[Log] 10 - Reasons Have Little Effect On Those Lacking Patience
Date: 05-15-08
Characters: Nnoitra, Ulquiorra
Summary: It's well past the time Nnoitra's allotted Ulquiorra in regards to getting back to him on the shinigami ambushes. The Quinta Espada decides some confrontation is in order.
-=[Teatro de Costillas - Las Noches]=-------------------------------------------
Massive in width, but especially in height, this is a place that could easily make anyone feel small. The distant ceiling is supported by a double row of pillars as thick as two men are tall, and what sparse lighting is present does not easily reach that high. While one of the doors to this room is unassuming, at the opposite end of the hall is a towering staircase, the stairs very wide but very steep, without handrail or walls. This staircase climbs up sharply for hundreds of steps and stops, at last, at the base of Las Noches' own spine.
In such a vast hall as this, the oppressive silence swallows even the echoes of the footfalls from the lone Espada that crosses its length. He seems in no hurry, but then he never is. The pale Arrancar barely offers any contrast against his surroundings, save for the occasional flutter of black from the lazily drifting coattails of his uniform, the standard blacks of his white-streaked footwear, and ever those green, unblinking eyes. There is a subtle tenseness in the air, one that has lingered long and gradually grown within the passing days of endless night. It is that unspoken but always desired lust for action, to revel in blood and the battle. Soon though, perhaps...
Promises, always promises. Aizen has never broken his promises to them. His promises require patience though, something that not all his soldiers possess. Ulquiorra understands the necessity to wait things out, but he knows well that not all his brethren see things as he does.
Patience. Indeed, Nnoitra is quite capable of this act, but only when he knows of what is to come. He'll gladly watch a protracted fight to kill the loser, and revel in the ticking seconds to some planned operation where he will surely get a chance to test his mettle. But this damnable ambiguity from Ulquiorra, when Shinigami continue to be harassed and pressured, necessitating bigger and more potent forces, is another matter entirely. He wants to be a part, to try himself against foes able to resist. Sparring with the higher Espada is meaningless, as it lacks the thin sliver of death he savors. No Adjuchas alive is near him, either. That leaves either a Vasto Lorde, or the crop of Soul Society. Given he doesn't feel like searching a haystack for a needle, he'll head where he knows people fit.
And Ulquiorra is getting in the way of this.
Indeed, an approaching presence as large as Nnoitra is impossible to miss. The reiatsu required for his hierro makes him rather obvious in his sealed form, currently holding Santa Teresa low upon the hilt. He is hunched forward, lips flat beyond the upper one pulled high enough to reveal teeth, nearly a grimace. That eye is narrowed, body tense and overall aura: >:(
"Ulquiorra, you rat bastard!" is called out. He probably knows why he's come to call.
The Fourth doesn't bother to waste his breath with a sigh. He has sensed Nnoitra's approach, and being that there are no others to note within his current vicinity, Ulquiorra has expected the inevitable encounter. It wouldn't be surprising if he had been expecting it for some time now. He is not one to forget such things, after all.
"...I hardly find that sort of greeting necessary to respond to," he replies in his usual tone of indifference, his voice carrying over the distance. The half-helmed Espada slows his steps to a halt. He'll wait for the taller one to come to him, then.
"Don't give me that bullshit..." Nnoitra comments, continuing to approach until he looms over the significantly shorter Espada, sufficient to double over until his spoon blots out all of existence in those green eyes, beyond the raven haired visage warped in annoyance. He's not touching Ulquiorra, but by all accounts being any closer would suggest intimacy reserved for Tesla. "I've been sitting around, bored out of my mind, waiting for you. Have you decided yet, or am I wasting my time?!" Eyes fall to mere slits at this, Santa Teresa lifted up to rest across a lean shoulder in a manner that's more aggressive then anything else. The sneer of his lips increases, waiting with a resolute expectation. And, indeed, impatience.
Ulquiorra meets the Fifth's glare unflinchingly, his face an impassive carving of pale marble accented with twin paths of eternal tear streaks marked in teal. He closes his eyes, banishing the brilliant green gaze for a moment, and with it, the angry reflection of the taller Espada.
