Ulquiorra was most certainly not a stalker even if this was the fourth time of his so far painfully week-long break that he spent watching a certain blue-haired man. What he was doing was perfectly understandable and clear-cut logical. He was gathering information about a potentially dangerous person who he would probably never encounter in his line of work but should still take precautions against because ignoring threats no matter how small or seemingly innocuous was often the cause of downfall.
Ulquiorra knew this from experience. He had been nothing more than a locked up sickly pale child because his own parents were terrified of his looks before he had gotten fed up with their utter foolishness, leading to him killing them in their sleep after which he had wandered the streets on his own until his lord had taken him under his wing. There was more to that unpleasant story than he cared to remember but it boiled down to the same life lesson he had been witness to for ten years. Since the murder of his parents, he had sworn never to underestimate even the most unassuming fool. He had become, after all, a very careful person and not one to overlook a single minuscule detail.
That said, this was all his current actions amounted to- collecting information for purely professional reasons. Nothing more, nothing less.
Such was the way Ulquiorra's mind worked as he stood in the shadows of a dilapidated building and his dubbed observation spot, watching another street fight again. The one he wanted to see wasn't actually fighting in this one but he was among the crowd, ignoring sleazy prostitutes who were pawing at his bare muscled chest that was covered only by some clean white bandages despite the chilly breeze. He wore black cotton pants that were loose and tattered but they did nothing to detract from the man as usual. They dipped just low enough to show a glimpse of his pelvis and the barest hints of surprisingly natural blue hair and the women were eagerly trying to get him to show more.
His appearance was that of an exotic specimen of man, beautiful and erotic though he wore no flashy accessories or clothes spun from silk and gold. Not even the rags of the impoverished could steal that aura of divine perfection he exuded and Ulquiorra wondered why someone with a sinful beauty like the blunette's was confined to the outcasts of society. He was far more appealing to look at than the trashy, pitiful excuses of models that decorated magazines and this was coming from his detached speculations.
Simply imagining the hundreds of thousands of hormonal teenagers who would screech in those terribly loud and obnoxious voices of theirs at the mere sight of this man was both irritating and so very plausible. The things those fools did upon seeing a piece of eye candy was abominable.
Pale hands straying to his concealed gun, a habit he tended to unconsciously do whenever he was agitated or annoyed, Ulquiorra's emerald gaze was once again captured by the blue-haired man as he drank from a water bottle that a lithe orange-haired male had given him, the brief but casually familiar brushing of their fingers not going unnoticed under his scrutinizing.
So this was an -attractive- orange-haired male who seemed to share a close perhaps even intimate relationship with the blunette he noted with mild distaste, his slim fingers curling ever so slightly around his weapon's handle. And then he almost immediately released the gun and crossed his arms in front of him, pretending that thought never occurred because it was an irrational thought that didn't really matter to him in any way. Who the blue-haired man chose to associate with was none of his concern and he firmly assured himself of this fact several times before looking back over to the duo again.
The sight that greeted his eyes was... disconcerting to say the least. As if the cool weather did not affect him at all, the street fighter had now dumped some of the water over himself, drops of crystal clear liquid sliding down his slick tan skin tantalizingly slowly. The chilled water dripped down from his now damp hair over the contours of his high cheekbones, continuing their path along the length of his strong neck and then over his chiseled pectorals and abs, getting absorbed by the bandages and turning them a light grey color as they dampened.
A pink tongue darted out of his mouth to catch some of the drops, a small piercing glinting briefly when it was exposed to sunlight before it disappeared again, much to the disappointment of many. Fingers wrapped in more white bandages -most likely to protect them in his upcoming fight- raked through unruly and wet blue locks as the man gave his nearly drooling audience a shit-eating smirk that clearly stated, "I'm hot enough to scorch your mom's watered daisy and I fucking know it."
Ulquiorra had seen men step out of showers with their bodies still glistening from the steam and hot spray and had never batted an eyelash much less seen anyone else look interested. This infuriating piece of trash had only gotten his torso wet and yet he had managed to produce a captivating appearance that had the rest of the trash fawning over him in awe and envy.
What it was they were so captivated by, Ulquiorra did not quite understand. Yes, good physical appearances were a rarity and were worthy of being appreciated but to such an extent? It was no wonder those contracts of eternal love called marriages were so easily torn apart. The superficial rarely survived against the harsh reality.
