Where the tip of Aizen's blade was held aloft, a tiny star twinkled brighter, spreading aggressively like a blot of ink while little Ulquiorra's eyes seemed to dilate just as big. Aizen flicked his sword to the side, and the new moon rolled down from the clouds into the slight mountains littering the horizon. The infant arrancar studied the orb's course across the desert until, apparently satisfied with the legitimacy of Aizen's power, he looked up at his master with subdued admiration. Aizen grinned at this and, nestling the moon by its brother between two tall peaks, drew back two paces to admire his handiwork. When he'd discovered with his first batch of espada that shinigamification would regress the prospective Adjuchas before it accelerated its growth, he was disgusted and had Gin slay the most malformed ones at once. But now that he had won the Hougyoku and mastered the shinigami art of memory modification, he realized that were certain advantages to raising his subjects as children, and Ulquiorra was a prime example of this. The light of the twin moons threw Aizen's features into sharp relief; at least, in Ulquiorra's mind, he shadowed the spirits surrounding him as surely as the tall tower of Las Noches. The breathtaking beauty was of course nothing more than an illusion. Then again, according to Aizen Sousuke, most things--like love, ethics, and soon, he hoped, death--were illusions, a view reinforced by all the time he'd spent staring into the nightmare void in the sky of Hueco Mundo. On nights like these, when the wind swept gently across the pallid dunes surrounding Aizen's stronghold, Hueco Mundo appeared as nothing more than a cauldron in which his most promising plots could brew until they were ripe for the hatching. Or a big ball of dough, to be molded to his will. Or...

"What do you think, Ulquiorra?" chuckled Aizen. He'd always nurtured an affection for... extended metaphor.

The half-masked toddler waddled towards the towertop edge and stood on his tip-toes, reaching skyward with undeveloped arms as though attempting to push the sphere into orbit again. "It looks like a cookie," he deadpanned. "Like what Ichimaru-sama gave me for breakfast this morning."

"I mean of the sword, young one. How did you like its performance?"

"It did all that?" Ulquiorra said, pretending not to have already understood that. He gazed up at Aizen with a wonderment that was only partially affected. Would his lips ever be able to curl up the way Aizen's did?

"What's this?" Aizen closed his eyes and sheathed his sword, his grin vanished. "You look disappointed."

"No, I'm not!" Ulquiorra blurted, to his own surprise. "Please," he whispered, " I want to be your espada!"

Sousuke's smirk returned like a boomerang. "Go to bed, Ulquiorra. Swords require plenty of rest as well as plenty of battle. Currently you are dull and useless. If you want to become part of my arsenal you will have to sharpen yourself. Tomorrow you shall receive your sword. Think of it as an unusually long and deadly key to unlocking your hidden potential."

"Understood, Aizen-sama." Baby Ulquiorra bowed and disappeared. Master Aizen tucked his hands inside opposite sleeves and stepped evenly down the stairs after him. As the Lord of Las Noches strolled down its happy midnight halls, he rapped once on each espada's bedchamber door, knowing each knock would fire like a cannon in his or her dreams. For in the fortress of Las Noches, only the master's footfalls made noise.

"Then enemies will be able to sneak in without our knowledge!" Tousen once objected.

"You're missing the symbolism, my friend. wha better way to demonstrate the extent of our domination than to conquer perception itself?"

"Just be sure to keep a thorough enouch watch. I know how lazy you people can get around here."

"Says the man who can't fix his hair properly without Hisagi's help?"

"Being blind doesn't help, wise ass. I mean, Aizen-sama."

That man never showed his hair due respect, Aizen brooded. izen spent hours prepping and trimming his hair, and had been since he was twelve... which, come to think of it, was twelve thousand years ago. Aizen smiled at the thought as he reached Door number 4, Ulquiorra's room. Aizen knocked exactly twice, and put his ear to the keyhole. H heard Ulquiorra jump out of his sheets, confused. He'd been sleeping soundly, just as he'd been ordered to.

Aizen grinned ever broader and, running a hand through his flawless mane for no reason, resumed his nocturnal jaunt. Ulquiorra was the latest addition in a burgeoning collection of blades, and already one of his mosty promising. Intriguingly, the infant espada's skill was instinctual, meaning Ulquiorra had known basic fencing technique before his lungs could know breath. As pleased as he was with the Hogyoku's superbly seamless splicing, he was more interested in the experiment's unexpected results--the proof that no two were born equal, and that Aizen was born best of all. Hm. Surely the indisputability of his supremacy warranted a nice spot of Ichimaru's tea?

