Chapter 22
That set the tone for the days and weeks that followed. Grimmjow would take her out to the dome, where she would learn what he had to teach. Eventually she tired of seeing him always in the teaching role and tried to teach him some of her magic. His zanpakutō wasn't a runesword; though she thought she might be able to rune it if she had a runeforge; so she lent him one of her longswords to practice with. He hated the weapon, but he loved the runes. Especially the runes for blood, surprise surprise. She was rather partial to frost, herself.
She learned sonido, she learned how to break her fall using reiatsu, how to stand on the air and fight aloft. She learned bala – that was easy, and cero – that was not. The day she opened a garganta to their training spot, he had stared at her in surprise. He hadn't taught her. She wanted to see if she could do it. She didn't do it again, though. Some instinct told her to keep that ability under wraps.
She taught Grimmjow rudimentary rune magic, while he complained incessantly about the quality of her sword and Pantera's obvious superiority over it. Their days became less teaching oriented and more practice, as they sparred gleefully with each other. Their nights were spent almost universally in Grimmjow's bed, until she eventually stopped returning to her assigned room altogether.
She felt a sense of camaraderie with the former Espada that she had never felt before; not as a Knight of the Ebon Blade (who were altogether a dour lot, as she had been), and certainly not as a servant of the Lich King. As a priestess of Elune, she couldn't remember. It was unlike anything she had yet known. Her emotionless mask became less and less automatic. She laughed at his sarcastic wit. She teased. She joked.
When they were not training, sleeping, or screwing, she wandered the halls of Las Noches, learning her way around the massive complex, despite what she assumed were the mischievous Gin's best efforts to confuse her. She repaired her armour as best she could; it would take a specialist to undo some of the damage. Though she hardly ever wore it now – Grimmjow trained her exclusively in her uniform.
The power dynamic in Las Noches had clearly changed. The looks the other arrancar gave them when they were together had changed, fear and awe being replaced with contempt. The looks she received alone were still hostile, but for different reasons. It was clear that she had become firmly associated with the ex-Espada in the minds of most of the denizens of Las Noches. A few números tried her patience; that stopped after she handily defeated about three of them without even drawing her weapon. The rest took the warning and left her alone after that.
The Espada, on the other hand, were a different story. Most of them were indifferent to her, but Nnoitra and Luppi were a pain. Neither attempted to fight her, though she could tell Nnoitra wanted payback for his earlier defeat. Instead, they harassed her. In Luppi's case, it was clearly an attempt to get at Grimmjow, and she gave it all the acknowledgement it deserved, which is to say, none at all. Her refusal to be baited frustrated Luppi, which was a source of endless silent amusement for Vellena.
In Nnoitra's case, it was usually perverted comments, snide remarks about her abilities and her gender, and insinuations about her and Grimmjow. Those too, were easy to ignore.
Every now and then she would visit Szayel, inquiring politely as to his progress with returning her home. Every time, the answer was the same. He could find no way to return her home. She wasn't as upset by this as she thought she would be. Somehow, the return home did not seem so… urgent… right now.
The holding pattern that had taken shape suddenly ceased almost one month after the night in the living world. They were sparring as usual, beneath the false-day dome when one of the números interrupted them. It wasn't unheard of for there to be spectators, but usually no one actually interrupted their exercises.
"What is it, asshole?" Grimmjow demanded at the interruption. He was giving the hapless número a look which promised pain if the answer wasn't to his satisfaction. Grimmjow was never a patient man, she reflected. His status may have fallen, but he was still more powerful than this número, and the other arrancar knew it.
The número seemed to shrink a little, then straightened back up. "Meeting. Aizen's orders. Both of you." He said.
Vellena sheathed her weapons. This was new. Aizen had summoned her a few times in order to ask her questions, and had summoned Grimmjow a few times for what she presumed was the same purpose, but they had never been summoned together, and they had never been summoned to a meeting. It had always been to a private audience, where it was at most Aizen, Gin and Tōsen.
"Che." Apparently the same thought had occurred to Grimmjow. "I guess we better go find out what Aizen wants." After a month in Las Noches, Vellena had long since learned the significance of the honorifics people here habitually tacked onto the ends of names, and conversely, the significance of leaving them out when referring to someone of higher rank. Grimmjow was treating this with his usual brand of insubordination and contempt. "Where is it this time; his high chair, or the tea party?"
The other arrancar looked acutely embarrassed at Grimmjow's dismissive terminology. "Tea—uh, the conference room." He said. Grimmjow smirked.
"You are to come immediately," continued the número, apparently emboldened by the fact that he wasn't a splatter on the sand yet. Grimmjow leveled one of his usual homicidal glares at the guy.
"Yeah, we're getting there. Stuff it." He said, tapping open a garganta. He walked into the opening, not giving the número another glance. Vellena followed him silently.
The room at the end of the hallway they exited to was new to her. It was considerably smaller than the throne room. A long white table was set up, lined on either side with high-backed white chairs in which the Espada sat. At the end of the table was Aizen, flanked on either side with his ex-pat shinigami followers. She saw at once why Grimmjow called it the tea party – every individual in the room had a cup of tea in front of them. She didn't laugh; she wasn't that far gone, whatever other bad influences Grimmjow might have had on her.
It was slightly unnerving the way everyone in the room was staring at them as they entered the room. She didn't show it, and neither did Grimmjow, but she felt it all the same. It was a little odd to be fully cognizant of the sheer power contained in the room – the last time she had attended such a gathering her reiatsu sense was still very underdeveloped.
Aizen was smiling at them with that benevolent look, that one she had begun to suspect a while ago was merely a front for something far more sinister. "Vellena, Grimmjow. So nice of you to join us." He said. His voice was beautiful as always, lulling the listener into a sense of trust. "I won't disturb your practice sessions long, don't worry. I just wished to inform you that you will be accompanying Luppi and Yammi to the real world tomorrow morning." He turned on that charming smile.
She could feel Grimmjow's reiatsu shift subtly at his leader's words. A sidelong glance to her companion revealed a bloodthirsty grin, and a wicked glint in his eyes. Ah, yes. The Kurosaki boy. Grimmjow had kept a single scar from that battle as a memento – having spent the last month with the arrancar, she knew the depth of his obsession, the strength of his desire for a rematch.
"Of course, Aizen-sama." Grimmjow said, and for once the honorific didn't sound mocking or false.
"That will be all." Aizen said, with a wave of his hand. Vellena bowed politely (she had manners), and Grimmjow just grinned. They turned and exited the room.
Once out of earshot, the blue-haired man let loose a roaring laugh. "I'm going to kill that shinigami kid this time." He laughed. "YES!"
Vellena kept her customary silence, suppressing the surge of eagerness she felt at the thought of some real action. They had been cooped up in Las Noches for too long, and it had even started to get to her.
That night, Grimmjow was more aggressive than usual in bed, which suited Vellena just fine. She had discovered she much preferred rough play to gentle. They enjoyed each other thoroughly before sliding off to the dream world, awaiting the coming of morning.