He refused to admit that he had also been one of the people who had been momentarily blinded by the man's handsome looks. That was treading dangerous ground he had no care to explore.
Roaring cheers caught his attention and he surveyed the riled crowd again.
It was apparently the blunette's turn to fight and he was curious about how the man would do considering he must surely still be nursing wounds from his other fights. He had taken only one day off to heal so far and this was his second consecutive day of fighting, his body's condition evident by the number of wounds scattered over them though they were hidden well beneath the bandages.
The young man with him was murmuring something into his ear, earning him several envious and also hungry looks from the women and a couple men, before he and the blunette bumped their fists together and separated. Ulquiorra kept his gaze steadily fixed on the larger man as he watched him stroll leisurely into the center of the makeshift ring, blue eyes blazing with a chaotic desire for violence that instantly drew his attention.
Regardless of his current health state, Ulquiorra had a feeling the blunette was the one who was going to walk away from the fight victorious.
And Ulquiorra was rarely ever wrong.
Goddamn, if he didn't consider Ichigo his best friend and the closest thing he had to a brother, Grimmjow would have seriously been sporting a hard on when that enticing low baritone had whispered huskily in his ear to watch his step and avoid using his left arm to much. The stupid tease knew he was hot as hell and that Grimmjow was bisexual and Ichigo just had to go and make fun of him with the flirtatious gestures his stupid ass of a twin taught him.
The twin devils -that were unfortunately seriously fucking sexy- were going to be the figurative death of him some day.
Rolling the muscles in his shoulders as he waited for his next sissy opponent to step up, Grimmjow narrowed his eyes slightly as he sensed the hair-raising feeling of someone watching him again. His immediate and first suspicion was the twins since making him uncomfortable was their favorite pastime but it wasn't them- Shiro was somewhere, probably terrorizing a poor bastard into giving him some extra cash or a smoke and while Ichigo was watching him, he hadn't moved from his original spot and the stare was coming from a different direction so he wasn't the culprit either.
Grimmjow loved attention but he didn't like not knowing where it was coming from. Fuck, if it was another crazy bitch who was dead set on him being the father of some nameless child again, he was going to kick her ass morals be damned. That ordeal with Cirucci had been a nightmare and he had no desire to go through it again.
But over the past few days, whoever it was hadn't approached him or anyone he knew and they hadn't done anything that threatened them so he was relatively fine with just letting it go. So long as no one messed with him, he could care less about what they did. And when his opponent finally stepped forward, all thoughts of being watched flew out of his head as predatory anticipation spread through his veins like wildfire, the intense desire to break bone, tear muscle and flesh, and spill blood singing throughout his body like the call of a seductive siren.
And who was he to deny such a lovely lady's call. He was going to give her a fight worthy of the most orgasmic fucking known in goddamn history.
Cracking his knuckles ominously, he mentally snorted when he saw the nervous twitch and drops of frightened perspiration of the other man. All his opponents were weaklings these days. With the very rare exception, none of them had a fight instinct that could hold up to his and it was just getting really stupid borderline dull. He really wanted to fight one of his friends but Shiro apparently wouldn't fight someone unless he felt like it or if they hurt his brother and Ichigo didn't like doing anything that could potentially damage his hands since he needed them to do his work.
Fuck, he was so utterly whipped by the twins it wasn't even funny. Any other person and he would have just told them to suck it up and then proceeded to bash their heads in without remorse. He needed to find a new person to fight with or else he was going to accidentally kill someone in his frustration. Hell, he was just about ready for a pummeling match with Zaraki if his opponents didn't start growing an extra pair of actual balls and that was seriously saying something since no one, not even Shiro, really liked to go against the insane man who was infamous in even towns miles away for being a violent fighter who supposedly had yet to lose a single match in his twenty-five years of living.
Point of the matter was, he really needed a new sparring partner. Grimmjow's violent frustrations were getting worse than his sexual frustrations and that was impressive considering it had been several weeks since his last outing with a fuck buddy and his libido craved sex like an addict did for drugs. Right now, he felt like he was being denied alcohol after a century of binge drinking which made him one very unhappy, pissed off camper.
