He stumbled after Grimmjow, slightly breathless as he watched the Espada draw up to a door and pound on it mercilessly.
"Open up!" he ordered in a bored tone, his eyes swiveling over to Szayel who limped down the corridor looking rather forlorn. His lips curled down in a sneer of distaste, and he drew one foot back as he prepared to kick open the door, what little patience he had reaching its limit. Fortunately for the door, Yylfordt chose that moment to open it. He murmured an apology for having taken so long to respond and offered his master a deferential half bow as he pulled it open further to admit him. At that moment, he noticed Szayel, and he quickly looked up at Grimmjow with puzzlement clear in his eyes.
"What… did you say you were here for?" he asked as Szayel finally caught up to Grimmjow. The pink haired boy adjusted his spectacles and pushed a few errant locks out of his eyes, then peered up at the man who was presumably his older brother.
"I didn't say, but I'm here 'cause of this," Grimmjow replied, shoving him through the door towards Yylfordt. "Aizen says you've gotta take care of him, owing to the fact you're related and he thinks somehow that'll restore his memories. Szayel, meet your older brother. Yylfordt, meet Nnoitra's little fuck up. I'll leave you two to socialize; I've got better things to do with my time."
Having facilitated introductions after his own crude fashion, the blue haired Espada left. Yylfordt's expression looking after his temperamental master was a little wistful, but his face quickly lost its softness as he glanced down at Szayel. With a frown he closed the door and beckoned him further into his room, installing him in a chair while he stood, examining him from a distance. After a minute, his frown deepened and he shook his head.
"Put something over that eye of yours; it looks unpleasant. And you'll want to disinfect those cuts soon. I have some alcohol, gauze, and cotton I can lend you in the medicine cabinet."
"Do you get into fights a lot?" Szayel asked, swinging his legs.
"Grimmjow does," he replied. Szayel flashed him a pert grin.
"Oh really? And why doesn't Grimmjow keep his own medical supplies?"
"Those are minutiae one of his status doesn't need to concern himself over," was his cool remark.
"You know what I think, brother? I think you like him."
Yylfordt stiffened, eyeing him warily.
"You have no factual basis for that statement."
"But you do have feelings for him, right?"
"I am his Fraccion. Of course I hold him in higher regard than others."
Szayel's grin widened at this reply, and the two stared at each other across the room, at an impasse for words. After a minute of silence, Yylfordt appeared to grow agitated, and his frown became an open scowl. Looking away from the impertinent pink haired child, he spoke up again. This time, his tone was markedly bitter.
"I don't know what happened to you, nor do I care, but regardless of how much you have forgotten, I will be the first to inform you that though we are brothers we were never on the best of terms. In fact, I resent you. You might even go as far to call it hatred. Do not expect a caring relationship."
Szayel's playful smiled faded as he reassessed the slender blonde. The sweet, innocent expression he'd maintained up until that point was replaced by a superior smirk and his golden eyes stared up into Yylfordt's with an arrogant sort of amusement.
"Well that's a relief. To be honest, I don't really like you either. So its good to know the feeling's mutual," he remarked callously, tilting his head. Yylfordt smiled now, the bitterness in his voice extending to his face.
"At least you're showing your true colors now. That's the way it should be."
He left him sitting in the chair while he went to fetch the medical supplies he'd promised. While he was gone, Szayel took the opportunity to look around the room. It was peaceful and well organized. The walls were painted a soft peach, more orange than pink and very subtle. Enough to lend a touch of life to the vastly lifeless white halls of Las Noches. His quarters weren't very large, as befitted a Fraccion, and he knew that somewhere, they probably connected to Grimmjow's suite. Yylfordt's room was in the Sexta's wing, like his other servants.
The floors were carpeted white, though navy designs threaded through the solid block, occasionally breaking off into a lighter blue. The patterns were mesmerizing; seemingly random but with just enough order to hint at a purposeful design. He let his eyes wander along the curling blue lines, taking in the mahogany wood of a half filled bookshelf as the dark loops carried his eyes over to the furniture. He noticed with amusement that the bed tucked into the corner was also covered by blue sheets; Yylfordt's testament to the Sexta Espada. His eyes quickly picked out the panther mask among the many carved beast masks that decorated the wall.
