The Adventures of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra

Let's see how this works. I'm curious to see how it will turn out. If it's too fail-o-rific, then I'll delete it. This was meant to get rid of writer's block.

Ulquiorra's POV. Not yaoi.

Boredom. The feelings of forlorn, angst, and apathy all rolled into one. Quite frankly, I am difficult to bore. But I've been struck by it at what might have been the worst time ever—summertime. Aizen and his horde are on an exquisite vacation in one of the many Hawaiian islands, leaving us behind with nothing to do. Some like that feeling of freedom. I don't. Six games of solitaire on the computer haven't dispersed by tedium. And nothing will.

I yawned as discreetly as I could and leaned back on my chair minimally. Convoluted thoughts floated around in my head and concentration was out of the question. The clock read twelve forty one, meaning I only had to be awake for a minimum of seven more hours. Then I would let slumber overcome me.

It was then I heard something—footsteps. And judging by how obnoxiously loud they were, the footsteps belonged to Grimmjow. And it sounded like he was coming to my room. Damn it all.

He popped his big head into my room and let a feral grin distort his face as he slunk into my room with something behind his back.

"'Sup, bitch?"

That was his form of greeting. Very disrespectful, and also trashy. Besides Grimmjow, do people really talk that way? In fact, I'm not even going to answer to that form of greeting. Manners have suffered the effects of passing time more than anything else.

"I said, what's up, bitch?" Grimmjow said loudly, coming closer. A frown was threatening to present itself on his face.

"Don't talk to me that way." I said coldly. If I leaned to my left, I could see something resembling a gun behind his back. It was extremely makeshift; I noticed some duct tape and maybe even a can of soda. Dear Lord.

"Yeah, whatever." Grimmjow said flippantly.

"What do you want?" I prompted. He had a grossly mischievous look on his face that made me hate him even more. At times I wish everyone would die. But then I remember there's no point in thinking that, because they will continue to reproduce, creating more people in the form of demonic infants…I digress.

Grimmjow snorted. "I'm friggin' bored."

I wasn't going to say anything. He'd twist my words and use them against me.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. "And for that reason…" I watched him move him arm from behind his back, and I tensed up immediately—Grimmjow was the type of person to assault others for no reason.

But he pulled out that makeshift gun from behind his back instead and held it out to me. And that thing was the most pathetic weapon I had ever seen. It make constructed mainly of duct tape, with a few soda cans, water bottles, and even a lighter at the bottom.

"What is that?" I asked with mild disgust. Instinctively, I leaned away from it. Associating myself with that thing would stigmatize me for life.

"What does it look like, retard?" Grimmjow stomped his foot and insisted of giving it to me. "It's supposed to be a flamethrower, but I turned it into a projectile weapon. It shoots stuff like coins, tampons, and sporks."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow slightly. It was ridiculous. But somewhat intriguing. It was designed sloppily, but it seemed to have an air of functionality to it.

"What purpose does it serve?" I asked with slight curiosity.

Grimmjow shrugged and placed his weight on his left leg nonchalantly. He looked me up and down and shrugged again.

"It's a boredom buster, basically." Grimmjow replied. "And you look fuckin' bored."

He had seen right through me—and I suddenly felt ill. I was bored. No matter how hard I tried to keep a straight face, I was. The tedium of everyday life had affected me.

"Therefore," Grimmjow continued with a dramatic gesture, "Uncle Sam—and I—want you," Grimmjow took the moment to jab at me with his index finger, raising his eyebrows, "to spy on people with me. And then scare 'em shitless."

"Excuse me?" I said faintly. What preposterous inanity. But I was irritated by the fact the prospect of it amused me. Was my boredom so acute? I will not fall prey to childish tendencies. With much pretense, I eyed the gun with disdain. Grimmjow's eyes were glowing with obnoxious malevolence.

"Come on, Ulquiorra." Grimmjow taunted me. "I know you want to know what Szayel does in that hellhole lab of his. Let's go."

I cannot say that wasn't tantalizing. Szayel hadn't left that place in days. My boredom was so intense. I had no control—my mind said no but my mouth said yes.

"Yes, I will go with you."

And that was that. I found myself following an overenthusiastic Grimmjow with a replica of the strange contraption in my arms. Indeed, I was the exemplifier of stupidity. I wanted to cero Grimmjow into oblivion, along with his idiotic gun. Life would've been easier if memories and events could be erased, like a pencil, the shavings left to be blown away.

"Okay, so." Grimmjow turned to me. "You know how to work it, right? Just pull the trigger, like this." Grimmjow assumed an odd stance and pulled the trigger forcefully. With a loud pop!a crumpled spork flew out of the gun's barrel and onto the slate blue tile of Las Noches.

"Ridiculous," I said with a sigh. "Ridiculous."

"Shut up." Grimmjow said, jabbing the gun's barrel into my head. "I'mma shoot if you keep hating. Besides, I'm doing your punk ass a favor."