Sneering at his nervous oaf of an opponent, he figured he'd vent a little more this round than the others.
Feeling the soreness in his muscles from not allowing them to rest properly, he remembered Ichigo's warning and then scoffed as he slid into a guarded but offensive stance.
He wouldn't need both of his arms to win this anyway. He could be blindfolded with his good arm tied behind his back and still win. He could smell that sweet scent of fear in the air much like a predator stalking its prey and if his opponent's breathing got any heavier, he would think the idiot as going into cardiac arrest.
Weak. So weak it was almost laughable.
But a fight was a fight so he would do everything possible to enjoy it to the max.
With a howl of euphoric laughter that would make Shiro proud, he lunged forward, all thoughts of anything completely lost in his thirst for blood as his fists sought to make contact with soft flesh and sturdy bone.
It was over in a few fifteen pitiful minutes. Far too brief for Ulquiorra's tastes and clearly unsatisfactory for the blue-haired man as well if his irritated and restless glare was anything to go by as he watched his opponent's body crumple to the ground after several solid hits. He considered recruiting the man for Aizen-sama but against his better judgment, he decided not to. The verification tests would soon be over by this point- he didn't want to have to waste away for any longer waiting for a new potential person to fight his way to obtain one of the positions.
As the blunette stepped out of the ring and brushed off loving caresses and adoring gazes, Ulquiorra knew he no longer had any reason to linger since the street fighter tended to head off as soon as he finished a fight, according to past observations. Beginning to turn to step away and make his way back to his apartment, loud noises from the crowd caught his attention and he glanced back over to where the blue-haired man was.
The ginger head was with him again but now there was also an albino copy of him latched onto the blunette's arm. A feeling not quite like ire nor anger but something in-between shot through him and he decided right then and there that he did not like the feeling and should immediately remove it from his system. Oddly enough however, it persisted and only seemed to get a little worse when the two identical people leaned forward and pressed their lips onto the side of the blunette's face.
The roars and screeches of disgust, amusement, envy, and approval scattered throughout the crowd of trash was drowned out by the loud thudding of his own heart as he stared at the scene with the peculiar emotion bubbling like lava in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill over into his carefully expressionless eyes and his tightly pressed mouth.
Ulquiorra never noticed that his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, he merely turned with a sharp whip of his cloak and made a silent but swift exit from the slums. He vaguely registered not-quite-storming through the streets, the image of the trio still persisting in the back of his mind, as he returned to the cold comfort of his apartment room and stopped to stand in the middle of the carpeted floor. A sharp stinging pain from his palms caused him to finally glance down at them only to be confused when he saw drops of crimson liquid sliding down in small trickles from small crescent-shaped cuts.
He didn't understand why they were bleeding until he distantly remembered digging his nails into fragile skin as he moved away from the filthy scene.
It was easy to dismiss his actions as him merely wishing to protect his eyes from watching intimate touches between garbage. He had always stiffened in distaste whenever he passed by two people on the street pressed against each other, mouths connected and exchanging saliva or arms wrapped around each other as if they were trying to strangle their partners. But he knew that wasn't quite the case.
What had truly upset him in a manner that he didn't understand was the strange shift from feral danger to a more gentle roughness in the blunette's demeanor when he was accosted by the identical-faced men. Perhaps it irritated him that someone with such lethal potential was already tamed by another? But he discarded that thought as soon as it came. He had seen men and the occasional women who were just as brutal and barbaric as the street fighter and he had barely cast a glance at them before either killing them or simply passing by them.
So why he was so bothered by the liaisons between a man he still didn't even know the name of and his acquaintances?
Ulquiorra simply didn't understand and he had a feeling his troubled thoughts were far from being over.
He sometimes hated it when he was always right.
"Did ya 'ear tha' bastard who thought we were gonna go off an' 'ave us a fun li'l threesome? Ha! That was rich!" Ichigo elbowed Shiro as his albino twin continued cackling madly while he muttered with a flushed face, "That was so not funny Shiro. I don't even know how that idiot came up with that."
