Hello all!

I know it's been ages since I've had the chance to update. There hasn't been much time to write anything that doesn't involve college papers. This chapter isn't as long, nor am I particularly fond of it, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway.

This chapter starts one of what I hope becomes many that incorporate subtle ideas I've worked into this story. They might become obvious by the end, but I'm not going to outright say what's going on. That's for you to figure out.

A quick thank you to my friend and beta AiryAquarius as well as to copperscript for helping sort out all the issues with this chapter!

Onwards!

General Chapter Warnings: hints of anxiety/depression, hints of abuse

Disclaimer: I do not own or have any rights to Bleach or Disney.

Sing the Bells

Chapter 2: Everything Is Topsy Turvy

I can't believe 'm doin' this.

Scaling down the cool, shaded stone of smooth walls and carved statues and taking a steady leap, Shiro now crouched next to a pair of saintly feet, the base of one of the many large figures lining the exterior walls of Notre Dame. A black cloak draped across his shoulders, helping him to blend in with the shadows of the stone statues. A hood completely drawn up aided in shrouding Shiro's features, his snowy locks and skin hidden within its shadow. Despite the discouraging visit from Judge Aizen, Shiro's dreams won over his master's advice – a chance to experience the festival, to see the people and enjoy the celebration, was worth the risk. Although he knew the townsfolk wouldn't easily accept him, just as Aizen said, he still ached to spend one day out there among them, free from the stone confines of the cathedral. And so, there he sat and watched as a procession of people entered the square, dressed in billowing dark robes and holding banners while chanting in song. The bell ringer's head cocked to the side in curiosity, golden eyes gleaming beneath the hood.

Shiro then took the final leap from where he hid, vaulting over a stone railing and landing firmly on the cobblestone streets of the square. Almost immediately, it seemed, he found himself in the middle of a very large, very animated crowd of peasants, surrounded and drawn in by the seas of people, just in time to catch the end of the procession's chant.

"Come and join the Feast . . . of . . ."

"Fools!"

With the climax of the chanting song and blares of hidden trumpets, a gypsy burst forth from behind the cloaked figures with a wide grin, arms spread and a laugh in his voice. Cheers and whistles filled the air at the festival's master of ceremonies' grand appearance and were soon joined by steady streams of paper confetti that rained down from the sky, coating the celebrating peasants and their entire city square in the brightly colored strips. Shiro watched as the gypsy man began to dance about bedecked in his jester costume – a vivid combination of violet, indigo, and golden yellow to decorate a set of mismatching tights and tunic, complete with a feathered hat and ridiculous shoes. Each of the gypsy's steps was accentuated with jingling bells, the little golden spheres dancing along on the man's shirt and shoes.

The remaining cloaked figures tore off their disguises, revealing even more gypsies to join their leader. Seven in all, the group was fittingly dressed in vibrant hues, just as colorful as the jester that stood before them. Even with their features hidden behind elaborate masks, Shiro could see the gypsies' eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. After all, it was the one day of the year when everyone's inner devil was released to cause havoc and delight all bundled up into one lively, colorful, and festive package. Shiro's gaze was drawn back to the lead gypsy as the jester let out another exuberant laugh and gathered the celebrating people's attention by hopping onto a makeshift stage set up in the square.

From the higher position, the young bell ringer could make out ochre eyes hiding behind the man's violet mask and blonde hair reaching down to about his chin.

"Yes, yes!" he called, his voice carrying across the crowds and causing the people to hush a small fraction to hear the man speak. "Come one, come all! For it's the one time of year, ladies and gentlemen, where we turn all of Paris upside down! The day for breaking rules and acting crazy has finally arrived, when no one is safe from our wicked fun!" Brief shouts and whistles proclaimed the crowd's excitement. The blonde gypsy chuckled, his wide, piano-tooth grin seeming to grow with each passing moment. With his arms spread in the air, he declared, "Now, then, without further ado, citizens of Paris, enjoy yourselves, for once again it's topsy turvy day at the Feast of Fools!"