Something to admire about Yylfordt. If his love was desperate and pathetic, then at least he was subtle about his affections. One would only see the signs if they knew to look, which he doubted the impulsive, battle driven Espada would. And Yylfordt was in no position to tell Grimmjow openly either; he was only a Fraccion. His feelings would likely go unreciprocated, for his one sided love was impossibly unbalanced. It was little wonder the blonde Arrancar resented Szayel so. No, envied him his position.
Yylfordt returned with a bottle of antiseptic in one hand and a stack of gauze, cotton tipped applicators, ointment, and medical tape in the other. Kneeling in front of him, he set all aside but for a cotton applicator and the antiseptic bottle, which he opened. The sharp scent of alcohol rose up to meet him, bringing back memories of a sterile white room with metallic instruments and a cold flat table. His lab. Szayel felt nostalgic as he closed his eyes and inhaled the acrid vapors.
"Stay like that please. It will make my job easier," said Yylfordt as he pulled his glasses down to reach his eyelid. His tapered fingers tugged the skin taut, and he was gentle despite his professed dislike for the boy. The alcohol stung as it entered the wounds, but Szayel relished the pain, knowing it was a good thing. Yylfordt paused in his ministrations.
Szayel could feel his eyes examining his face closely and his curiosity rising in spite of his earlier declaration that he couldn't be bothered with the details of what had landed him in his care. When the Fraccion reversed the cotton tip, dipped it into the antiseptic, and started on the vertical gash that lined his face from eyebrow to cheekbone, Szayel couldn't help but flinch. He pulled away from his brother's touch, opening his right eye, which narrowed a second later in pain. His lips thinned to pale lines as he fought not to hiss at the burning sensation. Yylfordt gave him a hopeless look but abandoned the alcohol, recapping it. He picked up the ointment and quickly daubed it over the cuts, looking frustrated. After a minute of this, he finally overcame his reservations and asked.
"What happened? Grimmjow mentioned Nnoitra was involved."
"I suppose he was," mused Szayel, relaxing as the cool cream deadened the pain. Whatever else was in it, it at least contained an anesthetic, and the pink haired child was grateful for this.
"You suppose," repeated Yylfordt, arching one elegant eyebrow.
"He… hit me in the face with his poleaxe from what I can gather. Somehow that turned me into a child. I suspect it has something to do with my hollow mask breaking and my reishi. Perhaps it leaked out of the crack?"
"You mean you don't remember him trying to kill you?"
"Its all very vague. I have partial amnesia."
"Partial? Not total?"
"What remains to me consists mostly of strong impressions, emotions, and the occasional concrete memory. Out of context though, these tell me little. I have not completely forgotten myself."
Yylfordt looked thoughtful as he folded a length of gauze into a square patch and positioned it over his eye. He affixed it to his face using the medical tape, then sat back on his heels to assess his handiwork. He seemed content with what he saw, for he began to gather up his supplies again.
"Impressions… that explains why you didn't like me."
"Yes. I consider you quite beneath me, brother."
"Even when you're weaker than me. Hah. I ought to beat you while I have the chance."
"Aizen would not be pleased."
"Aizen isn't the one who worries me. Its you, if you regain your memories and return to your former strength. Brother, you are a vengeful bastard. Arrogant, egotistical, and sadistic. The revenge you'd exact would surpass anything that Aizen would do to me."
"You wound me, Yylfordt."
"Take my words to heart, and the next time they may not cut so deeply. But speaking of cuts…"
Yylfordt looked slightly sympathetic as he traced a finger down his cheek parallel to the one that marred his skin.
"This one is going to scar. Badly. I wouldn't be surprised if the lacerations scar permanently too. A pity… you were always so proud of your face. What a bastard the Quinta is."
"And what is my circumstance to you?" asked Szayel stiffly, lower lip drawing down into a sulky pout. The blonde stared at him for a moment then stood, shoving the medical supplies into his hands brusquely.
"I don't know. I don't know why I even bother. Maybe because despite how little you think of me and how callously you treat me, I still acknowledge that we are siblings and I harbor a small amount of regard for you. You are my younger brother; I feel a little responsible for your well being. Even if you are a crazy bitch. But you don't care about that, and it doesn't matter all that much to me either, so I'll just say it this way: I sympathize with your situation because I myself would be devastated if the same thing happened to me."
