[AliCe InChains]

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

[We Come Out At Night]


She could hear her footsteps echoing off of the alley walls, making her head ring. She ran quickly, but paced herself, panting quietly. She couldn't really bear the idea of listening to her own ragged intakes of breath and footsteps, or her pounding heart.

She looked neither to the right nor the left as she ran, she could only think of what she'd do when she got back home; kick her shoes off, run the bath water – no, wait, a bubble bath. Throw in her rubber ducky, too - she hadn't played battleship in the tub in ages. What would she have for dinner? Well first she'd have to clean out the sink. She'd forgotten to throw away that… article from last night. Well, then what? She had a brand spanking new jar of pickles - maybe some whipped cream? Oh yeah, the crunchy sweetness of whipped cream and pickles! Might as well, since she'd missed ice cream Wednesday… again. Ah well, hop down on the couch and crunch away Wednesday? What would be on? Nothing, but she had a couple of Disney movies on the shelf she hadn't seen in a while, sing along to Hakuna Matata or A Brand New World… but oh, jiminy cricket! She'd left the bath water running! It was flooding the floor, whirlpooling around the couch - too fast, too fast, grab the broom !- the room was filling faster than she could blink, there goes the table, the tv floating by. It was flooding out into the hall, breaking through the door! She was being swept away, she had to get her bearings, get the broom! She had to steer her way down to the third floor on the tidal wave!

She tripped and went sprawling, barely managing to scream as she hit the asphalt, sliding forward painfully on her knees and hitting the ground for what surely had been the fifth time today.

"Owww!" she murmured before she could stop herself, in the dim barely managing to make out the scratches on her pounding palms. She'd only skinned them, but she winced as she shook them, the sudden wind a slight relief for the pain. She looked up. Far above the alley walls, she could barely make out the sliver of moon shedding a dim light into the alley. It was so dark she could barely make out the outline of her palms. She bit her lip, trying to halt the shiver of fear that ran through her as she looked back down the dark way she had come.

She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about the possessed homicidal maniacs with hooks for hands, slowly creeping down the alley in the darkness… coming for her.

She whipped back around at the thought, gulping audibly as she listened to her heart rate triple, the now rhythmic pounding making her head ache. She must not have been paying attention - she'd gotten lost in the corridors of her own mind again. She just had to be more careful. Hoisting herself to her feet, she winced as her palms began to sting.

She stared intensely into the dark at her feet, attempting to make sure whatever it was that tripped her didn't have any extra odds and ends that she could stumble over. It could be a water hose or a bed of snakes or…

She pried at it with her foot, and it toppled over with a barely audibly clatter. Curious, she crouched down and hesitantly felt along the edges of it; the slope, the curve, the dip - she could even put her hand inside! - the point, the heel… it was just a girl's shoe. Weird. Well, she supposed stranger things than girls' shoes could be found in a back alley. She stood up, dusting her hand off on her skirt.

She looked ahead- in the dim, she could barely make out the crossroads before her. She paused, anxiously looking down the three paths open to her. If her sense of direction was worth anything, then the left would take her… Where? Well you couldn't go wrong with straight, right? Or maybe right? She sighed - there was only one real way to settle this.

She counted them off. "Eeny, meeny, miny, mo!" She smiled feeling somehow uplifted again. Eeny, meny, miny, mo hadn't failed her yet. Left it was.


She ground her hips wantonly against his, mewling in his ears with ragged whimpers of barely contained pleasure. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers fiercely tangled in his hair as she brought his face to hers, crashing their lips together. The hot cavern of her mouth was inviting, welcoming, and he had never been one to refuse an invitation. Hell, he took liberties without them. She moaned into his mouth as he gnawed at her lips. He'd drawn blood from those perfect lips before but by this time she wouldn't have noticed. Hell, by the time he had started greedily sucking on the cut he had created, she'd just about come. He'd be lying if he couldn't say she'd been a good fuck - not the best, by far - but damn good, all things considered. She rode him like a pro, like a good bitch should, and he grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking her head fiercely to the side as ran his tongue up and down the length of her neck.

She groaned aloud, the blunt ends of her fingernails boring into his scalp - not that he even felt it, much less cared, he was satisfied for the night. Five rounds of this and the bitch's legs were going to snap like twigs once he dropped her. His grip had broken them long before, but by this time she was numb, she was blind. All she was aware of, all she cared about was this; the pleasure, the act, the fucking.

But it was getting late, and fuck it, good fucking or no, he was getting hungry. He'd had this one riding his dick for a couple of days now, it was about time to bring in some new merchandise anyway. She'd been a good bitch for sure, but he was easily bored. He'd been tame with her, bitch should feel proud he'd even been in the mood to go that far, any other time she'd have been a bloody smear on a wall by now. But no, he couldn't do that kinda shit anymore, cause they were fucking hiding and shit like that was too noticeable. Fuck, this being on the run shit was getting on his last fucking nerves.

It would have been amusing to rip her head off mid moan; watch it spin on the concrete, watch the spasmodic twitch of her headless body, watch it writhe and twist - that was some funny shit. But nooo… no more of that, not unless he was bringing a snack home, and fuck that, it was too much effort, knocking a bitch out and carrying her back. Too much damn effort to be wasted on fucking food.

He hissed under his breath at the bull shit that was eating, and placed his hands on both sides of her head, twisting her head viciously to the side, licking his lips at the wet snap that followed, her body visibly crumbling against his. Shame! It would have been nice to hear her scream some more!

Ah well, tomorrow he'd get himself a screamer. Visibly, against her body, there shone a faint flickering outline, a glow that lit her limp body. He frowned. Her soul wasn't anywhere near as black as it should've been. Guess the bitch wasn't as much of a slut as he thought. Fucking liar! She better be glad she was dead or he'd have killed her for that! When it came to souls, the darker the better! He particularly liked the filthy ones, as black with sin as they could come. They were as close to the real thing as it could get.

He parted his lips, breathing in, smacking his lips as he devoured the putrid soul, relishing the taste. He dropped the limp body, tossed it to the side. He thought about smashing it up a little bit more, just for good measure, but eh, he just wasn't in the mood for any extra shit today.