The atmosphere instantly crackled with the people's enthusiasm as cheers erupted once more, loud and long for the opening festivities. All around Shiro the townsfolk were milling about, dancing and swaying together, some already drunk from beer and wine, as music and song lifted into the air. And just as he stepped away, reaffirming his own desires to explore the Feast of Fools, golden orbs met the dancing honey ochre of the master of ceremonies. Shiro found himself frozen in place as the gypsy fixated his devious gaze upon the young bell ringer, his impossibly wide grin nearly splitting his face. Eyes widened under a pale furrowed brow as Shiro found himself making a hasty retreat.

From where he remained on stage, the blonde gypsy watched with keen interest as the dark-hooded figure blended into the teeming throngs.

Dodging a few staggering and goofy peasants, Shiro tugged harshly on the edges of his hood, attempting to further hide within the cloak's shadow, his eyes cast down in a harsh scowl. He grit his teeth at the questions that buzzed in the back of his mind: Why the hell had the gypsy been staring at him like that? Had he recognized Shiro? It wasn't possible! However, the bell ringer's thoughts were derailed as he suddenly collided into something solid, sending him back a step, forcing his gaze up on the obstacle in his path. The apology died as a whisper on his lips at the sight before him.

The man easily stood taller than Shiro by a few inches, his body fairly well-built and muscled regarding the way it felt when the bell ringer walked into him. The man's tunic, covered in a few dirty smudges, fit close to his body, confirming Shiro's previous thought. A long red braid draped over his shoulder, careful and neat. Russet eyes flicked over Shiro curiously as a black brow quirked up in slight suspicion. Wait – black? Not red? Were those . . . tattoos? Indeed, thick black lines marked the man's brow in intricate patterns. All across the man's lightly tanned skin inverted eyes followed the dark ink that stained flesh with both curved and jagged shapes, beginning above the man's eyes and tracing down his strong arms. Shiro even managed a glimpse of the black marks peeking out from beneath the low collar of the man's shirt.

There was a light cough as the redhead cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

The albino snapped out of his daze at the question, golden eyes tearing away from the mesmerizing inky lines to meet the owner's russet gaze. Shiro was ashamed to admit a light blush warmed his cheeks, scowling from beneath the hooded cloak. "Sorry." The apology snapped with a bitter bite. His naivety of the world's workings caught the best of him in that moment, and Shiro could feel an awkward anxiety rising from his stomach as a result. He hadn't meant to stare; he didn't even realize he'd been doing it.

With an exasperated huff, the bell ringer made to turn away from the other man and weave back into the dense crowd when a strong hand landed on his shoulder. The gentle yet unexpected touch sent shivers across the albino's skin, warning bells ringing in his mind with shrill alarm; it reminded him all too much of the cold, cruel hands that laid upon him each day within the bell tower. Shiro shrugged the offending hand off and whipped around to face the red-head once again with a snarl. "What?"

Immediately the man pulled his hands away, holding them up in a placating gesture. Russet eyes were wide with surprise, curiosity, and concern. The lad's reaction was a bit startling. His voice was a soft, soothing rasp when he next spoke. "I was going to offer to show you around the festival." His head cocked to the side, regarding the young hooded figure. "You seemed lost, out of place. Like you've never been here before."

Hackles lowered, tension slowly easing from his body, Shiro regarded the red-haired man anew as he processed the other's suggestion. While the man's sudden touch was definitely unwanted, the offer he presented was kind and thoughtful, not something he expected from the "dregs of humankind" as Judge Aizen had described. Shiro wasn't exactly sure how to respond to such consideration outside of the cathedral walls and away from his regular gargoyle companions. The bell ringer smirked at the idea; maybe Aizen wasn't always right after all. The building anxiety didn't leave, though. It was a bit unnerving, being around so many other people when he'd spent the entirety of his life isolated from society in the bell tower. His state of unease was easily decipherable under the other man's eyes. Nevertheless, the chance to properly explore the Parisian Festival of Fools remained steadfast in his mind. He'd been waiting all his life for an opportunity like this and he wasn't about to turn it down. And what better way to learn and experience all he dreamed of the festive city and her people than accompanied by a guide who knew her well?

