GRIMMJOW JEAGERJAQUEZ

And here's the result :D

She flinched, wiping her face quickly. “Y-Yes, sir.”

After hearing his words, she thought then mumbled. “But…” Mode finally looked up at him again.

“If he doesn’t care for me, who will?”

She’s gotta be batshit crazy. That was the only conclusion Grimmjow could come up with over her dependence on Aizen. Granted, he only been recruited under the pretense of increased power. This work was just the sexta's ways of repaying what was given to him. He had no notions on what Pe's life was like—not like he cared.

"'The fuck you need him for?" He asked, not truly vying for a response. It was a question that slipped from him unprompted—without him getting a chance to think over it first.

Her desperation made little sense to him. It was a weak trait, something that could ultimately get her killed if she were thrown into the middle of the cadaverous desert.

Her expression suddenly changed, ears twitching.

Pe opened the door. There was nothing & no one inside. Her ears drooped. Was her Master even in this room in the first place? She was left befuddled.

Purpose wasn't found in the lap of deception personified. Grimmjow grasped that, but he was quick to figure Pe might not be predisposed to taking on reality in full. He grunted in response to her narrow viewpoint.

The first crack of the door had him stiffening—a small postural change he'd only squeeze into when met with their leader. Fully open, cold air left the room in a thick gust. No Aizen. The absence of the oppressive lord had agitated the volatile panther.

"Or yer a damn liar," he accused, incapable of considering she truly didn't know Aizen would pull a disappearing act on them.

Plans? Grimmjow wasn't acquainted with the idea of forethought—his past was evidence of that. Correction: everything about him boasted about following impulse and discarding reason. The fact he was standing there with Halibel had been because they sensed a flurry of hollows stirring chaos and he charged ahead. Fortunately, she kept up.

Reason, something rarely exercised by the sexta, was what allowed him to standstill, long enough to assess the situation. It came short when he concluded that the only way to quell the violent discourse below was to immerse themselves in it and carve death out. It's jus' a couple of weak hollows. They might be a challenge as a group. The boredom that once characterized him brightened into a wicked, sharp-toothed grin.

"Just don't get in my way," he answered.

Those words gave way for the blonde to do as she pleased, so as long as she didn't do anything to cut at his own fun. Unless she was interested in fighting her own "comrade" over stolen prey. Not like Grimmjow hadn't done that before. He was territorial that way, in true primal jaguar fashion.

Grimmjow's spiritual pressure spiked and swirled, already taunting their to-be opponents. He gave a crack or two of his neck. Then he looked to her with electrifying, sharp blues. His pupils a pinprick in a sea of danger-hungry excitement.

"Ya ready?"

Grimmjow couldn’t anymore——couldn’t hold his weight that is. He had pushed his body past his limits, his muscles fatigued and achy, too weak even for something as simple as parting his lips. Against even his own stubborn wants, his weight shifted onto Nelliel. She was strong and steady and he was but a tumble weed, incapable of mirroring her physical stability. Even the stale air was enough to tip him over.

Fortunately, his vulnerability made it so that she could guide him to somewhere grounded, his languid, heavy steps doing little to propel him anywhere. Ahead was a rock for him, on which he nearly collapsed, but he caught himself. Some of his vigor returned with the anchor below his feet doing the most of the heavy lifting. Although, that was more of his own delusion than anything. There was no motivation for anything, even if he desperately convinced himself otherwise.

Nelliel continued to watch him with her watchful gaze as the male could barely hold himself upright on the rock. Even sitting down looked like a gargantuan task for the former Sexta Espada in his current fatigued state, which only served to solidify her belief that the male was in desperate need of rest. Yet, Grimmjow would continue contradicting her words and claiming he was alright and good on his own, negating the obvious truth that he was in such a rough state that he could barely even function.