Grimmjow snorted, rolling his shoulders and finding satisfaction in the resulting cracking sounds as he replied, gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, "Gee I dunno Ichi, maybe it's the fact you two keep playin' your flirtin' games with me in front of 'em every day?" A teasing mock pout formed on the shorter man's face and Ichigo stuck his tongue out petulantly while Shiro latched onto his side like a big white leech and whined, "Don' be so cold Grimmie! Ya know ya love the love we give ya~"
Oh he loved it alright but he didn't want to go running around saving asses if another creepy fan of theirs decided he or she wanted in on the fun. Shiro could take care of himself just fine but Ichigo tended to fall for any woe-is-me stories despite his rather lethal fighting skills and then got his sweet ass in some sticky situation that sent his twin into a homicidal rage. Then he had to step in and make sure the idiot didn't kill someone since he was messy when he was pissed and so while he got his ass handed to him by the off-his-rocker albino, Ichigo would try to calm him down. That usually ended with a beat up him, a somewhat calmer but still pissy Shiro, and either an aggravated or completely pissed off Ichigo.
A highly unappealing situation and one he liked to avoid at all costs.
He liked fighting Shiro. He just didn't like fighting a furious, 'Imma gonna snap yer neck like a twig' Shiro. Because more often than not, he was the one nursing a sore body and a bruised ego. Where the albino stored all his muscle, he had no clue since the guy had the same lean build as Ichigo and yet could still throw a man twice his weight through a window like it was a fucking walk in the park.
Huffing in mild exasperation, he continued on with the walk to his house, the twins bantering like he was their tennis net and their insults were the balls. One jab flew over him, another did the same. But then there was the occasional insult that either tapped him or was a direct hit. Fuck he hated being the net.
Growling lowly under his breath after the third time one of them, he didn't care which, got a foul for insulting him, he mentally pictured gagging the two of them and throwing them into a locked closet with his sister on sugar high. Maybe they would just kill each other there and that would solve his problems. Oh, but then there was the goddamn risk that they would both lose whatever sanity they had left and then he'd be stuck associated with three nuttier than fucking nutballs.
When the hell did he sign a contract to be a nanny? 'Cause right now, he wanted that contract so that he could rip it to shreds and then curse the unlucky contractor, be it God Al-fucking-mighty or the damned, for making him unfortunately fond of three brats. He conveniently forgot that he was just as bad as all of them and that it was more common for Ichigo to play the nanny while the rest of them drove others to insanity.
Ah, it was great having an ego the size of the sun that burned away the unnecessary thoughts.
Feet stepping on unkempt lawn grass that would need a mowing soon provided they could steal a mower from someone again, their poor parody of the three musketeers walked up a couple deteriorating steps before Grimmjow heaved a massive bag of bottles, wood, cans, and whatever non-degradable piece of trash they had been able to find from in front of his door.
Keys and pretty little tricks like that did shit in a place full of professional thieves and so he had been forced to be a bit more creative with securing his house so that his monster of a little sister couldn't terrorize some poor sucker that tried to break into it. The things he did to protect the unsuspecting asshole from being permanently traumatized by the terrors he knew.
He was so nice he should get a freaking cookie for his blessed heart.
Funny enough, the last time he had vocalized this sentiment, the twins had stared at him like he'd grown a second head before breaking down into fits of laughter. He had said they were jealous of his compassionate and caring soul. They had said he needed to visit his uncle Satan soon because he was obviously getting a bit too touched in the head and needed a good reminder from uncle dearest about how to be a devil.
The sounds of ecstatic squeals broke his reminiscing and he smirked when a little green blur flew out of the barely opened door and slammed into Ichigo with the force of a government-issued torpedo. Why Nel liked the carrot-top so much was anyone's guess but it always made him and Shiro snicker at his expense.
Letting Ichigo handle his hyper sister for a moment, Grimmjow swept a critical eye over the room. Knocked over table, ripped curtain, toilet paper trailing all over the single floored house from the dingy bathroom, couple broken dishes here and there, and another spill stain on the drab carpet they had had the luck of nabbing from a trash can once... All was as well as could be in the Jaegerjacquez household.
He should have known better than to let that beast Zaraki and his even more demonic daughter Yachiru be the ones to watch his sister but the giant man was the only one around who actually knew how to handle sugary brats with smiles like angels and personalities worse than the most spiteful of shitty demons... even if he was far from being a positive influence on them.
"Yer outta sugar again Grimmy."
