For those of you who are despairing of ever getting some action and/or lemons in this story, there's two fights and a sex scene coming up by Chapter 10.

I'm looking for a beta for this story. I don't need copy editing – my spelling and grammar are pretty good and I like to delude myself into thinking I'm half decent at the technicalities and mechanics of the craft. I'm looking for someone who can help be a second pair of eyes – help ensure my characterizations are consistent and accurate (in the case of canon characters), and someone who can maybe help me machete away some of the dross. I'm the queen of motherfucking exposition, but not everyone finds that crap interesting. If one of you, dear readers, feels up to the task, drop me a PM.

Chapter 5

These rooms were definitely not the rooms of a prisoner. Vellena looked around. While the white on white décor was a little excessive, the rooms were at least comfortable. In the main room was a couch and a table, and some chairs. The other rooms were a sleeping room with a large bed and storage, and a well appointed bathroom. A very well appointed bathroom. She had seen flush toilets before, if rarely, and the sink and bath she understood. The other device gave her a pause until she played with the knobs and discovered that it was basically a standing bath with warm rain.

The Death Knight grinned.

Stripping off the white uniform, she poured herself a hot bath. She fished a bar of harsh lye soap out of her packs and sank happily into the steaming water. A cloth and a bucket of water only got so much grime off one – and undead or not, any night elf appreciated a bath when she could have one. She had been a few days on the road before she got waylaid, and she was extremely grateful for the chance to bathe now.

About an hour later, she had discovered the thick towels (white with black trim, of course) and had wrapped herself up in the terry cloth. She took the opportunity to launder her extremely soiled garments (the water hadn't been clear enough after she had finished with her armour) in the tub, and hung them over the edge to dry. She took the white uniform she had been given, the rest of her stuff, and went to the bedroom. Curling up in the soft white bed, she permitted herself to sleep.

Some time later, she awoke. How long she had been asleep, she did not know, but it felt good to get some rest – she'd been on the road for days, and then fought a protracted battle for what had to have been several hours, and then answered a minor interrogation. She deserved the sleep. Out in the sitting room, the moon hung at exactly the same point in the window it had before. She had noted that it didn't change position when she had made her way across the trackless desert. At least until the monsters started to show up. Then she had been too busy to pay attention to trivial details like the position of the moon. Well, maybe Elune's grace shone here too. Did Elune care for the dead? She'd been a priestess, once.

In the bathroom, her clothes were dry. Forgoing the bath, she opted to try out the device she thought of as the 'rain machine'. It exceeded her expectations. After trying it out, she decided that she would definitely use it again in the future. Baths were fine, but she found them time consuming. The rain machine was fast and effective and didn't give her the impression that she was elf soup on the boil.

She dressed in the white outfit and put her own clothes in her packs, which she once again tucked behind the wide black sash. She wanted a chance to repair her armour before putting it on again. The swords she kept out and strapped to her, one on either side of her hips.

Vellena decided it was time to go see Grimmjow about that forge.

She found the door with the marking that matched his tattoo without a problem. As she raised her hand to knock, she was slightly surprised when it swung open, Grimmjow standing at the door and clearly expecting her. She lowered her hand.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"I felt your reiatsu coming down the hall." He replied, as though it were the simplest thing. Reiatsu? Nevermind, there would be time for that later. He was speaking again. "Did you rest all right?"

"Yes. I rested well. It was a welcome break after five days without rest. I also enjoyed the rain machine." She stated. His brows furrowed for a moment.

"Oh, the shower. Yeah, nice little real-world invention. Good for getting the blood off after a fight." He said.

"Indeed." So that was what it was called. She would have to talk to some gnome artificers about it if she ever made it back to Azeroth.

"Hey, did you still need that forge?" he asked. She nodded in reply. Something that might have been annoyance flickered past his eyes. She disregarded it. "Okay. We have one in Las Noches, but it's a little out of the way. I'll have to use garganta." He said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes."

He made that gesture – the one Ulquiorra had made. A tear appeared in the air, yawning open. She studied it carefully. So that portal was called garganta? Interesting. They stepped in to the gaping maw, took the accustomed steps, and walked out into a large room filled with strange devices, work-benches cluttered with tools, and what appeared to be a small forge. Heat blasted from a furnace, and there was a small anvil. She thought she identified something that could work as a grinding wheel nearby. "This will do." She stated. She pulled a bag out, and began to remove her armour and lay it gently on the floor. Grimmjow leaned against a wall, watching her. He seemed a little surprised at the capacity of her magic bags.

"You should be quick, I think this is Szayel's." the blue-haired arrancar said. Who Szayel was, she had no clue.

"One should not rush repairs." She intoned stoically. "Badly maintained armour is more dangerous to the wearer than going unarmoured."

"Hn."

Vellena got to work. She removed a bar of metal from her pack and placed it in the furnace for hot-welding later. At least the heat seemed sufficient – it was hot enough even to work titansteel. After a few minutes of preparation, she started on the first piece of plate, tapping out some deep dents with her hammer. Grimmjow continued to lounge against the wall, watching her in silence.

Tink, tink, tink, went her hammer. She was very grateful she had taken the time to learn blacksmithing. Though she wished she'd learned more about mining than inscription. Inscription had got her into this whole mess in the first place.

The repairs took time. Grimmjow occasionally huffed and sighed, clearly impatient and none to pleased to be here. Finally she completed her armour repairs, and she hefted her huge axe to the grinding wheel. Ahh, how she loved that sound! Sparks flew, none of which caused her any trouble. She kept herself enveloped in cold.

Finally, she moved to the last stage. Putting away her tools, and cleaning up the mess that had accumulated, she pulled oil and rags from her pack and finished cleaning and polishing. At last, her repairs were finished.

"You done yet?" asked Grimmjow, hands in his pockets.

"Yes. I have completed my repairs." She replied. "I would like to return to my rooms."

"All right." He sighed, straightening up from the wall. Then they both froze as a third person entered the room. This one had pink hair, and what appeared to be spectacles. He was shorter than both Vellena and Grimmjow.

"What's going on here Grimmjow? This is my workshop. There's delicate equipment in here that doesn't need your ham-handed touch!" The newcomer snapped. Vellena thought she recognized him from the audience hall. So this was another Espada?

"We were just leaving, Szayel." Growled Grimmjow.

"I didn't give you permission—." Szayel began, but Vellena interrupted.

"Thank you for the use of your forge, Sir Szayel. Because of it, I was able to bring my armour and weapons back to their proper killing form." She said sweetly, brandishing her axe so that light reflected from the razor-sharp blade into his eyes. She even smiled. The double-bladed axe was at least a yard and a half across, with a handle as long as her leg. She allowed some of the ever-present blood thirst to radiate from her. Szayel closed his mouth with a glare.

"It was my pleasure, uh, Vellena. All you need to do is ask, and I'd be delighted to allow you to use my forge." Said the pink-haired Espada. His eyes were cold behind the glasses. Vellena suspected Grimmjow had not asked for permission, and that factor had the other Espada more upset than her use of the forge. It seemed that these Espada got along about as well as any group of powerful creatures forced to work together. She'd seen this kind of backbiting and infighting among the Death Knights, at least before they became the Ebon Blade. Come to think of it, there was still a little of that going on. No gathering of strong wills was ever entirely free of it, she supposed. Even Arthas' minions fought amongst themselves.

"C'mon," said Grimmjow, clearly impatient to be out of here. He led her away.