In other circumstances, Nelliel would have crossed her arms at her chest in a stern manner, shooting him a serious look before launching herself into another speech, scolding the other for his recklessness. Just look at yourself! You're fine on your own? Then how come you can barely hold your own weight even when doing the simplest of acts like that of sitting down? You aren't fooling anyone but yourself if you think anyone with two good eyes and of sane mind would believe that you're okay right now! She probably would have told him, her irritation fueled by the worry she held for him, but the female refrained. Nell was upset, but she wanted to help her comrade, not push him away. So instead, the former Tres took a deep breath and bent down to help pick up Pantera from the coarse white sands.

Grimmjow hadn't given away to his exhaustion just yet. His thoughts were but a faint humming when the former Tres caught him. When she expressed her worry, his ability to reply—to confess—no, to fight against her despite his admission died. He was limp, against her shoulder. Face overtaken by a mossy-green sea. Her voice a muddle mess. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been so weak and cowardly as to admit needing help. The jaguar would have dragged himself behind some rubble and rest until his body grouped up enough strength to head back home—back to the palace.

Somehow, his brain had been awake enough, not to capture her words, but to register her scent. He normally sat slicked with the odor of a warrior—sweat laden swirled with musk, but she carried regality in her aroma. Clean. Floral in its quality. It was peace and it contrasted his turbulence, subduing him into a profound, well-needed slumber.

Like a ragdoll, Grimmjow crashed into the plushness of his bed. Or hers. He didn't know. It was all the same to him in his condition. However, there was an innate knowing that his body had been whisked to safety. In his slumber, his parted lips let out a deep breath. His eternally furrowed brows had relaxed, a faint crease sitting between them. The flowery cloud in his midst keeping his senses tame.

Waking moments were far and few between. Lucidity flickered like a dream, which Grimmjow convinced himself it had to be. He'd cracked one dulled blue eye of his open, instinctively squeezed the hand holding his before falling back into his mind's dark repose. Other times he was greeted by the rare treat of wakefulness, his condition earned his onlookers a once in a lifetime glimpse into vulnerability. He grunted. Groaned. Incapable of concealing his physical hurt.

By the time he had finally woken up in full, solitude was there keeping the room cold. No longer burdened by his tiredness, Grimmjow hauled himself upright in bed. The weak were afforded the privilege in continuing to sit in luxuries such as this. He was, in his own generous self-consideration, too strong to sit idle. Made to be clawing his way through the world. Pinged by what he thought to be the illusory memory of support, he examined his palm. Just what the hell was that? Logic forged a lousy excuse, calling that "dream" a sign he needed more training to eradicate whatever his mind was thinking up.

Not until he learned Nelliel had, in fact, been faithful to his side, only leaving for a brief moment. Long enough for him to wake and get out of bed.

"She's stupid," he said, only to himself, on the other hand, reminding himself that now, he had debt that required being repaid in full. Nelliel had seen him in total depravity and rather than taking advantage of his inferiority, she kept him well accompanied. That alone merited he do something—anything of equal value. Stupid was just the easy word. The one that would help him maintain an emotional distance as he preferred for the sake of survival.

Still bogged by injury, Grimmjow retreated to the solitary top of the palace, thinking he'd be able to shake off those green tresses his face had slumped over days prior. His scent wasn't that of the battlefield. It was her. All her. That damned cleanly aroma. Yet, he didn't fight to cleanse himself.

Just as Grimmjow straightened himself, a furious grumble in his core warned that his idleness required he work to sate his appetite. In the same wind, Nelliel's plea that he go spend time at the palace resurfaced. She was right. He was seldom present for their attempts to play human. Almost swayed by his hunger, he shook his head in total repulsion.

"King's don't play house," he muttered under his breath.

. . . but his debt loomed over him . . . .

If he was still conscious enough to feel her soft floral scent and feel the brush of her long locks of hair on his cheek and the soft breeze blowing through his hair, then Grimmjow might've been able to also hear the click of her tongue, a gesture that Nelliel only did when her patience was at its end meet. She was an understanding woman, very balanced and rational in her thinking, having always been then one to advocate for morality and the right thing to do. But at the same time, she wasn't one to stand by and allow her fellow teammate destroy themselves either. So, weather Grimmjow liked it or not, he was coming back with her and he was going to take a well deserved break, one long enough to make sure his body would be back to its prime. And all under her watchful eye, cause Nelliel was determined not to leave his side by any chance.

