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tampered2007-01-31 05:45 pm
sandals-hat.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-01-31 05:45 pm
Log: Complete
When; January 31, sundown
Rating; G, but Grimmjow does drop the F-bomb, so...
Characters; Urahara [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sandals_hat] & Grimmjow [6thsword]
Summary;I logged with myself Urahara happens upon a brooding Grimmjow and decides to further the little plots he's set into motion. This one's kinda short, actually...
Log;
Busy, busy, busy. That’s how life for Urahara had always been, regardless of when or where he was. Whether it was two hundred years ago, as the captain of the twelfth division; one hundred years ago, as an exile trying to make a living in the mortal world; several months ago, as key player in the rescue of Rukia; or two weeks ago, as head of the peace meeting, he always had something with which to occupy his mind, and that’s how he preferred it.
And that day, on the last day of the month, he was looking for someone. Not actively, of course. He could detect the person easily just by his reiatsu, and so the ex-captain took his time in approaching the bundle of pent-up frustration and conflicted thoughts perched broodingly on a rooftop.
“Jaggerjack-san~” Urahara quite nearly sang as he alighted upon the building, face split into an amiable smile, fan splayed. “Funny seeing you here!”
The Espada scowled in greeting, remembering that this was the man who had stolen Hinamori for three days for vague reasons. Training, if he recalled correctly. He’d heard that Urahara had created the hougyoku, had been the first to realize the potential of Hollows without masks, and would have defeated Yammy if not for Ulquiorra’s interference.
“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped at the shinigami, wary and guarded.
“Oh, nothing at all.” Urahara took a spot on the roof ledge beside the arrancar, standing while he sat, and gazed pleasantly at the setting sun. He admitted it was a little odd to find Grimmjow watching a sunset, of all things, but he supposed he shouldn’t make assumptions about someone so… emotional. “Do you come to watch the sunset all the time, Jaggerjack-san?”
In reality, the Espada hadn’t even noticed the sun was setting. That meant he’d been there for at least two hours, then, right? “Hell no,” he answered brusquely, not looking at the ex-captain. “Got no reason to look at some shitty sunset. Takes too fucking long to set, anyway.”
Urahara’s smile this time was smaller, softer. He peeked at Grimmjow from beneath the rim of his hat. “Something on your mind?”
The arrancar’s whole body tensed, and he jerked his head up at the shinigami, sneer plastered on his face. “What the fuck do you want?” Grimmjow demanded, standing, eyes burning, reiatsu exploding.
Urahara simply adopted his ignorant grin again, blithely waving his fan at Grimmjow, though he did flare his reiatsu enough to counter the Espada’s. “I told you already! ‘Nothing at all’~” His grin darkened. “Nothing from you, anyway, though that’s quite the opposite for a few others here, hmm? Aizen-san demands your loyalty, the other arrancar demand your former self, and she—” But he stopped himself, hiding his expression behind his fan.
Teal eyes narrowed. “She?”
“She’s done quite a bit, you know. Worked so hard. You should be proud of her.”
“Speak so I can fucking understand you, shinigami,” Grimmjow snarled, a muscle in his temple twitching.
“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” But Urahara lowered his fan, snapped it shut, and tucked it into the folds of his robes. “I should probably follow her to make sure she gets home safely, but…” The smile was enigmatic now, and the Espada had a growing hunch that the shopkeeper in front of him knew all the details and wasn’t going to give an inch. “Hinamori-fukutaichou’s quite capable of taking care of herself now.”
Grimmjow’s expression hardened. “What are you keeping from me?”
“Nothing that you won’t find out on your own.” Urahara had decided over the past three days that if the Sexta Espada was to know, then only Hinamori would tell him. The ex-captain was only a third party, after all; as much as he enjoyed pulling other people’s strings, he was only the catalyst.
Urahara’s gaze returned to the sky, now blackened since the sun had gone to sleep. He should probably get some too, he mused, though despite being in the City for a couple of weeks already, he still didn’t have a place to stay. He supposed he should look for one immediately.
