He hated amber, he decided. The color, not the stone. There was just something about people with that particular shade of iris… and maybe it was complete coincidence, but the three individuals he knew with golden eyes were people to be wary of. One was the Queen, who had the aura of a tigress. Another was a blue haired alchemist who'd wrought destruction upon the Amistrian army with his manufactured bombs and powdered explosives and Greek fire. And the third… the third was a man he dreaded confronting, whose amber eyes he stared into now as he smiled and greeted him with deceptive warmth. Szayel Aporro Granz, royal Archmage of Mercia.

He'd been called down to Szayel's greenhouse after the evening meal, presumably for his first lesson in poison tasting. Though the earlier revelation that Ulquiorra was perfectly secure in eating his meals still smarted, he supposed it would be to his advantage to learn. Say, if he ever got out of this hell of palace. It would be that much more difficult for someone to kill him, so long as he could survive the training. He didn't envy whatever unlucky bastards there were out there who had this as a lifelong profession.

Standing there before Szayel, the starry night sky looming dark above them just beyond the curving panes of the glass ceiling, he tried to keep his composure as best he could. It was a little difficult, for the Archmage unnerved him and despite the fact that night had fallen, the greenhouse felt just as hot and humid as before. His palms sweated and his skin perspired lightly, and he was grateful for the lazy tropical breeze that wound cat-like around them, bringing the rich scent of soil and the fragrance of flowers to his nose. Idly, he wondered where the breeze came from, given that they were indoors, but he supposed it went along with the microclimate Szayel had created here for himself. If he could manipulate the water content and heat in his greenhouse, he could certainly create some wind.

"And how are you enjoying your new life in Mercia thus far?" the Archmage finally inquired pleasantly of him, speaking up. Nnoitra grunted, reluctantly dredging up a reply.

"S'alright."

"How undescriptive, if unsurprising. We'll have to work on that later. Do come with me for now; you can regale me further over tea."

The pink haired man waved for him to follow, starting off down a path of broken slate that led straight through the heart of his organized jungle. Though it looked natural, as if it had been there for centuries, a relic of some abandoned civilization with moss and low creeping plants growing between the cracks, he knew it had been very specifically designed to look that way. Other paths, these of tamped down dirt, diverged from the main thoroughfare, winding further into the forest. Aesthetics seemed to be very important to the Archmage. He half expected to hear the ambient noise of wild creatures rustling in the undergrowth to complete the man's miniature rainforest, however, the place was eerily silent. It sent chills up his spine, how unnatural this place felt. A fabricated paradise, just as landscaped as the rest of Mercia.

Another clue that this was all manmade came from the little glowing globes that were strung along the path, lighting it enough so that they could see where they were going. They looked like small golden moons, and they cast a gentle light across the mossy path. Like the sconces in the dark, lifeless hall that led to Szayel's domain, they did not flicker with fire. Magic fueled them. He wondered if he plucked one from its arboreal perch, would it feel hot to the touch? Would it give off any warmth at all?

Nnoitra wasn't sure what to expect when they emerged from the greenery of Szayel's forest, but what the room opened out onto was a comparatively narrow strip of cobbled stone floor. Over by the wall was what looked like a teakwood writing desk. A small glass dome with a potted plant inside took up the left side. As they approached it, he could see it held a small flower cutting, barely two inches in height. Gloves lay beside it, along with pruning scissors, but what really caught his eye wasn't the desk or its cargo so much as the creature on the metal stand beside the desk. The avian being stirred to lift its head from beneath one folded wing and appraise them curiously as they drew near.