It wasn't until he prepared to torch the body that he noticed the other chick. Not the other two, fuck no, those bitches were dead as door knobs. It was the other chick - walking anxiously down the alley, fumbling around in the dark. She stumbled, wringing her hands as her pace quickened. She couldn't see him, couldn't see the hastily discarded corpses, but he could see her.

Fuck. See? This was the drawback of being stuck in this shitty body. If he'd been anywhere close to himself, bitch wouldn't have even made it past the alley before he would have been torching her ass - her rather fairly rounded ass, if he could've guessed. He couldn't see half as good in this shit, couldn't smell half as good in this shit. Hell, even the taste of dinner was muted in this shit. If a soul wasn't blacker than all hell, he wouldn't even taste it sliding down his throat. He'd passed his quota for the day fucking hours ago, so he could just let the bitch go, she would pass by him without noticing anything, as poor as her fucking human eyesight was. He was glad as hell his hadn't gotten that bad or they would have never gotten shit done.

She was right up on him before he got a whiff of her, the bitch smelled nice. Familiar, too. In the dark, he narrowed his eyes at her, running them greedily up and down the length of her body, and the smile was on his face before he ever saw hers. Hell, he'd recognized those appetizing tits anywhere! That plump ass itself had looked familiar. It was his lucking fucking day!

His grimed widened considerably, as unawares, Orihime Inoue strode anxiously past him.

He nearly laughed aloud - fear looked so fucking nice on her! He could smell it, the bridled terror that had her on edge, that made her nibble at those succulent lips, that made her hands tremble and sent a barely visibly tremor up and down the length of those legs. Bitch was alive! Who the fuck would've known? And here he'd thought one of those other bastards had called dibs on her! But she wasn't marked as future prey, hell, there wasn't a damn scent on her. Shame on the fucking bastard who let her get away unharmed!

He grinned malevolently as he stalked behind her- this was a duty, right? As far as he was concerned, the bitch hadn't learned her place was at all, and she thought she would be fine, that there weren't going to be repercussions for her poking that cute little nose where it didn't belong. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. She was clouded with the faint scent of an innocent.

And the way her ass moved in that skirt! This had to be the fucking best day ever- he stretched out a long arm to grab a handful of that ginger colored hair- or maybe she was a lucky bitch. She should consider herself fortunate for what he was about to do to her, there'd been a time when women had begged him for this, crawled on their knees and begged.

He'd forgotten that he'd ever been satisfied, the hunger back with a vengeance as he grabbed her, grabbed her by the length of her hair and pulled. The effect was immediate. The shrill scream of terror that exploded from between her lips was fucking music to his fucking ears! He laughed aloud as he swung her around, snatched her by her shoulders and shoved her back against the wall. Her pained gasp of surprise as a tremor raced through her body, the way her eyes widened and gleamed in the dark, the fear, the fucking fear! He lived for shit like this, for ruining clean, good little girls like this-! She opened her mouth to scream and he shoved his thumb in, prying it open further. She gurgled in surprise, her tongue running hastily over the appendage, and the warmth of it against his flesh was enough to make him want to throw her to her knees right there. She tried to swing her arms against him. The bitch thought her pathetic punches were capable of anything? He grabbed her flailing arms and slammed them above her head. She whimpered, a broken cry strangled in her throat as she tried to shake herself free of him, but he pried her legs apart with his, pinned them to the cold wall.

Those gorgeous eyes, with that pretty, pretty edge of horror in them had already spilled over, hot trails running down the length of her cheeks. She had no idea, no fucking idea who he was, what he was, or she'd have fucking peed herself by now, lost her fucking mind by now…

He grinned into her face, drawing closer to her, to feel her ragged intakes of breath against his neck, let her see the darkness in his eyes, let him relish the fear in hers.

"The darling princess! Do you know why good little girls don't wander dark alleys this time of night? No?"

He grabbed a hold of her face, shaking her head roughly up and down. A particularly marvelous and appetizing sob racked her chest.

"Didn't ya' know, little girl? The monsters come out at night. And ya' know what else? There's nothing monsters love more than stupid little girls and pampered princesses…"

She trembled beneath him, futilely attempting to wrench her face out of his iron grip, wriggling her body to try and squirm out of his grasp. What a silly bitch! Stupid tricks like that were for kids, and hadn't he told her already? He was a fucking monster.

He bent his head, lapped his tongue roughly down the slender column of her neck, feeling the erratic pounding of her pulse jump beneath his tongue.

She was about to find out.


"I'm as surprised as you are, he's never exactly been the type to just let things go like this. Sure, he had far too much sense to kill her, and especially since she's such a well known figure in this area. But on the other hand, it wouldn't have taken much effort for him to find out her true motives- she was spying on us you know. He's particularly good at that I would say. If she so much as begins to suspects anything at all… but it really is due to these inefficient bodies. If we had noticed her sooner she could have been effectively handled."

He sighed into his palm, letting his finger toy around the edge of his glass, admiring the color and density of the liquid within it. It was an admirable experiment indeed, despite being conceived in boredom. He looked across the counter at the heavier, sturdier built, dark skinned man, efficiently swirling a rag around in an attempt to clean the bottom of a glass. He bent to place it back into the cabinets beneath the counter, surprising for someone of his build. Syazel let his eyes roam around the dimly lit bar. The chairs had already been placed atop the tables, the door locked, the Open sign flicked off.

He leaned against the counter, raising an eyebrow as he watched the man place assorted bottles of alcohol into an appeasing arrangement within the glass cabinets that lined the wall behind the counter, the rag tucked into his bag back pocket. Syazel sighed, taking the glass up in his hand and swirling the amber liquid around and around.

"My, my, Zommari, you sure as hell live up to your name sake, that's for sure. You really took this whole 'Intoxication' thing literally…"

Once he was finished with his task, Zommari quietly locked the liquor cabinet, and turned to his brother, watching the way his eyes peered curiously at him over the rim of his wire framed glasses. His voice was low, quiet, and meditative, when he spoke.

"We all have our callings."