"All decisions fall ultimately with Aizen-sama," comes his response. If he's intimidated at all by Nnoitra's threatening posture, Ulquiorra certainly does an excellent job of hiding it. He waits a second or two before continuing, eyes opening again to look at the other, to watch him carefully. "Overall assaults on the shinigami groups have been ceased for some time now. This is not without cause- the groups that have been passing between Seireitei and the human realm have become significantly less."
Intimidating is not quite the right term for such. Menacing, that's a lot more like it. "Tch. Don't give me bureaucratic crap, Ulquiorra." is growled out, but the following details are a good deal more useful to know. His brow wrinkles in thought, moving his jaw around before suddenly widening his eyes as if in some realization. "Then let me play around in the human world, like bad kitty Grimmjow did." he states, with almost unrestrained glee. "An Arrancar like me... they'd need to send more then just gumbies across the border of the world, eh?! If they let me rampage, I'd be able to wipe a fucking city off the map!" The base of Santa Teresa impacts the ground, grin now much more genuine with a sheerly sadistic quality. "If it's a war of attrition Aizen-sama wants, how could that fail?! You could okay that kinda operation, right? It'd give you more targets!"
"Grimmjow had been sent with a mission, but he had failed to do anything of significance," Ulquiorra corrects. He has not moved from his place, nor has he shifted a muscle. "You miss the point, Nnoitra. You should be aware that Aizen-sama is perfectly aware of your abilities. If he wanted you to do something so brash as that, then he obviously has good enough reason to have not let you do as you please just yet, don't you think?"
The smaller Espada does not even spare Santa Teresa a glance as yet another chunk of masonry falls victim to the Fifth's carelessness.
"..." Nnoitra looks to have been once more annoyed by this latest statement, and finally he shoots out a finger to give Ulquiorra quite the mighty poke to the chest. "What's the point of being a fucking Espada if all I get is to know who he thinks is stronger then me?! I've never seen a damn thing to say why you're Cuarta, at that. Is it because you're Aizen-sama's lapdog?" A far too content grin accompanies this, shifting enough to drag the prong of one moon in a savage arc, tearing a furrow upon the ceiling. "Don't make me laugh." He almost seems to be picking a fight. This is a rather rare occurrence in actuality; the tedium must truly be getting to him to act in such a way. One could suppose coming the monotone colored universe they dwell for Vasto Lordes gets mighty stale, however...
That response more than answers Ulquiorra's double-question. His eyes narrow as Nnoitra stabs a finger at his chest, and the force of it requires him to finally shift from his place, taking a step back, but refusing to take any more. His own hands remain in his hakama pockets. Does the Fifth want to goad him into retaliation for his insolence? Ulquiorra cares not to indulge in such foolishness at the expense of an Espada's stupidity and boredom, and nor does he want to have to explain things bit by bit to Nnoitra. He feels he's made himself quite clear, after all. It is the other's fault for not trying to use his brain.
"So because you are displeased with your lack of things to do, you're wasting my time?" he asks, the faintest of an edge in his tone, the hint of a smirk that never really surfaces on his lips there in his eyes. Or perhaps it's just Nnoitra's imagination. "What are you going to do then? You have already tried Aizen-sama's patience once. You have been wise enough not to follow Grimmjow's example, and you know that acting on your own whim is just as likely to limit what you will be able to contribute if you prove yourself incapable of following simple orders." He lifts his head, eyes staring, and as small as he is, Ulquiorra still manages to hold some amount of presence despite Nnoitra's towering form.
"Wasting your time!" Nnoitra exclaims, throwing up his arm with an almost manic laugh, as if the other person has offered one hell of a joke. His bizarre, upper toothed grin stretches even further, far beyond what should be possible. Yet there's nothing jovial about his intense glare, wavering on some ambiguous line where what he might do is completely unpredictable. At least Grimmjow has his patented rampages. But the Fifth is much more unstable, given his capability to grasp his position and the greater picture... sometimes. He is more then capable of the same senseless violence and blatant disregard for rules, making him quite the headache. How reasonable he is right now would be the biggest question. "Give me a break! You trying to say yours is more valuable then mine?! Who's been filtering every fucking Hollow in Hueco Mundo for Vasto Lordes?! Eh?" He'd then move to grasp Ulquiorra by his collar in an overly firm grip, to bend even further until they would be eye to eye. Literal and figurative. "Tell it straight to my face, Ulquiorra..." he asks. In the end, this is the culmination. Baiting him into a reason. Yet grating blades sharpen his tone, reiatsu flooding out as if anticipating battle. "You really think you are that much higher then me that I won't tear you down?"