"Yer staying here until ya get well again and I ain't gonna take no for an answer!" Was the last thing he'd hear her say before she plopped his rad doll like body down onto the bed, then went to procure the necessary tools to tend to his battered and beaten body. Arrancar and Hollow were capable of healing themselves on their own, but the weaker one's body was, the longer it took for the healing to be effective, so there was no harm in speeding up the process with some medicinal ointments and such.

They had been lucky enough to have managed to establish somewhat of a peace treaty with Seireitei and Gotei 13 so that their transit between the human world and Hueco Mundo for resupplying wouldn't be viewed as a crime. With Aizen now defeated and the balance between the three realms reinstated, it was into everyone's best interest that each population would be able to thrive and maintain itself afloat. With the recent events that cost them many of the Espada numbers and their fracciones, Hueco Mundo was at the risk of heading into demographic collapse, which would've put the other two realms in danger too (each realm had its own purpose and so, even if Shinigami didn't appreciate the Hollows and their misdeeds in the human realm, they knew too that their existance served its own purpose), so it was best that there wouldn't be any more casualties for the Hollows.

That allowed the new leadership consisting of Hallibel, her fracciones and Nelliel to make occasional journeys between the realms and buy supplies from Urahara. The former Reaper had some really handy items in stock, with which they could rebuild some of Las Noches' broken systems and save as many of their people with his medicine. Urahara was also the one who built the little device helping Nelliel maintain her adult form for an indefinite amount of time, so she had more than one reason to be grateful for his existence and collaboration. And now his medical supplies were going to help her friend get back onto his feet.

And so, Nelliel tried her best to mend his wounds and sprained muscles, before taking a seat down onto the floor and taking his hand into hers, squeezing it in an affectionate manner which the female hoped would send across to him that he wasn't alone and she was there for him. Who knows for how long she'd then stayed like that, gazing over his sleeping figure, admiring the serenity of his now relaxed features, before laying her head down too for some sleep of her own. It was only much much later that the former Tres woke up and after making sure that Grimmjow was still safe, she made a short departure from the room to grab something to eat and drink some water.

If only she would've known that he'd be waking up in that fraction of a minute she was away, maybe Nelliel would've refrained her own needs a bit longer to be there and assist him when the Jaguar would come back to his senses. But all she could do now, when she'd returned to the room to find it empty, was to curse under her breath and try her best not to blame herself for her own stupidity.

"Grimmjow!" She called out into the vast empty hallways, pace quickened as the green-haired woman began her search for the male. She had a slight hunch where Grimmjow might've gone, but at the same time she couldn't help but worry again. Heh... Funny how lately she'd been experiencing this particular feeling way more often than she normally would've, and all because a very thick skulled feline who couldn't understand his own physical body's limits. The thought made her lips curl into a faint smile, bemused by it, before returning to that somber seriosity so characteristic to her.

Luckily, the former Sexta was feline based, which meant that, like any cat out there, he would be seeking the safety of the highest spot in the whole place. So it didn't take long before Nelliel headed for the most logical place: the rooftops of Las Noches. And there he was, shooting the wind while being seated down, his expression marked by his deep toughts.

"Ah, here ye were... For a moment I thought ya'd left again for that damned dunes..." Nelliel heaved a sigh of relief, but maintained her position at the top of the stairs, as if afraid that if she made any step closer, the male would run away again.

"Everything okay, Grimm?"

When Nelliel caught him, his eyes sat unfixed, one of his legs hanging off the building. The other bent, providing space for his elbow to rest and his face to meet his hand. His brows tensed. His frown deepened. The impressive height he sat on didn't seem so tall and secluded anymore, yet he didn't move to reclaim what she robbed from him by showing up. He, like many enemies he killed in his day, sat defenseless, in an act of self-penance, expecting some kind of lecture as she was accustomed to handing out as though it were a party favor of sorts.