Syzael let loose a low bark of laughter, placing the glass to his lips and taking a swig, draining the glass before he placed it back on the counter. He could barely feel the burn of it. It would no doubt take many more of these to even get him buzzed, much less drunk. These humans… intoxicating themselves, drowning their sorrows, their despair, their fear and worries in glass after glass of this. If only it were so easy; finding out how many of the glasses it would take before he too could be like that would be something worth discovering. He pushed his glasses further up the length of his nose, ran a hand through his hair as he stared into the dark eyes of his brother.

"Callings, huh? You sound like a mad man. Hollows don't know of such things."

Zommari stared at him quietly for a moment, with that unsettling gaze that was unsettling like Ulquiorra's, but different, because behind it was more than emptiness. There was a funny kind of warmth that he sometimes could kid himself he could actually feel, as a ridiculous a notion as that was. He eyed the cross around Zommari's neck, though that alone was enough to make him burst into bitter laughter sometimes. A Hollow with religion. Who would have thought? Of all the absurd, ridiculous things…

Zommari face remained impassive, as he watched Syazel's eyes wander around the length of the bar. There was a particular reason why he was surprised to find his bespectacled brother at his bar this time of night. He did not often see them- not since Syazel had foregone the university route in lieu of a position that gave him more accessibility to two of his favorite things- technology and knowledge. He was particularly interested in studying human anatomy, diseases and plights. There was a particular reason from his distance from the rest of his brethren- and Syazel had just represented it- a difference in had faith that there was hope for them yet. The rest had long since given up. They all mocked and refuted the idea of salvation, denied the peace it would bring them. He had been the only one.

He didn't hold it against them.

Syazel brought his gaze back to Zonmari, leaning forward again onto the counter, motioning for him to take the empty glass. As Zommari grabbed it with a heavy hand, an admirable feat, for how delicately he managed to handle it, Syazel spoke.

"-But Zommari, you know what I find so strange?"

Zommari tucked his head to show he was listening, as he grabbed the rag from his back pocket and swiped it around the inside of the glass. Syazel eyed the motion of his hands for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he thought of the irregularity of such a simple action, of such a simple refusal those green eyes had given him.

"Ulquiorra has never been one to keep secrets or withhold important information- even the slightest of things- if it had any possibility of endangering us. Hell, if there had been a chick on the corner who had asked him his name one too many times, we would have known about it. That's part of the reason why we've been able to do this shit for so long without being discovered. But this was the first time, you hear me, the first time…"

And he thought of those emerald eyes, that blank face, closed off, but not as usual. Detached, not just from the rest of the world, but from them, as he hadn't just been ignoring them for once, but completely unaware of them. Syazel had never known that guy's mind to be pre-occupied with anything, not when nothing could catch his attention, not when every single thing around him was beneath him, trash. And he thought of that guy, that same guy who consistently warned them about making foolish mistakes, letting such a big deal go. Letting that girl go.

"…the first time he didn't tell us fucking anything. I was curious- we all were- how did he handle it? How much did she hear? What did she suspect? What did she know? Who would she tell? All questions of vital importance for beings like us, who have to rely on such things for survival. Know what he said? It was none of our concern. That he'd effectively handled it himself. That there was no need for us to be involved in something so trivial."

Zommari noticed the anxious gleam in his brother's eyes, and placed the glass and rag on the counter, pulling out a stool so that he could sit himself comfortably. As slight an action as it was, as insignificant as it should have been, it was made all the more jarring considering the one it'd came from.

"…What do you suspect?"

Syazel scoffed. "What do you mean 'what do I suspect'? If it were Grimmjow or Nnoitra, it would be hell of a lot easier to guess. Either she got the shit beat out of her and wouldn't talk if you paid her, or she's so emotionally scarred, all she'll be able to do is beg for her mother to make the memories go away. This isn't either one of them. This is Ulquiorra. Your guess is as good as mine."

There was a brief silence.

"…You said she was well known?"

Syazel scoffed again, this time with a half-hearted smile as he waved his hand away in jest.

"You've heard of this one before- small town, there's always that girl. Everybody loves her, everybody adores her, everybody's her friend… Hell she was even friendly to Grimmjow, that uncouth ill-mannered beast, of all people. Leads me to believe her reputation is well deserved, if she can speak to… that without losing a limb, at the least a couple of teeth. I'd seen her a couple of times, she sometimes accompanies the lady that runs the apartments to and from her hospital visits. She's so fucking cheerful about everything it'll make you sick to your stomach. She talks to those old farts in their wheel chairs, reeking of death, and can make them forget… it's such a curious thing. People like her remind me all the time, all these years, I still don't know shit about what it means to be human. What about you? Seems to me sometimes like you've forgotten you're monster."

He narrowed his eyes as he saw the pity in Zommari's gaze. He swallowed the curse on his breath, it was pointless. There were better things to get annoyed about, he had potential problems to solve, when it got like this he could think in text, think in organs and bodily functions. Think of monitors and blood pressure and other things. He stood up abruptly.

"Well Zommari it's been fun-"

"…What's her name?"

He paused, eyes widening in disbelief as he looked at the massive man, but his face was serious, his mouth set as he asked. Syazel quirked an eyebrow at the bizarre question, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Her name's Inoue Orihime."

"…I would like to meet her."

And he did laugh at that, even though he knew Zommari had asked seriously, with all his intent behind it. It wasn't meant to be taken as a joke, but it might as well have been.

"If you're ever granted that wish, it won't be because of anything good. She'll either be with us… or dead."


She was having a really scary dream, that's what it had to be. It was really weird, one of those freaky deaky dreams where she had to wonder if it was happening at all, and she didn't want to think too hard about that, because it was far too frightening to be real. Because the rough hands, the fierce and cruel strength of those hands viciously running up the length of her body, the slimy appendage running down her neck, suckling hard enough to bruise… couldn't have happened in anything but a nightmare.

She tried to hum herself deeper into sleep. That usually worked when the haze set in, when the fog over came her and her mind started to drift away from reality. But this time her imaginary clouds of suppressed fantasies weren't filled with emerald eyes and cold hands, but slimy smiles and wicked grins. She didn't like them- she wished they would go away. She wished they would go away.