Shiro's careless drawl drew a groan from him as Grimmjow shook his head in exasperation and called out, "Zaraki? The fuc- er fudge did you go man?" He stalked through the tiny messy living room to the equally tiny kitchen to try to find the giant as an excuse to avoid Ichigo's glare on his back that was practically screaming, "Swear in front of Nel and I will cut off your family jewels and shove them where the sun doesn't shine before you can say shit."
Christ, Ichi could be such a woman sometimes.
Peeking into the kitchen, he had Shiro's shriek of laughter and Kenpachi's grunt of amusement as his only warnings before something pink and way too energetic to be safe barreled into his legs, sweeping them out from beneath him and sending him crashing to the ground in a sprawled mess that would have put the few defeats he had faced in the past to absolute shame.
"Ahahaha yer such a riot 'Chiru!"
Shiro was gonna be a toasted white rat once he got the air back in his lungs.
"Grimm? You okay?"
Bless Ichi for being the compassionate and caring soul that he was... until a certain pink-haired menace spoke up.
"Icchy~ Neko-chan was bein' mean to me!"
Oh fuck all that was holy and more. He was going to kill someone, preferably Shiro or Yachiru since both were doing a fabulous job of pissing him off. But that would have to wait until he heard the "Do Not Bully Children" lecture again. Kenpachi's gruff chuckles as he got chewed out did nothing to soothe his wounded pride.
He really needed new friends. After he strangled his current ones first and fed his little sister who was now bawling about wanting honey on fried spaghetti.
Grimmjow mentally swore that one day, he would find the bastard that had introduced his sister to the poison she called food.
Goddamn he should get a prize for staying sane amidst the maniacs he called friends and family.
It was the same as all the prior days. Ulquiorra stood in his watching spot and observed the movements of the blue-haired man. If his sullen expression was anything to go by, then he had been forbidden from fighting and was being forced to rest by the orange-haired male who was glaring pointedly at the blunette with arms crossed as if daring him to argue.
It was unfortunate since this meant he could not collect any more useful information about the man's capabilities. Yet even though he knew he would not be acquiring further data for future references, he did not leave. There was something about the street fighter, something compelling and addicting that left Ulquiorra's overly analytical mind spinning as he tried to comprehend things he had never experienced before.
Szayel had been far from helpful.
'You sound like you have a bad case of high school crush syndrome Ulquiorra. Best get rid of the source while you can. Nip the bud early so to say."
The last sentence had been in jest but Ulquiorra knew that it was legitimate advice from the eccentric octava though he was having serious doubts about his colleague's assessment of his 'problem.' He was most certainly not infatuated with the blunette. Intrigued, yes. Appreciative of the natural feline grace the muscular Adonis had, undoubtedly. But that was the extent of his interest.
Lips pursing together in mild displeasure, Ulquiorra wondered if even this current fascination was a danger to his duties and if he should really heed the friendly words from the scientist. If it hadn't been anything serious, Szayel would have merely poked fun at him before sending him on his way.
Absently touching the sleek handle of his hidden gun, Ulquiorra debated over his options. He could rid himself once and for all of this bizarre obsession with a stranger with whom he had shared a less than positive first encounter with. He could continue his silent observations from afar until he reached a more solid conclusion. Or-
"Boy, I know Grimmy's a looker but ya don' gotta look at 'im like he's yer next meal ghosty."
The lilted, watery voice made him turn his head so fast it was almost a blur as his hand almost whipped out his gun. He just barely managed to prevent himself from exposing his secret weapon to the albino whose strange liquid gold eyes stared at him with something akin to amused suspicion.
Ulquiorra let his hand slide away from his coat pocket in a deceptively casual manner though his tension was far from eased. Never had anyone snuck up on him as badly and inconspicuously as this man had. Either he was getting rusty on his skills or this man was that skilled at hiding his presence. It was disconcerting to say the least however he brushed off any internal confusion as he replied coolly, "I do not understand what you mean."
His crisp words garnered a raised ashen brow before the albino jerked his head in the direction of the blunette and his orange-haired twin as he said, "Don't gimme that shit. Ya've been watchin' Grimmy fer a while now. I only noticed 'cause Ichigo told me kitty cat's been feelin' somethin' strange from this gen'ral area and asked me t' keep an eye out." Eerie golden dipped in obsidian black pinned him with a steady look.
