#lasextaespada

OOC: I am in a writing mood *^*

That’s it. I just want to role-play.

Jewel anchored her nails into the corpse’s armored eye sockets, crouching and cinching up as she leered at the old man yelling at her from across the dunes. Was he serious?!

“Haaaah?!” she croaked out, graveling, “Didn’t have your name on it! Go yell at a cloud about your inadequacies!!”

Clouds that would be bountiful because of her generosity.

The vast grey gave nothing to its hellish inhabitants. Full of death and yet, void of everything at once—a land so unforgiving. So cold as to deprive the afterlife reprieve, be its people kind enough to gain sentience to build something of worth. Destruction usually unfurled in the musty desaturation of its skies. Corpses laid buried in impure sands. There was nothing to marvel at here, but sometimes, the souls trekking the sands built an affinity to the ugly and lifeless. It was, in every which way, home. You could either perceive it as such or live tormented by the distance between what comes after and what came before.

Hueco Mundo was the place Grimmjow found warmth where there was none. He belonged here. He hungered for battle like his home yearned for the cessation of its people's vitals. The soles of his boots crunched against the ground below, etching his path. Marking a line ignorance should not cross, lest they wish to call upon death.

In the air clung something so small, so very insignificant. If you laid unfocused, it'd be easy to miss. The sweet pin drop of spiritual pressure, beckoning predators follow its evanescence. As a panther on the prowl, Grimmjow did what he knew best: prepare his claws for the hunt and sharpen his fangs for the kill. His intent was undeterred.

As he neared, the flicker of power behind his focus grew. Success was overcast. The blue in intense irises came alive, electrifying and full of color. There it is. My prey. He tried not to allow himself to become overzealous, not trying to pretend he knew his opponent before reaching his destination. That kind of mindset separated the dead warriors from those who still thrived in this dry, barren land.

His reiastu flicked and whirred with anticipation as stealth guided him up and over sandy hills. Just a little ways left to go. This alone was a victory he'd revel in.

Soon enough, his keen eyes caught the first signs of life ahead. It was she who piqued his interest, and she who had been enough to get him this far. His presence loomed over her, her walls closing in. He had lunged into the space overhead, catching full view of her back, and it was then, in her very presence—his reiastu heightened. It's power roared. It clawed the air, doing away with the very last threads of peace for the unknown woman.

The air was dense.

Satisfaction spread across his lips. "I'm lookin' for a fight," he proclaimed, unable to conceal bloodthirst behind husky—almost sultry words.

Grimjow was not one to strike so impromptu. He wasn't like his comrades that way. Not until she stepped onto his level, he wouldn't dare attack. Yet her inability to move had him feeding his curiosity by conjuring up conclusions that she just might be a stealthy striker or worse—too afraid to act. Either which way, he kept his senses attuned to her, even if his jostled him into considering the possibility that there may not be a fight on the horizon for the starved jaguar.

Shame scarred skin tougher than spider’s silk. The new defect worked with venomous intent to erode identity. Pride. And power. Forgotten were of the days past—erased was the antecedent of withdrawal of certainty and security. Instead, inhabiting the darkest corners of the predator’s mind was starvation that aimless devotion to kill couldn’t fill.

So, in the skeleton of he who stalks the stands, who was Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez? A panther? An espada? A creature with a short fuse? Who was he after the devastation of his beliefs?

The death of the former had hollowed him out, guts and blood spilling all over the shattered dam. The knowing of what once was had been slain. Yet, to rekindle this reflection, he had to cease senseless destruction and inspect the horrors sitting below the surface, toward the source of his unraveling thread. To extend his battered, callused palm and curl his fingers around the volatile flame of Pandora’s box. To hug it close even if it’s cruel overfamiliarity scorches his flesh.

The world does not know of this next part, but the panther with staggered steps does. His perception of self suffered a failed attempt at reincarnation through rebellion and the dual maintenance of his honor code, but life dealt him with another scar at his silk, a consequence of his greed in the predatory hierarchy. Such nefarious corruption of self only proved that in his disgustingly electric-blue eyes this creature was not who he thought he was. He was nothing but a race horse, who, with a broken bone, would be laid to rest over proven uselessness because of the negligence to his mortality. His own undoing.

And as his notions of the world die unaccompanied by the comforts of resolution, the heavy smoke clings to the musty air and swirls with the objective to question the topics often untouched: who really is Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez?

OOC: To my horrific displeasure, I continue to dip from this app. And I realized my drafts are full of half-answered role-plays. Well at least 4 different ones, if I’m not mistaken. Mind you, I think I was ghosting everything Grimmjow. I was posting on Instagram the entire time, but STRICTLY to meet my self-made post quota. Even my messages there were depraved of the attention they required.

On the positive note, I’ve got pretty high muse for writing my favorite blue ruffian. I want to ride out that wave until I got no more juice left.

I’ll organize and post some writing here. Maybe reblog some Grimm gems. Send a digital flower or two for those who wanted to write with me but ended up ghosted.

Oddly enough, I can’t remember why I even dipped? Maybe I was too stressed and pressed about life that I just forgot.

I’m so sorry for my flakiness!

Movement to the sixth’s left has him flicking his eyes over. Displeasure sits at the forefront of his expression.

Tch! You ain’t ever see a hollow clean themselves?

I’m making a ton because I found an easy and fast way to do it, and I have the time to.

More under the cut!

#OOC: If you’re wondering where I’ve been, my health has just been whack. I am feeling better, but HOLY——it’s been wild. So I’ll be trying to get back into the swing of things soon! Sorry for the abrupt departure.