his eyes were racing with questions as to what the Primera had in mind for tonight.

"I'll be back later." Starrk said without stopping but turned and saluted the other two arrancar.

"Starrk!" He heard his temporary cousin call as he ran for the stairs and quickly made his way down to the first floor.

In his wallet was way more than enough money than what he needed for that night and so he started with a bottle of Tequila that made the salesclerk at the tiny and nasty liquor store raise an eyebrow. He had wandered for nearly an hour, rolling over how Aizen was going to punish him when he realized the Primera did not listen to his directions about staying out of The World of The Living 'until further notice', afterwards deciding to head to the roughest part of Karakura Town, where he could blend in seamlessly with the hoodlums that lined the street. They all leered at his obviously new clothing and long hair. Starrk had tried a cigarette but abandoned the idea after his 16-year-old body rejected the tobacco whole-heartedly. The rush of choking and fearing for his already lost life made his heart pound harder than any amount of nicotine could have and he quickly bucked at the next group of street rats he encountered. He towered over them and so they flinched at the sudden jerk of his shoulders, which made him shake his head and release a deep chuckle.

Outside of the liquor store, he opened the bottle and took a hearty swig. It was smooth. Smooth enough for his youthful flesh and so he took another swig, immediately thankful for the bar that was just a couple doors down from the liquor store. Inside, he held back his lungs exploding and ordered a shot with a double chase. Several men in suits eyed his big frame and raised their brows at his wet hair, but made no move to hassle the young-looking man. He had put the tequila just inside his coat pocket and held onto it as he leaned against the counter and used the first lime before drinking the shot of tequila and then suckling the other lime. A small snigger sounded from his left and a young man with a woman under one arm and a slender man who may have been his brother at the other leered at him. The Primera ordered another shot with salt this time. He turned to the young yakuza member and none-too appropriately removed the salt from his hand with his tongue before throwing the shot and his hair back at an angle that shown the profile of his Adam's Apple and made the young man flare his nostrils in discomfort. He waited and let the last drop of the tequila land on his lips before parting them and swallowing. Looking directly at the man in the suit, he cinched his nose up and let his tongue dart from his mouth. His grip around the young, drunk woman tightened and Starrk smirked while paying for his drinks.

As he waltzed out of the bar, he thought of how Grimmjow would mock him for acting like Christina Aguilera in her "Dirrty" video and tossed his hair with vanity. Ten steps down the street, the equivalent of six shots of tequila found its way to his brain and he staggered.

"There it is," He thought to himself.

He shook his head and headed for the park that was further from the apartment he and Grimmjow shared and closer to the school that he had spent the last few weeks attending. As he moved he could just barely hear the tiny button on his inner coat pocket clinking against the bottle and repeatedly counted to thirty to save himself from vomiting in the next hour. Each time he began to count he would also make a deal with his right hand to take a swig when he reached thirty. His youthful body didn't listen so well and he had broken the unspoken rule he made with himself three times before he wandered into the schoolyard and looked up blankly at Karakura High School. On the windows, he could see the light of the afternoon sun just beginning to yellow and began to make a mental list of all the bars that he had passed on his countless walks to rid himself of Grimmjow.

Before he could finish, the shots from the bar joined their friends in his head and he looked round for a seat, settling on the bench that was about forty paces away after deciding that if he laid on the grassy hill on the west side of the school, he would never rise from it. In silence, Starrk watched the sun go from yellow to orange to red reflecting from the façade of the building all the while emptying the bottle of tequila that one might have believed at this point was water. He sat there, drinking, thinking about nothing really and waited until after the bottle was empty and his mind had begun to decipher the sex appeal of Nnoitra to his single follower before he stopped its rampant running.

"Okay," He said calmly to no one in particular and made the noise a man as old as his soul would when leaving the bench.

He swayed. Then staggered.

Sitting for long periods while drinking was not advised with this gigai. The human had obviously been lightweight. Starrk had the sensation of eating a dense meal before drinking. His head was halfway from clear but his limbs were five seconds behind it.

"Alright," He started again putting his hands up in a gesture of prayer and looking at absolutely nothing during his pep talk. "You're gonna go to the bar and you're gonna finish at least one drink before you…"

He didn't know what he wanted to do after the bar. He waved his worry away and never finished the sentence. The empty tequila bottle in his hand was suddenly heavy and his sword hand thought to rid itself of the weight long before the fifteen yards to the recycling bin. The glass flew from him hand and shattered with a loud screech after hitting the side of the metallic structure housing the three types of recycling and the garbage. He thought it was a good shot considering that it was an empty tequila bottle and jogged unevenly over to the shards in the dirt. Bending, he found that there were several large pieces on the ground and vomit about to creep up into his nose. With a huff, he squatted and began to pick up the glass that was unacceptable to leave in such close proximity to the bin. The thought to recite "He loves me, he loves me not" entered his mind and was quickly shoved out.

