It was unusually dark when Ulquiorra woke up. He frowned and looked at his beeping alarm block as e sat up, knowing that no matter the time he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. But the clock displayed in red digital numbers that it was, in fact, five thirty, when Ulquiorra woke up. Ulquiorra frowned, getting out of bed. His bedroom was in the basement, but he had a window above his bed with a pit dug down into it, and even as early as it was there should have been some light. Ulquiorra knelt on his pillows, pulling his curtains open.

His eyes widened slightly. The entire window was blocked by mottled piles of...was that snow? Ulquiorra's frown deepened. He knew there was supposed to be snow overnight, but for it to block the window it had to be a foot deep. His car was ill-equipped for such bad weather, and the roads around here were rarely plowed since they were a decent ways from the main thoroughfares. It would be difficult for him to get to work if this was so, and he couldn't be late as the animals needed to be fed and he was the only one with a key. He would likely have to leave far earlier to get there on time.

He closed the curtains, clambering off his bed. There was no telling how long it could take him to get to a cleared road, so he had better forgo his shower. The animals wouldn't mind, and he didn't much care how Grimmjow would think of it. Life happened. It was unfortunate, though, as he did prefer being clean, but the animals had to eat. The house was frigid, and he was glad he'd left his pipes dripping the previous night or he could have had a large problem on his hands. He turned on his closet light, the clinical glare bright in the otherwise black room, and pulled out a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. He had very few articles of clothing that were not his work clothes, as he was at work the majority of the time.

He got dressed swiftly, accidentally stepping on Mercielago, who squeaked indignantly and scrambled onto Ulquiorra's disheveled bed to curl up in a safer place. Sorry," Ulquiorra apologized rather lacklusterly, as he pulled his pants up over fresh boxers. Mercielago didn't respond, and once his pants were on and buckled Ulquiorra appeased him by running two fingers along the ferret's sleek body down his spine. Mercielago rolled a chirp happily, and Ulquiorra considered his sin expunged.

He buttoned the second-to-last button under his neck, carrying his belt with him as he walked out of his room, passing the pool table and starting up the stairs on sock-protected feet. He came up the stairs and made immediately for the kitchen, flipping on the lights and turning the water off. It was slightly warmer up here, but still quite chilly. He pulled out an English muffin from the pantry, thinking of how he was going to have to put chains on his tires as he began toasting them. He should put a snow shovel in his trunk as well, just in case. If it was truly a foot deep he could need it.

About three years ago they had been hit up by a massive blizzard, and Ulquiorra alone had tried to get out f his house. He had to- unlike everyone else, there were tiny lives depending on him. But it had been hard going. The snow had been a foot and a half deep, and Ulquiorra had been forced to shovel the snow out of the road as he went. It had taken him an hour and forty minutes to get to a plowed road, and by then his hands and cheeks had been red with had no desire to go through with that again, but he would if he had to.

He bit into his jelly-slathered muffin, making it like a sandwich to keep the raspberry jam from falling all over the place. He slipped his shoes on, along with a heavy coat over a thinner windbreaker, a pair of gloves, a scarf, and a Russian-style hat that was fake-fur lined. The flaps covered his ears. He knew that this could be quite a trial, and he did not intend to be caught unawares by Jack Frost. He held his breakfast between his teeth and went to open the door.

It wouldn't open.

He frowned and checked the lock, but naturally he'd unlocked it earlier. He pulled again, harder, and the door made a grinding, crunching sound like snow being stepped on slowly. It was like someone was holding the door shut on the other side, and Ulquiorra's stomach began to sink. He pulled again hard a few times, but the door only budged a few centimeters. He began to worry very distinctly. He shut the door fully and tried again, but it was no use.

Closing the doors again, he ran to the large windows in the front room that looked out onto the street. He pulled the blinds up roughly, knowing it would be difficult to get them back down again but not caring. He found himself staring into the grey dawn coming up over a flat ground of snow that came up to his chest. He gaped in horror at what had to be a snow drift no less than four feet in height plastered against the side of his house, and he knew it with a sick feeling in his gut.

He was snowed in.