Log; Complete

[sciencedaughter.livejournal.com]

When; April 12th, Backdated
Rating; PG
Characters; Ulquiorra {eyezen_sama} and Nemu {sciencedaughter}
Summary; After recovering from her injuries, and hearing of punishments, Nemu invites Ulquiorra for... a drink.
Log;

Nemu was trying to make a drink.

Trying be the key word, because just yesterday she had her left hand crushed and her right wrist broken. Which... made moving them a little difficult. Kotetsu had seen to her, worked and concentrated mainly on the hole in her gut and the gash across her chest, but... she would manage, she always managed. And she supposed right at the moment she was managing rather foolishly.

She'd seen on the network that... the two Arrancar had been punished, by him. Had it explained to her by him that it had nothing to with her. And she understood that. What she didn't understand was why she was standing, when the healer had explicitly told her to lie down, and was trying to mix drinks with one hand splint at the wrist and the other laced up tightly in white bandages, two fingers curled inward and splinted against her palm.

... The creation would work that one out later. Right now, she was pretty sure he would arrive before she finished.

Ulquiorra did indeed arrive quickly, striding through the city as quickly as he could manage, masking his presence lest other Arrancar were about. He was not sneaking about, in so many words, but he had little desire to let them know where he was going. It would only call up more accusations. Despite explaining his actions time and time again, others did not seem intelligent enough to grasp the concept. Why anyone was questioning his right to do what he wanted with subordinates was beyond him, anyways. He was a disgrace to the Arrancar? It seemed that if anyone was to be on that list, Cirucci and Grimmjow would be at the top.

Sighing with slight irritation, Ulquiorra pushed those thoughts away and opened the door Nemu's apartment. Despite her injuries--which he had little interest in, considering his objection to the act had been on the basis of the two disobeying him and not about her--she was possibly one of the only people capable of a decent conversation.

Upon sensing his presence, Nemu half turned, slowly, not wanting to aggravate wounds only recently healed, giving a half wave of her hand to indicate her location, not that he needed to know, really, she just did it. Her brow furrowed. ... She still wasn't done, how rude of her.

"Hello, Ulquiorra." She finally said from the kitchen, working slowly, having to move slowly, move fingers and wrist and arm slowly, having difficulties with lifting a glass. ... It was funny, really. At least, she thought it was. A creation, a perfect creation, with a hand that would ache when it rained, when the pressure dropped. ... Funny.

"I apologize, this is taking longer than I estimated." Her voice was just as soft as it usually was, subservient, low. And she didn't like to think that this was another moment of weakness he would observe, considering the last time he had come to call she had been tormented by the ghost of her master... reminded how much of her he still owned. ... Confused her further as to what to feel. ... But she grew used to such confusion.

"No matter," he murmured, giving her a cursory glance. It seemed that she had been well taken care of, despite the bandages. Healing, of course, would take more time. Not that he cared.

"I can wait." He let himself into the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes surveying the room. There were plenty of things to keep his attention while he waited. He had seen it all before, but there were still books to read, pieces of art to think over. She had an impressive collection, despite the strange circumstances that had brought them all to this place.

"Thank you." An automatic response. The creation returned her mind to the task at hand. Drinks. Yes. ... Of all things, she didn't know why in the world she'd said that.

Would- Would what? ... Would you care for a drink? Are you alone? Yes. Very well.

A simple conversation. Usually when deciding to meet they kept it... simple. To the point. Straightforward. But she enjoyed their true conversations, sitting and talking on all manner of things, data, experiments, knowledge, comparisons, theories, opinions... it was his mind that attracted her most. But thinking such thoughts were a detriment when trying to work with clumsy hands, as she realized when she spilled a small portion onto her counter, then having to take the time to walk slowly, carefully, across the kitchen for a towel, to clean up the mess, and resume.

"... Did they give you any trouble?" She finally asked gently, almost done. The creation knew he was stronger than they, after all, she could hardly miss, in the times they'd spent on curse days, the number 4 tattooed on his chest, even though... she'd lied. Said she didn't know his rank, when in actuality he had sworn her to silence concerning it. ... That made two lies concerning him she had told her fellows. But she supposed there was the chance one may have tried to resist him, and she... wondered. ... Didn't worry.