Yet another smirk graced his Aizenly perfection as he approached his lieutenant's chamber at the end pf the hall. Alas, this smirk would prove one too many. Aizen halted in his tracks and gingerly inspected his sightly face with his plain fingers. Hmm... His cheeks were still downy as a child's... his chin still stern as a centurion's... Yet something was decidedly wrong. So what, to borrow Gin's term, was the dealio? Then it struck him. His fingers fell to his immaculate lips. No, it couldn't be... A single bead of sweat dripped melodramatically from the business end of Aizen's handsome coif. He would have gasped, but for his lockjaw. He would have turned white, if he weren't (as Tousen put it) such an outstanding cracker already . He would have--

No! Now was not the time for extended metaphor. Now was the time for calculation and composure. His face was stuck, for crying out loud! What could he have done to deserve this!? Aizen raised a knuckle, hesitated, then knocked twice on Ichimaru's puerta, which burst open instantly.

"Who is it?" Ichimaru sang. "...Hah?"

Aizen rubbed his nonpareil hair counterproductively, his smile belying his frustration.

"Ah, there you are, Aizen-taichou! Whatcha doin' on the floor?"

Aizen struggled to open his mouth, but irony had dealt him a dastardly hand. Ichimaru knelt down and offered his own hand, even as his own everlasting grin eclipsed Aizen's world.

"What's the matter, Aizen-taichou?" Gin's taunting laugh invaded Aizen's brain. His sinister eyes unlatched, and the laugh magnified tenfold. "CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?"

Aizen clasped Ichimaru's hand.

"That's it, Aizen-taichou. Yeh'll be back on your feet in no time!"

Gin's bedroom was an odd one indeed. For one, a chime strung with shards of broken Hollow masks, which clacked against each other like a danza macabra, swayed from the ceiling. It also lacked a bed.

Gin's bedroom was an odd one indeed. For one, a chime strung with shards of broken Hollow masks, which clacked against each other like a danza macabra, dangled from the ceiling. It also lacked a bed. Aizen leaned against the wall instead, determined to survey his servant with a coldness he hoped would distract from the stupid, static, insipid smile now befouling his gorgeous visage so--

"I'm somewhat aware," quipped Gin as he prepared his legendary herbal tea, "how perpetual grinning has graduated to something of a defining feature amongst our number. But it ain't. It was mine first, dammit!"

Aizen stared on.

"Ah, yeh know I jest," Gin continued. "Funny, though... yeh caught me during one of my quotidian rounds of meditation. I'm sure yeh're curious what I was meditating about when yeh came to my door!"

Aizen rolled his eyes.

Ichimaru craned over his solitary pouffe to pour two steaming cups of tea. Aizen helped himself to one and, forgetting he could not open his mouth, promptly spilled its contents all over himself. "MMMMMMMH!"

"Splendid!" Ichimaru seemed to take Aizen's agony as an affirmative grunt.

Lord in heaven, this is what a woman's scorn must feel like!

"I was dreaming about the day I learned to smile."

Aizen startled out of his dolorous trance. What had happened? What had triggered the fox in him!? He had to know!

Gin took a deep breath. "Well, Aizen-taichou," he started, "it all started when I happened by a pretty little blond splayed on the soil, moaning how hungry she was..."

Sousuke whacked himself on the forehead. This was getting nowhere.

"I don't get it... a square?" Ichimaru squinted (though one couldn't really tell) to decipher Aizen's charades. "Oh, I love this game! Okay... a square... scribbling... a pen! You want a pen! And parchment!"

Aizen gave him a thumbs-up where once a simple smile would have sufficed. Oh how he longed for this ordeal to be over soon...

"Yay, I got it right! Hold on a sec..." Ichimaru rummaged the chest next to the marble bust in his likeness. "Ah, here it us." He blew the dust off the cover and passed it on.

[The Tome of Most Torrid Love, or A Catalog of the Life of Ichimaru Gin, by Ichimaru Gin

Aizen hastily skimmed through what was essentially Gin's journal, worried he'd never be able to repress the doodles of Gin and Rangiku that crowded each page in their (ahem) promiscuity. How many different positions could there be...?