Oh god, was it gorgeous. If he thought he'd seen some beautiful animals today, this was positively stunning. It glowed, feathers glittering like fire as it arched its swanlike neck, shifting on its golden perch and flexing its wings. Upon sighting Szayel, the phoenix spread them and took off, flying towards him and circling overhead a moment before coming in to land, trailing tail shining like a comet behind it. Nnoitra swore he could see sparks flying off the beast, but he realized a moment later that it had lost two small feathers from its breast plumage and he reached up to catch these as they fell. They glowed in his hands, warm but not hot like they looked, and some of their brilliance faded even as he watched. While the phoenix preened contentedly on Szayel's shoulder, tending to its wing feathers, the Archmage turned to extend a hand expectantly.

"I'll need those. I collect them for use as magical reagents. You wouldn't know what to do with them anyways," he said, and Nnoitra reluctantly handed them over.

"You have a phoenix?"

"Obviously. What does it look like? A cockatoo? Come along. I've set up in another room."

There was indeed another room. He hadn't noticed the door at first, for the magical bird had distracted him, but he could see it now, and Szayel opened it and stepped through… as if it was perfectly ordinary to walk around with a phoenix on one's shoulder. Well, maybe for him it was, but it was still somewhat surreal for Nnoitra.

The climate change was instant and disorienting. From hot and humid, he went to cool and dry. Or perhaps it wasn't cool here, but it felt that way after the tropical heat of the greenhouse. This part of his home had a cozier feel to it, though it was no less sumptuously decorated than the rest of the palace. He supposed this was where Szayel entertained guests, though he couldn't imagine people visited him very often. Though he had a charismatic smile, there was something very offputting about the mage. He felt like the type to plunge a dagger in your back; someone who had no qualms about murder, who would do what he wanted to get what he wanted. He was handsome certainly, even despite his scholarly lenses, which he suspected were really more for show than anything else. But he was also a dangerous man. Lithe and confident and lethal.

Turning around to face him, Szayel offered him a sly smile and gestured for him to have a seat at the small table off to the side. A tea service was already set up, with porcelain cups on either side of a steaming teapot ready to be poured. More tea. Wonderful. He had a feeling he was going to get sick of the beverage between Szayel and Ulquiorra. Gingerly, he sat down, folding his long legs awkwardly while he waited tensely for Szayel to take his seat. He did so elegantly, crossing his legs as he stared demurely across the table, amusement quirking his lips.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you anything to eat, but since you just had dinner, I'm sure you won't mind," the pink haired man said as he reached over, pouring himself a cup before pouring Nnoitra his. Nnoitra watched the amber liquid swirl from the spout into the bone white china almost meditatively, not knowing how to reply. Though his words were polite, there was insincerity in his voice. He didn't really care what he thought. He didn't really care what he had to say. So why was he making small talk?

"What kind of tea is it?"

"It's a type of Darjeeling."

In other words, expensive. Nnoitra had managed to retain some information from his foray at the tea shop. He inhaled, testing the aroma. There was a light scent of citrus in the fragrance of the tea. It smelled good… Tentatively, he took a sip. Across the table, Szayel smiled and raised his own cup to his lips.

"You don't seem terribly talkative this evening, Nnoitra. I can call you Nnoitra, can't I? We're going to be seeing quite a lot of each other, so we might as well get friendly now, don't you think?" Szayel said with a cheerful levity that grated on his nerves.

"What am I supposed to say to you? You called me here; I'm assuming you have a reason. I'm just waiting for you to tell me what you want from me," he replied with as much neutrality as he could. The Archmage sighed, taking a sip of his tea and leaning forward conversationally.

"Is hospitality a dead art in Amistri then? I'll make a note to never visit if that's the case."

"I'm just a servant. Hospitality isn't required with me."

"Oh, you're a bit more than a servant. You were the former vice general of Amistri. Nnoitra Gilga. Somewhat of a legend on the battlefield, what with your missing eye…"

The Archmage's voice lowered in pitch as he reached forward to brush fingers across his eyepatch, but Nnoitra abruptly scooted back from the table, chair grating against the floor in complaint. Szayel's hand paused in the air as a tense silence stretched between them, Nnoitra's fingers clutching the edge of the table harshly and turning his knuckles white. After an awkward moment, the pink haired man withdrew, picking up his tea again and starting up the conversation as casually as if nothing had happened.