She didn't know if the tears were real or not, didn't know if this was real or not, but what she did know, what she could feel through the haze was a certain degree of numbness. She had to have been a secret super woman, impervious to pain. She was invincible, and undefeatable. She could use her enormous strength to beat the tar out of her nemesis, Slimy Smile, she'd kick the teeth out of his wicked grin. And she'd swoop back down to adoring applause… Who knew she was that great! Who knew she was that awesome?

Tatsuki would ask her to share her secrets on how to complete a teeth smashing roundhouse that could bring even the slimiest smilers to their knees. Rukia would tell her she could hardly believe that her crush didn't like her back. And then she would remember- how could she have let herself forget? But her eyes would search the crowd in vain, no green eyes and ghostly pale skin.

But it was fine! She would fly to his house, kick his doors in, swoop him into her arms, maybe spin madly around the room- and it was funny, she could see him, trying his best to keep a straight face next to her smiling one, right up until the part where the lights dimmed and the spotlight was on them, and she'd rip off her uniform, be in the slinky red dress, nab a rose between her teeth, waltz all over his living room. To cheers and whistles she'd dip him low, tell him he was all she ever wanted in a man. And she wouldn't be embarrassed, because super women did that kind of stuff all the time, and pull him back up to his feet, jerk him closer, an arm around his waist, her hand in his. And no matter how hard she tried to imagine a smile, all she could get was that impassive frown. But it was fine, she'd dance him through every room in his house, right down to the basement. She liked that he played hard to get.

And she thought of the samba; him, frowning in a pancho and sombrero as she danced around him barefoot, shaking her maracas for all she was worth. And then, change time! The disco ball would drop from the ceiling, the lights would dim, rainbow colored beams bouncing all around the room, dazzling her, and then she'd be in platform heels and spandex, maybe a green jump suit for him. Aw, no good- still that frown! But it was fine, she could think of plenty more, because then it was time for the warehouse rave! And there she was, in a room pulsating with people, deafening with music that could blow your brains out. Dancing in a cage, glow in the dark neon rings draped around her neck and ankles, her wrists and hips, she looked out over the crowd to find him. There were so many people! So much noise, her inhibitions lost in the pulsating wave of noise, dazzled by the swirling lights.

And immediately, she spotted him, standing out as awkwardly as they came, the green eyed elephant in the room. He was in the center of a would be mosh pit of teens weirding out on ecstasy and all that other weird stuff Tatsuki told her rave people did. And he was looking bored as ever, with those over-sized headphones on his ears and a light up pacifier in his mouth, coolly making his way to the door.

She wanted to laugh at him, until her stomach ached and tears of mirth traveled down her face. Wasn't he having fun? Wasn't this awesome? Because she was having fun trying to help him have fun, she was having fun trying to make him smile, because he really needed this, he really needed to learn what it was like, and she was going to teach him how to feel and maybe one day… maybe one day…he would even like her back.

Maybe…but she was suddenly acutely aware of the roving hands, the wandering mouth against her, scorching against her fevered skin. And then she lost herself in the maybes, and let the dark take her.

"What have you fucking done!"

He snarled, his clawed hands at Nnoitra's throat, and burrowing steadily deeper into the flesh of his cold neck. The girl was sprawled out on the filth of the cold alley floor, her hair sprawled around her face in a ginger colored wave, her golden skin a beacon in the night. She lay on her side, her legs out spread, one arm drawn up to her chest, the other thrown haphazardly in front of her, the front of her shirt had been torn to shreds, the silk of her bra viciously shredded, the scraps of the fabric littered around her, various buttons and snaps and ties of her clothing scattered across the alley floor.

She looked broken.

He'd only been on this side of town by chance, by mother fucking chance. And what a bitch this was! He'd just had to deal with everyone else's speculations, their wonderings about Ulquiorra's questionable response for how he'd dealt with her, and wouldn't you fucking know it, this shit up and happens! Was this chick suicidal or what? Seriously, how many fucking bad things could happen to one fucking chick in a fucking day? He'd never seen such an unlucky bitch! But there she was, lying there like a fucking bird, her eyes half lidded and blank, and hell she wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything but lying there. And he wanted to yell at her, fucking shake her, shit make her do anything but lie there looking like…that.

The sight pissed him off so much, he tightened his grip on the putrid neck of the shifty eyed man-, lifted him forward, and hurled him back against the concrete wall hard enough to make the building shake and cracks begin to spider web across the moldy bricks.

It took everything in him not to snap the man's fucking neck, and he was sorely tempted. Hell, a few broken bones wouldn't kill him, not now, when his breath reeked of virgin blood and he was freshly fed, it would hurt like a bitch but he wouldn't die. Nnoitra's face grew grim considerably fast, and Grimmjow thoroughly enjoyed the way that slimy, disgusting smile vanished from his face. He lagged his tongue out of his mouth, flashing that 'five' tattoo that he wore so horribly well.

"C'mon now Grimmjow, what's it to ya? She came up while I was feedin'. Ya know how those things can go, once the instincts kick in, she smelled nice and I was in the mood for an extra snack. Can you blame me?"

What did he mean could you fucking blame him! When that damn chick…! The one Ulquiorraof all the fucking people in the fucking world had spared, was lying half dead on the fucking ground looking like she was fucking broken!

It wasn't even because he was especially righteous or any shit like that, if she wasn't so fucking stupid maybe he wouldn't feel so obligated about this. It wasn't like he'd never seen a dead body, hell, he'd been the cause of death most of the times he'd seen one. Maybe it was because she was too dumb to live, she reminded him too much of Nel kind of, a wide eyed imbecile who was too damn friendly and just look with that kinda shit got you. Half dead, half naked in a back alley. If she hadn't been so fucking friendly!

Maybe it was because he'd gotten his fair share of ass whooping for exactly the kind of shit Nnoitra was pulling right now. And oh mother fucking joy, the victim this time just happened to be the bitch in question. He could already for see how this was going to end, and he damn sure wasn't looking forward to it.