He walked away from him, pacing absentmindedly with an exasperated look on his face. Which, Szayel realized, was a more adult version of his. They had the same face. He smiled wryly; Yylfordt probably saw his own fate in him. With such a violent master, it was very possible he'd be injured in a battle some day. Bodily scars he could hide, but one to the face? Poor wretch. What a sad way to live. It seemed they were more similar than he'd thought.
"I see," he remarked to the tall blonde's back. Yylfordt paused in his pacing and turned to face him, a little surprised by his subdued tone. He shrugged this puzzlement off quickly though and went over to his bed, looking pensive.
"What to do with you…" he breathed, a little troubled, "You can't stay here. Grimmjow will be angry."
"Wouldn't want to destroy your thriving love life," remarked Szayel wryly. Yylfordt winced.
"I told you, I don't…" he began.
"And I don't believe you," Szayel cut in, smirking.
"Well regardless of how I feel, he isn't going to be happy with me if I keep you around. Whatever Aizen says," he replied, defensive. Szayel nodded.
"I know. I kind of got that feeling from him on the way over."
"Then you know you can't stay."
"Yes. Not to worry dearest brother. Aizen gave two options for my guardian, and you were only the first. The whole point of my staying with someone was to hopefully help me regain my memories more quickly. Living with you will be quite a useless endeavor since I don't share many relevant memories with you. I assume. Or that is the feeling I get."
"Ah," Yylfordt said, looking somewhat relieved, "That's good. Who is the second candidate?"
"Nnoitra."
Yylfordt's eyes widened, and he gaped and stuttered for a long minute before he managed to collect his thoughts into a coherent sentence.
"What? Aizen is mad! Placing you with him after what he did?"
"It isn't so bad. I want to go to Nnoitra," the pink haired child remarked with a mysterious smile.
"You're mad Szayel. Why would you want to live with him? He'll kill you. You're weaker than the average Hollow now… maybe even human level."
"There is that possibility, yes," Szayel conceded. Yylfordt looked nonplussed.
"You really do have a death wish. I never thought you were suicidal, but now… I question your sanity more than ever. Its no wonder you are, or were, the Octava."
Szayel sighed and stood, walking over to the Fraccion. Standing before him, he drew himself up as tall as he could and extended his hand so his index finger pointed straight towards the panther mask on the wall. He then crossed his arms, looking incredibly disdainful and more self righteous than any child had a right to be.
"As do I, Yylfordt, but you don't hear me criticizing you. I only laugh and smile at your folly, because even I'm not that big of a hypocrite."
"Hypocrite? What are you…"
Yylfordt trailed off as he comprehended his words.
"Oh! Oh my… you..?"
"Yes."
"And you remember?"
"Its one of the few things I'm sure about. Left a pretty big impression on me."
"But Szayel… it will never work. Especially not with you like this. He doesn't care for weakness."
"That's my problem. I can puzzle out my own problems myself. I don't need your pity or your sympathy. Frankly, I don't want it either. You're pitiful enough."
"Fine!" Yylfordt gave up, shaking his head, "It isn't as though you have another choice. I'll take you over to Nnoitra's wing in a bit, but first… you should get some new clothes. You look disgraceful."
Szayel grimaced wryly.
"Thank you so much for your kind words."
"I don't think we have any clothes your size in Las Noches either, so we will have to improvise… Make something new or modify an existing garment heavily. Here, lets go see what there is in the supply closet," Yylfordt continued without commenting on his sarcastic reply. So… he was back to being the cool and composed figure from earlier. Szayel felt a small flash of irritation as Yylfordt stood and strode purposefully over to the door. He could pretend to be dignified; Szayel knew he wasn't. Not really. But he could affect that air, and Szayel couldn't anymore. He could be charming, but not dignified. No one would take him seriously as a child. Then again…
In the back of his mind, something whispered that it was not so bad to be a child. That he was not quite so disadvantaged as he appeared. He strove to follow this train of thought and discover why, but it fled before him; elusive. He left it, knowing that if he pursued the idea he would lose it entirely. Perhaps it would come to him later. With a sigh of resignation, he followed Yylfordt out of the room.