"I wonder… how much has your own innate magic influenced your fighting style…?" he mused.

Innate magic?

"What?"

"I should think it manifested as a sensing type out of pure necessity, to make up for your disability."

Sensing type…

"What the hell are you talking about?" Nnoitra cut in, scowling. Magic? He didn't have magic. What was this man going on about? Szayel apparently disagreed, for his grin only widened, though he covered his smile coyly as he leaned back.

"Oh my, that's right. You wouldn't know, would you? You Amistrians are so focused on conquering and waging war and building up the physical talents of your warriors, you fail to incorporate magic, because it is seen as easy and dishonorable. Then again, no mage would be caught dead in your Spartan society. You leave no room for individual growth. Everything is so regimented. But you, Nnoitra, have magical potential locked away inside. Your military training and blind spot have forced some of it to leak out, giving you an enhanced sixth sense I would imagine. Having magical potential doesn't make you a mage by any stretch of the imagination though."

"And how would you know? How can ya tell? This sixth sense you call magic… it's called instinct. Intuition. Ya learn it on the battlefield when you've got to be constantly aware of your surroundings, or someone'll gut or decapitate you," Nnoitra retorted, eye narrowing as he began to slip into a rougher cant in his frustration. Fuck magic. He wasn't magical.

"There are a couple ways to tell. Magic will always bleed through and reveal itself. The subtler way is based on appearance. Those with magical potential will have unusual hair or eye color. Take me for example. I have pink hair and gold eyes. Both are unusual, and both natural too. I have not altered them artificially. In your case, your iris is purple. There are actually many people out there with potential, but most never tap into it or become aware of its existence. That requires training. In some cases, need will drive an unconscious usage, though this is very limited and can hardly be called magic. It simply enhances existing capabilities or talents.

The other way to tell if a person has magic is to feel it in their aura. Because you are accessing some of your magic, I can feel that. You can feel mine as well, which is why you're so jumpy around me. I'm actually an intimidating person if you can believe it," Szayel explained, chuckling somewhat at the last part, as if he found the thought entertaining.

Oh, there was nothing entertaining about him. And there was no way he was buying into the Archmage's explanation.

"I'm not a fucking mage," he said flatly, and Szayel shot him a disapproving look.

"Yes I know," he said haughtily, "If you would actually listen, I said that having potential is different from actually being a mage. Frankly, I doubt you'd ever become one. You don't have the mindset."

"Then why are we discussing it at all?"

"Because you, Nnoitra, have another irritating ability due to your innate magic. If someone curses you, that curse will degrade over time because your magic will reject it and break it down. You have what is called magical resistance. Conversely, if a beneficial spell is placed on you, you have magical conductivity. Spells will stick more readily to you and be amplified by your magic."

Magical resistance… wait, was that why-? He sat back, brow furrowed in thought as he considered this new revelation. Actually, that part made some sense. He remembered hearing Szayel tell Byakuya that he required follow up visits because of resistance when he'd first visited the Archmage. But… it was still too difficult to believe. Even if there might have been the possibility…

"From your expression, I see you have reached the appropriate conclusion. Outside of poison taster training, I get you twice a month to renew the curse so I can negate the effects of your resistance," Szayel remarked quietly. Nnoitra's eye flickered up to meet his, narrowing at his self-satisfied expression.

"I'm still not buying it. There could be some other reason. You're a snaky bastard; wouldn't surprise me to hear you've got other ideas. What about the prince, eh? According to what you've just told me, he lacks magical potential. Why do you want him?"

Szayel's expression cooled slightly, becoming a little sharper and a tad more appraising. He seemed to be waiting for something, and Nnoitra's questions didn't look like they sat well with him. The man took another sip of his tea before replying, though he noticed how his fingers twitched slightly.