As Arrancar, they were proud creatures who didn't surrender or showed their vulnerabilities to anyone, so for him to maintain that defenseless stance as she walked in on him meant that he trusted and accepted her enough to not make a fuss about it. She wasn't going to lecture him about disappearing like that, nor was she going to complain. Nelliel was simply relieved that he didn't push him away and that he didn't leave when she followed him to his safe place.

The female Arrancar would simply nod at his reply and slowly approach him, takin a seat next to Grimmjow to admire the view granted by the height they were at. "I see. I'm glad to know that yer feeling better." Just by glancing at him one would've been able to tell that the Jaguar was far from being fully healed, but at least he was in good enough of a shape to hold himself upright and walk around freely.

"What happened back in the desert... I was worried." Was all she was going to comment on the topic. Pouring salt on his wounded pride wouldn't have served either one of them, so all Nelliel wanted to send with this one line was that she cared about him and that seeing him in such a broken state hurt her as much as he had hurt his own body. She could only hope that her feelings would reach the male and that he would see too what he meant to her, that she truly cared and wasn't expecting anything in return for helping him nor did she draw some sick twisted pleasure in showing some kind of superiority by playing 'the hero'.

Nelliel was a complicated Arrancar, even more so as she seemed to still posses a large range of her former human feelings, such as empathy and compassion towards another. She might've been rusty in displaying those emotions or even understanding them herself, but something deep within her told her that she should protect and keep safe those she cared about deeply. So was the case back with Nnoitra, but unfortunately unlike Grimmjow, the 8th Espada at the time did not understand her reasons and took her help and compassion as some sort of insult to his own shortcomings as a warrior. She didn't want to lose him, just like she didn't want to lose Grimmjow now, while she couldn't save the other male from meeting his doom, she at least wanted to make sure that history wouldn't repeat itself and lose another comrade dear to her.

After a while of silent contemplation of the wastelands below, the former Tres would return her hazel gaze back onto her friend, having felt the short movement of his body. Just as stoically, she then watched him flex his arm, the muscles tensing and stretching under his skin as he did so. Part of her would've wanted to warm him not to push his body too far too soon and that he should take it easy, but who was she kidding? This was Grimmjow were talking about, the very avatar and patron of Destruction. Telling him to take it easy and not scratch that itch of always being on the move would've been pointless and obviously foolish.

If the Sexta wanted something, he would get or do that something no matter what her or anybody else would've told him. So for now, Nelliel considered herself lucky that at least he had been wise enough as to listen to her plea for him to give his body some rest.

"I'm sure of it that at the end of the day, ye would've eventually managed to gather yourself up from the sand and limp back to Las Noches." She granted him the pleasure that she didn't doubt his capabilities, however she still wanted to accentuate how reckless he could've been in thinking he could still fend for himself in that battered state. "I just didn't like the thought of yer body laying unconscious in the desert, at the mercy of whatever wild Adjuchas or unknown threats might be lurking around."

"Yer strong Grimmjow, I don't contradict ya on that, but even ya would be smart enough to know that yer powers are useless if yer body and mind are shut down and unable to use them." Nelliel frowned in response to his prideful grin, but her expression would soon soften, unable to stay upset at the male. "On another note, I'm actually glad to have ya finally back here, even if not in the best of shapes." A warm smile would then replace the furrow of her brows.

"Las Noches feels so big and empty nowadays... The loneliness makes it feel no different from the wasteland outside its gates." Being vulnerable around someone wasn't something she'd often do either, but since Grimmjow had let his guard down for once, it was only right she'd do the same, opening her heart to him. "Truth be told, I've been missing yer presence around here. As boring and shitty as Aizen's meeting were, at least they kept us all united and together in a way. It filled that void left by the solitude of this otherwise empty place. So now, with even fewer of us remaining, it almost feels abandoned when ye and Halli are away."

He allowed himself to be submissive to calm when the former tres colonized the space beside him. Isn't this what he wanted... deep down, far past the threshold of his conscious notions of self? It was easy to discard that there could be any emotionality driving him now. He simply was and to be that he accepted that she would simply be, however or wherever that "be" was.

I haven’t posted here in a hot minute and for those expecting an edit…sorry! I come bringing art instead.