Nnoitra was enjoying his afternoon free of disturbances until the knock came. Casting a lazy eye towards the door, he used his pequisa to determine the strength of his visitor. Not very powerful; Fraccion level. About Tesla's strength, and another. Two then, but the second was extremely weak, weaker than any Arrancar he'd ever felt. Definitely not worth his time.
"Tesla!" he hollered, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa. His one eyed Fraccion appeared moments later, looking appropriately servile.
"Yes, Nnoitra-sama?" he asked quietly, standing at attention.
"Go answer the door. Take care of whatever's the problem," he drawled, waving him off. The smaller man nodded and drifted over to the door, opening it. Nnoitra could hear him addressing his unexpected guests in neutral, polite tones.
"Nnoitra-sama is indisposed at the moment and cannot welcome visitors…"
Good boy. Lie through your teeth if it'll get rid of 'em, Nnoitra thought approvingly.
"I… see. That is… I will tell him."
Wait, what? Tell me what? Why aren't they gone!
"Master Nnoitra…"
Tesla approached him, looking apologetic and mildly confused. Nnoitra glared at him pointedly, but the Arrancar did not even fidget under his withering look; he was long since used to his hostility.
"What?" he asked when Tesla did not shrink away.
"Your visitors insist on your presence, and… I also believe you should speak to them. The situation is a little unusual."
"Useless pig," Nnoitra growled as he rose, shoving past him with irritation. Hauling open the door so that he could better see his two guests, he found himself staring down at Yylfordt. The blonde Fraccion gave him an impassive look, distinctly unimpressed by his scowl, and pushed a small figure with a colorful shock of hair forward. Nnoitra did not have to look down to know who it was.
"Get the fuck out of my hall, Yylfordt," he warned.
"Gladly, as soon as I drop your new charge off," Yylfordt replied coolly, "And now that I have, my job is done. Good day, Jiruga."
"Don't you fucking turn and leave! Take him with you!" Nnoitra demanded, furious, but Yylfordt only offered him a disgusted look and walked away, leaving the Quinta alone in his wing with the former Octava. The child Arrancar waited for the tall Espada to stop swearing and glowering at the blonde Fraccion's back. Though he didn't stop either, he did redirect his attention to Szayel.
"You," he informed him with a dangerous hiss, "Are going to regret coming to me. I am going to make your life so miserable you'll beg to be allowed to crawl back to your brother."
All the same, he stood back to admit him into his room, knowing that Aizen would punish him if he left the boy in the hallway thus flouting his orders. The child walked inside, and Nnoitra slammed the door, staring furiously at the wall for a long moment before he turned around to look at him. Szayel just stood there silently, a small, frail looking figure with pink hair and a pair of broken glasses and…
Just one good eye. Just one goddamn eye. Shit! The universe is laughing at me. The other was covered by a white patch of cloth, and he could see a spot of crimson where some of the boy's blood had seeped through. The sight was painfully ironic. A sick cosmological joke. Szayel looked up, offering him a tentative smile from beneath curling lashes. A sweet smile, cautiously hopeful, and then he spoke.
"It is good to meet you, Nnoitra-sama. I am in your care."
Author's Comments:
So then, I've finally gotten the second chapter up. Even though I wrote it more than a month ago. Truly a testament to how unmotivated I become when studying drags me down. Even now I'm procrastinating by typing this up and uploading it. I won't spend too long boring you with commentary you likely don't read.
As you can tell, chapter three is when we'll start to get into the NnoitraxSzayel interactions. And you might think, what the hell is this crap? What's with Yylfordt? I couldn't care less who he likes or whether he has a mask fetish. Or maybe not. But either way, it all contributes to plot progression. This won't be the last we hear from our taurine friend, or Grimmjow for that matter. But shush... no spoilers. -_- You'll all spot the pattern to my mind's cracky meanderings soon enough. Hurray for Szayel showing his true colors. ^^ He isn't the sweet little brat he makes himself out to be. Nope. He's got ulterior motives. Mmm... yes. (Random fangirl sqee: Tesla!)
Read and review, as always. I'll stalk your profile and write you amusing replies. Maybe. owo Ah... did I type that or think that?
~Tinari