A moment before he was done cleaning up, Starrk lost his balance and instinctually reached out to steady himself, his middle and forefingers of his non-dominant hand landing square on a piece of glass he had missed that was also the largest. He hissed and hurriedly rolled his sleeve up with his other hand as blood began to slide into his palm a bit too quickly for his comfort. He stood and watched a red web form down his hand and forearm as he made his way out of the yard, through the gate, and into the street.

His pewter eyes were fixated on the weak point that the liquid originated from and he was immediately in thought about the last time he had seen (what was supposed to be) his own blood. Aizen's plan was in the earlier stages of offensive action, past the preparatory phase, and so none of the Espada had been dispatched for combat yet. He had gone through the equivalent of hollow-fication years prior to the start of contact between shinigami and arrancar but he had been training with only Barrigan and Aizen himself, being told to focus mainly on exercises to build concentration and technique. He did not need to strengthen himself because he had been blessed with the most raw power of Aizen's powers. He understood that strength and power did not lead to happiness and he sighed when the question that kept him awake at night pushed forward through his foggy thoughts.

Was he really to invest himself in Aizen's sordid plan wholly if he thought that the man's motives were underdeveloped? Starrk had been wandering the sands of Heuco Mundo long before the soul that had turned into the self proclaimed god had even been a thought in his grandmother's mind. His wisdom was much more in quality than Aizen's ignorant and blind greed and probably equal in quantity. The alcohol in his system was making his loyalties falter and now he understood why his leader banned the substance from his white palace.

In the ten minutes it had taken him to walk to the bar, the blood leaking from his fingers had created a quite the complexity down his arm and reach the black sleeve of his coat. He then realized that the bar probably did not want customers that represented bad stereotypes entering the facility and patiently sat down outside the bar on a tiny ledge created by the window to the establishment. He could wait for the blood to dry and then roll down his sleeve and enter, cleaning himself up with a napkin and a glass of water he ordered or he could rush in and ask for help like the injury was as fresh as fact. Maybe they wouldn't let him in at all because seeing how he was dressed as a wannabe thug and looked about eighteen or nineteen rather than twenty. That was probably his biggest concern. Surely everyone in the bar would notice his bleeding when he went to falsely search for his I.D. The young couldn't handle their liquor very well and the way that his vision was swimming reminded him that he was to include himself in that demographic at present.

Starrk had never been privilege to use of a gigai before the escapade that Aizen had sent him on to gather information. He smiled to himself realizing he had done a lot more than that and took one of his fingers to smear the tracks of red liquid into each other. He had time for three before something interrupted his thoughts.

A young woman was shouting at him and he formed that she must have said something prior to her current outburst. Perplexed, he looked around at no one and nothing and back to her. She had a long face and big green eyes with black hair that had been dyed red several months ago. Her Japanese was perfect for such a tall woman. He blinked and from the miscommunication to his left eye from his brain, she could tell he was not sober. In a rush, he stood and fumbled away from her, not listening to her gentler words that came when he looked abashedly in the direction opposite where he had come from. She waited until he had turned a corner and then marched back into the green-neon lights that were her workplace.

"So much for a bar." The Primera said to himself and found it harder and harder to keep his balance.

Somewhere between the parts of Karakura town he had become familiar with and the places where he was told not to wander was a train station. He stumbled in the direction that he thought was north, turned a corner, walked what must have been four blocks, crossed a street, then turned another corner, and walked several more blocks before he thought he was capable of back tracking and was suddenly in the gravel lot of a warehouse.

"Shit." He said aloud and turned helplessly in a circle before tumbling to his knees and dejectedly sliding onto his rump.

With a whimper and a downward-cast pout, he patted his pants pockets then the pockets of his leather coat. He repeated the action more feverishly not finding what he was looking for again. The third time, he pulled what he had out of his pockets and found the pack of useless cigarettes and his still full wallet.

"Shit!" He repeated, wanting to call Grimmjow for help and finding himself with a phone.

Starrk frowned and began to what was mostly pretending to cry, but the tequila overtook him allowing a tear to shimmy down his cheek. He sniffled and wiped his face with the hand that was still covered in blood. His wound reopened with a small sting and the blood began to drip out slowly. Another tear followed the first.

"My life, or lack thereof is so out of control." He scolded himself in a quiet voice, putting hands where his hollow mask normally ringed his neck. "I need help."

"We can help you."

He swayed once he was up and turned to find the source of the voice. A plume of gravel dust came up with him and covered his knees and shins turning them a light grey. The sound of his jacket zipper clinking against itself filled the air and twelve big eyes stared at him, dressed in black and caught off guard. A little girl had been talking to him, but her eyes looked like they had rolled into the back of her head and her mouth hung loose like her jaw had been severed. Behind and beside her were hollows and lost souls who all looked at him greedily. Directly to her left was an endless, serpent-like creature whose hollow mask had sixteen pincers surrounding a vertical slit for a mouth. Behind it and one the right were several eyeless heads protruding from a bulldog's body that had claws the length of Starrk's arms. He didn't have the capacity to study her entire brigade but there was no way this was going to be an easy fight.

"No, no thank you!" He said as if someone had offered to help him replace the tire on his car, his eyes un-matching, his balanced compromised. "I'm fine, really!"