"You do have a good memory for things, don't you Nnoitra? Yes, I've asked Byakuya to send him down on several occasions for lessons. I never said they were magic lessons. But you are correct; he doesn't possess magical potential, even if he does have beautiful green eyes. He takes more after his father."

"What kind of lessons then?"

Szayel paused, staring over the rim of his teacup at him for a moment. His answer, when it came, was clipped.

"This is between the prince and I. No one else. And regardless of what you think, I will have you in here twice a month to renew the spell, even after you finish your other obligations with me. You can take my word now or later, I don't care."

Ok… so maybe Szayel wasn't playing here. He didn't seem to be joking, and as he pointed out, he'd find out in a couple weeks anyways. Maybe he did have this… magical potential.

No. That was ridiculous. Though he did feel extremely uncomfortable around the man. There was an undeniable instinctive aversion that made his skin crawl just to be in his proximity, like that first visit, when he'd felt afraid and claustrophobic walking down the hall that led to his domain. That had been a spell, he was positive… but could it be that he felt it more strongly because of his supposed sensing abilities? Byakuya had seemed unfazed. Then again, he was probably used to it…

"I'm supposed to be his guard, ya know. That makes his business mine," Nnoitra drawled in return. Szayel smiled with deceptive levity.

"I know you want to kill him, and that you would if you could. We all know. It's no great shock. So I wouldn't say a word if I were you. There's a fine line between pretending not to notice and calling one out on treason, and it's heavily reliant on convenience. Don't press your luck."

"Then why not have me killed now, if that's what you all believe? Why keep me around if I'm a risk?" he demanded, temper growing short. It seemed straightforward enough. He was a known risk. Risks were marginalized. Ergo-

"And here I thought you were a general. Really Nnoitra, it's elementary," said the pink haired mage, raising a finger in demonstration as his lips curved up sweetly, "We have a peace treaty to uphold, and if you're murdered immediately, that does not look good for Mercia. Oh, everyone expects Amistri to try some fool coup attempt, but Mercia has a reputation to maintain. So for the moment, you're safe. If you prove to be someone useful, who knows; they might even keep you around."

…Oh fuck.

He knew it. He just knew it. And he must have allowed his thoughts to get away and show on his face for Szayel grinned. He'd suspected, somewhere in the back of his mind… but here he was presented with a newfound urgency. And though it wasn't concrete, just the Archmage's musings, he knew them to be true.

For the moment, you're safe… if you're murdered immediately, that does not look good for Mercia… Ah damn…

"You look a little pale, Nnoitra. Perhaps a sip of tea will steady your nerves? That always calms me down," the man commented. His voice was undercut with sadistic amusement at his predicament, but it was the false concern he masked it with that really grated on his patience. Gritting his teeth, he stared down at the table, trying to sift through the information he'd been presented and come up with some sort of plan.

So Szayel thought he had magic. If he didn't, it was no loss. But if he did, then great. Wonderful. Splendid. Maybe he could make use of it to break the curse he was under? If he could somehow stall the visits… get out of seeing Szayel… But no. The Archmage wouldn't allow it, he could already tell. The expression on his face when he'd first visited… he wasn't about to let him go. Nnoitra was going to have to figure out a way to blackmail him or win his allegiance. Szayel was turning out to be the single most important person in this game of political intrigue, a game that had suddenly become that much more critical. But he had a chance now, maybe. It was slight, and there was so much he still didn't know. So much he still had to do… but with luck, he could work with this. He had to. With luck-

His eyes bulged as his body suddenly seized up, and Nnoitra bent over, convulsing as a wave of nausea overcame him. Clutching desperately at the table, he tried not to topple backwards in his chair as he retched, body trembling and skin growing clammy and cold.

"What… the fuck?" he gasped weakly as he spat out the bile in his mouth, cringing as he noted there was blood in his spit. Oh. Shit.

"Ah, so the poison has finally taken effect," Szayel noted with interest as he watched him vomit again. "Hmm, took slightly longer than I'd anticipated, but you are a big man and it would take more time to metabolize..."

