Heads.... or rather, eyes roll. [Complete]

[crushed-ocular.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Hinamori Momo, Ulquiorra, Okita Souji, and Aizen Sousuke
Content: A meeting at the gate.
Setting: Niflheim Gate [G10]
Time: Sunday night
Warnings: The angst meter might break. Maybe.


Trash. The entire city was trash. As the blonde haired, blue eyed citizens walked by, Ulquiorra snorted, disgusted. They were all the same. Weak, powerless, mindless.

Pawns, if anything.

Aizen-sama would appreciate the mindlessness of the people. They'd be useful, at least to the brown haired shinigami turncoat. Ulquiorra, on the other hand, shuddered to think that they'd be around him if they somehow worked into the plans. Eugh. These ingrates were worse than Yami and Wyce.

But enough about the people. It was the city itself that was bothersome. Domes covered it, but somehow, there was a moon. The buildings looked like something right out of the Victorian age, but somehow, the black haired Arrankar didn't think that particular era existed in this place. He looked down at the silver compact he had been given at that stupid gate. Reminded him of the laptops they used in the human world. It was smaller and thinner, though. The annoying man had told him it was a journal. Hn. Ulquiorra had no use for such things. It was just more trash.

A frustrated sigh escaped the normally composed Arrankar. He needed to find Aizen-sama, as he was sure the man was here. The other had disappeared somewhere, and the green-eyed Hollow turned Shinigami felt a presence that matched Aizen's. Powerful, invigorating, god-like. Yet, that would have to wait. He didn't particularly want to go searching for the other man at night, even if his eyesight was better than normal. The Arrankar still had a big chance of getting lost, and that was the last thing he wanted. May as well settle down.

So, he settled gracefully under a nearby tree (which didn't really feel like a normal tree at all), waiting for dawn.

If it came in this filthy place.

Comments

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A lone figure sat in the depths of the Matteus Museum of Art. A journal was shut and left to the side of the desk. It was quiet and empty. No one around. And still…

Still nothing. Was this forsaken network good for nothing? Aizen had attempted to pull in anyone he could from the message board the night before. His attempt was fruitless. A few people responded either to refuse or forget to respond again. People were such…

It was faint and far… but suddenly it was there. A reitsu. One very familiar reitsu. No… now there were two. Two golden eyes glided to the south and then the west. The hand that was once sliding through slicked back hair slipped to his side. A smile. A long, sly smile crawled onto his face.

It seemed that Aizen didn’t need the fools from the network after all.

The traitor of the Soul Society casually made his way through the museum and out the front door. And then… he was gone. Shunpo tended to seem that way. One flash step and you were already in another place. And Aizen had no problems in locating such familiar spirits.

There they stood. How he had been blessed with such a gift. Before him was Ulquiorra and Momo Hinamori. His senses proved to be correct… but of course when weren’t they? Another man stood with Hinamori but Aizen would not waste such time with him. Already he had a plan.

“What a coincidence to see you both here…” Aizen smiled, slowly approaching the group.

[aizenloveslave.livejournal.com]

Hinamori had been about to thank Okita for at least attempting to help... when she heard his voice. The voice she was ashamed to admit she'd almost been dreading, the voice she'd longed to hear. And suddenly, no one else mattered; not the man who had helped her, not Ulquiorra, not anyone. Her body went rigid, ringed brown eyes wide and round as she turned to face him.

She couldn't help drawing a sharp breath when she saw him. If she hadn't known any better, she might not have even recognized him. That warm, inviting look in his eyes, only enhanced by the thick lenses of his familiar glasses. The shaggy locks of hair she'd come to adore over the years she'd served under him. Gone.

It felt like a punch to the stomach. Worse than that... it was almost comparable to the moment her dear captain had run her through with his blade. What has Captain Ichimaru done to him?, she thought to herself, the beginnings of outrage boiling up in the pit of her stomach. Hinamori only realized when she heard the faint crumpling of paper that her hands had balled into fists. The pamphlet was a crumpled mess in her grip.

When he smiled, however, the anger began ebbing away almost as quickly as it had surged up in the first place. He'd changed... but his smile hadn't. That soothing, kind smile. Aizen's smile.

Truthfully, even if it had been the cruelest of callous grins, that's what she would have seen before her. The memory had been ingrained so firmly in her mind that she simply couldn't comprehend anything else -- no, she refused to believe there could be anything else. That was one thing that could never change, even under Ichimaru's influence.

"Captain Aizen..." Hinamori's voice scarcely louder than a whisper, quivering faintly.

Was he the one that had bought her there? Did that mean he really was the reason everyone had begun vanishing?

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((OOC: 'Hinamori's voice was scarcely louder than a whisper,' silly words poofing on me. XD))