Specifically GrimmNel art. I posted it on my art Instagram which I rarely use.

Anyways, under the cut will be what I said about the drawing and a cute little alternative version for fun.

She flinched, wiping her face quickly. “Y-Yes, sir.”

After hearing his words, she thought then mumbled. “But…” Mode finally looked up at him again.

“If he doesn’t care for me, who will?”

She’s gotta be batshit crazy. That was the only conclusion Grimmjow could come up with over her dependence on Aizen. Granted, he only been recruited under the pretense of increased power. This work was just the sexta's ways of repaying what was given to him. He had no notions on what Pe's life was like—not like he cared.

"'The fuck you need him for?" He asked, not truly vying for a response. It was a question that slipped from him unprompted—without him getting a chance to think over it first.

Her desperation made little sense to him. It was a weak trait, something that could ultimately get her killed if she were thrown into the middle of the cadaverous desert.

Grimmjow couldn’t anymore——couldn’t hold his weight that is. He had pushed his body past his limits, his muscles fatigued and achy, too weak even for something as simple as parting his lips. Against even his own stubborn wants, his weight shifted onto Nelliel. She was strong and steady and he was but a tumble weed, incapable of mirroring her physical stability. Even the stale air was enough to tip him over.

Fortunately, his vulnerability made it so that she could guide him to somewhere grounded, his languid, heavy steps doing little to propel him anywhere. Ahead was a rock for him, on which he nearly collapsed, but he caught himself. Some of his vigor returned with the anchor below his feet doing the most of the heavy lifting. Although, that was more of his own delusion than anything. There was no motivation for anything, even if he desperately convinced himself otherwise.

Nelliel continued to watch him with her watchful gaze as the male could barely hold himself upright on the rock. Even sitting down looked like a gargantuan task for the former Sexta Espada in his current fatigued state, which only served to solidify her belief that the male was in desperate need of rest. Yet, Grimmjow would continue contradicting her words and claiming he was alright and good on his own, negating the obvious truth that he was in such a rough state that he could barely even function.

In other circumstances, Nelliel would have crossed her arms at her chest in a stern manner, shooting him a serious look before launching herself into another speech, scolding the other for his recklessness. Just look at yourself! You're fine on your own? Then how come you can barely hold your own weight even when doing the simplest of acts like that of sitting down? You aren't fooling anyone but yourself if you think anyone with two good eyes and of sane mind would believe that you're okay right now! She probably would have told him, her irritation fueled by the worry she held for him, but the female refrained. Nell was upset, but she wanted to help her comrade, not push him away. So instead, the former Tres took a deep breath and bent down to help pick up Pantera from the coarse white sands.

Grimmjow hadn't given away to his exhaustion just yet. His thoughts were but a faint humming when the former Tres caught him. When she expressed her worry, his ability to reply—to confess—no, to fight against her despite his admission died. He was limp, against her shoulder. Face overtaken by a mossy-green sea. Her voice a muddle mess. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been so weak and cowardly as to admit needing help. The jaguar would have dragged himself behind some rubble and rest until his body grouped up enough strength to head back home—back to the palace.

Somehow, his brain had been awake enough, not to capture her words, but to register her scent. He normally sat slicked with the odor of a warrior—sweat laden swirled with musk, but she carried regality in her aroma. Clean. Floral in its quality. It was peace and it contrasted his turbulence, subduing him into a profound, well-needed slumber.

Like a ragdoll, Grimmjow crashed into the plushness of his bed. Or hers. He didn't know. It was all the same to him in his condition. However, there was an innate knowing that his body had been whisked to safety. In his slumber, his parted lips let out a deep breath. His eternally furrowed brows had relaxed, a faint crease sitting between them. The flowery cloud in his midst keeping his senses tame.

Waking moments were far and few between. Lucidity flickered like a dream, which Grimmjow convinced himself it had to be. He'd cracked one dulled blue eye of his open, instinctively squeezed the hand holding his before falling back into his mind's dark repose. Other times he was greeted by the rare treat of wakefulness, his condition earned his onlookers a once in a lifetime glimpse into vulnerability. He grunted. Groaned. Incapable of concealing his physical hurt.