With irritation, I lowered his gun from my head. Disrespectful. Grimmjow's manners betrayed his dignity long ago. But his dignity might as well commit suicide after this idea. We now stood in front of the imposing white doors that led to the foyer of Szayel's lab. On the left door, there was a plaque that read Entre y Muera, which means 'Enter and Die'. How…welcoming. Szayel was serious about that. Grimmjow ignored it-- typical. He flung the door open and peered inside, beckoning me over. With a snide roll of my eyes, I followed after him. Why had I bothered? Why couldn't I have gone with my original intentions of avoiding this?

"Shit, there he is!" Grimmjow hissed. He grabbed me by the horn of my mask—much to my irritation—and dragged me behind a bookshelf. Grimmjow peered through the gaps in the books at Szayel, who was working intently at a granite topped table on the other side of the bookshelf. He was in a lab coat that resembled an artist's palette with its stains of assorted colors. He appeared to be dealing with a highly dangerous chemical. Thick black gloves ran up to his elbows. Protective goggles were over his glasses and a surgical mask covered the latter half of his face. He appeared to be in a perfect state of concentration—only to be ruined by Grimmjow. I had noticed that Grimmjow had a most annoying proclivity of shattering people's nerves. Grimmjow smirked at me as his finger tightened around the trigger.

Glass shattered and Szayel jumped back, muttering curse words under his breath. Grimmjow heaving with stifled giggles, entertained. And I was not going to lie. This pathetic adventure was quite a cheap thrill. I found myself pointing the barrel at the Bunsen burner on the table.

"Damn it." Szayel said through gritted teeth. He salvaged the paper he had spread on the table meticulously, setting it on another table nearby.

Tentatively, I pulled the trigger. A small, cylindrical object missed the Bunsen burner but hit Szayel's arm instead. He gave a yelp—Grimmjow let out a pleased snort at Szayel's reaction— and looked around, angered. He then spotted the offending 'bullet' and bent over to pick it up. He turned the tampon in his fingers, eyes wide. He was horrified—or mortified.

"A tampon?" he muttered, perplexed. "Where did it come from?"

It was then Grimmjow took action. He fiddled with the gun and proceeded to shoot more random objects at an astonishing rate, almost like a machine gun. Glass shattered, flasks tipped over, instruments fell to the floor with loud clatters all while Szayel stood around, watching in absolute horror as his lab was torn apart by an unseen perpetrator.

It was then I decided to add to the chaos by shooting Szayel. A coin hit him square in the chest. Szayel winced as he massaged the site.

"Screw this." He scampered out of the room, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Grimmjow collapsed into a fit of maniacal laughter. He doubled over and gasped for breath.

"Be quiet." I told him. "It's not funny at all." That was a lie. I hadn't felt so full of life since the day before Aizen left. I had a mission that day. Sadly, it was two weeks ago. This was quite a pleasurable activity. A certain fondness for torment that I refused to foster was threatening to lodge itself inside me. But then, Szayel returned, and in his arms was a masterpiece of science. Grimmjow's laughter stuck in his throat when he saw it.

It gleamed in silver glory under the lights of laboratory. A canister of glowing green fluid was attached to it, and on the end was a hollow structure that was like a small scale version of a satellite dish. And the tip was glowing as a green orb of an unidentified substance formed.

"Shit." Grimmjow whispered dully.

"Fine," Szayel murmured. "If I can't find you motherfuckers, my homing lasers will."

And with that, he fired his own weapon. A few seconds later, I felt a sharp pain in my side, where, upon closer inspection, a blood stain was forming. Grimmjow dealt with Szayel duly, however. Grimmjow fired at the lights, blowing up the lightbulbs and plunging us all into darkness. I felt a jerk on my jacket, the whoosh of a fast sonido, and when I blinked I found myself in Las Noches' cramped, filthy kitchen.

"That was awesome!" Grimmjow said with a laugh. "Fucking A."

I said nothing, as there wasn't anything to say. I was in pain from the laser, but the bleeding had stopped.

"That was entertaining." I said dryly. It had been a pleasant break from everyday dullness. A break in the routine, that is. An hour of my time had been used—not wasted. There was sense of motivation in me now. Perhaps I could find other things to do now.

"Ulquiorra, you and I are going to have to do this more often." Grimmjow said with a smirk. "Because until Aizen gets back, Las Noches is ours."

Grimmjow was correct. Las Noches was ours now. I wanted missions—things to occupy my mind and time. A menial task was enough to keep me entertained. But, due to the circumstances, it will be my responsibility to create my own fun. I extended my hand to Grimmjow. Grimmjow glared at me.

"Am I supposed to high five that?"

"No." I said hesitantly. He was supposed to shake it. Obviously. I don't do high fives.

But then, a sparkle of understanding came to Grimmjow's blue eyes. He shook my hand firmly.

"It's a done deal." He said with a grin.

And that was that. I hate Grimmjow passionately; he's an imbecile. That is exactly why he will make a good puppet and entertainer for me. Las Noches will never be the same.

Short, especially for me. Anyway...tell me what you think. Continue or ditch? I won't be offended.