After considering the tattooed man's offer, Shiro nodded his head. "Alright," he replied with some difficulty, his tongue threatening to trip up his words. "I accept." The scowl remained steady on his face as he fidgeted under the other man's gaze, toying with the edges of his cloak, unsure of what came next or how exactly this would work. Golden pools glared daggers at the cobblestone floor as Shiro cursed his anxiety and uncertainty once again for preventing any sort of progress. What the bell ringer didn't see were eyes of cinnamon and scarlet that softened at the distressed display, taking note of all that played out before them. The smallest of smiles tugged on the redhead's lips.

Slowly and carefully, the kind stranger approached the anxious young lad, stepping closer but not so much as to invade the other male's personal space, nor to cause another harsh reaction like before. Regardless, he could feel the cloaked figure stiffen slightly as he drew near. Large calloused hands remained at his sides, still visible for those hidden eyes to see, as the redhead stepped in beside the lad. His low gravelly baritone whispered close to the man's ear. "May I touch your back? Will that be all right?" A quick jerky nod was his only reply, but just enough to know what to do.

Shiro felt the man's palm settle between his shoulders, the touch warm and even soothing through the cloak he wore. Their proximity had butterflies whirling in his stomach and a nervous beat pounding in his chest. A gentle pressure was applied to his back as the tattooed redhead began to guide him forward through the crowds of people. That warm voice was whispering in his ear again.

"Let's go, then." The bell ringer looked up to meet a smile on the stranger's face as the man continued to guide them through the bustling throngs. It was . . . nice. "My name's Renji, by the way." Russet eyes flicked to the shadow beneath the cloak and the young man that hid there. "What's yours?"

The albino's breath caught for a moment. Should he tell him? Would it give him away? Or would he be safe telling this stranger—Renji? Pushing down the anxiety that threatened to bubble through the surface, he took a deep breath. "Shiro," he said. "M' name's Shiro."

The smile Renji wore only seemed to brighten. "Well, then, Shiro, it's a pleasure to meet you." And Shiro found as they continued deeper into the festivities that the redhead's smile was quite contagious.

After meeting his newfound guide, Shiro's sour mood easily began to melt away as he and Renji pushed through the lively crowds. It was still a bit unnerving; though, Renji's presence did help considerably, the man a strong and constant present at his side the entire time. The thought made Shiro straighten as he made his way through the hordes of people, intrigued by all the things Renji showed him.

Everywhere he looked there was something new and exciting dressed in bright and dazzling colors. Confetti continued to swirl about in the air and on the ground, creating little clouds of paper that jumped with each Parisian's steps. The music steadily grew louder with each passing moment; bands of musicians would play the people's favorite songs as the peasants indulged in frothy mugs of the city's finest ale, their drunken stupor allowing for a most intriguing interpretation of singing and dancing. Those not partaking in alcohol and chasing the poor barmaids milled about the different tents, straining to see what this year's merchants had to offer. Several areas were dedicated to arts and music with paintings and tapestries on display while professionals and amateurs alike would perform catchy tunes, their instruments and sheet music all part of their sales. Some sections even displayed the craftsmanship of the townspeople; marvelous quilts and rugs hung about, crafted with well-made materials and determination, as well as woodcarvings and decorations to trim the home. And, just as Dondochakka had said, there were stands devoted to just food that Shiro could sample. Renji had the lad sample different types of cheeses and breads as well fine roasted meats and fresh fruits, the meager meals Judge Aizen served paling in comparison to the bursting new flavors that danced on his tongue.

There was yet another thing that caught Shiro's attention here at the festival. Gypsies dressed in extravagant costumes performed their trades—jugglers and acrobats, dancers and musicians, daredevils and fortunetellers—and provided the growing crowd with scores of entertainment from the mischievous antics.

It was fairly safe to say that Shiro was enjoying his time at the Feast of Fools.

But even as the young bell ringer and his red-haired guide stood about a group of performers, Shiro felt the back of his neck begin to itch, an odd cold prickling sensation shooting across his skin as well. The combination had Shiro whipping his head around, golden eyes staring out in the masses of people for the source of his unease. Someone was watching him.