"This is exactly the kind of fucking shit we were trying to avoid you fucking bastard! And what the fuck are you even fucking doing feeding on this side of town dip shit! You might as well invite the Shinigami over for a fucking tea party! Aw fuck, I can't even believe this shit! That bastard is going to have our asses on a platter for this! And you couldn't just get some bitch out the gutter who nobody would know, that fucking princess? You better pray she's alive or so help me I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He slammed the spindly form of Nnoitra into the wall once more for good measure, twice and then three times just because he was positive he was going to get the shit knocked out of him for this some way or another, and he didn't even have anything to fucking do with it this time! Disgusted, he hurled Nnoitra away from him, eyeing the way the puncture wounds in his neck healed up, leaving only the black stains of the dried blood behind.

"Oh my… well isn't she just so precious! She just passed out, ya? Bitch'll be fine."

He wagged his tongue, and Grimmjow resisted the urge to rip the slimy appendage right out of that vomiting trash pile he called a mouth. But the thought of feeling around up in there, when who knows where that shit had been, disgusted him. The alley was filled with the stink of death, the empty husks of Nnoitra's earlier prey was proof of that. If he'd taken any longer she would've been dead by now.

Jeez! Once again, how many times could a bitch get lucky in one day? First she'd managed to speak to him without losing her fucking teeth and strangely managed to gain his respect, and how the hell had that happened? She'd lived through the horror that was Mr. Nihilistic-I-hate-humans-everything-is-meaningless himself without jumping in front of the first car she saw or hanging herself, and she had narrowly missed being raped in one of the vilest ways imaginable.

And he scowled, clicking his teeth. Good thing too. He wasn't fucking up to doing the whole moving shit again. Too much fucking work, and he kind of liked this little shit hole. It was better than the rest.

Nnoitra walked back over to him, fully recovered, his hands shoved in his pocket and his shoulders hunched in a grotesque way, especially for someone of his height, and he was still able to run his eyes up and down the body of the woman sprawled on the ground.

"It's a shame, ya know, you see those tits? Her body was made with shit like this in mind. You sure ya don't wanna…?"

"Listen, you sick fuck, we are not going to fucking rape her, so get your narrow ass in gear and let's get the fuck out of here before…"

He even didn't get to finish, because then they both felt it, the dip, the flavor of barely contained power wafting in the air. It was a pungent odor of burning candles and incense, the scent of… Grimmjow drew in a breath, wishing he could spit out the smell of the fuckers he hated more than anything else in the fucking world, Ulquiorra included. Nnoitra straightened up, a barely contained curse rolling from his lips.

Grimmjow snarled into the open air, cracking his fists, feeling the power flowing through him. Even with Nnoitra fed, half-assed as he was, he would only get himself killed. And there were two of them. One, perhaps, wasn't worth the effort, but the other was going to be a damn headache. He cursed under his breath, fucking this whole day in general, their situation, that bitch, and most of all Nnoitra.

"Nice going, dipshit. The Shinigami now know we're here."


"My, oh my. You two have found yourselves in quite the predicament."

His room was a complete tornado of clothes and crap, and he never cleaned because he thoroughly believed only bitches and women believed in something so ridiculous, and he was neither. The girl had been hastily thrown onto his crap of a couch, over piles of clothes, magazines, and a whole bunch of other crap he couldn't have been bothered to move just because she was an unconscious girl who had almost been raped. Fuck chivalry.

Syazel leaned over the limp form of the girl, gently prying open her eyelids to peer into her pupils. The grey orbs were hazy and unfocused, blank. He drew himself upward, shaking his head, the irony of this was too scary to be amusing.

"Some manner of self-induced coma. To be more literal with you, gentlemen, she's in a state of extreme shock. How…expected of you, Nnoitra. Not only have you literally drawn the attention of our enemies, you've most likely managed to scar this girl for life. We'll be lucky if she remembers her own name when and if she wakes up. And to be quite honest with you, I'm really looking forward to seeing how our precious brother deals with the two of you. He's always been an adamant disciplinarian. It should be quite interesting to watch."

Grimmjow snarled at his least favorite pink haired faggot of a brother as he paced madly up and down in his room, cursing under his breath and running a calloused hand through his shaggy hair. It fucking figured. Even Syazel knew they were about to get their asses handed to them.

"What the fuck? No porn?"

Nnoitra's long body was spread across one of his broken in arm chairs, his long arm propping up his head as he idly flipped through the television channels with the other, as casually as if this were a normal weekday afternoon and they were not about to pay the fucking pied piper.

Grimmjow was seriously suppressing the urge to pound the fucker's head in.

He scowled at Nnoitra, hell, it felt like that's all he'd been doing for the last couple of minutes.

"Well, aren't you fucking chipper? We better hurry and get our shit together, because when he finds out, I'd prefer only a couple of broken ribs rather than a limb… shit's not fun to grow back."

"Eh? I still don't get why this chick is such a big fucking deal. After all this hassle, I say we just fucking kill her already. So what if he spared her?"

He rounded onto the shifty eyed man, feeling the barely suppressed rage boiling just beneath the surface of his consciousness. Hell, if they'd still been outside…

"What the fuck. Are you on some seriously strong shit or are you just fucking stupid? Hell, we've all figured it out by now! He let her go without fucking doing anything, he won't say anything about what fucking happened, and, get this, mother fucker, he didn't even call her trash! There's something mystical about this bitch or something, and fuck her being unconscious as long as she's not dead, we can just dump her nearby for that old hag to find her, as long as she gets the hell up out of here before…"

And he blinked, a barely restrained curse muffled under his breath as he stumbled back with his fists clenched, his jaw set. Nnoitra practically leaped from the armchair, his eyes wide and his mouth tight as the remote clattered from between his fingers onto the floor. Syazel wisely tucked his head in acknowledgement, taking it upon himself to back away as far as the room allowed for the oncoming massacre, a smug smile on his face.

Grimmjow swallowed viciously, cursing that stupid son of a bitch and his damn sonido. That bastard could really fly when he had the mind to. He tried to keep cool, tried to tell himself to quit being a little bitch, it was only Ulquiorra; only that fucking green eyed, pessimistic, stick in the mud bastard suddenly standing in the middle of his fucking room as if he had been in here the entire time. Ah hell, he could have been, and that was the fucked up part. Despite the change and sudden limitations, Ulquiorra had been able to retain a lot of his former powers. Lucky asshole.