"....." Nothing. No reaction, not a word nor a gasp, not a twitch of his lips or his brow. Nnoitra may as well be grabbing a mannequin for all the life Ulquiorra displays. Just as much as one likely can't track the Quinta Espada's shifts in thought and mood, it's impossible to fathom what might be going through the Cuarta Espada's mind by studying his outward appearance alone.
The silence stretches on, and it soon becomes evident that the half-helmed Espada isn't going to respond. The lack of answer is most certainly not out of fear, but his impassive expression also reveals that it is also not of scorn.
"...Tch." Nnoitra releases Ulquiorra. Without fuel, his irritation has nothing to go on, and burns away in the void of that placid expression. He doesn't seem happy with the fact, but he's not stupid enough to blatantly start a fight. If he had a reasonable excuse to give to Aizen, that's another matter entirely. "Fine. I'll talk to Aizen-sama myself." he grunts out, readjusting his grip upon the long shaft of Santa Teresa. "You might be happy to sit around with your so-called precious time, walking in circles in this damn desert, but I'm going to actually try and make myself stronger. Then again, all you probably care about is making Aizen-sama pat your head so you can purr like a kitten." Spitting on the ground, not near enough to risk actually hitting, Nnoitra would begin to stalk off, still looming forward. His business done; deflected on the impassive tide of emo Espada.
Conflict has been effectively turned away. Ulquiorra refrains from saying anything once he's released, nor does he move much more than to resettle into place. His eyes narrow fractionally with Nnoitra's departure, and he slips a hand from his pocket to straighten his collar before he turns and heads in the opposite direction from where the Fifth has gone.
Characters: Nnoitra, Ulquiorra
Summary: It's well past the time Nnoitra's allotted Ulquiorra in regards to getting back to him on the shinigami ambushes. The Quinta Espada decides some confrontation is in order.
-=[Teatro de Costillas - Las Noches]=-------------------------------------------
Massive in width, but especially in height, this is a place that could easily make anyone feel small. The distant ceiling is supported by a double row of pillars as thick as two men are tall, and what sparse lighting is present does not easily reach that high. While one of the doors to this room is unassuming, at the opposite end of the hall is a towering staircase, the stairs very wide but very steep, without handrail or walls. This staircase climbs up sharply for hundreds of steps and stops, at last, at the base of Las Noches' own spine.
In such a vast hall as this, the oppressive silence swallows even the echoes of the footfalls from the lone Espada that crosses its length. He seems in no hurry, but then he never is. The pale Arrancar barely offers any contrast against his surroundings, save for the occasional flutter of black from the lazily drifting coattails of his uniform, the standard blacks of his white-streaked footwear, and ever those green, unblinking eyes. There is a subtle tenseness in the air, one that has lingered long and gradually grown within the passing days of endless night. It is that unspoken but always desired lust for action, to revel in blood and the battle. Soon though, perhaps...
Promises, always promises. Aizen has never broken his promises to them. His promises require patience though, something that not all his soldiers possess. Ulquiorra understands the necessity to wait things out, but he knows well that not all his brethren see things as he does.
Patience. Indeed, Nnoitra is quite capable of this act, but only when he knows of what is to come. He'll gladly watch a protracted fight to kill the loser, and revel in the ticking seconds to some planned operation where he will surely get a chance to test his mettle. But this damnable ambiguity from Ulquiorra, when Shinigami continue to be harassed and pressured, necessitating bigger and more potent forces, is another matter entirely. He wants to be a part, to try himself against foes able to resist. Sparring with the higher Espada is meaningless, as it lacks the thin sliver of death he savors. No Adjuchas alive is near him, either. That leaves either a Vasto Lorde, or the crop of Soul Society. Given he doesn't feel like searching a haystack for a needle, he'll head where he knows people fit.