It didn't take long for the bell ringer to figure out who it was. Shiro easily caught sight of the same gypsy jester from the opening ceremonies, the blond man doing little to hide his presence and the fact that he was blatantly staring at the cloaked albino. Shiro scowled, his mood bittering. It was the same impossibly wide grin and sly eyes glinting behind that purple mask, a look that made Shiro wonder if the gypsy knew his true identity. And, if so, what trouble would he cause?

Unannounced, the gypsy suddenly darted forward, dodging the drunken celebrators and closing in on the bell ringer, and Shiro's inverted eyes widened. What was the man thinking? Panic seized him. Without a second thought, he spun around and took off running, ignoring Renji's calls in favor of fleeing from the bizarre gypsy jester. It wasn't easy weaving in and out of the dense crowd. He didn't understand why this gypsy, the master of ceremonies at the Feast of Fools, took such an interest in him and he certainly didn't intend on sticking around to find out. Shiro thought he'd gotten away when another gypsy stepped out from behind a tent—one of the jester's lackeys from the procession on the stage. Quickly and as best he could, Shiro changed his path to avoid the second man. However, he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder to see if the gypsies still gave chase.

In the next moment, he collided rather forcefully with the canvas of a scarlet tent, tripping into the once pinned entrance. He gave a sort of yelp as he gracelessly fell on his hands and knees, tangled in the bright fabric.

"Hey!" a shocked voice cried, definitely male from the smooth tenor. Shiro looked around in startled alarm for the source of the voice to see a man his own age hastily pulling a shirt over his bare chest. Shiro froze at the sight before him, one that easily surpassed the brightest colors of the sunset from his view atop Notre Dame.

The boy, a gypsy, as indicated by the single gold hoop in his right ear, had hair of orange fire and warm cocoa brown eyes highlighted with shadowy kohl. His skin was a light golden and kissed by the sun. When the young man's surprise and upset shifted into concern, a soft frown forming on his face, Shiro was left breathless by expressive chocolate eyes.

"Are you all right?" the gypsy boy asked, reaching out to the man on the ground. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, 'm fine!" Shiro protested, attempting to back away and disentangle himself from the canvas and his cloak, his fussing only making it worse. The orangette rolled his eyes and pulled at the extra fabric, easily releasing the man from his twisted binds. Shiro looked up in time for hands to grasp the edge of his cloak. "Don't!" Ignoring his objections, the young gypsy pushed back the hood to reveal porcelain white features and gold on black that should have left any average Parisian screaming in terror about demons and monsters. Namely him. Scowling, Shiro bit his lip and braced himself for the inevitable.

"There. See? No harm done. Just try to be a little more careful."

The albino was stunned. This wasn't what he expected at all, not with what Judge Aizen had told him. The gypsy boy then pulled the other to his feet, giving a small, kind smile at the gaping Shiro. With a light tug, the orangette guided Shiro back to the entrance of the tent.

"I will," the bell ringer said, nodding, finally able to speak words again. Even as he stepped back into the square, the festivities beckoning him once again, the gypsy's voice called out to him again.

"By the way, great mask."

Shiro watched dumbfounded as the tent fluttered closed, fabric replaced, but not before the orange-haired boy gave him a wink and disappeared behind it. He stood there, for how long he wasn't sure; it wasn't until a small commotion behind him caught his attention that he looked away from the gypsy's tent.

The sound turned out to be the grumblings of the peasants seeing the infamous Judge Sousuke Aizen ascend to his official tent for the festival, decorated in dark reds and black and connected to the main stage by a long narrow strip, awarding the judge with a front row seat to the coming performances. Sitting in a chair, high and mighty like a throne, the brown-haired man gave a careless wave to the people below as his guarded surrounded the tent on horses. On his left, a man in golden armor sat upon his large white horse, a frown marring his face as he surveyed the swarming masses. At once, Shiro's happy daze sharpened into an indignant glare, but he made sure to melt into the crowd; he didn't want to think of the consequences should his caretaker see that he'd disobeyed his orders and attended the festival anyway. The thought of the wrath he would incur sent a shudder through his body. He shook it off.