"Poison? Aren't… you supposed to be… teaching me how to avoid them?" Nnoitra gasped again as his stomach flared in agony and his vision spun.

"I am. What did you think I called you down for? Company? That one has a delayed reaction time. Did you notice the light citrus scent in the tea? That is its hallmark presentation. If you gargle with it, the tea will taste bitter."

"You… bastard… why aren't you… poisoned?"

Szayel grinned and reached into his robe, pulling out a familiar crystal. This one however was a light, cloudy gray and was engraved with a phoenix insignia.

God fucking damn it.

"Well poisoning myself does seem rather counterproductive, don't you think?" he remarked teasingly.

Nnoitra had no response for that; he was too busy dry heaving as violent tremors wracked his body. When he managed to right himself, leaning heavily against the table, his breath came in labored, ragged pants.

"And… killing me… isn't?" he finally asked incredulously, black spots peppering his vision.

"Oh no, you aren't going to die by my hand. That really would be a waste. I have countless games lined up for us. We're going to have so much fun together, you and I," Szayel replied, feigning shock that he would even suggest such a thing.

Nnoitra privately wondered how much poison it would take to overcome that stupid crystal and actually kill him as he stared up into his gleaming amber eyes.

"Yeah… right…"

He swayed, feeling his consciousness slipping, and Szayel remarked offhandedly as he collapsed, "Please do me a favor and avoid your vomit when you faint. It would be inconvenient to change your clothes. Ah… too late…"

Nnoitra toppled over, bloody froth foaming from his lips, and Szayel sighed theatrically as he stood and picked his way over to the prone man. Nudging him disdainfully with the toe of his boot, he promptly brought his fingers up to his lips and gave a sharp whistle. Two child-sized beings with elfin features emerged from another room, dashing over to him as they shoved each other playfully and tripped over their own feet without ever managing to actually fall. They continued their rough and tumble game as they stopped in front of him, only straightening to attention as he addressed them.

"Lumina. Verona. Please clean up after our guest. He seems to have made a mess of himself."

"As you wish Szayel Aporro sir," the sprites chirped, dragging him up out of his vomit and looking quite comical as they lifted the lanky man who was many times their size. He stopped them with a raised hand as they prepared to dash off with him.

"Just a moment."

Reaching into his robe, he pulled out a small vial and tipped it down Nnoitra's throat, then motioned for them to take him away. They did so, one grabbing his arms, the other his legs, and they ran off with him like some grand trophy, giggling all the while. Szayel eyed the reeking pool of bile momentarily before wrinkling his nose and striding off. Nnoitra would probably take an hour or two to recover, and it would be clean before that time. Until then, he'd go prepare his next poison.

Ah… it was so nice having a proper plaything again.

A/N: I have to admit that I wrote this chapter at least half a month ago? Probably longer. But I haven't put it up until now because I was unsatisfied with the content of the chapter. Originally, it was choppier because I was on a timeline with the poison. However, I decided to just say "Ah hell" and go with it and smooth it out by adding a bit more content. I'm much happier with it now.

It still feels a little strange to me… but then, my writing always feels strange to me. =/ I'm a terrible judge of my own work. Kudos if you caught the alchemist reference; he'll be in this too. Oh yes, he'll be in this. 3 Pretty much everyone will be in this. (Ok, so I lie… but there will be a crapload of canon characters. Hurhurhur)

Next chapter… I guess I'll see what happens when I write it. :P I'm so totally making this up as I go along. Just following a very general outline/idea thing-a-ma-jig in my head. With luck, I'll get to focus on another character I positively love.

See you in the next update, whenever that happens. I'm getting my butt kicked by Finals right now. *Sobs* Read and review please; you'll make my day. (Who the heck reads this fic anyways? Well aside from the obvious people. You know who you are. I'll shut up now and let you get back to your lives)