And Ulquiorra is getting in the way of this.
Indeed, an approaching presence as large as Nnoitra is impossible to miss. The reiatsu required for his hierro makes him rather obvious in his sealed form, currently holding Santa Teresa low upon the hilt. He is hunched forward, lips flat beyond the upper one pulled high enough to reveal teeth, nearly a grimace. That eye is narrowed, body tense and overall aura: >:(
"Ulquiorra, you rat bastard!" is called out. He probably knows why he's come to call.
The Fourth doesn't bother to waste his breath with a sigh. He has sensed Nnoitra's approach, and being that there are no others to note within his current vicinity, Ulquiorra has expected the inevitable encounter. It wouldn't be surprising if he had been expecting it for some time now. He is not one to forget such things, after all.
"...I hardly find that sort of greeting necessary to respond to," he replies in his usual tone of indifference, his voice carrying over the distance. The half-helmed Espada slows his steps to a halt. He'll wait for the taller one to come to him, then.
"Don't give me that bullshit..." Nnoitra comments, continuing to approach until he looms over the significantly shorter Espada, sufficient to double over until his spoon blots out all of existence in those green eyes, beyond the raven haired visage warped in annoyance. He's not touching Ulquiorra, but by all accounts being any closer would suggest intimacy reserved for Tesla. "I've been sitting around, bored out of my mind, waiting for you. Have you decided yet, or am I wasting my time?!" Eyes fall to mere slits at this, Santa Teresa lifted up to rest across a lean shoulder in a manner that's more aggressive then anything else. The sneer of his lips increases, waiting with a resolute expectation. And, indeed, impatience.
Ulquiorra meets the Fifth's glare unflinchingly, his face an impassive carving of pale marble accented with twin paths of eternal tear streaks marked in teal. He closes his eyes, banishing the brilliant green gaze for a moment, and with it, the angry reflection of the taller Espada.
"All decisions fall ultimately with Aizen-sama," comes his response. If he's intimidated at all by Nnoitra's threatening posture, Ulquiorra certainly does an excellent job of hiding it. He waits a second or two before continuing, eyes opening again to look at the other, to watch him carefully. "Overall assaults on the shinigami groups have been ceased for some time now. This is not without cause- the groups that have been passing between Seireitei and the human realm have become significantly less."
Intimidating is not quite the right term for such. Menacing, that's a lot more like it. "Tch. Don't give me bureaucratic crap, Ulquiorra." is growled out, but the following details are a good deal more useful to know. His brow wrinkles in thought, moving his jaw around before suddenly widening his eyes as if in some realization. "Then let me play around in the human world, like bad kitty Grimmjow did." he states, with almost unrestrained glee. "An Arrancar like me... they'd need to send more then just gumbies across the border of the world, eh?! If they let me rampage, I'd be able to wipe a fucking city off the map!" The base of Santa Teresa impacts the ground, grin now much more genuine with a sheerly sadistic quality. "If it's a war of attrition Aizen-sama wants, how could that fail?! You could okay that kinda operation, right? It'd give you more targets!"
"Grimmjow had been sent with a mission, but he had failed to do anything of significance," Ulquiorra corrects. He has not moved from his place, nor has he shifted a muscle. "You miss the point, Nnoitra. You should be aware that Aizen-sama is perfectly aware of your abilities. If he wanted you to do something so brash as that, then he obviously has good enough reason to have not let you do as you please just yet, don't you think?"
The smaller Espada does not even spare Santa Teresa a glance as yet another chunk of masonry falls victim to the Fifth's carelessness.
"..." Nnoitra looks to have been once more annoyed by this latest statement, and finally he shoots out a finger to give Ulquiorra quite the mighty poke to the chest. "What's the point of being a fucking Espada if all I get is to know who he thinks is stronger then me?! I've never seen a damn thing to say why you're Cuarta, at that. Is it because you're Aizen-sama's lapdog?" A far too content grin accompanies this, shifting enough to drag the prong of one moon in a savage arc, tearing a furrow upon the ceiling. "Don't make me laugh." He almost seems to be picking a fight. This is a rather rare occurrence in actuality; the tedium must truly be getting to him to act in such a way. One could suppose coming the monotone colored universe they dwell for Vasto Lordes gets mighty stale, however...