"Come one! Come all!"

The call was an easy distraction, coming from the judge's tent as the blond gypsy—the same one from before, the one that'd been chasing him—appeared from behind the man's glorified chair, much to everyone's surprise. The gypsy daringly placed on had on the judge's shoulder and sprinkled him with confetti. "Hurry, hurry, here's your chance to see the finest mystery and romance!" The gypsy danced away with a wink, leaving Aizen in disgust as he brushed off the offending pieces of paper.

"Come one! Come all!" he exclaimed again, holding his hands in the air, gesturing for people to gather closer around the stage as he did a little dance. "See the finest dancer in all of France!"

Curious and entranced by the man's words, Shiro stepped forward until he was at the very edge of the stage, looking directly up at the blond gypsy. With a clenched fist raised in the air, the man practically sang in giddy delight.

"Dance, la fraise . . . Dance!"

Throwing down his fist, the gypsy disappeared in a cloud of fuchsia smoke and in his place stood the same orange-haired boy whose tent Shiro had fallen into just moments before. Only now, he was dressed in an outfit of scarlet and violet with an aubergine sash embroidered with golden suns dangling around his hips. The clothes clung tightly to the boy's figure, leaving little to the imagination.

The audience gasped in delight as the gypsy spared not a second before twisting his lithe body in a series of spins, moving with a sensual sway with fingers tangled in the sash as he danced about the stage. The peasants looked on with either innocence or perversion, but it was three sets of eyes that burned with passionate, lustful fire at the erotic performance.

"Look at that disgusting display," Judge Aizen said to his blue-haired captain. Although his words sounded with distaste, usually empty brown eyes now glittered with barely restrained desire. He slid back in his chair, captivated by the dancing boy on stage.

Grimmjow raised the visor on his golden helmet, sapphire eyes drinking in the tempting and teasing sight before him. "Yes, sir," the captain said with a wicked grin, enthralled with the vision of the orange-haired gypsy as he coyly tugged at the confines of his clothing, hands fluttering across his body enough to reveal inviting golden flesh and a toned abdomen.

The gypsy boy twirled the sash in the air around him as he lightly bounded across the stage towards Aizen's tent. With a swift kick into the air, he leaped on to the arm of the official's chair and practically landed in the man's lap. With a seductive smile and half-lidded cocoa eyes, the boy wrapped that aubergine scarf around Aizen's neck, playfully pulling him closer and running a finger along his jaw, watching the man's normally severe composure crack in surprise. Their faces were barely inches apart from each other, petal pink lips close enough to kiss, when the orangette jumped away at the last moment and slapped Aizen's hat down over his face. The city official righted his hat with a rare and vicious snarl and furiously ripped the scarf from his neck, clutching the thing in a tight grasp.

Meanwhile, Shiro was spellbound by the gypsy's provocative performance, the orange-head gracefully falling into a perfect split. Conveniently, the boy landed directly in front of where Shiro stood; when golden eyes locked with soft brown, the gypsy gave Shiro another wink that sent the albino's head for a spin.

Springing to his feet, the dancer snatched a spear from an entranced guard nearby and embedded the metal tip in the stage. The gypsy lifted himself into the air, spinning around the makeshift pole with one leg wrapped around the base and the other held high against the shaft. The audience whistled and clapped—some peasant girls even cried out for him—as the boy stood and bowed now that his performance had reached its inevitable end. It rained golden coins on the stage, a certain captain's gilder among them, all thoroughly satisfied with the show, and the blond gypsy jester reappeared on stage once more.

"Thank you! And now, ladies and gentlemen, the piece de resistance! Here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for!" he declared. "Now's the time we crown the King of Fools!" The crowd cheered loudly in response, applause ringing through the air like thunder. "You all remember last year's king?"

