tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; April 11th, afternoon
Rating; PG-13 surely
Characters; Cirucci {

6thsword}, & Nemu {

sciencedaughter}
Summary; The Arrancar, miffed that their plans to tag team Ichigo and Ishida are interrupted by their departures, pick a vice captain to have fun with. Cirucci also discovers a rather inconvenient curse during the action that may spoil her fun.
Log;

The Thunderwitch perched lightly on the edge of the rooftop of Grimmjow's building, smirking. It had been a good week. Had her tongue restored, killed Rangiku and her spawn, got to watch Zaera-Polo's autopsy, and now after spending the night entertaining Grimmjow Jaggerjack, it seemed her day with him would be equally entertaining. Albeit in a rather more bloody and violent manner.

"The report said she had an abnormally high pain tolerance." The Privaron whispered excitedly, standing and looking over to the building that housed the shinigami, including their target. Oh, but it was lovely to be able to kill them again without reproach. Shooting a glance at the male beside her, Cirucci smirked wider.

"Means longer time for play, hmm, Grimmjow?"

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Nemu could not bite back the cry of her broken wrist grabbed, being thrown to the pavement and feeling a fresh wave of blood escape her middle. But she did scramble quickly to her feet, blade helt in the guard position at her side, and it seemed she would stand her ground once more.

Quickly, thinking quickly, she evaluated her situation. Against the Sexta Espada nothing was in her favor. She was not the most combat oriented of the vices to begin with, and even then, a vice had trouble with Espada. A lot of trouble. Hole in her gut of unknown depth. Broken wrist. ... No match.

Blood trickled from her mouth as the 12th division vice turned and began to flee.

Now, now, that wouldn't do at all. Cirucci had been enjoying the fight, watching with an overt smile on her face. But running? Tsk, didn't shinigami have any pride, as much as they spoke on how much more righteous they were and all that?

The Privaron was in position to intercede in the vice's escape, and drew her blade, Golondrina singing in her hand, ready, always ready, to taste blood again. It was a simple matter to step in the vice captain's path, prepare to slash...

... But then she was on the ground, her blade clutching in a shaking fist on the ground, other hand cupped beneath her mouth. ... There was something black, something hissing, burning... leaking from her throat as her body heaved violently, suddenly overcome with shudders and spasms of one who is suddenly stricken ill, retching in her hand not bile or food, but... acid. That burned and sizzled against the hierro of her skin, eyes wide as she tried in vain to control her body, control herself, panicking inwardly. ... What was- What was this?

At first, Grimmjow had merely stood by and done nothing, content to watch as the Privaron readied to intercept. But then she'd fallen, and he jolted into action. What was going on? Was she sick and hadn't known? But that made no sense, because people—human, arrancar, what have you—didn't get sick instantaneously.

The Espada was beside Cirucci and Nemu with a sonido, one hand drawing his zanpakutou to attack the vice captain in case she had been the one that had subdued the Privaron in such a manner. It wasn't entirely possible, but there was still the chance.

"The fuck is wrong with you, Witch?" he snapped at Cirucci meanwhile.

The Privaron suddenly collapsing in front of her had caught Nemu off guard, a mistake, as her moment of shock had to turn to one of defense as she had to abruptly pivot on a heeled foot to bring up her blade to block, single good hand trembling with the force it took to hold his blade there, she was unable to foist it from her, and for the moment unable to move, for if she removed her zanpakutou from the path of his, it was her flesh it would cut.

The creation wished she knew the name now more than ever. She said nothing, there was nothing to say, broken wrist spasming as she tried not to choke on the blood in her throat, already growing fainter from blood loss, it was taking all she could to hold him there.

Unable to answer for the moment, Cirucci heaved once more, a slight steam rising from the black acidic... something, burning in her throat, her mouth, her hand.

"Just-" Her eyes widened as she recalled something the Red God had said just the night before. ... Something about... a price, a curse, a- she cursed, meaning to charge a cero, fire a bala, something, at the shinigami nearest, but at the very motion of her hand to do such, to commit such violence, she was overtaken by a fresh wave of the sickness, trembling with the force wracking her petite frame.

"Just kill her." The Arrancar finally managed to snarl, unwilling to let the prey go now, especially not now... if this was what she thought, feared it was... she would see this shinigami die for it.

He didn't need to be told twice.

The Espada jerked his wrist to knock the zanpakutou from Nemu's weakened grip, then drove his own into the base of her throat. It was a troublesome spot, that. The collarbone kept the blade from tearing easily through skin, but with a sharp wrench, Grimmjow was able to make a decent-size gash running to the sternum. He yanked his blade free, turning away slightly but keeping his eyes on the vice captain to make sure she fell. If she didn't, he was still armed while she was not.

She fell silently, the only noise being a gasp, knees dropping and the body crumpling. There was a sick crack when she hit the hard ground, no telling from what, legs bent at awkward angles beneath her, good arm reaching weakly for the blade just inches from her fingers.

Her eyes stared blankly up at the sky. Nemu remembered what it was like to die. It wasn't an all-together bad experience, she supposed, a sort of tranquility free of pain or much thought before it just sort of ended, only to restart within the day.

But she wasn't there yet. Nearly, bleeding out. There was a cough, a choke on blood, as she managed to move her broken wrist to reach in her sleeve and draw out a small device, that began to beep slowly as she weakly pressed the small button. It would alert her network. ... She did not fancy the idea of being left there, possibly dead.