That response more than answers Ulquiorra's double-question. His eyes narrow as Nnoitra stabs a finger at his chest, and the force of it requires him to finally shift from his place, taking a step back, but refusing to take any more. His own hands remain in his hakama pockets. Does the Fifth want to goad him into retaliation for his insolence? Ulquiorra cares not to indulge in such foolishness at the expense of an Espada's stupidity and boredom, and nor does he want to have to explain things bit by bit to Nnoitra. He feels he's made himself quite clear, after all. It is the other's fault for not trying to use his brain.
"So because you are displeased with your lack of things to do, you're wasting my time?" he asks, the faintest of an edge in his tone, the hint of a smirk that never really surfaces on his lips there in his eyes. Or perhaps it's just Nnoitra's imagination. "What are you going to do then? You have already tried Aizen-sama's patience once. You have been wise enough not to follow Grimmjow's example, and you know that acting on your own whim is just as likely to limit what you will be able to contribute if you prove yourself incapable of following simple orders." He lifts his head, eyes staring, and as small as he is, Ulquiorra still manages to hold some amount of presence despite Nnoitra's towering form.
"Wasting your time!" Nnoitra exclaims, throwing up his arm with an almost manic laugh, as if the other person has offered one hell of a joke. His bizarre, upper toothed grin stretches even further, far beyond what should be possible. Yet there's nothing jovial about his intense glare, wavering on some ambiguous line where what he might do is completely unpredictable. At least Grimmjow has his patented rampages. But the Fifth is much more unstable, given his capability to grasp his position and the greater picture... sometimes. He is more then capable of the same senseless violence and blatant disregard for rules, making him quite the headache. How reasonable he is right now would be the biggest question. "Give me a break! You trying to say yours is more valuable then mine?! Who's been filtering every fucking Hollow in Hueco Mundo for Vasto Lordes?! Eh?" He'd then move to grasp Ulquiorra by his collar in an overly firm grip, to bend even further until they would be eye to eye. Literal and figurative. "Tell it straight to my face, Ulquiorra..." he asks. In the end, this is the culmination. Baiting him into a reason. Yet grating blades sharpen his tone, reiatsu flooding out as if anticipating battle. "You really think you are that much higher then me that I won't tear you down?"
"....." Nothing. No reaction, not a word nor a gasp, not a twitch of his lips or his brow. Nnoitra may as well be grabbing a mannequin for all the life Ulquiorra displays. Just as much as one likely can't track the Quinta Espada's shifts in thought and mood, it's impossible to fathom what might be going through the Cuarta Espada's mind by studying his outward appearance alone.
The silence stretches on, and it soon becomes evident that the half-helmed Espada isn't going to respond. The lack of answer is most certainly not out of fear, but his impassive expression also reveals that it is also not of scorn.
"...Tch." Nnoitra releases Ulquiorra. Without fuel, his irritation has nothing to go on, and burns away in the void of that placid expression. He doesn't seem happy with the fact, but he's not stupid enough to blatantly start a fight. If he had a reasonable excuse to give to Aizen, that's another matter entirely. "Fine. I'll talk to Aizen-sama myself." he grunts out, readjusting his grip upon the long shaft of Santa Teresa. "You might be happy to sit around with your so-called precious time, walking in circles in this damn desert, but I'm going to actually try and make myself stronger. Then again, all you probably care about is making Aizen-sama pat your head so you can purr like a kitten." Spitting on the ground, not near enough to risk actually hitting, Nnoitra would begin to stalk off, still looming forward. His business done; deflected on the impassive tide of emo Espada.
Conflict has been effectively turned away. Ulquiorra refrains from saying anything once he's released, nor does he move much more than to resettle into place. His eyes narrow fractionally with Nnoitra's departure, and he slips a hand from his pocket to straighten his collar before he turns and heads in the opposite direction from where the Fifth has gone.