Powerless
feralblxe:
feralblxe:
ice-prince-toshiro:
A scoff broke past his lips and the threats that came forth were dismissed yet again. At this point it was just taken as the ramblings of an angry man that wished to vent some of his frustration. The Espada seemed like the type that would express his anger through insults and threats, although Toshiro wished that he would shut up already… or that he had stayed passed out for a little while longer. It had been so much more peaceful when he had just been a lump on the floor.
“Sure you will, Arrancar. We will just have to see about that, although don’t say I didn’t warn you if it turns out it doesn’t wear off like you hope and your colourful threats don’t come to fruition. You will see soon enough just how wrong about us that you are.”
The young captain leaned back against the couch, idly picking at a loose thread as Grimmjow made his snarky reply. There was no reply to it other than a quiet huff and a frown deepened on his face as he mulled over different little things in his head like what to do if he had to leave the apartment suddenly, and wondering if his lieutenant was taking care of the paperwork back home. He only looked back up at the arrancar when he heard him speaking directly at him and his brow furrowed; wondering just what he was trying to get at asking him such a question.
“Well if you can call killing you hollows and arrancar as cutting someone open then yes I have.” He answered shortly after little deliberation. “Otherwise no. We avoid harming innocent souls and humans as much as possible and it is rare that any of them pose enough a threat that they have to be put down.”
Grimmjow was someone who expressed his anger in more than just threats and petty words. The espada was violent, outright so. More than most of the others. They understood what restraint and control meant, and exercised it on a daily basis. Grimmjow knew what it meant, but failed at putting the meaning into practice. A war machine shouldn’t need restraint. Mercy would never be shown by the likes of him, and there were other Espada to carry out the more delicate missions. He was a machine gunner, someone to take out as many people as bloody possible as quickly as possible. So each word spoken by the white haired brat just added ammunition to his belt with the cross hairs landing squarely on the annoying captain.
“As long as you’re okay with me saying I told you so while you’re being ripped in half, I have no problem with it.” The way he said it was nonchalant. Threats had become boring and not very cathartic anymore. He focused on the stew instead for a minute, taking a few bites from it before pushing it aside. The food sort of helped with bringing back energy to his body, but at the same time, it made him nauseous. He’d save the rest for later when what he had consumed settled.
“Ha! That’s it? Hate to break it to you shrimp, but you’re a dead man walking.” With a giant grin, he flopped over onto his stomach and used his arms as a pillow. His head turned to the side, blue eyes fixating on the wall. Grimmjow didn’t believe in decorations, but for once he wished the room had some. With him already being bored out of his mind, the white wall just seemed to laugh and mock him. It chided him for being stupid enough for being caught, sitting plain and unmoving outside the glowing light that kept him captive.
“What do you think of humans?” He asked, eyes still on the wall, back to the small captain.