But the creation merely lay there, fingers still reaching out in vain for the blade hilt beside her, oblivious to the Sexta looming abouve her and the Privaron only now recovering, her heaving lessening, slowing.

Grimmjow sneered at the fallen shinigami. He stepped over and lowered a foot onto the fingers of her outstretched hand. "Fucking die already, you bitch," he growled, applying a steady weight with that foot.

He looked over at Cirucci, wondering how in the world the Privaron had been struck with a sudden... illness? ... Was she vomiting acid? "You okay yet, Witch?" he asked, craning his neck slightly to see if she was indeed recovering.

Almost stubbornly, the shinigami clung to life. Her breathing was shallow, ragged, and wet, blood bubbling in her throat, staining mouth and chin crimson, but she breathed still, lived still. She barely winced at the foot on her hand, on delicate bones, because she was far past feeling that pain. Her other hand twitched, the small device falling from her broken grip and hitting the pavement with a small clatter, still beeping quietly, steadily, as her heart continued to try and pump quietely, steadily, clinging tenaciously to life despite, created to survive, to be able to live, though she couldn't last much longer.

Cirucci spat onto the pavement with a last hacking heave, raising herself from hands and knees to sit back on her heels, propping arms on her legs, still crouching, hunched, over. Just in case. ... The feeling passed at the sight of the shinigami, as her desire to harm her passed, no use harming her any further.

"... Fine." The Privaron whispered, throat burning still, caustic, heated. Her hand... the Arrancar looked down. The acid had eaten through her glove, started to eat through her skin. Brow furrowed, she wiped her palm on the pavement, leaving bits of her burnt palm behind. "... Fine." She whispered again, voice ragged as her mind raced, trying to understand what in the world had happened...

Of course he didn't believe her, not at the state she was in, but he wasn't about to argue. If she insisted she was fine, then that was up to her. So, finally moving away from the vice captain, he started down the street.

"Let's go. She's gonna die here anyway, there's no point in hangin' around. Let's get you a fucking healer or somethin'." He looked over his shoulder at Cirucci. "Or are you just gonna sit there like some damn slug barfin' up its guts? Get on your fucking feet, or I'm leavin' you behind. Like hell I'm carrying you anwhere."

"Grimmjow, you wound me." Cirucci muttered, hauling herself to her feet and stretching, shaking out her hand, burning slowly.

Before she moved to follow the Sexta she paused to look over the gasping shinigami, instinctively moving her foot as if to kick her but then another wave of nausea washed over her at the very thought and she reconsidered. Instead, the merely memorized the sight. Maybe Ulquiorra would be upset.

... She wasn't about to let on anything could be wrong, that she could be... cursed.

"Not even willing to carry Cirucci." The Privaron shook her head, smirking. "Shame." She looked the Espada over. Blood suited him.

It suited all of them.

"You're too heavy anyway," he retorted, though he did stop to wait for her to catch up.

Idly, he licked the blood from his hand for a taste, expecting something interesting considering Ulquiorra fancied this particular vice captain. But he spit it out as quickly as he'd lapped it up. He should've figured artificial blood would taste terrible. It only made him wonder exactly what Ulquiorra tolerated in the shinigami.

Casually wiping the blood on his jacket, Grimmjow turned back to the Privaron. "Are you coming or what? I need to take a fucking shower."

Cirucci's face took on an offended countenance as she stomped a small booted foot.

"I am not heavy, Grimmjow Jaggerjack!" She protested, quite miffed at the very suggestion. Shoving the idea of... whatever it was deep in her mind, ignoring for now, she instead concentrated on the excitement of watching shinigami die, the feeling that swelled in her breast at the sight of blood and violence. Smirking she finally caught up with him and hopped up onto his back, bare legs wrapping around his midsection and arms snaking about his shoulders, careful not to place her still slightly acrid palm on his flesh.

"Cirucci needs one, too." She murmured, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Grimmjow flailed, knocked off-balance, as Cirucci latched onto his back. He managed to regain his footing despite the added weight, but that didn't stop him from snarling into the Privaron's face as best as he could.

"The fuck, Cirucci?!" he barked, but he didn't try to pry her off him. "I told you! I'm not carrying you! And you can go take your own fucking shower after you find a medic."

"Not even a little?~" Cirucci murmured, nails scraping lightly against the bone mask on her jaw. "Cirucci's not so heavy, come now." As she always did, she threw herself into other pursuits when something bothered her. Something, like, say, the idea she was actually cursed.

"Besides, Grimmjow." She kissed lightly at the nape of his neck, a slight acidic burn lingering on her lips. "Your shower plays horror music."

He sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle with her. He was going to be stuck with her for longer than he intended, wasn't he? How typical. ... Well, it could be worse, he decided. He could be stuck with one of other arrancar—or worse, a shinigami.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll bring you to a goddamn healer. Just tell me who and where."

... He had to bring that back up.

"Cirucci's fine." She assured, though she did feel a little... certainly not touched, but... something.

"Besides, unless you want to watch Cirucci have sex with an angel, no healer will help her anyway." That was said a bit wickedly, though it still incensed her they had no pet to heal them.

And that's one thing he did not want to see. "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. Hold on tight or I'll drop you."

He kicked off into the sky back towards his apartment.

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