The jester motioned to a man that stood on the adjacent stage. Tall and bulky with the most outrageous purple hair and busy eyebrows, the man scoffed at the crowd around him. "You never get it right. I'm the Princess of Fools, the most beautiful being in all creation!" The crowd burst into hysterics before the blond gypsy continued and stated the rules.

"So, make a face that's horrible and frightening, for the face that's the ugliest and most monstrous will be the King of Fools! Ugly folks, forget your shyness! Put your foulest features on display and become the king of our topsy turvy day!"

A handful of men dressed in costumes and masks clambered on to the stage and began to form a line beside the blonde gypsy. Shiro, having no interest in the event, was about to back away when the beautiful orange-haired gypsy appeared above him on stage, a hand outstretched. As if in a trance, Shiro made no effort to get away as he took that hand and the other pulled him up alongside the others, his dark cloak falling away. Now that all the contestants were lined up in a row for all to see, Shiro at the opposite end, the white-haired man saw a brown goat prance up to the orangette's side, a brow quirking upon seeing it had its right ear pierced to match the boy. With everything finally in order, the two gypsies went up to the first in line, the orange-haired one pulling off the person's mask to reveal an average man making a bad attempt at a silly face. Boos sounded from the crowd and the goat didn't hesitate to butt the man from behind and send him flying off the stage to the hard cobblestone ground.

This continued down the line until the gypsies reached Shiro, who had begun to back away from the orange-haired boy's outstretched hands, realizing his horrible mistake in joining the group, but found his attempts futile when smooth fingertips brushed along his jawline. However, the gentle feeling didn't last as the gypsy tried to remove what he thought was a mask and realized the milky white skin wouldn't budge, his eyes widened and mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Shiro felt his heart plummet as shocked and horrified cries went through the crowd.

"That's no mask!"

"That's his face!"

"He's hideous!"

"It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!"

Shiro watched as the people's faces shifted from shocked to terrified right before his eyes, and he risked a glance where Judge Aizen sat in his tent, the man's features sharpened in a minute glare. A chill ran over his porcelain skin with a shudder that made him visibly shake. Shiro began to back away from the stage, hands hiding his face, angry and disgusted with himself and the people's words.

"Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic," the gypsy jester suddenly called out to the crowd from beside Shiro. A quick look around made the albino belatedly realize the orange-haired dancer and goat had disappeared. "We asked for the ugliest and most monstrous face in all of Paris, and here he is—Shiro, the bell ringer of Notre Dame!"

The peasants' expressions twisted in confusion for a few moments as they tried to process what the master of ceremonies meant before delight smiles and cheers finally broke out everywhere and they burst into applause. They had asked for a monster, and here he was. Having no desire to be crowned for his disgusting looks, Shiro reached up to take the crown off his head but he was stopped short as several pairs of hands grabbed him from the stage and lifted him into the air above the crowd, the peasants cheering and singing for their new king. His demands to be let down were ignored, and he was transported to the smaller stage where the old king stood. With a swift kick, the blond gypsy sent the old king flying just as the crowd nearly threw Shiro on to the platform. Before he could right himself, the gypsy threw a crimson cape over the albino's shoulders and thrust a scepter into his hand.

Even as the audience clapped and cheered, Shiro was distraught. These people didn't like him at all. Sure they practically seemed to worship his appearance today, but it was only because they deemed him ugly and worthy to laugh at. This wasn't true acceptance or happiness from the people, just a fleeting moment so these disgusting people could be amused at his expense. With a snarl, Shiro finally ripped the ridiculous crown from his head and threw it to the ground along with the scepter and cape, sending a startled gasp throughout the crowd, sneering at the people's reaction.

"He's gone mad!"

"Somebody do something!"

Suddenly, a thick rope swung in the air, the lasso whirling towards the angry albino on stage. Shiro didn't notice until it was too late, and the circle of rope passed over his head to enclose around his alabaster neck. Pulling tight on the line, the frightened peasants toppled the bell ringer, and Shiro crashed to the wooden stage, both of his hands grasping at the rope around his throat in an attempt to loosen its choking hold. He couldn't breathe! However, other onlookers caught on to the idea and another rope caught Shiro's left wrist in a cruel grip, pulling it away from his throat.