"Not much," he murmured, picking up a small clock on a table and looking it over. "The expected... outrage, grumblings, foolish accusations. But, much to my surprise, they are not as stupid as I had thought and did not resist outright. Had they, I would not have been as merciful."

Grimmjow's punishment had been particularly satisfying. Disciplining Cirucci was something he hardly thought twice over--she was not as weak as her number would make one think, but still quite weak in comparison. Grimmjow, however, was more of a challenge. And almost as untactful as Noitora. Not that he gained much pleasure from inflicting injuries upon a willing, if only somewhat, participant. But at least now, perhaps, they would treat him with the proper respect.

"Odd that they should have targeted you." Replacing the clock, he turned his attention to the bookcase. "You are not a great challenge for Grimmjow."

"I would not assume I was, no." Nemu did not find that shameful or degrading. She was what she was, Mayuri-sama's assistant, a vice-captain, but not one specifically created for combat, more oriented to general purpose, after all, creations had to be made more than once in order to specialize suchly.

"I went back and checked the network, to see if I could understand why." She did like to know why. Things... should make sense, she always thought. "Turns out..." She paused. There. Finished. Looking down at her hands, she frowned slightly and bent down to look in a cupboard for a small tray. It never occurred to her to ask for help. That would be immensely rude of her.

"Apparently the Privaron got a copy of my dissection report from earlier and they took interest in my heightened pain tolerance." She supposed they should have perhaps tried to hide that conversation, it had been easy to find afterwards. Not that... it mattered afterwards. "I suppose they were also excited after the events of the previous day." When Rangiku had died.

"I see. No wonder. Those two are so prone to bloodlust." Taking out a book, something technical, Ulquiorra thumbed through the pages, casting a glance towards her for a moment before his eyes returned to the page. He had little care over when the drinks arrived. He would wait. It was not like he cared much, either way.

"And what of your high pain tolerance?" he inquired, casually as if they were discussing the weather.

With some degree of effort she finally managed to maneuver the drinks onto the small tray, balancing it carefully in her hand the lesser of the damaged, beginning to make her way out into the living room, steps stiff, bandaged as she was across the middle and down her chest.

"When I was created Mayuri-sama saw fit to modify me physically, for better performance." She bent awkwardly and sat the tray down, hard part over, and slowly moved the drinks off the try, moving one in his direction.

"My nerve receptors are deadened to that reaction, and take a higher degree of pain to register as being painful." There was no harm in telling, she supposed, after all, he could read the report the others had if he wished. "Also, my brain was modified to be able to block out a certain degree of painful stimulus by rerouting it into other physical sensations."

"I see," he said simply, finally taking a seat. He thought over the piece of information for a moment before tucking it away--it wasn't very important, and only slightly interesting. Unlike his foolish comrades, he had little interest in causing pain in others. His only use for it was if it had a higher purpose.

Taking the drink, he glanced at her for a moment before leaning back. "You had invited me for something?"

Nemu had a cot on the floor, where Isane had healed her. But she didn't feel like laying back down yet, it would also be incredibly rude to do so, and yet much moving was painful, stiff, and awkward. She took her drink, cradled it in her less damaged hand, and sat on the floor, propping her back against the seat he had chosen.

This served a rather convenient move, as her face went through several expression at the question, taking a moment to sip at her drink. A light beverage, only the smallest touch of alcohol, (she wasn't about to repeat St. Patrick's Day, it had taken a lot to get the stains out of her carpet), flavored with a bit of fruit.

"... I am unsure why I invited you." She finally answered. "Other than that I enjoy your company, and perhaps I was feeling... lonely."

Ulquiorra sipped the drink slowly, finding the taste pleasing, and with little enough alcohol so he would not find himself intoxicated later. He considered her comment, glancing down at the strip of light across her hair. He had never thought himself lonely, despite all the time he spent alone. The ticking barely excited his attention anymore--a drone of time that passed, keeping the hour. Yet, he did enjoy their conversations together at times, perhaps she enjoyed them more than himself?

"I see." He, however, did not think that was entirely it. She was more emotional than himself--far more rational and intelligent than others, but still emotional at times. It not bother him greatly, it merely made things more interesting. So she, perhaps, needed companionship more than himself. He would think it over as time went on.