He saw Nnoitra watching Ulquiorra warily, probably trying to judge how much time he was allotted to speak before the inevitable beat down began. Grimmjow didn't even begin to bother with that pointless shit. He wasn't some fucking kid, who had to come up with fucking excuses so brother dearest wouldn't throw him into a fucking corner for a time out. But he knew the rattled, anxious look on Nnoitra's face probably mirrored his own, and that was what really pissed him off about Ulquiorra. He might not have been the strongest yet, but he could still fucking disconcert any of them.

Ulquiorra stood almost casually in the middle of the room, his back as ramrod straight as ever, his hands in his pockets. He was standing perfectly still, and from this angle, Grimmjow couldn't see his face, but from the tilt of his head, it was pretty obvious that he was staring at the girl sprawled out on his couch. And those stupid eyes wouldn't miss a damn thing.

He'd noticed her shallow breathing, and would easily deduce that she was unconscious, not just asleep. From that he would deduce that she'd either been knocked unconscious or had passed out from mental trauma. It would be easy enough for him to determine which, what with the obvious bruises lining the column of her neck and collarbone, her ripped shirt. He'd tried to pull it together, the only real effort he'd made to preserve her modesty- but as she'd laid there, she'd shifted slightly, and without buttons to keep it closed her shirt had drifted open, revealing a thin line of flesh that clearly revealed the sides of her bare breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach, complete with a rather lovely bruise along her right hip from where Nnoitra's hand had grasped her a little too tightly. And of course, it would be easy enough for him to determine who was more at fault here, especially since there was a sickeningly familiar scent wrapped around her body.

Ulquiorra turned his head lightly, and those emerald eyes met his. Yeah, they were still empty, empty and dark as all hell, but if Grimmjow didn't know any better, he could have sworn there was almost a cold, mechanical violence suddenly present behind them. He could almost hear the word Trash reverberating in his ears. The thought made him laugh.

And that's when the cold fist met his face. His ribs broke, all of them. Simultaneously. His arm was lightly pulled, and dislocated. He crumpled to the floor, reeling and cursing and choking on the hot blood and teeth filling his mouth, but grinning because whatever he got was going to be a hell of a lot better than what Nnoitra got.

The thought was immediately confirmed when the torn arm was casually thrown near his face, complete with Nnoitra's anguished snarl of pain and anger, then lost in the midst of a strange gurgle. He hadn't known what it was until the slimy appendage was writhing- with the tattooed side up- directly in front of his face. He laughed again, a hot, steady stream running over his chin, spitting teeth, despite the horrific pain that seized him at the notion. Beat down aside, he wouldn't have to listen to Nnoitra's shit for a while.

"Hey, Ulquiorra, you should tear his dick off, too!"

A foot ground his face into the floor boards for the effort, effectively putting him to sleep for a while. Hell, he couldn't even take a suggestion? Bastard.


He whistled, low and high, underneath his breath at the cold calculated brutality of what had just played out literally before his eyes. If he hadn't seen it… wait, no, he would have still believed it. Hot damn.

"My, my, Ulquiorra! It's been awhile since I've seen you quite so…upset."

Well, anger wasn't exactly the correct word to be tied to a person such as him, who never truly felt anything, nor adopted any pretenses when it came to the well known fact. The blank expression on his face one could hardly liken as to being 'upset.'

Grimmjow was lying face down on the floor, or to be more specific, his head was quite a few feet deep in board and plaster, a hole that would no doubt be filled with blood by morning. What had been interesting to note, however, was that Ulquiorra had not broken his ribs neatly, nor dislocated his shoulder with that infamous precision for which he was known. Instead, the action had been done much more violently, in a way that left him with no doubt that he wanted them to suffer as much as possible from the wounds. And he could only look at Nnoitra and wince, after noting his limp form lying face down in a pool of black blood, what remained of his arm merely a truncated stub. Although he could tell Nnoitra had fed, it would be quite a while before he would be able to use that arm effectively again.

He felt privileged that he had not been punished, simply by association. Still, he warily watched as Ulquiorra flicked the blood from his fingers, before placing his hands back into his pockets. Syazel almost sighed audibly with relief. For the moment at least, the danger had passed.

For the first time, Ulquiorra looked at him, and it was strange because he could have sworn that if he hadn't said anything, those emerald eyes would have stared past him as if he did not exist.

Those strange eyes leveled at him, although he turned neither his head nor his body, but all the same, he felt that deliberate chill run down his spine. Ulquiorra's glance could sicken him for the exact opposite of why Zommari's sickened him. Grimmjow had his pride, Nnoitra his lust, Nel her innocence, even himself- his desire to learn all he could about this world.

Ulquiorra had nothing.

From his words, to his actions, to the depth of those emerald eyes, there was nothing. He did not have friends, he didn't have enemies… perhaps, in his mind there was no one worthy of either. Hell, he didn't even know if Ulquiorra considered any of them to even be comrades. Maybe they were all just filth to him. He had a violent urge to point blank ask the cuatro espada what he was thinking. But he scoffed at the thought. As if he were "worthy" of even that. He was the Octavia, he wasn't supposed to get explanations, he was supposed to give them.

"They deliberately disobeyed my orders and had to be properly reprimanded. Not only are the shinigami now absolutely aware of our presence, but it will not be long before they pin point are location and attempt to uproot us."

He let loose a barely contained sigh of annoyance. Of course. He considerably doubted anything else could go wrong today.

"All that can be done now would only be to delay the inevitable. If we fight the shinigami, their deaths would immediately draw the eye of the Soul Society, and it would not be long after before they would dispatch a team of captains to effectively annihilate us. We are not adequately prepared for such an assault. For the moment, the best course of action would be to avoid even the slightest of detection for a few days. Although they are now certain we are here, it matters not. They are still uncertain towards our identities. I however, am completely aware of theirs."

Syazel nearly went through the roof at the news, gaping wordlessly for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply to stop the frustration from showing on his face. Oh, of course!

"And…exactly when did you become aware of this? Fine time to just… drop this bomb on us Ulquiorra."