By the time he had finally woken up in full, solitude was there keeping the room cold. No longer burdened by his tiredness, Grimmjow hauled himself upright in bed. The weak were afforded the privilege in continuing to sit in luxuries such as this. He was, in his own generous self-consideration, too strong to sit idle. Made to be clawing his way through the world. Pinged by what he thought to be the illusory memory of support, he examined his palm. Just what the hell was that? Logic forged a lousy excuse, calling that "dream" a sign he needed more training to eradicate whatever his mind was thinking up.

Not until he learned Nelliel had, in fact, been faithful to his side, only leaving for a brief moment. Long enough for him to wake and get out of bed.

"She's stupid," he said, only to himself, on the other hand, reminding himself that now, he had debt that required being repaid in full. Nelliel had seen him in total depravity and rather than taking advantage of his inferiority, she kept him well accompanied. That alone merited he do something—anything of equal value. Stupid was just the easy word. The one that would help him maintain an emotional distance as he preferred for the sake of survival.

Still bogged by injury, Grimmjow retreated to the solitary top of the palace, thinking he'd be able to shake off those green tresses his face had slumped over days prior. His scent wasn't that of the battlefield. It was her. All her. That damned cleanly aroma. Yet, he didn't fight to cleanse himself.

Just as Grimmjow straightened himself, a furious grumble in his core warned that his idleness required he work to sate his appetite. In the same wind, Nelliel's plea that he go spend time at the palace resurfaced. She was right. He was seldom present for their attempts to play human. Almost swayed by his hunger, he shook his head in total repulsion.

"King's don't play house," he muttered under his breath.

. . . but his debt loomed over him . . . .

If he was still conscious enough to feel her soft floral scent and feel the brush of her long locks of hair on his cheek and the soft breeze blowing through his hair, then Grimmjow might've been able to also hear the click of her tongue, a gesture that Nelliel only did when her patience was at its end meet. She was an understanding woman, very balanced and rational in her thinking, having always been then one to advocate for morality and the right thing to do. But at the same time, she wasn't one to stand by and allow her fellow teammate destroy themselves either. So, weather Grimmjow liked it or not, he was coming back with her and he was going to take a well deserved break, one long enough to make sure his body would be back to its prime. And all under her watchful eye, cause Nelliel was determined not to leave his side by any chance.

"Yer staying here until ya get well again and I ain't gonna take no for an answer!" Was the last thing he'd hear her say before she plopped his rad doll like body down onto the bed, then went to procure the necessary tools to tend to his battered and beaten body. Arrancar and Hollow were capable of healing themselves on their own, but the weaker one's body was, the longer it took for the healing to be effective, so there was no harm in speeding up the process with some medicinal ointments and such.

They had been lucky enough to have managed to establish somewhat of a peace treaty with Seireitei and Gotei 13 so that their transit between the human world and Hueco Mundo for resupplying wouldn't be viewed as a crime. With Aizen now defeated and the balance between the three realms reinstated, it was into everyone's best interest that each population would be able to thrive and maintain itself afloat. With the recent events that cost them many of the Espada numbers and their fracciones, Hueco Mundo was at the risk of heading into demographic collapse, which would've put the other two realms in danger too (each realm had its own purpose and so, even if Shinigami didn't appreciate the Hollows and their misdeeds in the human realm, they knew too that their existance served its own purpose), so it was best that there wouldn't be any more casualties for the Hollows.

That allowed the new leadership consisting of Hallibel, her fracciones and Nelliel to make occasional journeys between the realms and buy supplies from Urahara. The former Reaper had some really handy items in stock, with which they could rebuild some of Las Noches' broken systems and save as many of their people with his medicine. Urahara was also the one who built the little device helping Nelliel maintain her adult form for an indefinite amount of time, so she had more than one reason to be grateful for his existence and collaboration. And now his medical supplies were going to help her friend get back onto his feet.