The arrancar, meanwhile, kept his eyes on his enemy. He still hadn’t gotten one question answered, and that was why the shinigami even bothered to talk to him about cryptic things. He had a fairly good idea of what was going on, but who knew when it came to the creator of the hougyoku? Grimmjow had once read the report on Urahara while still in Hueco Mundo, though at the time he hadn’t bothered with anything but what Ulquiorra had amended in regards to the shinigami’s strength. The Sexta Espada hadn’t even checked the attached image or history files--
“Jaggerjack-san, do you like flowers?”
The question snapped Grimmjow out of his musings, and he stared at Urahara as if the man was insane. Why did he bring up flowers, of all things? “Why?”
The shinigami chuckled amusedly. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not asking if you’d like some. I don’t think anyone would dare try to give you flowers.”
“Then why the fuck are you asking?”
A smile and a light sigh. “There’s a flower quite special to me: azami, or thistle. It’s kind of shaped like this.” He drew the rough image of a thistle in the air with his finger. “Too bad they don’t come in green, you know?”
Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed further. What was Urahara going on about, and why flowers, of all topics? With an exasperated noise, the Espada turned to leave.
But Urahara’s next idle comment stayed him: “It’s the twelfth division’s symbol. Every division has a flower symbol, did you know?” He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Even though I consider myself a third party, I’m still kind of attached. Old memories, and all that.” He looked up, smirking this time. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Jaggerjack-san.”
He was met with a glare, but he took it easily, smirk fading into another enigmatic smile.
“I do think that Aizen-san has good taste when it comes to flowers, though. The convallaria is quite a beautiful plant, though not many recognize that name. Aizen-san preferred it when others called his division’s symbol by its more aesthetic name,” Urahara explained, “the Lily of the Valley.”
Grimmjow continued to stare, to watch, turning the shinigami’s words over in his mind. If this man did and said everything for a reason, then…
“Tch.” The Espada turned away, hands in pockets. He’d have to retreat to his apartment and shut himself in, just to think some more. “Whatever. I’m not interested.”
Urahara’s smile widened, and he touched his hat lightly in farewell. He withdrew his fan and opened it with a deft flick of his wrist. “Oh, and one more thing, Jaggerjack-san…”
“What now?”
“You might want to check up on Zaera-Polo’s condition tonight.”
Rating; G, but Grimmjow does drop the F-bomb, so...
Characters; Urahara [
sandals_hat] & Grimmjow [6thsword]Summary;
Log;
Busy, busy, busy. That’s how life for Urahara had always been, regardless of when or where he was. Whether it was two hundred years ago, as the captain of the twelfth division; one hundred years ago, as an exile trying to make a living in the mortal world; several months ago, as key player in the rescue of Rukia; or two weeks ago, as head of the peace meeting, he always had something with which to occupy his mind, and that’s how he preferred it.
And that day, on the last day of the month, he was looking for someone. Not actively, of course. He could detect the person easily just by his reiatsu, and so the ex-captain took his time in approaching the bundle of pent-up frustration and conflicted thoughts perched broodingly on a rooftop.
“Jaggerjack-san~” Urahara quite nearly sang as he alighted upon the building, face split into an amiable smile, fan splayed. “Funny seeing you here!”
The Espada scowled in greeting, remembering that this was the man who had stolen Hinamori for three days for vague reasons. Training, if he recalled correctly. He’d heard that Urahara had created the hougyoku, had been the first to realize the potential of Hollows without masks, and would have defeated Yammy if not for Ulquiorra’s interference.
“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped at the shinigami, wary and guarded.
“Oh, nothing at all.” Urahara took a spot on the roof ledge beside the arrancar, standing while he sat, and gazed pleasantly at the setting sun. He admitted it was a little odd to find Grimmjow watching a sunset, of all things, but he supposed he shouldn’t make assumptions about someone so… emotional. “Do you come to watch the sunset all the time, Jaggerjack-san?”
In reality, the Espada hadn’t even noticed the sun was setting. That meant he’d been there for at least two hours, then, right? “Hell no,” he answered brusquely, not looking at the ex-captain. “Got no reason to look at some shitty sunset. Takes too fucking long to set, anyway.”