Snarling, Shiro summoned the strength he'd gained from years of ringing the colossal bells of Notre Dame and pulled back on the ropes, the people on the opposite ends skidding forward on the smooth cobblestone street. Shiro's tunic ripped from the force as he attempted to stand and tear at the ropes, snow white flesh glowing in the sun, but more flew out to snare the albino, pinning him once again to the platform.

Struggling on the platform, Shiro was defenseless when a soldier called out, "You think he's ugly now? Watch this!" With that, the guard threw a tomato at the pinned man, hitting him square in the face. "Now that's what I call ugly!"

"Hail to the king!" another guard mocked, throwing another tomato. Soon, Shiro was pelted with produce of all kinds, the peasants now joining the torment and all laughing at his expense.

At the sight of outright torture, Grimmjow frowned, gritting his teeth. He'd had enough of the onslaught upon the poor soul restricted by the tight ropes. Itching to spur Pantera forward, he called out, "Sir, request permission to stop this cruelty."

"In a moment, Captain," Aizen's even tone replied from behind him. "A lesson needs to be learned here."

The wicked retort Grimmjow prepared as answer for the judge's remark died on his tongue as the crowd went quiet, gasps echoing in the air. His attention snapped back to the albino, a sense of dread washing over him, Grimmjow's sky blue brows rose to his hairline upon seeing what had caused everyone to fall still and silent.

Ascending the stairs to the platform, the orange-haired gypsy, now dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing when Grimmjow first saw him that morning, slowly approached the albino roped to the stage, tortured by his binds. The sunlight glittered in the bright tangerine hair, making the outstanding color glow like a halo—as if he were an angel. Beautiful brown eyes were overwhelmed with sadness as he gazed down at the trapped Shiro, the latter torn between fear and anger as his breath came in pained pants.

Unsure and untrusting, Shiro gave a strangled growl at the other when he knelt beside the bell ringer.

"Don't be afraid," the orangette whispered softly. He carefully untied the violet sash from his waist and made to move closer when Shiro flinched. The boy sighed and moved slower as he gently began to wipe Shiro's face of tomato. "I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen." Shiro's eyes softened as he met the sincerity in the gypsy's voice—and his eyes, so expressive and they shared his pain and torment. Their moment there on the platform was oddly serene and comforting to the bell ringer, lost in the quiet between them. But it did not last for long.

"You, gypsy boy! Get down at once," Aizen said, his stern voice still managing to travel over to the platform from several yards away. Said gypsy boy stood and looked over to Judge Aize as he tied his sash.

"Yes, your honor," he replied, voice strong. "Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it."

The boy's rich brown eyes hardened in defiance as he withdrew a knife, hidden beneath his pants, and daringly ran through the ropes binding Shiro in one swift movement. He grabbed the white-haired male by the forearm and brought him to his feet, steadying him as the wounded man stood on shaky footing and the crowd gasped at his boldness.

"How dare you defy me." A delicate frown marred the judge's features, his voice threatening to rumble like thunder.

"You mistreat this boy the same way you mistreat my people. You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help," the gypsy proclaimed, gesturing to the albino behind him.

"Silence!" Aizen demanded.

"JUSTICE!"

"Mark my words, gypsy," Aizen's voice grew dangerously low as he pointed a ringed finger at the platform. "You will pay for this insolence." The gypsy, however, ignored the gesture, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips.

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," he said with a mock bow and picked up the plush crown Shiro had discarded before throwing it in the judge's direction, the absurd thing landing at the man's feet. "The only fool I see is you!"

"Guards. Arrest him."

A group of soldiers swarmed the platform on horseback, and Shiro made to step in front of his orange-haired protector when the boy placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Puzzled, Shiro watched as the gypsy stepped closer to the edge of the stage to count the number of guards.

"Now, let's see. There's ten of you, and one of me. What ever will I do?" The orangette smirked and, mimicking what the blond jester had done earlier, threw his fist to the ground, disappearing in a cloud of fuchsia smoke.

"Witchcraft," whispered Aizen, the frown still tugging on his features.