And so, Nelliel tried her best to mend his wounds and sprained muscles, before taking a seat down onto the floor and taking his hand into hers, squeezing it in an affectionate manner which the female hoped would send across to him that he wasn't alone and she was there for him. Who knows for how long she'd then stayed like that, gazing over his sleeping figure, admiring the serenity of his now relaxed features, before laying her head down too for some sleep of her own. It was only much much later that the former Tres woke up and after making sure that Grimmjow was still safe, she made a short departure from the room to grab something to eat and drink some water.

If only she would've known that he'd be waking up in that fraction of a minute she was away, maybe Nelliel would've refrained her own needs a bit longer to be there and assist him when the Jaguar would come back to his senses. But all she could do now, when she'd returned to the room to find it empty, was to curse under her breath and try her best not to blame herself for her own stupidity.

"Grimmjow!" She called out into the vast empty hallways, pace quickened as the green-haired woman began her search for the male. She had a slight hunch where Grimmjow might've gone, but at the same time she couldn't help but worry again. Heh... Funny how lately she'd been experiencing this particular feeling way more often than she normally would've, and all because a very thick skulled feline who couldn't understand his own physical body's limits. The thought made her lips curl into a faint smile, bemused by it, before returning to that somber seriosity so characteristic to her.

Luckily, the former Sexta was feline based, which meant that, like any cat out there, he would be seeking the safety of the highest spot in the whole place. So it didn't take long before Nelliel headed for the most logical place: the rooftops of Las Noches. And there he was, shooting the wind while being seated down, his expression marked by his deep toughts.

"Ah, here ye were... For a moment I thought ya'd left again for that damned dunes..." Nelliel heaved a sigh of relief, but maintained her position at the top of the stairs, as if afraid that if she made any step closer, the male would run away again.

"Everything okay, Grimm?"

When Nelliel caught him, his eyes sat unfixed, one of his legs hanging off the building. The other bent, providing space for his elbow to rest and his face to meet his hand. His brows tensed. His frown deepened. The impressive height he sat on didn't seem so tall and secluded anymore, yet he didn't move to reclaim what she robbed from him by showing up. He, like many enemies he killed in his day, sat defenseless, in an act of self-penance, expecting some kind of lecture as she was accustomed to handing out as though it were a party favor of sorts.

Aizen had sent her away, Mode standing outside the door. She saw someone approaching. Pe wasn’t fluent in the ranks & names of her master’s personal army yet.

“He’s only allowing his strongest espada to see him right now.” Pe told Grimmjow. She just knew this arrancar wasn’t in the top 3. This was a weaker one.

Grimmjow had to come forth to the lord for reasons concerning only Aizen. He was simply following orders, which thus far had been rare——unheard of. Being faced by Mode, who stood between his destination and reaching a conclusion to his mission, Grimmjow was ready to whip the woman to one side.

Piercing blue hues sharpened themselves in her direction with the comment. His blood already beginning to sizzle, and bubble. The strongest? Grimmjow was an espada and this monkey business concerning ranks infuriated him.

Weak? There was nothing weak here. If anything crushing this woman here and now would be easy.

Grimmjow’s brash impulsiveness made him inch forward. “Tch!” He clicked his tongue, the sound bouncing off the walls. “The hell do I look like? I’ll show you!” He continued in a hiss, a hand moving to her collar.

“I-I’m sorry. He told me to only allow certain numbers in to see him right now.” Pe had falsely assumed they were ranks, not birth order.

“Yours wasn’t on his list. Maybe come back in a little while?” Pe squeaked.

She wasn’t a fighter; her mask had never even transformed into a useful weapon like other arrancar’s had. Just a small sword she had never even used.

The male wasn’t one to let go so easily. His explosive temperament meant that at times, he’d act before taking a second to think of himself and his actions. He was, in a literal sense, a sensitive bomb without a timer. At any moment he’d go BOOM! And that was that. His grip on her only tightened as she tried to fight against him.

However, Grimmjow wasn’t exactly the kind to fight against weakness either. He carried a certain code, one that proclaimed that his opponents needed to be on equal footing, so as he listened, his jaw clenched, but his bawled up hand loosened, letting go the fabric of her collar.

