Orihime regards him ( like she looks at most others ) gently, face open with curiosity. She can see exactly what Abarai-kun was talking about with the Quincy - the defensive shift of his shoulders, the hard planes of his face, and finally, her eyes land on his arm. It’s easy to see, even with the little light within the room.
She only looks back to his face once he speaks, jerking her posture straight. Almost frantically, she waves her hands in front of her, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in or anything…” Even though, she most certainly did not barge in, it still doesn’t feel right without an apology. The guards had acted as if Bazz-B didn’t require any type of privacy or warning when they led Orihime here, so it must’ve seemed just a liiittle bit rude to the Quincy. But then again, like mentioned before, Renji had warned her about all of this.
“My name is Inoue Orihime!” She speaks in a rush, gesturing fast with her hands, “And you’re Bazz-B, right?” Well, of course he is, but it was much more polite to ask. He doesn’t seem up for much conversation ( maybe the strong and silent type - like Ompa Man the Detective who posed as a Real Life guy, but was really just a monkey escaped from the zoo?! ) Since it is pretty much confirmed that he is not a talker, Orihime decides to keep the conversation going, even if it may be completely onesided, “Abarai-kun told me a lot about you! Well, that’s a fib…he only told me a little! But enough, I guess. How’re you? Are you feeling okay today?”
She has a knack for rambling when she’s nervous, filling the empty space between them with words and smiles. But she slows down when she realizes it doesn’t do much, “I can help…with your arm. B-But only if you want me to!”
She was very talkative, or so he observed.
Bazz-B looms almost like a hawk, trained to be the waiting beast, raised on apprehension and a threat of savagery. He was patient only when it served his end goals, though he is left without the greater end to sate the practiced patience. Deep red eyes do not lack their learned intensity, but without a reason to bait his temper and aggression, he remains the tall, looming shadow against the wall.
( He’s tired, too. He’s tired of biting each hand that stretches out towards him. Without the glorious end of a wildfire to throw himself to, without his purpose, he’s only ashes. His body and his soul has taken too many wounds from fate. )
A scoff sits at the back of his throat as she apologizes for her entrance, but he bites it back. Manners after such a long life of disregard and recklessness sit like iron spikes against his impulses, but they too must be endured. There was no need for her to apologize. The Soul Reapers entered unceremoniously and left in the same manner. False pleasantries only left him with bitterness; this life was shallow, he would rather live it as such than lie with her and himself. Bazz-B retains it, though, suffocating it within himself as he always does. Another time, perhaps. Another life, perhaps.
A grunt of confirmation answers her introduction. Does she have reason to ask? It’s not as if he could be anyone else within this room; it is always just him and his thoughts. Her intentions are kind, though, and at the mention of the lieutenant’s name he knows not to let his temper flare.
“’m alright,” he answers, though he still finds himself perplexed by her continual kindness. It’s odd. At least to him; he’s not a kind person, his disposition doesn’t often bring kindness to him. Bazz-B has lived his life content with that, having thought he would come to his end regardless, thus seeing no point in lying to himself and pretending to make friends. It’s her final offer that breaks his composition, expression turning to one of disbelief with mixed curiosity with an eyebrow cocked and head tilted.
“How? I lost it. There ain’t no way to get it back now.”
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