The guards were dumbfounded by the gypsy boy's disappearance, looking around wildly for that bright shock of tangerine hair.

"Oh, boys! Over here!" sang the smooth tenor.

The guards tuned to see the gypsy sitting among a pile of discarded masks making a ridiculous face at the soldiers that pursued him, now joined by his pet goat. Two soldiers on foot rushed to where the gypsy stood, but the boy took off running, his goat following close behind. He ran across the stage and jumped off the edge, disappearing into the sea of people with ease. Two of the guards attempted the same, leaping off the stage, but the men were unsuccessful and crashed painfully to the ground. The three remaining foot soldiers were smarter about the situation and circled the stage as the gypsy and his goat emerged from the bustling crowd. One unlucky soldier was met with a wicked smirk and a solid jab to his gut, the gypsy's well-placed blow producing the thunderous clang of rattling armor and the pained cry of the blow's recipient. The gypsy winced at first, rubbing his arm, but his smirk returned as he saw the other two soldiers quickly dispatched by his goat. He then plucked a circular helmet from one of the fallen soldiers and, using it like a discus, flung the helmet at the three soldiers approaching on horseback. The flying metal collided with all three men, knocking them off their mounts. Grimmjow ducked just in time for the helmet to fly over his head and embed itself in the wooden beam behind him. An amused smiled broke out on his handsome face, cobalt eyes sparkling with delight.

"Impressive."

Meanwhile, the gypsy boy and his pet were still fleeing from the final two soldiers pursuing them. He somehow managed to locate a long pole which he now used to catapult himself to the top of Aizen's tent. Pole still in hand, he whistled down to the incoming guards and dropped the pole, which landed perfectly in their laps. Unable to stop their charge, the soldiers and the newly acquired pole sliced through Aizen's tent, sending the official diving for cover.

The gypsy boy performed a perfect tumble onto the stage just as the tent collapsed. A disgusted Judge Aizen rose from the shambles of his tent in time to see the gypsy give one last smile and bow before scooping up his pet goat and wrapping himself in an aubergine cloak, disappearing as the cloth fell empty to the stage.

Across the mass of people, Shiro started with the recognition of where he still stood on the platform, the situation lighting his nerves as all eyes now turned towards him. Furious brown eyes glinted like daggers as Judge Aizen glared at the bell ringer from across the square, the sky instantly darkening, as if the judge's fury called upon a storm.

The man's black stallion was brought forth, and as he mounted it, Aizen practically hissed to the blue-haired man in gold armor beside him. "Find that boy, Captain. I want him alive." Grimmjow frowned but voiced no protest as he turned to what remained of his battered soldiers.

"Seal off the area, men. Find the gypsy boy, and do not harm him!" he said, watching as the soldiers pushed through the remaining crowd of peasants as a steady rain began to fall.

Judge Aizen guided his steed to the platform where Shiro still stood, coated in a combination of food debris and water. The irate, condescending glare the albino received was enough to make Shiro bow his head and grit his teeth, his lilting voice brittle, as he said, " 'm sorry, master. I will never disobey you again."

With that, Shiro jumped down the platform, the peasants moving aside in fright as he limped to the cathedral doors. Without a second glance back at his shattered freedom, Shiro closed the heavy wooden doors behind him and entered his sanctuary.

Several minutes had passed since the gypsy boy's escape from the festival and the rain poured down heavily onto the cobblestone streets, but the search still continued. The Feast of Fools ended with a climax the townspeople were sure to never forget, many now huddled within the comfort of their own homes. From his view atop Pantera, Grimmjow glanced about the square, flashing blue eyes spotting a hunched over beggar in a navy cloak hobbling into the cathedral entrance.

"Hmmm . . ." he mused, stroking his chin with a gloved hand. That beggar looked awfully familiar . . .

So was it worth the read?

Reviews are very encouraging and much appreciated!

Again, I'm not sure when the next update will be or for which fic. I have a lot of my plate that makes free time impossible. Hopefully, I'll be able to write during winter break.

Until next chapter,

Cody Zik