Finally, he found it: the miraculous blank page.

PLEASE HELP ME, he scrawled in large, loopy script. I'VE FALLEN, AND I CANNOT SPEAK UP.

"The answer is simple, Aizen-taichou. Just use something sturdy to pry your mouth open," he reasoned. "Here, give this crowbar a go."

Aizen raised an elegant eyebrow in majestic puzzlement. WHY DO YOU KEEP A CROWBAR ON YOUR PERSON? he wrote.

"I don't think I understand the question, Aizen-taichou."

Aizen gestured a beleaguered sigh (how, your guess is as good as mine), which Gin eagerly took as his cue to wedge the crowbar between Aizen's teeth and tug with all deliberate might. If Aizen had believed soaking oneself in scalding tea was the height of pain, he now knew better. After the fifth long minute of Gin's hysterical mouth-jimmying ("Just you wait, Aizen-taichou! Ninth time's a charm!"), neither of their smiles budged, but Aizen began to suspect that a nice sword to the gut would have been a preferable end. Unable to communicate his displeasure, Sousuke could only count on Ichimaru's sense of mercy to activate. Any second now, Gin would sympathize and stop...

The day Ichimaru ripped the ears off a helpless rabbit to wear as snowshoes crossed his mind.

This could take a while... he winced, eyes streaming.

"Hah? It's not working." Gin held the harsh steel up to his face and examined it with blind glee. "Is it the wrong model? Maybe if I pour my reiatsu into it..."

"Rmmrh! MMMMRH!"

"No?" Ichimaru purred. "Well then what other recourse is there, Aizen-taichou? Unless... Supposing something more lissome than a lever could do the trick?"

Aizen nodded vigorously, relieved.

"Wait a mo'..." Rummaging once again through his chest, he pulled out a gilded volume of considerable heft. "There ought to be a clue in the Anaetomica Scinigamus! This wonderful book has helped me since college to more competently butcher choice body parts. And it says here that the tongue is the strongest muscle! Try poking your mouth free from the inside."

Sousuke hung his had, massaging his temples. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon.

"My bad. It clarifies that only the most serpentine tongues can prize lockjaw. Look, they've got a diagram." Ichimaru tilted his head. "Hey, that sorta looks my tongue..."

Oh no.

"Guess that's it then." Gin pinned an unsuspecting Aizen to the wall with lightning speed. "Yeh may not like it. I may not like--Oh who am I kidding." His lips were very close to his to be chatting. "Of course I'm gonna like it. I'm me."

No.

"You know, with that silly smile plastered on your face, yeh look just like the mannequins I used to practice on..."

No!

The ghostly chimes above Gin rattled with passion equal to their owner's. Unfortunately, his fun was about to be cut short.

"Aizen-sama..."

"Ulquiorra?" said Aizen, looking down. "What are you doing here?"

"Hah? You look disappointed, Aizen-taichou!"

"Finally! I can talk again! And I'm not smiling anymore! In fact, I'm sporting a rather ravishing moue."

"Aizen-sama... What were you just doing to Ichimaru-sama? He looked happy. Can you do it to me?"

"Absolutely not!" Aizen decreed, with a joy belying his frown. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed!?"

Twin tears ran down Ulquiorra's chibi face. "Understood, m-master. It's just... you woke me up..."

"LEAVE ME!"

Ulquiorra bowed at once and disappeared.

"Honestly, Aizen-taichou, I think yeh just scarred that kid for life," appraised Gin, stroking his hairless Asian chin. "Yeh know, tonight will be the last time Ulquiorra can lie by sayin' 'I wasn't born yesterday.' I think that's special."

"How did he even get in?" asked Aizen.

"I believe the door was left open, Aizen-taichou. By you, it would seem."

"The door was... do you mean to say anybody could have seen...?"

"It depends. What do yeh wanna hear?"

Aizen ran his hand through his hair casually and smiled a measured smile. "I sure hope this doesn't catch on with our impressionable young charges during arrancar orientation tomorrow. By the way, Gin. Do you ever go to sleep?"

"Nope," said Gin.

"I'll see you in the morning then."

"Bye bye!"

He sauntered back to his room in high spirits. Tomorrow would be a telling day.