A sharp breath left him.

“Ya damn right,” he muttered.

Had she been someone easy to hate, he might have just killed her right then and there. Except, she was no Loly. That woman drove him up a wall, but Pe was different. A weakling all the same, but different. On the other hand, when Grimmjow didn’t want to let go, he persisted in other ways.

“I think…” Mode thought back. She had been dozing off after being fed, her head on his lap to be pet. What did Aizen say? “It had something to do with map charting. If anything was happening anywhere in Hueco Mundo, he wanted to know about it. That’s why he’s sending people out - to explore.” Pe assumed this wasn’t a secret if she knew about it. Mode figured the strongest would get it done the quickest & best so it was obvious to send them.

In reality, this is what she has been told by her master. Although it was a lie, she had no reason to question it. What he was really doing was far detached from her knowledge.

“That’s all I know. He told me to stand watch right here and not let anyone in, except those 3.”

Grimjow's lips twitched. Eyes narrowed. He took in her answer. Aizen was always up to something, that much Grimmjow knew to be true. However, Hueco Mundo was a vast land with what felt like no beginning and no end. He knew their ruler was assured of that. This wasteland had already been mapped far before the construction of the palace. It was the antecedent of the Arrancar army's establishment.

She was clueless. Not a liar. At least that much Grimmjow surmised. The door behind the woman invited him to burst through, but for what it was worth Aizen would turn him submissive if he tried—if Pe somehow had power to force his hand before he'd get anywhere.

His jaw jutted from one side to the other. "You're naive if you think he'd tell you shit," he scoffed.

Back then, when Aizen had just defected from the Shinigami, and had a humble army going, Grimmjow recalled missions based on recruiting power. In the present tense, this had to be one of those moments. Right? Not like there were more fish to catch in Hueco Mundo anyways. Hell, Grimmjow had already tried to find worthy opponents. He'd have known if there was anymore "talent" for their Lord.

Something in his expression changed. A spark glittered in his eye. Taunting perhaps?

"Why's he really got you out here, huh?" He wasn't necessarily asking her. If anything, he was getting her to question their ruler as much as he had.

He moved to brush past her, making it toward the door once more.

She flinched. “He’s never lied to me before…” Pe mumbled, but she had no reason to doubt her Master. Why would he lie to her? And would he? Possible doubt made her squirm internally.

Mode discarded the uncomfortable thought.

Her touch stiffened him. Just what the hell did she think she was doing? Grabbing him like that. Like she had permission. Grimmjow spun around, freeing his arm from her grasp, his force pushing against her. His fire burning in her direction.

"Yer askin' for a fight," he said, his voice brash, coarse. A total threat.

His fury spiked his spiritual pressure, a subconscious imposition on the female. If he fought her here and now, would Aizen stop him? That thought kept him as docile as you could get a feral beast to be. He was a bomb without a precise timer.

“No! I’m not!” Pe whimpered, fully panicking. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

After taking a few steps back, she got down on her knees & bowed as low as possible. “Please forgive me! I have to follow Master Aizen’s orders. I have to! Please don’t go in that room!!”

To her, Aizen’s words were everything. She couldn’t even fathom what would happen if she didn’t guard the door, as instructed.

Grimmjow softened. It wasn’t pity that coaxed him to stray from battle. Her cries puzzled him—from an outsider’s perspective, it’d seem as though concern possessed him. Such an emotion was foreign to him, so this was in some ways resignation.

He wasn’t going to fight someone with no notion of self defense. As her panicked words struck a faulty nerve, Grimmjow’s temper flicked off.

“Enough!” His voice boomed. “Quit yer cryin’ or I’ll blow you to bits!”

He couldn’t stand to bear witness to weakness. The resolve he laced himself with—the one he wore as though it were grandiosity, was reduced to some egregious submission. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, using the clothed sanctuary as a means to keep him from exercising physical violence.

“Aizen doesn’t give a rats’ ass about ya or anyone. Getting worked up like that is only going to get ya killed,” he lectured.