Grimmjow fingered the piece of paper in his pocket, trying hard to ignore the grunts of the man in front of him. He sounded like he was having some hell of a good time. Grimmjow had been standing in that line for thirty long minutes, each one sinking him deeper into total disgust for this place, and it was all he could do to keep his hand on that piece of paper that he would use to bargain for someone's life and keep reminding himself why he was here.
The man in front of him verily fucked the glory hole in the concrete wall, and Grimmjow was glad he couldn't see the woman's face. He didn't really want to have to actually witness her getting face-fucked, even if he technically already was. In all of the years he'd been taking women of the night off the streets and out of the slums, he'd never had to immerse himself like this in their work to get to them. But this Queen Cocksucker was in very high demand already in her short career, and there was never a time of day or night where there was no one there- unless the doors were locked, which was probably the only way the poor woman could get any sleep, and even then there were men lined up outside. Grimmjow was determined to get her someplace where she could rest whenever she wanted to.
There was a very loud grunt, then a few seconds of panting before the man stumbled back and tried to pull up his pants. There was a slim thread of something clear connecting to something, presumably a pair of lips, beyond the hole that snapped as he clumsily shuffled off. Grimmjow grimaced. He stepped up quickly, repressing his desire to throw the note in (probably skewering the woman's eye with a corner in the process) and bolt, instead letting the note fall harmlessly from his hand onto the floor inside the glory hole and hurrying as unobtrusively as he could outside, away from the stench of sweat and semen.
He gulped the fresh, crisp twilight air deeply as he let the caged shudder of disgust out from behind its bars. Well, he'd gotten her the note. Now all he could do was show up at the coffee shop and hope that she'd read the note, that she'd decided to come and try for a better life, and that she wouldn't immediately turn tail and run when she saw him. He knew that he didn't set the most trustworthy framework, with his wild blue hair and rather obvious physical strength. He'd learned that women of the night were wary of strange, strong-looking men, especially the brand-new ones. Older ones didn't care as much, but it was more difficult to fully convert their lifestyles and often they would return to the slums. Grimmjow could only hope that the Queen Cocksucker wouldn't end up that way, but from here everything was all up to her.
Now he had to find a secluded place to loose his lunch.