"So you need somethin' with kitty cat or are ya the next stalker we're gonna be kickin' the shit outta?"
Ulquiorra weighed his options of what to say. He was confident he could handle any street fighter on any given day however something about the albino set his alarms off in a most disturbing manner. This man was dangerous, similar to the blue-haired man in some ways yet with a far more primal and almost malevolent touch to his presence and it made him reluctant to say anything that may set the man off. Few could instill this sense of wariness in him and it was strange that this albino had managed to land himself onto this list. What he required wasn't aggression, it was caution and discretion.
Keeping his face perfectly calm and collected, Ulquiorra finally said smoothly, "I wandered into the area a few days ago and came upon this fighting arena. I was... intrigued by your friend's strength as he possesses a brutality few seem to be able to match." If the albino was suspicious of his 'wandering,' he didn't voice it. Instead, a mischievous grin suddenly appeared on his face, replacing the almost dangerous glint in his expression so rapidly Ulquiorra was momentarily disconcerted as he said gleefully, "So ghosty's a fighter huh?" Ulquiorra masterfully hid any surprise at the man's accurate deduction -and irritation at the nickname- as said person continued, "Why dontcha c'mon over and meet Grimmy 'stead of lurkin' over 'ere?"
He was about to protest but then the brash albino cupped his hands before his mouth, black nail polish glinting in the sunlight, as he shouted loudly, "Oi! Grimmy, Ichi, get yer asses over 'ere or Imma gonna let the whole hood know what we did last night!" Several roars of approval and curiosity rang in the air as the two swiftly dodged any grasping hands and made their hurried -and quite clearly aggravated- way over.
Pinning his twin with a look of pure annoyance, 'Ichi' hissed angrily, "Shiro! Why the fuck did you say something like that?! Now they're going to think their stupid perverted rumors are true." 'Grimmy' looked equally displeased as he snarled, "Y'know, I was just about to find someone to get laid with and you pretty much just sent that plan straight into the pits of hell." Grinning, the albino threw a companionable arm over his twin's shoulders as he drawled, "Love ya two honey an' sweet cheeks but let's save the whole 'don' interrupt me when I'm looking for a fuck' talk for later. Ya got a new fan Grimm-kitty~"
Scowling heavily, too blue orbs finally pinned their intense gaze onto him. The man's eyes truly were a beautiful color- they were just like the color of the sky: vast, depthless, and completely and utterly free... So different from his guarded, earthen orbs. Breathtaking blue stared at him blankly for a moment before abruptly, a spark of recognition flashed in them.
"You!"
The orange-haired male's response seemed almost automatic. "Grimm, it's rude to point." The albino's question was the more natural reaction. "Y'know each other already?" A heavy scowl appeared on the handsome face but failed to do anything more than make him seem much more appealing as he grumbled, "Ran into each other a few days ago. Literally. Bastard's hard as a rock and as friendly as one too."
His friends shared identical looks of amused exasperation. "Grimm, you do realize you're hardly socially friendly too right?" Sending a withering glare at the orange-haired male, said person just smirked lightly before looking at Ulquiorra.
"Sorry about him. Grimm's got a nasty temper and no manners to speak of. He was probably rude to you first." Scoffing, the blunette glared down at Ulquiorra from his impressive height as he asked in what was obviously a semi-forced muted snarl, "Who the hell're you anyway?" Affronted by the man's rather brusque manner but outwardly unfazed, Ulquiorra replied fluidly, "My name is Ulquiorra." His lack of a surname didn't seem to bother the three since the orange-haired man smiled -a rather nice and warm smile he noted begrudgingly- and said, "I'm Ichigo. This is my brother Shiro and Mr. Grumpy over there is Grimmjow." Grimmjow muttered something that sounded like, "Ain't grumpy," before narrowed blue glanced at him appraisingly.
"So you're the one who was watchin' me?"
The street fighters here were either very talented or these men were just especially exceptional considering their astute assumptions and keen senses. Ulquiorra possessed a sort of natural obscurity that made it difficult for people to notice him even in broad daylight. Perhaps he would try to recruit them in the future after assessing their skills a bit more. 'Grimmjow' was a definite possibility and he was curious about how strong the other two were if they were allowed past the blunette's defenses.