She smiled a small smile, though the expression was lost, hidden by her face turned away and the thick braid arranged over her shoulder. Her hands were careful, cautious, taking a slow drink with steady movements. Nemu accepted his response, it was one she gave often and one he received, and visa versa. It was the way they were. And though she lapsed into silence for a moment, she suddenly raised her left hand, the one that had been crushed under the Sexta Espada's foot, and turned it, examining the bandages, the curl of fingers and mending bone.

"Is it strange," She wondered aloud, "That I grow fond of this injury?"

"You grow fond of it?" Ulquiorra looked down at her with a slightly raised brow, no understanding her at all. Had it been a great wound from a victory, perhaps he could slightly understand a feeling of pride or affection for it. But to feel found of such a thing... It was strange indeed. "Why?"

"I've never had... a defect." She admitted, turned it slightly and noted the stiffness, the slight twinge if she tried to rotate it too far, tried to twist the finger joints.

"I think Mayuri-sama... would abhor it." Why that thought made her smile a bit she would not know, because if Mayuri-sama hated something, he tended to make her hurt to enunciate that fact.

"And... it is something..." Nemu searched for a word. "... Noticeable, without being a terrible bother."

"Ah.." Still puzzled, he returned to his glass, sipping slowly. Ulquiorra supposed it made a strange sort of sense, in a twisted manner. To be glad for one's master to be unhappy seemed to defeat the purpose, but he had to admit that there were certain times when he could understand the urge. Aizen-sama's behavior was often.... less than satisfying, so he was sometimes tempted to be less than perfect himself.

That thought, however, was only something fleeting. Never fully realized. However, considering Nemu had little choice in what had happened to her hand, perhaps it was something she could take some sort of pleasure in, without compromising everything by being purposefully negligent... "I am not sure if I understand," he murmured with an almost-sigh. "But, if it is to your liking, then.. Well, that is that."

"That's alright." Nemu smiled again, and lowered her hand, cradling it gently at her middle. It was much easier to knit back together skin, repair holes in one's middle and gashes in one's throat, than to reform bones cracked and crushed.

"I myself find that I don't understand many things here, I grow used to it." She nestled lightly, shifting for comfort, the back of her head against his knee. "Slightly frustrating, but I will live with it."
"Hm," he set the drink on the table, crossing his legs as he contemplated the situation. But he soon grew bored with it, not fond of the complications of a human heart.

"Something seems to be developing in the city. A plot of some kind. Know anything?" Inquiring mildly, he glanced down at the back of her head again. He himself was rather uninterested in all this chatter about memories or what not, but it was something to discuss.

Nemu had indeed heard some things, knew some things. She shifted with the motion of his legs, still leaning lightly against them, tentative, gently.

"Apparantly, through some connection with the deities, there is now a hellhound of a dog in the City." She took a small sip, always slow, smooth motions to minimize wrist impaction. "It's name is Adrastus, and, through some likewise deific method, it can collect dues for questions asked, as well as make vague apocalyptic references." She nodded her head in the direction of the bookshelf within reach of the chair Ulquiorra was occupying.

"I've kept notes, if you wish to read them." The creation really didn't get out much. She'd kept track of the beast's movements, recorded each conversation in a fine hand, with notes of network reference and personnel identifications, and had written her theories and conjectures in small, cramped script in the margins. She also didn't mind the Cuatro Espada having her files, she was confidant that anything she was able to uncover he was as well, in addition to the fact that she, as well as he, still considered this strange relationship business.

Ulquiorra glanced toward the bookshelf, noting the rows of neat notebooks stacked there. She did indeed take excessive notes, thorough like himself, though without his ability to mentally store images and events. "I suppose I could look at them later." He was not entirely interested, but if there was something apocalyptic going on, then it would impact himself and the others. It would best not to be blindsided.

"Also," he ventured, keeping his tone neutral, testing the waters, "have you heard anything about the man called Bane?" Though the relationship of Aizen and Darth Bane was no secret, he did not want to give the man any hint that he was searching for him.

"Feel free." She gave a bit of a shrug, after all, whether he wanted to look or not was his perogative. It did not matter either way to her, nor affect her in any way. At the mention of the Sith Lord, however, she took a moment, several sips of her drink, to reply.

"Of course." Nemu finally said, absently clenching and relaxing her bandaged hand. "He killed Matsumoto Rangiku, as well as Aizen Sousuke." She kept tabs on that man. Anyone who had killed a shinigami, let alone one such as Aizen Sousuke, was powerful enough to be wary of.