"I am not one to spout incorrect information just because it suits your purposes, Octavia. I had to be absolutely certain that my deductions were correct before I deemed it necessary to reveal what I have discovered. For the sake of security, I will reveal this information only to you, the primera, segundo, and tres. The others will not be made aware simply because of the sensitive nature of the persons involved, and simply because they lack the mental capabilities to maintain control of their emotions in light of the present circumstances."

He almost rolled his eyes. Well, shouldn't he feel special? "Fair enough. Who are the shinigami we're dealing with?"

"Rukia Kuchiki and Ichigo Kurosaki, both in attendance at the Karakura University in which we are currently enrolled."

He paused, his eyes wide as he rubbed them, feeling the strain. He had long since grown past the point of surprise. Being surprised would only make him look weak. He'd learned from past experiences to just roll with the punches when it came to Ulquiorra, anything other than that was nothing short of incompetence.

"Guess they weren't too far off base were they? What else have you deduced thus far?"

He paused, and Syazel could almost imagine him flipping through his mental file cabinet. Ulquiorra's deduction skills were not only impeccable, but impossibly accurate. There was nothing he could not discern with time. And he could vividly relay and recall anything he had seen or heard with perfect clarity. Anything those green eyes of his could not see, and he could not find the words to properly explain, did not exist.

"Rukia Kuchiki is the Shinigami. I can safely assume that this district is under her supervision, but as of yet I am unable to accurately deduce to what cause I can attribute her allowing the boy, Kurosaki Ichigo to siphon from her powers. Currently, he is merely a 'Substitute'. I am uncertain as to whether or not Soul Society is aware of this, but it is highly unlikely as allowing such trash to play Shinigami is surely considered a serious offence. For now, we are not in any present danger, the current level at which Kurosaki Ichigo's power resides can hardly be considered a threat, due to how rapidly it fluctuates, as well as the instability of his spiritual pressure."

He nodded, a hand under his chin as he seriously considered the delicate situation in which they found themselves. This town was a lit keg ready to blow. If Soul Society had not yet discovered Rukia Kuchiki's insubordination, it would not be long before they did. Although she would most likely be considered a traitor because of it, whose words would hardly be acknowledged, there was still a possibility that the Shinigami dispatched to deal with her would become aware of them. In which case, delaying the inevitable would be all they could do.

He sighed, already feeling the headache brewing behind his eyes. He suddenly understood the desire of wanting a drink. His eyes wandered to the prone body of the girl, still sprawled out on the couch. It really was all of her fault. If he'd have known then what a headache her simple action was going to snowball into, he'd have dealt with her himself, consequences be damned.

"Well? And what does sparing this girl have to do with any of this?"

He watched carefully, attempting to see if the question had caught Ulquiorra by surprise, or at the least, caused any visible reaction in him. Ulquiorra's face remained as cold and unyielding as ever. Syazel sighed abruptly in defeat. He was just too good at this.

"Orihime Inoue is a fellow classmate of Rukia Kuchiki and a longtime acquaintance of Kurosaki Ichigo. Her sudden disappearance and injury would only raise their defenses, invoke their anger, and hasten their desires to find the ones responsible. They consider her a 'friend'. They have effectively proven more than once to be reckless when any harm comes to their immediate comrades."

He blinked with surprise at the news, as a lot of things suddenly clicking into place and made sense as his eyes drifted between the still prone form of the girl and Ulquiorra's impassive face. He nearly smiled at his own stupidity. Looks like they'd all been wrong about him…as usual.

"And I suppose that's the true reason for why you spared her then."

"Correct."

"I see…she is quite the trouble maker isn't she? Which leads me to my next question: we are still uncertain as to what she knows and whom she may tell. There is honestly no way of knowing at which point she lost consciousness, based on the assumption that Nnoitra had full intentions of raping and eating her, he may have gotten careless and allowed her to see his face, at which it would be extraordinarily difficult to convince her otherwise. If she did manage to lose consciousness before catching a glimpse of his face, then simply returning her to her home would be more than enough to convince her tonight was simply a bad dream. But that's the gamble: how are we to know? What can we assume? What do you think? I'm curious to hear how you plan to resolve this potential problem."

And he was. After all, it was quite the unusual circumstance, to say they were stuck between a rock and a hard space was more of an understatement. If this situation was not quickly resolved, and thoroughly handled, perhaps the tedious process of wiping themselves from existence would have to be repeated, a process that largely fell to his jurisdiction, and one which he was not eagerly anticipating. Although he really had no say in the matter whatsoever.

"Orihime Inoue also resides within this apartment complex. I will personally escort her downstairs to her living quarters."

He raised his head at a slight noise jarring in the deathly silence of the room, and what he saw nearly made him topple over in disbelief. Ulquiorra had gathered the girl into his arms, holding her carefully so that she would not awaken, but painfully awkwardly, holding her body as far away from his as his arms would allow, so that her arms hung limply in the air, her head thrown back, her hair toppling down in a straight line. It was literally gold. He was crushed between the desire to laugh hysterically at the blank, look in Ulquiorra's eyes, which instead of being instilled with his usual antipathy, seemed almost as if he were baffled at how one went about holding a woman. If Grimmjow had not been headfirst in the floor boards, he surely would have made sure Ulquiorra knew how ridiculous he looked.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that the image presented was so…wrong. Everything about it was wrong, clashed in a way that instead of being endearing, was downright questionable. The warmth of her bronzed skin, from days of practice far into sunset, was ill matched against the deathly pale pallor of his. That long ginger mane and that inky black one. The color in her cheeks and the coldness in his. If he'd ever seen them together before, his eyes would have followed them far into the distance. He tried to think of an analogy for it, but as cliché as it was, Beauty and the Beast was all that came to mind. And it was literally past the point of irony.

But this was their fearless leader! Syazel turned and coughed into his palm, to mask the snort of laughter that broke through his calm façade. And dammit his cell phone battery was far too low to capture this! Not that he would have lived long to tell if it wasn't. Ulquiorra turned to leave, the limp body of the girl still held in mid-air, far away from his chest. Syazel thought about admitting to him that what he was doing was absolutely no way to hold a woman, he made it look like she was some sacrificial maiden about to be thrown from a cliff to be crushed against the rocks of a treacherous sea below, but he decided he valued his life- and his tongue- far too much.