Urahara’s smile this time was smaller, softer. He peeked at Grimmjow from beneath the rim of his hat. “Something on your mind?”
The arrancar’s whole body tensed, and he jerked his head up at the shinigami, sneer plastered on his face. “What the fuck do you want?” Grimmjow demanded, standing, eyes burning, reiatsu exploding.
Urahara simply adopted his ignorant grin again, blithely waving his fan at Grimmjow, though he did flare his reiatsu enough to counter the Espada’s. “I told you already! ‘Nothing at all’~” His grin darkened. “Nothing from you, anyway, though that’s quite the opposite for a few others here, hmm? Aizen-san demands your loyalty, the other arrancar demand your former self, and she—” But he stopped himself, hiding his expression behind his fan.
Teal eyes narrowed. “She?”
“She’s done quite a bit, you know. Worked so hard. You should be proud of her.”
“Speak so I can fucking understand you, shinigami,” Grimmjow snarled, a muscle in his temple twitching.
“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” But Urahara lowered his fan, snapped it shut, and tucked it into the folds of his robes. “I should probably follow her to make sure she gets home safely, but…” The smile was enigmatic now, and the Espada had a growing hunch that the shopkeeper in front of him knew all the details and wasn’t going to give an inch. “Hinamori-fukutaichou’s quite capable of taking care of herself now.”
Grimmjow’s expression hardened. “What are you keeping from me?”
“Nothing that you won’t find out on your own.” Urahara had decided over the past three days that if the Sexta Espada was to know, then only Hinamori would tell him. The ex-captain was only a third party, after all; as much as he enjoyed pulling other people’s strings, he was only the catalyst.
Urahara’s gaze returned to the sky, now blackened since the sun had gone to sleep. He should probably get some too, he mused, though despite being in the City for a couple of weeks already, he still didn’t have a place to stay. He supposed he should look for one immediately.
The arrancar, meanwhile, kept his eyes on his enemy. He still hadn’t gotten one question answered, and that was why the shinigami even bothered to talk to him about cryptic things. He had a fairly good idea of what was going on, but who knew when it came to the creator of the hougyoku? Grimmjow had once read the report on Urahara while still in Hueco Mundo, though at the time he hadn’t bothered with anything but what Ulquiorra had amended in regards to the shinigami’s strength. The Sexta Espada hadn’t even checked the attached image or history files--
“Jaggerjack-san, do you like flowers?”
The question snapped Grimmjow out of his musings, and he stared at Urahara as if the man was insane. Why did he bring up flowers, of all things? “Why?”
The shinigami chuckled amusedly. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not asking if you’d like some. I don’t think anyone would dare try to give you flowers.”
“Then why the fuck are you asking?”
A smile and a light sigh. “There’s a flower quite special to me: azami, or thistle. It’s kind of shaped like this.” He drew the rough image of a thistle in the air with his finger. “Too bad they don’t come in green, you know?”
Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed further. What was Urahara going on about, and why flowers, of all topics? With an exasperated noise, the Espada turned to leave.
But Urahara’s next idle comment stayed him: “It’s the twelfth division’s symbol. Every division has a flower symbol, did you know?” He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Even though I consider myself a third party, I’m still kind of attached. Old memories, and all that.” He looked up, smirking this time. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Jaggerjack-san.”
He was met with a glare, but he took it easily, smirk fading into another enigmatic smile.
“I do think that Aizen-san has good taste when it comes to flowers, though. The convallaria is quite a beautiful plant, though not many recognize that name. Aizen-san preferred it when others called his division’s symbol by its more aesthetic name,” Urahara explained, “the Lily of the Valley.”
Grimmjow continued to stare, to watch, turning the shinigami’s words over in his mind. If this man did and said everything for a reason, then…
“Tch.” The Espada turned away, hands in pockets. He’d have to retreat to his apartment and shut himself in, just to think some more. “Whatever. I’m not interested.”
Urahara’s smile widened, and he touched his hat lightly in farewell. He withdrew his fan and opened it with a deft flick of his wrist. “Oh, and one more thing, Jaggerjack-san…”
“What now?”
“You might want to check up on Zaera-Polo’s condition tonight.”