"Stop that."
Blinking, emerald orbs stared inquisitively at Grimmjow. The street fighter crossed his arms over his chest in aggravation as he snapped, "Quit lookin' at us like we're goods and you're the latest buyer you asshole." Was his observing gaze so offensive? No one had ever pointed out how he looked at them. Inclining his head slightly, he asked, perplexed, "Is there something strange about my gaze?" He received three slightly incredulous stares before Shiro muttered, "Oh, one of those kinda people."
Nudging him in the stomach with his elbow, Ichigo -ever the more cooperative of the three- replied hesitantly, "Um not really strange..." He sent a sharp glare at Grimmjow when the blunette muttered, "Hell yes weird," before he turned his attention back to Ulquiorra and explained, "It's just... it's like you're not looking at us like we're people."
Ulquiorra blinked. Well, it was true he did spend most of his life not quite distinguishing humans from the trash he tossed into the dumpster outside his apartment but he thought he hid his lack of love for the human race quite well. Then again, these peculiar individuals were quite different so perhaps he would need to try to alter his gaze. If being 'friendly' helped him collect better information then it was his duty to exhaust every method of socializing possible no matter how tedious.
Shiro snickered and said, "Ya look like yer torn between trying' t' decide if we're a new species o' pig or if we're a new type o' rock. An improvement I guess." Ulquiorra didn't understand how a simple look could generate that sort of explicit message but apparently they were satisfied with leaving well enough alone since Ichigo had that friendly look on his face again as he asked, "Are you interested in Grimm's fights?" He didn't bother waiting for a response as he continued, "Grimm won't be able to fight for a few days since the idiot got one of his injuries infected but if you come back in a few days, he should be alright by then."
Ulquiorra glanced between the three of them doubtfully before settling his gaze unsurprisingly on the blunette. "Are you not suspicious of me?" Grimmjow scoffed and replied, "If I didn't demand answers and shit from you before, I ain't about to start now. I don't care who you are, where yer from, or what you do so long as ya don't piss me off." His words were brief, sharp, and honest to a fault. And with that, he turned and began walking away, ignoring Ichigo's protests. Sighing, the orange-haired male gave him an apologetic smile and a quick "Bye," before he and his twin hurried after the retreating back of the street fighter.
Ulquiorra stayed where he was for a few more seconds before he slowly began making his own way back to the city. The confrontation today had been unexpected to say the least. Socializing was not his forte, especially when it was with people who were not in his profession. Aside from books, tea, killing techniques, targets, and torture methods, there wasn't much Ulquiorra knew about. His knowledge was especially limited in terms of the primitive and and lacking life in the slums.
He paused at that last thought. Why did he care about learning the ways of the slums? He was not there to socialize and learn about the people there. It was simply a new place that he could cleanse when he had free time, nothing more and nothing less.
He would be receiving missions again very soon. He couldn't afford getting distracted and wasting time in this dumpster for human filth. He had no obligation to return again unless it was to kill.
But as flashes of hair-raising lethality, warm smiles, and most of all profound deep blue ran through his mind, Ulquiorra knew he would come back. He had taken a bite of the alluring poisonous apple in his perfectly ideal and orderly world and now he could not escape its grasp.
As he stepped into his as per usual cold apartment, he knew that he had crossed the line of no return when he let himself interact with the source of his fascination. He was intrigued by these people who were strong in a world where even the strongest were regarded the scum of society. And he was captivated by the ferocity of the primal energy trapped within a certain blue-haired man's body.
He wanted to see that man and perhaps his friends again.
It was a desire that was undeniable but so very foreign.
A/N: I'm glad this story has been so well-received! I will strive to keep people as in-character as possible though if they seem OOC, I apologize ^^
Reviews are, as always, the holy grail to us writers so keep letting me know what you think! I will be detracting from my other stories for a while since they're all so... Ichi-based (I love him way too much XD) and I want to try something that explores other characters more (though I couldn't quite keep him out of this story either). On the down side, that means my other stories will be put off for longer than necessary again. On the brighter side, I will be focusing mostly on this story until 2013 begins (if we all survive whatever cataclysmic event potentially occurs).
Love you all~
-Diamond Snowflake