She hobbled up the stairway, cursing her bad back, her diabetes, indigestion, glaucoma, arthritis, and whatever the hell else it was god had decided to bless her with. Growing old sucked. And she was a living testament of that! Bah! If she was still young and pretty, then maybe she wouldn't be worrying so much about young girls travestying around this time of night. She supposed now-a-days, this was what the young un's were doing, staying out this late after sunset, with their damn teen bars and 'clubs' and boys with the funny haircuts and the tight jeans and the earrings on their faces. She scoffed as she arrived on the landing, grumbling about the injustice under her breath. Why in her day they had real men! Gentlemen! With manners and devishly handsome good looks, not pansies and pussies with problems and guy liner…

Mrs. Mimi turned the corner onto Orihime's floor mid grumble, and came face to face with a man. Or to be more specific, a man carrying one wasted, passed out, drunk as a skunk Orihime (or at least that was how she saw it.)

And the worry, the anger, the pissed off rant she'd saved about troubling youth and date rape and LSD and it's magical wonders flew from her mind, and the Cheshire like smile crept swiftly over her crinkled face. She cackled eerily in the dark, wishing for all the world Orihime was awake to be properly embarrassed by her secret being found out. That deceptive girl! Hiding this from her! Well she'd taught the girl something after all!

She hurriedly hobbled eagerly over to him in the dark, and he (wisely) stood still as she approached. And she said wisely because if he even dared to think he could weasel his way out of some very aggressive questioning, he didn't know the tenacity of an old fart with nothing better to do than get in on her favorite tenant's business.

"Now this is some juicy shit. So you're the one she's been hiding from me eh? I knew it all along I tell you! If it's one thing an old hag like me knows, it's when a girl is giving the nookie to some sharp eyed young man! I used to be the type in my youth you know. Now let me get a good look at you…"

She looked him up and down as she approached. Her eyesight was horrid in the dark, but he had a nice height on him. Not exactly towering mind you, but just tall enough to make the girl feel like a woman in his arms. His posture was perfectly straight, his back a straight line. 'Heh! Girl must know what they say about a man with good posture!'

She couldn't see his face in the dark per say, but what she could clearly see, was his vivid, emerald eyes, glowing like beacons in the dark. She let out a low whistle. She'd only seen eyes like that a few times along the course of her life, and they had all belonged to men who could charm a woman naked faster than she could blink. She was almost jealous.

But what she did notice, was the strange way he was holding her; for a moment, she thought it was because he was just being a douche, but the more she thought about it, the sexier it seemed. From her height, the strange positioning of it was surely so he could feast those eyes on her body without any obstructions… this way, he could look at her and walk at the same time. The kid was brilliant! And then she noticed what was really going on with Orihime. A night wind ghosted down the walkway, lifting the edge of her unbuttoned shirt to reveal the most jarring detail of all, the one that nearly made her face crack and almost gave her a heart attack. Silly girl wasn't wearing a bra!

She laughed, the sound dry and dusty in the dark, as she pounded her chest to stop herself from choking on it, a very real threat when you were literally as old as dirt.

"Well! Looks like she finally put some of those stories to use! You young man, have thoroughly gained my approval! You seem like such the straight laced type, but you're just like my second husband! Pretty eyes, quiet, not very sociable, but wherever he wanted it, whenever he wanted it- by George he got it! He was insatiable! The weariness afterwards! The rug burn! The lawsuits! But my god was it worth it! There's no harm in telling an old woman like me… where did this happen? How did it happen?"

She leaned forward eagerly, giggling like a school girl as her mind raced with far off fantasies and memories she had long since abandoned, but youth! And to think that sweet girl was just like her in spirit! It was refreshing, welcoming, but she missed those green eyes blinking at her as she was lost in a haze of reflection.

"…she was attacked in a back alley."

The older woman whirled on him fiercely, her dark eyes aglow.

"Well, my, my! Must you make it sound so sexy? You animal you! You attacked her in a back alley? My, the darling child is a girl after my own heart, yes she is! I can only imagine! Such a public place, never knowing exactly when someone would walk by, the thrill of being caught, of being discovered- oh the thrill! It makes my heart race just thinking about it! And honey, with a voice like that you could get it anywhere you pleased! It must be nice to be young and adventurous! Well there's been more than enough to sate this old woman for the night, you've gotten my blood pressure up, telling me things like that and so frankly! You're an admirable young man, she's a lucky lucky girl to have you I say! Don't let me stop you, head right on in, I'm sure there's more on your mind than sleep after something like that, eh? You dog, you! And don't you tell her you told me anything, it's going to fun enough for me to keep a straight face when she feeds me that old bull about not having a man! Night to the both of you!"

And she unlocked the door for him, ushering him hurriedly inside, already eagerly imagining what kind of naughty situations they were probably about to get involved in now as she shuffled back downstairs. And didn't that one have a voice on him! Aw it took her back to her fifth husband, a voice like that made her reminisce about blind folds and handcuffs, whips and candle wax. She sighed wistfully into the night.

How good it was to be young!


AN:/Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or anything Disney does. I need my money thank you very much.

if this chapter seems unusually awesome, it's only because equitablyinjust is SO FRICKEN AWESOME. Seriously. I GROVEL before her superior editing skills. You guys will never know the horror of what this chapter was like before she spruced it up. Love ya girl.

Anyway, thanks for all my reviews, I think I managed to reply to everyone this time, if I didn't DON'T YOU GO ANYWHERE I'LL GET TO YOU. Well maybe we got some questions answered this chapter? Or maybe I raised more? Also, back alleys are never for the faint of heart. You never know when you might find Nnoitra in one!

And also, has anyone ever done a 50 first dates Ulquihime style? That would be awesome. I lol'd so much when Orihime was thinking of all the things she wanted to do with Ulquiorra. The samba, waltzing, and I KID YOU NOTI literally choked on my own saliva while writing the rave one. (Mostly because I do in fact have a neon light up pacifier and mega large headphones.)

But anyway, I challenge someone to do that. LIKE RIGHT NOW. I do believe I lack the comedy gene necessary to pull it off accurately (aw heck I might try it later) but I would love to see someone else take a stab at it! Anyway, see you guys next chapter!