That she, as well, was keeping her eye on the man was reassuring. "Yes, indeed."
Pausing, he considered telling her more. Seeing that the man was a mutual enemy, so to speak, he did not see the harm in continuing. "Aizen-sama is.. curious as to his whereabouts, as well as actions."

"..." Nemu waited a moment, thinking as to why he would phrase that as he did. Was he asking her for her files, her information, in less words? Or was he trying to solicit her help in this matter?

"Is he now?" She finally murmured. "I assume some of your number are working on that, then?"

"I am working on it," he said blandly, not trying to cover up his feelings of distaste on the manner. He felt like an errand boy, sent out to find someone instead of doing real work. However, there was little real work to be done in the city, and he supposed it was better than attempting to keep the rest of his brethren in line. Although that also fell to him.

"I assume Aizen-sama is planning to.. " trailing off, he let her imagine.

"Kill him." Nemu finished the sentence. "Quite possibly in a rather painful and inventive manner as befitting a proper retribution." She nodded knowingly. She may not have taken a side in Aizen's coup in his leaving Soul Society, for Mayuri-sama had simply shrugged, and said he had no interest. But she was quite involved now, quite on a side now, though that seemed to be directly contradicted by her present company.
"I imagine he shall deal with the deities for his life back?"

"I imagine he will," he murmured, casting her another glance. Now they were reaching dangerous territory. It was no secret that Aizen would want his life back, but he was not about to give her any indication that he knew more than that. Despite their conversations, he did not share the same relationship with other Shinigami--in fact, he despised most of them. And while she did not run her mouth like the damned Privaron, she was his enemy and would tell what he said to others.

"What he will trade, however, I've no idea." Aizen-sama was no stranger to sacrifice, but then again, he considered himself to be in a good position and did not like backtracking.

Nemu shrugged again. She wasn't one to pry, to push for information or past barriers obvious as tension in wordings and phrasings.

"Something important, I imagine, since the deities never deal for cheap." Her gaze fell to the zanpakutou laid by the cot against the nearest wall. She had traded for that, traded with Dorian, thankfully, whose prices were not always as high as it seemed the new deities' were. She was grateful. The creation did not have much to give.

"But I suppose he, being an intelligent person, will wait until the last possible moment to retain his life, so as not to rish losing it again before he leaves this place." Stick to the vague.

"Most likely," he murmured, knowing it to be true. However, Ulquiorra was not too sure that was the best plan. From his experience, many left without knowing before hand. If Aizen-sama were to return to the world, only to be truly dead...

Shaking his head at the thought, he followed her gaze back to his Zanpakutou. He stared at it for a moment, feeling the relative strangeness of not having it by his side. For a moment, he felt the old desire to use it, to have his strength tested, to go up against a worthy opponent.. But there were few here he found worthy, and he doubted still if he would be allowed to touch them. There was little point. "I have thankfully never needed a reason to trade anything." And he planned to keep it that way.

"That is good." Nemu murmured in assent between two sips of her drink, her own gaze fond as she looked upon the blade she called her own, a thin katana, hilt wrapped in a dark green, pommel gold and circular. A blade she trusted, despite only communicating with her five times in the City.

"I traded for..." She was so used to the other shinigami providing names that she almost made to add one to her own, but she smiled and shook her head. "For her." She finished. "But while it was worth it, it is indeed best not to need such measures."
Nodding, Ulquiorra leaned forward for a moment, thinking slowly over the conversation and events that had happened. It seemed there was still much to discover about the city. Thinking upon it now, perhaps his lack of trading experience would be detrimental to his research.

"I haven't any idea what I would trade for," he murmured, not thinking he would ever perish or lose something important.

"And that is a good thing." Nemu finally turned, slowly, not wanting to aggravate her midriff injuries, finally facing him and meeting his gaze. "Not needing anything for such cost, not missing something you need at such cost, not... being forced to need something so badly." She smiled softly, eyes closing and the side of her face leaning gently against his knee where he sat in the chair.

She was content to stay there, to not say anything else. She liked to listen to the sounds of breathing, of heartbeats, of the blissful abscense in her head devoid of the lonliness of the City clock and filled instead with a comfortable silence shared.

She didn't need, nor want, anything more than that.