“Last night you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon. You frightened me. Do it again.”
The orange haired hunter snorted when something about that particular line reminds him of a certain someone. Or two someones. But before his mind could get carried away or go down the proverbial gutter, a loud rap was heard across the hall to the door of his apartment.
With a sigh of relief, from the timely distraction from his thoughts about them, he paused the movie and rises to stand from his comfortable slouch on his couch, and picked up the large bowl of assorted candies and chocolates from the coffee table along the way to the door.
He opened the door with a friendly smile upon his face, ready to greet eager little kids in costumes…aaaaaand speak of the devil and he shall appear. Literally.
“Trick or treat.”
Ichigo stood for a stunned moment, until a loud snort escaped from him, as soon as he adsorbed that -yes- said devil standing right outside his apartment in a fucking faux fur lined leather jacket, is indeed in his partial unglamoured form, and not a product of his mind running wild from probably one chocolate too many.
“A demon, really? How very creative. Would you like a sticker to go with the A+ in your report card?”
“Har har. Fuck you. Like yer one to talk,” the blue haired incubus gestured at the orange haired youth’s ancient Hunter guild’s attire, that’s more or less typical in the renaissance era that could pass off as an Assassin’s Creed costume to the untrained eye, especially those who have lived as long as he does or recognize the once distinguished Kurosaki family crest. “Why should I play pretend when I can be me,” he grinned smugly in such an arrogant and self-assured way that he knew would both attract and irk the Hunter to no end, then he glanced down curiously at the bowl “Hey, is that a Red Vine?”
“Hey!” Ichigo yanked the bowl out of Grimmjow’s reach but it was too late, and he scowled at the grinning demon with little heat “What are you doing here, and where’s Shiro?”
“Eh, Shi’ got held back by some bevy of pretty cosplayers outside -some with little princesses- asking him shit like what the fuck he used to make the realistic partial scaly skin and dragon wings and tail and shit, and maybe even try'na get his number,” Grimmjow snorted, smirking as he savagely tore at the stringy red candy with his sharp teeth.
Ichigo barely held back a hysterical laugh that bubbled up by the image that scene conjured in his head. He manage to, but ultimately failed to keep a straight deadpan expression, as the corner of his lip twitches upwards against his will as he couldn’t help but quip “What? You’re not going to save the dragon from the princesses?”
“Hah!” Grimmjow barked out, laughing loud and manically that it echoed across the corridor, oblivious to the excitable little children who were about to turn toward the direction of Ichigo’s room, to scurry away to the stairs.
“Don’t let him hear ya say that,” the incubus snickered as he calmed down and catch a breath.
“Too. Fucking. Late.”
Cue to screeching kids running back up the stairs and up to the floor above like a bat out of hell.
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