He waved the clan off and took some unsteady, backward steps in the other direction before stumbling. Without hesitation, he began to recite the spell that would allow him to separate from his flesh and then clapped his hands together. Nothing happened.

"Oh, no." He said and the hollows on the outer rim of the group began to encircle him.

He tried again with more focus, but his eyes open, and still he was with his gigai. He could feel their collective spiritual pressure pulsating around him, pressing against his own. With a great exhale, he pushed on them, sending his energy out in a great and extended display of invisible power.

"We know that you're strong," The little girl said teasingly; he voice appearing in his head and not resonating from her mouth. "That's why we're going to eat you."

Defiantly, he pulled his energy in and then sent it flying out in a twister of power. Several of her accomplices braced themselves visibly against the billow and narrowed their eyes at him. Starrk was strong but a dozen attacks were a lot to block at once. He did not forget that he was drunk and found that the force of his release knocked him as well, his footing faltering at the weakness of his knees. Those waltzing around him in the opening of the gravel lot resumed and once the first was out of his peripheral, he sent a weak, yet bright cero as if he were holding his arms out at his sides. They paused in their movements again and the little girl's frustration shown in her narrowed eyes.

This game wouldn't last forever but she didn't know that. Starrk had no idea what would happen if one of her minions tried to strike him. He was under the impression that his incapacitated, fleshy body would be no match against the teeth and claws that neared him and he had no intention of letting them any closer than they already were. He only had his spiritual power as a defense and firing ceros wasn't going to be enough as an offense. Before the others could react again, he sent a deafening pulse from his body and continued the torture even after his attackers put their hands up to cover their ears. His mouth opened and he had to remind himself not to close his eyes as the howl escaped him. Those in he peripheral vision retreated, not back to where they began but away from and found no relief in trying to block out the sound. It was an attack he had learned he could do about two months ago, the goal was to use to shatter swords and hollow masks but he was not able to achieve that just yet.

One of the creatures who flanked the girl looked in shock and Starrk realized that he had a large crack the length of the man's arm running from the eye socket of his mask down his cheek. The thing was just as big as the serpentine hollow, ten lengthy tentacles extending from behind its mask and gripping the ground around it.

"Well, that—" Starrk cut her off; this time howling with intensity and shaking the ground around him until the small pebbles of the lot began to jump and one of the buildings fencing it cracked and split with a thunderous explosion that didn't begin to rival the sound that caused it.

Starrk stumbled backwards and admitted to himself that had no plan if this tactic did not scare them off. For a second he cursed himself for splitting his soul in two and wished he still had the ability to evaporate the weak again but quickly shook his head. That act was too much for his already spinning mind and he fell on his ass in the gravel after swaying momentarily. Immediately, he looked up to see if his aggressors had switched positions in his absent-mindedness.

He was turned around, facing the opposite side of the interior of the lot and the warehouse that had come apart by what looked like an act of God. Near the dust cloud were two figures but he couldn't see them well enough as his vision looked like what it must have been like to have googly eyes. Shakily, the Primera stood and moved a bit to the left and then back to the center before he remembered that those two figures weren't what he was looking for. He turned too fast against and placed his hands on his head in a very comical manner to stop the spinning. It helped him see but his stomach started rolling instead of his eyes. He let go and tried his best to count the hollows across the lot.

"Twelve." He said to no one and turned back around, slowly this time but still losing his balance in the process.

His hands were on his shoulders and then flung out to his sides for balance. He could still see the figures on the far side of the gravel. They were walking him towards him now. Momentarily, Starrk panicked because not one of the other hollows or these shadows was saying anything.

"Shit!" He slurred and took a step back.

Behind him there seemed to be a lack of energy and he felt the hollows disappear. In front of him, the figures slid forward, their silhouettes and their bodies moving out of the shadows that covered most of the lot. Starrk could see them now; carrying swords and hakama swaying around them as they moved forward, more boldly than the moment before. A sigh of relief exited his lungs and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"How did Grimmjow find me?" He sighed again and brought a hand to his forehead.

Jerking to sit upright, he cursed himself for forgetting his drunkenness temporarily and putting his head down. The act made his stomach flip and he could feel the breath of air that came up as practice for the vomit rise in his chest. He forced it out his nose, eyes opening slowly.

"I knew there was something going on with you and that blue-haired freak."

Starrk's head shot up, pewter orbs opened so wide, they looked like they might pop out of his skull. Standing above him was a redhead with eyes and matching lips so thin with anger, his energy flashed the same color as his hair.

Next to Renji stood Ichigo, scowling yet not as resolved as the taller man in his fury. There was a moment of silence and then Renji spoke again, his hand gripping the hilt of a very intimidating blade.

"Did you think we wouldn't detect that storm of spiritual pressure you released? Or that the concentration of thirteen hollows would escape us?" His lips were pressed and through his beer goggles, Starrk could see the way that Renji struggled to keep a cap on his emotions.

So I realized after about a year that I forgot to write a couple chapters in here. So I deleted what was Chapter 10 and this is the replacement. This oopsie will soon be fixed. Just forget everything you already read.